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

Blood draw this morning.  After 4 nights of stims (but day five of stimming…so which do I say?  Four days of stims or five?) E2 318, LH 2.1.  Delightfully high dosing will continue tonight and tomorrow night, and I will go in Wednesday morning for bloodwork and an ultrasound.  I have no basis for judging if these numbers are good or bad or whatever (In the past I haven’t recorded the numbers as cycles progressed) but I guess since my doctor didn’t change anything, they must at the very least be “okay.”  (Baseline E2 on the start day was 52, so there was a clear increase). 

Yup.  I was right.  This really IS a boring post.  But I’m in that “blah” place at the moment–just kind of going through the motions…I hate how the meds mess with my psyche.

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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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I love music.  I am one of those people who always has the radio on in the car, sings along unabashedly (even these days to The Best of Barney and Thomas’ Greatest Hits).  I would have a blast creating the soundtrack of my life, though I’m sure it would take the rest of my life to get it just right.  There are so many songs that have had an impact on my life–songs that I can immediately associate with a person, place, event, or time.  Indiana, by The Samples, was my wedding song.  My h chose it, and I can still clearly remember when we were driving  from campus to Chicago  Valentine’s Day during senior year of college…it was the first time I heard the song, but after that trip it became a large part of my memories of  those early years with my now-husband.  There are songs that remind me of a summer fling (Billy Joel’s To Make You Feel My Love), songs that remind me of my best friend from college (Now and Forever by Carole King, Baton Rouge by Garth Brooks…anything by REO speedwagon), songs that remind me of a college boyfriend (lots of Tom Petty and Bruce), the song that linked my mom and I across the miles when I was away at school (This Is Me, Missing You by James House).  I could go on. And on.  Andonandonandon.

Since this is my infertility blog, I thought I’d share all the songs that have either gotten me through rough patches, have helped me “be tough” as I got ready to inject myself for the trillionth time, have helped me wrap myself in my sadness and just cry, have helped me try to see the light at the end…you get my drift.  I highly recommend blasting music to help get pumped and in a good mindset for giving injections.  Try it.  Just one time, even.

• Better Things:  Dar Williams.  This song became a part of my life way before infertility did, but it took on new meaning as I started the treatments and dealt with failure and loss.  This song brings hope into your heart–my latest favorite line is “Accept your life and what it brings.”
• It’s So Hard (When It Doesnt Come Easy): Dixie Chicks  This is about two of the members’ struggle with infertility.  So clearly, they hit it spot on.
• Oh Sheila: Prince A ridiculous addition to the list, but when my husband would be getting me into my “betoughbetoughbetough” mode to psyche me up to inject 450 units of the gonal F pen a few years ago–that was one song that always seemed to be on the 80s music station on the tv at the exact time we would be gearing up for shot-time.  So it is a bit of a joke, because obviously it isnt really a pump-up song.  But it was for us, and let us be silly in a stressful time.
• Viva la Vida: Coldplay Not as upbeat a memory–but it was always on in the car as I drove from NY to CT for my appts the first IVF we tried for baby#2.  I thought it was fate, and that it meant I was meant to succeed.  Newsflash: it was just really overplayed that fall.  Finally, now, a year later, I can hear it without cringing…
• Moving On: Rascall Flatts The lyrics are enough.  After the miscarriage it held so much more meaning for me.
• Hit Me With Your Best Shot: Pat Benatar Also a college memory, but took on new meaning as I used it as a pump-up song (for obvious reasons)
• I Would Die for That: Kelley Coffey The saddest, rawest infertility song I have ever heard.  But sometimes we need to hear those songs.
• Bad Day: Daniel Powter This was my theme song for a really long time.  Now, not so much.  But it was there for me when I needed it the most.
• Not Ready to Make Nice: Dixie Chicks Although it’s about their fury concering politics…I used it as my “angry song” after the miscarriage and other failed attempts.  “I’m not ready to make nice, I’m not ready to back down, I’m mad as hell…”
• The Hard Way: Mary Chapin Carpenter I’ve always loved her folksy music–and again, this song reappeared in my life after about 1o years…and this time with a different meaning for me.
• How Far We’ve Come: Matchbox Twenty It just provides a gentle reminder…but not so gently!

Writing this has made me extremely nostalgic–songs from runs with friends in high school or college (Break My Stride, Eye of the Tiger), songs that remind me of my dad (Landslide, any John Denver or Moody Blues), and songs that remind me of P–Godspeed by the Dixie Chicks, Beautiful Boy by John Lennon, You Are My Sunshine, Somewhere Over the Rainbow…I think this could be the entry that never ends.  In order to speed the ending along, let me close with some (how cliche) lyrics: closing with the song I started with–I hope everyone who reads this will download it and adopt it as her own…

Here’s wishing you the bluest sky,
and hoping something better comes tomorrow. 
Hoping all the verses rhyme, and the very best of choruses to
Follow all the drudge and sadness
I know that better things are on their way…

No Comments | In: August 09 | | #

My parents have been here visiting these past few days, and usually, on its own, that is the condition for the Perfect Storm.  I grew up as the Perfect Child–good grades, feared and loved my parents, involved in the church, probably even was a bit of a goody-goody.  I was the typical First Child.  My younger brother was the party boy, the cool kid.  So after 22 or so years of pleasing my parents, I finally grew tired of that.  My brother didn’t give a rat’s ass what they thought (love that phrase) and they didn’t treat him any differently or love him any less…so what was I doing?  There were a few skeletons in my closet that were no doubt linked to my childhood and teen years at home, and as I grew older and grew up, I began to pull away.  I saw in my husband’s family how husbands and wives should treat each other–and that was something different than what I had seen growing up.  I always knew that deep down my parents loved each other–but they too had skeletons that affected their relationship….

But I digress.  Fast forward to my late twenties when we start to have problems conceiving.  My parents have no.clue.what.this.is.doing.to.me.  My mom tried to show care and concern after the first failed cycle, but at that time we were separated by an entire continent, and this whole IVF thing was only something they had vague knowledge of (and as a Good Catholic Family, we all know where the Church stands on this matter…)  When I found out I was pregnant with P, my parents wanted to tell everyone they knew, buy things, talk about it, all the usual stuff grandparents-to-be get to do.  But I was so scared and worried the pregnancy wouldn’t make it, so I wouldn’t let them.  I wasn’t even doing it.  I wasn’t buying clothes or other baby things until the month before he was due–I was just so scared.  I know my mom didn’t understand that at all. 

And then with my pregnancy this past winter, I kind of let go of the fear.  I was determined to enjoy this pregnancy the whole way through.  I decided to tell people, and to be joyful and hopeful as we talked about if we would need a new house, or a new car or how I would manage the twins plus P.  And we know where that got me.  So if I am ever blessed to be pregnant again (IhopeIprayIhopeIpray) I will not be letting my guard down again for a while.  My parents were certainly crushed when they heard the news of the miscarriage, but even still, I don’t think they “got it.”  They knew I was sad.  They knew I was hurting.  But after a week or two, I was kind of expected to be better.  Even though I wasn’t.  Perhaps it is a generational thing, or perhaps because they were at a loss for words, but both sets of my current “parents” have often pointed out the miracle we have in P, even going so far as to saying Well, at least you have P.  He is truly a miracle.  Yes.  He is.  But what if you never had my brother, Mom?  And to my inlaws–what if you stopped after your first born, and never had the next two sons?  I think that is one of the most hurtful things to say to someone who is suffering from secondary infertility (have I mentioned yet how I HATE THAT CLASSIFICATION?  I am fighting Infertility.  It sure as hell doesn’t feel secondary to anything.  It feels like it is something I have been fighting like crazy for the last four years.  Secondary my ASS).  The miracle of one child does not make any loss any easier, does not make any failed cycles any easier–for me, anyway.  I love my son more than anything in the whole world, and I am even tearing up as I type that.  But I love him so much that I want him to know a brother (or sister), I want to give him a family, not just the crazed-overprotective-indulgent mom that I am afraid I will be if he remains an only child.

I don’t expect my parents to understand what I go through–just as I cannot ever really understand what it will be like for my mom when my dad has his heart surgery at the end of the year.  Or what it was like for my parents when they lost their own parents.  As in all life situations, we cannot truly understand the pain or the hurt or even the experiences of others, because everyone is affected differently.  So I don’t expect my parents to understand–I just want them to continue to try and learn what they can about what we do–to recognize that our experiences in infertility have shaped us in unique ways.  It affects the type of mom that I am, the type of wife that I am, the type of friend that I am (must remind myself to write future entry on the way this affects my friendship with Fertile Ones), and of course, the type of daughter I am.

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Just imagine.  If having sex could make a baby.  Wouldn’t that be really swell?

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That’s what I think, anyway.  Especially when it comes to infertility.  Sometimes there is a weird need to one-up others.  You know what I mean.  Oh, you are on clomid?  I’m on injectibles.  You’re on your second IVF?  I’m on my fourth.  You’ve never had a miscarriage?  I’ve had two.  It’s not really that we are mean-spirited towards others in the same boat, just that What We Are Going Through Is Worse Than Anyone Else’s Plight.  I have certainly fit that bill many times.  I think part of it is just human nature.  We only know the hurt we’re feeling ourselves–we only know our own disappointment, frustration, sadness…and we don’t think anyone else feels that way, unless they have done exactly what we have.  So how could IUI #2 for one compare to failed IVF #4 for me?  How could someone doing timed intercourse compare to someone doing an IUI with injectibles?

And then.  And then you read about someone who is so much deeper into this than you could ever imagine being.  Someone who has miscarried every time she has become pregnant.  Someone who has done five or six or seven IVFs with no pregnancy at all.  Someone whose baby died in the 25th week of pregnancy.  Someone who lost his spouse in childbirth.  Stories such as these give me a perspective I desperately need at times.  There are days when I can put on my brave face and smile at the pregnant lady on the corner (Twin girls.  Due two weeks before my boys were due).  But there are days when I just want to cower in the corner and hug my little boy and think about how I may never get to raise another biological child.  But this is life.  This is my life.  And it’s never going to get easier if I constantly think bitter thoughts in my head about the Luck(ier) Ones.   Or if I compare my story to the stories of other infertilebutnotASinfertile people.  That is not a healthy way to live a life.  Instead, I need to realize that there are so many people out there who are so much stronger than I am.  That I have NOT always been handed the short end of the stick.  That comparing my life to Fertile Lives is not ever going to produce a happy outcome. 

I may not have the life I always dreamed I would have I always thought I would marry a professional baseball player.  And live in New England.  And be a lawyer.  And have three kids.  And a dog.  Okay.  So those were junior-high dreams.  And so far, I’m 0-for-5.  But dreams can change.   Granted, there are certainly many things I would change right this minute if I could.  But we’re not given the power to change the unchangeable.  We ARE, however, given the power to change the way we VIEW the unchangeable.  I write this today in the hopes that in a few weeks, when I am all hopped up on drugs again, or, heaven forbid, the weeks after, if I find out this IVF cycle was another failure, that I will be able to look back on these words and embrace the idea of this post.  I don’t have it the worst.  I am so blessed and grateful.  And I will make it. 

I admit now though…I may need some gentle (and perhaps notsogentle!) reminders of this in the weeks to come…

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That was what I wanted to say to the un-delightful, un-courteous specialty pharmacy rep who called yesterday to inform me that my copay for the drugs for this upcoming cycle would be $6639.41.  Instead, I believe I said, I’m sorry, no that’s wrong, we have coverage.  After she un-sweetly told me that I was wrong, that was the total, I have no coverage, I handed her off to my Husband, who has a background in healthcare.  After a few short attempts to get our delightful rep to listen to him, he asked to speak with a supervisor.  Who was apparently quite polite and sweet and helpful.

Except.  We apparently have no coverage for injectibles.  We switched plans at the end of last year and had ordered our meds for the Jan cycle under the old plan, and then did the procedures under the new one.  So this is our first time trying to order injectibles under the new plan.  And that kind, loving woman who first called me was quite right.  We owe a lot of dough.  Recall my previous post in which I mentioned that needing a high dose of drugs meant more packages…um, also means more dollars. 

I am not complaining outright about this, I know that so many people have to pay completely out of pocket for allthingsivfrelated.  But when one is under the assumption that she won’t have to, the initial reality is a hard hit.  Who the HELL thought it was a smart idea to cover procedures (a trillion ultrasounds, retrieval, transfer) but not the very medication that makes said procedures possible?  Dumb.  Dumb dumb dumb.

7 Comments | In: August 09 | | #

Wednesday morning, I’m just getting my mail, probably humming a little tune as I open the door…and proceed to trip over a large box.  I LOVE packages.  Love them.  My heart speeds up just a little bit each time I see a Fed Ex or UPS or heck, even USPS truck slow as it nears my house.  I even like getting my fertility meds–and my need for high dosing means lots more packages!  But.  I knew soon enough not to be excited by this particular package.  The outside was not brown and new and inviting or red white and blue…it had a little baby on it, cradled in its moms hands.  Free formula.  Great.

I grabbed the mail from the mailbox and left the package at the door.  When Husband came home nine hours later, he pointed out the package on the front steps.  I told him to look closer at it, and yet he still looked puzzled.  So I kindly informed him and that it was sent just in case I was having a really good day, not feeling sad or blue, not thinking about miscarriage or IVF or babies or whatever….it was sent just so I could remember not to forget.  I was able to say it with a wry smile, because that’s they way it’s easiest to handle.   Poor husband.  Sometimes he just doesn’t get it.  Okay, mostly he just doesn’t get it.  But that’s okay.  We’ve come to terms with that…

This is the second time I have received a large box of baby-goodies in the past six weeks or so.  I made the mistake of opening the first, only to note that the enclosed letter started out, “Dear C, As your pregnancy is coming to an end and you are beginning to think more about nourishing your baby on the outside….”  Argh.  So I knew not to open the second.  Or the free newborn diapers that came sometime in between formula box one and formula box two.

Here’s my question, world:  How did I get on The List to begin with?  Did my RE, all confident and assured as I left his office for the alleged final time back in February, call The Listkeeper of All Pregnancies and put my name down?  Doubt it.  And I’ve been back about twenty times since.  Just saying.  He’s only ever called ME once, and even that was a tough call for him to make.  It couldn’t have been one of the nurses, they’re so busy.  So who, then?  My mom does have quite a mouthpiece on her…but there’s a limit to the amount of people she could have told.

And this begs the next question: Why am I not CROSSED OFF the list?  It would’ve been common courtesy for the original caller to give The Listkeeper a follow-up call when things went awry.  You know, so he could x off my name or something.  It would benefit both parties–they could send their free samples to someone who might actually need them, and I could not have to see what someone out there thinks I have, but don’t.

For the record: I have not thrown any of the samples away.  That seems like tempting fate, or sealing the deal, or closing the door on future Listmaking.  They all sit in the corner of my garage, just patiently waiting.

1 Comment | In: August 09 | | #