moving forward.

It's time.

I have spent every moment of sanity since my failed IVF meditating, praying even, about what our next step should be.  I truly just internally let myself feel the experience, listen to my heart, and embrace the outcome.  Before, I thought, How in the hell does anyone make a decision like this?  How do you figure out what to do next?

You stay quiet, and you listen.  I'm not sure what I listened to.  I don't know if it was my heart, or God, or some bigger sense than me.  I don't know.  I don't feel a need to identify it.  But as time went on, it has become completely clear to me that I know what's next and what is right for J and I.  We are ready.

My heart began to fill with warm feelings about adoption.  This is something my husband and I have always been open to.  My entire life I've envisioned a family made up of biological and adopted children, all my children to love and to raise and to hold forever.  I couldn't shake this need to read about adoption, to consume all of the information.  I felt excited as the days went on.

It hasn't even been very long since my IVF failed.  Approximately one month.  I should still be mourning all of the loss I've experienced over the past two years.  And I am in some ways.  But I am mostly looking forward for some reason.

Our post-IVF consultation was scheduled with my doctor for March 4th.  I received a call last week that they could now get me in two days later, and I was ecstatic.  I was so ready for some answers and to put all of this behind me.  I knew I couldn't expect any kind of definitive information.  I knew my doctor wouldn't say that I should definitely do IVF again because next time it definitely would work.  I knew he wouldn't say there was no chance in hell it could ever work, and I should just move on.  I was expecting something along the lines, "Odds just weren't in your favor this time.  If we try again, we can hope for better results."

But I really wanted answers.  Something that would allow me to let go, to forgive myself.

And so at the appointment, my doctor explained that he believes my endometriosis was so severe for so long that it essentially destroyed the quality of my egg reserve.  He couldn't have known this without trying the IVF, so it was very informative.  He said if we were interested in trying IVF again, his recommendation would be to put me on Lupron injections for 1-2 years.  These would return me to that menopause state from this past summer (which was fairly miserable) and would really force my immune system to reset and get rid of any remaining endometriosis.  He would also suggest I eliminate gluten from my diet and begin CoQ10 supplements.  After that two-year period, he would change my IVF protocol to one that he would be more likely to use with older women who have egg quality issues.  I asked if he felt confident that this approach would change things for us, but he couldn't say.  There are no guarantees.  I only asked for confirmation of just that.  We can't know anything for sure.

I can't explain it, but I left that appointment feeling so happy and satisfied.  I felt I had done what I could.  I did what I owed myself and my husband and my future family.  We did what we had to do to learn what we know now.  And what we know now is that no matter what, J and I will probably never have biological children.  It makes me sad, but it's okay.

We will have children.  They will be our children, and we will love them so much.  So much.  I can't even begin to imagine how much because I can hardly comprehend it.  I could burst.

I left that appointment knowing what was next.  We would adopt our babies, and we would be happy parents full of love.  I left feeling like I had permission to want these things, permission to move forward, to make things happen.

I left feeling encouraged even though I was delivered bad news.  I left feeling relieved that I could for once know a certain path.

Sometimes I wonder if on some level I've always known I wouldn't be pregnant.  I wouldn't give birth.  From the moments our first attempts at conceiving didn't work, I felt a sinking feeling.  Everyone told me to calm down.  They told me I was ridiculous.  Even as we made progress through fertility treatments and approached IVF time, I didn't feel incredibly positive.  I tried to; I forced myself to.  When it didn't work, I wasn't at all surprised.  I was devastated.  That's for sure, but I wasn't surprised.

Sometimes I wonder if on some level I've always known I would be an adoptive mother.  Adoption stories have always held my attention and my heart.  Nothing gets me moved and emotional like a woman telling the story of bringing her adopted baby home and into her family.  My favorite baby dolls as a child were always of different ethnicities.  (Which I thank my parents for.  So progressive and awesome!)  Even as I was preparing for IVF, I was blogging about seeking out conversations with adoptive mothers and learning as much as I could from them.  I even wondered aloud why that was my focus when I should be concentrating on IVF.

Sometimes I wonder if on some level I've always known this was my path.  I ignored it, or maybe I just did what I needed to do to get here.  But now I know what it is, and it feels so good.  I'm going to be a mother.  My husband is going to be a father.  And we can't wait to meet our children.  Can't.  Wait.

Last night I started crying for the first time in days, maybe even a week.  It hit me that this road probably won't be simple or easy, either.  I'm tired.  We're both tired.  And it would be so wonderful if something could go smoothly for us in our journey toward parenthood.  But if it doesn't, we will be okay.  Because in the end, we will be parents, we will have children, and we will be a family.

I'm going to keep listening to my heart.

insanity.

As time has passed, in many ways, I feel more and more insane.

Just when I think I'm good -- so normal -- I lose it.

I read online that due to the hormones from an IVF cycle, when it fails it's very similar to enduring a miscarriage.  I don't mean to compare my experience to the experience of anyone who has been through a miscarriage, because I can't know if that's accurate or not.  But I will tell you that I have felt a devastating loss, a sense of insanity, an unpredictability in my mood and emotions, and an intense feeling of grief.

Last night I had a long phone conversation with my baby sister who lives in LA.  I told her my stories of devastation and all of the instances of insanity I have experienced.  Moments when I truly wondered if I was stable -- if I could go on with normal things and not reveal how crazy I am.

I shared a specific story with her from this past weekend, and we laughed about it.  Which felt good.  We laughed because it was so pathetic, and because it really is funny, but only because I'm a couple of days past it.  She said I should write about it.

On Friday, I got my hair cut.  I woke up and put makeup on.  I got dressed in my favorite jeans and heeled boots, and I felt kind of pretty.  This hadn't happened in a long time.

I had randomly gotten a last minute appointment because I felt like I needed it.  My new hairdresser was cute and sweet, and I soaked it all in as she washed my hair and I felt a little pampered.

I came home and did dishes.  I cleaned the bathroom and picked up the kitchen.  I played with my dogs.  I felt normal, and I was proud of myself.  I started to believe that I would be okay.

On Saturday I woke up feeling fairly good.  My husband and I made breakfast and watched a little morning television.

I told myself how normal and awesome and strong and impressive I am.  I really focused on how well I was doing and thought, God -- you are a fucking rock star right now.  Keep it up.  And then at some point I started crying.

And I guess that opened up everything, and I cried and I cried.  I cried for hours.  I couldn't stop.  J suggested I get in the hot shower and just sit there if I wanted.  So I did, and it felt good, and I got out tear-free and calmed down.

I had lotioned my body and put on my fluffy robe.  I made my way to the kitchen to get a glass of water so I could just chill out.  Our dogs were running around, and Walter jumped up on my bare legs, scratching me.  I told him No.  I told him Off.  And he got down.

And then he did it again.  Jumped up and scratched my legs.  And I turned and out of nowhere -- I'm not even convinced that the thoughts entered my mind before the words flew out of my mouth -- I screamed "GET THE FUCK OFF ME YOU FUCKING DOG. FUCK YOU!"  Literally screamed.  So loud and out of control.

I calmly set my glass of water on the counter and turned around to leave the kitchen.  I walked to my bedroom and just stood there.

Obviously J had heard this whole thing go down, and he came in to find me.  And I collapsed in tears again, and the tears didn't leave me for another few hours.  I felt out of control and awful.  Again.

Some days I am me.  And some days I am terrible.  And I just want to be me again.

{Side note to anyone who might be worried about my dog -- He's fine.  I immediately felt badly for yelling at him, but he's fine.  We love him and spoil him, and he has a wonderful life (at least when I can keep my shit together).}

all the days after.

The next morning I woke up to spotting.  Already.

My nurse said in her awful voicemail message that my period would start within five days.  Then I was to call the office to schedule my consultation, and they'd get me back on birth control.

But I truly wasn't expecting for my body to physically expel everything I had built within mere hours of finding out the worst news.  I wasn't ready for it.

And it made me angry.

I had to go about my day.  I woke up early and drove to this high school to observe this teacher.  I acted normal.  I almost had forgotten what happened.

On my long drive home, I started to cry.  I started to feel pissed off.  I started to wonder what the fuck was going on.

But this wast the easiest day, and I don't know why.  Finding out was the simple part.  It was everything that came next that sent me over the edge.

On Saturday, I began bleeding heavily.  J found me in the bathroom crying hysterically.  I was naked from a shower, and my emotions were out of control.  I couldn't even dry off without blood running down my thighs, and I couldn't help but notice how cruel it felt.  How mean and awful it was that my body did this to me -- so boldly presenting my failure.

A couple of days later I called to schedule my consultation, but what do you know -- they can't get me in for more than a month.  They're all booked.

This offended me because I knew if I had gotten pregnant, they would have time for me.  But I didn't.  I failed, and so I would have to wait again.  My importance was expired, just like my hope and possibility.  They made the appointment for March 4th.

The next several days were hard.  It's still so unexpectedly hard.  In fact, I'm not even two weeks out yet.  But it feels like weeks and weeks -- months and months, even.  Not that I'm healed, but that time has been creeping by.  And I hate it, and I feel defeated.

finding out.

I got home a little after 10:45 p.m. on the night of the 29th.  The night J and I would learn if we had achieved what we wanted more than anything in life.

As soon as I stepped in the door, I dropped my bags and hugged him.  It had been so hard to concentrate through class, to keep my stomach settled, to know that this most-anticipated message was in my pocket.

We looked at each other and decided to listen -- even though I think we almost preferred not to.

I hit play on the message, and my nurse didn't sound joyful.  I knew she wasn't delivering good news.  She said, "I wish so badly I had better news to deliver."

And it was over.  It was all over.

I started nodding my head quietly, tears starting to form.  I had prepared myself for this because I "didn't feel pregnant," whatever that means.  But I didn't feel it.

J put his arms around me, and the tears started to fall.

The message ended, and I just kept nodding.  And it was over.

It was over, and I had to go to bed because I had to leave the house at 6:30 the next morning to observe a high school teacher in another city.  Life was going on as usual, even though I wasn't ready.

It was over, and that was all.

transfer day.

We went to Oklahoma City Sunday night, even though our transfer time was 1 p.m.  We could have made it Monday morning, but we just wanted to relax.  To get settled and comfy and not worry about anything (yeah right!).

Monday morning came quickly, and we got some breakfast, showered, got into our comfy clothes.  We arrived a little earlier than we were asked to, but what else were we going to do?  And I kind of thought maybe the earlier we got there, the earlier we'd get some information about our embryos.

We didn't wait long before they took us back, but once we were back is when the real waiting began.  They gave me a blanket to wrap my bare lower half in, and J and I sat on the same bed I was in during my retrieval process.  I had done a pretty good job of keeping my shit together until this point.  But that's when it all started to hit me.  We would really get the biggest information of our lives, up to this point, in a few minutes.  I just needed to know.

I had to take deep breaths, and there was no way I could think about anything else.  J and I would make eye contact periodically, and I could tell he was experiencing a similar torment.

Finally the embryologist came back.  It was all very, very matter-of-fact, which really kind of felt offensive in some way.  She explained that all three were behind.  They were moving slowly, more slowly than they would have expected.  She asked for permission to perform assisted hatching on them to maybe improve their chances.  We gave her permission to do what they needed to do to help them out.  I asked, as she was leaving, why our embryos might be so slow, and is it a bad thing.  She said it could be because they fertilized late, it could be because they were of poorer quality, it could be for all kinds of unknown reasons.  I decided to cling to her first explanation.

My heart was pounding this whole time, and it didn't stop.

A different doctor, who I had never met, was set to do my transfer.  He came back to introduce himself and was really quite personable -- more so than my own doctor.  But he quickly said, "Well, these embryos aren't that great."

My heart sank.

He asked me how old I was and then told me that he would give a healthy 27-year-old with three embryos of this quality a 30-40% chance of achieving pregnancy.

My heart sank again.

I just wanted him to leave.  I just wanted to cry.  I just wanted to wake up and start over.

The doctor assured me the procedure would be fine and that they'd get started in a few minutes.

An assistant to the embryologist brought back a photo of our three embryos.  I wanted to cry.  They were real, and I could see them, and they "weren't that great" according to everyone around me.

The photo also had their new grades next to each.  Two IVs and a III.  And none of them were blastocysts yet.  At day 5.  It's bad news.

When we were alone, I turned to J -- totally fighting back tears -- and said, I just wish I didn't know.

They took me back to the OR and had J change into his "scrubs."  He sat behind my head, but I couldn't even really tell he was there.  The procedure was fast and efficient, and everything went "perfectly" according to the doctor.  Everything except that I had these not so great embryos that I had willed so hard to become my babies.

They transferred me from the tables to a bed quickly, but I of course didn't want to move a muscle.  I stayed there for one hour, and then they had me use the restroom -- which I really badly did NOT want to do.  Then they sent us on our way, nurses telling me to keep us updated, and good luck, and hopefully even more than one would take!

I just wanted to cry.

So, yeah, I should've turned to the positives in this situation, and eventually I did.  But it once again felt like another instance of bad news, less-than-ideal news.  I just wanted something at some point to go perfectly.

J got me set up in our big king size bed at the hotel, and I was comfy.  But then I cried.  I was stuck in my situation, and it wasn't what I had dreamed it would be, and no one had ever given me really good news.

My husband and I eventually talked about the fact that we've never, ever had a 30-40% chance of getting pregnant.  I agreed that the prospect was exciting, and at least we had that.

I stayed on my back in the hotel for 24 hours, and then we drove home.  The drive home was miserable.  I couldn't see anything, it was bumpy, I was cramped and uncomfortable.  At about an hour into our drive, I started feeling cramps.  It truly felt like I was getting my period.  I didn't know if I should be excited that I was feeling something, anything -- or if I should be afraid that it wasn't normal.

I didn't say anything to J; I just hoped it was a good thing.  And so the calculating began.  They hadn't even been blastocysts, so could they really be implanting already?  What else did I feel?  Should I tell someone?

The cramping didn't stop that evening.  And even at times, it almost felt intense.  Then the cramps would calm down, and I'd almost not notice them.  I texted my nurse about it, because I didn't know if it was worrisome or not.  She didn't really tell me one way or the other, but she instructed me to take two Advil.

I did.  And then J googled Advil, and we read that Advil impedes implantation.  I wanted to vomit, I wanted to cry, all of the blood drained out of my body.  Why would she tell me to do that?  Why had I done what she said without reading about it first?  I was panicking.

I finally fell asleep that night, but when I woke up in the morning and was still having some cramps, I decided to call my fertility institute and talk to a different nurse (my nurse and doctor work in partnership with this specific institute, but I only went to the institute for my two procedures -- retrieval and transfer).  I got a nurse immediately, and she eased my mind.  She said they don't want my uterus to expel the embryos, but that the cramps could also mean good things. She said to stay away from the Advil but that it wouldn't prevent implantation -- it's just not recommended during pregnancy.

I knew there was nothing I could do, so I chose to kind of let go of it -- at least as best I could.

I remained in bed for another 24 hours, and on Thursday I got up, took a shower, and went to my RE for a blood draw to check how I've been absorbing my progesterone.

Did I mention that when I got home Tuesday night from OKC, I felt like I had a scratchy, irritated throat.  This is absolutely always my first symptom of a cold.  I tried to will it away, but I knew it was coming, and at just the most perfect time.

By Thursday, I definitely had a sore throat and was coughing, but I knew it'd get worse.  Because I could have been pregnant, I couldn't take anything, and in the next 4-5 days, I became so miserably sick that I couldn't believe my luck.

I went back to school and work feeling like absolute shit since I had missed so much for all of my appointments and procedures lately, but I was miserable.  And the days moved along, and I wanted so badly for January 29th -- the day of my pregnancy blood test -- to arrive, and I wanted so badly for it  to stay away forever.

That morning, I drove the hour and a half to my RE's office.  I waited a few minutes, and then my nurse took me back.  She drew the blood and told me about what was next -- either way.  If I was pregnant, I would come back on Monday for my second beta.  If I wasn't, I'd stop the progesterone, my period would start within five days, and I would call to schedule a consultation to discuss the cycle and my future options.

I didn't want to find out the outcome without my husband, and I had to be on campus an hour and a half away that night for a class.  I wouldn't be home until 10:30 p.m.  I asked my nurse to call and leave the outcome in a voicemail that J and I could listen to together later that night, once I got home.  And she agreed.

I was sitting in my office when my phone rang around 4:30 that afternoon.  The caller ID said it was her, and my heart stopped.  I had to let it ring and ring and then go to voicemail.  And then my phone alerted me to her message, and I just stared at the notification.  The answer was there, right there where I could reach it.  But I didn't.  I didn't want to know without J, and so it remained there for another almost seven hours.

all the embryo updates.

We got three embryo updates post-retrieval.  The retrieval was on a Wednesday, so we knew nothing until Thursday around 12:45.

My nurse called to ask how I was doing and then proceeded to give me the rundown.  She said that three of my six eggs had immediately been mature enough for fertilization.  Only half.  We were doing ICSI because of J's specific fertility issues, and I was nervous about that whole process anyway.  But half?  Okay, what else?  All three of the mature eggs -- from what they could tell at this point -- had fertilized normally.  This was a relief to me.  The remaining three eggs were put in culture over night to mature, and all three had and were ready for a second-day ICSI fertilization.  At this point, I felt super hopeful that we could get a number of fertilized eggs overall.

What I didn't know is that second-day fertilization rates are really low.  I hadn't ever read about it; in fact, I probably didn't even know it was a thing at that point.

Recap:
Day 1 = 3 initially mature eggs, 3 fertilized eggs, 3 second-day mature eggs

On Friday, my call came at the same time -- around 12:45.  At this point, I decided I knew my nurse's pattern/schedule and would wait by my phone everyday beginning at 12:15.  She told me that two of the three that had fertilized were dividing, but the third had ultimately not fertilized normally -- it was polynucleated.  This automatically felt painful because we lost a possibility in those moments, but I chose to focus on the two that remained.  One of the embryos was a two-cell, and the other was a four-cell, if I'm remembering correctly.  She also told me that one of the three previously immature eggs had fertilized normally during the second-day ICSI fertilization.  That's when I decided to look up the process and the success rates only to find that rates are low!  So I was glad to accept my one new fertilized egg.  We had a total of three embryos, and all I could hope was that all three would make it to the end -- to transfer day.

My nurse reminded me that because we were looking at so few embryos, it was possible that they would determine a three-day transfer was best.  I asked her whether this was a good thing or bad thing, and she just explained that the embryos need to be back in the body; it's where they belong, where they're safest.  The five-day transfer is helpful in kind of weeding out the embryos, determining which are strongest by asking them to continue growing for a longer period of time.  I didn't have the luxury of several embryos, so the five-day transfer was up in the air.  They'd tell me tomorrow for sure -- which was the day of three-day transfer.  So it would be a last minute thing, if it was necessary.  It all, honestly, stressed me the fuck out.

Recap:
Day 2 = 2 dividing embryos (2-cell and 4-cell), 1 new fertilized egg

Saturday was my final embryo report and also the day of a three-day transfer if they decided that was my best option.  This time my nurse called while I was in the shower -- because I was expecting her call at 12:45.  My husband brought the phone in, I turned off the water, and we both huddled around my cell phone to listen to the report -- me dripping with shower water but not even noticing.

All three embryos were still dividing.  The second-day fertilization was actually making better progress than one of the two original embryos.  It was a healthy-looking four-cell.  The strongest embryo was one from the first day at eight cells, and the third was a semi-weak, or slow, four-cell.  She mentioned that our embryologist thought our strongest embryo was starting to "make some big changes," I guess transforming into a morula, which was good news.  I felt hopeful.

She explained we would definitely be waiting for day 5 to do the transfer.  I asked why -- I mean, if I only had three and if the embryos are best off in my body, what were we waiting for?  (Not that I specifically wanted to do a three-day transfer, but I just didn't understand the logic behind the decision.)  She explained that I was 27 and blah blah blah... I really felt like I didn't get an answer.  All I can make of it is that because of my age, they expected my embryos to do well/be of good quality and that perhaps my risk of triplets would be high if they transferred all three?  I don't know.

She explained that we had two level II embryos, and one level III.  I felt confident in the two level IIs.

We hung up hopeful that all three would continue doing well and the strongest of the three would really take off.  My nurse reminded us that we wouldn't receive an update the next day, Sunday, and that we wouldn't know anything more until we arrived for the transfer -- PURE TORTURE.  We got our transfer time and the remaining instructions for Monday, and our call was done.

Recap:
Day 3 = 3 dividing embryos (2 four-cells, 1 eight-cell making "changes")

The next 48 hours were really kind of excruciating.  To not know until you arrive at the hospital if you have any embryos left is awful.  I kept telling myself that they would not make us come in for the procedure if there wasn't anything to transfer.  I repeated this over and over, and that's what got me through.

egg retrieval and progesterone.

Tuesday, January 14th was first day off from receiving injections since Christmas Day.  It was a bizarre feeling -- mostly panic -- that I had forgotten my shots or missed something important.

That evening we made our way to Oklahoma City, about a three-hour drive, so that we could settle in to our hotel room and enjoy a relaxing night prior to waking up early for the egg retrieval procedure.  I had been instructed about not eating anything after midnight and making sure to arrive sans makeup and deodorant and nail polish.  So that's what I spent my evening doing -- showering (which I did again in the morning), removing nail polish, eating dinner, and then just hanging out with my husband watching the good HBO shows that we don't get at home.  (I miss GIRLS so much!)

In the morning, I showered again (paranoid much?), put on sweats and comfy shoes, and we were off.  The hospital was less than a half mile from our hotel, so it wasn't much of a journey.  They checked us in right away and took all the money we had to our names.

They led me back to a large recovery room where five beds were separated by curtains.  I was given a gown and told to undress.  They got me situated in one of the beds with a warm blanket -- always my favorite part -- and then it was time for my IV.  They couldn't get it the first time in my right hand, but the first attempt in the left hand was fine.  The saline started flowing, and I felt the cold run up my arm.

The anesthesiologist came in to introduce himself and ask me some questions about my medical history.  He was so kind and friendly; I liked him immediately.  Next up was my RE and his two shadowing medical students.  He checked on me and explained things a little more.

My nurse, Jamie, was amazing, and I don't think I'll ever forget her.  She took me through the whole scenario -- what kind of anesthesia they'd use and what it would feel like as I went under, how long the procedure would take, where my eggs would go, when I would wake up, that I might be weepy coming out of the drugs, the information they'd have for me upon waking, memory issues, etc.  Nothing I experienced that day was a mystery to me because she had prepared me so well and taken such good care of me.

When it was time, they had me empty my bladder and walk back to the operating room.  I got situated in a specific spot on the table, and they strapped my legs into the most intense "stirrups" I've ever seen in my life.  Before I knew it,  I was feeling good as the anesthesia made its way into my blood stream.  I felt warm and drunk and sleepy, and that's the last thing I remember.

What seemed like immediately, I was groggily waking up in the same bed I had started in, J sitting in the corner chair.  Tears were sliding down my cheeks, but I didn't know why.  They told me they retrieved "six good eggs" and they were already with the embryologist.  I felt so happy because it really was the best outcome I could have asked for since I only had six or seven responsive follicles.  I had hoped and prayed for at least five.

I got my emotions in check and started to feel more and more like myself when another woman was wheeled out of the procedure.  She had gone through the same process as us on the exact same schedule with the same physician, so we had come to know one another.  We were always there for appointments at the same time, waiting in the waiting room together and with our husbands.

I could tell she was weepy as she woke up also.  The doctor came back and told her he had only been able to get three eggs -- that's all there was.  And she cried and cried and apologized to her husband.  And so I cried again too.

They asked J to go get the car so that I could be wheeled out front and we could be on our way home.  They had me use the restroom one last night.  I was bleeding a little bit, and they assured me that it was normal and that I could expect to be a little sore.

I felt so good on the way home.  They had gotten six eggs.  Now, if you had told me two weeks before that they would only get six eggs, I would have been devastated.  But having adjusted to only six follicles, it was all I could have hoped for.  Funny how perspective changes.

Once we got home, I just wanted to take it easy and watching TV -- do mindless stuff.  I hardly had my mind on the call we would get the next day about how many had fertilized.

That evening, my husband gave me my first progesterone shot.  I was wary of these shots in particular because of what you hear about them, even because of what my nurse had said about them.  I started off with a system, though, and it worked perfectly for the duration of the shots.  I heated up a hot pad and put it on the site for about 20 minutes leading up to the shot.  I also put the vial of progesterone in my bra to warm it.  When the injection was administered, it hardly hurt at all.  When it was over, I would spend a couple of minutes massaging the site, and then I'd apply the heat again for maybe 10 minutes.  Each night we alternated sides of my butt to inject, and other than one instance where my husband drew blood, they never hurt or caused problems.

I woke up the next morning knowing the call would be coming, and I couldn't have hoped any harder that we would get good news.

all around you.

When you're infertile and want nothing more than to experience pregnancy and hold your baby in your arms, it seems as though everyone around you has the opportunity -- except for you.

I think any of us who have experienced infertility can relate to these experiences.  You're at the mall and every woman you pass seems to have a round tummy, is pushing a stroller, or is toting three kids through the crowds.  And you can't help but be jealous.  You can't help but envy what all of these women have because it's what you want and what, for some reason, you can't have.

Everyone around you announces their pregnancies.  And you have to react joyfully for them -- for each of them -- every time.  You say your  - Congratulations!  The - I'm so happy for you!  You ask the expected questions -- When are you due?  How are you feeling?  You compliment.  --You look beautiful!  You're truly glowing.

But inside you hurt.  Month after month you're faced with disappointment.  And month after month, they keep finding success despite your failure.  And each time, you're expected to be happy.  To be a good friend.

If you're like me, you want to be.  You want to feel joy for everyone who achieves what you cannot.  It is the most amazing thing one can experience in life, after all.  You want to be genuinely happy for these women who you consider to be your friends.  But it's harder than some might think.  After enough time passes, it's truly difficult to feel joy for others who achieve your biggest dream so easily.  While you're left further and further behind.  It's difficult to put on the expected show of happiness and excitement.  Because all you want is to feel that way for yourself.  Finally.  After so much waiting and heartache.  All you want is what all of these women are experiencing, and there seems to be no valid reason you can't.

Sometimes I'm afraid these building feelings of jealousy and envy and bitterness are harmful to me, too.  I fear that karma may get me (or is getting me) for my inability to always experience the kind of joy a good friend should.  I fear that the negativity finds a home inside me and burrows deep, and that's not the person I want to be.

I have yet to skip out on a baby shower due to my emotions.  I have yet to retreat from my friends because I'm not in the same place they are.  I have yet to hibernate and surround myself with my sorrow.  So I'm proud of these continued efforts.  But I just want to be normal again.  I want to be a kind, concerned, generous friend who feels true joy and excitement for the women who mean so much to her.  I want to join the club with them.  I want to feel included and back on the inside instead of the outside.  I want to experience everything that they are -- two years ago.  I want to be completely me again.

I hope my emptiness can be filled soon.  I hope my dark space can be brightened.  I hope my ability to truly be a good friend returns.  Because I don't like this.

waiting. and waiting.

I haven't written here in more than a month.  And I can't believe it.

I'm not even really sure why.  Part of me is just trying to get through these weeks leading up to IVF.  Part of me wants to avoid thinking about it and therefore avoid writing about it.  Part of me wants to pretend everything is normal.

But it's not.  My mind is constantly swirling with worry and hope and anticipation and anxious thoughts.  I often wish that at my most recent appointment my doctor, instead of telling me my IVF was being pushed back more than a month, would have said -- We're doing this tomorrow!  Get ready!

What could I do then?  I'd have no choice but to be excited and unprepared and just go for it.  There wouldn't have been these weeks of conflicting feelings and a cloudy head and all the ups and downs that come with waiting.  The waiting that I know all too well and despise so very much.  And today, I would know what the outcome was.

I want nothing more than for January 20th to be here -- the day of my planned embryo transfer.  I want to have completed the process and know that I've done all that I could.  I also don't want January 20th to arrive, because that will mean a new kind of waiting begins.  And when that wait is over, I will have an answer.  If it's the answer I want more than anything in this life, then I can only imagine my joy and excitement and relief and hope.  If it's not, I don't want to even think about the darkness I might feel.  I want to enter all of this as positively as possible, and I really do feel so hopeful and excited, but I am not blind to the other possible outcome.  And it's hard to completely dismiss and keep from clouding my perspective.

As I sit at the library with every intention of studying for my graduate statistics final (I do miss the days of no finals...), I instead turned to my blog.  Because my mind isn't full of formulas or probability or hypothesis testing.  It's full of hopes for our future and the child we so desperately long for.  It's full of questions and anticipation regarding my upcoming procedures.  It's full of fantasies of a plump belly and swollen ankles and movement within.

It is my hope that once this semester is over and I'm able to completely dedicate my energy and focus to the holidays and my family and friends, that my mind will be occupied by the joy and energy of the season.  And when all of it has passed and it's time to go home and return to a quieter life, we will begin IVF.

I can't wait.

delays.

I had my appointment about a week and a half ago now.  It was the big appointment I'd been waiting and waiting for -- where they'd do my mapping and give me the run-down on my schedule.  I had anticipated and anticipated it, and then suddenly it was here (after much frustration that you can read about in recent posts),

When I got to my doctor's office, I was welcomed with the same warmth that I always was.  I was instantly relieved to be there and so eager to learn everything that was to come during my appointment.  My wait was short, and when it was my turn to be seen, they took a full IVF work-up of blood work that will test for all kinds of STDs and other viruses ... They took quite a bit of blood, but I'm so used to it by now that I actually felt excited to be sitting in that chair with the nurse and a needle in my arm.  Progress!

I spent a few more minutes in the waiting room until the infertility nurse and RE could see me for my ultrasound, but it wasn't long at all.  They took me back and had me change and prepare for the ultrasound.  They performed a transvaginal ultrasound to take a look at my system and measure the depth of my uterus and of my cervix, as well as to note the shape and curve of my uterus (something I had never considered before).  They were pleased that there wasn't an extreme curve to my uterus, so I was pleased, as well -- not really knowing why that was such a great thing until I asked.  Apparently the less curve you have to your uterus, the easier it is for them to transfer the embryos via catheter on the big day.  Yay for not a lot of curvature!

They counted the number of follicles I had going on each ovary and seemed really shocked to see as many as they did.  Remember, I had 27 cysts when I was diagnosed with PCOS -- no dominant follicle(s).  So when they revealed their surprise, I was totally freaked.  The doctor even mentioned that he couldn't believe I had as many as I did after being on Lupron, the pill, and Metformin.  In my mind, I was thinking everything I had been through wasn't working.  I was afraid I couldn't move forward.  I was afraid we would have to try something else, or they were going to tell me this was the end of the road.

They continued on with the actual mock embryo transfer which involved them actually threading the catheter through my cervix and extending it all the way to the fundus of my uterus (back of the uterus).  The catheter literally poked me in the back of my uterus.  (This was just for measurement purposes and they will definitely not poke me on the actual day of transfer.)  My nurse kept her hand on my belly during the whole procedure letting me know it was normal to feel crampy or to feel painful twinges.  She said some girls have a harder time with it than others.  I did completely fine the entire time.  I didn't experience any cramping or pain, and the only discomfort I felt was when I was poked in the uterus.  Such a strange experience!  It kind of made me feel queasy just because it was so bizarre.

All of this was over in a matter of a couple of minutes.  It wasn't a big deal, they got the info they needed, and they assured me things looked good.  This is when I asked about all those follicles...  The nurse looked at me and said, "Oh, no, that's a good thing!"  Ah!  All my worry from before melted away.  Apparently I had 20 follicles, and she said that's exactly what they would want to see in someone my age.  I guess they just weren't expecting to considering everything my body had been to.  The follicle count changes every cycle, though. So here's to hoping that it remains good news and is beneficial to my outcome.

The doctor was willing to answer any questions I had about the upcoming procedure, but between my previous conversations with him, with people who have been through it, and all of my own independent research, I felt like I understood what would happen.  They assured me I'd see him again, so I didn't need to feel pressured to ask all of the questions I would ever come up with.  I let him move on to the next patient so that the infertility nurse could go over everything with me.

She explained that we would go over the schedule and an overview of all of the prep info, and she would send me home with all of my consent forms and legal documents to go over with my husband.  The first item she handed me was a schedule of the entire process -- every appointment was scheduled and written for me from Oct. 30th to Feb. 2nd.  This made me feel so relieved after all of the stress I was put through with the most recent scheduling hiccup.

However, we received some bad news.

As I looked at the schedule, the entire procedure was set for mid-January.  She began explaining as soon as she put the sheet in my hands.  If you recall, we were planning to do our first IVF cycle in early to mid-December.  In fact, we had to do it then if we didn't want to wait until spring.  Apparently all fertility institutes that provide IVF services are required to shut down for a certain amount of time (more than a month) to inventory, clean, and follow whatever other regulations are imposed on them.  Most institutes close at some point in the summer, but mine always closed beginning at the holidays and then through January.  Hence, the December dates.

Apparently one week before my appointment, my nurse got a call from the institute saying they've had to completely rearrange their schedule to close in December and then open back up shortly after the New Year.  This meant that three women like me who are undergoing IVF with my doctor had to be rescheduled.  I didn't have a choice in the matter, and my doctor didn't have a choice in the matter.

My initial reaction was disappointment.  I have been anticipating this for months and months.  In my mind, I have established a schedule for the end of my semester and the holidays all based around IVF.  The more I thought about it, though, the more it seemed like it might be even better for us to wait until January.  And so, I am now completely at peace with it.

You see, I began my first semester as a full-time doctoral student in August.  I was accepted and agreed to attend on a Fellowship back in April, around the time of my surgery when I thought we wouldn't be able to try again for about a year.  I was scheduled to recover from surgery, be on Lupron for at least 6 months, bring my hormones back up with a few months of birth control, etc.  Instead, though, we found out that my husband is also infertile, that I responded really well to my Lupron, and that we should pursue IVF while time is on our side -- we're 27.  Knowing that I was entering into a big time of change and challenge, we decided to move forward.  What other option is there?  I know I can handle it, and I want this baby more than I want a PhD.

Our original IVF schedule was going to interfere with my finals, and I was going to be on all my meds starting right before Thanksgiving (a stressful time to be studying for finals and writing papers).  My husband and I had purchased plane tickets this summer so that we could be in San Francisco for my aunt's wedding over Thanksgiving weekend, so I had just come to the conclusion that I'd have to cancel.  We were going to have to stay home, away from our families for Thanksgiving since I wouldn't be able to travel on the meds.  I was going to have to take a pregnancy test on Christmas day.  I am in a dear friend's wedding on December 28th.  I absolutely dreaded the thought of the significance Christmas day would hold.  It would be magical if I received the best news of my life on Christmas day 2013, but I feel like it would add insult to injury to get a negative.  And if I did get bad news, I couldn't imagine being functional or a good friend in the wedding.

SO.  IVF in January means that my husband and I will not only be busy and occupied by the holidays and time with family leading up to the procedure, but we will also be coming off a long break from grad school for Christmas.  I hope that this means I am relaxed, at peace, and ready by the time January rolls around.  It will mean I can ask for massage gift certificates for Christmas, I can see my aunt marry the man she loves, my husband and I can have one last glorious California vacation, we can spend the holidays with our families, I can be a supportive bridesmaid to my friend, and I can look forward to the start of a New Year -- 2014 (I like even numbers way better, anyway).  Sounds like a good plan, right?

I'm feeling optimistic today, and I like it.  This could really happen.  In January.

I hope and wish and pray.

sex drive.

This post might be a little personal, but it's another glorious aspect of this infertility struggle.

Infertility and the treatments that go along with it rob you of so many of the joys of life.  Sanity?  Gone.  Emotional stability?  Non-existent.  Sense of humor?  Only sometimes there.  Confidence?  Shot.  Happiness and joy for others?  You have to try really, really hard.  Energy levels?  Particularly low.  Sex drive?  Apparently not so great either.

Throughout my Lupron injections and pseudo-menopause experience, after surgery and various medications, even through hot flashes and headaches -- I never really lost my sex drive.  I kept waiting for it, because I was told it might be a problem.  But it never went away, and I was thankful because that was one thing that went easy on my marriage.

But now I'm off the Lupron, my hormones are elevated again, I get my period, I've exited menopause... and I have no sex drive.  I'm on birth control pills to regulate my hormones and my cycle, and all I can tell myself to explain it is that my body has finally been put through hell -- why would I want to have sex?  My hormones went from not existing to being way up there in a matter of a month.  My body has been poked and prodded.  I take medications meant for people with different problems and diseases, and so I feel sluggish and exhausted.  Very low-energy.

I've gained a little weight in hopes that it will help with IVF, and even though it's not much, it doesn't quite feel like me.  I'm not as motivated.  I'm tired.

My husband continues to be supportive and understands that my body has been through a lot.  But something like this is bound to affect a relationship.  Just like everything else -- every other aspect of this crazy experience -- it's something we have to get through together.

If nothing else, these dry spells will help prepare him for the wait time before his IVF specimen is taken.  :)  The silver lining?

pain of going home.

I'm not even sure that I should write a post about this because I don't know that it's fair.  (And it will once again reveal how crazy I am.)

My husband and I went home to my in-laws' for a long weekend a few days ago.  I was really looking forward to it because we hadn't seen them in a few months, and I was eager to have a few days away from the daily routines that dominate my life lately.  I have really wonderful in-laws whom I love very much and actually enjoy spending time with.

But when it comes to my in-laws, our infertility is kind of a strange topic.  My husband is much more private about our issues than I am, so my family knows all about it, and he has kept his largely in the dark.  It wasn't until late this summer that they even knew about his fertility issues, and they didn't find out about mine until the night before I was going in for surgery back in April -- you know, just in case something happened.  I don't completely agree with this approach because I don't want our infertility to feel like a secret, like something we need to hide and be ashamed of.  I don't know that that's how my husband really feels (he says it's not) -- he is a private person, after all -- but I can't help but wonder.

At this point in time, partially thanks to my inability to keep all of this under wraps, his parents pretty much know exactly what's going on.  They know that we've been told IVF is our only option.  They know we will consider adoption if our IVF attempt doesn't work.  They know we both have issues that aren't easily solved.  They know about my emotional struggles with all of it, and they know about my husband's very rational approach to everything.

As time has gone on, it has become a topic that is more and more comfortable for my in-laws, I think.  At first, they never ever brought it up -- which kind of made me frustrated and angry at times.  Or if I brought it up, the only response I ever got was something positive -- a la "It will all work out!  Keep your chin up!"  This kind of response made me want to scream.  Now, though, I am able to talk more freely about it, they ask questions, they seem more engaged and interested, and they also seem to have a bit more compassion.  And I am so thankful that they've come around a bit.

As far as we know, my husband's siblings, a young sister and a younger brother, are mostly in the dark.  Or maybe that's me being naive.  I suppose it would be reasonable (and would definitely happen in my family) to assume that my husband's parents have filled his siblings in.  If they do know, though, they don't let on.  For some reason it doesn't bother me one bit to think that his siblings don't know anything about our struggles.  For some reason I'd almost rather it remain that way.

Confession:  I'm a fairly competitive person.  To be competitive when it comes to fertility seems ridiculous, but I think what I feel is this dread of all of those around me, those I love, realizing this dream of having children before I do.  Even though I started on the path first, even though I've put in the time, energy, emotional wackiness, money, physically draining procedures and medications and exams, etc. -- I'm afraid that everyone around me will get to the finish line first.  And I have already experienced this awful phenomenon several times with close friends.  But it would be so much more difficult if my sister-in-law were to have a baby first, or if my brother-in-law were to.  It would mean that they could give make my in-laws' dreams of being grandparents come true.  It would mean that all kinds of excitement and pride and love would revolve around them.  It would mean that I would have to watch from the shadowy corners in pain, knowing that I can't have what they can.

Granted -- none of this is happening.  Hopefully none of this happens any time soon.  Neither of them are even married (both are in serious relationships).  But every time I go home to my in-laws', I can't help but think about it.

And so this brings us to something I'm embarrassed to admit.  My sister-in-law has fairly recently entered into a serious relationship with a guy she met at work.  Recently we all found out that he has a daughter who doesn't live with him.  My SIL had never met her until this weekend -- when we all did.  This whole situation is a source of anxiety and jealousy for my sister-in-law.  She's looking at this guy as a potential life partner and considering the fact that he's already had a child ... with someone else.  I know that is difficult, and I'm not sure how I would react, especially when she's so young and wants to do all of that with her husband for the first time.  I found myself, though, feeling jealous.  Jealous that if she marries him, she will immediately have a child in her life.  She will get to be in some kind of a mother role without even trying.  This little girl will help my in-laws to feel like (and I suppose eventually be) grandparents to her.

I am sure being a step-parent when you're not prepared to be doesn't sound ideal, and I feel for her.  If I weren't in my situation, I would completely understand.  But here I am wanting a child more than anything, and it is kind of difficult for me to think about.

I'm kind of jealous.  And I feel ridiculous for it.

i'm freaking out.

A few posts ago I wrote about my futile attempts to get my RE's office to return my calls so that I could schedule my mapping (or mock embryo transfer) that was supposed to happen last week.

I called for the first time back on September 30th and have called 2-3 times a week since then.  Never have I received a return phone call to ease my mind or schedule the appointment.

Nothing.

I've spoken to the receptionist every single time I've called.  And I know it's not her fault.  She's the one who takes the messages and leaves them for my nurse.  She's the one who talks me through my frustrations on a weekly basis.  She's the one who apologizes profusely for my worry and stress and the fact that I'm not receiving the care that I should.  But it's not her fault that I haven't been called.

I was absolutely sure that I'd get a call today.  My RE and his fertility nurse were out of state at a conference all last week (when I probably should have been mapped) and then I found out that their two other nurses are no longer there -- so they're short-staffed.  I understand all of that.  I get that things are busy.  But I thought they'd finally get to my messages today.

At 4:36, I still hadn't heard anything, so I called.  I was fairly sure their answering service would pick up by then, but I thought I might as well try.  No answer.

The thing is that my mapping was supposed to be done last week -- during the third week of my third pack of birth control pills.  The timing is important.  And now my fear is that my IVF cycle will be pushed back.  Or maybe even worse that they'll go ahead half-assed just trying to get me "done."

The way all of this is being handled is really concerning me, and I have to say that I am not feeling more and more confident in what's to come as time goes by.  All of this has me wondering if I'm making the right choices -- about my doctor, about IVF, about everything.

I want a baby more than anything, and at this moment, I'm feeling like my desire and need are being taken advantage of.  I want a baby so badly that I will pay what I cannot afford, and I will put myself through hell -- for a shot at one.  And what do they stand to lose?  A dip in their success rates?

Tonight I lost it.  I talked to my husband for about an hour after I called this afternoon to no answer.  We discussed our options.  I shared my feelings about it all.  I got teary.  He suggested we drive the hour and a half to the RE's office and wait in the waiting room until someone will see us, that is if we don't get a call in the next day.  I resolved to call again first thing in the morning and be very, very clear about my frustrations and my doubts.  But I know it's not the receptionist's fault.  And I know she already knows what I'm feeling.

My mom called as my husband and I were wrapping up our conversation.  I answered, and she sensed irritation in my voice.  I had already told her about my frustrations two weeks ago, but she was surprised to hear it hadn't been resolved.  And then I lost control.  I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed to silence on the other end.  All she could say was how sorry she was.  I couldn't stop crying.  It was ugly and pathetic, but all of my nerves and anger and concern and frustration had to go somewhere.  And they did.

I remember the last thing my nurse said to me as I left my most recent appointment back in August was, "Remember just try to remain calm and stay positive!"  How can I be calm when no one is caring for me?  How can I remain positive about all of this if IVF hasn't even started and I'm already more than exhausted?  How can I stay trusting if my RE's office won't even communicate with me?

I need to feel like I'm a priority for this to work, and it's wearing on me.  Should it be this hard?

conflicting information.

I am a researching freak.  I read just about everything ... Books, articles online, message boards, etc.  Especially when it comes to infertility, I want to be as knowledgable as possible.

I'm also susceptible to trying anything and everything to make sure this upcoming IVF cycle works.  Obviously there are no guarantees, but I'm one who will fall into the trap of any recommendation or suggestion that something specific will help my chances.  You say eating a pomegranate a day will have me ovulating in no time?  I'll do it.

Part of this approach is that I'm afraid if IVF doesn't work that I will find a way to blame myself.  If I didn't exercise properly in preparation for IVF and it fails, it will be my fault.  If I drank too many glasses of wine during this waiting period and IVF fails, it will be my fault.  If I didn't do acupuncture in the 12 weeks leading up to IVF and it fails, it will be my fault.

Totally irrational, but I know myself.  And that's exactly what I'll do.

So like I've said before, I'm exercising and eating "right" and getting the acupuncture.  I'm not drinking alcohol.  I don't use tobacco or any other drugs.  I've gained a couple of pounds of cushion because a former doctor told me that fat helps with estrogen production.

Maybe it's all ridiculous, maybe it's all for nothing.  But I don't know either way.

So in my quest for all of the information so that I can make informed decisions about my health and well-being during this wait period, I have stumbled across a TON of info.  Maybe even all of the information ... as I intended to find.

The problem is that so much of it is conflicting.  One study suggests women consume full-fat dairy products.  Another says women should stay away from dairy products.  One article says higher IVF pregnancy rates were found in women who took a gluten-free approach.  Other nutritional suggestions say to eat lots of whole grains.  One site will tell you to exercise daily, another will tell you to take it easy.  What the hell?!

My acupuncturist has made diet suggestions based on my specific issues.  She says that because I suffer from blood stagnation (Chinese medicine's diagnosis of an imbalance that causes endometriosis), I should eat warm foods.  They should all be cooked -- no raw vegetables.  I should drink warm drinks.  I should avoid wheat, dairy, and sugar.  I should eat a lot of leafy greens, high-protein foods, and fruits.  Makes sense...

I will gladly do all of that.  But is it true?  What about the studies that claim the opposite?  What if one way is detrimental, but I don't know which way that is?  What if I take the wrong approach?

By now you've all come to the conclusion that I'm a crazy person.  And I am.  But what do I do?  I'm the biggest worrier on the planet, and I have the best intentions.  This is my one shot, and I don't want to blow it.

Do I eat what I want within reason?  Do I allow myself the ice cream?  Do I keep eating pastas and whole grain breads?  Do I ditch the dairy?

(Don't even get me started on all of the meth-heads and processed-food junkies out there who are popping out babies like crazy.)

Ugh.

worries.

I was on three months of Lupron shots over the summer to shut down my reproductive system and clear out any remaining endometriosis that wasn't caught during my April '13 laparoscopy.  My case of endometriosis was classified as advanced -- Stage III, so my uterus and bladder were affected, and my doctor wanted to be sure that everything was taken care of.

I think I've written before about my laparoscopy and my particular experience with endometriosis.  I never really experienced much pain with it -- or not pain that I acknowledged -- and I was very fortunate in terms of symptoms.  My laparoscopy revealed that I was riddled with endometriosis, and my doctor was especially shocked by how much he removed from my bladder.  Apparently he has rarely, if ever, seen such a thing in a 26-year-old.

Prior to my surgery, I had had pain that I didn't recognize as pain.  I'm not really sure why.  My pain was related to my bladder, and I often felt it after emptying my very full bladder -- kind of a stretched-out discomfort -- and when holding my urine mid-stream (like when you have to pee in a cup at the doctors office).  I really didn't think anything of it and only recognize that it was pain in hindsight.  In fact, during my medical history interview with my RE, I answered that I never experienced pain, and I was being honest.

Once my surgery was complete and I was on the Lupron injections, my bladder pain was completely gone.  And that's when I realized that I had indeed been uncomfortable.  At my August 7th appointment where I was completely checked out by my RE and where I confirmed I was no longer feeling any bladder pain, I was telling the truth.

I'm worried now, though, because I'm experiencing some of that same discomfort again.  And I don't know why, and I don't know how that's possible.

It's not all the time.  In fact, it's not even every time I have a full bladder.  And it's not as uncomfortable as it was.  I can't predict when it's going to hurt and when it's not.  I'm not even sure if I should call it pain.  But it doesn't feel like it did when I was on the Lupron, and I'm afraid it's either going to affect our ability to move forward with IVF or the outcome of IVF.

I will of course bring this up at my mapping appointment next week, but each time I experience that discomfort, I can't help but wonder if somehow my endometriosis is back.  But how could it be?  I've been on Lupron injections and then gone straight into birth control -- both of which remove and then prevent endometriosis.  Maybe it's all in my head?  Maybe I'm just worried in general?

Has anyone else out there had bladder pain related to endometriosis?  I've done my fair share of googling, but really I need to stay away from all that.  I don't need to start wondering if I have cancer (and believe me, I will wonder that!).

liebster. whaaa?!

My new friend Anne over at The Second Bedroom is on her own infertility journey.  We follow one another's blogs, and we are both rooting for each other as we make our way down this windy, bumpy path.

She surprised me a couple (okay, maybe a few?!) weeks ago by nominating me for a Liebster Award.  Honestly, I had no idea what it was, so I checked it out.  A Liebster Award is a blogging award given by other bloggers to those who have fewer than 200 followers but who write promising blogs.  Naturally, I was excited and honored that Anne felt I fit the criteria.

Then I was the worst blogger for about 20 days.  I guess I've been busy and haven't had a lot of soul-bearing to send out into the world.  But here I am with a break in my day -- hopefully enough time to do a semi-Liebster post -- and I'm ready to put it out there.

For this post, I think I will give the 11 facts about me and answer Anne's questions.  I may write a separate post nominating blogs and listing out my questions a bit later.

11 Facts About Me:

1.)  I am more of a pessimist than an optimist.  It might be my least favorite quality in myself, and I wish I could change it more easily -- especially with all of this infertility stuff.  Help!

2.)  I am from California.  I haven't lived there for 18 years, but I still often claim it as home because it is the one place I lived as a child where I felt life was mostly stable and good.  I still feel home when I go back, and there is no other place I'd rather be than standing beside the Pacific Ocean at Avila Beach.

3.)  My dad died of ALS when I was 16 years old.  He had been terminally ill since I was 12 and my little sister was 8.  I have a lot of very difficult memories and a lot of guilt about how my teenage self dealt with grief.  But I'm able to forgive myself when I realize that if my dad could do it over again, he would do some things differently too.  (He was a wonderful man and father.)

4.)  I get some sort of weird enjoyment from denying myself certain things.  If I get new clothes as a gift or even buy them myself, I resist trying them on at the store and/or when I get home.  I bought myself a new MacBook Air when I started my PhD program this fall and didn't take it out of its box for a week, not until my husband made me.  If I haven't managed my time well or have procrastinated accomplishing something, I won't allow myself something I want.  I'm not sure what any of this means.

5.)  I have the best girlfriends in the entire world.  I don't have tons of them, but I have 6 or 7 friends who are my people.  That's the only way I can describe it.  Most of them I've known since middle school or high school or college, and I have trouble finding others who are like them.  We are weird together and have the very best time.  They are made just for me, and I am made for them.  Plain and simple.  It's a strange, wonderful feeling to belong in that way.

6.)  Ever since I was a tiny child, like four years old, I've experienced this intensely irrational empathy for fictional, often illustrated characters that is really hard for me to explain and is mostly hilarious and strange to other people.  For instance, you know Snuggles from the fabric softener commercials?  That adorably sweet little bear?  Well, I always had this irrational fear that something awful would happen to Snuggles because he was so kind and innocent.  Literally, I was four years old and hated those commercials because I wanted to cry for Snuggles.  The same thing with the Peanuts characters.  And now my sister has introduced me to this character Catbug, and I can hardly stand it.  I want to rescue them!  I know this makes no sense to anyone else...  

7.)  Another of my least appealing qualities is that I'm a fairly envious person.  I feel jealous when people have things I want but don't have -- they could be very superficial, materialistic things or more important things -- like babies.  I am envious of ease of process and lack of struggle.  I suppose this is fairly normal, but I think my envy might be a little more intense than others', and I don't like it.  My husband urges me to be happy and satisfied with my own life, which I would love to do (and am in many ways), but I can't help but look at what other people have and wonder why I don't have the same.  Sometimes it makes me into a bitter bitch.  :)  

And let me put it out there that every time I feel that way, I need to be reminded that really, I have an incredible life and am so very lucky.  So many worse things could be a part of my every day, but they're not.  

8.)  If I want something, I will work really, really hard to get it.  I mean, I'll go to great lengths to make it happen.  Whether it has been academically or relationship/friendship-wise or infertility... If there's something I want, or something I want changed, I'm going to try my best to make sure it happens.  Maybe that's what makes me so envious -- that sometimes even though I've worked really, really hard and tried my best, I still am not a recipient.

9.)  I am a performance-oriented, over-achieving kind of gal.  I want to be the best or among the best, and sometimes I put a lot of pressure on myself because of it.  I wish I could be more into the experience or what I might learn, but often my focus goes to the achievement side of things.  I've gotten better as I've gotten older and made my way a little bit through life, but it's still my tendency.  I'm still working on it.

10.)  I love clean, sparkly sinks.  (And a clean house, in general).  It's a clean sink that can really get me, though.  I feel like if my sink sparkles, my entire kitchen does.  If I don't have time to shine anything else up, I go straight for the sink, both kitchen and bath.

11.)  I literally (and I do know the meaning of the word literally and am using it correctly here) have the single best husband in the entire world.  Yes, I get frustrated with him.  Yes, he gets frustrated with me.  Sometimes we don't see eye to eye.  Sometimes we don't completely understand one another.  But no one in this world could live with me each day and know me so well and still love me the way he does.  When I hear other people talk about their marriages and relationships or failed marriages and failed relationships -- when I hear my divorced and married friends talk about their ex-husbands and husbands -- I truly feel a major sense of guilt.  I can't chime in and join those conversations.  I can't complain about the same things they complain about.  I've never been treated badly.  I've never been disrespected.  I've never been taken for granted.  My husband is the kind of guy who makes decisions about his own life based on what's best for his family (me, as of right now).  He's the kind of guy who rubs my feet while we're watching TV -- just because.  He's the kind of guy that will leave notes of beautiful prose he's written for me on my dresser.  He cooks me dinner every night.  He tells me he's proud of me every day.  He never makes me wonder if he thinks I'm beautiful.  He praises my work ethic, my intellect, and my compassion daily.  He makes me feel like I'm really doing okay in life.  And never, ever does he ask for anything.  I know that I don't necessarily deserve him, but I'm never giving him back.  (And fuck you, universe, for keeping fatherhood from him -- because he'd literally be the best at that, too.)

_______

Now, on to Anne's questions.  (She asked 10 questions instead of 11 because she despises odd numbers -- and I can respect that.)

1. What do you turn to for comfort?

Without fail, I turn to my husband, my mother, and my sister (and often my closest girlfriends, too).  Usually all three.  They let me complain and cry and wail and scream and cuss and be furious.  And when I just need someone to listen and let me let go, they are there.  I know I'm reading this question with a little bit of the infertility perspective, but lately that's what comfort means to me.

2. Do you have any habits/mannerisms other people consider odd but you couldn't do without?

I'm trying to think.  I probably have lots of them, but I don't know what they are because people don't tell me when I'm weird.  Okay, I've got one.  When I'm bored/nervous/anxious/etc., I pick at my cuticles and peel off the dead cuticle skin.  I don't peel my skin back or get all bloody or gross or anything; it's really just what happens when you get a manicure.  But it's probably kind of gross to watch.  I can't live without it because it kind of soothes those uncomfortable feelings for me and helps me to pass time.

3. What is your favorite thing to cook? Or, for non-cooks, to order in?

I'm not much of a cook, but my husband is.  He's very inventive and adventurous with his cooking, and he makes so many delicious meals.  One of my favorites that we need to do again (and I did help with this one) is Phad Thai from scratch.  It was so, so good.

4. It's your day off. No commitments yet. Shockingly, ALL your laundry is clean. What do you wear?

I would probably put on something comfortable but not sloppy.  Dark skinny jeans, a loose, flowy tank, a long necklace, and gold sandals.  I also love dresses more than any other article of clothing, so if it's summer, I will often choose a sundress and sandals.

5. You can have one word or phrase stricken from the minds of humanity--they just forget it existed and you NEVER have to hear it again. What is it?

I'm not really someone who despises certain words.  I feel like they're all necessary for some reason, and even if they aren't aesthetically pleasing, they serve a purpose.  I really can't think of one that I'd just like to get rid of.  If the reason for the word disappeared along with the word, then I would choose mosquitoes.  Because those bitches ruin my summer every year.

6. You're a billionaire, hooray! What charity do you make your pet cause?

I would put a lot of money into ALS-TDI (Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis Therapy Development Institute) and other organizations that support research for ALS (commonly known as Lou Gehrig's disease).  I used to be a lot more active in raising money than I have been lately, and whether or not I become a billionaire, I'd like to pick that back up.  My dad died of ALS when I was in high school, and I am devastated over and over again each time I learn of a new family who is forced to make the disease an intimate part of its life.  

7. Do you wear socks to bed?

In the winter, yes.  In fact, I freeze all winter long and often times just can't warm up.  I'm a huge fan of wearing all kinds of layers when I go to bed in the winter. In the summer, no socks.

8. I've got a gift card for you! You can't spend it on bills. Only frivolous things. Where do you go?

For an all-around fun place that would allow me to spend the money on a variety of items, I would choose Target.  They always have cute stuff, and I could find clothes, accessories, home goods, outdoor stuff, etc.  If I'm just considering my wardrobe, my go-to is always Gap.  Can't help it.

9. What one thing that you do on a regular basis do you wish you never had to do again?

I would love to never wash my hair again.  If I really sit around and think about it, there are way bigger tasks than washing my hair that I should probably eliminate first.  Okay -- if I could never clean my house again and it would still always be clean, I would choose that.  A clean house feels amazing, but I don't always have the time, energy, or motivation to get it done as frequently as I would like.

10. If you were an expert in one area, and people came from miles away just to ask your thoughts, what area would that be?

At this point probably infertility!  I don't feel like an expert on anything, and I don't even feel like I know a little about a lot of things, so I'm not confident that I can really answer that question.  I do know that I've learned a lot about infertility because I've read so much about it and investigated so much on my own.  I also feel like I am very familiar with the grieving process and dealing with difficulty and loss.  Expert?  No.  Definitely not an expert on anything.

fucking call me back.

I'm going to warn you... I'm a little angry.

And this isn't my usual what-did-I-do-to-deserve-infertility anger.  Which is worse, I think.  But still.  I'm pissed off.

You see, I'm due for my first IVF attempt at the beginning of December.  My last appointment with my RE was on August 7th where they decided I didn't need my remaining three Lupron shots because I had responded so well and there seemed to be no evidence of my advanced endometriosis.  At this appointment, they talked to us about IVF, and my husband and I decided to go for it.  All of our questions were answered, we discussed the financial side, and we put a tentative schedule together with my doctor and nurse.  I left feeling completely overwhelmed and anticipating the next four months as we made our way to the weeks of IVF process.

I was referred to my RE last spring after 14 months of trying (and it was a battle to get that referral -- something else that still pisses me off!).  At the time, I had no idea who he was or why he was so great.  Come to find he's one of the most successful in the nation and was actually on the team who achieved the first IVF pregnancy back in the 80s.  This boosted my confidence in his knowledge, ability, professionalism, etc. and so I've always felt that I'm in good hands.

During my first visit, I came to know the receptionist/office manager and all of the nursing staff, as well as my doctor.  I will say that my doctor is not the most personable.  He has never once offered consolation, and it's clear he doesn't have a whole lot of empathy.  He's smart, he knows what he's doing, and that's why he's successful -- but he's just not a warm person.  He would be even more successful, in my opinion, if he could express some compassion for his patients and could make it a more personal experience...  Not happening as of now, so I'm moving on.  His nursing staff, though, and his office manager -- amazingly wonderful women!  They are kind, they give me hugs, they make me feel good.  They express their understanding of how difficult this must be.  They tell my husband and I that they've been thinking of us and hoping we're doing okay.  They make me feel like a human being, and I am forever grateful for that.  In fact, I've been going through complete withdrawals since I haven't been in for an appointment since August.  I had been in every 2-3 weeks since March, and this absence makes me feel uneasy.  And really, I kind of miss them.

What I'm really pissed about, though, is how my case has been handled in the past 3-4 weeks.  You see, when I left my August 7th appointment, I left with several prescriptions -- Metformin to address my PCOS, Dostinex to address my elevated Prolactin levels, and three packs of birth control to get my hormone levels back up, to keep endometriosis away, and to regulate my cycles.  My instructions were to call and schedule an appointment for mapping when I started my third pack of birth control pills.  So of course I figured up the day of my first pill of the third pack and put a reminder into my phone to call and schedule the appointment (as if I would forget).  Right on schedule, I called.  I talked to the receptionist/office manager, and she took a message.  She wanted to talk to the fertility nurse to make sure she scheduled it correctly.  This was a Monday.  She assured me I would be called back within a couple of days.

One week passed, and I hadn't heard anything.  So I called again.  I reminded her of my issue and that I needed to schedule an appointment for during my third week of pills.  Come to find out, my doctor and the fertility nurse will be out of town that entire week.  So the receptionist was going to talk to the nurse and figure out what they should do.  I never got a call back.

The following week, 8 days later, I called again.  I reminded her once again what was going on and that I hadn't heard anything.  She assured me that the nurse would get back to me within two days.

I was beginning to panic.  Everything with IVF is on a schedule.  When my husband and I decided to go forward, we decided to go forward as soon as possible.  Our fertility clinic is closed during the months of January and February, so if for some reason we didn't or couldn't move forward right away, we were going to have to wait to start this entire process until the spring.  We didn't want to wait.  Not getting answers in regards to my mapping appointment was making me worry about the entire schedule of this process.  If they couldn't map when they planned to, could they even do the IVF procedures when they planned to?  Was this going to push everything back?

Wouldn't you know it, I never heard back from the nurse.  I called again four days later, and this time I assertively expressed my panic and frustration.  I was kind, but I was irritated.  I still didn't get to talk to the nurse.  Once again I was told my call would be returned.

It wasn't.  So I called for a fifth time yesterday.  And on my fifth attempt to talk to someone, the receptionist told me that she had been left with instructions to schedule my appointment early next week and that she would call me to do so once their schedule was finalized.  She assured me that everything would be okay, nothing would be pushed back.

I have to say this gave me a sense of relief.  But I'm still pissed.  Why did I have call so many times?  Why did I have to fight so hard for such a simple answer?  Why am I not a priority?  Why don't they have a fucking nurse's line???

I just want all of this to work out.  I want December to be here, and I want to strip away all of the mystery of this IVF process.  I want it to work.  I want to be happy.  And I don't want my RE's office -- the only place that can possibly help me -- to be a major source of stress and anxiety.  How can I relax and feel positively about this process and this experience when I can't get the answers I need?

I love these people, and they are so good to me when I'm receiving care in their office.  It's hard for me to even reconcile that I have such trouble with them when I'm not there.  We'll see if I'm contacted to get this appointment made for next week.  We'll see if I have to advocate for myself as usual.

Fucking call me back.

getting ahead of myself.

My mom, who through all of our trying to conceive, was just sure I needed to relax, to quit worrying about it, has finally come around to realizing it wasn't my stress level, and I wasn't crazy for being so sure something was wrong.  She gets the truth of it all now -- that we're infertile.

Now she's very sensitive to hearing about other couples' struggles with infertility or journeys toward adoption or IVF, or whatever the case may be.  A couple of weekends ago, she called me with news about a couple she met who had adopted a baby.  She had gotten their contact information for me and assured me that the mother was more than happy to talk to me about the process.

Maybe this should make me more uncomfortable than it does, but I'm all for reaching out to others who have struggled with infertility, who have chosen one path over the other, who have taken the adoption route or the IVF route, or whatever.  I'm all about making connections and learning from other people who have been there.  As I've said many times, this is a very lonely road, so if talking with others who have been there makes it a little bit more bearable, then I'm goin' for it.

So I called this gal.  Remember, though, that I've got IVF scheduled.  It's happening in December.  All of my focus should be on staying positive and getting ready for this life-changing procedure, right?

Why can I not just keep my focus on IVF??

Should I really be calling complete strangers that my mom talked to about adoption?  Should I really even be thinking about that right now?  Am I dooming my chances at IVF by not putting all of my figurative eggs in one basket?  Does this mean I'm not totally committed to IVF?  Does this mean I don't believe it will work?

I don't know the answers to any of these questions, and I am likely to drive myself nuts considering the possibilities if I dwell on them too long.  But it all does make me wonder.  Should I be less realistic and instead, more optimistic?  Probably.  And I'm working on it, but I haven't mastered it yet.

I'm incredibly aware that I essentially have a 50/50 shot at this.  I think maybe my way of coping with this incredibly unsettling probability and my awareness of the fact that this very well may not work, is to keep my mind open to all of the other possibilities...  Maybe my thinking is that if I keep investing myself into other options, if IVF doesn't work, I won't crash so hard knowing that there is a next step.

Really, though, I want to be excited.  I want to truly anticipate our upcoming IVF and hope-hope-hope that it works.  And I want to believe that it can work and that it will work.  How do I convince myself of these things?  How do I live in the moment?

I called that woman.  And she talked with more for over an hour and was so kind and so supportive.  And she, like all other women dealing with infertility, made me feel as though I'm in good company.  She taught me a lot about the process and what to expect if we do go down that road.  And she made me feel hopeful -- that one way or another, I will be a mother.

But right now my path is to see if I can achieve motherhood through IVF.  I want to focus on that and only that.  Does anyone have any tips?  How do I put my blinders on and quit constantly considering the possibility that it won't work?