My Dear Watson

Lordy.

How many other bloggers have already used that title?

(Well, no one ever said I was original.  Weird, inappropriate, offensive and ‘just off,’ but not necessarily original.)

I think all of your well-wishes are working. Those of you who went to the pink cotton candy baby dusty dark side, and those who just couldn’t but sent good thoughts anyway:  thank you.

Your sticky vibes, your Kokopellis, your Candy Man songs, the baby-dust candyfloss (which?  Don’t know what it is BUT I LIKE IT), the eensy-weensy fertility fairie making a soft landing in the center of my baby cave, and let’s not forget Statia’s threat (or is it a promise?) to "shove a care bear riding a unicorn up [my] asshole…"

I think it’s all helping.

Today is 9DP5DT and I saw a faint second line.

So did BeBop.  After his initial, "IS THAT YOUR PEE?!?  Ewwwwww…." comment, he saw it too.  So did Bosco.

Beta tomorrow morning, results tomorrow afternoon.

Ho.Ly. CRAP.

Okay, first things first.

Because I love the wonderful Bea over at Infertile Fantasies, and because she asked so nicely, I have included my SHOT-TASTIC video diaries ("An Idiot’s Guide to Injectibles") in her International Infertility Film Festival.

It’s on March 31st, so go on over and take a looksy.  I can assure you far more talented film makers (and I use that term loosely when applied to myself!) than I will be submitting their works of art, so enjoy!

http://infertilityfilmfestival.blogspot.com/

And secondly, on a totally different rant:

I might have spoken too soon.  It pains me to admit that, but it might be true.

Many of you know of my deep and abiding hatred of those cutesy, message-boardy ways of describing our TTC journeys.  I think Sarah over at For The Flavor shares this feeling. (Although she’s probably not half as bitchy as I am about it.)  And no offense to anyone who finds comfort or support in those things, but to say they’re not my cup of tea is an understatement.

("TTC" — See! I just did it myself. It’s insidious!  It just gets inside your cerebral cortex and you can’t help yourself. It’s like the plague.)

I cannot express my irritation, back in the bad old days before I found blogging, at the saccharin, infantile ways of describing things: The BD’ing with your DH.  Baby-dancing?!  BLECH.  Are we in the third grade for crissakes? And ‘dear husband’?  I call BeBop lots of things but dear husband is rarely one of them.  (It might stand for Dick Head but that’s an entirely different post.)

And I’ve mentioned in an earlier post how instead of calling it BD’ing, in our house it was more likely to be shortened to:  AYFKMIJAAHB.

(Are You Freaking Kidding Me I Just Ate A Huge Burrito. Which BeBop would mutter with dismay when I announced that according to TCYF, my BBT was about to rise and I was close to O’ing so we simply must make the sexy time and NOW.)

(See!  I sometimes can’t help myself. GAWD. Kill me now.)

And don’t even get me started on that damn baby dust or those frackin’ sticky vibes. Usually, I feel compelled to take that baby dust, attach it to a 2′ x 4′ with sticky vibes and then shove the entire thing up your A-ESS-ESS.

LOL  🙂 

[Insert sarcasm here]

The little smiley-face emoticons that people use throughout their posts make me want vomit.  And the animated boxes at the bottom, with messages like "think positive" with Eeyore blinking at me with purple eyes, or the cartoon with Belle reminding me that "A dream is a wish my heart makes…"

THANKS.  Thanks for reminding me, Belle, that a dream is a wish my heart makes. I must have fucking-a forgotten THAT little gem, what with all the TTC’ing and the BBT’ing and the BD’ing.

And excuse me while I throw up a little in my mouth.

But!

I may have made a grave error, and now I need your help.  With my Beta mere days away, I am now thinking that I need all the help I can get. So I am willing to go to the dark side (or the frilly pink side with some extra lace on it for good measure) if it will help me get some good news.

I have turned over a new, clover-shaped leaf. I am willing to ask for baby dust with a side of sticky vibes.  I would spice up this entry with a jumping, arm-waving smiley-face if I knew how to do it.

And I need your help.  (Because ruhhly, what’s a post from Watson without me asking for something??)

In the comments section, please send me the most outrageous, sickeningly sweet TTC help you can think of.

I’m looking for baby dust to come out of my cornhole, people. 

I’m going for rainbow-colored unicorns dancing on clouds of marshmallows. I’m going for teddy bears sitting next to a chocolate lake with cookies for rafts.  And puff pastry shells covered in sticky vibes and raspberry sauce.

Get the picture? Can you help me out??  Purty please with cinnamon sugar and gummy bears on top?

So, the transfer…what a CRAZY experience.

Soon after we arrived in Dr. Z’s office, I came back to the waiting room after using the restroom. I sat down next to BeBop and he practically shouted in my ear: "DO YOU KNOW THIS ONLY HAS A 20% CHANCE OF WORKING?" he shrieked, "DID YOU KNOW THIS??"

I swear it was almost an episode out of Homicide: Life in the Fertility Doctor’s Office.

"Why would you say that to me?" I shouted, but in a whisper, as only us girls can do. "Why would you SAY THAT to me NOW??" I demanded. BeBop had just read part of an article about Dr. Z posted on the wall, and apparently it freaked him out and turned him into The World’s Worst Husband.

"I SWEARTOFRICKINGGOD," I whisper/shouted through clenched teeth, "I will find something sharp and stab you to death if you continue with this." Moments later he apologized, claiming he had only read part of the article and how those stats did not pertain to me. Quick thinking on his part.

(Although I would have waited to kill him until after he’d given his sample.  I’m not a total idiot.)

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[Note:  If for any reason you prefer not to read about the genetic testing and the results, please just skip this part. I talk about how many of the embryos were not viable and why, and I don’t want to upset anyone who’s suffered a loss and might not care to read about this stuff.]

After a long wait we were ushered in to Dr. Z’s office where we heard the results of our pre-implantation genetic testing, or PGD. To be perfectly honest, I was not a fan of the PGD to begin with. No moral or ethical issues, I just thought this whole IVF process is already so scientific, so medical. For me, there wasn’t much room left for fate, or faith, or whatever you want to call it. It seemed so science fiction-y to genetically test the embryos before transferring them. But once the doctor recommended that we do it, mostly because of my age (39), BeBop and I decided we had come this far, we might as well go all the way.

So, just to review: we had a total of 27 eggs retrieved. 22 matured and 19 fertilized. So we had 19 embryos that were tested using the PGD. Normally he would expect about 35% (or 6) of these to be ‘normal.’ Of the 19 that were tested, we had 9 that were normal, which Dr. Z said was great. Even better, 14 were Grade 1 and 5 were a Grade 2. On Day 5 (transfer day) we one 8-cell, 1 morula, 2 EBs, 3 blasts and 1 X-blast.

Here’s the amazing thing: As I said, we had 9 that were chromosomally normal. That means we had 10 that were not. (I know!  I like totally inherited some super awesome MATH GENE along the way!!) 

Had we not done the PGD, it would have been a total crap shoot deciding which ones to transfer, because they were all graded so highly. Of the ten that were designated abnormal, we had a couple with trisomy 15, a couple with monosomy (21,22,16,20, etc.) and a couple that were considered ‘complex abnormal.’ Three were in this category, actually. Keep in mind these abnormal embryos were all graded 1-2, and all were still growing as of that morning. Again, total crap shoot without the testing since we had so many to choose from.

Hearing the good news that we had 9 normal embies (that were now almost all blasts! — Dr. Z said it was in the 98th percentile! We were like the Valedictorians of Embryos!) we were faced with a really, really difficult decision: Did we want to put back two or three?

A voice in my head all morning had been saying, TWO. TWO. ONLY DO TWO. So it was with some dismay that I learned both the doctor and BeBop wanted to do three. Dr. Z left us to discuss the matter, and my bottom line was this: I did not want to use three. I did not want to hope that only two took and one didn’t. I just didn’t want that stress after everything we’ve already been through. I wanted to use two, and just spend the next ten days hoping and praying that both implant and stick around for the long haul.

Thankfully, BeBop respected how strongly I felt about this, and he agreed that transferring the two best would be a good plan. So one was a Grade 1 Blast, and one was a Grade 1 X-Blast. And we have four frozen, but here’s hoping we don’t need them (at least not anytime in the near future!).

                                          *** *** *** ***

Several of you asked about the infusion I had Thursday, the day before the transfer. Basically, my doctor is very into all things immunological, and how this can affect fertility. Before my cycle, my Natural Killer Cells were tested. Dr. Z wanted to make sure I didn’t have antibodies which would kill off a healthy embryo. (I’m no docta, but even I know that would be bad.) At first, my numbers were fine. After the stims, my numbers were slightly elevated, which is seen in a lot of patients.

I imagine it’s like my rather lazy killer cells have just been hanging around all these years, eating Hot Pockets and trying to sneak into R rated movies. 

HA!  They would scoff each month. Like THOSE ovaries are going to do much.  We can totally hang out.  Pass me a Tab?

And then all of a sudden with the stims and my follicles finally getting off their asses to produce some eggs, the killer cells were like bumping into each other Three Stooges-style and yelling, Holy Crap!  It’s getting hot in herrrrr.  Put down that Hot Pocket and look for any foreign invaders, STAT!

(And yes.  That concludes today’s After School Special entitled Your Maturing Body.)

So, just to be safe, he had me do an IV infusion of Immunoglobulin (or IVIG). This is a sterile protein preparation derived from human blood. You can imagine how thrilled I was to learn that a by-product of human blood was going to be injected directly into my veins… Yeah.

Not so much.

(I’ll swallow unidentifiable Chinese herbs by the bucket-full, gag down bottles of a mysterious, mud-like brown liquid a Haitian psychic gave to my Mother but SOMEONE ELSE’S BLOOD?? Good grief Charlie Brown.  Not my scene.)

Supposedly, the IVIG supplies blocking antibodies that can protect a pregnancy from rejection. And, it can act as a sponge to absorb and neutralize antibodies and some Natural Killer Cells (which? AWESOME name for a rock band, no??) that can attack the implanting placenta. So Dr. Z sent me to this office where they can do four of these IVIGs at one time. I sat in a comfy recliner, and was hooked up to an IV.

Three hours later, I was done. Two bottles of someone’s (hopefully) fully screened and given-a-clean-bill-of-health blood by-products were coursing through my veins. Still makes me a little faint to think about, to tell you the truth…

If I get a BFP, they will check the numbers again and I might have to continue going for the infusions. Some patients go monthly for much of their pregnancy.

So, there’s the story of my PGD and the IVIG infusion, as promised. 

Now, seriously:

WHEN CAN I PEE ON A FRICKIN’ STICK??

Thank you for your wonderful, supportive comments.

Things went very well on Friday:  we transferred two beautiful embryos, both Grade 1. 

One was a blast, the other was an X-Blast. 
And of course we forgot what the ‘X’ stood for and have been calling it the X-TREME Blast ever since.  Sounds more like a new treat at Dairy Queen than a possible future baby, but there you go!

I will post more about both the PGD (the pre-implantation genetic testing they did) and the infusion I had last week, because several of you have e-mailed me about it and in my last post I was sadly lacking in the details department.

(What? Friends don’t let friends blog after a four-hour infusion of somebody else’s immunoglobulin!!)

So here you go:

And BeBop worked a little of his magic on this one, which he sent to his parents. So, yes. Now my in-laws have been up close and personal with my uterus, my cervix and my VERY full bladder.  How nice.

(In case you can’t read it, he helpfully added:  Walker & Texas Ranger right here!)

Okay, I give.

I am not a natural blond. 

Man you guys are good, with all your "I pictured you with brown hair" comments.  I have very mousy, dishwatery brown hair naturally so I highlight it on a regular basis. So there. 

But on a serious note (and yes, from time to time I have those!) THANK YOU. 

Thank you, thank you.  A million times thank you.

For everyone who left me a comment (especially those of you who de-lurked for the first time) bless you.  I would say I owe you my first born — THAT’S how grateful I am — but since it’s so hard to frigging hard to achieve that, my enduring gratitude will probably have to suffice.

I was literally catatonic with fear about posting those videos to YouTube and even more nervous about including the links here and hitting publish. 

It’s scary as hell to ‘come out’ like that.

But your nice, sweet and very supportive comments made it all worth it.  And because I’m emboldened now with a false sense of self from all those nice words (think Sally Field:  "you like me…you really like me!"), I’m thinking of posting another video about the PIO shots.

I know, I can hear the response already:

Awwwwww…cripes, Watson!  We’re gonna get sick of you and your dyed blondish hair and your silly attempts at humor.  Enough already!

 

                                                                    ***   ***   ***  ***

Moving on.

Does this sound familiar?

Him:  Come on, let’s do it now!

Me:  Wha? No!  I wanna watch American Idol.  I want to see what that kid Sanjaya is doing with his hair tonight.

Him: Let’s just do it quickly, it will be over before you know it.

Me:  Okay.

[a few minutes later…]

Me:  IS IT IN?  Is it all the way in?  I can’t feel it!

Him:  It’s in, don’t worry.

Me:  I am worried!  Are you sure it’s all the way in?  Pull it out a little!

Him:  Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.

Me: You never know what you’re doing!  Hurry up already!  Is it out? Are you finished?  I couldn’t even really feel it!!

Him: Why are you crying?

Me: I’m not crying crying, I’m just so relieved it’s over.

 

                                                                    ***   ***   ***  ***

WHAT?  It’s what happened the other night when BeBop and I started the PIO shots. 

(What were you thinking of, you dirty birds?)

I iced my ass (and really, how often do you get to say that?!) for about 10 minutes, and then although we had to use a 1.5 " long needle, it was pretty thin.  It stung a little, but it was not that bad.  I also sat on a heating pad for about 30 minutes after the injection and although it does hurt a little today, it was not as bad as I imagined.

Of course that was first one, so check back in a few weeks and it might be an entirely different story…

 

                                                                     ***   ***   ***  ***

Today was my IVIG infusion, followed by an acupuncture session.  Three hours of an IV followed by an hour more of needles. Super fun!  Now I’m waiting for the final PGD report and tomorrow is The Big Day.

Let’s hope it’s actually another Big Day in a long line of Big Days to come.

And don’t say I didn’t warn you. 

But here it is. 

Go.  Look.  Laugh.

#1:  I wanted to have a clever sign-off like "Seacrest OUT!" but BeBop wouldn’t let me.  He said it was beyond lame.  "Too late. " I said, "that ship has clearly sailed…"

Entry #1

#2:  There goes my future Senate career.

Entry #2

#3:  Despite a chilling resemblance (in the eye socket area) I am NOT the Runaway Bride.  I swear.

Entry #3

And just added:  Entry #4

                                             ***   ***   ***  ***

In case the above links don’t work and why the fricking FRICK am I making this humiliation ANY EASIER??!

#1:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NkzSc9hyH2Q

#2:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tEVqR_Sx2aw

#3:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uDMHLgjWB4s

27

That’s how many eggs Dr. Z plucked from my follicles this morning.

But Watson!  You only had 24 freaking follies.  What the HELL?

I guess I had some ‘sleeper follicles’ that Dr. Z had not seen on the ultrasound.

(I’m hoping they’re not like sleeper ce.ll.s. And that’s all I’ll say about that.)

Everything went well, but I’m staying on fluid restriction for ten more days.  PIO starts Tuesday, which gives me two blissful, shot-free days.  Woo hoo.

I will post tomorrow with more details and the fert report when I hear back.  Keep your fingers crossed we get some good ones out of this batch!

And the video has been edited into three different chapters. Because I tend to do things full-ass, instead of half-ass, if you must know. And so the premier of The World’s Most Embarrassing Video is almost done, I should be able to post it tomorrow and I will include the link here, my pretties.

Thank you for your well-wishes, I know it helped!!

                     ***   ***   ***   ***

Dr. Z’s office just called: of the 27 eggs they got yesterday 22 matured, and 19 of those fertilized.  The nurse told me it was a good, solid 85% and I can live with that. 

So now it’s on to PGD and a day 5 transfer on Friday.