I.V.Effed: No Sex, No Lies, and No Videotape

Today’s date has helped me deal with the news that the cycle is cancelled.  I haven’t yet shed a tear (today) for our misfortune–however, I had trouble keeping my cheeks dry as I sat in the waiting room at the RE, watching the coverage of the memorial service at Ground Zero.  I may have received crappy news this morning, but for crying out loud, I am alive.  My loved ones are alive.  I have much to be thankful for when it comes to my life.  I remember exactly where I was on that morning eight years ago–I remember the students in my class, I remember watching the coverage with them throughout the day, I remember it all.  And then my brother was in the Middle East for two tours.  I am so blessed that I did not personally lose a friend or family member that day.  My dreams of having a family may not be panning out, but I am still here.  Alive.  Thriving.  Loving.  Being Loved.

Okay. Slightly corny but necessary tribute over.  So the follicles didn’t really do me any favors over the past few days.  Still have two leads, and three or so behind.  The rational, reasonable, and cost-effective thing to do is to not retrieve them. We will trigger tomorrow night, and do an IUI on Monday morning.  As my husband said, we are changing the odds.  Instead of buying a $2 scratch ticket where we have a good chance of winning something…we’re buying the megamillions.  When it is up to like $400million.  And we are trying to pick the one and only set of winning numbers.  That being said…it’s better than NO chance…I guess.  (NOTE: I do not necessarily believe this.  But it’s the cliche thing to say, and it’s what people have been saying to me to make me feel better…it doesn’t really, though.) 

In two weeks when I get my period (let’s be real here.  I’m a smart girl.  I know the chances), I’ll go back in and start a new protocol.  For what should be the last IVF, succeed or fail.  Insurance craps out after this final one.  Perhaps I’ll be on the lupron flare from yesteryear (back in the 06/07 timetable).  Perhaps the same one as now?  Who knows.  This protocol “worked” the last two times–my body just decided to be a complete butthead and screw me this try.  Don’t I already appreciate the struggle already?  Don’t I get the pain?  Aren’t I ready to have another baby and end this rather lengthy chapter in my life?  Apparently not, according to my ovaries.  I will have some hope (annoyingly so, I might add…I lovehatelovehate you, hope) over the two week wait after the IUI (I only did one of those ever.  Off the clomid challenge back in very beginning.  So I know my odds are about 1 in a trillion of a pregnancy).  Also did a Google search for “ivf converted to iui success”.  Um.  I think there was one.  Even after I scrolled down four pages or so…

Anyway.  Will hopefully be mid-injections for P’s second birthday.  And to think last year, when we found out the day before his birthday that our first attempt at #2 had failed…I was sure I’d be pregnant when we were celebrating his second birthday.  Best of luck and continued good wishes to SIL, who is still marvelously progressing through her first cycle.  Good looking follicles, good looking levels…she’s on the right road.  Me?  I tripped.  And fell.  But up I go…

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See?  I knew it would happen!  Here is Thursday, a new fresh day, right on the heels of ole Wednesday.  By yesterday afternoon I was much more relaxed and less frantic about the news and the repercussions of it. Day.by.day.

Of course, it all had to be followed by a nice evening fight with my husband–over something stupid.  Very stupid.  We both dragged it out into something much larger than it needed to be.  I blame the medication, my stubborness, and his stubborness.  The last two are lethal enough without the first thrown into the mix!  But even that was mended in the morning darkness as he left for work.

I plan to enjoy this quiet, cool morning that sings of autumn (who the hell am I, Walt Whitman?).  I feel surprisingly refreshed after a short night of sleep (though my follicle-speckled ovaries are starting to give me some issues when I bend over or twist the wrong way or when I have to pee…)  The whole day stretches out before us–and I will not waste it wallowing in my sorrow or disappointment.

Here’s to hoping I can keep this calm and perspective throughout today and into tomorrow!

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Clearly my nervousness yesterday was for good reason.  I have TWO freaking lead follicles at about 14 or 15, and then three laggers.  I started the antagonist as soon as I got home as I happen to be a habitual ovulator (my own term: I can’t get pregnant, but come hell or high water, my ovaries are releasing an egg).   All of this sounds rather innocent, I knew the numbers were low, but they have always retrieved more than he saw (last time I think he counted 8, but they wound up retrieving thirteen).  The doctor then breaks into a very casual “We’ll have to wait and see what happens in order to see if this cycle is worth continuing.”  WTF????  I kind of blink a few times, and then try to match his nonchalance  (very hard to accomplish naked from the waist down, half  sitting/half reclining, feet perched on stirrups ever-so-casually like a makeshift ottoman) and say, “What is the likelihood of that?”  He responded with, “I don’t know, we’ll wait and see and decide Friday.”

My tone remained somewhat light as I asked him what happens if we cancel, and he said we might try insemination.  Yep.  Like that would work.  Right. Then I point-blank said, “When the times comes, and if it is now I need to know, but will you tell me ‘C, your eggs are for shit and I think you need to look into other options.’”  Because everyone knows how much it sucks to hold onto completely worthless and false hope!  He reassured me (in his own odd way) and told me that my age is so much more important than the FSH.  (so then why am I IN THIS PREDICAMENT?  Why AREN”T I GETTING PREGNANT?)  Argh. Argharghargh.

I did wind up weepy as we finished the conversation, and after the doctor left the nurse handed me a tissue and said, “You’re doing a good job.”  I wiped my tears and thought that was the right thing to say.  No false hopes, no supersweet apologies, just some reassurances that I took to mean Overall.  As A Person.  I am doing a good job in this life.  (Probably a stretch, but it’s what I needed).

When I called my husband on the way home I realized for the trillionth time how different this whole infertilty business is for us.  He said he was sorry, and told me that since we have one cycle left to complete, we could convert this one and do the cycle next month and if I am a poor responder again, we’ll just say the hell with it and go in and get what’s there.  But he doesn’t understand the FEELINGS.  He doesn’t understand what this does to my heart, to my mind, to my dreams.  I still have the dreams of a family.  I still have the dreams of feeling a baby inside of me.  I still have these hopes and desires and dreams, and they are on my mind all the time.  Not just when I am at the doctor or doing the nightly injection, but all the time.  Mid cycle or no cycle.  All the time.  And he doesn’t understand.  I told him I would “take what comes” this time around and just be matter of fact and realistic about it.  The joke is on both of us, I guess, because that’s just.not.me.  I can’t even FAKE that very well.  Which  makes it so hard to go through this together, because I know infertility has shaped the person I am.  The two of us went through some other struggles early in our relationship (me: health-related), and I am so grateful he stuck it out.  He could have left.  But he stayed.  That shaped and affected us.  And now infertility has shaped and affected us.  I KNOW there are other stories out there of greater tragedies and couples who have endured so much more.  But right now, I am hurting a lot.  And again, I only know my pain.  And my pain is raw today.

I am not looking for sympathy or words of hope that I shouldn’t think of it as over, that there are still two more days, that stranger things have happened, etc.  I just needed to write down that I am so sad right now.  Sad and hurt and tired of this.  Because I know that tonight I will still take my shots, I know that the day will come to an end, tomorrow will come and then go, and on Friday we will know our (immediate) future.  And I will get to that day and I will even have happy moments up to that appointment, (crap!  have to have a root canal finished right after the RE appt.  Can you think of something suckier than that?) and I will be okay.  But right now, right this very second, it hurts.

Update: In case anyone is a numbers-follower, my E2 was 766 today.  Lotta good that does me.

Also, forgot to mention a superembarrassing thing that happened on the drive to the RE this morning:  I was crying to a song on the radio.  Something about the climb up the mountain being the hard part (a little foreboding, it seems, in hindsight…)  And then.  Found out that friggin miley cyrus sings the song.  That made me want to cry even harder.  Because what makes a 16 year old wise to the ways of the world?  I told the nurses today, and joked that my E2 better be high to explain such behavior on my part…

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Started injections last night.  For any fertility-drug-junkies out there, I am on 300 iu of Gonal F, 4 vials of Menopur, and will add the Ganirelix in about a week’s time.  Ah, the joys of elevated FSH.  Ultrasound was clear yesterday morning (which left me in great disbelief, as I was certain there would be a little friendly cyst hanging on), but bloods were kind of crappy.  E2 was 52, frigging FSH was 13.something.  Crapitty crap crap.  The last few cycles I’ve had a nice low FSH after the pill and before starting stims…I think it was in the mid-sevens for the last fresh cycle, back in January.  And I have been swigging wheatgrass like it is my job these days.  Every single night for the past five weeks or so.  I imagine the number is not horrid, or they would have cancelled me and put me back on the pill…but even still, it can’t be all that good. 

Anyone who is a veteran cycler, knows that the first night of shots is always the most nerve wracking, as it seems you may not have gotten all the liquid up from the vial, or you puncture the stomach skin but don’t push it all the way in and wind up with a few bleedling dots until you get the guts to jam it in….or some leaks out after you withdraw the needle and you get nervous…but I now know that is just First Day Jitters, much like every “first day” was in my teaching years.  After all, if the meds had to be precise and exact they wouldnt let me, (someone who isnt even certified in CPR for crying out loud), mix and give the shots to myself whilst seated in my dining room.

I’ll be heading back to the RE either Sunday or Monday just for bloods, and then will head in two days after that for ultrasound and blood.  I am usually a slow-and-steady grower, so I guess if the past is any indication, I’ll be stimming for 10 to 11 days.  I actually prefer the stomach shots to the PIO ones…mainly because my h gives me the latter, and I don’t know the exactmoment when the needle will be jammed into my posterior.  Not a fun kind of suspense.   Also, a lot of the time he hits a nerve.  Yow.

So will this be our winning cycle?  I am trying to play it cool in real life (heck, even on here) that I’m used to failure, if it doesnt happen, it will be okay, as long as my sister in law has success, that is all that matters…but in reality, I know it will hurt.  Maybe not like it did the very first failure, when I couldnt even see doing it again or what lay ahead, and certainly not the same hurt that came that Wednesday afternoon in late March, or even the failed FET this summer.  It will hurt, I will cry, and after a little while (ok, four months, as we have to wait for the new year) I will dust myself off and try again.

WAIT! What am I DOING?????  What is with all this negativity? Must be positive, positive positive.  That should be my mindset, my mantra.  I should be making sitcky-notes and posting them all over, reminding myself of the power of positivity.  I know I need to stay focused and take this day by day, shot by shot.  Here’s the thing, though:  I also know that if I let my mind stay completely positive…well, I’ve been down that way before.  A few times.  And I know it  hurts even more afterwards than it would if I were simply scientific and realistic about it all.  So I ask, what’s an infertile girl to do?

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This morning I made it a point to set my dvr when I saw that there would be a segment on the Today Show about life after a miscarriage.  Luckily, my computer-savvier sister in law sent me a video clip, which was much easier than finding it in the three hour taping somewhere.  Thanks, sil:)

Anyway.  It was really a good segment, aimed at getting the message out there that miscarriage is something devastating and heartbreaking.  That couples do not get over this as they might a broken arm.  That women still do grieve their losses months–even years–later. This validation was so important for me–especially in light of yesterday’s meltdown.  I.Am.Not.Alone.  Seven minutes was too short of a segment for something like this.  I completely appreciate the fact that it was broadcast, and I thought all of the women did a wonderful job.  But seven minutes?  We spend more time each morning looking for Where in the World is (handsome) Matt Lauer!  I’m hopeful that there are people out there who watched, and are now a little more knowledgeable.  Before I had a miscarriage, it was easy to say, oh, my, how heartbreaking that must be, I am so sorry.  But really, I had no frigging idea.  None.  But that comes back to my philosophy that we only really know our own hurt and pain, I guess. 

So thank you, Today Show, for bringing this to the women (and men…) watching you this morning.  And thank you to the strong women who were able to speak so eloquently and honestly about their experiences.    I know when I watch my local traffic updates now in the morning, I will be looking at the reporter (featured on the segment) with new eyes.  The same goes for Meredith Viera.  Thank you for sharing a part of yourselves with the rest of us.

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1. Where did summer go? I know it does not technically end for a few more weeks, and the unoffical end is this coming weekend, but for me, it always ends with August 31.  Even in my teaching days, in those years when we went back the  last days of August, it still felt like summer.  I love summer.  I love the thought of summer coming, I love the summer itself, I love everything summertime means in every way.  And I guess I do enjoy the month of September, but it fills me with dread as I think about the looming winter.  While college football, changing leaves, pumpkins, candy corn and Pilgrims do delight, they only give way to dark mornings, dark evenings, and less time outdoors.  I am an outdoor girl.  And not an outdoor girl whoisbundleduplikecrazy, I am a warm weather outdoor girl (why did we leave you, SoCal????)  So sad.  See ya next year, oh sweet summer…

2. This morning blew chunks.  I have been trying to find a place for P and I to spend the winter months that will give him a place to run around like a nutjob and give me a place to do that with him.  We currently take a toddler class once a week that he likes, but it is only one hour a week.  I thought I found The Perfect Solution.  It is a swanky new membership-required-one-stop-meets-many-needs kids place.  It had a gym.  A cafe.  An indoor playground.  Different classes (extra, of course).  It is brand-spanking new.  Pristine.  No one has chewed the toys yet. No filthy fingerprints lining the walls.  There is a valet.  Childcare.  Clearly, it comes with the works.  We decided to give it a trial period and see if we liked it. (We being h and me.  P doesn’t really have an opinion.  Yet). 

UNTIL.  Today I went, all prepared to sign up for good.  The place is a zoo as they have just opened and are still in the recruiting phases.  But P has loved it these past few days, and today we tried out a class.  Of the sixteen women in the class, six were pregnant.  Very very pregnant, as a matter of fact.  As pregnant as I might have been had things taken a different turn in late March.  Of the others that weren’t…five were nannies and who the hell knows, maybe the other moms were pregnant too, but just not showing yet.  I can only handle one pregnant person at a time, tyvm.  I cannot handle a barrage of them, as if I had walked into a lamaze class (do those still exist?) and not a toddler class.  I started to get all teary and had to bite my lip A LOT to stop them from  pouring down my face.  Of course, stopped The Pill on Sunday so my hormones were all lined up for The Perfect Storm.  Any time I seem remotely sad, P starts to cry, saying “bye bye” and “boo boo” (to which I must smile and reply that my boo boo is okay).  It works out well in that I never full-out cry, but sometimes, stiffling the tears is hard.  I don’t know why it is so much harder to see a pregnant woman (or a gaggle of them) versus a newborn baby, but that’s how it is for me. 

3. Shots start on Thursday if all goes well at the baseline that morning.  Fingers crossed for that.  Although h told me this weekend that he isn’t feeling all that optimistic about this cycle.  Swell.  Always good to go into it expecting it to not work…right?

4. The highlight of the trip was that I was ticketed for having an expired inspection sticker…but the sweet metermaid only gave me a warning (since, you know, it only expired YESTERDAY.)  Of course, I do realize I had 31 whole days to get it done….

Muuuuuch Afternote:  It is amazing how a somewhat craptastic day can be made completely better in the end by a few words from some caring friends, good (free!) advice, and the realization that I have the best little kid in the entire world.  Seriously.  The best.  Oh.  And I took a shower today.  That helped too.

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