Unable to stand the uncertainty, I asked to move my blood test to today. Results are a heartbreaking 140. Miscarriage is on its way.
Tonight I will drink wine.
Tomorrow I will book plane tickets and hotel in Anguilla.
Saturday I will have a massage.
I will think about other plans...later.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
2nd Beta
My second BETA on Monday was a disappointing 336. The doctor's office left a message Monday afternoon that said "Good news, your beta went up, it's 336. Your progesterone is good also at 30.1." I recognize that my math skills are lacking, but I don't think that's close to doubling or double doubling. So I called back and spoke to the nurse practitioner:
"I thought it was supposed to double?"
"We like to see that, but your first number was so high I wasn't expecting it to."
"Yes, but Dr. Google says that if it doesn't double in 48 hours I will likely miscarry."
"Stay off the internet. It's a good number, we have no reason to be concerned at this point."
"But it didn't double, or double double."
"People are different, bodies are different. There's no reason to worry."
"When can I have another blood test?"
Pause.
"Please?"
"Ok, let's draw your blood again on Thursday."
"Morning?"
"Ok."
So, I've spent probably 47 hours researching HCG levels since Monday afternoon and I'm now exhausted and done. Obsessing, that is. My sobbing spell yesterday left me drained and out of sorts and it's time to center, as much as possible. I have absolutely no control over the outcome at this point. So, I'm going to try to relax and be confident. Otherwise, there's no way, if given the chance, I'm competent to handle this for 8+ more months.
This double, doubling sucks.
"I thought it was supposed to double?"
"We like to see that, but your first number was so high I wasn't expecting it to."
"Yes, but Dr. Google says that if it doesn't double in 48 hours I will likely miscarry."
"Stay off the internet. It's a good number, we have no reason to be concerned at this point."
"But it didn't double, or double double."
"People are different, bodies are different. There's no reason to worry."
"When can I have another blood test?"
Pause.
"Please?"
"Ok, let's draw your blood again on Thursday."
"Morning?"
"Ok."
So, I've spent probably 47 hours researching HCG levels since Monday afternoon and I'm now exhausted and done. Obsessing, that is. My sobbing spell yesterday left me drained and out of sorts and it's time to center, as much as possible. I have absolutely no control over the outcome at this point. So, I'm going to try to relax and be confident. Otherwise, there's no way, if given the chance, I'm competent to handle this for 8+ more months.
This double, doubling sucks.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
A few comments on comments
When I started blogging, I made the decision not to review and approve comments. Let 'em post has been my attitude. I've received some snarky posts in the five months I've been blogging, but the majority has been funny, supportive, thought-provoking, indeed lifelines in many instances. I've got a fairly thick skin (particularly as a result of countless outer quadrant of the buttocks injections) so no snarkism has particularly offended me and I've never felt the need to address any of them. (Plus, I'm sure that I'm so charming in real life that I would eventually win over the naysayers given the chance.)
I received a comment to a recent post asking me to remove a comment another person left because she felt it was addressing something she wrote on her blog. My feelings about that request aside, I still adhere to my original decision. Let 'em post. I welcome your thoughts, your disagreements, and, oh so very much, your support.
Thanks for listening. As always.
I received a comment to a recent post asking me to remove a comment another person left because she felt it was addressing something she wrote on her blog. My feelings about that request aside, I still adhere to my original decision. Let 'em post. I welcome your thoughts, your disagreements, and, oh so very much, your support.
Thanks for listening. As always.
Saturday, March 8, 2008
With a cherry on top.
I have been tagged by the incomparable Rebeccah at http://chasingachild.typepad.com/thejourney/ (Rebeccah studied for the bar exam while undergoing her second IVF and took the bar while sick. My hero.) Here are the rules:
Step 1. Reference back to the blog that sent you.
Step 2. Make a list of 5 things that you have to get done this week, no matter how small.
Step 3. Get 2 other people off their asses to get their shit in order.
1. I was supposed to go get blood drawn yesterday for my second Beta. Unfortunately, THE TWELVE INCHES OF SNOW ON THE GROUND prevented it. My team of huskies and I were prepared to go, but the lab was closed. (I can hear the collective muttering of "weanies" from the Northwesterners and Northeasterners ) This is Louisville, Kentucky, though. As much as we salt and shovel and plow, we tend to be, well, weanies in the snow. If the forecast even mentions precipitation, there's a run on milk and bread at the Kroger. (The liquor store is always my first stop.) I hate being denied the information I need. (And I very much hated being denied my massage yesterday too.)
2. So, I will get my blood drawn on Monday.
3. I must refocus on work. I've been preoccupied. Please don't tell my boss.
4. I need to accomplish some very boring domestic activities, like laundry and grocery shopping. I would rather nap and read.
5. I need to work on that syringe art I was talking about. And I need to stop dropping by the Homemade Pie Kitchen after work and picking up two pieces of dutch apple pie with melted caramel on the top. Let me mop up the drool from the keyboard.
My apologies, it's not an exciting list.
I've been thinking a lot about why, how this worked (so far) this time. I was just as diligent with the shots and pills and lifestyle changes in November, but it didn't work. I prayed and wished and hoped just as much for this frozen cycle as I did in November. I don't believe that my prayers were so much more heartfelt this time or my want so much more profound that a Supreme Being felt I exceeded the threshold of piety and found me deserving of this, my prayer. "Melanie was particularly profound in Wednesday night's prayer and has become extremely efficient in administering shots, so I will grant this prayer. Next!"
I have been joyful when good things happened for my fellow infertiles in blogland (admittedly, envious too. And many times, "why the hell not me?") And, if I'm being very honest (sounding eerily like a certain American Idol judge) I've been put off too. It has somehow felt insulting to me when good news is explained by "God heard my prayers and granted my wish" and "God knew that I was meant to be a mother." The clear implication is that those of us who can't get an embryo to stick are less worthy in God's eyes. Or our relationship with a Supreme Being or the Universe is lacking in some material respect. My eggs are shit because God, in her infinite wisdom, knows that I would force my child to eat brussel sprouts?
I would be a big fat liar if I didn't admit that I have had many prayers of entreaty, not just on the infertility front. "Please, please, let this be. Let this happen." I believe, though, that the presence of a higher power in my life has been less in the granting of wishes (much less) and more in dealing with the aftermath of great joy and heartbreaking sadness. Strengthening my backbone, really. My entreaty through infertility has been, help me be strong enough to deal with the outcome. If that means living without a child, help me live a full, meaningful life. If I get to be a parent, help me live a full, meaningful life. Help me be a good parent.
Pretty please.
Step 1. Reference back to the blog that sent you.
Step 2. Make a list of 5 things that you have to get done this week, no matter how small.
Step 3. Get 2 other people off their asses to get their shit in order.
1. I was supposed to go get blood drawn yesterday for my second Beta. Unfortunately, THE TWELVE INCHES OF SNOW ON THE GROUND prevented it. My team of huskies and I were prepared to go, but the lab was closed. (I can hear the collective muttering of "weanies" from the Northwesterners and Northeasterners ) This is Louisville, Kentucky, though. As much as we salt and shovel and plow, we tend to be, well, weanies in the snow. If the forecast even mentions precipitation, there's a run on milk and bread at the Kroger. (The liquor store is always my first stop.) I hate being denied the information I need. (And I very much hated being denied my massage yesterday too.)
2. So, I will get my blood drawn on Monday.
3. I must refocus on work. I've been preoccupied. Please don't tell my boss.
4. I need to accomplish some very boring domestic activities, like laundry and grocery shopping. I would rather nap and read.
5. I need to work on that syringe art I was talking about. And I need to stop dropping by the Homemade Pie Kitchen after work and picking up two pieces of dutch apple pie with melted caramel on the top. Let me mop up the drool from the keyboard.
My apologies, it's not an exciting list.
I've been thinking a lot about why, how this worked (so far) this time. I was just as diligent with the shots and pills and lifestyle changes in November, but it didn't work. I prayed and wished and hoped just as much for this frozen cycle as I did in November. I don't believe that my prayers were so much more heartfelt this time or my want so much more profound that a Supreme Being felt I exceeded the threshold of piety and found me deserving of this, my prayer. "Melanie was particularly profound in Wednesday night's prayer and has become extremely efficient in administering shots, so I will grant this prayer. Next!"
I have been joyful when good things happened for my fellow infertiles in blogland (admittedly, envious too. And many times, "why the hell not me?") And, if I'm being very honest (sounding eerily like a certain American Idol judge) I've been put off too. It has somehow felt insulting to me when good news is explained by "God heard my prayers and granted my wish" and "God knew that I was meant to be a mother." The clear implication is that those of us who can't get an embryo to stick are less worthy in God's eyes. Or our relationship with a Supreme Being or the Universe is lacking in some material respect. My eggs are shit because God, in her infinite wisdom, knows that I would force my child to eat brussel sprouts?
I would be a big fat liar if I didn't admit that I have had many prayers of entreaty, not just on the infertility front. "Please, please, let this be. Let this happen." I believe, though, that the presence of a higher power in my life has been less in the granting of wishes (much less) and more in dealing with the aftermath of great joy and heartbreaking sadness. Strengthening my backbone, really. My entreaty through infertility has been, help me be strong enough to deal with the outcome. If that means living without a child, help me live a full, meaningful life. If I get to be a parent, help me live a full, meaningful life. Help me be a good parent.
Pretty please.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
I'll take your two weeks and raise you two.
Those of us who don't have the reproductive systems of 20 year olds ("hee hee, I get pregnant just thinking about it." Whatever.) need to find creative ways to soldier through the obstacles of assisted reproductive technology, including the dreaded two week wait. As my second in vitro attempt concludes, I feel compelled to share my "learnings" (corporate-speak, sorry) of how to do just that.
1. It's too easy to dispose of needles in a Sharps container. Stop throwing those syringes in the trash. Instead, use them to recreate miniature replicas of early 17th century cargo ships (the Mayflower, anyone?). Use your left over estrogen patches as sails. They'll look fabu hanging above your couch.
2. Forget the millennials and their texting. The language d'infertile has real promise and should be explored as an alternative means of communication:
"So, TTTC?"
"Yep, PCOS."
"Me too. And AMA."
"IVF?"
"Not yet, IUI."
"FET."
"3day or 5day?"
"POAS yet?"
"Nah. BETA tomorrow."
3. One should take care to remember that not all medical personnel you encounter are involved in your reproductive trials and tribulations. For example, you do not need to spread your legs for your dentist (unless you are confident his sperm function is superior and then ask for the written report). Do not question the competence of your eye doctor simply because she does not have a dildo cam in the examining room. Do not call the nurse at your internist's office a "weanie" after a tenuous blood draw. Similarly, it's not kind to tell the mother of an obnoxious three year old that you're sure her child would have been a CC blast.
4. And last, avoid the two week wait if at all possible. For example, my BETA is now tomorrow instead of Monday, which means my two week wait is actually just over a week. I'm now convinced that, by the end of my in vitro journey, whenever that is, I will not only not have a two week wait, I will know the results of my BETA prior to transfer.
I will post tomorrow with the news.
1. It's too easy to dispose of needles in a Sharps container. Stop throwing those syringes in the trash. Instead, use them to recreate miniature replicas of early 17th century cargo ships (the Mayflower, anyone?). Use your left over estrogen patches as sails. They'll look fabu hanging above your couch.
2. Forget the millennials and their texting. The language d'infertile has real promise and should be explored as an alternative means of communication:
"So, TTTC?"
"Yep, PCOS."
"Me too. And AMA."
"IVF?"
"Not yet, IUI."
"FET."
"3day or 5day?"
"POAS yet?"
"Nah. BETA tomorrow."
3. One should take care to remember that not all medical personnel you encounter are involved in your reproductive trials and tribulations. For example, you do not need to spread your legs for your dentist (unless you are confident his sperm function is superior and then ask for the written report). Do not question the competence of your eye doctor simply because she does not have a dildo cam in the examining room. Do not call the nurse at your internist's office a "weanie" after a tenuous blood draw. Similarly, it's not kind to tell the mother of an obnoxious three year old that you're sure her child would have been a CC blast.
4. And last, avoid the two week wait if at all possible. For example, my BETA is now tomorrow instead of Monday, which means my two week wait is actually just over a week. I'm now convinced that, by the end of my in vitro journey, whenever that is, I will not only not have a two week wait, I will know the results of my BETA prior to transfer.
I will post tomorrow with the news.
Saturday, March 1, 2008
Come Rain or Shine...
I'm glad this cycle isn't my first. Flash back to November, four days after my transfer, I was convinced I was pregnant. I had all the signs, twinges of nausea, sore breasts, food aversions coupled with ravenous hunger (I've mentioned the iced sugar cookies before I'm sure), headaches. Intellectually, I knew that they were most likely the symptoms of the estrogen and progesterone, but I thought to myself, surely these symptoms were on top of the meds. And I recall clearly the interminable two week wait. Every day, every minute, am I? Am I not? I can admit this now, I even went to Pottery Barn Kids. No, no, I did not browse online. I. Physically. Went. to. Pottery. Barn. Kids. I'm convinced the mini-kitchens and stuffed frogs caused my embryos to revolt and jump ship.
I'm doing much better this time. Sure, I think about it, but not with the frequency and intensity of last time. A heightened sense of self brought about by superhuman strength and evolving maturity? No. Just plain superhuman strength and evolving maturity? Unfortunately, nope. I have a cheesy, self help author to thank.
I was traveling several weeks ago and was required to attend an annual meeting with several thousand of my closest friends. Any participant in corporate America knows that a meeting of this size requires a key note speaker with name recognition. (Here's the part where I admit I can't remember the name, but he's the author of a popular series of "feel good" "self help" books). He was a good speaker, but his message wasn't anything new. Believe in yourself. Persevere. Blah, blah. Then he said something that did resonate, not because it was new or eye opening, but because it was exactly what I needed to hear at this exact time in my life. Don't be afraid to dream big. Act on it. Hmmm.
When did I stop dreaming big? When did I start crossing off dreams because they were too big? More importantly, when did I stop thinking of myself as capable of doing many things, having many passions? What I mean is, having a child is not my only dream. In fact, it never was a dream until much later in life. And for several months now I've been letting this one dream scootch all the other dreams out of the basket. The Pottery Barn Kids basket. If I examine all of those times in my life when I was unhappy or not centered, each involves letting one thing, one event, one obsession to crowd out everything else. I need dreams. Plural.
I want this to work. I want my little Mae West blast to shake her thang and grow into that precocious little Minx. I want my little BB to color in the lines in real life. And I've done everything I can to make that happen. But they're not the only eggs in the basket.
I'm doing much better this time. Sure, I think about it, but not with the frequency and intensity of last time. A heightened sense of self brought about by superhuman strength and evolving maturity? No. Just plain superhuman strength and evolving maturity? Unfortunately, nope. I have a cheesy, self help author to thank.
I was traveling several weeks ago and was required to attend an annual meeting with several thousand of my closest friends. Any participant in corporate America knows that a meeting of this size requires a key note speaker with name recognition. (Here's the part where I admit I can't remember the name, but he's the author of a popular series of "feel good" "self help" books). He was a good speaker, but his message wasn't anything new. Believe in yourself. Persevere. Blah, blah. Then he said something that did resonate, not because it was new or eye opening, but because it was exactly what I needed to hear at this exact time in my life. Don't be afraid to dream big. Act on it. Hmmm.
When did I stop dreaming big? When did I start crossing off dreams because they were too big? More importantly, when did I stop thinking of myself as capable of doing many things, having many passions? What I mean is, having a child is not my only dream. In fact, it never was a dream until much later in life. And for several months now I've been letting this one dream scootch all the other dreams out of the basket. The Pottery Barn Kids basket. If I examine all of those times in my life when I was unhappy or not centered, each involves letting one thing, one event, one obsession to crowd out everything else. I need dreams. Plural.
I want this to work. I want my little Mae West blast to shake her thang and grow into that precocious little Minx. I want my little BB to color in the lines in real life. And I've done everything I can to make that happen. But they're not the only eggs in the basket.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
