The beta is tomorrow. I thought I wouldn't be freaking out, yet here I am freaking out. I haven't done a home test yet, out of sheer cowardice. I'm planning to do one tomorrow right before the beta, so I don't have to spend the whole day waiting for the phone call.
Here's the thing. There's no spotting yet (unlike last time), and no major cramping. I did have a big headache on Friday, but there was an obvious trigger other than PMS, so it doesn't really count. All of this should be good signs. But, we put in two not-very-nice embryos, and really nothing means anything but a positive test. The thing is, hope got all the way into the building and has wrapped herself so tightly around me that it would be really painful to have her ripped off again.
Well, either way, it's only one more day.
Monday, March 5, 2007
Thursday, March 1, 2007
What to do with pregnant infertiles?
The other day, I was looking through my blogroll and realized that the vast majority of "infertility" bloggers that I check on regularly are either pregnant or new mothers. The same is true of most of my dearest friends in the computer (you know who you are).
A few times, I've flirted with the idea of separating my blogroll into categories (in the trenches, on a break, pregnant, graduates, trying for #2, etc.) However, I just can't bring myself to do it. Why? Well, I've given it a lot of thought, and in the end, I think that in many ways infertility colors all of your experiences, regardless of which category you happen to find yourself in today. I don't mean that we can't resolve our infertility and go on to lead happy healthy lives, hopefully free of lasting emotional scars. I hope that for all of us. I have to believe that one day infertility will not be the focus of my life.
Rather, I mean that infertility isn't just a temporary phase that you go through, like teething or thinking that wearning a plastic miniskirt is a good idea (oh cursed youth!) I have been changed permanently by this experience, in ways both bad and good. I now know that the line between "pregnant" and "in the trenches" isn't as solid as one might hope. Having watched so many dear ones go through heartbreaking losses, I simply can't assume that one of my friends in the computer will go on to live happily ever after just because of the results of a blood test (or, more often, about a hundred million hpt's). I also can't assume, or even hope, that they will ever be "normal" pregnant people. While complications of pregnancy seem to be fairly equal-opportunity, the thoughts and feelings of a pregnant and infertile in reaction to these complications will inevitably be different. The stakes just feel so much higher, and the probability of a good outcome so much more tenuous when you've fought so hard just to get to the starting line.
Then when the infertile becomes a mother, so many new issues arise. The former infertile can be particularly hard on herself when she realizes that she's not a perfect mother, just a human being. There are also often lingering body-betrayal issues. ART mommies having multiples face additional issues. It's all very complicated. And then there's the issue of TTC #2, or #3, or #4. Sadly, having won the fertility sweepstakes once doesn't in any way guarantee smooth sailing the next time around.
In the end, though, I like to keep all of my infertile peeps in one place, and close to my heart, because I need you there. You serve as a shining example of how to keep moving forward during good times and bad. I hope that someday we can all move into a new category called "resolved", but until then, I think we should stick together.
A few times, I've flirted with the idea of separating my blogroll into categories (in the trenches, on a break, pregnant, graduates, trying for #2, etc.) However, I just can't bring myself to do it. Why? Well, I've given it a lot of thought, and in the end, I think that in many ways infertility colors all of your experiences, regardless of which category you happen to find yourself in today. I don't mean that we can't resolve our infertility and go on to lead happy healthy lives, hopefully free of lasting emotional scars. I hope that for all of us. I have to believe that one day infertility will not be the focus of my life.
Rather, I mean that infertility isn't just a temporary phase that you go through, like teething or thinking that wearning a plastic miniskirt is a good idea (oh cursed youth!) I have been changed permanently by this experience, in ways both bad and good. I now know that the line between "pregnant" and "in the trenches" isn't as solid as one might hope. Having watched so many dear ones go through heartbreaking losses, I simply can't assume that one of my friends in the computer will go on to live happily ever after just because of the results of a blood test (or, more often, about a hundred million hpt's). I also can't assume, or even hope, that they will ever be "normal" pregnant people. While complications of pregnancy seem to be fairly equal-opportunity, the thoughts and feelings of a pregnant and infertile in reaction to these complications will inevitably be different. The stakes just feel so much higher, and the probability of a good outcome so much more tenuous when you've fought so hard just to get to the starting line.
Then when the infertile becomes a mother, so many new issues arise. The former infertile can be particularly hard on herself when she realizes that she's not a perfect mother, just a human being. There are also often lingering body-betrayal issues. ART mommies having multiples face additional issues. It's all very complicated. And then there's the issue of TTC #2, or #3, or #4. Sadly, having won the fertility sweepstakes once doesn't in any way guarantee smooth sailing the next time around.
In the end, though, I like to keep all of my infertile peeps in one place, and close to my heart, because I need you there. You serve as a shining example of how to keep moving forward during good times and bad. I hope that someday we can all move into a new category called "resolved", but until then, I think we should stick together.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Happy Birthday-updated
A couple of days ago, after an epic struggle with infertility and then hyperemesis gravidarum, one of my favorite bloggers gave birth to her daughter, Leah Catherine.
It's so nice to see one of the good guys win.
Welcome to the world, little one.
***************************************************************************************
Update-February 28th: Yet another happy birthday!
Please pop by and congratulate the new mothers.
It's so nice to see one of the good guys win.
Welcome to the world, little one.
***************************************************************************************
Update-February 28th: Yet another happy birthday!
Please pop by and congratulate the new mothers.
My happy ass
I love crin*ne gel.
It's true love, not a schoolgirl crush or a passing fancy. I am passionate about the stuff. Devoted, really. I have now met the progesterone supplementation system of my dreams. It may not be perfect, but it's perfect for me.
I've been around the block a few times. Back when I was a mere beginner at this infertility thing, just starting with IUI's, my first RE introduced me to progesterone suppositories, and I had a pretty serious habit for a while. I diligently kept the bullet-like blobs in my refrigerator, even taking them with me in a cooler on out-of-town trips, less they dissolve into a sticky puddle. Every night from just after ovulation until I was certain of cycle failure, I would awkwardly poke one of those chilled beauties up into my nether regions, eschewing the applicater provided by the pharmacy (what did they think I was, a total wuss?) for the old-fashioned one finger method. Then I'd run to bed, while shoving a bunch of paper towels into my underwear in preparation for the inevitable deluge. Then in the morning, I woke up to a delightful pants-full-of-goo sensation, as during the night I had leaked a volume of fluid that seemed impossibly large when compared with the original suppository. It was an ugly relationship. Unseemly, and ultimately disappointing. So, after the last IUI, during the phase when I was waiting to move to Korea, and "trying naturally" (try not to laugh too hard, I went through the motions like a champ), I made the switch to progesterone cream.
The thing with progesterone cream is that not only does it not work, it's hard to even pretend that it's working. The up side is that my inner thighs (or belly, or inner arms, or whatever other part of my body was the lucky winner in the progesterone sweepstakes) was well-moisturized, but the down side was that I felt like a fool.
Then during IVF#1, I was introduced to the hard stuff. Progesterone in oil injections. The big guns. Not for the faint of heart. The freebase of the progesterone world. I only had a one shot/day habit, but even that was enough to leave me crabby, in constant pain, and emotionally traumatized. Why oh why didn't I listen to Ronny Reagan and just say no? After the negative blood test, it took over a week for the bruises to fade, and several weeks for the pain to go away. Even now, I still sometimes flinch if something brushes against those two tender spots. It doesn't hurt anymore, but the pain left a shadow.
When this cycle started, I was prepared to face PIO again. I'm not a masochist, but it'd take a lot more than a big fat needle full of oil to make me give up my dream of becoming a mother. So, I was taken totally aback when my doctor informed me that the distributor has stopped supplying my clinic with PIO (I guess that even with the volume that they used, profit margins weren't high enough). So, they have switched all of their patients to the gel. She told me this apologetically, noting that "it's just as good, but a bit more expensive."
Expensive. Right. The total cost for a 14-day supply was about $100 US. That's about $7/day that I'm paying NOT to have to stick a big fat needle into my arse. Now I'm normally a pretty frugal girl, but this strikes me as a pretty good deal. In fact, with the savings that I enjoyed on lab fees due to my lackluster performance in the egg production department, this cycle actually ended up being cheaper than the last, even with that pricey pricey crinone gel included.
So, I went home to try it, figuring that it would be just like the suppositories. For once, I was in for a pleasant surprise. Not only can it be stored at room temperature (thus sparing me that fresh icy sensation), but this stuff barely leaks. I can use it in the morning and then go to work without wearing adult diapers. There is a tiny little drop of leakage sometime during the day, but it's barely noticeable. Honestly, if I didn't know it was the crinone, I might just mistake it for some of that cervical mucus that newbies on trying-to-conceive boards are always going on about.
So, don't bother trying to convince me that there are other fish in the sea. I've finally found the one for me.
It's true love, not a schoolgirl crush or a passing fancy. I am passionate about the stuff. Devoted, really. I have now met the progesterone supplementation system of my dreams. It may not be perfect, but it's perfect for me.
I've been around the block a few times. Back when I was a mere beginner at this infertility thing, just starting with IUI's, my first RE introduced me to progesterone suppositories, and I had a pretty serious habit for a while. I diligently kept the bullet-like blobs in my refrigerator, even taking them with me in a cooler on out-of-town trips, less they dissolve into a sticky puddle. Every night from just after ovulation until I was certain of cycle failure, I would awkwardly poke one of those chilled beauties up into my nether regions, eschewing the applicater provided by the pharmacy (what did they think I was, a total wuss?) for the old-fashioned one finger method. Then I'd run to bed, while shoving a bunch of paper towels into my underwear in preparation for the inevitable deluge. Then in the morning, I woke up to a delightful pants-full-of-goo sensation, as during the night I had leaked a volume of fluid that seemed impossibly large when compared with the original suppository. It was an ugly relationship. Unseemly, and ultimately disappointing. So, after the last IUI, during the phase when I was waiting to move to Korea, and "trying naturally" (try not to laugh too hard, I went through the motions like a champ), I made the switch to progesterone cream.
The thing with progesterone cream is that not only does it not work, it's hard to even pretend that it's working. The up side is that my inner thighs (or belly, or inner arms, or whatever other part of my body was the lucky winner in the progesterone sweepstakes) was well-moisturized, but the down side was that I felt like a fool.
Then during IVF#1, I was introduced to the hard stuff. Progesterone in oil injections. The big guns. Not for the faint of heart. The freebase of the progesterone world. I only had a one shot/day habit, but even that was enough to leave me crabby, in constant pain, and emotionally traumatized. Why oh why didn't I listen to Ronny Reagan and just say no? After the negative blood test, it took over a week for the bruises to fade, and several weeks for the pain to go away. Even now, I still sometimes flinch if something brushes against those two tender spots. It doesn't hurt anymore, but the pain left a shadow.
When this cycle started, I was prepared to face PIO again. I'm not a masochist, but it'd take a lot more than a big fat needle full of oil to make me give up my dream of becoming a mother. So, I was taken totally aback when my doctor informed me that the distributor has stopped supplying my clinic with PIO (I guess that even with the volume that they used, profit margins weren't high enough). So, they have switched all of their patients to the gel. She told me this apologetically, noting that "it's just as good, but a bit more expensive."
Expensive. Right. The total cost for a 14-day supply was about $100 US. That's about $7/day that I'm paying NOT to have to stick a big fat needle into my arse. Now I'm normally a pretty frugal girl, but this strikes me as a pretty good deal. In fact, with the savings that I enjoyed on lab fees due to my lackluster performance in the egg production department, this cycle actually ended up being cheaper than the last, even with that pricey pricey crinone gel included.
So, I went home to try it, figuring that it would be just like the suppositories. For once, I was in for a pleasant surprise. Not only can it be stored at room temperature (thus sparing me that fresh icy sensation), but this stuff barely leaks. I can use it in the morning and then go to work without wearing adult diapers. There is a tiny little drop of leakage sometime during the day, but it's barely noticeable. Honestly, if I didn't know it was the crinone, I might just mistake it for some of that cervical mucus that newbies on trying-to-conceive boards are always going on about.
So, don't bother trying to convince me that there are other fish in the sea. I've finally found the one for me.
Friday, February 23, 2007
My embryos ride the short bus
Well, I got a phone call yesterday from a quasi-English-speaking nurse at the fertility hospital telling me to show up at noon today for embryo transfer. After a little victory dance (at least one must have been alive!) I gave myself a stern talking-to about not getting hopes up, etc. With only two eggs, I really couldn't expect much.
Last time I showed up for embryo transfer, I was treated to the vision of four picture-perfect embryos on the big screen next to the transfer station. They were round, multi-celled, and practically brimming with health. They looked like future supermodels, Nobel prizewinners, and Olympic athletes. Well, OK, maybe they actually looked like little blobs of cells, but they looked like really nice blobs.
This time, there were two (TWO!) kind of funky-looking spots on the screen. They were several-celled, but had a decidedly sinister air about them. They didn't look like the perfect models of "gerber baby" embryos. More like "kids, don't try this at home". Nonetheless, I was so happy to see them still alive, that I didn't much care. The transfer was easy enough. The hospital made me stay there on bed rest for 2.5 hours after, which is pretty boring, but again, they made it up to me with a lovely foot massage. Then I was told to go chat with my doctor for a minute.
The doctor said that she had been expecting to get 7-9 eggs, and had been pretty confident that she'd get at least five, so getting only two was surprising. She said that the follicles were there, but empty, and had no explanation for how or why this happened. She also said that one of the embryos was graded "a little lower than average, just OK", and the other was "not as good". Still, she emphasized that anything can happen, and that I still have a reasonable chance of a good outcome.
So here I am, in the two-week-wait after all. Dear embryos, please stick. I don't care what those silly embryologists have to say about you. You're not below average, you're just misunderstood. So stick around, will you? Mommy loves you.
Last time I showed up for embryo transfer, I was treated to the vision of four picture-perfect embryos on the big screen next to the transfer station. They were round, multi-celled, and practically brimming with health. They looked like future supermodels, Nobel prizewinners, and Olympic athletes. Well, OK, maybe they actually looked like little blobs of cells, but they looked like really nice blobs.
This time, there were two (TWO!) kind of funky-looking spots on the screen. They were several-celled, but had a decidedly sinister air about them. They didn't look like the perfect models of "gerber baby" embryos. More like "kids, don't try this at home". Nonetheless, I was so happy to see them still alive, that I didn't much care. The transfer was easy enough. The hospital made me stay there on bed rest for 2.5 hours after, which is pretty boring, but again, they made it up to me with a lovely foot massage. Then I was told to go chat with my doctor for a minute.
The doctor said that she had been expecting to get 7-9 eggs, and had been pretty confident that she'd get at least five, so getting only two was surprising. She said that the follicles were there, but empty, and had no explanation for how or why this happened. She also said that one of the embryos was graded "a little lower than average, just OK", and the other was "not as good". Still, she emphasized that anything can happen, and that I still have a reasonable chance of a good outcome.
So here I am, in the two-week-wait after all. Dear embryos, please stick. I don't care what those silly embryologists have to say about you. You're not below average, you're just misunderstood. So stick around, will you? Mommy loves you.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
I get by with a little help from my friends
Thank you all so much for your wonderful comments. You all somehow knew just what to say. This has been a very hard week for me, but somehow coming here and finding that so many people that I've never even met are thinking about me has made it all a little better. I am so grateful that you were there for me in my hour of need.
Monday, February 19, 2007
So much for hope
They only got two eggs.
I'm devastated. I don't know what happened. The doctor didn't say if the other follicles were empty, or if they had already ovulated. I guess it doesn't much matter.
We'll be lucky if we even make it to transfer.
I'm devastated. I don't know what happened. The doctor didn't say if the other follicles were empty, or if they had already ovulated. I guess it doesn't much matter.
We'll be lucky if we even make it to transfer.
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