Thar She Flows

February 6, 2007 by · 21 Comments

Or:

Kotex:  I Wish I Could Quit You

And I know, one minute I’m complaining that my period isn’t here, the next I’m complaining that it is.

What can I say?  I’m fickle.  I am a total pain in the ass. Keep up people!

Today is most assuredly CD1.  Last Sunday – false alarm!  My bad.

I am sure because not too long ago I got that not so fresh feeling DOWN THERE and sprinted down the hall to the ladies room.  As I commandeered the wrapping and the stickers and the wings, I thought:  This bites.  And then?  Think positively!  Maybe this will be your last period for a LONG time!

For those of you who asked, yes, I do take the natural progesterone tablets to stave off my period and try to have a luteal phase of close to 14 days.  But usually after about 12 or 13 days, my AF stares deep into the eyes of those all-natural, hippy-dippy, Patchouli-wearing progesterone tabs and says:

Bitches, PLEASE!

I am AF and I come when I’m good and ready so back that ass up and get out of my way.

And the Battle of Plimbo ends shortly thereafter.  My period wins every time.

This whole progesterone deal stirred up a lot of interest, mostly because per usual I did a half-assed job of explaining what in the flingin’ flangin’ hell I was talking about in my last post.

I snorted Diet Pepsi out my nose when I read Faith’s comment:

When you say "cramming progesterone tabs down my gullet" I hope you mean you’re cramming them up your cookie. I actually know a women that swallowed them b/c no one told her where they belonged…

SERIOUSLY?!?

I shouldn’t laugh because that WOULD be something I would do, but thankfully that little pearl is not about me.  My acupuncturist recommends an all-natural form of progesterone, which comes in tiny little pills.  As soon as you ovulate, you take three of the pills three times a day.  You bite them in half (which is no easy task because they’re teeny tiny), let them sit under your tongue for a few minutes and then swallow them.

And even though they’re all natural, they actually do work.  Before I started taking them, my luteal phase was only 10 days long.  Now, I start spotting around 11 or 12DPO, but I can usually stay in Plimbo long enough to have a real, Big Girl luteal phase of 13 or 14 days. 

And speaking of the lovely Faith, head on over there to wish her luck — her transfer is tomorrow. Go Faith!

Her account of the PIO shots made me literally quake with fear, and I know in a few short weeks I’ll be screaming for my hippy alternative progesterone tabs and wishing I could just make do with them.

Is it wrong that I totally do not trust BeBop to administer my shots?  Because I. Do. Not. Trust. Him.

Even now, he grins with this evil little smile and makes stabbing motions towards me while laughing this hyena (or is it a jackal?)-type laugh when we talk about the injections.  It does not instill a lot of confidence in me.

I mean, we do share a sick sense of humor.  Last weekend Saturday Night Live had a sketch about a wife slowly poisoning her husband with Dioxin.  (They were in therapy, discussing it.)  At one point the husband remarked how his wife put ‘Dioxin’ on the shopping list, which was fairly passive aggressive, he told the therapist. (Since she was trying to KILL him and all…) And you sort of had to see the skit but the POINT IS

On Sunday I put a shopping list on the fridge for BeBop consisting of the following items:

1. Paper Towels

2. Eggs

3.  Dioxin

4.  Milk

Now I think it’s safe to say I have a sick sense of humor if I am putting a toxic poison on our shopping list,  just like the wife did in that sketch.

But my sense of humor fails me completely when it comes to him gleefully anticipating what it will be like to stab me in the ass with an inch and-a-half long needle filled with PIO!

But here we go anyway, despite my crazy anxiety and overall sense of freakoutedness.

I am IN CYCLE. TAA DAA.

And here’s where you come in, I need your help.

As I mentioned, I want to change the name of this category (IVF#1) to something a little more upbeat and positive.  I thought of IVF#1:  My One And Only but that makes me think of a sappy Marisa Tomei/Robert Downy, Jr. movie from the late 1980s and after that I’m fresh out of good ideas.

IVF#1:  Fo’ Shizzle

IVF#1:  Something To Pass The Time Until Britney Gets Pregnant Again

IVF#1:  Can Jack Bauer Be Called In To Help With This Mission?

IVF#1:  Tortuously Slow Countdown To The Infamous Baby File Of Doom

IVF#1:  Or As I Like To Call It, Hall Pass Excusing Me From Sex

See?!  OUT OF GOOD IDEAS.

So please send your suggestions.  The winner will receive a prize. A good one too!  In addition to the honor of knowing each time I write any worthless drivel over the next couple of months said drivel will bear your creative mark, I will also send the winner a leftover box of OPKs.  I think there are still 4-5 left in there and we all know in the IF business, a few free pee sticks is nothing to sneeze at.  Something more to pee on (YAY!  WE HEART THE STICK-PEEING!!)  but nothing to sneeze at.

Filed Under: IVF: Leggo My Embryo! ·

Here Goes Nothing. And I Do Mean NOTHING.

February 5, 2007 by · 17 Comments

So I have managed to screw up my very first IVF cycle before it has even begun.

And don’t you DARE steal my idea for the next new hot Christmas toy: 

My Very First IVF Cycle Dollie. 

She will be a slightly full figured gal (What?  It’s the PCOS) with hair growing out of her nipples that you can trim and then IT GROWS RIGHT BACK and legs that bend slightly back and OUT to fit perfectly onto the medical table with freezing cold metal stirrups that she comes with.  And a thin drape that cannot be tied closed.  And a speculum that comes in plastic or a heavy metal composite which is the super fancy one, the one you beg for on your birthday. And some pretend needles and vials and a super chic medical waste container and GOOD GRIEF, am I really the first person to have such a brainstorm?  Inconceivable!  OH!  Maybe that’s what her nickname will be!

I have had too much caffeine today. Where was I?

Oh yeah.  The fuckery that has already started…

My friends, I am plimbo again. You know, period limbo.  As in, even though I have been cramming progesterone tabs down my gullet like a crazy woman, I thought for sure AF was arriving yesterday.  So like a compliant IVF cycler (cyclist?  cyclee??) I called and set up my whole schedule for the next two months. I was supposed to start my BCPs tonight,  but my period still hasn’t really started, if catch my flow.  Which? If you do, please send it back this way because I don’t know what the hell is going on around here.

WHERE IS MY PERIOD?

WHY CAN’T I BE LIKE ALL THE OTHER GIRLS? ARE YOU THERE GOD, IT’S ME MARGARET.

I have a whole set up going now, with appointments in March for the estradiol and then later the prolactin and that other insidious battery of tests that made me keel over.  I have, like, a whole deal that is based on a CD1 being today and it’s just not working out. 

I even have BeBop’s appointment set up so he can deposit his Emergency Seed Popsicle.

"In case you have stage fright," I e-mailed him.

"Not likely," he huffed back and even though it’s hard to pick up huffiness over e-mail I totally know he was huffy about my insinuation that when the big moment arrives he’ll freeze up.

Now all of these appointments rest on the assumption that my period actually starts before the end of the day, or we’ll have to go back and rearrange everything.

Which is not the end of the world, it’s just disconcerting that I could be screwing things up before I even get started…bodes well? I think not.

I am also working on a post about the alleged body worker my Mother sent me to yesterday.  I literally have huge, thumb-sized bruises all over my body. I look like a friggin’ Dalmatian.

And that’s my Monday. 

How are you?

And PS, I think I am going to change the name of this category from IVF #1:  I’m Just Not That Into You because I feel like it sets a somewhat negative tone.  I wouldn’t want to piss off Cycle #1  and have it fail me, just to be a bitch. 

I think I will rename it:  IVF #1: It’s Hammer Time. 

Why this?  you ask.  Because I felt the lyric I need $50 to make you holler from Tone Loc’s ‘Wild Thing’ made that an inappropriate choice.  DUH.

Filed Under: IVF: Leggo My Embryo! ·

Weird Is All Relative. And By ‘Relative’ I Mean My Mother, Of Course NOW FORTIFIED WITH MORE WEIRD!

January 31, 2007 by · 31 Comments

 

    *** WITH AP-DATES *** BELOW *** DOWN THERE, AT THE BOTTOM ***

So I went to see a psychic healer last Sunday.

And I know. I KNOW.

You hear this crap so often from me, it’s like someone else saying, "I walked upright last weekend" or "I exhaled earlier today."

But what can I say?  It’s the norm in my crazy family.

Speaking of crazy, my Mom broached the subject of me seeing this particular healer (as opposed to the infamous Master Cha or the Russian healer who convinced her to place a photo (a photo!) of him on her head after she fell and cracked her skull open) by prefacing the conversation with these words:

"He’s a little out there…"

WHA??

Do you realize what THAT means coming from my MOTHER??

"Oh. MY. GOD. Does he have three heads and sacrifice small woodland creatures before the healing session begins?" I asked.

"No."

"Does he speak in tongues and coax snakes from a basket with a pan flute and then make you eat the snakes.  WHILE THEY’RE STILL ALIVE??"

"No."

"Does he teleport himself into the room and put you in a trance and use a prob and — "

"—NO. Will you stop this Watson, for crisssakes let me finish!"

"Well, what then?  Your definition of ‘out there’ is scaring me, given what you think is normal," I said. 

I was thinking of the time in junior high school when she dragged me to this not-so-nice part of town to see a Filipino healer who supposedly did psychic surgery.  That is, surgery with just his hands.  HIS BARE HANDS. No medical instruments of any kind.  No anesthesia.  And this really isn’t the time to get into it, but let’s just say that although I’m far from convinced this a real thing, I did see the "doctor" produce some slimy bits of gobbley-gook that he claimed came from my Mother’s stomach.

(GAWD.  How often do you get to write a sentence like that??)

Moving on. 

Or have you stopped reading?  Have I finally crossed The Line?  The Line I have skated so perilously close to, so many times? The Line that separates a somewhat entertaining story from a total crap load of bullshit?

For those two or three of you still reading, I swear I only write the truth. I know it sounds inconceivable (which is not an infertility pun, by the way) but everything I write about here actually happened…

Back to my story:

"Humppff," my Mom snorted.  "No, he doesn’t have three heads or snakes or probes.  He just uses these machines he invented and then takes a reading of your energy and heals you with these crystals."

"Cool.  Sign me up.  As long as there are no live snakes involved, I’m in."

(Does that mean I would have been up for the probe?  Maybe.  I guess depending on what kind of weekend I was having…)

I arrive at this woman’s house and a very normal-looking man answers the door. He’s so normal, in fact, that I mistake him for the home owner’s husband and it takes me a few minutes to clue in to the fact that he is the healer.

I have been asked to take my shoes off at the front door, and offered some slippers that are sitting in pairs by the steps.  I have very small feet and so as I clumsily put a pair on my feet, I look like I’m wearing clown shoes and I slip and slid down the hall to the room that has been set up.

The guy, Gary (see!  Even a normal name!)  sort of waves his hands in front of me and asks what health issues I have.

"Well," I start, "I’ve been trying to get pregnant for like FOUR years now…"

He interrupts me to say that I have an issue with my fallopian tubes.  (I swear if I had nickel for EVERY TIME a psychic healer told me that, I’d be a rich woman.)  He says almost the exact same thing another person told me a couple of months ago, that although I ovulate regularly, there’s something (fluid, scar tissue, paste?) that creates an obstacle for the egg and by the time it gets anywhere, it’s too late.

Remember how I told you that my eggs like to take trips to Tijuana and bargain for cheap serapes and go to the mall?  Remember?!  Well, that is exactly what’s happening, according to this guy.  My eggs start out heading to, let’s say school, but then get all distracted and decide to catch a matinee instead and by the time they saunter over near the uterus, BeBop’s spermies have just given up and gone home.  Or died, as the case may be.

So anyway, he proceeds to tell me that IVF will work (YAY!) but that after his miraculous healing I should probably wait and just try naturally for a few more months (BOO!).

The funniest part was when he was waving his hands in front of me, taking a reading of some sort.

Healer Dude: "Okay, blahblah, ooolamamoo, liver, kidney…" he mumbles. "Okay, that looks good.  I’m clearing the energy there and healing your organs."

Me: "Okay, errr…thanks?"

He looks to the side, and keeps waving his hands in a circular motion.  He then looks past me, over my left shoulder.

Him: "I need some help with this one, guys" he says to someone or something.

Me: [crickets]

Him: "I don’t care…no, you decide.  Who wants to help me?" (He’s still staring off into the distance, apparently talking to the someone, or the something, that has joined us in the room.) 

"Okay," he continues.  "Oh!  All of you want to help? Thanks, that sounds good."

Me:  "————-"

Then he turned on this little machine that had a crystal on the top and some funky flashing lights.  And he held it over my open palms and

VOILA!

I AM HEALED.

Or, at least that’s what he said.

Honestly, I don’t know what my Mom was talking about. In the scheme of things, he wasn’t ‘out there’ at all.  The talking to the angels thing was a little weird, but nothing like speaking in tongues or some guy yanking a disgusting, gooey GLOB out of my Mother’s stomach while I sat in the corner and watched.

That, my friends, THAT was weird.  And I should know.

——————————————-

What the FRICK is an Ap-date, Watson?? You might be asking, and rightly so.

Well, it’s a combination APOLOGY and UPDATE.

First things first, I want to apologize to Tigger, who commented that my crack about speaking in tongues could be interpreted by some as offensive.  I so didn’t mean it that way.  My GOD, I am the last person who would be judgmental about another person’s choice for religion, practice, spiritual pursuits, etc. etc. etc.

I mean, have you READ my posts?? Have you read what I write about my own family and the craziness that ensues??  Which includes, but is not limited to, staying in an ashram in India, getting whacked in the head with a peacock feather by an Indian saint, seeing healers and <quote/unquote> psychic surgeons in sketchy parts of town and using adhesive tape to attach ‘magic crystals’ to various parts of our bodies for healing purposes and being hooked up to electrodes while the UPS delivery guy looks on and having the Patron Saint of Infertility watch over our sexy-time for good luck??

And that was all in the LAST WEEK. 

(BAH DUH BUM.)

Anyhoo, I think some of us not familiar with the Pentecostal Christian church might call it ‘out there,’ in terms of it being very different from our own experiences.  But different isn’t bad, it’s just different.  And if my comment sounded lame and ignorant and offensive in any way, I’m sorry. 

And as soon as a snake charmer comments that I have offended him or her,  I will apologize for that too. And a pan flute player. (Okay. I probably won’t apologize for that.)

Anyway. What I’m really trying to say is that I’m sorry and I only meant to poke fun, mostly at myself. And my Mother, of course.

Moving on…many of you asked what our reproductive plans are in light of the fact that after seeing Magic Hands Gary, I AM HEALED.

Are we going to try naturally for a couple of months, you asked?

How can I express this in a dignified and mature manner, like the delicate flower that I am…

FUCKING HELL TO THE NO.  ARE YOU PEOPLE FREAKING KIDDING ME? 

Like I have said a million times, there is nothing ‘natural’ about covering the dog with a smelly blanket trapping him at the end of the bed while I complain about how it’s a Thursday night and I’d much rather be watching Grey’s Anatomy than BeBop’s anatomy and I have to get up early for work and WHY OH WHY did you drink that second beer because HOLY CRAP light some candles and not for the romance you jack ass!!!!!

So, NO.  No, we are not trying naturally. 

We are moving ahead with The Plan.  BCPs start next week, followed by the rest of all that stuff that I’m still not very familiar with (but I know includes lots of needles) and that is why I am depending on you lovely people to help me through it.

And that my friends, THAT, is an AP-DATE.

Filed Under: Questionable Genes ·

Delay Ain’t Just A Disgraced Former Member Of Congress

January 25, 2007 by · 19 Comments

But first…

What We Learned From My Last Post:

1. My ovaries read this blog!  They must, because as soon as I wrote how the little ingrates were not cooperating, they went and gave me a + on the OPK.  Go figure. Looks like they stopped slutting it up long enough to help me ovulate right around CD16, so I was a little too harsh. 

I should have passed them a note in gym class saying:

Wats Up? Will you release a viable egg this month, check Yes or No.  And?  Do you like Mikey Plano because he’s super HOTT and wants to go with you. If you like him back, check Yes or No.  Kay Bye.

I have tried this tactic before, in previous appeals to my lady parts, but they usually don’t listen.  I may have to start texting them on a more regular basis once my IVF cycle starts.

2.  For some bizarre reason, I paint a picture of my girlie bits as being youthful and full of vim and vigor. Which is pretty funny if you think about it! (Go on!  Do it!  Think about it. Funny?  See, told ya.)  I mean, ruhlly, I should be painting a picture of my ovaries as the Golden Girlie Parts.  You know, sitting around Shady Pines, drooling in their oatmeal and waiting for the ungrateful bastards known as grandkids to stop by or at least send a card and a fruit basket once a year. I guess in some sick way portraying my ovaries as reckless teens makes me feel better, but it’s probably something I should bring up with my therapist, who would be thrilled to have something other than my Mother to talk about.

3.  I watch and think about and use quotes from waaaayyyyy too many movies.  GAWD.  If I could pull my head out of my ass (and my Tivo) long enough to pay attention, I would know a lot more about what the hell is going on with my upcoming cycle.  (But thank you for saying it was okay that I don’t have much of a clue, I totally appreciate it.) 

And?  Can I just say again you guys RULE!  You totally get me, even in all my nuttiness.  When SaraS-P wrote:

You are like a kid who spent 4 years working hard in school, then just never graduated and found yourself in special school with stricter requirements, higher tuition, and ambiguous graduation dates. That sounds like no fun at all.

I was all, YES, that’s exactly what it feels like! I started thinking about how I am sort of riding the Infertility Short Bus wearing the head gear and everything. Biting my nails down to the cuticles, paranoid there will be a pop quiz in Science class later that day.  And nervous that I forgot my lunch and the cafeteria will be serving tater tots and they give me terrible gas in PE class. But at least I have you all watching my back, and that makes it all bearable.

Okay, now on to the…DUHN DUHN DUHN…possible issue with this cycle.  And by ‘issue’ I mean ‘another delay that will quite possibly make me jam my head in the toaster oven at work.’ 

Here’s the deal:  Remember when I complained bitterly whined incessantly told you about BeBop’s job situation?  No? You mean you don’t remember each and EVERY word I scrawl on this blog? GEESH.  Just kidding.  You can get caught up on all the drama over here and here and quite possibly here.

But the upshot (in case you don’t want to go back and read all of that, and why would you? Isn’t Ugly Betty on tonight?) is that BeBop took the two-month position last summer, and although it ended in October they’ve kept him on, saying how much they love him and…drum roll please…he’s JUST about to become a full-time, permanent employee at the Dream Job (fingers crossed!).  And the Dream Job has a benefits package that…wait for it….includes some coverage for infertility treatments. 

Soooooo….I am hoping and wishing and praying that by the time our treatment actually starts, he’s on the company’s plan, which would help us tremendously.  We talked briefly last night about waiting another month or two to make sure he’s on the plan, but quite honestly I just can’t do it.

NO CAN DO. ME NO LIKEY.

The coverage is good, but not great.  We’d still have to pay out of pocket for most of it, so it’s not an all or nothing deal. If his new insurance covered everything, honestly I would wait and start drinking heavily and only leave the house to go to work sporadically and watch bad TV all day to pass the time. 

Which is not that different from what I do currently, but if I end up choosing to delay IVF and wait another month or two I will pursue these hobbies with a great deal more bitterness and anger at the universe.  (And quite possibly handfuls of tater tots because now that I’m an adult, who cares about bad gas??)

And that little scenario wouldn’t be good for anyone.  What with all the yelling and crying and carrying on and cursing.  And let’s not forget the shoving of the taters (and maybe even some pigs in a blanket for good measure) down my craw and the beer swilling.

No. This would NOT be good for anyone in the Watson-BeBop household.

Especially him:

Bosco_stamp

Oh Dear Lord in Heaven, please do not make her wait another month to start her IVF cycle.

I simply cannot endure the vulgar language and the junk food eating.  Or the flatulence. It’s just a pathetic display and I cannot be subjected to such drama.

Filed Under: IVF: Leggo My Embryo! ·

IVF Cycle #1: I’m Just Not That Into You

January 22, 2007 by · 23 Comments

So once again, my ovaries are being bratty and rebellious and even now, on our Hail Mary, just-about-to-start-BCPs last month, they are letting me down.

Sigh.

They really should have been held back a grade in school.  They’re obviously not mature enough to keep up with their peers.  I was expecting to ovulate around CD16, and in the last few years, that’s been as good as it gets. 

But every once in a while (and this month is one of those whiles) they decide to sneak out late at night to drink cheap beer in front of 7-Eleven.  They hang out with their loser friends and compare MySpace pages (OMG! I have like 14,000 friends! And most of them have screen names like BigBear1965 and LatinLova4u and Chadrulez) and talk about how Haylie Duff is like totally riding Hilary’s coattails (like totally!) and they lose sight of the fact that they are not doing their jobs.

Here it is today CD16, and the OPK has yet to turn positive. 

The only upside is that this really is the last month we’ll be going through this.  This temperature-taking, stick-peeing, sex-demanding drill. 

So at least I got that going for me, right?

In other news:

If they gave grades for IVF preparedness, I would be flunking out, big time. Like if they had Academic Probation at IVF U, I would be on it.

I started to write about this last week, and then changed my mind.  It’s hard for me to clearly communicate my feelings around this subject, and also? I was way too busy cracking myself up thinking of Napoleon Dynamite quotes ("Knock it off, Napoleon! Just make yourself a dang quesa-dilluh!"  I mean COME ON.  That is some A material there!).

Anyhoosers, I did have a point somewhere in there.  Oh yeah!  I am not being a diligent, well-prepared IVF patient.

Case in point:

Did I realize I only had to take one pack of BCPs?  No.  We’ve already established that sad fact.

Do I know my most recent antral follicle count?  Mmmmmm…somewhere between 3 and 47 frillion, I’m pretty sure.

What was my estradiol? Oh! I know this one!  An ELEVEN…on the DIAL…get it?

I thought (hoped) Medrol was a gift certificate for happy hour at the local Middle Eastern restaurant.

PGD?  I do know what that is, I know it’s FRICKING expensive, but have we talked about whether or not we’re doing it?  Errrrr….no.

ICSI?  Whatsi?

I had an absolutely delightful conversation with the fabulous and super nice Faith yesterday.  We live close to one another and are seeing the same doctor.

It was wonderful to talk to her about her upcoming cycle, and she was so supportive it makes me grateful to have met her, at least on-line and over the phone.

She is a model patient.  She has done her research and knows a crapload about all things IVF-related.  She is prepared and her own best advocate, which is ideal when undergoing any major medical treatment.

I am like the stoned surfer who sits in the back of chemistry class having acid flashbacks waiting for lunch so I can light up a joint under the bleachers.

I’m tired, people.  And I know that now, just as we’re starting our first cycle, is not the time to be lax.

But I’m exhausted.  After four years of this I’m just burned out.  And I know those of you who are IVF vets want to crawl through the DSL fiber optic whatevers and smack me, followed by a resounding, "you ain’t seen nothin’ yet sucka."

I got all of my test results back and so far, so good.  But do I know the details, the numbers or any of the specifics? Ummmmmm [squirms uncomfortably and looks down] no. I’m just kind of skating along until I get my cycle on the calendar and then I’ll pay attention to the protocol and for sure be on top of the whole shot thing and pill thing.

But I just can’t seem to do any more research about numbers or protocols or statistics.  I am a lazy ass, I guess is what I’m trying to say. I believe in being prepared and being your own advocate, and I’ve been doing this since we started trying.

So why now, of all times, is my normally over-achievery personality failing me?

Maybe because this has been a whole lot of hurry-up-and-wait, as I was hoping to start cycling in November, but then Dr. Z wanted me to try the Metformin for three months first?  Maybe because it all seems so overwhelming and last-chancy that I’m in denial?

Oy.

I feel like I have Senior year spring fever, only I’m really just an inexperienced Freshman.

But meet me under the bleachers at lunch and we’ll talk more about it and compare our MySpace pages…like totally!

Filed Under: IVF: Leggo My Embryo! ·

Skills. You Know, Like Nunchuck Skills, Bowhunting Skills, Computer Hacking Skills…

January 19, 2007 by · 8 Comments

Have I told you that I am an idiot?

Yes, I think that I have. On several occasions, actually.

Definitely in the last post.

I think I mentioned how, ohbythewayIamCRAZY, like totally Cuckoo for Coco Puffs, in this embarrassing little tale.

And of course there’s the whole business about coming from a less than traditional family, and by ‘traditional’ I mean ‘normal.’

But, really, the sad truth of my idiocy was just brought home for me once again when I called Dr. Z’s office to get some additional details.

(PS Thank you all SO much for the wonderful information you provided. Man, you guys rock. Seriously. Want to all meet for a spa weekend one of these days to celebrate your awesomeness?)

Anyhoo, I called and discovered that I am NOT taking two entire packs of pills. I am taking one pack, and then if needed a few additional pills around the time I start the Lupron.

So basically I failed to do the second grade level math and figure out that one pack only has 21 pills, and I might need another 7-8 pills at the start of the protocol, therefore necessitating another pack.

But I won’t be taking the entire second pack. No!

I need approximately 28 pills and each pack only has 21, and 21 – 28 = durrrrr….ME NEED MORE PILLS…I am an idiot!

And yes, the pills are to quiet my system, strap down those antral follicles and make sure they don’t get all carnival freak on my ass. If all goes well (meaning the follies are nice and quiet and demure, and not all Jack-and-Coke swilling ass-clowns) I will take the pills (ONE pack and maybe a few stragglers, NOT TWO)  (IDIOT! said in best Napoleon Dynamite voice), and around March 4th or 5th start the Lupron and then go from there. You all know the drill A LOT better than I do!

                                               ***          ***           ***

"You are beautiful. You are sexy. You are pregnant. Flaunt it."

Now this is just a delightful sentiment, to be sure. But did I want to receive a package at work with a giant sticker on the front exclaiming this little ditty?

Not so much.

But that’s what happened today when I got the t-shirt I ordered for my sister.

I saw a link on Heather’s site to these adorable tees (thanks H!), and I thought: what a nice gift that would make. What a nice sister I am.  What a big person I am to swallow my frustration and jealousy and order a frigging t-shirt.  I should get pregnant MYSELF soon because of my immense generosity of spirit. RIGHT?? 

And then I whacked myself in the head – hard- with a nearby two-by-four because, really, it’s just a goddamn t-shirt and it’s not that big of a deal and I really need to get over myself.

Having it sent to my office was an all together lame ass idea. Since below the spot where the label exclaims I am sexy AND pregnant and encourages me to flaunt these assets, it also clearly states it’s from a company selling "maternity wear for the haute mama." 

They might assume that…I am the pregnant one.

EEEEEKS.

What on earth must my co-workers assume I’m doing when I’m supposedly at all of these doctor’s appointments undergoing quote/unquote fertility treatments, week after week after week?

Getting a regular Brazilian bikini wax to keep the hedges nice and tidy?

Doing Meth and hanging out at the Mall, trolling Forever 21 and humiliating myself as the only 39 year old woman trying desperately to squeeze into their size 10s?

Scouring the Internet in a vain attempt to discover whether or not the rumors about my little Brit-Brit being pregnant AGAIN are true? (Couldn’t be!)

Watching back-to-back episodes of 30 Rock on one endless, hilarious loop? (I do have the boldness of a much younger woman…)

The possibilities are endless.

But, alas, instead of the waxing, trolling, scouring and watching, I will soon be at the doctor’s office day after day trying to become one haute mama.

Wish me luck.  I’ll need it… 

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Who Puts The ‘SIGH’ In Cycling??

January 15, 2007 by · 15 Comments

Yes.  That’s right.  ME.

And also?

Antral follicles:  YOU CAN SUCK IT.

So this will come as no surprise to you, but I am a total idiot. 

Like the time in college I walked straight into the men’s room in the packed student union and when I suddenly realized my mistake (BOYS!  STANDING UP!  HOLDING  THEIR PEE PEES!  IN THEIR HANDS!!) I turned around, rushed back out the door and then looked at my watch.  And tried to appear impatient and totally in control of all my faculties. 

As if to say to anyone who had witnessed my grave error: Oh!  I meant to do that.  I am waiting for someone and he is very late and so I thought I’d take a peek into the men’s bathroom and see if he was in there.

I am that kind of an idiot.

Because I thought once you said, okay doc, I’m ready, let’s get this IVF train out of the IF station and straight downtown to babyville it would just happen quickly.

But no.

I have to do not one — but TWO — cycles of birth control pills.  I guess because of the antral follicle count they want me to start the Pill at the beginning of my next cycle, take it for the 21 days, have a period, and then start another pack of pills and then the Lupron.

Is this normal?

And by ‘normal’ I mean ‘within reason’ because, really, my definition of normal is skewed now that I will willingly be putting my feet into stirrups and asking a doctor to pluck my eggs from me, mix them with BeBop’s sperm in some kind of a petri dish contraption thing and then (if all goes well!) stick them back in me. 

So it looks like I’ll start Lupron the first week or so of March and then the whole retrieval/transfer business won’t happen until the end of March.

Which brings me perilously close to my younger sister’s baby shower planned for April, but that’s a whole other whiny, poor me post.  (Which I’ll treat you to another day because I’m a sharer like that!)

In addition to the whole timing issue, I also have a question for you lovely ladies about the meds.  There is a local pharmacy that carries the Lupron, Gonal F/Bravelle, Repronex, Medrol (which?  What is this?  There’s a great middle eastern restaurant in San Francisco called Med.jool but I’m thinking this is not a gift certificate courtesy of my doctor for some Cosmos and pita with hummus…) and the PIO (Oleate or Oil? Wha???). 

And the needles.  Sweet mother of God, the needles!

And I know: totally preaching to the choir here.

Here’s my question:  should I just get the meds through the local pharmacy or order them from some other place that ships?  Is there a cheaper way or am I just dreaming that I don’t have to spend the future kid’s college fund just getting knocked up with him/ her??

Any other helpful hints in terms of the meds?

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Someone Had A Baby!

January 11, 2007 by · 5 Comments

And NO, it’s not me silly bears! 

But wouldn’t that be funny?

I mean, not funny ha ha, but funny weird as in:  I have somehow secured a rip in the space/time continuum and have undergone IVF AND gestated a baby all in the span of time since my last post.

GAWD.  That would awesome. 

But wait!  This is not about ME!

Her most fabulousness, Momo, went and had herself a BABY! 

Welcome Baby Benjamin!!

So head on over there to wish her well.

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Weather Forecast: Hot And Cold

January 8, 2007 by · 11 Comments

It is warm here today.

And I do mean WARM.

Like Al Gore Warm, people!  Like oh-my-God-those-poor-bastard-Polar-bears-falling-through-the-ice-floes warm.

But the weather does not exactly match my current mood.  I’m not bright and sunny at the moment. But I’m not totally dark and depressed, either. I’m sort of right in the middle.

We’re planning on starting our first IVF cycle next month.  When I first spoke with Dr. Z, he recommended we (and by ‘we’ I mean, of course, ‘I’) go on the Metformin for at least three natural cycles. (Natural.  SNORT!  As if there’s anything ‘natural’ about Wednesday night, I soooo wish Grey’s Anatomy was on instead of THIS sex, but that’s another whole long story…)

Today is CD2, so we’re just starting our third and last cycle on the Met alone  (which, besides a recent and very ill-advised frolic into the world of Haagen-Daz Rocky Road ice cream is going just fine).  So, we basically have one more, Hail Mary, this IS IT last try before we start cycling in early February.

Which sounds so funny to even say.  I’m mean, we’ve been trying for four long years, so it’s crazy to think that perhaps we would get pregnant just before doing IVF.  But sometimes I trip myself up, thinking about what a difference the acupuncture and Chinese herbs and progesterone have made in the last few months, and what impact the Metformin might have.

Because I’ve seen such improvement recently, it makes it even harder for me to take that leap into IVF.  What if?  What if I keep going with the holistic approach and the Met and the Pre-Seed and, miraculously it all comes together one magical month?? I am driving myself crazy.  (But if you’ve read more than a post or two, you know that’s not a long trip.)

I’ve completed all of my blood work, and BeBop went in for his sperm test over the weekend.

"Have fun stormin’ the castle," I giggled as he left for the doctor’s office.

"Does quoting The Princess Bride EVER get old for you?" he said.  Nope.  Never does. 

When he got home, I asked him how the porn was. 

"Did they have a good selection?  Was it Asian-themed?  I’ve heard that.  How was the lighting?" I inquired.  "Fine" and "Yes" and "Wha???" were his very curt answers.

"Was it better than some dingy old bathroom in the regular doctor’s office?" I asked excitedly. "I mean, a WHOLE ROOM, just for –"

"–YES. It was FINE." 

I guess he didn’t feel like filling me in on the details, to say the least.  (I guess he didn’t feel like being forthcoming, if you know what I mean, and I think that you do.)  (He was a little stiff.)  (He wanted to handle it all by himself.) (He — okay!  I’ll stop now.)

But at least all of the tests are done, and so far the only issue they have discovered is that I carry one marker for that test that looks like MTHERFCKER even though I know that’s not what they’re testing for (although?  Not a bad idea, if you ask me…) but because I have only one marker (if that’s the correct way to explain it) it’s not a big deal, I just have to start taking a baby aspirin every day.

So, at the start of my very next cycle, in a month or so, I’ll call to schedule everything and get the process underway.

I am happy and excited and scared out of my frigging mind.  What if it doesn’t work?  What if it does?  It’s hard to be scared of two dramatically different outcomes, and yet that’s the state I’m in.

And my Mother is right there, ‘supporting’ me in her own inimitable way, telling the neighbors we’re about to do IVF (when I’ve asked her on numerous occasions to keep her yap shut) and complaining that I haven’t seen Master Cha in quite a while and what was I planning to do about my freezing cold womb?

Hey! Maybe this global warming, early-spring thing could work to my advantage!  Why didn’t I think of that before??  If the temperatures keep rising and soon it’s like 1000 degrees out, that’s got to help the cold womb situation, right? 

Everyone:  to your Hummers, stat!

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Ruff Ruff! It’s 2007!!

January 2, 2007 by · 15 Comments

Can you even BEGIN TO IMAGINE how happy I am that the holidays are over??

I just cannot continue to suffer these indignities…

Bosco_xmas2

And all because My Dear Watson literally has nothing interesting to share. 

I’m sure one of these days she’ll regale you with stories about how she thought she’d ovulated on Day 14, which?  AWESOME.  If you’re interested in that kind of thing, that is…

But then…it turned out she really ovulated around Day 16 but still, she was happy it happened somewhere near-ish to mid-cycle and MY GOD PEOPLE, are you really still reading this?!?

Don’t you ever get sick of hearing the minute details about her follicle growth? 

No?

What is wrong with you? 

And I thought I was weird because I like to lick my own butt…

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