My three day FSH is....normal. 6. Not high, as I expected. No flashing lights on the test results "Turn back now oh ye of diminishing ovarian reserve." My RE wants to change the protocol to microdose lupron, which he explained was for "poor responders" though he assured me I'm not technically a "poor responder." (Like I'm a tender flower at this point.) He is suggesting that we do another fresh cycle, go to blast and thaw my frozen blast for transfer as well. (Throw 'em all in, each and every one.) Nothing points to the need for donor eggs, according to the RE. In sum, I'm on the shit side of statistics. If I'm up for it, let's try again.
And this is why I love my husband. My husband has a child and a grandchild, both of whom he adores. He has me. And, if I do say so myself, which I will, I'm fun to be with, cute as a button, though a tad on the chubby side lately (IVF drugs and consolatory food and beverage) and financially self sufficient. What's not to love? We have a great life. Why should he complicate his life by adding a bawling, life sucking infant? Because I want one.
We had decided that IVF #2 was the final frontier. That is, until after 11 days of icepicks to my chest and barnacles on my heart, I knew that it couldn't be over yet for me. That I could not live with the "what if I had tried again?" If my FSH had come back high, if my RE had introduced the donor egg discussion or the "I'm just not optimistic that this will work" talk, I could walk away with assurances that I had done everything, but it just wasn't in the cards. So I planned my discussion, readied my arsenal and before I got the words out, my husband said "we'll try again." (And later, "please speak clearly into the microphone that the third time is it.")
So, we live to fight again. It is lovely to have a plan. To have made a decision. I mean, stranger things have happened, right?
Friday, September 26, 2008
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Waterfalls my ass.
This just in: "Kidman credits fertile water with pregnancy" http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/26867732/. Yes, according to Oscar-winning actress Nicole Kidman "swimming in Australian Outback waterfalls may promote fertility and might have contributed to her unexpected pregnancy over the past year." Sigh.
I don't subscribe to the notion that everyone, including public figures, must share every aspect of their lives to everyone they come in contact with. In fact, I think we, as a society, are too forthcoming about too many things (reality shows) and too quick to put it all out there (reality shows). I get particularly irritated with the arrogance of "it's my opinion and I'm entitling everyone else to hear about it." As if couching hurtful words in the form of an opinion makes it any less hurtful. But that's another post.
My point is that when you choose to share, you should be honest. Responsible too. Even if you're famous. Especially if you're famous. I don't personally know Jennifer Lopez. I've never met Nicole Kidman. I do know, however, that women of a certain age are exponentially more likely to have issues with fertility. I also feel certain that famous, driven women of a certain age who have also publicly expressed their desire to have children are very likely going to take steps to achieve that desire. Greater steps than, say, water ballet in waterfalls or simply thinking positive thoughts.
When I learned that we had fertility issues, my first thought was "ok, we just do in vitro." Solved that. It never entered my mind that it might not work. It certainly never entered my mind how emotionally wrenching it would become. And if I, a fairly educated and not naive type person, discounted the difficulties I would face as an over-the-age-of-35, trying-to-have-a-child woman, I feel sure many others out there do as well. Exacerbating this are those famous people who "unexpectedly" bear children in their late thirties and early forties, while denying any involvement at all with assisted reproductive technology. Hooey, I say.
I have told very few people in real life that I've had IVF. Not because I'm ashamed but because I'm private, the issue is hugely painful and emotional, and I also don't share info about bikini waxes or how much I've spent on shoes (unless I got a great deal and want to appear thrifty). When I do share my sordid reproductive history with someone in real life, I take care to share it as honestly as possible because the issue deserves so much respect. And maybe it will prevent that sharee from being insensitive to a fellow infertile.
I recognize that not every woman in her late thirties and forties must use ART to get pregnant. The overwhelming majority do though, and it's insulting to us, said majority, when famous people suggest that they were just blessed, God answered their prayers (not the rest of us heathens), fate shined on them, they were patient and it happened, twins just run in their families, and heavens no we didn't do in vitro.
Oh, and Nicole Kidman's never had plastic surgery either.
I don't subscribe to the notion that everyone, including public figures, must share every aspect of their lives to everyone they come in contact with. In fact, I think we, as a society, are too forthcoming about too many things (reality shows) and too quick to put it all out there (reality shows). I get particularly irritated with the arrogance of "it's my opinion and I'm entitling everyone else to hear about it." As if couching hurtful words in the form of an opinion makes it any less hurtful. But that's another post.
My point is that when you choose to share, you should be honest. Responsible too. Even if you're famous. Especially if you're famous. I don't personally know Jennifer Lopez. I've never met Nicole Kidman. I do know, however, that women of a certain age are exponentially more likely to have issues with fertility. I also feel certain that famous, driven women of a certain age who have also publicly expressed their desire to have children are very likely going to take steps to achieve that desire. Greater steps than, say, water ballet in waterfalls or simply thinking positive thoughts.
When I learned that we had fertility issues, my first thought was "ok, we just do in vitro." Solved that. It never entered my mind that it might not work. It certainly never entered my mind how emotionally wrenching it would become. And if I, a fairly educated and not naive type person, discounted the difficulties I would face as an over-the-age-of-35, trying-to-have-a-child woman, I feel sure many others out there do as well. Exacerbating this are those famous people who "unexpectedly" bear children in their late thirties and early forties, while denying any involvement at all with assisted reproductive technology. Hooey, I say.
I have told very few people in real life that I've had IVF. Not because I'm ashamed but because I'm private, the issue is hugely painful and emotional, and I also don't share info about bikini waxes or how much I've spent on shoes (unless I got a great deal and want to appear thrifty). When I do share my sordid reproductive history with someone in real life, I take care to share it as honestly as possible because the issue deserves so much respect. And maybe it will prevent that sharee from being insensitive to a fellow infertile.
I recognize that not every woman in her late thirties and forties must use ART to get pregnant. The overwhelming majority do though, and it's insulting to us, said majority, when famous people suggest that they were just blessed, God answered their prayers (not the rest of us heathens), fate shined on them, they were patient and it happened, twins just run in their families, and heavens no we didn't do in vitro.
Oh, and Nicole Kidman's never had plastic surgery either.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Thursday, September 18, 2008
A Time to Mourn
Yep, I'm feeling it. The gray, olive green clouds. The quick temper. The raw, exposed nerve endings. Difficulty concentrating. Sprinklings of tears, always out of the blue, unpredictable but reliably so. A jellybean of loss, lodged like a splinter. Comforting words bounce off like raindrops, leaving me, well, feeling all soggy. Vacillating between wanted to be coddled and wishing for an impenetrable layer of People B' Gone.
E asked me if I needed to talk to someone. Of course, it set me off. "About what?" I asked? "I need to pay someone to offer me sympathy and tell me that I can have a rich, full life even without a child?" I know that. Of course I know that. I just need to mourn what could have been for a little of while. And if I'm snappy and short, well, get over it. (I thought I trained him better... just yes me and send me flowers.)
I really feel, with the assistance of Dr. Google, that physically it is over for me, even if I was willing to commit even more money and time. I've had two failed fresh cycles and one miscarriage from a frozen cycle. I'm 6 months from 39. Try as I might with the assistance of very creative Google searches, the odds are far from being in my favor. My RE, the doll, made it clear that ovarian reserve can diminish greatly in a short period of time. My response to this last cycle bears that out. But still.
In the vein of if wishes were horses, I just wish I knew. The humble comfort of certainty. Oyster, meet my world. Pack up the bags, hon, I'm taking that international job and we're moving to Spain. Or culinary school just for kicks. Why the hell not. I was walking from my car this morning and I thought, "you're just not going to be able to have this child," almost like some doctor somewhere had proclaimed it physically impossible. And it gave me peace. Permission to plan, I guess. For just a moment.
But I'm just not there yet. Maybe I will be after we meet with the doctor. Maybe after I try another frozen cycle with my one, freezing little blast. Maybe my issue is not so much having a child as it is dealing with the palpably bitter disappointment of failure. Failure and sympathy, frick and frack. Oh, yea, and just feeling so darn vulnerable and exposed. You know, the things that percoset can't touch.
E asked me if I needed to talk to someone. Of course, it set me off. "About what?" I asked? "I need to pay someone to offer me sympathy and tell me that I can have a rich, full life even without a child?" I know that. Of course I know that. I just need to mourn what could have been for a little of while. And if I'm snappy and short, well, get over it. (I thought I trained him better... just yes me and send me flowers.)
I really feel, with the assistance of Dr. Google, that physically it is over for me, even if I was willing to commit even more money and time. I've had two failed fresh cycles and one miscarriage from a frozen cycle. I'm 6 months from 39. Try as I might with the assistance of very creative Google searches, the odds are far from being in my favor. My RE, the doll, made it clear that ovarian reserve can diminish greatly in a short period of time. My response to this last cycle bears that out. But still.
In the vein of if wishes were horses, I just wish I knew. The humble comfort of certainty. Oyster, meet my world. Pack up the bags, hon, I'm taking that international job and we're moving to Spain. Or culinary school just for kicks. Why the hell not. I was walking from my car this morning and I thought, "you're just not going to be able to have this child," almost like some doctor somewhere had proclaimed it physically impossible. And it gave me peace. Permission to plan, I guess. For just a moment.
But I'm just not there yet. Maybe I will be after we meet with the doctor. Maybe after I try another frozen cycle with my one, freezing little blast. Maybe my issue is not so much having a child as it is dealing with the palpably bitter disappointment of failure. Failure and sympathy, frick and frack. Oh, yea, and just feeling so darn vulnerable and exposed. You know, the things that percoset can't touch.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
The Cat Ate My Peestick
I have no idea what I mean by that title, but sadly, even if a cat did eat, or pee even, on my peestick, the result would be the same. Negative. To add insult to injury, my box of peesticks contained two kinds of sticks: (1) the glaring middle finger type of peestick and (2) the subtle "you are so not pregnant, beeyatch" type. I did have my beta today but I told them only to call me if my blood work reveals tomorrow's winning lottery numbers. Funny, the phone has been strangely silent.
I feel ok, though. Sad, of course. Confused, well always. Contemplative, definitely. I have given thought to what this means for me, at least in the near term. I will definitely lose some weight and start exercising again. I'm going to buy some shoes. Probably some really expensive ones. I'm going to revisit my "10 things to do before I die" list, maybe expand it to 12.
Thank you for your well wishes and for the glorious lack of "I'm sorry's" and "It's still early's." I love that I read nary a one. And I very much appreciate you offering up your housepets for blame. The little shits.
I feel ok, though. Sad, of course. Confused, well always. Contemplative, definitely. I have given thought to what this means for me, at least in the near term. I will definitely lose some weight and start exercising again. I'm going to buy some shoes. Probably some really expensive ones. I'm going to revisit my "10 things to do before I die" list, maybe expand it to 12.
Thank you for your well wishes and for the glorious lack of "I'm sorry's" and "It's still early's." I love that I read nary a one. And I very much appreciate you offering up your housepets for blame. The little shits.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Uterus of the Damned
I'm about 99% sure this cycle is over. I bought pregnancy tests on the way to work this morning, snuck to the bathroom, orchestrated the test....and a bigger, more obnoxiously speedy negative you have never seen (ok, many of you have). It's 10dp3dt, so I'm sure it's over.
Please, no "I'm sorry's" or "it's still early's."
Shitty luck.
Please, no "I'm sorry's" or "it's still early's."
Shitty luck.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Denial Ain't Just a River in Egypt.
I can feel the lightening bolts and pelting rain positioning above my head as I type this. Here goes: I don't want this two week wait to end. I don't. Really. I want to reschedule my Beta for sometime in October. Or January. I want to continue to live in the glorious netherworld of the unknown; of the maybes; of the "is that a tad bit of nausea brought upon by my powerful sensory aversion to the pregnancy hormone, or should I just not have had that 3rd taco? I'm living in denial and I like it here.
I haven't bought any pregnancy tests either. And now that I think about it, I don't think I've even scheduled a time to go in for my beta. Who is this interloper who has taken over my type A, "give me control or give me death" person? No idea, but if she's a good cook and can get me out of the office on time, she's hired.
Seriously, I had "the" conversation with myself last night. It went something like this: "Self, you have no control over the outcome, just how you handle the outcome. Your period of blissful ignorance is coming to an end so it's time to deal. It was a shit cycle, but you ended up with four fairly decent blobs of potential human life (did I mention that my last embryo made it to freeze?). This was a seriously good effort, but now it's time to deal in the here and now. And you can handle the outcome. You have before, you can do it again. So, put down the faux daiquiri and smell the noncaffeinated coffee. And lose some weight while you're at it." Bitch.
So that's where I am. I wouldn't say that I'm treading water, just that I'm floating on a very comfortable raft on a river in Egypt with no natural predators and a good book. And, self be damned, I get to stay here for just a little while longer.
I haven't bought any pregnancy tests either. And now that I think about it, I don't think I've even scheduled a time to go in for my beta. Who is this interloper who has taken over my type A, "give me control or give me death" person? No idea, but if she's a good cook and can get me out of the office on time, she's hired.
Seriously, I had "the" conversation with myself last night. It went something like this: "Self, you have no control over the outcome, just how you handle the outcome. Your period of blissful ignorance is coming to an end so it's time to deal. It was a shit cycle, but you ended up with four fairly decent blobs of potential human life (did I mention that my last embryo made it to freeze?). This was a seriously good effort, but now it's time to deal in the here and now. And you can handle the outcome. You have before, you can do it again. So, put down the faux daiquiri and smell the noncaffeinated coffee. And lose some weight while you're at it." Bitch.
So that's where I am. I wouldn't say that I'm treading water, just that I'm floating on a very comfortable raft on a river in Egypt with no natural predators and a good book. And, self be damned, I get to stay here for just a little while longer.
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