the oneliner

not the best but almost opposite from the worst (baby ment)

SIL is in great spirits. Even though her water broke, because it was a small tear, some of the fluid stayed through the night. Although, it's all gone now. They are still allowing her to wait to go into labor. (that seems weird without fluid?). They are giving her tons of steroids to get the little one's lungs to grow.

She will stay in the hospital until she goes into labor which will likely be very soon. But it could be as long as a week. As my SIL is desperately hoping.

While, of course, we are all overjoyed that she and the baby will be okay...to me (I KNOW we would always be happy with ANY way that our babies were born, etc) but I am sad for her.

This is her second and last child. (They both are civil servants and really can't afford another. ) She gave birth to her first vaginally.

Baby Reagen will be born, maybe breathing maybe not, via c-section, IMMEDIATELY rushed to the NICU to be placed on breathing machines. No suckling. No first cry.

She will, at some point, walk out of the hospital and leave her baby in a public building in the care of strangers. I honestly am not so convinced that I'd be capable...it would just feel so wrong.

I actually identified with her. For some inexplicable reason her body isn't doing what it should...holding a baby in for 40 weeks. Or at least until it got from her what it needed.

To me a c-section is sad because it creates a huge scar, it seems unnatural, and you have such  a long and painful recovery.

Don't hate me. I know all of us would be so happy to be in this dilemma...but it will be hard for her. And she is a sweetie who's suffered enough in this life.

(** here's a little tip for ya' DO NOT, in a desperate attempt to provide said SIL with trashy celebrity gossip mags, m & m's and cool ranch dorritos go tromping through a maternity ward when you've just been told that your IVF is postponed indefinitely because you have a debris filled cyst)(unless you don't mind the humiliation of sobbing into your hands at the information desk, of course).

not laughing.

i can't remember if i've even blogged about my SIL's pregnancy?

she's 32-34 weeks right now.

and believes that her water has broken.

and on her way to the hospital right now.

my brother is terrified.

i'm waiting for confirmation from the ob and then i'm headed up there. she is having a lot of lower back pain and contractions...but hopefully we are all wrong.

i know the stats are good but those are stats and some of those stats don't come home.

please send some positive thoughts. they really do work.

UPDATE!

her water did break. but all of the fluid isn't gone. they are giving her steroids to develop the baby's lungs. they have stopped the labor somehow (this is all vague b/c it is all through my brother and i have not given birth ....we are both naive as to such things). she has a 50% chance of going into labor within 48 hours and a 40% chance of doing so within the next week. So, crisis averted for now. Now we wait.

(Updated!)WERE I A BEATLE THIS WOULD BE MY BLACK PERIOD

Fvck.

The only side effect I have from Lupron is a seemingly endless depression evidenced by an utter lack of hope. All of a sudden.

It may seem odd to blame this darkness on poor ol' Lupron, but I know me. I can be a depressive person, in fact I joke with k, that it's my default. But I am never more depressed than right before my period. I feel utterly hopeless, foggy, grumpy. As if there is a barrier between me and happy. Honestly. Before my period I feel that for two days, exactly. Then I get it, and voila, back to almost happy self. Lupron has stretched that awful feeling for two weeks. And counting. Which feels like forever.

Get this? You know, the suppression check, where everyone gets wanded, gets a big ole check mark, and proceeds to IVF  . Not me. Of course not my body. Stupid me to think it would actually do something. Even though it is simple. Be suppressed. How effin hard is that?

Apparently, I have a huge cyst. They will check my estradiol, but it is likely that everything is off for at least a week and probably a month. The nurse will call to advise today. But it doesn't look good, the nurse thinks "that were [my cyst] smaller, the doctor would go ahead, but given it's large size...."

You know what upsets me the most? More lupron. The never ending lupron or, more accurately, the juice of darkness.

Why? WHY WON'T MY BODY DO SOMETHING RIGHT????????????????????

I'll update as soon as I know. I expect it to be crap news.

UPDATE: Nurse Nancy called and said that I am to come in for another u/s to see if it is getting smaller and then we'll hopefully be able to proceed. My estradiol is very low. So maybe.

But!!! more importantly a nice ATL infertile (who i met on a message board 15 mins ago) invited  me to dinner with a bunch of other nice infertiles tonight. We're going to have cheesecake. And that, my good people, is just what this infertile girl needs.   

one, no, no two..... TWO babies in her house

I may eat my words(suddenly a 'not for the first time' is heard from the back row), but as nutty as it may be, even if we were the luckiest people in the world and were blessed with a positive beta after IVF#1...I still want to adopt.

And I'm dragging k behind me, although lately he's picked up the pace a bit.

Catching up. In a just world, I'd be pregnant with number two. I always planned to have my children as close together as possible. I know, hard for me to say when I'm gravida zero. Although, i am confident that k and i could deal with two nippers at a time.

Playmates. As a child, not only was I lucky enough to have a big brother, but I also had cousins who lived nearby. In fact, we went to the same nanny-baby sitter lady for five years. Joy, Rachel., John.ny, my brother and me.  We were all very close and close in age. I loved them, and still do. J.oy, I love slightly less since she, a few years ago, admitted to peeing in the bathtub when our parents would give us a bath together. Every time.  To this day, Rachel is one of my closest friends, and recently snipped "get your butt over here" when I accidentally started whimpering on the phone from the weight of all this. I did as instructed and she opened the door and made me hug her for a long time. This from the most fertile person on the planet. Three children in five years.

The five cousins of my future children are 3 years old, T-6 weeks (my SIL is pregnant and due in October), 4 years old, 2 years old, 8 weeks old, and growing everyday.

Rache.l is a year and a half older than me and Jo.y was a year younger.

Jo.y and Rache.l pop up in almost every happy memory I have of my childhood.  Of course, I want the same, if possible, for my children (minus the peeing in the bath tub of course).

I'm a fast talker but not a fast breeder. We've tried for #1 for twenty-two months. So, I'm guessing baby number two will take awhile too.

I'm cool with it. I worked long and hard to accept the notion that adoption may be our only chance to parent. I think once you wrap your mind around adoption, about dealing with the messiness (explaining to your child that they WERE wanted, figuring out the birth mother details, etc.,)  it's hard to let go? Or to discount? I (obviously) can't articulate my exact point at the moment. For whatvever reasons, I really like the idea and for lack of a better explanation, it just feels right.

Because I can. K's work will give us $$ to adopt (their former CEO was Catholic and so no money for bc or ART but encourages adoption. whatEVA), we are eligible for a tax credit, I found an inexpensive public-agency place (quite reputable too) and(!) I have at least two attorney friends willing to do the legal part of it for free. 

Because, I'm digging k's "g-d dammit we need to close the door" theme. I would LOVE to never see an RE, a wand, a wander with a unibrow AGAIN. After two, if a third happened, they happened. Because I "wouldn't be thinking about it" number 3 would happen, no? (don't we wish!!)

Of course, a lot of this depends on how many eggs, how many fertilize...if any, if it works on the first try.....etc.

Who thinks I'm crazy??

Two infertiles, A Fifty Year Old Uterus and An Angry Man

This weekend, tipsy marie and I went to the Annie Leiowitz exhibit at the High Museum. Of course her photographs amazed us and the exhibit concludes with a short film about her, her work and children.

I could never decide if it made me feel good or bad that Annie Leiowitz gave birth to her children at 50 and then 54. Is it good that I may be able to carry a baby for the next twenty years? Is it bad that a fifty year old can get pregnant and I, twenty years her junior, cannot? Is it evident that I am an incredibly shallow person that if i could use the same donor she did for her UNBELIEVABLY beautiful , red-headed, big-eyed, fair skinned children, I would? (please note, before deciding that I am morally repugnant, that I am 5'5 with mousey brown hair) I do know that the mere implication that our struggle could continue for the next TWENTY years is enough to make me want to run in front of a train. Or into the arms of the crazy homeless man who followed us.

Get this. SO SCARY. So, TM and I went to dinner and as we walked back across the street I, at least, noticed this homeless crazed-eyed man. He was dirty with red hair and a month's worth of stubble. He was just standing on the island in the middle of the street. Until we walked by. I noticed him behind us, but thought he'd probably just ask us for money or something. We got closer to the art center and he started running(!!!), I tried to pretend that it wasn't happening, and TM turned around to face him, which was probably (you think?) a good idea. I think I was bracing myself for him to tackle me. (not the best strategy). 

Then he ran right past us.

I kept wanting to tell him that we were infertile. I mean, shouldn't that be a pass from potential mugging and carnage in general for goodness-sakes? And for taxes too? ("Dear IRS, Please note that I am barren and thus get a full tax deduction. Best, Christina")

TM smartly decides to go into a building. Of course he is still following us. With his red dirty beard. We go into the building PAST the security guard (not such a good idea or maybe*) we quickly turn down this hallway thinking that it will lead to the women's  restroom (um, probably not the best idea)only to find ourselves in a dead end. (!!!) Luckily there is a alcove around a doorway which we hid in....THEN OMG! I am facing back down the hallway, towards the entrance. Across from us, but down the hall, there is this water fountain with a reflective, stainless steel front...GUESS WHAT I SEE????The reflection of this guy and his dirty sneakers quietly and slowly walking down the hall.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

So, I step out and say (thinking that I could scream loud enough for the security guard to come help us....) "hey, I'm sure you don't mean to...but you are FREAKIN' us out." He then sort of cowers and says "I don't know how to talk to women." Then it was over. Crazy. Scary. But harmless. We told the security guard, who wasn't the least bit concerned, in fact he said "he's probably just trying to cool off." * Uh, sure, yeah.

Despite crazed-eyed homeless man, we had fun. It's nice to be with someone who's nice, smart and knows your story. And the struggle.

they like me, they really, really, like me.

I am just too happy to keep this to myself.  Awhile ago I worked for weeks, including nights, on this article to submit to a law journal for consideration. I figured it probably wouldn't get published, but it'd be a good experience and I could keep working on it to get it published later.

The whole thing intimidated the bejesus out of me. I don't know why. I am embarrassed to even admit it. I wrote on a journal in law school, and I like to write. I am an attorney for goodness sakes. But so are all the other people who submitted articles. The other lawyer writers are all more accomplished attorneys than myself mainly because they've been at it a lot longer, and they all work in ginormous firms.

My firm is myself and an assistant who signed for my IVF drugs.

Twenty people submitted articles, three are going to be published, mine (!!!!!) is one of them. 

Besides the professional yumminess this brings, it is also thousands, THOUSANDS, of dollars of free PR. The journal is sent out to every.single.lawyer. in the state. Soon an issue will have my article, with my name and firm, bio and picture. Lawyers probably refer me 1/3 to a 1/2 of all my business.

I don't know, but I betcha' that the PR I get will pay, over the next couple of years, for this upcoming IVF. Which rocks.

I am also giving k a hard time, since he is the one with the fancy writing degree and all. By saying "so, k what was the name of that article you got published? OH YEAH, you didn't." He thinks it is funny. And that I still suck.

Well, I've got to run. I'm SO BUSY now that I'm FAMOUS and all.

'tis the season

Because we're crazy, to get my mind off of the upcoming IVF cycle, we went to the local water park. OMG we had so much fun. Shush! if you don't like people who use OMG. Because OMG is AWESOME.

We had so much fun.

K says that I am obsessed with one of the rides, called the TORNADO! It's an oddly colored, over-sized, cement mixer deal. That is five stories high.

You carry a huge raft (pronounced 'uge' like donald trump. Seriously. When talking about uge cement mixers, it's the protocol) up tons of stairs, get into it, get sent spiraling down feet and feet of a dark swirling thing as you descend towards the ENORMOUS cement mixer. Once you get there, your raft FREE FALLS into the cement mixer. With you on it and then precedes to go up and down the sides of the mixer. Swiftly. That is weird enough. But what freaks.me.out. is that when you drop into the mixer, you are surrounded in all yellow and aqua. (Had I not gone to a state school, I would have said 'enveloped,' but you're stuck reading the product of a state university person and if you make me mad enough I'll pepper you with an irregardless.)

You know what's so weird about the TORNADO!? When you are surrounded by all of the yellow and aqua...you so feel like you are in a Willy Wonka movie. I kept thinking that Roald Dahl was going to sashee up to the ride as we were getting off to ask "if we liked it?" See?!?! Weird.

There are pictures in the side bar.

The Scottish Man Exclaimed

Thanks so much for all the "you're not crazy" feedback and support. Do you ever wonder what we'd all do without the internet? I would have spent the entire week feeling crazy and alone.

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Apparently, it's normal to be so upset when starting IVF. Although, it seems odd to me that I would really believe, after 24 cycles, that there was any other way to get pregnant.

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I think I'm through the worst of it. When I got home last night, I honestly felt like I had just returned from out of town trip during which I attended a funeral. Utterly exhausted from crying.

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I've worked this week to get my mind around the process. The night before last, k and I got in an argument at dinner, that went like this:

***

me:    What if this doesn't work!?!? You've said that you only want to do one IVF?

him:   It may work, and if it doesn't then we'll just keep moving forward with adoption. We can't just keep spending money at $20,000.00 a pop.

me:  I know, but when you say that, it puts so much pressure on me. (now teary-eyed) and I feel like there's.already.so.much. And I know it takes two, but I feel like it's my failure. My body. With the $20,000.00 embryo inside it. If we are only going to do one, then it feels like there's a gun pointed at my temple......

him: well, i mean...

me: And, what is another $20,000.00, I mean, we can take money out of retirement, and I can take on additional work....I mean, good grief how about you not play golf twice a week....and I mean, do we even need the big house we live in, and all the eating out, and the...

him: God Dammit! It's not about the $$. It's about my needing this to end. I'm tired of the conversation. I want the door to close. I don't want to give my wife shots indefinitely, I'm tired of watching my wife cry once a week.  I need us to move on.

me: oh.   (which is, coincidentally, what I've said the three other times he's said God Dammit! in the ten years we've been together).

****

So, we're looking at IVF#1, as a means to an end. It's a good thing that we have an adoption training after retrieval and before transfer. So, we'll have that underway. Because I simply cannot proceed knowing that this is our only hope of parenting anytime in the next few years. The pressure is just too much.

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K is right. We need this to end. I need to be a parent and not an infertile.

+

I'm sure that if it doesn't work we'll do IVF in the future, but we'll concentrate fully on adoption for awhile.

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That and there really is a lot to be positive about:

-we're 32,34(thank goodness we met so young and found  out early we are IF)

-I get pregnant at least every three/four months, I just m/c five minutes later. There is a lot to suggest that a lot of our embryos aren't viable, and PGD may solve that. 

-K's sperm is better. He has more and less with two heads.

-I make a ton of eggs(knock on virtual wood) so hopefully, they'll be a lot of embies to choose from.

So, thanks for the love. I'm getting more comfortable with this IVF thing. Which is a good thing since I start lupron next week.

the post that isn't clever enough to deserve a title.

sorry, i'm slap outta humor.

Had injection class today. Which was really more of a question/answer session.

Protocol: (from memory. if it sounds funny (you're not the one getting the shots. and i'm probably confused as to the drug/date;  )))

cd 21 until trigger-lupron. follistim until trigger.

cd 3-suppression check.

cd 5-9ish- u/s sound every day.

retrieval to transfer- antibiotics.

I asked for numbing cream for the PIOs and a valium on the day of the transfer. I know someone who swears the valium is what made IVF#4 work, and well, if you haven't noticed i'm a bit on the uptight side.

transfer until beta 5dp5dt- Heparin 2x a day, PIO in ?(not olive oil, the new stuff)

THAT'S EIGHTY SHOT. E.I.G.H.T.Y for those of you who aren't good at math. i.e. everyone but "Serenity, Ms. 5:13."

Depending on the embryos we may transfer one or two. Our clinic has had a lot of splits (where one embryo divides into 2) so they usually only transfer one in people under 35. Especially b/c we are doing PGD. So, we'll see.

The good news is, I really like my clinic. A lot. They always call back, and the nurse is knowledgeable and nice.   They are also agressive.  I like that it is their standard protocol to give antibiotics. And that they are encouraging us to use PGD even though we are so young (relatively). I also like that they were the first clinic to NOT say "oh, you're so young and healthy..." They assumed that there was something wrong in that it had been 22 cycles and nothing but a handful of chemicals.

***

You know what? I need you to help me understand why, since we left the injection class, I've been unable to stop crying. I think if I knew why I'd feel better. I .am .so.upset. Why? We've NEVER had this good of a chance at getting pregnant. Ever. The money is a lot, but not a big deal. We'll make more.

I honestly have not been this upset since I quit getting out of bed for awhile last December.

"yeah, they're real"

I can't remember where or when...but I think I've blogged about my high school prom date? Yes. fifteen years later I remember, and I'm about to tell you why.

The year was...just kidding. I was in the eleventh grade. I hung out with this arty-smart-assey group of kiddos. The king of the group, who the girls affectionately called "GOD" was, well, GOD in hotness and suaveness and loveliness. He was a senior. Whenever he walked by, there'd be a collective sigh and slight swoon (not a full swoon. PUH-lease we were way.too.cool.for.that.sh1t.) We loved him.

The month before prom, his college girlfriend broke up with him. Suddenly, and to my amazement he started talking to me. Little ole' me. We went out on dates including Shakespeare's Tavern and to a national park with a blanket for lunch which included oatmeal cookie Little Debbies, my favorite.

He asked me to prom. In a cute little letter. I was envied by all and totally smitten with GOD.  I carried the much-coveted letter in my backpack. I would take it out to see his suave and lovely handwriting on it. Asking me to prom. The week before prom the letter disappeared from my backpack. He quit calling.  He stopped talking to me.

Turns out, he asked someone else to go to prom with him. Stephanie.  My friend. I got publicly dumped for someone else, got stood up for prom...and he didn't even bother to tell me. 

I spent the night, in my prom dress, crying in my room and then aimlessly driving around with some friends.

So, fifteen years later, I am having a horrible Saturday. Which included a lot of crying. I don't exactly remember why, just for some infertility crap. K came home and insisted that we get out of the house. It took some prodding, but I finally relented.

While getting dressed, I felt like shorts and a T ...but, (okay this is where you find out how girlie I can be), I thought how much better I'd feel if I dressed a little slinky. So, I threw on a very tight black tank top, my skinny jeans, (O.prah is right, buy bigger jeans and pay the $10. to have them altered to fit perfectly) and my three-inch black heels,   that Becky would have called fvck feminism heels, with no make-up other than some red lipstick.

We headed out.

K looked good too, if you must know. We had the.best.night. Including a couple glasses of wine that always make me giddy and flirty.

We decided to go get dessert at our favorite place. As we were walking up to the restaurant, holding hands, and laughing about something, I spotted him. My heart stopped for a minute. 

The little short-haired guy who dumped me the week before prom without telling me.

He saw me. Laughing, in a black slinky tank and jeans and three inch heels wearing red lipstick.

I didn't flinch and made no attempt to let him know, I knew it was him.

They were together. This is soooooo catty....but let's just say, I've aged a little better than her.

Of course, I don't wish anything different would have happened, because then we might have ended up together, and I needed to leave Georgia for the ten years that I did and become who I became. He was controlling and small-minded. And K is, well, k. In fact, that I thought that guy was GOD is funny to me now. Not.so.much. 

But, funny story, eh?