Graduation Day.

Today was the 8 week, 1 day ultrasound with my RE.  Our little blasto baby is growing.  We saw arm buds, leg buds, and the remainders of the tail and yolk sac (so many things I never knew a baby had!).  The heart beat is strong and the doctor was pleased.  So pleased, in fact, she informed us we were "graduating" from SGF to a regular ob-gyn.  Graduations are joyous occasions  and we're thrilled by her optimism, at the same time though - we'll miss the care they've given us over the last couple of months.



Our official due date is October 22.  That's a special day in our house, as it's also our wedding anniversary.  The second anniversary guideline for gifts is to give cotton.  A baby is way better than cotton.  A baby in a cute cotton Burberry outfit ... well, I'd take that too.



I guess all this means our IVF ride is more than likely over.  In the span of a lifetime, a few bumpy months doesn't amount to much, but we learned a lot during this short period.  We have a deeper sense of love for one another, a unique perspective on the miracle of life, and a good feeling about our future.  What happens to us, shapes us and I think we're stronger people having gone on this "adventure."  We're ready for the next (more joyful) journey.

Another Two Week Wait

I find myself a midst another two weeks of waiting.  The next ultrasound is on March 13th.  Almost one week has gone by, but I can't say it's been easy.  I've driven myself a little nuts wondering how the blasto is developing and have decided that I need to find new ways to pass the time.  Obsessing over symptoms (or lack there of) has not proven helpful.  And so, I am revisiting my last post re: waiting (see Where will the time go?).  Here's an update on what I accomplished and some new goals for the next week and a half:


Goals:
1.  Do not read blogs or forums re: early pregnancy symptoms.
This can really mess with my mind - desperately seeking signs leads to nothing more than torture.

Unfortunately, after the positive pregnancy results I did not continue following my own advice and proceeded to read way. too. much. about miscarriages.  I wish I hadn't and am now trying to forget everything I read.

2.  Do not take an early pregnancy test.
(It may be positive, it may be negative; but, I'm not really going to believe anything until the doctor tells me so)

Success!  I managed to stay away from these, but had some help from the OHSS because it forced the doctors to test two days early.

3.  Read this book.
(I'm told it'll make me laugh)

I read part of this.  The first few chapters did make me laugh and based on a friend's tip I paid close attention to the stories about Fey's father and her Old Rag trip.  But, after that, I lost interest.  I think it is because I had just read Mindy Kaling's book and the writing style of the two is somewhat similar.


(Mindy's book - also funny)

4.  Finish this project.
(Clearly it still needs some work)

Got this looking a little better!

5.  Make some dinners.
(H and I will do this together so I'll look forward to coming home to cook)

I made one.  The enchilada hyperlink above.  It wasn't that great.

6.  Go back to work.
(As long as I'm productive and focused)

Returned.  Plenty to do.  Need to improve focus.

7.  Plan home improvements for my mom's visit next week.
(Pretty sure it's going to be project window treatments)

We did some measuring, but didn't make it to any stores.  Plans were revised when I became the bloated whale.

8.  Go to the new Courthouse movie theatre.
(You get to reserve your own seats!  Those who know me, understand the importance of this, since more than a time or two, I've ditched sitting with friends, so that I can sit middle seat, middle row at the movies)

Still haven't been!

9.  Try Yoga
(This is H's idea.  I'll give it a whirl and hope it doesn't bore me to tears)

Couldn't bring myself to do it.  Write-ups like this keep me uninterested:  Each class opens with a sharing circle to allow you to freely discuss the exciting new changes you and baby are experiencing as well as the discomforts and concerns that arise.

No thanks!  Instead, I've signed up for a deep water aerobics class at a nearby indoor pool.  Can't wait to see who else signed up.  It isn't justified, but I have visions of the elderly in my head.  Class starts on the 30th.



10.  Learn photoshop
(This may also require I take the camera out - need warmer weather please!)

Sadly, another stalled effort.  I do have good intentions...  I bought a book...  I just haven't taken my camera anywhere.  To help, a friend and I started this blog http://ataleoftwoquadrants.blogspot.com/ but, my iPhone has been the source of all my photos thus far.  I'm still waiting for that warmer weather.  Unfortunately, with the supposed impending snow storm this week- I don't think better temps are coming any time soon.

11.  Have positive thoughts
(esp about our embryo)

No problem there.  We love our little embryo.  H is eager though for me to come up with a new nick name as the blasto's little cells have progressed far beyond that early stage. 

So, it seems I still have work to do from the old list.  And here are some new ideas for the coming week:

1.  Expand on the refurbished dresser project, I'd like to find some cute lining for the drawers.  I saw this and was inspired:



2.  Attempt another enchilada dinner.


3.  Clean closets.  Mine isn't this bad, but it's close:


4.  Do a snow dance.  Despite the storm bringing colder weather everyone loves a snow day and if I'm feeling brave, I just might find a good spot to take a pretty pic of snow covered SE DC.



All this should help tide me over until the 13th.  Stay tuned.  

6 weeks, 1 day.

According to confusing medical calculations I'm six weeks and one day pregnant.  At this point in a pregnancy the doctor hopes to see a yolk sak, growth, and a heart beat.  We scored all three this morning at our ultrasound appointment.  Our little blasto is becoming a baby; currently it's the size of a seed.  H and I are thrilled (and relieved) to see progress.  I'm now eagerly awaiting our next appointment - in exactly two weeks.

Day 43 6 wks 1 day	Day 44 6 wks 2 days	Day 45 6 wks 3 days	Day 46 6 wks 4 days	Day 47 6 wks 5 days	Day 48 6 wks 6 days	Day 49 7 wks
Wed, Feb 27	Thu, Feb 28	Fri, Mar 01	Sat, Mar 02	Sun, Mar 03	Mon, Mar 04	Tue, Mar 05
Baby's crown to rump length is 4-6 mm. Baby weighs about 0.4 grams	Baby's brain begins to form and cranial nerves are formed.	Baby is C shaped now and has a tail.	Moms may be experiencing mood swings and/or irritability.	Baby's placenta development begins.	Baby's eyes, ears, mouth, nose, lip, tongue, and teeth are forming.	Moms should expect to have blood work done or scheduled at first prenatal appointment.
Day 50 7 wks 1 day	Day 51 7 wks 2 days	Day 52 7 wks 3 days	Day 53 7 wks 4 days	Day 54 7 wks 5 days	Day 55 7 wks 6 days	Day 56 8 wks
Wed, Mar 06	Thu, Mar 07	Fri, Mar 08	Sat, Mar 09	Sun, Mar 10	Mon, Mar 11	Tue, Mar 12
Baby's crown to rump length is 8 mm or 0.30 inches. Baby weighs about 0.8 grams.	Mom may notice changes in skin pigmentation during pregnancy.	Baby's bones begin to form.	Baby's mouth, nose, and lips are recognizable.	Baby's sex glands appear.	Moms may find acupuncture helps with morning sickness.	Baby's fingers and toes are present, although they may still be webbed.

Although I'd welcome them, I'm lucky to still have very few pregnancy symptoms.  I sleep a little more than usual (but, then again, I sleep more than the average bear as it is).  And my bras are getting a little too small (TMI?).  But, other than that, I'm feeling well.  



It's been a long road already, and there are many more miles to go, but with each day and every ultrasound it gets a little easier to be excited.  H and I can't believe our good fortune - that we got a pregnancy on our first round of IVF.  But, we also know it isn't just luck that got us here - we helped each other, we had a good doctor, supportive family and friends, and I'm sure to thank God and Sweetie, in my prayers, for the role they played in this miracle of life.

Angels

When I was little, there was a small plaque in my bedroom with the following prayer:

Angel of God,
my guardian dear,
to whom God's love commits me here,
ever this day,
be at my side
to light and guard,
to rule and guide.

I used to recite the words when I fell asleep at night.  I knew that prayer long before I knew Hail Mary and other commonly known prayers.  Thinking of angels brought me comfort.  I guess I've always believed in them. 

Not too many days ago, my treasured grandmother Sweetie passed away.  She'd been battling Scleroderma for over a decade.  She was often in pain and her life had changed drastically.  I marveled at her will to live, but also sometimes wondered why she didn't more easily go to be with her beloved husband, my Papa, in heaven.  Sweetie and Papa were devout Catholics and my first role models for the importance of faith.   They married young and raised four children.  They celebrated over 50 years of marriage.  They were an amazing couple.  They defied the odds with dignity and love.  Even though I know she longed to be with Papa again, perhaps Sweetie was waiting for just the right moment to give her strong, invaluable spirit to someone else.   I wonder if perhaps she held on to her life just long enough to pass some of her soul on to the new life in me.  Was that God's plan?  It just might have been.  Her passing coincides almost exactly with the moments when new life was forming in me.  H and I have a little embryo that has been a fighter, beating the odds,  just like Sweetie.  I can't help but think it isn't all coincidental; it's providential too.

This little baby embryo surely has an angel in heaven just for him or her.  I will forever thank God for that guardianship, even though right now my heart aches over the loss of my dear grandma.  I've loved her, with all my heart, for my whole life.  I miss her already, but will do my best to be strong despite the grief.  Now more than ever I want to meet the little person who I believe will carry on some of Sweetie's best qualities - love, perseverance, and faith.  I am trying to push all that worry I've been talking about aside and beginning to trust that this new life is in the hands of God and in those of a new angel.  I have renewed hope, it's been a common theme in this blog, it's gotten me this far, and it is also Sweetie's name.  Here's to Hope.


http://www.recordnet.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20130212/A_NEWS21/302129993/0/'%20OAS_url%20'adstream_mjx.ads

A seed has planted.

Another appointment today ... another ultrasound, another beta test.  H and I arrived by 8am, I had my blood drawn (three vials) by 8:15am, and we were in the ultra sound room shortly there after.   All seemed routine on the monitor (less fluid, fuzzy screen, etc) - but then the doctor pointed out a small black dot.  "We can't confirm it yet, but that looks like a gestational sac,"  she said.  H and I looked at each other with glee ... we sort of marveled over the little spot where our baby will grow.  

(this is someone else's black dot; looks strikingly similar to mine though)

 It was comforting to see the good news and have some reassurance in the morning, as I'd wait until 4pm for my beta results, which thankfully more than doubled again.  All seems to be going well.  I keep wondering when I'll feel confident enough to allow myself to think about pregnancy things (maternity clothes), new baby stuff (nursery), and all the other plans that go along with parenthood.   For now, I mostly focus on the present... and presently, the embryo is about the size of a sesame seed.

Worry outweighs Happy.

It's been a long week.  On Monday, I developed a severe case of bloating.  My stomach was larger than I thought humanly possible.  On Tuesday, it wasn't much better.  My vigiliant husband suggetsted I contact the doctor's office.  The nurse determined I should come in for an ultrasound.  To H, and to her, it seemed as though I had a condition known as Ovarian Hyperstimulation Syndrome (OHSS).  My appointment was Wednesday morning.  Since that was just two days before the previously scheduled Friday pregnancy test, they said I could do that on Wednesday as well.

 

(my stomach looks and feels a lot like this)

At the appointment the doctor confirmed that I have OHSS.  In short, my ovaries are overstimulated and are secreting fluid all over the place.  My case is mild, but it is something they'll keep an eye on ( more ultrasounds!).  In all, I was at SGF for about an hour - out by 9am.  Then the wait came - the blood is sent to a lab, the lab sends the results to SGF, and SGF calls me.  Our call came at 2:30pm.  "I have good news," the nurse said, "You're pregnant!"  H and I had her on speaker phone.  I started crying and couldn't speak.  H seemed stunned and wasn't speaking either.  It was awkward.  I'm not sure we reacted the way she expected.  I managed to tell her thank you and sorry for not talking because I was overcome with emotions.  My mom, in town for a few days, was just a few feet away listening to the call too.  She walked over to give us a hug.  The nurse continued, and gave us our beta number (this is measured every couple/few days).  I heard her say they hoped for a level of 100 and then I don't remember much.  I got the gist-  mine was higher than that and I am pregnant.  I hugged H, cried and said, "We did it."  Then, almost immediately, the joy (and I was over joyed) passed.  Fear set in.  Will the pregnancy last?


Since then, I've been a stress case.  I didn't exactly dream of that moment that someone would utter - "You're Pregnant" (always keeping my expectations in check), but I did at least think I'd be on cloud nine if someone did say that.  In reality though, I'm anxious.  The anxiety is compounded by the fact that I don't feel pregnant - at all.  I have no signs, don't have any symptoms, and other than the bloated stomach and stress, I feel pretty normal.  I'm desperate for this blasto baby (or whatever stage it is now) to hang out in  me and then this world for a good long forever and am wondering when I can stop feeling nervous and start being excited.

It's Friday, another ultrasound and blood test for me.  The fluid is down.  But, more importantly (to me, anyway), my Beta is up.  Today it is 641.  While the nurse was on the phone I asked what Wednesday's number was (since I forgot to listen) - it was 294.  They like to see the number at least double, so we're doing well so far.  I have another blood test on Monday and probably another one sometime after that.  Maybe I'll feel less nervous about being excited after we see a heart beat.  I'm hopeful and happy, I promise, there's just a lot of other concerned emotions too.

Enjoy the holiday weekend everyone.  I'm glad to be entering it on a high note. 

A melted heart can't be broken.

Valentine's Day is fast approaching.  It isn't my favorite holiday, but I do like seeing all the red and pink everywhere.  The many heart sightings got me thinking - about my H and how sometimes he says something, and it feels like my heart just melts.


(http://ohhappyday.com/2013/01/tree-heart-installation/)

Like last Sunday, when I was done lounging on the couch for the day, I headed to bed (I took lazy Sunday to a whole new level).  While I was going down the steps I got an idea.  I paused to be sure I was out of sight to H who was still sitting on the couch.  Above me was the ledge where the embryo photo had been sitting.  I took our little photo and pretended it was a puppet.  I picked it up, shuffled it back and forth, and then the puppet said, "Hey!  Hey you!"  I peeked to see if H had turned his head.  He had, so the puppet continued, "Um, I was wondering... do you want to be my Dad?"  I was giggling by this point, so I peeked again to see if H was smiling too.  When I do something wacky he usually just laughs and tells me I'm crazy.  For a second, I wondered if I shouldn't be joking around with our blasto baby photo because H wasn't laughing.  He simply replied, in the most sincere tone, "Yes, I'd like that very much."  I put the puppet down, popped back out of sight, and teared up for a second.  This was one of those times when he says something and it makes my heart melt.  When I felt more composed I looked back at H and said, "I'd like that very much too."


(my puppet talked kind of like this muppet)

What H has shown me, over the last few months especially, is that I really hit the husband jackpot.  Awareness of this gives me a lot of peace while we wait for our news because I believe, deep down, that he and I will be okay no matter what.  We'll get through whatever news we get and at the end of this journey, either way, I'll have H.  Will bad news make me sad beyond my wildest nightmare?  It probably will.  But, will my heart irreparably break?  I don't think so.  H (and our family and friends) will be there, to help keep it feeling whole.  I try to remember this each time I get scared.



No one gets a perfect life.  Mine certainly isn't.  I wouldn't wish infertility on my worst enemy.  I've learned, however, that despite this hardship I  can seize the opportunity to see the good above all else.  Some days that's easier than others.  Next time I'm down, I'm going to re-read this post.

Where will the time go?

I need a plan.  Just two days into the two week wait, my mind is already restless.  This morning, I've come up with some goals to help me get through the days.

Goals:
1.  Do not read blogs or forums re: early pregnancy symptoms.
(This can really mess with my mind - desperately seeking signs leads to nothing more than torture)

2.  Do not take an early pregnancy test.
(It may be positive, it may be negative; but, I'm not really going to believe anything until the doctor tells me so)

3.  Read this book.
(I'm told it'll make me laugh)

4.  Finish this project.
(Clearly it still needs some work)

5.  Make some dinners.
(H and I will do this together so I'll look forward to coming home to cook)

6.  Go back to work.
(As long as I'm productive and focused)

7.  Plan home improvements for my mom's visit next week.
(Pretty sure it's going to be project window treatments)

8.  Go to the new Courthouse movie theatre.
(You get to reserve your own seats!  Those who know me, understand the importance of this, since more than a time or two, I've ditched sitting with friends, so that I can sit middle seat, middle row at the movies)

9.  Try Yoga
(This is H's idea.  I'll give it a whirl and hope it doesn't bore me to tears)

10.  Learn photoshop
(This may also require I take the camera out - need warmer weather please!)

11.  Have positive thoughts
(esp about our embryo)

 This is a good start, but I'm accepting any and all ideas should you have one.

Make a Wish.

It's Super Bowl Sunday, better known around here as Transfer Sunday.  Our morning started off with an update from the doctor.  We had one embryo make it to the blasto-cyst stage.  The other three have stalled.  It isn't likely they'll make it much further and aren't (as of today) good candidates for freezing.  We'll know for sure on Tuesday.  We were surprised to hear that, but it isn't unexpected.  It's also part of the reason we waited five days; to find the most viable embryo.  On a happier note, our blasto-cyst is as good as can be expected.  Grade AA, the doctor said (H called it organic, free range).  It was recommended, and we agreed, to only transfer one embryo - our all star. 

I was expecting the transfer to start off rocky, given how the mock trial went.  But, thankfully, this doctor had no trouble at all getting my testy cervix to cooperate.  The transfer is done through a catheter.  H and I could watch it enter the uterus on the ultrasound.  When the doctor was sure the catheter was positioned well, he asked the embryologist to enter the room with our blasto baby.  The embryo was in a straw like contraption that was placed into the catheter.  Liquid carries the embryo and the doctor launches it out of the straw and into my uterus.  The embryo is too small to see, but when the liquid exits it looks just like a streak of light.  Weeks and weeks of preparation and worry and excitement and a whole list of other emotions went shooting out into my uterus in less than five seconds.  The doctor asked if I saw it ... the shooting star.  "Yes", I said, "and I made a wish."

Afterward, I had to lay there for 5 minutes before I could get dressed and leave.  H  held my hand and laid his head on my stomach.  We feel a connection to our little blasto baby.  We want the best for it.  We will have to wait at least two weeks to find out what's next for our family.  In the meantime, we have to remind ourselves that we've done well, come a long way, and tried our best.  We're proud of our journey and of our embryo, no matter what.

(my view from mandatory bed rest - a magnetized photo of our little star)

I think the embryo wants a fruit shake.  Time to place an order with H.  Bed rest isn't so bad!  Oh, and go Niners!

Voice mail

Ever since cell phones became all the rage, I've been really terrible about keeping mine with me and/or keeping it charged.  I'm not a person who spends much time on the phone.  I never cared much if I had my cell on me or not.  Having an iPhone has helped - love the apps (still not wild about talking on the phone).  When IVF started, and the highly anticipated calls were coming almost daily, I became much better about having my phone handy.  Until yesterday, that is, when I walked out of the office with my iPhone still on my desk.  H offered to bring me back to grab it, but figuring the nurse calls have been coming at 1130am as of late, I didn't think it was a big deal.  I'd be to work in time to receive the call.  Wrong.  Of course this is the morning that our doctor phoned.  She left a voice mail at 8:37am.  Shoooooot!  Voice mail is the worst because you miss the chance to speak with the doctor directly (and I've alluded to how giddy that makes me - see "And then the doctors came.") and you don't get to ask all the questions that have been on your mind.



Such is life; maybe I can dump my questions on the nurse later.  Here's a transcription of our doctor's message:

"Hello [M] and [H].  Just wanted to call and say hello.  It's Dr. X.  I am thrilled your embryos are still doing lovely.  We want to see that they are developing and today they should be a minimum of six cells.  So, we have three embryos that are doing outstanding; one's a six cell, one's a seven cell, and one is an eight cell.  All three of those are grade one top quality embryos   The fourth embryo has gotten a little delayed, it was a three cell yesterday, it is still a three cell today.  But, I'm thrilled for the three that are developing well.  This will hopefully give us the ability to be able to select the single best embryo for transfer on Day 5.  I hope you're both well, just wanted to give you the update and this is wonderful news.  We'll catch up soon.  Bye bye."

There you have it - that's the latest.  I imagine that our three growing embies are jumping for joy at the chance to be a life.  I wish I knew the end of this story, but I have at least two weeks of waiting left.  Until then, I'm keeping this vision in my mind:

The number 4

A lot of people have a lucky number.  Some people go to Vegas and place bets on their lucky number.  Others may plan a special event on the same date as their lucky number.  I have always had a number that means something to me, but I've never been able to call it lucky.

It was 5th grade or so when I started playing sports.  As far back as I can remember, my jersey number was number four.  I don't know if I initially asked for that, or if it was randomly given to me.  Probably the latter.  At some point, as I was getting more interested in softball, I began following the Oakland Athletics.  My Papa loved baseball and I can remember him watching the games of all the local California teams.  He liked them, so I did too.  The Athletics quickly became my favorite team and because I played in the infield  I had a particular fondness for Carney Lansford.  Never heard of him?  I'm not surprised.  I might have been alone in my obsession   He played third base for the A's.  Bear in mind everyone, he is not some kind of pro athlete hunk (see below), I simply admired his skills and found some deeper meaning in the fact that we both wore number four.  Ever since, for every sport I played, I asked for jersey #4.


(My totally innocent sports crush circa the late 80s)

(sweet stance Carney!  see the #4?!)

While I might have had some good sports luck on the court or in the field, number four never really did anything else for me. I tried it on a lottery ticket once (I drive a 10 yr old car and have a 30 yr mortgage, so clearly I'm not wealthy from lottery winnings).  I've always wondered if something miraculous would happen to me on April 4th (so far, it's just been another ordinary, non memorable day).  But, finally- four has given me something I never would have imagined, and this four is far more important to me than all that other meaningless stuff.  As of this morning, H and I still have four maturing embryos.  They're in their 3-4 cell stage and so far have no fragmentation (I don't know what causes that, but am told it is good that we don't have any).  Today our little miracles probably look something like this:


(I think it looks like a stemless clover, which fits because our last name is Irish and because I'm writing about luck.)

Now we are more certain that we'll have a Day 5 transfer (meaning the embryos will grow in the lab for five days instead of three).  At five days, doctors believe that have a better sense of which embryo has the best chance at pregnancy.  They'll grade each one and transfer the prettiest or handsomest (no clue about gender yet).   Send all your positive thoughts to Sunday and wish our lucky little clover(s) the best.



One last (very important) message... thank you for following our story and for all of your supportive comments, calls, and emails- knowing you're there brings much comfort to an almost entirely uncomfortable situation.  xo

Water works.

Quick update - I'm turning into a cry baby; more tears of relief today.  Of our 6 retrieved eggs, 5 were mature, and 4 were fertilized.  FOUR!  More waiting and a couple more major hurdles ahead.  SGF will call tomorrow with a report about how our precious embryos are developing.  Not even meditation could help me sleep last night, not sure tonight will be any better.  The anticipation is hard to ignore.



If you're curious, here's the embryo progression we're hoping for:
http://www.ivf.net/ivf/embryo-development-o2591.html

Anesthesia Stole the Show.

My surgery was early in the morning, but the operation day instructions began hours before.  No food after 1am (no problem, I was well into in meditative sleep by then) and no beverages after 4am (also no problem, although I knew I'd be thirsty in the morning).  Our alarm went off and up we got.  I asked H if he thought I was allowed to brush my teeth.  Brushing would require toothpaste (is that a food) and water (definitely a liquid).  H didn't know; we scoured our instruction packet. - it didn't know either.  Nothing mentioned toothpaste.  I wasn't going to risk it.  I'd have to go to SGF with bad morning breath.

 The pre-op section of SGF is a busy place.  I arrived for surgery at the same time as two other women.  You can hear every conversation happening back there (those curtain dividers are not sound barriers).  The other women would have surgery before me so by the time the nurse got to me I'd heard her speech twice already.  She was in and out of my curtain room quickly.  Next the nurse anesthetist (NA) came.  Since it was on my mind, I asked him if I could have brushed my teeth that morning.  He said yes.  Oh sorry!  He told me it wouldn't bother him, but I should apologize to my husband.  I already had, but I did again anyway.  The NA hooked me up to an IV and told me to go use the restroom in 45 minutes.  I'll tell you, walking down the hallway, hooked up to an IV, in an ugly hospital gown, and blue surgical booties over my feet, kind of made me feel elderly.

A half an hour later, the doctor entered.  I remembered him from our talk about follicles and hot tubs.  Before he sat down, I felt obliged to apologize to him for my bad breath, explaining I wasn't sure if it toothpaste would count as food.  He smiled and told me not to worry, but maybe I wanted to give the NA a heads up.  Already did!  I'm all set.  With that off my chest, he explained the procedure.  In all, it takes about 15 minutes.  Two weeks to grow these things; 15 minutes to take them out.

(wanted to insert an image here, but googling trans-vaginal retrieval does not yield the most attractive results)

Finally my time for the OR came.  I sat down on a bed, complete with stirrups (I've seen enough of those in this past month!).  The nurse told me to put my feet up.  At the same time the NA was administering the anesthesia.  I felt a prick and the needle stung a bit.  He was behind me, I looked back and said, "I can feel that."  He told me I wouldn't for long.  It scared me though, thanks to a recent Atlantic Monthly I'd skimmed a story about patients under anesthesia who feel everything, despite being asleep.  I didn't want to be that dramatic so I asked, "Will I feel anything else?"  He told me I wouldn't.  Needing additional reassurance I asked, "Do you promise?"  He smiled and promised.  With that the drugs were kicking in.  The last thing I remember is looking around the room, noticing at least 7 people, then finding the nurse and saying, "It looks real serious in here."

Next thing I knew I awoke back in my curtain room with H standing next to my bed.  Without missing a beat, I asked him, "Did we get any eggs?"  But, even though I was moving my mouth, no sound was coming out.  H looked confused and a little worried.  "Did we get any eggs," I repeated.  I was desperate to know the answer.  At about that time, the nurse walked in.  H told her I was having trouble talking.  I tried again, this time a whisper came out, "Were there any eggs?"  She told us there were six.  I looked at H, at first smiling, then the tears came.  "Are you okay," asked the nurse?  "I'm just so relieved," I blubbered, my full voice almost back by then.  She left H and I in the room, still holding hands.  I admitted to H that all along I had a terrible fear there wouldn't be any eggs to retrieve.  The moment I heard my AMH was beyond low, I couldn't shake the feeling that I might just be barren.  Barren is a horrible word, by the way.  Soon the doctor walked back in to tell us everything went well and that they'd call us the following day with fertilization results.  Since I was still crying he asked if I was all right.  I sniffled, "I'm having my meltdown now."  Until that point, I think I'd contained all my worst fears and sadness and every other emotion IVF can inflict.  H told the doc I was worried there wouldn't be any eggs.  He repeated we got six, I think just to be sure I believed them.  I thanked him and then I blamed the anesthesia for making me act weird.  I wouldn't exactly call these tears of joy (though I was happy they found some eggs), I felt more relief than anything and not so much for the six eggs, but that I wouldn't have to deal with whatever anguish being barren would have brought.  If round one IVF doesn't work (and it is statistically more likely that it won't), we can realistically try again.

(it took a while, but I finally turned into this)

Once home I rested feeling all the bloating and discomfort they'd warned me about.  I wouldn't say I was in pain, but I did want someone to poke a hole in my stomach to make all the air go away.  H and I are cautiously optimistic.  He's happy with six and felt badly I'd been holding in the fear of zero.  At the same time, we're incredibly anxious for the SGF call that will come later today.  If there guesstimates are correct, we shouldn't expect more than three eggs to fertilize.  Our numbers are small, but even in small numbers we can hope.

Random is the new normal.

Normally I'd have some theme for my blog post, but since IVF isn't exactly normal,  I'm not feeling obliged to be my normal blogging self.  Today you're just getting my random (mostly un-edited thoughts).  Life is too random be normal anyway.  Here's a glimpse of the last two days.

Sunday 8pm was the whopper shot.  By that time I'd already given myself over 20 shots, so I figured a nurse pro doing the injection would be a breeze.   I was wrong.  Nurse neighbor (calling him G from now on) and his Partner arrived right on time (we invited them to stay afterward for  dinner).  G, H, and I immediately went upstairs to my drug lair to do the deed.   H and I watched G mix the meds and ready the needle.  Yep, he looked like a pro.  At first I thought I'd stand and take the shot like a man.  But, my nerves got the better of me.  G suggested I lay on the floor, to make it easier on those nerves.  Within seconds I found myself laying in the exact same spot where I'd once petted the carpet (see "Well that was unexpected" blog post).  Dan walked to where my head was and G was near my feet.  I told G to go ahead.  Until... I quickly changed my mind.  I had questions.  Wait!  How much will it hurt?  (not much at all he said)  Wait!  How long will it take?  20 seconds?  (no he said)  Oh my gosh!  Longer?  30 seconds?  (no, maybe five he said)  Ok, now I'm ready.  Wait!  No I wasn't.  I had some things to say to Dan.  As he tells it, I'd eventually gotten myself into half of a fetal position.  One leg out, one leg curling up toward my chest.  Dan was still standing.  I demanded he kneel on the floor with me.  "You can do this," H said.  I took his support and unfortunately shoved it back in his face by snapping, "Just kneel!  And take that stupid hat off your head."  Ugh.  So mean.  He wasn't even wearing a stupid hat.  I bought him the hat he was wearing.  Thankfully, he took no offense, and held his laughter until later, when he admitted it was all pretty funny.  I made a little bit of a scene.  G was right, the shot hurt didn't hurt at all (in fact, I didn't know he'd done it).  And it must of taken less than 5 seconds (again, I didn't even know he'd done it).  Yay.  Hard part over.  For dinner, I allowed myself to pig out on pizza and a cupcake.  The rest of the supper gang had wine.  Lucky ducks (I've missed partaking in adult bevvies). 

(my drug pile - after I cleaned up all the used meds and boxes)

Yesterday was kind of a waste.  I felt nauseous and light headed and tried to lay low.  To boot, my mind was preoccupied with worrying about the surgery and with wondering about how many eggs would be retrieved (none?  please at least on one!  super pretty please 8?  I won't dare dream of 10).  My acupuncturist had previously encouraged me to try not to put stress on top of stress.   She recommended meditation.  I was so desperate I tried it (found something from the app store with good user ratings; reliable source, I'm sure).  If the measure of a successful meditation session is falling asleep, then I'm a pro.  Om conked me out within 10 minutes each time I tried.  Sleep was needed anyway, H and I had to get up at 430am to be at SGF by 6am.  Surgery was scheduled for this morning at 8 (by design, 36 hours to the dot after the whopper).

More on the retrieval procedure and egg (eggs plural ?) count later ...  after I've had some more meditation sleep.

And then the doctors came.

The end of this IVF cycle is nearing and a few days ago, I suppose because of the proximity of the whopper shot, the doctors began doing my ultrasounds.  I've grown used to having a tech wave the magic wand and take my follicle measurements, but there was something extra comforting about having the attention of a Reproductive Endocrinologist (RE).


(those black blobs are follicles.  during ultrasound someone measures each one horizontally and vertically)

Last Wednesday, H and I had been waiting longer than usual and figured that SGF was even busier than normal.  When the door finally opened, my RE burst through apologizing for the wait and expressing how much she wanted to do the ultrasound that day.  I barely know her, but would say we've been through a lot together.   It is she who initially relayed our chances of conceiving naturally (just about zero) and walked us through all the tests, which all confirmed her initial diagnoses.  While I know that she has hundreds, maybe thousands, of patients and the chances of her remembering me are slim, her presence meant everything to me that morning.  The importance I placed on her could also be due to the two days prior when the nurses on staff shook my confidence in the abilities of SGF with a couple of inaccurate statements and instructions.  Needless to say, the arrival of my doctor put me at ease enormously.  She took my measurements and talked to me a bit about what would happen in the next few days.  Although, I'm sure it was very routine, I felt star struck.   I kept thanking her.  Profusely.  More than once I told her how great it was to see her.  It was as if my favorite celebrity had walked into the room and I lost the ability to create a rational question because I was so excited to see her.  (As an aside, as I'm typing this, I have no idea who my favorite celebrity really is, but the name Julia Roberts came to mind.)  H and I left the office feeling like we were back in good hands.



On Thursday, still to my surprise, another doctor entered the exam room.  I had met this particular RE before.  She's the one that did my mock embryo transfer.  Naturally, she isn't my favorite physician.  (Did I mention the last time I saw her she said if they had trouble keeping my cervix open during transfer day, they'd just use a stitch?  Meaning a needle and thread... down there!!  No thanks.  No thanks at all!  I hope, but doubt, she's been practicing.)  She scares me more than a little bit.  I tried to put that memory aside and to relax.  Turns out she's much better at ultrasounds.  Thank goodness.   H and I were in and out of there in no time and (bonus!) I didn't faint later that day.



By the time Friday rolled around I started expecting to see a doctor.  That day, however, there was still a semi-surprise for me.  A MAN walked into exam room #1.  I have no idea why, but it made me blurt out, "Wow!  I've never had a MAN do this before."  H laughed.  But, the doctor didn't.  He just said, "Well, I assure you I HAVE done this before."  "Ok," I said, "I do think you look like someone who knows what you're doing."  Finally, he laughed and replied, "Appreciate that.  I think it's the gray hair ... and I'm glad you brought your sense of humor today."  Thanks doc!  I am too.  It's not here everyday.



Yesterday we went to the Rockville office (we have to do that for every weekend/holiday appointment).  Rockville is 9 times the size of the DC office, so I really didn't expect to see a doctor that day.  But, I did.  Another dude.  He didn't have gray hair though.  He let the tech do the measurements and sort of just stood there watching.  Feeling as though he needed to engage more, I asked him the only question I could think of that I hadn't already asked someone.  "Hey [doc], why are they called follicles?"  Before he could answer, I followed up with a less intelligent sounding question, "Do they have hair?"  I caught him off guard.  He didn't even know why they're called follicles.  He explained something about follicles holding fluid in which the egg will eventually appear.  "Ohh," I said, "So, they're like little hot tubs."  He didn't laugh.  But, I thought it was funny.



Today, we're 99.9% sure, was my last ultrasound of the cycle.  My follicles have almost grown to the right measurements.  Unfortunately, to get the small ones caught up, they sacrificed one or two of the front runners which will be too big now to harbor an egg.  Losing them did make me a little sad.  I asked the nurse what to realistically expect.  She explained that of all the follicles present, not all will have an egg, and not all will fertilize.  I knew that. Then she added that they always tell people to expect half to make it to embryo stage.  In my case, that'll be three or four embryos.  That'd be great.  But, I'm cautious of being that optimistic.  Plus, there is absolutely no way to guess how many of those embryos will score the rating required to make it worthwhile to transfer them back to me.  Older eggs (as my AMH level suggests I have) statistically don't grade well.  Despite the odds, I'm still giving each and every follicle the benefit of the doubt.  My hope carries on.