So nice of you to join us, Aunt Flow.

My monthly, uh, every few monthly friend decided to show her ugly face on Thursday afternoon. Needless to say, I didn't get an A+ on following bodily commands and I didn't get to have my baseline labs and ultrasound on Wednesday. It probably was for the better though since I ended up puking my guts out all day Wednesday and spent the next couple of days willing myself not to shart.

So, my baseline testing was moved to Friday morning instead. (Which also changed my one week followup testing to the Friday after and I already have the day of from work. Which means, I don't have to come up with another lie to tell my coworkers for why I need more time off. One more small victory for me biotch!) Anyhow, it all turned out perfectly. I was the only patient who's uterus did not follow directions so I was the only one to show up for testing that morning. Blood draw was first, and I was dreading it because not only do they usually blow the first vein and then mangle my hand to get blood out of me after threatening to take it from my chest or feet, but throwing up and pooping yourself leaves you dehydrated and a tad difficult to draw. Yay me. But, I got the nurse who is the best at drawing blood! First try, antecubital! Really, yay me!!

Then super blood drawer herded me into the exam room to do the ultrasound. I secretly panicked a little because if my uterus didn't follow simple when to start your period instructions, why would my endometrial lining follow "how thick you should be" instructions? They want your endometrium to be under 5mm, and mine was 4mm. Check me out, all normal and stuff. Both ovaries were free of cysts and nurse said as long as my labs came back where they needed to be I would start more medications that afternoon.

Since I was out of there in record time I had some time to kill before work. I had begged a casual to pick up half a day for me and couldn't just show up early and tell her to beat it. So, I walked around target for too long, put too many things in my cart, put most of them back and then left without remembering what I really had wanted. Pampers swaddlers SIZE 4!! I was in heaven when I got the email saying they were going to start carrying swaddlers in sizes 4 and 5 at Target only and was pretty excited to try them out. Plus, if you buy 2 boxes you get a $20 gift card. I'm pretty lucky to say that was my only real disaster of the day I guess.

I got the call from my favorite nurse to talk to on the phone later that afternoon with medication instructions. I got to start Estradiol three times a day and start wearing a vivelle dot patch. Basically, I get to pump myself full of my BFF estrogen for the next week. Let us recall that the urologist blamed high estrogen levels for my kidney stones. Fingers crossed we don't have to go down that pot hole road again.

Over the next week my endometrium should be bulking up to a chunky 10mm. Let's try and follow some simple orders this time, shall we uterus?

Oh yeah, and holy fricken mood swings. Watch out baby boy and hubby.

Wait! Is that....nope.

I finished my birth control pills on Saturday night. And now I wait for my period to start. No pressure, but they would like it to start by tomorrow so I can come in Wednesday morning for baseline ultrasound and blood work. It's all a big waiting game. And a forcing game. Forcing your body to do things that for some reason it doesn't want to do.

Waiting for your period to start during and IVF/FET cycle is kind of like waiting for your period to start when you don't want to be pregnant. You are tuned into every single little twinge in your body. I have had cramping since the Lupron injection on Wednesday. Today at work while I was trying to pretend to be interested in my patients story about her adorable 50 pound golden retriever, I couldn't help but feel a little twinge in my uterus. I just knew that it was the contraction that was going to flood my panty liner full of blood!! I politely cut dog lady off with a "you don't have a blood clot, now get the hell out of here" and all but knocked a slow old man over on my mad dash to the bath room 6 miles away. I thought about taking my cell phone with me to call the office mid pee and tell them I started! Yay! Not yay. No blood. Damn it. I was so sure this time. It was nothing like the first three times earlier in the day. But then...there was a little speck of blood on the toilet paper. Oh wait, that's just red fuzz. Damn red underwear.  And an hour later I was positive I started because I felt like I peed myself. Rush to bathroom, pull down undies, get out mircroscope...nope. Sweat? Really?! Give me break, I was really swamped today and it was really hot in the exam rooms all day. And I had been sprinting to the bathroom every three minutes.

I'm taking a break from letting these period thoughts consume my life tonight. Maybe go suck some boogies out of a little nose, watch some Bubble Guppies, and enjoy a braless night. I can't let this drive me crazy. Besides, it'll probably start in my sleep. As we speak, my legs and lower back are killing me. That's always a sure sign of period day number one!!

Just a Little Poke

I was at the IVF office bright and early on Monday morning. Actually, it was freezing and windy, no sun in sight.  Doctor was running late because of icy roads. 

First up was the sonohysterogram. This happened to be my third one, I'm an old pro. They really aren't that bad. Everything looked "perfect". It turns out little man left my uterus in working order during his delivery. So, anatomically, there is nothing holding us back from embryo transfer in a few weeks. I actually heard doctor mutter "that was easy" while he was sliding the catheter into my uterus. I usually would be offended after being called easy, but easy isn't a word thrown loosely around in an IVF lab so I'll take it.  In fact, I'm damn proud of my easy cervix.

Next, I was sent in with my least favorite nurse, J. She is always perfectly nice to me, and she was actually the one to call and give me the news that I was pregnant with little man, but for some reason she just rubs me wrong. I can't put my finger on it, but I prefer the other nurses in the office. When she gave me the "big fat positive" (what a positive pregnancy test is commonly referred to in the infertility world) call, she told me congratulations and then said I was really hoping yours would be positive. Umm, ok. As in, there are other women you can't wait to tell their dreams are once again crumbling down around them. Odd. Anyway, she was going to be the one to teach me how to do my Lupron injection since I'm an alumni at self injections. I think I've mentioned before that this is an $800 injection. I only get one chance to get it right. No pressure or anything. So, she explained how to do the injection and took our consents to thaw our two little embryos. 

It turns out, because our embryos were frozen at a later stage, they will not be thawed out until the morning of the transfer. J kindly reminded me that it is possible that neither will survive the thawing process and in that case they will call me before we get to the office and there will be no need for us to come in. Thanks, negative Nancy. I had been doing pretty good at thinking all positive thoughts. Now I can't get that scenario out of my mind. It's almost a two hour drive down the main office where all procedures are done and all I can think about not is getting the phone call that we have no surviving embryos so we might as well just turn around and do home empty handed, ugh, empty uterused? Great. 

I ended the visit by handing over a major credit card to pay in advance for the embryo transfer I was now certain was never going to happen. Always a pleasure, J.

Wednesday night I got to come home from work and give myself the Lupron injection locked in my bathroom with little man and hubby running around outside the door. 

This is what a dual chamber Lupron Depot Syringe looks like. Cuddly, huh?

 

I had people to feed and butts to change, so there wasn't time for dilly dallying. I carefully and quickly mixed the dual chamber Lupron syringe, swabbed my cheek in a spot I assumed had some muscle somewhere under the fat with alcohol and proceeded to stab myself with the needle. Not painful at all. I must still have a tough butt from all the previous injections from my first go around. Medication went in smoothly, I pulled the needle out, and blood everywhere! Yup, I'm still quite the bleeder. My little white bathroom looked a little like a murder seen. I also knocked the mirror I propped up the toilet so I could see where I was poking over during the process. I held my breath as I watched it fall knowing it would shatter and curse my last chance at a baby. I had made up my mind that I was calling the office and calling it off before it even hit the tiles. But, then it crashed to the ground...and it was still in one piece!  Maybe I am lucky after all. Maybe it is part of God's plan to give our little man a sibling, or two. Big fat positive or not, we are already blessed with a beautiful, healthy son. But, I'm not going to let negative Nancy can't get me down. I'm going to start pinning on my secret "second pregnancy board" now because out of all the why would it works, there are just as many why wouldn't it works. No use in walking around all doom and gloom.

Here we go Again.

Well, it's that time again.

We are ready to take on that bitch, infertility, and give our beautiful, healthy little boy a sibling. He is seventeen months old and quickly becoming a spoiled rotten little thing. My husband and I have decided that it is time to give him a little brother or sister to share mommy and daddy with.

We met with our reproductive endocrinologist at the start of November to get the ball rolling. I went into the appointment not too sure of what we were getting ourselves into. It turns out a frozen embryo transfer seems so much simpler than the first go around since we do not have to go through the ovulation induction and egg retrieval. We already know that we have two embryos on ice, or liquid nitrogen if you want to get all technical, patiently waiting for us to come back for them.

So after some thyroid labs, off we went to wait 35 days for my period to not show up, as usual. Called the office on day 35 to schedule my next set of labs- pregnancy test. Later that day, I received the call from the office that I was indeed, not pregnant and to start taking birth control pills on December 23rd. Ironic isn't it?

A couple of weeks ago I got the go ahead to order all of my cycle medications through mail order. $1,200 later I got my big ole box of drugs via Fedex. Complete with a big stash of needles and my very own biohazard sharps container! Yay. Thanks, insurance, for covering most of the cheaper meds except for my ONE injection of Lupron (which I got at a steal for $800) what would I do without you?

This morning I began taking Vibramycin to insure I do not get an infection from my mock transfer scheduled for tomorrow morning. I always feel so lovely on antibiotics. In the morning I get to have the  sonohysterogram to insure all my mommy parts are in anatomical working order after delivery of my handsome son. Speculum in vagina, catheter through cervix, sterile water injected into uterus, all during a vaginal ultrasound. Beautiful way to start any morning, really.

Assuming all goes well, and labs continue to look good, and our little babysicles survive the thawing process, the embyro transfer should take place on February 8th. Holy crap am I nervous.

This is our absolute last chance at biological children. I can not physically, emotionally, or financially put myself through another full blown IVF cycle. The first one really took a toll on my then 24 year old body, and now two years later, I still feel about 63. On a good day. The high estrogen induced by IVF meds last time are believed to have caused my kidney stones and gallstones. I had my gallbladder removed when our son was 6 weeks old, and have felt physically ill since that day. No one seems to know why, but I feel that avoiding putting my body through the stress of ovulation induction again is important to my health.

Our doctor has faith that the FET is going to have a positive outcome. He says that the odds are as good as a fresh cycle as they are with a frozen cycle. As long as our little ice ice babies survive thawing. He is confident that at least one of the two will. I believe that part is in Gods hands only. So, please God, give our little ones some toasty warmth and bring them healthy and happy to where they belong, in our arms.

Just call me Myrtle. Infertile Myrtle.

"You have zero percent chance of getting pregnant."

Inhale.

It's not like I haven't felt heartbroken before. When I was a little girl, I had dreams. Expectations.  I grew up with happily married parents who were high school sweethearts and married at 18. 

I expected to have some boy fall madly in love with me and meet me at the altar while the ink was still wet on my diploma. When so called head over heels boy ripped my heart out of my chest and stomped on it, I changed my expectations. It took time but I realized through this heartache that I deserved to be respected and loved like I was the only girl in the world. Then, I fell in love with a boy who gave me those things. He turned into the man I married not at 18, but at 21, and the ink was barely dried on my college degree. Close enough. Heart healed. 

I expected to have all the most important people to me near by and smiling on my wedding day. Little girls imagine this day all the time. I just replaced the groom with whatever teen heart throb was on the cover of Tiger Beat that week. When I finally had that sparkly engagement ring on my finger and had the love of my life's face to put in my imagination wedding day, I had to face the fact that my grandfather was not going to make it to that day. I had always had a special bond with my grandpa and he was always there dancing in my wedding dreams. On a cold fall night I was there saying goodbye to  one of my favorite men. As he took his last breath, I felt like he had taken mine with him. Seriously, lungs of fire, heart crushed. My fiance was there with a hand to hold and a shoulder to cry on. And on our wedding day he filled my heart so full of love that I had no room left for sorrow or self pity. Grandpa would have been proud of me and the man I married. Heart healed.

I expected to have a career that I loved and the financial stability that went along with it. Not many 21 year old women have that these days, but I did. I loved my job....and I loved my pay check. Then the economy went south. Numbers were low. I was let go. Again, Heart break. I was so tired of heart break. It was the day before I was meeting my husband out of state for a sunny vacation. I. could. not. stop. crying. Not only was my life ruined, but so was my husbands. I had no idea what I was going to do. My husband did. Get on the plane. Fly down south. Act like nothing changed. Have fun. Go home. Search for a job. Life moves on. He will take care of me. Six months later, with a very supportive man in my corner, I found a new job. Heart healed.

I expected to give my husband children. I expected to be a mommy. Now, after three years of trying to start a family this damn doctor is breaking my heart. "You have zero percent chance of getting pregnant." this is a whole new world of heartache.  Never mind that I had taken literally over 100 pregnancy tests over the past two years. Never mind that I had been poked and prodded and shot up with dye. Never mind the nights I cried myself to sleep because I was so lost in my need to have a baby. Never mind the days in Walmart when I caught myself staring at all the babies and all the extremely pregnant women waddling around and it took everything I had not to drop to the floor in the fetal position and beg God to make me disappear. Never mind whispering to my sisters newborn baby that I wished he could be mine for just one day. Never mind convincing myself that my husband hated me for not being able to give him a child. This was worse. My heart was in pieces on the floor. I'm pretty sure the doctor held my lungs in his hands squeezing like his life depended on it.  I could see he was still talking. I couldn't comprehend the words. It sounded like I was under water. I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. God, I couldn't breathe. But, then he said "We will do IVF. I guarantee I will get you pregnant". Out of all my dreams, I never had that one. A strange man insisting he can get me pregnant, with my husband standing by. Awkward. He had my attention now.

The next months were terrible. Filled with self injections, medications, ultrasounds, blood work, egg retrieval, growing embryos and embryo transfer. Not to mention, thousands and thousands of dollars that we didn't really have. And doubt, Lord was there doubt. We doubted that God would want us to do IVF. I doubted that it would work. I doubted I could get through it physically. The medications made it so hard to breathe. God, why was it so hard to breathe lately?? On egg retrieval day they got 19 eggs from my ovaries. Only 15 were mature. Only 9 were fertilized by my husbands "best men".  After five days of growing in a test tube, four embryos were healthy enough to transfer to my uterus. We decided to transfer two. I laid there with a painfully full bladder, ultrasound probe pressing on pelvis, doctor threading 5,342 feet of catheter into my uterus, hand in hubby's hand, and watched my two little specks move into my uterus. It's all very romantic. I wish we had candles in retrospect. Maybe some rose petals. Definitely a few more med students huddled around us. Then it was over. Doctor handed us our first picture of our children (a picture of the embryos under the microscope) and said "I've done everything I can, it's in Gods hands now." 

Aren't they precious?

Then we waited. 12 days. Blood work every other day. By the way, needles are nothing now. I can inject progesterone oil into my my cheeks without a flinch, eyes closed. Pick a cheek, any cheek. I talked to my babies all the time. I prayed that they were ok. I loved them every second of every day. I prayed some more. God knows how much I prayed. Then I got the call. I. was. PREGNANT! I couldn't stop laughing. Who does that??? It turned out that only one baby had made it. I was again heart broken for my lost little baby, but I still had one child growing inside of me. Take that, Infertility!

Heart healed, right? 

Not quite. I'm a bitter girl. I try not the be, really. But even though I finally became a mother, I still feel an ache in my heart when I hear another girl got pregnant (without even trying, her boyfriend just looked at her and POW, pregnant). I still feel like my heart stops when I think about having a second child. It is not a guarantee. My husband can't just pump me full of margaritas, take advantage of me and be holding a newborn 9 months later. It takes months of medication, thousands of dollars, tests, and procedures to maybe get pregnant. I worry that it's selfish of me to want another biological child when God has already blessed us with one. 

This is one heartache that I never expected, and it never completely goes away. Infertility is a cold hearted bitch if you ask me. 

But, guess what? I can breathe now. Because this ridiculously handsome little man calls me Mama.

So, heart healed? Yes. But, definitely scarred for life. 

Exhale.