Eating my own words.

When we were in the throes of the fresh part of this lastchance cycle, I remember looking at Mr. LC and saying: "Boy am I glad this is the last time to go to a retrieval."

When we nervously pressed play on our answering machine to hear our fertilization report, my hands were shaking. I said to him again: "Who does this to themselves? This is awful...all this waiting, all this nervousness. Never, ever again."

When we woke up the morning of the transfer and my phone rang with the familiar C.C.R.M. area code I freaked out and said to Mr. LC: "Never again. Who can put themselves through this kind of agony, this kind of waiting for the possible bad news?"

And now I'm eating my words.

I've been starving for four years and I finally had a taste of success. The tiniest sliver of nourishment, of sustenance, was offered to me and I greedily gobbled it right down.

And now I think, how do I get more of that? That tasted so incredibly good. That morsel made me the happiest I've been in my entire life. I've now been made even more aware of just how hungry I really really was, all those years.

Please, sir, can I have a little more?

But this was it. Our last chance. And so I have to think about those words, and try to capture the way I felt when I said them. I have to try to get to that place mentally--when I felt like I would soon be free from all of this ART nightmare.

Of course the inherent danger with saying anything grandiose is that you never can anticipate how you'll feel when you get to the next step. When you fail the next cycle.

And really, there isn't an option. I haven't suddenly gotten a raise and Mr. LC hasn't gotten discovered. Despite numerous national awards we're still in the hole on that venture. He doesn't even want to do it anymore, and who can blame him? I took a second job but it's to help pay off the lastchance IVF. I literally looked on the Discovery Health website to see how to pitch my story--because hey, who doesn't like to watch a train wreck? But apparently you have to have a producer pitch the story.

Any producers out there reading?
Two responsible, mature grown ups, sans any addictions (except maybe to cycling??) want desperately to be parents. The mister is a children's musician on the side (ironic!) and the missus can bake like the best of them. They've failed five in vitro cycles--wouldn't you like to follow them on a few more?

Oh wait--we'd just open ourselves up for all the abuse--how selfish! why not just adopt! there are so many needy kids out there so why spend resources to create your own! why do you want to be like octomom!

I'm just writing to stay alive.

PS We did not book our now MUCH NEEDED trip to NYC. It just got too expensive. Oh how hindsight is 20/20.

Ugly

I am warning any readers, I am not in a pretty place right now.

I did have many things to be thankful for, but I'm sorry, right now the bad overshadows the good. My heart is raw.

Sleep is now my enemy. When I can fall asleep, I have dreams about two f'ing lines on a home pregnancy test. I'm so blissful in those dreams, until the lines evaporate in front of me and I'm told they're just that--evaporation lines. I woke up yesterday after dreaming about two pink lines and the pain was so real again I went into the shower to sob.

Because, see, I had to keep it together for my Mom, who knew nothing of this. Who is in such a bad place herself right now dealing with my Dad that I was literally holding her up. Being strong for her. When all I really wanted to do was curl into a ball in her lap and bawl my eyes out and tell her how horrible I feel.

Instead, I changed my Dad's diapers.

Instead, we sat around crying trying to figure out the next steps for his care.

Instead, I cried onto my Dad's shoulder while he tried to comfort me--my tears for his pain and anguish and my own.

Instead, I pushed him around his property while he talked aloud about how he can't wait to get to work on his pine tree farm again.

My Dad's fight is like our fight.

After his stroke, I just knew that if anyone had a chance, it was him. He was strong, he was a fighter. He was going to defy the odds and surprise everyone.

We were too.

And now I just feel like we make quite the pair: both broken, unfixable, our families and loved ones circling around us trying to do little things to make us feel better, hoping we'll just accept our plight and make the best of it. My Dad still thinks he's going to get better--he cannot face his new reality. I can't either.

I feel like an MRI of my reproductive future would look as grim as my Dad's brain MRI. Shocking, even.

Today while driving home we talked about one week ago today. One week ago today our world looked bright and happy. One week ago today, as foolish as it was, I was making plans. Imagining hanging a tiny third stocking next to our two big ones. Today, I have the physical reminder of my failure, I bleed and bleed and bleed, and we will hang two stockings yet again. If we even bother to put up Christmas decorations.

If we had a million dollars we 'd keep trying.

But we don't.

I've appreciated the new readers/commenters. I appreciate any ideas.

I'm just so lost.

Edit to add: I'm so lost I'm just sitting here staring at the TV. Dangerous. I saw an ad for a new series on Discovery Health called: "I'm pregnant and I'm __________" and they filled in the blank with things like: bipolar, homeless, addicted to meth, etc. etc. etc.

Because that's what we need to see. Why don't they do a special on me and pay for me to do IVF time and time again until it works because I'm NOT homeless, addicted to meth, bipolar or anything other than READY to be a mother.

The power of the test line.

One emotion I have felt this go around that is new is surprised.

As in, surprised at how incredibly awful I feel right now.

Most people would wonder how someone who has failed miserably at four IVFs could be surprised at the feelings of another failure...after all, we've been here before.

But it's like seeing that test line come up positive stripped away all my previous armour that I had built up from surviving other negatives. I was suddenly reduced to my bare, raw self, fully exposed. It was like the past four years just faded into oblivion--suddenly they didn't matter. All that mattered was seeing a positive.

We spent the day running errands. We kept grabbing onto each others hands and looking at each other and just smiling. Mr. LC said he was finally, finally feeling content.

So yeah, I wasn't prepared for this. I am surprised. I thought it would either be an epic fail or a resounding success. And whether this makes me a fool or not, I deep down honestly thought, despite our low chance of success, that we would beat it.

For a short while I was a hospice nurse. I remember one time giving this woman a shot and as I reached down to put the bandaid on, she reached up and grabbed my hand in a panic. She was emaciated, cancer having destroyed her body, but her grip was surprisingly strong. She had thin wisps of hair, no eyebrows, no eyelashes, because she had fought with chemo up until the bitter end. Her skin was like paper. When her hand grabbed my arm she said "Wait! I'm allergic to latex! Those aren't latex are they?"

Because even while dying in a hospice, she was fighting to live.

I think if I had asked her, she still thought she was going to surprise everyone and beat her disease.

Because even while knowing the odds were against us, we were fighting to succeed.

And yeah, if you asked me, I thought we were going to beat infertility.

But we didn't. We lost. And I still wake up in the night and can't quite wrap my brain around that. I don't know what that says about me. Am I stupid? A fighter? In complete and total denial?

We feel completely and totally lost about where to go next. When I've previously mentioned Plan A, well, suddenly that just isn't as black and white either.

Does anyone have a map they can loan me?

And PS: Happy Thanksgiving. It breaks my heart all over again when I think about the news I am not going to be giving.

Sadness

I guess today I'm in the sadness stage.

Profound sadness.

I think it started last night, considering I sat in the middle of my kitchen on the floor and sobbed for an hour or so.

My heart is hurting so much and that doesn't describe it.

I went for my final insult blood draw this morning. I threw away those positive HPTs because I could no longer stand to see them.

I talked to my sister last night. She reminded me, quite matter of factly, that because of past experience I know that time will help. Yeah, she's right. But she's also fertile and has absolutely no fucking idea of the pain I am in. She never will; it's simply impossible for her. She takes her kids to soccer and does homework with them and bakes cookies with them and is already doing Santa Claus shopping for them and she carried them in her uterus for nine months and felt them kick and felt them grow and laid on her bed at night in awe and wonder watching her belly move with their movements and said to her husband "look at this! feel this!" and he did and she went through labor and birthed them and saw them come screaming into the world and then she nursed them at her breast and she knew that when they cried someone would pick them up and she knew that she gave them the best chance in life because she took excellent care of herself and she watched them sleeping in their crib at night in amazement that they were hers.

And I will get none of that. And I'm sorry, no amount of time heals that wound completely.

PS I didn't go out to dinner on Saturday with my doc friend. Their beta yesterday was 255. Because it was their first IVF. Because they cycled with us, so that naturally meant we would lose and they would win. Because that's the way it feels right now.

Oh the places we WON'T go.

*First of all, I so appreciate all of the comments and support. It means the world to me. Secondly, I'll probably be writing a LOT here, because I write to process. That doesn't mean you have to keep reading and/or commenting. I know my story gets tired and old. Believe me, I know.



I'm in the anger stage. Full on, bonafide PISSED.

At everyone.

One thing is painfully clear, there are now a whole list of places I won't be going. And yes, I'm staying on the meds and rechecking, but let's be real. My Saturday day HPT was positive. One of my Sunday HPTs was positive--the same brand as Saturday's. That was the Target knock off FRER, which has been known to detect Hcg as low as 12.5, but now I'm thinking 9 as well. So what was it picking up on Saturday? Likely a slightly higher Hcg, which was then caught on its way down on Sunday. Plus, the only symptom I was having at all--vague light-headedness--has disappeared.

So here's a quick list: (I'm too tired to write it Seussian style)

An OB/GYN's for an actual OB appointment. Just gyn for me.

A maternity clothes store.

An ultrasound visit.

A baby store to register for newborn things.

A tour of a labor and delivery unit with nervous anticipation.

A parking space in one of those fucking "expectant mom's" spots. Nope, not me.

The list could go on and on and on...



Mr. LC is, predictably, my rock. He has not fallen apart yet, maybe he won't. All I know is that somehow yesterday our laundry was done and put away, the kitchen was cleaned, I was fed, my lab coat was ironed, and I had a lunch made this morning. And all I remember doing was bawling my brains out yesterday, leaning into him so tightly I could scarcely breathe. And now the irrational fears that something will happen to him are starting...if I lose him, I lose myself.

I looked at him yesterday and said "As long as it's just you and me here in the house, I can survive."

But the world--out there, hell, even here--is a scary place. There are fertiles and former-infertiles-with success everywhere. The percentage of people like us--who have failed and failed and failed and failed and failed--is low. We are not normal, and we are very much alone in most ways. With every failure at a biological child, our sense of separateness from the majority of the world grows. We do not feel like waves in the ocean with our fellow humans, we feel like freaks who cannot attain the most natural of goals.

I am sick of it. I want to run away, but can anyone tell me where to go? I want to quit my job, sell our house, and move far away where no one knows us. Where we aren't pitied. Where people don't secretly thank God they aren't us. Because I know it's true. I know my friends look at their beautiful children and thank their lucky stars they aren't us. Who could blame them?

I am pissed. I did everything right. I was healthy. My body has utterly betrayed me yet again. And today I sit, seeing patient after patient, my hollow urgings to get them to take better care of themselves, and they aren't even willing to lift a finger. I'm on autopilot today.

This morning I looked at my dogs. They're perplexed right now. Why so many tears? Why so much sadness in our house? They don't understand. What happened to the happy-happy-joy-joy that was all day Saturday?

They want it back. I do too. I want to reverse time and stare at that positive HPT--to feel content and joyous like that--for the rest of my life. I can't even bear to throw them away, my little reminders of something that will never be mine.

Three surgeries.

Two months of induced menopause.

Hundreds of shots.

Nearly $80,000.

More vaginal ultrasounds than anyone should endure.

Two endometrial biopsies.

Three months of no sugar and gag-inducing protein shakes.

Six months of acupuncture.

Two trips out of state.

Five in vitro cycles.



The final result: 9.



Universe: You win.

When a line isn't a line.

Short story: it's over.

Long story: yesterday was total bliss. I POAS and got two lines. A second line that was easy to see, even for Mr. LC. Even for the camera. We photographed it. I emailed it to my sister--Yes! Yes! She saw it too.

This morning I repeated. The same test showed a positive. Two other tests not so much. So we knew were headed towards a not good place.

I went to the lab, keeping myself together. I wasn't even crying. Relief as I saw no other infertiles with their Sunday stat lab orders to have to contend with...until. Until there was a woman in the actual lab draw chair asking how long stat orders took. I looked at Mr. LC and mouthed "Newbie." Then the lab tech asked her if her home test was positive and she exclaimed "Yes! So I can't wait to hear my number."

At which point I broke down.

Full on bawling.

My heart shattered into a million pieces right there on the lab floor.

That was supposed to be me, you see. Me. Not her. I don't care who she is--I doubt she has worked as hard as me. I don't care if that makes me a selfish bitch. I'm not. It's just rare you find someone else who has gone through five in vitro cycles.

I was shaking so hard I could hardly roll my sleeve up for the final insulting lab draw.

Fast forward to several hours later when we still haven't heard from C.C.RM. so I have to page them. And then my horrible, awful, unfeeling nurse from my last cycle picks up.

"Why yes, I do have your beta. It's really low. It's a 9."

As in, single digits NINE. How does a f'ing HPT even pick that up?

Then she has the gall to say to me "Well you've been down this road before."

Um, excuse me, no I have not. I've only ever had stark white negatives, beta=0. To which she actually replied "Oh well, this is a positive. You should retest on Tuesday but it is really low."

I think I hung up on her.

And to think: yesterday I had a heart full of happiness and hope and goodness. Today I feel like crawling into a cave and never coming out.

Your support has been wonderful. Amazing. Beyond what anyone could expect or hope for. I have felt you all through each step.

I don't know what to do now.

I'm out of energy for anything right now. I guess we'll always be in the 1.25%.

Oh the places you'll go!

Our SS class did a study on Dr. Seuss. Last week we read "Oh The Places You'll Go" which mostly makes me think of high school graduation.

But reading it again, as a full on grown up, who's been a few 'places' certain passages just jumped out and grabbed my heart.

You can get so confused
that you'll start in to race
down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace
and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space,
headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.
The Waiting Place...

...for people just waiting.
Waiting for a train to go
or a bus to come, or a plane to go
or the mail to come, or the rain to go
or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow
or waiting around for a Yes or a No
or waiting for their hair to grow.
Everyone is just waiting.

Is this what we've been doing these past four and half years? Racing down long wiggled roads, grinding on for miles across a weirdish wild space? Always in the most useless place--the waiting place? We have tried tried tried to live our lives, to keep on going, to not be deterred. But truthfully, when you're trying to make HAVING KIDS happen it's kind of a turning point, no? Our lives haven't been on hold 100%, but seriously, everything has been delayed.

And now suddenly, the wait becomes two days. From four and half years to two days to finally KNOW.

This next part also grabbed us both:

And will you succeed?
Yes! You will, indeed!
(98 and 3/4 percent guaranteed.)

KID, YOU'LL MOVE MOUNTAINS!

I wish I could say it was the "Kid you'll move mountains!" part. Well, that made me tear up. But that 98 3/4 percent guaranteed--we both looked at each other and mouthed "We're in the 1.25% other percent."

Because there are no guarantees. I've seen women transfer perfect embryos and not have them stick around and then there are the ones where less than ideal embryos decide to become perfect babies and make their parents' dreams come true.

It could go either way.

Oh the places we've been...

Oh the places we'll go.

What dreams may come.

Oh the dreams!

Last night was the most vivid two-line HPT dream I've ever had. Mr. LC and I were in a hotel for some reason (maybe because so much of this process has been spent in hotels) and I was taking a test. We decided it was defective because some little message popped up. So we took another one. Mr. LC looked at it and said "I think it's negative." Then I looked at it and saw that it was, in fact, quite positive and this Mr. LC was whacko. Then both tests were remarkably positive.

We whooped it up all over the hotel room.

Suddenly my Mom was coming (!) and I said "Mr. LC we have to hide these tests because I want to tell her at Thanksgiving!"

So I frantically grabbed them up and stuffed them in my purse for safekeeping.

Then I woke up.

Once again, for those milliseconds of time when dreams and reality are blurred I had a smug satisfaction in my heart that it had worked. Then I opened my eyes and adjusted to the fact that it was 5:30 AM and I had to get cracking but I let the happiness from that dream carry me into the shower and beyond.

I'm going to sleep every night listening to a hyponofertility CD that the gracious Phoebe gave to me. I definitely think I'm having more peaceful sleep, and I'm glad for that.

Yesterday the doc I work with who is going through IVF popped into my office and asked if we could all go to dinner this Saturday night.

Gulp.

Saturday night. The night before beta.

Likely we will test Saturday at some point. We can't be blindsided. They won't know until Monday and have decided not to take a home test. This being their first IVF, the fact that they had stellar fertilization rates, the fact that they had beautiful blasts to transfer, the fact that the only reason they're doing IVF is because she exercises so much she doesn't ovulate (seriously) means that it will work for them.

I told him that depending on our test results we may or may not be the best company.

Please please please let my dream from last night play out in real life (well, not the hotel part).

Kramer! Elaine! Jerry! George! One of you--make me a mother. Make Mr. LC a father.

Please.

The highs and the lows...

The highs:

• Coming home to fresh flowers from our pet sitter. She always sits for us for all our Colorado escapades and she--like many people--really want this for us. We always come home to fresh flowers.
• Coming home to a handmade card from Stacey, one of my IRL bestest friends. She is a writer and her words are beautiful. I'm not sure I have lived up to/can live up to everything she wrote in there, but I try :)
• Coming home to furbabies. Need I say more?
• Being PUPO X4. I know it doesn't quadruple our chances, but still...
• Receiving a beautiful "Hope on a String" bracelet from P. It is delicate and beautiful--just like the hope I feel.
  

The lows:

• Doubt creeping in. Why would this time be any different? True, we did a lot of different things--FET, biopsies, transferring four...but will they lead to a different outcome?
  
• Did I mention doubt?
• Did I?
• Don't feel a thing-you know, I so hoped I could feel some little twinge here or there to let me know someone had stuck around.

We are halfway through the 2WW already. That's definitely something. We keep reminding ourselves that this is Plan B. We do, in fact, have a Plan A that is fairly well executed already. But right now the focus is all on Plan B.

I really want this to work.

Did I mention that?

I find myself reading blogs and posts about positive day 3 transfers and going--nearly each and every time--"Huh! They can work!"

I hate the 2 WW.

Leaving the Mile High City

I'm sitting in the Denver Airport right now. Free wifi--yay!

Bedrest was good, but it does get old. Phoebe came and visited me on Wednesday night and we had an Indian food picnic on the bed. I'd post a picture but all that stuff is packed away.

Mr. LC and I were perusing some of our old pictures and videos--and much to my dismay I realized I wore the same knee-socks to several of my past unsuccessful transfers. Ruh-roh. I brought them because 1) they're knee socks and my legs get cold in those stupid gowns and 2) I have a toe thing. As in, I don't want anyone seeing my toes. I noticed about half an hour before the transfer that there was a big old hole in the bottom of one. Classy, eh? I wanted to joke with Dr. S that I had to wear holey socks because we'd spent all our money on IVF but then again, I didn't want to be a downer in there.

So back to the socks....and the pajamas. I realized I also wore my fave flannel sock monkey PJs on bedrest for most of my transfers. Oh well--I don't really believe in that kind of stuff, but I DO believe in all the good luck charms you guys sent and that I held tightly to. Those suckers are bound to work.

The way I figure it, those little embies are turning into blasts today, right this very minute. That's what I'm choosing to believe.

By the way, we named them: Jerry, George, Elaine, and Kramer.

I post journals on another IF site and I got some pretty funny comments when I named my embies over there. One woman said to watch out that one doesn't split and I wind up with a Newman on board, too! Yikes. The other said to watch out for the Elaine embie to do her 'little kicks' dancing the whole nine months :)

Come Jerry, George, Elaine, and Kramer! One of you has GOT to stick, right??

Question: Does anyone buy into the pineapple thing? If so, tell me all about it. I'm not a fan but you know I'll do anything at this point.

Valium is my friend...

We're back. Actually we've been back for a while (in the hotel) but the Valium induced sleep got the best of me!

I'll keep it brief...we showed up, had blood drawn, then went in for acupuncture. That was all fine and good and very relaxing. I had been semi-freaking out with regular intervals that the embryos wouldn't thaw properly or they'd all arrest right in front of their eyes, etc. So the acupuncture was nice in terms of getting me to calm the heck down.

Dr. S came in and had a big smile on his face. He said "well, we've got five very good embryos here, so we're going to transfer four of them. Two 8-cells, one 7-cell and one 6-cell." Then he read off something about another 7 cell but I wasn't following. You know, 'cuz of the Valium. They'll culture the rest just in case any of them turn into anything further, but embryology said we likely won't even get a call until Monday because day 6 would be on Saturday. If anything that's left turns into a blast I'll be blown away, but you never know, right?

There was a lot of waiting before Dr. S came in and Mr. LC had his laptop in the room. We started listening to some of our favorite tunes. In fact, we started listening to the THE SONG that we've been saving and saving to make our long-awaited BFP video. So when the actual transfer took place, it was playing! It was awesome to see that little blip on the ultrasound screen while hearing my special song going, and seeing all those smiling faces around me.

Everyone was so encouraging and warm and friendly. The mood was so nice. I felt happy.

Whoa.

I felt happy at a transfer.

I think previously I only felt happy at transfers 1 and 2. Transfers 3 and 4 I bawled at. So it was so nice to get that feeling back.

I had all of your stuff with me! See the picture:


Thank you to everyone--it was so nice to have all of the good luck charms and the photos and the written well wishes to hold on to and look at and think about. Support is essential--and I definitely felt supported! And now: WE WAIT.

The last 150 yards.

I am home again. But only for a few days--eek!

Yesterday I spent the bulk of the day sitting by my Dad's side. He is tired on Saturdays. Five days in a row of therapy make him want to sleep a lot on Saturdays. So I just sat by his bed and read, and watched him sleep. Some stretches he was like a little kid--calling out my name every five minutes or so just to make sure I was still right there while he was dozing. I was.

Later in the day Mr. LastChance brought his dog up to see him. Imagine an 80-lb boxer traipsing through the halls of the nursing home (to get to the courtyard) and then imagine this: my heart breaking when my Dad said the following (he always calls his dog 'Boy'):

"Boy, when I get home we can wrestle again in the grass like always. You'd like that wouldn't you? And then you can go running next to me when I ride my bike. Just like always. Remember how we always sprinted in the last 150 yards?"

Before we left my Dad got to telling stories about his high school days--and dates! It was fun. He even laughed--his face twisted into a beautiful half smile that to anyone else would probably look like a painful grimace--but to us, it was pure heaven to see.

We drove home late last night, as always, emotionally spent and physically tired.

I walked into the kitchen and there is was: my package!

I tore right into it. I was practically bawling. You ladies are the best. There really are no words. I love love love how I have pictures of some of you to take with me-I already knew you were beautiful, but now I have confirmation. And the charms, and bracelets, and good luck talismans--awesome.

So the lovely Brenda put all these photos and good luck charms and well-wishes together on a giant ring so I can keep them all together with me. I love the magic wand from KayJay (and getting to see her sweet face!), I love the pic of Jill, and Brenda herself, and Lorraine, and Lisa, and B&D didn't send a pic but sent pics of her most treasured good luck charms (thanks for not sending the well-used running shorts :)). I love it ALL!

Sarah sent me a beautiful handmade charm bracelet with a lovely description of each charm and it's significance...thank you.

Ms. Meg sent me a package too--in the last days right before her spectacular wedding (I feel so honored that she took the time to do this for me at such an incredibly hectic time for her). The picture of her head on a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader body cheering me on--priceless, plus I love the pin for keeping "cool as a cucumber" and the rings and the stones.

And I can't forget my two IRL friends Bea and Megan. They've been here through it all. They've offered to help in physical ways that are beyond selfless. They also know me pretty well in terms of my chocolate addiction. So allow me to introduce my personalized M&Ms.... (they have pics of Mr. LC and I on them!!!...there were also ones that were personalized with our last name, but I couldn't post those, now could I?). This is just a small sampling by the way, there are many, many more of these delectable milk chocolate bites!

And Gail, sent me an adorable teddy bear by way of her little Katie, already five months old. Katie sends it with lots and lots of luck.

I'm in the last 150 yards guys, of what many would deem an ultra-marathon. I feel you all around me. Maybe we're sprinting, I'm not sure. But we're heading towards a finish line of sorts and whether we win or lose, I'm better for the journey and I've had some incredible company.

Whew!

Ok, so Mr. LC decided to travel with me, so he couldn't post for me. And I am just now 1) at a computer with internet and 2) away from my mother.

The quick and dirty:
We're on for transfer!

The drawn out saga:

1) Went to my u/s this morning. Immediately saw that the triple stripe wasn't nearly as prominent as last week. We (Mr. LC and I) could see the stripe, but we were both like "why is it hazy?" I think it's fairly hilarious that Mr. LC is so good at reading uterine ultrasounds. Otherwise, it was 12.3 mm, so it didn't thicken a whole lot more.
2) My local doc took about twelve different pictures of the uterus and they said they would email them to CC.R.M.
3) I waited on pins and needles for them to analyze them and deem my uterus worthy or unworthy.
4) In the meantime, I had marked my own lab stat call and listed my cell phone so I could get the results. It was hilarious when the lab called my cell, I answered "Hello?" and the lab person goes "Hello doctor? We have the results on your patient so and so." and then proceeded to tell me my estrogen went DOWN to 84 and my P4 was o.5. WTF?? Why did my E2 go down?
5) I called my nurse back, frantically, to tell her my numbers. She still hadn't received the u/s images. She told me "we're not as concerned about the numbers as we are about the ultrasound."
6) I called my local doc back (again, frantic) and asked that they please email the images STAT.
7) Just as I was walking into the facility where my Dad is CC.R.M. calls back to say my ultrasound images look wonderful, no worries at all. And just to add some oral estrace in a very low dose (because Dr. M doesn't want my lining growing anymore) get repeat bloodwork on Monday (though that won't hold up the transfer, it's just to see how to dose me) and of course start my progesterone on Sunday.
8) And oh yeah, we'll see you on Wednesday for your transfer.

SIGH OF RELIEF.

So once again, it was a roller coaster day.

And can I say, I am so grateful I came to see my Dad! e've had one of the best days today, despite all my own personal uterine drama.

And when I get home, I cannot wait to start posting some of the awesome things I have received as good luck... I will give you a hint: personalized M&Ms and a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader. That's all I'm sayin'...but I can't wait to give you the detes.

Now I'm off to bed. This drama is draining.

Ramping up

I guess it's common, but I definitely start to feel this 'writy writy' thing start to happen when a cycle is gearing up/picking up steam. Posts swirl around and around in my brain all the time.

So here I am.

Last night I dreamed that I showed up at CC.R.M. and everyone was glum, because they knew my estrogen wasn't high enough. Dr. M showed up and said she needed to do a little uterine fluffing and pulled out this big ol catheter (like the one from the biopsy!) and I started telling her how painful the biopsies were and she was super sympathetic..then rooted around in my uterus and told me everything looked beautiful! There were nurses suddenly everywhere and they all cheered.

Okkkkkkkkkaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay.

The dreams have commenced!

On another note, I read a lot of blogs. On my old place I recently linked to a bunch of new ones. What frequently happens is I start following new ones and then they have success and then I feel sad and then I find new ones to follow that are still struggling. It's a neverending cycle, kind of like IF. It's not that I don't want anyone else to have success--duh!--but I also need to know I'm not alone.

But here's the thing: if I click on a new blog and see that someone is still in the throes of Clomid cycles, or just starting an injectible IUI...well, I'm less likely to want to follow. Does that make me a bad person? I know, I know, I know this is not a pain olympics. I know that when I was facing my first BFN from our first Clomid IUI I thought the world was coming to an end. Hell, when I first started taking Clomid period I thought the world was coming to an end.

The point is: where you are in your infertility struggle right that very moment is the worst it's been. I have to constantly remind myself of that.

On another note, I have always felt very alone in my 'real life' regarding infertility. That dreadful '1 in 6' statistic just has not applied in my real world existence to my friends and family.

But I think I may have infected my workplace.

I have recently learned of three others struggling. Out of 60+ employees we still don't quite make the stats, but it was like "Eureka! I'm not a freaka." And I've sorta become the resident IF expert.

But man, men are different. One of my coworkers is male and he and his wife are dealing with IF. So one day he just plops down in my office and says "So you did all the infertility stuff, right?" Just like that. No sensitivity at all. Typical male--he was gathering information. It was ok. He's a doctor. He wants the facts. He wasn't even daunted by our failures. He'd read the same New England Journal of Medicine article that I had that said it is reasonable to do six IVFs to have success.

So success or no, at least I can be a resource.

It's something, right?

Rogue patient

The last couple of days have been up and down. Ok, the last couple of years have been up and down, but specifically for this cycle...

So I had bloodwork drawn last Friday, and everything came back but the LH. I got that little diddy yesterday, and it was kind of high. Like, 'uh oh that might be the start of an LH surge and then I've ovulate and be out' kind of high.

Naturally I panicked. CC.R.M. did not. They didn't even want to order any other bloodwork, instead, saying just to proceed as normal and get my bloodwork done this coming Friday.

Well, there was no way I could've waited all that time, wondering if I had indeed ovulated over the weekend and everything would be off.

So I went rogue on them and ordered my own bloodwork. (note: for me, this is rebellious. I was that kid in school--you know, the straight A, never snuck out, never drank, never did anything wrong/rebellious type kid...and adult for that matter...)

Ok, so they were right. I hadn't ovulated. My estrogen was up to 140, so they're saying that after this Friday's ultrasound, assuming my lining still looks ideal, they'll start me on progesterone on Sunday to lock it in, and also start me on oral estrogen to bump up th eestrogen level. My nurse said that even if my estrogen doesn't hit their magical (and somewhat arbitrary) number of 300, it won't delay anything.

Obviously I confessed my blooddraw. I'm quite certain I could feel their eyes rolling all the way from Denver to here.

Now I just have to get to ultrasound--and of course I won't be able to update easily because straight after that visit I'll hit the road to go see my parents. Yeah. I wasn't going to go until my Dad got on the phone and asked when I was coming. Sometimes he's so childlike, and really, I just couldn't say: 'not until Thanksgiving.' So it will be a quick trip--nothing like 6.5 hours in the car for just a one night trip (does anyone want to call me and entertain me while I'm driving? :) ) but emotionally I guess it will be worth it. Maybe Mr. LastChance can pop on here and do a quick update, since I know you'll all be dying to know....

Now if things fall apart at the ultrasound...oh boy. How to hide that colossal disappointment from my mother? But I'm getting ahead of myself.

One final question: protein. So we're vegetarian. I know I don't get a lot of protein. For the fresh part of the cycle I completely amped up my protein (whey protein drinks every.single.day..sometimes twice) much to Dr. M's delight. I hadn't even really thought about that for the transfer. Any thoughts? I mean, I still have a week...

1.5 weeks?

Seriously? We could be going out for a transfer in 1.5 weeks?

Holy cow.

Of course, I promise I am not counting chickens before they hatch. A lot could go down between now and then...the lining could be freakin' 25 mm on Friday, my estrogen could be too low, my embryos could not thaw properly, yadda yadda yadda. But right this minute I choose to believe we will take a little plane ride next Tuesday night and go in for a little old transfer on Wednesday. I can feel the Valium now, and it feels good.

Speaking of Valium, why can't they prescribe two or three of those, or let's face it--enough to get me through the 2WW completely zonked out. That sounds delicious to me at this point.

When I have thought about this lastchance IVF, I have never really thought about the outcome. Sounds dumb, right? But it's so much easier to float that hope along by keeping my brain just on the surface, never dipping too deep, because dipping in deep means thinking about the end. And yes, I know what I've said here--it's all in black and white after all--about how when this is over it's really over, we're done. And how I don't feel as emotionally fraught this go around.

Well maybe I lied a little bit. Because all those other days I wasn't here yet, staring down the barrel of the 'it's almost over' gun.

The thing is: I really really want this to work. Sssshhhhhhhhhhh.

So those who've known me for a while, and know my old stomping ground as well, know that I bake when I stress. So guess what? Seven homemade loaves of bread later...I'm still a little stressed. I posted pics over there....and tonight I might try a recipe for pumpkin spice cream cheese cupcakes. And I was perusing a magazine last night and saw about thirteen other recipes I am dying to try...

Breathe in, breathe out.
Knead in, roll out.