My life as a duck.

We got back from Portland last night and were welcomed with...rain. It's raining today and according to weather.com it will be raining for the next 7 days. In Portland, it rained. During our drive to Gold Beach, Oregon.... I'm sorry, during our 6 hour drive to Gold Beach, Oregon, it rained. It also rained on our 8 hour drive back from Gold Beach. (I'm not a good car driving/passenger type person. It's a patience thing. I'll work on it.) Please, for the love of God, turn on the sunlamp and give me some lovin'.

Despite the dampness, Portland is a pretty awesome city. Great shopping, lots of green, not a lot of traffic considering the size of the city, an 85,000 square foot book store (Prrrrrrr) and probably the best meal I've had in recent history. Miso marinated black cod at the Heathman Hotel. Jasmine rice. Sesame Vinaigrette. Delicate, flavorful, brings-tears-to-your-eyes, makes-you-guard-your-plate-like-a-game-cat, lovely black cod.

I have no news on the reproductive front. I was expecting to have the results of my immunological testing by now, but I don't. I won't know about the chromosomal testing for at least another two weeks. I have been doing some research on PGD (Preimplantation Genetic Diagnosis) though and would love your thoughts. The studies I've seen are mixed.

So it's limbo land for a while. Life with a child? Life without a child? If it's the latter, I need to begin planning, well, Plan B, which right now will definitely entail a dry, arrid clime with little rainfall and absolutely no snow. It will probably also include a lot of golf and reading and pool floating. It will mean that my professional days will end far earlier than if the former occurs. And George Clooney will bring me beverages at a snap.

Plan B.

Oh stooooppp.

Oh my goodness. The fabulous and extraordinary Mrs. X (theyoungandtheinfertile.blogspot) hearts my blog. I'm tickled pink and say right back at ya! The warm fuzzies must be shared (particularly because there's been a dearth of same in our little blogging community lately), so I'm passing this on to Denise at http://www.freezerbuns.blogspot.com/. I love her blog and selfishly, she has been such a wonderful source of support and good advice as we have shared one shit cycle after another. I also heart Rebeccah at http://www.chasingachild.typepad.com/. This woman studied for the bar exam while undergoing IVF. I break out in hives just thinking about it. And Io at http://www.damnthatstork.blogspot.com because she's irreverent and funny and doesn't have cankles.

Off to Portland, Oregon tomorrow, where, predictably, it will be raining. I mean absolutely no offense to Portland or Oregon, but I would rather be on my way to the Caribbean. Or to the lottery office to collect my winnings. Alas.

Things that make you go hmmm.

I had a consult with my RE on Friday. I came prepared. Why did it fail? Was it egg quality? How would they change the protocol next time? Are there additional tests they would recommend? Dr. Google and I didn't get an opportunity to impress. Immediately, the RE recommended that we undergo immunological and chromosomal testing. He said that most clinics don't recommend either unless there have been recurrent pregnancy losses, but that he felt it would beneficial to rule out these issues for me. I love the way he said "rule out." Turns out if there are immunological issues, they can be dealt with; heparin for example. If there are chromosomal issues, well, cue the chubby opera singer. I snickered when he said we'll know the results of the immune tests early next week but it will take around 4 weeks to know about the chromosomal testing. Of course it will take 4 weeks. Hell, take 6 weeks.

As for the rest, it wouldn't be a trip to the RE's office if they didn't bring up my age. My eggs, you see, have been around 38 years, not to mention the 9 months I hung out in utero. (I knew all those vodka shots back in '69 would come back to haunt me. Bad Fetus.) The good news is that I responded "perfectly" to the stims and have good ovarian reserve. My lining could be fluffier, but it just could have been a bad batch of eggs. Assuming no chromosomal issues, the RE feels we should try again. No need to discuss donor eggs or sperm at this point. (I didn't share that we wouldn't go that route.)

All of us who go through this grapple with the issue of when is enough enough. For some people, I'm sure the answer is when they're successful, when the baby is born. For others, the uncertainty and invasiveness and emotional toll of IVF proves to be too much. Some choose adoption. Donor eggs/sperm or living without a child of your own for others. But at some point, you make a decision. A heartfelt, thoughtful, determined, resigned possibly, decision. I've never been so close to that point.

I know this because my first thought when the RE mentioned that nothing really could be done about chromosomal issues, well then we know we're done. The truth is that the physical process of in vitro has been no problem for me. The shots have been fine. I know, I know, I've complained bitterly, but really, they haven't been bad. Grab fleshy stomach flab, insert needle, depress plunger, go watch Gray's Anatomy. Sure, the butt shots got annoying but I've had worse mosquito bites. I've had two bruises total during this whole process. And the dildo cam, well, it's always been gentle.

The emotional toll of IVF is another story. The uncertainty, the soaring joy following by the bring you to your knees heartbreak, the careful optimism, the preparing for the worst yet hoping for the best, the exhaustive frustration, the please, please, please let me not lose who I am and who the hell am I anyway. No, there is a shelf life on this. When we started this process, I thought, I'll do this as long as it takes. I could not have known how much the process would take. And take.

So, I can definitely see an end to this. Not quite yet, not unless, of course, the chubby woman belts out her final notes in 4 weeks. And if that's the case, then we'll both go on a diet.

Things better left unsaid

My first thought was to turn this post into a "Top Ten Moronic Dumb Insensitive Things Ever Said To An Infertile Person Or About Infertility." Two Words: Jennifer Lopez*. But that's too easy. And it makes me mean and shrill. Instead, I'm moved to talk about how infertility has made me a less-mean person

• I try very hard to self-censure before I blab out some moronic, dumb, insensitive utterance that will very likely hurt someone's feelings or make me look like an asshole. For example, I was in a class at work yesterday and a woman walked by wearing, I kid you not, a white, furry, long-haired vest. She looked like half a lama. I caught myself turning to my neighbor to snort derisively at this woman's fashion choice and then stopped. And said nothing. The woman did indeed look like an alpaca, but I had no business verbalizing it to a stranger or near stranger. (Caveat: If my husband had been sitting next to me, I would not have been able to stop myself.) In a way, I'm looking at this as karma-reversal. How many times have I heard things like "when are you having children and how old are you anyway?" and "I've heard relaxation and avoidance of stress helps". I'm sure these are paybacks for the times I did make the lama remarks.

LESSON: One should not dress as a domesticated South American hoofed mammal. No, no, no, I mean: THINK BEFORE YOU SPEAK.

• A close corollary to bullet #1, I'm learning that even if I believe in my heart of hearts that someone is doing or about to do something that is completely moronic or stupid, I don't need to share the full extent of that belief (unless it involves bodily harm or excessive weight gain, particularly mine). Even if pressed for my "honest opinion." Even if someone flatters me excessively, tells me I'm funny, that my reproductive organs are those of a 16 year old, that they will die, just die, if they don't have my brutal, honest opinion. Nope, not getting it. You know why? Nine times out of ten, people just need to be heard. And you just need to listen. And gently, ask questions and reassure that person that you support them. Even if they're making what you perceive to be a huge mistake. I know this because I remember every single conversation I've had about this journey where I was allowed to cry and talk and cry and be heard. For me, I'm saving my brutal, honest opinions for that 1/10 person...my husband.
  

LESSON: Listening is a gift greater than words.

I realize that I've only written about two lessons I've learned from infertility that have made me less shrill, but I think they're biggies. (Notice how I didn't get defensive or say something mean like, "well you tell me what the hell you've learned in the last five months of any significance other than how not to wear goat.") Next month I will be posting from a yurt in Tibet on inner peace and the oneness of all human beings.

Ommmm.

*According to People Magazine, J-Lo said about her pregnancy: "It was natural. We didn't do in vitro, which I know was reported. Everybody assumed that because we had twins. I wanted to have a baby, but I've always said exactly what I said all those years they (reporters) asked us since we've been married: 'Well, when are you guys gonna have some kids?' 'When it happens naturally, I guess!' And that's when it happened. It was a surprise to us."

The Winter of my Discontent

As the winter of 2007 concludes, I say good riddance you heartless bitch. I can't recall a winter in near history that has leveled me quite like this one. Days upon days of cold, gray, sad, sunless blah. Our week in St. John in January is the one event that saved me from mainlining prozac. (She proudly notes that her advanced needle skills would ensure said mainlining would be a snap.) Couple the sunless blah with my first failed IVF in November and my fleeting pregnancy in March, I flip winter the bird and say bring on the sun. (The attached is Anguilla from 2004...look at that water...look at that girl...She looks so fertile.)


And Friday we had sun. A beautiful, warm, Springish day. I could feel the layers of gloom and melaniecholy slipping away. Yesterday, Easter, we had snow the size of packing peanuts. But today, sun. Shining in through the window, warming my face; it melts away the grime. Like many of us, I have never been so ready for a new season, a fresh perspective, the certainty of warm weather ahead. Because certainty is, well, certainly illusive.


If I have learned anything during this process (other than developing a certain proclivity for the dildo cam) it's that infertility is very much a solitary road. Sure, I've received wonderful support both IRL and through the computer, but ultimately you're trudging through the hills by yourself without a reliable compass and with less than definitive trail markings. And at some point, you're going to be faced with a decision: keep trudging or veer off. Most of us can't pinpoint with any certainty when that decision will be made or where you might veer off. (At the Four Seasons exit, please.)

An illustration: On Saturday I was sitting under the hair dryer, waiting for my natural blond highlights to reappear and a wave of sadness washed through me. The tears flopped over my nose and onto the People magazine and I held my breath. Just to try to center. Blinked a few times. Closed my eyes. Felt the sadness fill me up and felt it slowly leave. Waited for the bitter twinge to also leave; the "why me" to fade away. It did. And then I wondered when I would be certain.

I don't have the answer now. Now I just deal with the uncertainty as best I can. And wait for Spring to settle in and get nicely situated. And for the Winter of 2007 to be a distant memory.

How to get from pregnant to 0 in 12 days

My hcg level is down to "0." Zero. Zip. Nada. Phlgbbt. In a sad sort of way, I appreciate my body for taking care of things. I don't have to linger through weeks of slowly decreasing hcg levels, which easily could have allowed a blip of hope to arise. My return to zero means I don't have an ectopic. In fact, zero means I can start again anytime I want. A new beginning. A clean slate. Cue blue birds with spun gold in their happy little beaks.

If I had written this post last Saturday, it would have had a very different feel. The bitterness of "zero" would have been too good to pass up and the bluebirds would have been plucked, grilled and eaten with a tangy remoulade. Whether it's a good thing or not, my family and some friends read this blog and they have a tendency to get worried if I sound particularly morose. More so, if I shoot bluebirds. My phantom Saturday post would have had a Jack Nicholson in the Shining feel:

I AM SAD AND PISSED. I AM SAD AND PISSED. I AM SAD AND PISSED. SAD. PISSED.

And I do feel much, much better. Really. But I didn't post on Saturday because I was sad and pissed. I didn't post because I didn't want to have to explain later in phone calls that I was sad and pissed, but ok. So I need to add a disclaimer to my family and friends who read this, my struggle with infertility blog. Here goes:

I'm still me. I have not morphed into someone whose sole interest in life is having a child. I continue to be stronger than the average bear. I continue to work. Hard. I continue to have dreams beyond simply having a child. I would love to write fiction. I would really love to go to culinary school. I continue to be the only one in the room who laughs at my jokes. It is simply not my fault that others have no sense of humor. E and I continue to have a wonderful, "how in the world did we get so lucky" relationship, even though he doesn't know where we keep the vacuum. (Dammit, it's in the kitchen closet.) Please don't feel sorry for me and please don't suggest that I'm focusing too much on this having a child thing because of what I write here. This blog is about one subject, which happens to be a fairly emotional one. And a personal one. I get a great amount of support from the act of writing here and from the comments. By reading this blog, you subject yourself to the jurisdiction of me, the Supreme Queen Goddess, which could mean anything I want, depending on the day and my mood. So conduct yourself accordingly. Don't coddle or pity me, unless I ask for it or unless you too have struggled with infertility, then coddle away.

There, that feels better. Thank you for listening. Please sign the attached waiver in triplicate before a notary and we'll be ready to roll. Again.

So I lied...

Oh, no, not about my hcg levels taking a swan dive, but about kicking back for a while and not giving thought to next steps. I like the idea of wallowing, but it's not working for me. I need a plan. I'm not demanding a "Colonel Mustard in the library with a candlestick", just a plan. So, my plan is thus:

1. Continue drinking wine.
2. Get my blood drawn on Monday.
3. Meet with my RE to get an idea about what the flip happened.
4. Go to Cornell April 18th for a consult.
5. Drink more wine.

I would love not to leave my clinic. I love the personal attention and care. I love the convenience. But I think I've only got one more cycle in me and if I'm going to do it, I want the greatest likelihood of success. I would love to know if anyone has any experience with Cornell and what your thoughts are. E is convinced that I'm considering New York because of the shoe shopping. Please. That's only half the reason.

But the real reason for this post is to say thank you. I'm okay. Really, I'm okay and I attribute so much of it to you. For lifting me up, crying with me, checking on me, yelling at the world with me and reminding me that I'm not alone. I've been kicked in the ass by circumstance, but so have many of you. I'm pleased to say that it's hard to wallow in the cesspool of self-pity for too long when you realize that we've all had to shovel shit at one time or another. (And that little piece of literary eloquence should get me the Pulitzer.) You've been wonderful. And I've never had to worry that one of you would say something like "my third cousin twice removed got pregnant after 12 in vitro attempts and a hysterectomy, so you just need to relax."

So my plan is to try this again, either here or there, at some point in the next couple or three months. That's good enough for now.