Vacancy

Yep, I've moved.
You can find me at www.eggsbenedictarnold.com.
Hope to see you there.

Trip and Some Pix

The Mammoth Cave trip came off without a hitch. Well, unless you count the wicked, awful fight DH and I had on the way home. And if you're being picky and want to count the birth-control-induced 6 hour crying jag that occurred on the way home, maybe "without a hitch" is a bit too optimistic. The cave was interesting and we may even go back to show the kids one day. (That is, if we have kids before we are too feeble to manage a freebie cave tour.)

These birth control pills (bcp) make me crazy. How can it be that I can inject copious amounts of follicle stimulating hormone (fsh), lutenizing hormone (lh) and progesterone and simply shed a few tears at toilet paper commercials yet, I take your average bcp and I'm a wailing mess? Yep, that's birth control, baby, no man would ever want to come near me while I'm popping these things.

In the absence of anything more interesting going on in my life, I've included a few snaps from our Saturday dinner date. DH, who will now be known as FlyGuy, flew us to a rinky dink airport 100 miles away for a (are you ready for this?) A Picnic. Flying apparently brings out the romantic in him and I'm not complaining. I just wish a trip to the outlet mall did the same.



Look closely at the squiggly lines in the field. Don't quite know what to make of it. What do you think, a corn maze or a farmer on crack?



Ever wonder what the runway lights look like from the sky? The runway is the stretch of bright, colored lights in the middle of the pic. (We had difficulty finding the airport so FlyGuy had the air traffic control tower turn the lights up all the way)



Once we found the airport the runway lights were turned down to normal so we weren't blinded during the landing. Big difference.



Fidget's first trip. She had to ride in the "cheap seats" which is basically the cargo area behind the back seat. She looks a bit bummed out at this prospect. Yes, FlyGuy is wearing a beer t-shirt in the background. His flight gear is usually a t-shirt and Levis.



This was taken while cruising down the runway before take-off. Fidget is looking ominously annoyed.



Just to prove no Fidgets were harmed in the making of this post. Here is Fidget blissfully rolling in some marvelous stink at the airport after her first flight. She's a great dog.

Family Field Trip

We are packing the car and heading to Mammoth Cave, Kentucky in the morning. We are car-camping down south and spending two nights under the stars at Mammoth Cave National Park. Car-camping is the lazy person's version of roughing it. We drive into the campground, park the car and set up the tent in a clearing next to the car. There is a firepit at every campsite and sometimes even a grill. The best part is, bathrooms. There are bathrooms and showers just a quick walk down the road from our campsite. The facilities are no better than your basic public restroom, but it's far better than the tree on the left or the hole you have to dig if you're the true crunchy granola type.

DH prefers to rough it in a way that includes not showering for a week. That is a bit over the top for me. I've been there, done that. I'm not ashamed to admit I like to sit on porcelain while doing my business. If I were I guy, it may be different. No sitting needed and the woodland view is better.

We will drive all day Monday, tromp around the park and take some cave tours on Tuesday, then back in the car on Wednesday. It's a short trip, just long enough to see something cool then come home. The 8 hour drive (one-way) will be a bummer, but we are used to it. There aren't too many interesting things to see in the Midwest besides Chicago and since it's our hometown, we need to take a journey to see something new. A few years ago we car-camped to South Dakota and saw the Corn Palace, Mount Rushmore, Wall Drugs and Devil's Tower. Funny how our vacations have become school-like field trips. We are not the beach bum types, more like couch potatoes who need a destination and an itinerary to be motivated to leave home.

Since this is an infertility blog and I've been remiss in talking much about my infertility lately, I'll leave you with this update: I'm starting birth control pills tonight. I'll take them for a few weeks then take some meds to suppress follicle growth while also growing my uterine lining, when the lining is nice and plush, the doctor will take a biopsy and run tests to see if I am having implantation problems. To my peeps in the infertility world, this is also called a mock cycle. I'll leave it at that for now. Just wanted to let you know that things are starting to move forward again and I'm rather excited and also scared out of my wits.

Celebrate with Me

I realize this, on the heels of my last post is a bit bi-polarish, but I'm feeling good today and wanted to share it with you and invite you to celebrate with me.

Drum roll, please (No, I'm not pregnant- put it out of your mind people, I'm on the never-gets-pregnant-team, remember?)

Continue with Drum Roll, please:

I just finished my last graduate class. TA-DA!
That's the news. I'm officially, higherly ed-ja-camated.
I can now check the box that says,
Highest degree of education: MA (Master's of Arts in Educational Administration)

I took my final exam this morning and afterward, slowly walked to my car feeling weightless and happy.

I'm glad it's an MA instead of an MS. When I got my bachelor's degree, it was a BS (Bachelor's of Science in Education.) Every time I think of it, my mind says, "big deal, you got a degree that's BS" as in bull$*#%. MS felt like a Ms. as in, the name women give themselves when they are being mysterious and not divulging if they are married or single. I've always resented the fact that my name, Mrs.Lassie tells the world that I'm married while Mr.Lassie gets off scot-free and can keep it a secret if he chooses to. (Okay, now I'm thinking, why would he choose to, but that's a different post.) The feminist in me thinks we should have one title like the guys. Maybe instead of Mrs., Ms. and Miss, we could be Mo. Let's roll it on our tongue for a moment,

Mo Lassie,
Mo Lassie.

I like it. Think it could catch on?

Anyway, that's my news, folks. I've completed the coursework for my Master's degree. Now, don't go thinking my blog will get smarter overnight. I'm afraid you're stuck with the random, meandering, grammatically incorrect way I write. I got a graduate degree, not a brain transplant.

And lest you think I'm truly on a manic high, these are the things I'm trying to ignore while celebrating my accomplishment:

1. That I have to take (and pass) a state certification exam and a graduate comprehension exam before they give me my diploma

2. I finished my degree just in time to realize I want out of education and plan on changing careers next year

And finally...

3. I started the grad program the same year we started trying for a family. Way back then, I was in a hurry to finish before the kids came. Finishing years later, sans kids, is definitely bittersweet.

But, (insert picture of me skipping merrily, singing, "tra-la-la") I'm not thinking of those things. I'm focusing on my accomplishment and thanking my lucky stars that today I can say, "infertility did not beat me down and make me roll over and die. I kept on keeping on."

I have a Master's degree.
I am Mo Lassie, hear me roar.

I Am Not

My period started yesterday. Of course it did. It always does. It is a relentless reminder that I'm cursed with pms, monthly bleeding, cramps, bloat and weight gain: For Nothing.

I've been thinking about all my nots lately, so in an effort to get them out of my head, I thought I'd list them.

I'm not pregnant (big surprise.)
I'm not adopting.
I'm not a mother.
I'm not EVEN CLOSE to being a mother.
I'm not a beloved daughter.
I'm not happy.

I am the queen of the Pity Party, right? Its so freakin' hard to forget that I'm no where near being a mom. Parenting feels so far from me, that when I think about it, I literally can't breathe. My chest gets tight and I can't inhale. This has never happened to me before. I am hyperventilating because I'm infertile. For goodness sakes, why can't I get over it? Why can't I accept that I can't have kids? Barren. That word haunts me. Feels like it lurks over my shoulder, a red neon sign saying BARREN WOMAN. Feels like everyone knows I can't have kids. Am I wearing a scarlet letter? Is it obvious that I'm miserable (and barren)?

Me Thinks I Was Adopted

Saw my dad today. He is a retired teacher that lives out of state, or rather, I live out of state. He still lives in Michigan where I grew up. He and my mom divorced when I was 29. That was about 25 years too late. To the best of my knowledge, my mom is living a life of martyrdom taking care of her ailing mother.

My father, got remarried a few years back. She's a nice enough woman, I definitely think of her as my "father's wife." Just can't see her as a step-mother. They were in their 60's when they got married and she wore a full length, puffy, white wedding gown, bridesmaids and all. It was kind of weird, to say the least. Brides should never look like mutton dressed as lamb (enough said.) If you're thinking maybe it was the only wedding in her life, no, she had been married before, has 3 grown kids. Yes, I welcomed her into my family but I don't need a step-mother, thank-you-very-much.

But, I digress. As I was saying, I saw my dad today. In his retirement, he has chosen to keep himself busy by driving cars for Enterprise Car Rental. He and his sidekick, drove to Chicago to drop off a car. We met for lunch and they turned around to drive back to Michigan. All in a days work.

Here is a snippet from a Day in the Life of Dad:
1. Drive 5 hours to a suburban Chicago car dealer.
2. Call daughter (me) because he's lost.
3. Find destination, call daughter because he's no longer lost.
4. Drive to second car dealer.
5. Call daughter (still me) because he's lost again.
6. Tries to follow daughters directions.
7. Call daughter, still lost.
8. Ignores daughter's advice, backtracks 20 miles and basically starts the route over again.
9. Finds car dealership 3 hours late.
10. Call daughter (painfully, still me) says he'll be at the restaurant for lunch in 1 hour.

Wait for it... Wait for it...

11. Call daughter, he's lost.
12. Very patient daughter (who has phone in a death grip) gives directions
13. Father calls and says he's at the restaurant. It's the wrong restaurant, on the wrong road.
14. Daughter (why, oh why me?) says "don't move, I'm coming."

Have lunch with dad and sidekick. Sidekick is an 81 year-old man with a significant hearing problem. Dad blames him for getting lost. Sidekick hears this, rolls his eyes and looks at me like, "come on gal, you grew up with him, surely you can't be surprised at the events of today." The sage old man was right. I wasn't surprised. My father is a 65 year old college graduate who needs to find the yellow brick road because he needs a brain way more than that old scarecrow.

Yep, sometimes, me thinks I was adopted.

*Note from the infertility front: Still barren. On a break. Uterus likely full of cobwebs. IVF looks pointless. Still looking for the silver lining everyone says should be here.

*Note from the pet owner: Thank you all for your kind sentiments regarding Schuster. I still look for him around every corner and occasionally indulge in a daydream where I hear his footsteps down the hall. Your support has eased the sadness. Many thanks.

Schuster's Independence Day

Four years ago, DH climbed Mount Rainier. Well, almost climbed it. He and a climbing/hiking friend got within 200 feet of the summit and ran into a blizzard so they had to turn around. During the descent, they got lost in the blizzard and faced some harrowing circumstances. Fast forward one week and DH is sitting in my living room recounting his adventure. He looked fierce. He had lost several layers of skin on his face due to wind burn and almost all of his toe-nails.

As I was listening to his Rainier tale, I looked over his shoulder, out the window and saw a dog on the sidewalk. The dog looked like a scrawny coyote. He had no collar, tags or apparent owner. I tried to focus on DH's story, but it became increasingly difficult. I couldn't take my eyes off the dog. DH turned around saw the dog and rolled his eyes.

DH: Ah'm not gittin' the dowg
Me: He looks lost, just go out and get him and then you can tell me about your climb.

I batted my eyelashes and gave him my most sincere smile.
That didn't work.

Me: (pleading tone) I can't listen to your story while that poor abandoned dog is out there.
DH: Look at me, down't you feel bad for me, ah lowst my toenails, Ah'm exhausted, Ah'm not gittin' the dowg

Instead of batting my eyelashes, I gave him the look that says unless-you-get-that-dog-this-very-minute-I'm-going-to-go-all-kinds-of-wife-crazy-on-you.

DH: Alraht Ah'l git the dowg

(Note to the reader: I know, I could have gotten the dog, but it did look like a coyote and I wasn't sure little ol' me could handle such a creature.)

As soon as DH went outside to get the dog, the dog walked away. DH, hobbling from the loss of toenails, couldn't keep up. He came back in.

DH: Ah tried, but he walks fast, couldn't catch 'im
Me: Well, thanks for trying. I bet if you took the car, you could go faster and maybe catch him.
(insert profuse eyelash batting)

DH: Ah'll try, but he walks fast, cain't figure where he went, he's a dowg, he roams
Me: Here's your keys.

DH walks to the car, muttering under his breath. He drives off to the right and I see the dog walking up to the house from the left. I know DH won't see him so I grab the only thing at hand to bait and lasso the beast: a shoelace and 1/2 a bagel.

The fierce, would-be coyote walked right up to me, sniffed the bagel and looked up at me as if to say, "it took you long enough." I tied the shoelace around his neck and brought him home. Turns out the shoelace wasn't really needed, he walked alongside me like he had been my sidekick for years.

We named him Schuster. We already had a cat named Simon and figured Simon & Schuster was a bit cuter than Simon & Garfunkel. We took Schuster to the vet. He was 17 pounds and 12-13 years old. He was emaciated, he should have weighed 45 pounds. Schuster had a scar on his neck from an embedded collar and many scars all over his body. All of his teeth were either gone or broken from chewing on cage bars. He also had a small bullet or bb in his abdomen that had been there for years.

Schuster stayed with us for over 4 years. His hips started to weaken, but he still loved his walks. Neighbors would call out "Hey, there's Grandpa!" when they saw us coming. Schuster was brave, he endured regular chiropractic and acupuncture treatments like a champ. Schuster had his good days and bad, but he always rallied. DH said, "that dowg'll niver die, he'll bark at my funeral."

Then, last Friday, Schuster started to act very confused. He was running into walls and was having trouble standing. By Saturday morning, we knew he was starting to suffer. The end was near. We called the vet Saturday morning, but they had already closed for the holiday weekend. We considered taking him to an emergency clinic to be euthanized but decided we could keep him comfortable until Monday morning when our vet opened.

So, we spent the weekend hugging and loving Schuster at every opportunity. We fed him steak, sausage and treats. He loved it. We did our best to make him comfortable and said our last goodbye on Monday at 9 a.m.

We feel very fortunate that Schuster walked into our lives. We miss him dearly but are so grateful he is no longer tethered to a body that no longer worked.

Schuster 1989-2006

Supergirl: Hussy or Heroine (Double Edited Version)

My hormones are a ragin'. I'm on a natural cycle while we decide what to do with my Eggs O' Crap. Natural cycle means, no meds, wait for ovulation, club DH over the head, drag him into the bedroom and have my way with him. No more romance in this humble abode. It's all business.

Actually, that is not totally accurate. We practically went on a date last night. Went to see the movie, Superman Returns. It was good, looks like there will be a few more sequels which is promising. It wasn't overly sentimental, but due to the hormones coursing through my innards, I cried several times during the movie. The most ridiculous cry came when Superman tore off his shirt and showed the big, red *S* on his chest right before flying away to save some poor person in Metropolis. Yes, I cried over his underwear uniform. What's next? Weeping over my Thin Mints because Girl Scouts wear a sash? I'm not even on meds which means it's my own natural hormones making me a pile of mush.

Men are so lucky. How nice to not be at the mercy of hormonal mood swings. I bet Superman doesn't have mood swings. Remember Supergirl? Maybe not, she never caught on like Superman- maybe the world couldn't handle her Super Moodiness. Hmmm, how cool would that be? Picture it, you're in the luteal phase, too much progesterone in your system, p.o'ed at the world, and you have the ability to fly and throw people around? The only drawback is trying to fit into that hussy uniform while bloated. Supergirl should be allowed to wear sweats while fighting crime. It's only fair.

*Editor's Note: Meri-ann saved the day! She noticed that I had a picture of Wonder Woman and not Supergirl attached to the link above. I've fixed the problem. I was thinking Wonder Woman was Superwoman/Supergirl. Silly me. I could easily be Wonder Woman. Just have to eat a lot of Wonder Bread, right?

** Editor's Second Note: Okay, I'm going batty. It was Meg that saved the day and mentioned my reference to Wonder Woman when I meant to say Supergirl. Apologies to Meri-ann. Slowly losing my mind. Please forgive. It has been a very difficult weekend. Long story short, we had to put my dog Schuster to sleep today. Am feeling outrageously unfocused and scattered. Will share more later. Must keep self busy and productive around the house until sadness subsides.

Tagged!

I got tagged by the uber-cool Meri-ann! I'm not sure how I got lucky enough to get noticed by such an awesome blogger, but I'm very grateful she took notice of my little blog. Here are my responses to the tag:

7 things I'd like to do before I die:
1. Hear my child call me mom
2. Love my body
3. Open a rescue shelter for animals (cats, dogs, goats, pigs, horses, anything that needs rehab or a home.)
4. Marry DH (again) in Las Vegas by an Elvis impersonator. Seriously. It sounds like a fun way to recommit to each other.
5. Sell a piece of artwork or publish a book
6. Market one of my ideas/inventions. (Sounds hokey, I know, but I've got a few product ideas for disabled people. Wouldn't make a million bucks, but would probably pay for an ivf cycle.)
7. Shave my head so my hair was as short as a 3 year old boy. DH says I need an angular face for that. Maybe when I'm 65.

7 things I can't do:
1. Eat meat without feeling guilty or sad about the death of an animal
2. Keep a hairstyle for the whole day. By afternoon, hair is in a ponytail or off my face with a funky barrette.
3. See roadkill without saying a prayer
4. Let my fingernails grow. When they get too long, it feels like my fingertips can't breathe (By the way, I know that's weird)
5. Touch cotton balls- they give me the creeps, especially the squeak they make when torn apart. Really, there is a sound. Go to your bathroom and try it, just make sure I'm far away and occupied.
6. Sleep a whole night without waking up DH for a chat. He's such a good sport about this. He answers questions and makes comments on my musings when I can't sleep.
7. Get a tattoo. I'm too afraid of the pain, but I'd love one.

7 things that attracted me to my husband:
1. His voice (deep, southern drawl)
2. His intelligence, he's really smart, almost too smart for his own good
3. His sense of adventure (past and current hobbies: ice climbing, hiking, rock climbing, flying)
4. He is a great cook and bakes bread from scratch- no bread machine
5. He's an "old soul"
6. His willingness to dance with me even though he couldn't find the beat if it slapped him in the face
7. He often looked (looks) at me in a dreamy way, like I'm an angel. (Guess the hair hides the horns.)

7 books (or series of books) that I love:
1. Outlander series by Diana Galbaldon, I'm on book 4 out of 6 and am actually nervous about finishing the series. I'll miss the characters when I'm done. Hated the first 100 pages, am now addicted.
2. Harry Potter
3. No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency by Alexander MaCall Smith
4. All vegetarian cookbooks
5. Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein
6. The Prophet by Khalil Gibran
7. The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath

7 Movies I'd watch over and over:
1. When Harry Met Sally
2. Sixteen Candles
3. Say Anything
4. Rebecca by Alfred Hitchcock
5. Gaslight with Ingrid Bergman
6. Freaky Friday (the original with Jodi Foster)
7. The Sound of Music

7 people I'd like to tag:
This one is rather difficult for me because I'm supposed to list bloggers here and those tagged bloggers are supposed to do their own list. Well, the problem is, I don't think many other bloggers read my blog. So, instead I'll list some great blogs that I read with the hopes that you'll go check out some of the sites. (And if any bloggers are out there, PLEASE leave a comment and your address, I'd love to pop in and see your stuff.)

1. Dee at Chasing China
2. Vanessa at Twisted Ovaries
3. Stella at Better Than a Soap Opera
4. Meg at Journey to the Center
5. Flicka at the Vacant Uterus
6. Juliana at Positive Chaos
7. Yorkchic at Yorkshire Life

There you go people, more things than you ever wanted to know about me.
Don't forget to pop in and catch a few other bloggers. And anyone else itchin' to blog, come on in, the waters warm!

The Eagle Has Landed

We went flying on Saturday. It wasn't too bad. Turns out DH is a much better pilot than driver. At least I think he is. I don't know enough about flying to know what to complain about or be afraid of. Strangely enough, on the way home, DH had to slam on the brakes several times to avoid hitting the car in front of us. This is what it sounded like (remember he's a southern boy.)

Me: Gosh, are you watching the guy in front of you, you've slammed on the brakes 3 times in five minutes?

DH: Ah'm drivin' purfect

Me: I wouldn't call slamming on the brakes perfect

DH: Weel, it's purfect enough

My question is, what is "perfect enough?" And what does "perfect enough" flying look like? Hopefully, I won't have to find out for a very long time. Sigh.

The flight itself was uneventful. I was tense but didn't let it show. The night before, we had a disagreement and he said, "Ah cain't fly with ya if ya keep actin' scared 'cause ya get mean when ya git scared." I envisioned us going down in a blaze of glory with him shouting, "Ah should have niver got ya up here, yur too tense!" So, I steeled my emotions and acted cool as a cucumber. DH commented on my great attitude more than once. We've decided to fly again soon so I can continue to get used to it. DH is over the moon. But he knows he owes me big-time. Now, I'm racking my brain trying to think of what that little excursion was worth. Diamonds come to mind. He made me a baked potato and called us even. We'll just see about that.

Here are a few pictures of our excursion. I've included one of myself. I don't think it really looks like me. At least, I hope it doesn't.

Technology: Too Much of a Good Thing

I was offline this week due to difficulties with my cable connection. Difficulties meaning, our neighbors who moved out this week, cancelled their cable so the technician that came to cut their line, cut ours instead. Apparently, attention to detail is not a job requirement with Comcast Chicago. The cable company, in it's endless wisdom kept telling me there was an outage in my neighborhood so they couldn't send anyone to my house. I was told to wait it out while they fixed the problem remotely. This was hard to swallow considering I told the company from the beginning I saw someone on the pole outside CUTTING MY WIRE.

Anyway, I'm back and more than a little embarrassed at the level of discomfort I felt being unplugged for so long. We had no cable TV, no internet access and no house telephone. I felt like a pilgrim, except for the fact that I got many loads of laundry done and none of it entailed soap with lye, hand-wringing or even breaking a sweat. Not very colonial of me, huh?

I guess I just have to accept that I'm a slave to convenience products. In fact, a few years ago when our microwave broke we high-tailed it to Home Depot so fast you'd think I was in labor. I wasn't of course, just in fear of labor, as in, actually cooking something instead of just heating it up. We do cook a bit around here, we are not totally lazy, but when those frozen Taquitos call, I've gotta answer and I'm not waiting for the oven to heat up when the microwave takes a mere 45 seconds. I'm lazy when I'm hungry, so sue me.

To celebrate being back in the world of keyboards and remote controls, DH and I are going out to dinner and a movie tonight. It may be my last hurrah because tomorrow morning...

I'm going flying.

The plane is fixed, weather looks good and I'm out of excuses. DH and I are taking our maiden voyage with him behind the wheel. Is there a wheel in an airplane? I think he steers with something, but I'm not sure it's circular. Blast, it's all so confusing and annoying. How can I be in control of the situation without even knowing what to call the darn things? What should I say, "Hey buddy, keep your hands at 10:00 and 2:00 on that wheel-like thingy that steers the plane." No one has power when using the word - thingy. Sigh.

Nervous? Who's nervous? Not me. I always write a farewell letter to my family and friends before an outing with DH. (By the way, it's in the top right drawer of my bedside table. Tell my dogs I love them them and don't put my cat in a shelter, he's too delicate.)

Those that live in the Midwestern part of the U.S., if you see a small white plane flying a little too low tomorrow morning,

be afraid,
be very afraid
and then run.

I'll take my camera and snap a few pics to share with you so you can see the craziness I call my life.

Dodged a Bullet

My DH is an adventurer at heart. He is a low-level adrenaline junkie. His hobbies have included ice climbing, rocking climbing, hiking and most recently- flying. DH became a pilot about 2 years ago. He pours countless dollars and hours into this new diversion. I can't really blame him. As I pursued our dream of having a child, he pursued his dream of flying. I'm glad at least one of realized our dream.

I'm proud of DH. He has his instrument rating which means he can fly in bad weather with no visibility, just using his instruments. He is also very close to getting his commercial pilot rating which means he could fly freight or banners over a ballgame. I hope he does the latter, but those jobs are apparently hard to come by.

As I've established, DH is a safe, qualified pilot, yet I've never flown with him. Many of our friends have gone up, but I'm chicken. He has been pestering me lately to fly. I've always been able to avoid it with excuses about doctor appointments and added stress. I'm out of excuses. I'm not cycling, not pregnant, I think I have to do it. I have to fly with him. It's his passion, if we don't share the experience, we will grow apart instead of together. I know this and I hate it.

As a wife, it is difficult to believe my husband can fly an airplane better than he can drive a car. He admits, he's a bad driver but swears he is a good pilot. Hmmm, I'm hoping that since there are no pedestrians in the clouds I'll be less inclined to be a backseat driver (pilot.) Do birds count? We are sharing the sky with them. Who has the right of way? I must look into that before take-off.

Today was the day, we planned on going flying in the morning and having a picnic lunch on an airstrip not too far from home. But, as the title of this post states, I dodged a bullet. The plane is in the shop, no flying for us. One of these days though, I'm going to be up there, white-knuckled and barely breathing. Oh, the things you do for love.

If You Can't Say Something Nice...

Summer is the season to unwind and relax. I've done my best to follow these guidelines but a few thoughts keep plaguing me so I thought I'd share them with you in an effort to get them out of my head.

First off, I need to lose weight. I'm very uncomfortable with my body. I suppose these feelings may come from my experience of my body's betrayal via infertility, blah, blah, blah. No dime-store psycho analysis needed here. It's obvious, my body's a mess, not even a fixer-upper, probably just a lemon. Never going to work properly, would trade it in for a more reliable model if I ever got the chance. And since we're onto this stellar metaphor, let me add, I've got so much junk in my trunk (ahem, a big booty) I'm not allowed to walk down streets with signs that say, No Oversize Loads. Yeah, I'm no fan of my bod these days.

These feelings have become somewhat exaggerated since last weekend when a matronly woman from church pulled me aside and in her best, motherly voice said,

"I can tell you have gained weight. I can see it. You must lose this weight."

I was speechless, mostly because we were in church and four letter words (besides God's Will) are frowned upon. So, I've been dwelling on my extra pounds and planning ways to cut calories and be more active. On a positive note, I've been riding my bike and walking to stores and places that I would normally drive. I've even considered getting of these. I haven't bought it yet, not quite sure I want to completely jump ship and go from normal urban gal to Super Urban Gal, through rain, sleet, snow and dark of night- always pushing the grocery cart. Nope that's not me, not yet.

Okay, this post has me practically winded, everything is out of shape, including my typing fingers. I'll tell you more about what weighs on my mind later. Now, off to plan ways to avoid matronly advice, better known in the IF world as- assvice.

Ovulation: An Exercise in Futility

I'm ovulating. The sticks don't lie. I've used so many home pregnancy tests and ovulation predictor kits that I'm developing weird muscles in my legs and arms from assuming the position trying to catch FMU (first morning urine.) The muscles used in that morning feat of physical fitness are rather odd, not often used. Funny how I'm totally squishy and out of shape from all the hormones yet I can hold a squat better than a five year-old frying a bug on the sidewalk with a magnifier.

I'm not sure how I feel about ovulating. In a way, I'm always hopeful that this is the month I'll get pregnant. But when I allow myself to think about the years of cycles exactly like this one that ended up with nothing, I feel daunted. I still wake up in the morning feeling normal, looking forward to the day, then I remember- I can't have children. Life washes over me like a tidal wave and I suddenly lose the energy to get out of bed. It is still unbelievable to me that I can't have children. I wonder if the shock will ever wear off.

Summer Update:
Rode my bike to the grocery store and Blockbuster today. Yesterday, I changed the tires on my lovely Schwinn and she rode like a dream. I tried to stay out of the way of the serious cyclist. A few gave me wry looks. I held my head high and tried to get this picture out of my head.

Lazy Days of Summer

I'm a teacher and summer is almost here. Some say the best reasons to go into teaching are June, July and August. I admit, there is a definite upside to working in a school. We get all of the major holidays off and a few random ones. Our work day ends by 4:00 and we don't usually have a boss breathing down our necks. Depending on the age of the kids you teach, your 20 little bosses could be breathing down your elbows.

It is difficult being infertile and working in a school. I simply can't get away from children and some days, like after my doctor gives me terrible news, children are the last thing I want to see. My students are disabled and I have all ages in my classroom, kindergarten thru fourth or fifth grade. Most days are very interesting, never a dull moment in my classroom.

Working with the disabled has helped me keep things in perspective. Due to the nature and location of my teaching position, I often have students for up to six years. Their whole elementary experience is spent with me. By the time they are ready to move on, we have usually formed enough of a connection that they feel like part of my family. They don't feel like my children, more like my cousins. After six years my stern teacher phrases have lost some of their shock value. The older students look at me like- is that all you got? Six years is a long time to be with some of these kids. In 10 years of teaching I've only had one student who I wish never went away. Of course, she moved away early with family members who are less than moral. It haunts me.

So I approach every summer break exhausted, excited and terrified of being bored. I generate several to-do/goal lists in a spiral notebook weeks ahead. My failed cycle has inhibited my planning so I decided to take a moment and write my list. Here are my summer to-do's and goals in no particular order.

1. Consult with one more doctor/ investigate laparoscopic surgery
2. Travel to the southern states to visit in-laws
3. Plant flowers and mulch in front yard
4. Ride my very cool red Schwinn bike at least 2x per week
5. Complete at least 2 more stained glass masterpieces
6. Lose 25 pounds
7. Get together with girlfriends at least 2x per week (possibly on the schwinn)
8. Housetrain dog (yes, Fidget is still a work in progress)
9. Spend no more than $250 at IKEA
10. Touch up navy blue living room wall paint
11. Touch up burnt red hallway paint
12. Touch up paint on ceiling
12. Get hypnotized so I never paint home anything other than eggshell

Not bad as a start. I expect to check off at least three of these things by August.
Wish me luck, will keep you posted.
Thanks for being there.

Confessions of a Serial Killer

I'm back, beginning to rise from the cocoon of disappointment that has insulated me since Friday. I can't think of anything except how guilty I feel for hurting my embryos. I feel like I killed them. Weird, morbid, dramatic, I know. I imagine my current mood is a combination of rising estrogen, progesterone withdrawal, exhaustion and plain old self-pity. Not an attractive combination, I assure you. Reality is, the embryo's chromosomes could have been abnormal thus resulting in their demise. Unfortunately, another likely explanation is, my body attacked the embryos because my immune system is in overdrive as evidenced by endometriosis and various other symptoms. At the end of the day though, when I'm lying in bed at night, I can't help thinking that I did it, I expelled the poor things instead of welcoming them. Can't get the thought out of my head.

I'm losing faith, feeling like I should stop the madness. I'm beginning to succumb to the finality of infertility. I actually considered what life would be like living childfree. In the world of infertility there are categories of resolution. We have (a) success, (b) success by other means (donor egg/sperm, surrogacy, adoption) and (c) childfree. I'd love success, am considering success by other means and until now simply banished the thought of living childfree. I never thought I'd feel living childfree would be less painful than infertility, until today. Today, on the way to work, I thought- I could live childfree. We'd travel, have a nice house maybe even a summer beach place. I surprised myself. I was happy picturing life without children. It felt luxurious. I've heard some people say that it's time to stop pursuing infertility treatment when the pain becomes worse than the need/want for a child. We're getting close to that line folks. Hopefully the break I take this summer will lure me back to the warm fuzzies of family planning. Right now, all I can think of is- I better not get pregnant. God will soon lose patience with a woman who coaxes embryos into this world only to reject them before they get a foothold.

Possibly as a penance, my period this month is horrible. I'm passing clots so large you'd think my ovaries just gave up and fell out. The good news is, I'm finally able to take Excedrin Migraine again. Oh, how I've missed my lovely white pills that take away the pain. I've also been indulging in caffeine every day. Yes, I said every day. If I'm going to be miserable, I'd rather have the energy to be a proper miserable person- honking at inconsiderate drivers, glaring at people who cut in line at the store, a gal needs energy for that. That's right ladies, you don't want to meet me in a dark alley these days. I'm a long way from cuddly.

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The Toxic Uterus Strikes Again

A bad B-movie title? Nope, just the story of my life.
Pregnancy Test: Negative.

I'm am so sick of my freakishly flawed body, I can barely stand to be in the same room as myself. Do you remember that feeling back in high school when some boy or gaggle of girls hurt your feelings so bad you felt sick? Don't we all have a memory or two like that? A situation that was so awful you know you'll never forget how it felt to live through it? I think this is one of those days. The only word to describe how I feel is gutted. As if someone carved out my organs and left a brick in their place. Gosh, what would I feel like if I hadn't been prepared for the negative? I shudder to think of it.

My last cycle left me sad. This cycle has left me angry. I can't believe I gave up chocolate and sushi for this.

Will post more later when I'm able to form a thought without an expletive.

Mother's Day, Schmuther's Day

It is Mother's Day, I feel compelled to post something. I'm not sure what I want or need to write, well, actually I do know what I'd like to write but there is no need for a potty mouth on a Sunday. I just took communion for goodness sakes, I'm going to try to keep it clean until dinner at least.

And so, Mother's Day. Talk about a Hallmark holiday, gosh the amount of money invested in the promotion of this day is mind-boggling. There are even commercials dedicated to mothers. I simply can't escape the sugary images of doe-eyed moms, lovingly cooking dinner, surrounded by hordes of adoring children. I feel sorry for all my diabetic peeps out there, the sugary sweetness in the air can't be good for them. It must be getting in through their pores. Beware, good friends, the air is fraught with deadly nectar, keep your insulin close at hand.

I know I sound bitter, I guess I am, a little. But not for the reason you think. I betcha all think I'm bitter because I'm not a mother, right? Nope, that isn't the reason. I've never liked Mother's Day, not even when I was little. I didn't grow up in a Hallmark household. My mom wasn't the kind of mom you see in TV commercials. At least not at home. To the outside world she was soft spoken, kind and doe-eyed. Apparently, the effort required to keep up the charade took a lot out of her because when she came home she was pretty much the meanest bully I knew. Yet, every Mother's Day teachers would make us create sweet cards and wrap silly little art projects for our moms. All the kids would be so proud and excited to take them home. Blech. All I could think of is, what a way to waste a perfectly good paper doily and star stickers.

70's TV was filled with images of the way moms were supposed to act. I'd have given anything for a Mrs.Brady, Mrs. Ingalls or heck, I'd even take Mr. Roper. Instead, I got a cross between Thelma from Scooby Doo and the Hulk. In a nutshell, an angry know-it-all. My mom didn't really raise us, she basically gave birth and then did her best to avoid or humiliate us. I'm the youngest of three girls, I'm 34, sisters are 35 and 36. Some people would say my mom had it rough with three girls so close in age. The stories are legendary about how difficult it was with 3 kids in diapers at once. Everyone laughed at the recollections, but not us. My sisters and I knew we had already paid for any inconvenience we had created by being born.

Growing up in that atmosphere gave me the survival skills I'm using to get through my infertility struggle. This is bittersweet because, while I'm grateful to say I'm a survivor, I'd rather be able to say, my mom is helping me through my infertility struggle. She is not. When I grew up and was no longer her legal responsibility, my mom walked away and didn't look back. She keeps up with my life through my sister and knows enough about me to be able to brag to others about my successes. Although she never contacts me to acknowledge my accomplishments. My mom also knows about my infertility struggle, but she has never offered advice, support, or even given her fertility background so I can unlock the mystery of my fertility.

I spent some time on "the couch" and worked out my demons with a good therapist and a few too many trips to Target. And here I am, a perfectly functioning adult, not needing her support but always secretly wishing my mom would WANT to support me. Alas, she is MIA, as they say. My mom is still living in the house I grew up in, but she changed her phone number and never gave me the new one. That's sad, isn't it? I got over it a long time ago. I hardly think of it anymore, except on days like today, Mother's Day. I really don't understand my mother, she threw away the opportunity to be a parent, and I'd sell my soul for it. No, I'm not bitter about Mother's Day because I'm not a mom, that is something I have the power to change. I'm bitter because I don't have a mom, and I'll never be able to change that.

A Southern Kind of Sorry

After transfer some doctors tell you to stay in bed for a few days. I've even heard one doctor recommended no bending at the waist. Other doctors say it is okay to move around because it is helpful to get the blood flowing to the embryos and uterus. Patients that move around are supposed to take it easy. My doctor is in the second camp, thus my conundrum is, what does it mean to “take it easy?”

In my book, The Lazy Women's Guide to Life, taking it easy means, DH cooks for me, does the housework and tells me I'm pretty so I don't have to waste valuable energy putting on makeup or doing my hair. Is that going too far? Does that level of laziness mean I am not getting enough blood to my uterus? Maybe I should fix my hair and put on a bit o' blush. Actually, my doctor may not like that because I'd have an artificial glow which would mask a pale face thus not allowing us to see how my blood flow truly is. Dangerous, right? I agree, no makeup. He must just tell me I'm pretty while he is cooking and doing the housework. Now, if only I could get DH to agree.

On the day of transfer, I pretty much glued myself to LifetimeTV. For blood flow, I played with the dogs, walked to the bathroom and read a trashy novel. The day after transfer, yesterday, I did a couple loads of laundry, bathroom, made lunch, trashy novel. Today, my plan is to do a load of laundry, bathroom, trashy novel and TARGET. Yep, I am venturing out. Is that a good idea? I am suffering from an extreme case of cabin fever and feel the need for retail therapy (i.e. shop the Target clearance shelves.) Tomorrow is my last day off work this week. I plan on doing the ultimate in retail therapy, shoe shopping at DSW Shoe Warehouse. Nothing gets my blood moving like a roomful of discounted shoes. And since its strappy sandal season, I'm over the moon.

Which brings me to my question, am I lazy or just an obedient mother-in-waiting? Am I taking it too easy? My southern born and bred husband calls lazy people "sorry" as in, pathetic. An example of it's use in my home:

Me- Why haven'’t you taken out the trash yet?

DH (with southern drawl) BaCawse I'm bein' sorry

Me- Are you going to take the trash out soon?

DH (slowly drawls)
Ah thenk I'm gonna be sorry all day,
but you kin check agin tomorra

Loads of people and things are referred to as sorry in our home. He hasn't used that term in reference to me, not yet at least. In fact, a few times he has told me to go sit down and "take it easy."” Clearly, the definition of taking it easy is subjective. So, off to Target I go and if I drop something, I promise I won't pick it up, just in case bending at the waist really is bad for me.

I'm PUPO! (Pregnant Until Proven Otherwise)

It was a great morning.
We transferred 2 embryos.
An 8 cell and a 5 cell.

An 8 cell is as good as it gets for a day 3 transfer. Embryos can be fragmented but still viable, my two were not fragmented at all. DH and I are very pleased and feel as though we've leapt a large hurdle. Our last ivf left us with one 4 cell to transfer. After that, we feared we were simply unable to create normal embryos. Today's result has calmed our fears. There are many hurdles ahead of us, implantation being the most vexing, but what happened today has renewed our hope.

Now, my plan is to relax on the couch for the remainder of the day. The only drawback is Lifetime is showing reruns. Heck, I'm feeling so good today I'd watch ESPN (okay, I take that back, I'm happy, not crazy.)

Thank you all for your support, will check back in soon.

Holding My Breath

Dare I say it... the 2 embryos are still alive... and growing.
Transfer tomorrow at 9:30.
Won't say anymore because I'm way too superstitious, fearful of jinxing anything.

Except, may I take a moment to say,

OH MY FREAKIN' GOODNESS, THEY ARE ALIVE!
ALIVE, I TELL YOU, ALIVE!

Picture an old movie, mad scientist raising his hands to heaven screeching

ALIVE, THEY ARE ALIVE!

and you've got a picture of what is going on in my head.

Prayers, good karma, positive vibes needed. Thanks.

Friday Update

Got the fertilization report today. Out of 8 eggs retrieved, 6 were mature and 2 fertilized. If those 2 keep up the good work, we will transfer on Sunday. I'm nervous. I had 2 that fertilized in my last cycle and one of them arrested, or stopped growing (i.e. died) before making it to transfer, thus leaving me with one embryo at transfer. Of course, that cycle ended in a negative pregnancy test, I'm trying to push those thoughts out of my mind and keep my eye on the ball with this current cycle.

I'm hopeful, but cautious.

At times, I feel as though I'm standing on a train track watching a train coming toward me, unable to get out of the way. It's a nightmare in slow motion, I see disaster approaching yet I'm unable to get out of it's path. Then my thoughts usually turn toward optimism as I remind myself that I had two good eggs in my batch of 6. Thirty-three percent fertilization is a respectable number. So, I get happy, light-hearted, looking ahead- only to see the train approaching again. I feel certain I will, one day, look back on my cycles or this blog and wonder how I got through it. Kind of like the way I look back at junior high- how the heck did I get out of there alive and sane?

The nurse will call me tomorrow and tell me how the little ones are doing. I'll do my best to check back in and give an update.

Thanks for being there.

I Am Chicken, Hear Me Roar (A Retrieval Story)

Retrieval went well. We had the first appointment so didn't have to bite our nails in the waiting room too long. Since my veins are notoriously uncooperative, they didn't miss an opportunity to give me grief. The nurse anesthetist, put the IV in my left hand, then said the vein wasn't good (hurt like a bugger) and she made an attempt to put it in my inner elbow. After taking a painfully long minute to ponder the problem, the nurse put the IV in my right hand.

All the while, I was naked from the waist down, my legs stirruped high in the air, all my goods hanging out, as another nurse prepped me for the upcoming procedure. Nurse B, (as in between my legs) was trying to empower me and said something like, "this is your procedure, you're in charge" I told her it was hard to be brave and powerful with your cooch on display. Mercifully, she threw a sheet over me.

The best part of the morning was when my friend came to visit me in my holding cell, I mean my waiting room. I met L and her delightful family through infertility channels. It was a huge coincidence that she had a retrieval on the same day as me, in the same office. In true female-unity, we talked on the phone the night before and agreed to meet up and wear the same outfit- a slinky little number that tied in the back. L and her DH came to my room to chat as they waited for their turn with the needle. The DH's discussed man-stuff while L and I pondered egg count, egg quality, miscarriage and IVs. We must have looked quite funny socializing as if we were sitting in a quaint French bistro. Those of us struggling with infertility know that we'll take any port in a storm. Please keep L and her family in your thoughts and prayers. She has helped me immensely through this craziness.

Now, the numbers: 8 eggs were retrieved this morning. Currently, they are probably in the laboratory doing a dance with DH's sperm. Hopefully, it's a nice tango that will result in an embryo tomorrow. I'll get a fertilization report Friday afternoon. Last time, out of 9 eggs, 4 were mature and 2 fertilized. If you are the praying kind, please send one up for my eggs and also L's, I'd be much obliged.

Not sure when I'll post tomorrow. It's definitely going to be nail-biter until I know if any of the eggs fertilized. Time to batten down the hatches. Am getting scared, but trying to remain positive and powerful. I am chicken, hear me roar.

Prelude to a Pregnancy

I'm feeling shiny today. Eager, excited, the whole 9 yards. It is almost a giddy feeling, similar to the one I had when DH and I started trying to conceive eons ago. Back then, I had no idea our family-making journey was a one-way ticket on the Titanic. Now, I am sufficiently jaded, grumpy, and no longer bathing in my ignorant bliss. Yet, I am beside myself with joy and anticipation.

I know this reaction is, in part, due to the knowledge that if this cycle fails, like the last one, I will bounce. I'll hit the floor hard, then rebound back onto my feet. Possibly, a little bruised, but poised for battle. So, I can afford a bit of optimism and I'm going to ride this wave until I capsize.

My egg retrieval has been scheduled for 8:00 a.m. Thursday morning. I have butterflies in my stomach. Hopefully, they are making a nice nest for the little embryos.

Stats for the record:
Follicles
Left ovary: 21.5, 21, 19.5, 19, 14, 13.5, 10
Right ovary: 17, 13, 12, 11, 10, 5
e2> 2500

Sometimes You're the Windshield, Sometimes You're the Bug

Today, I'm the Windshield.

My ultrasound and bloodwork came back with good news. The follicles hit a growth spurt, I've got 5 that are currently mature. Here is the lowdown, (reminder: anything above 16 is considered mature.)

Left: 18, 17.5, 17.5, 17, 13.5, 13.5, 13.5, 13
Right: 18, 12, 11, 3 big cysts

I'm considering this a minor victory. I didn't even mind the vein excavation that needed to be done to get a blood sample. I'm just happy that my body is cooperating. Could it be that my luck is turning? I'd pinch myself, but figured that would be overkill since I'll be sticking sharp needles into my tummy in a few short hours.

I've been on medication for 15 days straight and given myself 78 shots. During this time I've had one overdose, one underdose, 3 glasses of wine and a Starbucks coffee. All things considering, this was an easy stim cycle. I basically thought it was doomed since day one so I breezed through it thinking it would be cancelled any day. Unfortunately, this also means I indulged in wine and a Starbucks coffee during spring break. No use crying over spilled milk (or broken eggs, as it were) so I'm thinking positive and looking forward to retrieval.

Tentative plan of action:
Tuesday- 7:00 a.m. bloodwork and ultrasound
Tuesday evening- I give myself shot to trigger ovulation
Thursday morning- Egg Retrieval
Thursday thru Saturday- go crazy worrying if eggs fertilized or embryos grew
Saturday or Monday morning- Embryo Transfer

Stay close, will keep you posted.

These Eggs Were Made For Hatchin'

Today's ultrasound appointment showed some major follicle growth. DH called me a hen today when I told him about the numbers of eggs in waiting they found. Hopefully, things are kicking into gear and we may do an egg retrieval on Thursday. Mature eggs are around 16, mine look like this:

Left: 16.5, 14.5, 13.5, 13, 12, 12, 12, 9
Right: 15, 11, 3 big cysts

Not sure what the bloodwork result is yet. The nurse had to really dig for the vein again today, chirping, "ohh, you're right, they really do roll away." If she had not already speared my arm, I would have given her the shut-up-and-focus look. It appears they will have to draw blood every day until retrieval. I was told if they could not get a vein in my arm they will try my leg or foot. Makes me wince just thinking about it.

In light of the current follicle growth, I have decided to become a very positive thinker. I have maligned this cycle from the beginning, dousing it with negative energy, imagine what will happen if I pour on some positive energy.

I will be the picture of positive thinking (or craziness)
Fingers in the ears, humming,

*These eggs were made for hatching
And that's just what they'll do,
One of these days these eggs are gonna
Hatch right into 2*
(Twins, that is. thinking big.)

More later.

The Little Ovaries that Could

I've written this post 3 times since Tuesday and deleted them all. I've been going to the doctor for bloodwork and ultrasounds at the crack of dawn, every other day, for a week. Every day that I have a monitoring appointment, I wait until the late afternoon for the results, then I'm too tired and bummed to post, so I leave it for the next day . The next day comes and I begin to think that surely tomorrow's appointment will have a different outcome, so I ponder that all day and try to write about it in the evening, only to delete the post because I figure everything will change at the appointment tomorrow morning. Is this making sense? Forgive me, I just have to post the craziness that has been my life this past week. If it's hard to follow, maybe you could just reread this slowly, then bookmark the page, and the next time you have insomnia, read this post - it will surely put you to sleep.

My eggs are growing slower than a two-legged turtle. I've been on medication for 13 days and and my biggest follicle is 13. It should be around 20. They are not mature until 18 which means I've got at least 2 more days of medication in front of me. The doctors keep telling me to continue the meds and come back in two days to see how things are progressing. I've reached the point in my cycle where the shots in the stomach don't bother me, it's worrying if they will be able to find a vein to draw blood from that keeps me up at night. I've been blessed with rolling veins which means the nurses do all sorts of digging and holding of veins while (not so) delicately trying to spear one with a pointy implement. I'm the patient the nurses hate to see. I can tell. They often double-team me, two people, smacking my inner elbows, making me squeeze various spongy things to get the blood nice and plump in my tiny bloody highways. The first one takes a poke, digs around to no avail, pokes again, digs around to no avail. Finally, nurse #2 says she thinks she sees a good one, poke, dig, more digging...success. Its a nightmare. And my next one is tomorrow morning at 7am.

Thus far, the verdict on this cycle is: there is no verdict.
I don't really know anything except my ovaries are trying to get up that great big hill we call the Follicular Phase. They are being all dramatic about it, coughing and sputtering. I can hear them now,
I think I can
I think I can
I think I can

I never liked that story anyway. I always wanted to say,
"Shut up already, quit with the 'I think I can' save your energy and get up the stupid hill."

Will keep you posted.

Wanted: Positive Attitude

In true form, the nurse left me a message and gave me an incomplete bloodwork report chirping, "call me back if you have any questions." She called right before the nursing lines were turned off for the evening. Her message did not address converting the cycle to an iui. She simply said my estrogen is going up steadily and I'm supposed to continue my medication. Rising estrogen is good, I'm happy. I will go back tomorrow morning for another blood draw and ultrasound.

This cycle is very different than my first ivf. My current follicles are growing very slowly thanks to my drug du jour, Lupron. This is a good thing because follicles that grow too quick are often poor quality. My fingers are crossed that this drug combination is my golden ticket. It is just so hard to be positive.
I need a mantra, suggestions are welcome.

Updates and Overdoses

Had some bloodwork and ultrasounds done this weekend and my response to the current medication is less than stellar. I have 5 good follicles on my left side, but my right ovary has a cyst and 2 endometriomas on it. Don't ask me what an endometrioma is. I haven't googled yet. I know I've had them before, I think they are related to endometriosis.

The nurse will call me back later today with my blood estrogen level. This information will tell us how useful the 5 follicles are. This ivf cycle may turn into another artificial insemination if I don't get more follicles soon. I am fine with converting the cycle. I'd rather wait for better follicle results before undergoing egg retrieval again. The downside to converting is, I'll be cycling over the summer and I had hoped to be drug-free for a few months while I'm on summer break (I'm a teacher.)

Almost forgot to tell you about the weekend drama. I used the wrong syringe and gave myself a mega dose of Lupron Saturday night. I'm supposed to take .1 cc and I took about .4 cc. Had to page the doctor and confess my stupidity on Sunday morning. She was very nice about the whole thing. Turns out there was no real harm done. Just gave myself a whopper of a headache and a good story for the grandkids.

Will check in soon with bloodwork results. I'm on the fence about this cycle so please just cross fingers that the doctor in the office today has the wisdom to make the right call.
Many Thanks.

Needles R Us

No more Lupron headaches, knock on wood. I've started my two other medications, follistim and luveris which means I'm up to 5 shots per day. My abdomen is starting to get bruised. I give myself all my shots, DH refuses, says I'm too much of a control freak. The bruising doesn't bother me because every once in a while, for shock value, I flash him my purple and blue stomach. He naturally feels sorry for me and that's usually good for a nicely cooked dinner or an ice cream run. I know, some of you nice gals probably think that is very manipulative of me, frankly, I agree. But, there is really no harm done, is there? And, need I remind you, if I didn't get my chocolate shake, I could get downright dangerous. So, really I'm doing DH a favor, right?

Okay you don't necessarily have to agree with that, but do you at least feel my pain? Poking sharp metal objects into my body certainly gets easier as time goes on, but the "ick factor" never goes away. We spend our lives avoiding sharp metal objects. Now, I fight with pharmacies to send me more, more, more! More needles, bigger needles, fatter needles- I need Needles! And a chocolate shake every now and then, so sue me.


*These are some of the needles I use during a cycle. The remote is there for perspective. Remember, the needles have to go all the way in. No big deal for the little ones, its that big guy on the bottom that makes me feel woozy when I look at it.

Score: Lassie 1, Lupron 0

I've started my Lupron shots. For months, I've heard legends about the headaches that come from Lupron, let me tell you folks, its all true. I got a splitting headache while leaving the grocery store today. It was the kind of headache that makes you want to crawl into bed and pull the covers over your eyes. My body alternated between hot and cold flashes as my mind tried to forget about the stabbing pain in my forehead that dripped down my face and made my gums feel weak.

Not being allowed to take any strong medicine, I avoided the drug dealer on the corner whose wares looked appallingly appetizing considering the amount of pain I was in. Instead, I fervently searched the house for the only thing I'm allowed to take, Tylenol. Not believing it would work, I took two. Forty-five minutes later, the pain was gone. This was, indeed, a Lupron-induced episode because my normal migraines don't respond at all to Tylenol.

And that is how Day 1 of ivf #2 went. On a positive note, I treated myself to a new booklight today so, I'm off to snuggle under my comfy blanket and read the last chapter of my semi-trashy novel. Life is good, right now, at this moment, I'm happy. I wish I could bottle it and save it for when the going gets tough, instead, I will enjoy the peaceful respite while it lasts.

...And We're Off!

A quick update to let my peeps know ivf #2 has officially started. I had bloodwork and an ultrasound done today. Bloodwork showed great hormone levels. The ultrasound showed clear ovaries, no cysts, with 16 antral follicles. Antral follicles are basically very early potential eggs. They may all grow into nice, plump, healthy eggs, but then hell would freeze over and pigs would start to fly so, to avoid the mayhem and greediness, I'm simply hoping for a few good eggs from this crop.

Cross all your bits for me. Gut shots start tonight, I'll let you know how it goes. To those that follow this sort of thing, I'm doing an MDL straight start cycle, high dose fsh with possible pgd. Translation: tiny shots the first few days, adding the big guns in near the weekend then sending a few cells off to Maryland to do some time under a microscope to see just how good/bad my eggs really are.

Sounds like fun, huh? Let the obsessing begin!

Happy Fertility Day!

It's Easter for most of the Christian world. I happen to be Orthodox so we will celebrate next week, but any way you look at it, there is positively NO ESCAPING images of EGGS and BUNNIES! Normally, I'm a fan of all things cute and fuzzy, this year however, not so much. Bunnies and eggs, how did I miss it all these years, this is a FERTILITY holiday! This is an excerpt from an article I found online today,

"Easter falls in the spring, the yearly time of renewal, when the earth renews itself after a long, cold winter. The word Easter comes to us from the Norsemen's Eostur, Eastar, Ostara, and Ostar, and the pagan goddess Eostre, all of which involve the season of the growing sun and new birth. The Easter Bunny arose originally as a symbol of fertility, due to the rapid reproduction habits of the hare and rabbit."

See, I told you, a FERTILITY Holiday. I always wondered how a bunny got connected to Jesus. Now we know, FERTILITY. As I've found out in the last 4 years, fertility is behind everything. There is simply no getting away from it. Lets play a game, name something and I'll connect it to fertility (Kind of like the Kevin Bacon game where you name an actor and connect them back to Kevin Bacon demonstrating that Kevin Bacon is the center of the entertainment universe.) Since we don't have the luxury of your real time input, I'll just throw out a few words that come to mind and play the game solo. No, I won't cheat, I will really give the words that pop into my mind.

Skyscraper (as in tall office building)--> phallic (enough said)

Macintosh --> apple --> Adam and Eve -->birth of the human race

New York --> Big Apple --> See above

Rain --> Native American Rain Dance --> Native American Fertility Dance

Can you see where this is going?

So, now I sulk and watch the annoying Ty Pennington on Extreme Home Makeover, where beautiful people take on fixer-upper homes thereby changing the lives of the families that live in them. Here's my question, when will they come up with Extreme Uterine Makeover?

Oh yeah Ty baby, have I gotta fixer-upper for you.


*Note to reader (and God): I'm really not anti-Easter, only anti-Easter Bunny. Thank goodness Jesus was resurrected because he'd turn over in his grave if he knew what Easter has turned in to...

There Goes the Neighborhood

I leisurely walked into my living room this morning when I was confronted with the most appalling thing on the sidewalk outside, The-grumpy-lady-who-walks-the-yellow-lab is...Pregnant. Arrgh! There she was, tall, willowy, in a darling little maternity blouse covering her slightly swollen belly, (still scowling I should add) talking on the cell phone walking her perfectly pedigreed dog. In the past, I've tried to get her to smile, say hello, act like she is not a robot- to no avail. Then, I had a brainstorm, maybe she has been infertile this whole time and it's been so devastating she couldn't be pleasant. I had to test my theory, I took my dogs for a walk. I ran into her. I got nothin'. Nada. Not a smile. Not a glance. She was totally absorbed in her cell phone call with that perpetual scowl. For gosh sakes lady, you're pregnant, lighten up.

My walk this morning really made me see the difference between The-grumpy-lady-who-walks-the-yellow-lab (GLWWYL) and I. She's always on the cell phone while walking her well-behaved dog. I, on the other hand, use both hands to hold Fidget's leash and tap Schuster to remind him we are walking. (He is getting pretty senile and tends to forget things so about every 3 steps, he stops and looks around like, "Where the heck am I?") We are in such stark contrast, GLWWYL and I. She is tall, thin and drives a LandRover (in downtown Chicago where off-roading means taking the ALLEY.) I've said before, I'm 5'2", not thin and drive a hand me down Honda. And I smile, all the time. She always looks miserable. I felt sorry for her the first few years we were in the neighborhood. Then, her grumpiness just got annoying, so now I ignore her. Until today, that is. I watched her with the gross fascination of watching a train wreck. GLWWYL is pregnant. How did this happen? Surely, she eats lemons for breakfast while I've been on a no sugar, no caffeine, low carb, no wheat, low fat, Russian herb, Chinese tea diet for 3 years. What's a gal got to do to get pregnant these days? Eat lemons and ignore the neighbors? If so, I'm all over it. Pass the lemons please. Why, Why, Why?

Why
Not
Me?

*Note to the reader: I'm really not a GLWWYL hater. Just bummed out that someone else got pregnant before me. I know GLWWYL probably has a good reason to never smile. She may be dealing with terrible issues that don't allow her to relax. I get it. I'm really not judging her, just using my blog as a place to vent. If I don't do it here, one day I might just walk up to her and say "snap out of it" and that's not very neighborly at all. So, I vent, please forgive.

You Want a Piece of Me!?

Them's fightin' words and they are flyin' round the house these days. I'm on a natural cycle which means no medical intervention at all, just trying for a baby the good old fashioned way. Unfortunately, after almost 4 years of doctors trying to get me pregnant, DH and I almost forgot how to attempt this on our own. Of course, 15 minutes of primetime tv watching will quickly tell us how babies are made (can you believe the things they are putting on tv today?) But, I digress, basically, I think we forgot how to be a nice, happy, supportive-of-each-other couple. Let me be more specific, I've forgotten how to play nice. I've been so irritable since my failed ivf, I can barely stand myself. DH hasn't been Mr.NiceGuy either, but I'll stick to my own faults today.

This past week, I've been grumpy, bored and a cleaning maniac. The latter of which frightens the bejeezus out of DH. When I get on a cleaning streak, he dives under his desk and waves a white flag before the trigger on the windex is unlocked. I seem to have a special radar that allows me to walk into a room and zero in on the items DH has left out of place. If I were to dissect this behavior, I'd say I was trying to maintain as much control as possible since infertility can make one feel totally out of control.

Whatever the cause, I wish I could go back to feeling like myself again. I'm not sure that will happen anytime soon and after so many years of infertility, I'm beginning to forget what the old me was like. Guess I'd better watch my use of the phrase, "You want a piece of me?" I've already lost too many pieces to infertility, pretty soon there will be nothing left.

Family Album

I've been pretty quiet lately, not posting much. Been spending most of my time with this motley crew. This group started out with our cat Simon, who shows his dislike for computers by sitting on them until they cry Uncle. Back in the day, he used to walk all over the newspaper I was reading, now that I'm online way more than I ever read a proper newspaper, he's taken to sitting on the keyboard.

After having Simon for a few years, we saw a dog hanging out on our street corner, obviously a stray. Yep, I'm one of those people who take in strays. (Simon was rescued from a junkyard when he was just a kitten.) The dog on the right, our "old guy", was 12 years old when we found him on the corner. He's now 17 and we call him Schuster. Simon and Schuster had our tiny home overflowing with energy for several years.

Then, this past fall, a relative gave us their 12 year old black lab named Roc. Roc was a great big dog with lots of love to give. He was with us only 2 months before he passed away. I won't go into the story now, it's still pretty upsetting. Suffice it to say, Roc was ill when he came and we just couldn't make him better.

After Roc passed away, the house felt very empty. Schuster really enjoyed the canine company. Since he's getting up in years, 17 is very old for dogs, we decided it was time to consider getting another dog. *Afterall, we had the time and energy to give since we don't have to worry about getting pregnant.* I kept my eye on the streets for months looking for our next companion. I never saw a dog I could catch. DH went to our anti-cruelty rescue center with instructions to bring home a little, sweet, quiet dog or simply the dog that "spoke" to him. I emphasized the "little and quiet" part of the equation hoping he would focus on those dogs and find one that felt like a good fit. He came home with the dog above. He said she was the only dog jumping around her cage, barking loudly to get their attention, as if she chose them as soon as they walked in. DH said she literally "spoke" to them. We call her Fidget. She is NEVER still. Fidget is the kind of dog that gets so excited on walks, passersby cross the street to avoid her. She doesn't look scary, just joyfully uncontrollable. Simon and Fidget are starting to get along. They often do a slow-speed chase around the house. Simon saunters and Fidget is right on his heels trying to sniff his tail. It's a love/hate relationship at this point.

These are the beings that occupy my time. Schuster's health is declining, we don't expect him to be around much longer, (although we've been saying that for 2 years.) Even though we don't have children yet, our home is already full. Throughout infertility, this brood has taken away our sadness and reminded us that life goes on even after a failed cycle. They breathe life back into our home when DH and I are so upset it hurts to breathe. They drive me crazy and keep me sane. DH, affectionately, calls them The Beasts, I call them Blessings.

I've Got a Dandy in the House

Had a birthday in our house yesterday. DH turned 35. I think both of us are slightly bummed out since we thought we'd be parents by now. I'm 34, only a few more months until I turn 35. I used to love my birthday, now it's become a milestone for all the years we've been fruitlessly trying to conceive. DH was oddly upbeat yesterday. It could be because I got him a wicked, awesome bday present, or he may be reflecting on how happy he is to be married to a gal as swell as me or (the most likely reason) he is grateful that, for once, I didn't wake up on the wrong side of the bed, I was actually very nice to him all day, it was his birthday after all and I'm not completely heartless.

DH is a man born in the wrong century. When he's feeling like a dandy, he goes to a barber shop and gets himself a proper shave with a straight razor. For the past six months, DH has been toying with the idea of using a straight razor at home. I nixed the idea right away, DH is very handsome with killer cheekbones, he's just too pretty for scars, (in my humble opinion.) Well, after much thought, I bought him a straight razor for his birthday. Not just any straight razor, I did my homework and got him a good quality, could-cut-you-to-the-bone-in-an-instant razor. I did this as a show of trust. He's a grown man, if he wants to scrape a frighteningly sharp metal object over his face and throat in the wee hours of the morning, that is his choice. Who am I to stand in his way? He liked the gift and is doing some research before attempting the first shave. He's a cautious fellow, a good thing in this case.

I'm still enjoying being drug-free. I'm also beginning to gear up for the next ivf cycle. As soon as my period starts I will have an ultrasound and bloodwork done to see if I'm ready to start the drugs again. In the meantime, I've started to investigate adoption. I need a plan B, it alleviates the pressure and gives me something productive to focus on. DH is beginning to accept the notion that I may never have his children. Hmmm, even writing that sentence hurts. A friend recently told me that infertile women finally stop feeling flawed or infertile after menopause. In an odd way, I'm dreading to turn 35, but simply cannot wait to hit menopause. Did you ever think infertility could be so ridiculous?

U*G*L*Y, You Ain't Got No Alibi, Yo' UGLY

Went for my follow-up appointment today. While in the waiting room, DH and I discussed our fertility options. He's notorious for ignoring problems until they are huge, festering wounds that only major medical intervention can set right. So, true to form, the poor, innocent man said, "I don't want to talk about adoption or alternatives because I'm just going to hope ivf #2 works." I instantly felt sorry for him because I instinctively knew our talk with the doctor would be an eye-opener for him. I've gotten used to the idea that my eggs are crap, he's still in denial.

Let me preface this information with the fact that, I Love My Doctor. He is definitely the right balance of supportive and realism. So, Dr.Realistically-Supportive (Dr.RS) told us that after scrutinizing our ivf cycle, he thought my eggs were of sub-standard quality. Sub-standard was not his term, he got the point across to me by shrugging his shoulders, raising his eyebrows and saying things like, "Well, when we see eggs like yours, we know there is a problem and (insert shrug) there is really no way to make the eggs better." Translation: Lady, your eggs are so ugly, they make onions cry.

Dr.RS is a pro, he was appropriately gentle, but the look on DH's face when he processed what was said, almost made me cry. I've disappointed him in a way that words just can't express. As an added element of self-torture, I keep having flashes of DH married to someone else, a lovely, pretty, happy, FERTILE woman who, one day, excitedly says, "We're pregnant!" And then he smiles this big, cheesy grin and they hug and cry... I hate it that he will never experience that. DH deserves that. Heck, so do I, but I can't escape the reality that I was born with these eggs. He chose to marry them a mere 6 years ago. I'm afraid, if I were him, I'd be kicking myself for marrying me. Oh, he says all the right things like, "I married you, not your ovaries." But, at the end of the day, when we got married, I didn't bring much to the table. I'm no PhD, super-model or fitness queen. Just a normal, average gal that he thought was marry-able (see, I even make up nonsense words when no one can stop me.)

So, in the end, we are taking a month off from fertility treatments. Next month we try again with different medications. I've already started googling things and found some threads of hope. I'll share them with DH in the next few days as he tries to find his way out of the funk he's in. At least he is still on my team and we'll face the dragon together.

I'm Good Enough, I'm Smart Enough and Gosh Darn It, People Like Me

Thursday I will be meeting with my RE to discuss the failure of my ivf cycle and where we go from here. There are a few protocols that may help me produce a better crop of eggs. I've started investigating them and plan on taking a list of questions to our appointment. There is a chance I will miss my appointment because one of my coworkers passed away this weekend and funeral arrangements are on Thursday also.

My colleagues passing has (yet again) brought my faith into question. Sometimes I wonder why I was given the gift of infertility when everyone else in my immediate family is extremely fertile. Sometimes I simply can't stand my body. I feel it has betrayed me beyond forgiveness. My body has not only forbidden me to get pregnant, it has also decided to pack on an extra 30 pounds. I'm no willowy creature either, I used to be called petite, since gaining my hormone-induced, infertility weight you can simply call me short and squaty.

The problem is, when I was 30 pounds lighter, (you know, way back 3+ years ago when I was living a carefree, apparently fertile life) I was unhappy with my weight and appearance. Now, 30 pounds and many "visits to the stirrups" later, I'm still unhappy with my weight and appearance. This indicates that a) no matter what the scale says, I will most likely be unhappy and b) that dreaded number on the scale goes UP way easier than it goes DOWN. Thus, I've come to the conclusion that I'd better start appreciating my body now because she's a devilish one, with an eye for twinkies.

This brings me to the question of the day. How do I begin to appreciate my body? Let's face it, she hasn't done right by me in the last few years, but then again, she has fended off many a cold and flu while those around me suffered. My body has done a relatively fine job of maintaining my hair color, (with a little help from me attacking the stray grays.) My fingernails are rather attractive, (most likely from the crates of prenatal vitamins I've ingested over the years.) So, is that the answer, do I focus on all the good things my body has done for me and stop dwelling on the negatives? Is that possible when the negatives are so freaking negative?

I don't know the answer, but I do know, I'm not getting any younger. I wasted my 20's worrying about an extra 5 pounds, if I waste my 30's lamenting about crappy eggs, when will I break the cycle? Will I find something to ruin my 40's too? I think I'm turning into a malcontent. Yikes. Note to self, snap out of it- things could be worse. Maybe that's what I'll say in the mirror each morning, "I'm good enough, I'm smart enough and gosh darn it, things could be worse."

Can Someone Please Pass the Windex?

I've started this post three different times and erased them all. I simply don't know what to write. I'm in a strange place. I'm ready to start looking forward to the next cycle, but my mind won't allow me to forget the last one. Every time I begin to think about my next cycle, my mind flashes back to the nurse's words, "your beta was negative."

I feel like I'm being unrealistic by hoping the next cycle works. I wonder if I'm missing some important cosmic message the universe is trying to send me, as if I'm purposely plugging my ears while someone is shouting, "you're not meant to be a mother, just stop already!" Maybe it's no cosmic message, maybe it's just that voice in my head that gets obnoxiously loud when I'm at my most vulnerable.

How do we turn that voice off? I can fill my mind with other thoughts, but as soon as my mind becomes still, the voice is back along with images of needles and babies. I've stopped thinking about raising a child. Instead, I've entered into a battle to get pregnant, period. Some people see life through rose colored glasses. I'm wearing mud smeared goggles and I'm exhausted trying to see things clearly through them.

The Fat Lady Sang (And Then I Smacked Her)

Negative, Negative, Negative, Negative.
Maybe if I say it, write it, think it enough, it will desensitize me to the word. Negative.

It was the one test I really didn't want to fail.
Fail. Fail. Fail. Fail.
Got to get used to that word again, too. Fail.

I think I did a pretty good job of holding it together all day. I kept my phone off and got the news on the ride home.

What to do now? My mind is both racing and stagnant. There is so much I want to write, but I can't think right now. I need to assimilate this information into my life. I still find it unbelievable.

When I find myself in devastating situations like this, my survival tactic is to wait out the storm. Time is usually the only thing that eases the pain. So, for now, I breathe. And wait.

I will check back in tomorrow. Hopefully, I'll have a new perspective.

The Countdown Begins: Insanity Sets In

Pregnancy test set for tomorrow morning at 7:30. I should get the results by early afternoon. I'm debating about letting it go to voicemail or answering the call at work. Chances are, I'll be devastated and need a moment to regroup.

I hope I can wait until I'm off work to listen to the message. Wait a minute. Who am I kidding? I'll have that phone glued to my clammy little palm ALL DAY, as I constantly check the signal strength and battery level. Oh, how I wish I were stronger. It would be so nice to fall apart in private. I'm clearly my own worst enemy.

So, this is my last post as a potentially pregnant lady. I feel I should warn you now, things may get pretty dark from here on out. I feel a storm a brewin'.

To all of you that think I should be more positive, let me put your minds at ease. Between the acupuncture, visualizations, prayers and healthy diet, trust me, I've got the positive vibe covered.

I simply feel the need to be outwardly vocal about my negativity because the hope that fills every cell in my body is almost excruciating. Anyone pursuing infertility treatments will tell you that, no matter the circumstances, we always hope (and kind of believe) this cycle is THE ONE. I must speak my negativity to balance out the hysteria bubbling in my brain.

I don't want to end this post. I don't want to eat dinner. I don't want to get in my pajamas. I don't want to go to bed. I don't want tomorrow to come. I want time to stand still. Because today, I'm potentially pregnant. So close to being in that exclusive, elusive club of motherhood. Tomorrow, I'll be back in the barren barracks. The dismal, smelly, infertility sweatshops are calling me back. But, oh, I've enjoyed my time in the sun, pretending I'm mother material. I've got to say it's been a nice ride and I hope to be back here soon.

Signing off.

Game Shows, Cramps and a Test

Went to church yesterday and was able to genuinely smile. The people there were very supportive. Most don't know any details, only that I was conspicuously absent last week. When they asked DH where I was he said, "she's not sick, just not getting out of bed." Hmmm, guess I won't be using him as a lifeline if I'm ever on Who Wants to be a Millionaire. Apparently, he can't think under pressure.

I went to work in a good mood today. I feel like I'm prepared for whatever Wednesday's blood test brings. I'll probably be knocked for a loop for a day or two, but I'm looking forward to a few needle-free weeks.

This afternoon, while at work, I got horrible cramps, absolutely wicked, awful pain. They made me light-headed, took my breath away and made me nauseous. The cramps came every ten minutes and walking around was the only way I could work through them.

It is 13 days past ovulation and today my home pregnancy test was negative. I'm okay, really. I don't promise to be okay tomorrow, but I think I will be. I'm taking it one day at a time, later this week, I may be taking it one hour at a time, but for now, I'm at peace (and hopefully so is my little 4-cell embryo, wherever he may be.)

The Waiting Game

I can't believe it's been a whole week since the embryo transfer, in a way, it feels like a year. The fact that I went through the ivf cycle feels unreal, like it happened to someone else. I guess my method of coping has been to turn off my brain and go through the motions. It is a good self-preservation tactic, but I usually end up feeling like I missed out on something.

I've really been trying to be hopeful and positive, but that is next to impossible for me. I will go in for a pregnancy test on Wednesday. They will draw my blood, this is usually called a beta blood test. Before the beta, I'm going to use a home pregnancy test so I will have an idea of the outcome before the nurse calls. Some people don't do the hpt, they find it too difficult or would rather enjoy the notion of "possibly" being pregnant. In my case, I simply can't stand the wait any longer. I feel such a strong need to know the outcome of this cycle. I'm living in limbo and must get back onto solid ground.

I'm second-guessing everything I do. If I want to paint my nails, I think, "I won't get a positive result on the hpt with painted nails, I better not paint them," so I don't. When I want to tell someone about my cycle or a particular cramp I have, I think, "if that person knows this information, my pregnancy test will be negative," so I keep the info to myself. Now, I realize, believe me, I REALIZE how CRAZY this sounds yet, I cannot help myself. I'm not generally a superstitious person, but frankly, I'm not myself these days. The old me seems to have taken a hike long ago and I just keep getting farther and farther away from the person I used to be.

I've got two more days until I do an hpt. Until then, I've battened down the hatches and gone into my zone. Officially turning off my brain and preparing to go through the motions until it's safe to resurface. When did life get so hard? Today, I can't even imagine what it must feel like to get pregnant just by enjoying a nice, romantic night with my husband. That seems so far away from me now. How did I get here?

The Photograph of a Lifetime

Officially in survival mode now, both of us, my embryo and me. I'm not sure how strong this embryo is or how long it will live, but it was alive and growing when it was put into my body. If it doesn't survive, at least we've had a brief bit of time together. I'm grateful for that.

If this embryo does not make it, I will not know when it passes away. I will only be able to detect it's absence if the pregnancy test in ten days comes back negative. It is painful knowing that even now it may already be gone. I'll never have that answer so I will choose not to dwell on it. Instead I'll enjoy the memory of seeing the embryo on the ultrasound as it was put into my body.

We even have a picture of it. A grainy, black and white ultrasound picture of my embryo, a tiny, white speck, being propelled out of a catheter into it's mother's waiting body. The ultrasound tech told us we were having a Coming Home Party as the embryo was placed back in me and I have a real, honest to goodness, picture. I'm grateful for that.

And Then There Was One

Only one embryo made it to transfer. It was graded average, only a 4 cell when they like to see a 5-6 cell. The good news is, it wasn't fragmented. Except for being a slowpoke, the embryologist said it looked "perfect."

I'm pretty much numb. All those shots, thousands of dollars of medication, the blood draws, crack of dawn appointments: my life for the last month relying on this poor little 4 cell embryo for validation.

I'm trying to be positive, but it's actually painful to hope at this point. I need to find something else to focus on. Let's see, I guess I could go back to my normal life and become productive at work again. I could find time to be social with friends again. Hopefully, there is still life on the outside because it's getting pretty dark and dreadful in the infertility abyss.

Hold On Embryos, Mamma's A' Comin'

We are on for Friday's embryo transfer. The nurse called this morning and told us to come in at 7:45 with a big bottle of water. The procedure is done with a full bladder so, I'll start drinking when I get into the parking lot. I quizzed the nurse on the quality of the embryos, but she wouldn't give an inch, nada, no information what-so-ever! Makes me crazy. She said the doctor wanted to give us the report tomorrow. I understand not wanting anything to get lost in translation, but let me tell you, if you haven't already guessed, infertility is mental torture.

I've scheduled acupuncture immediately following transfer. DH says he will be around to take care of things around the house except for a short time in the afternoon. He won't tell me where he is going which leads me to believe he is going out with a buddy I don't care for or he is planning something nice for me. Either way, I've had about enough surprises for a lifetime.

I've heard people say "the suspense is killing me." Is that possible? Because, if it is, this infertility suspense has my days numbered.
Over and out for now.

And Then There Were Two

Out of the 9 eggs that were retrieved, 4 were mature. Of the 4 that were mature, 2 fertilized. I was disappointed to hear this news, but the nurse reminded me that some women have cycles where none fertilize. In fact, the woman in the next room yesterday at my retrieval had none fertilize. There but the grace of God go I. If all goes well Thursday, we will transfer the embryo's on Friday. Then we will do some major praying that the little ones implant.

DH keeps walking around the house smiling, saying he is the father of two embryos. His optimism is scaring me. I feel as though he will jinx us, but I don't dare rain on his parade since this is the first time in 3 years he has found enjoyment in the creation of our family. When infertility hits, all romantic ideas of starting a family go flying out the window. If this cycle doesn't work, we both will be jaded and cautious during future ivf cycles. At least, today, he has the luxury of innocence and I like that. I hate that I've brought infertility into his life.

Must keep my mind on good thoughts, our little embryos are growing in a dish 2 miles from our house. I can't wait to have them back with us, even it is only short-lived. Positive thoughts, positive thoughts.