New Beginnings

Yesterday was my 35th birthday. It was also our 4th attempt at TTC. However, it was the first one where we actually had some insight into what we were doing exactly. We had an ultrasound on Thursday and saw 7 follicles. We got an hcg trigger shot on Thursday night and progesterone suppositories to start taking today. We learned that our swimmers have rally good numbrs - 35 million count, 56% post-thaw motility. We had an IUI yesterday, administered by an RN, instead of the old fingers-crossed shot-in-the-dark method at home. We have an appointment to go back in 13 days for our pregnancy test. Everything we are doing this time is so much more cinical, monitored and enlightened. Both Stacey and I have a really good feeling about this, for many reasons.

I was in a wonderful mood all day yesterday, partly because it was a beautiful day, partly because it was my birthday, but mostly because this attempt feels really good. I hope I'm not jinxing anything, but I just know that whatever the outcome, we are headed in the right direction. Every month, we are a step closer to becoming mothers, I can feel it.

I know this is going to be a wonderful year. So far, 35 is a great age, and I know it will only get better.

Too Much of a Good Thing?

Stacey and I woke up this morning at 5:30, all bouncy and excited for our Day 10 check-up at the RE. This was the day they were going to tell us whether or not I am producing any follicles, how mature they were, and when we can come back for the IUI. So I hopped up on the exam table, and Ultrasound Lady wielded her magical Dildo-Cam and Voila! Up on the screen popped my girl parts. I sat up as much as I comfortably could and tried to watch the show.

"Wow," Ultrasound Lady said. "That's a big follicle! 24.5 millimeters." Woohoo!! Great news!

"Oh, look at this one, too. This is a big guy here, too." Great! TWO big follicles.

"Here is another one." Three?

"And another one". What???

"Okay, now let's look at your right side. Whoa! Look at these guys!"

Turns out, I have SEVEN mature follicles. To say my body responded to clomid is an understatement. So, Stacey and I left and came home, elated. Seven mature follicles, that's great news, right?? We sat and waited for the RE to call us in the afternoon to tell us when we could come in for the IUI.

Around 2:30, the call came. Only it wasn't good news.

"I'm sorry Kelly," the nurse began, "but you produced too many follicles. The risk for multiples is too great. We cannot inseminate this month."

My heart got caught in my throat. I tried to maintain composure, but lost that battle quickly.

"What do you mean we can't inseminate?" I asked. My voice cracked, betraying my devastation. "This was the doctor's idea. He prescribed the clomid! If I don't use it, I don't produce follicles, and now that I did use it, I produced too many???"

"I'm sorry Kelly, but for women 34 and younger, we cannot inseminate if there are more than 4 follicles."

"But I'll be 35 tomorrow!!! What's the cutoff for 35??"

"5 or 6. But still, it's a big risk." I told her I was aware of the risks, but she said there wasn't much she could do, it was the doctor's decision. She did agree to try to get ahold of him again, to see his thoughts about the fact I will be 35 tomorrow. And she promised to call me back right away.

The next hour passed veeeery slowly. I dropped Stacey off to get a massage, went to the grocery store, came back home, pickeed up the dog, and went to wait for Stacey. I was trying not to be heartbroken, but I knew I couldn't fight it. I was sad we'd have to wait another whole month. I was pissed that the doctor prescribed us a drug that apparently backfired. I was annoyed that we just spent almost $1000 for this month's attempt, only to be told we couldn't attempt at all. And I was starting to get afraid it was never going to happen for us.

An hour later, the nurse called back.

"I talked to the doctor, and since you will bee 35 tomorrow, we can go ahead and do the IUI. But we want you to take the trigger shot tonight, and we will only be doing one IUI tomorrow."

Fine! Anything! Oh my god, this is wonderful news!!!!! Thank goodness for birthdays!!! I never thought I'd be so excited to turn 35!

Immediately we went to the pharmacy to pick up my trigger shot, along with progesterone suppositories to start tomorrow night. I can't believe we are really doing it. Yes, we have a slight chance for multiples, yes we have to sign a mountain of paperwork tomorrow, and yes there is a big chance none of this will work anyway. But we are trying. We are going in tomorrow - me, Stacey and our seven follicles - and we are going to give it our best shot.

Keep your fingers crossed for good things!

Little Hand

What a fantastic day.

Today was Memorial Day, so we slept until we were good and ready to get up, then shuffled into the kitchen to make tea, put on some music, and started our day. I cleaned the kitchen while Stacey packed up a bunch of boxes in the dining room next to me. In the afternoon, we decided to take a stroll through Andersonville, get some hot chocolate and do some window shopping. Stacey was itching to go look at some baby clothes, which I was reluctant to do. I have to admit, I was a bit relieved that because of the holiday, most of the little boutiques she wanted to go in were closed. It started raining, so we ducked into Alamo Shoes, for no reason other than we had nowhere else to go. Let me just say, I am really glad we did.

We were in there about 3 minutes, and had barely begun to peruse the shelves of overpriced shoes when my baby radar started going off. One row over was an adorable 18-month-old girl who was toddling towards me. She was so smiley and outgoing. I looked down at her and smiled, and immediately I saw her hand go up, as if to grab mine. Not wanting to seem like a creepy baby stalker, I took a step back. I didn't want her mom, who was keeping a watchful eye, to think I was a baby-snatcher or anything. But the little girl was on a mission...she continued to toddle towards me. I glanced at her mom, who was smiling, so I thought, "Hey, if she's cool with it, I'm cool with it." So I let her grab my hand, and that was that...I was hooked.

I let her lead me toward the kids shoes, then I crouched down and showed her the amazing and wondrous shoe mirror on the floor. I complimented her on her cool red raincoat and green boots. She smiled and babbled and laughed. I thanked her for playing with me and led her back to her mom, and I did so quickly to avoid falling even more in love with her than I already had.

Now, I know I can definitely be sappy at times, and more than a little melodramatic. I tend to find symbolism and omens in every little out-of-the-ordinary occurance, and am a firm believer in "signs". I don't think this was any of those. I just know that the feeling I got from this little stranger putting her hand in mine was wonderful. My heart felt full.

I'm not fool enough to think that this meant anything about our upcoming cycle. I just know that it reaffirmed what I already knew: I am so ready to be a parent. I want it so badly, it hurts. I am ready to give a child my love, whether it comes out of my body, or Stacey's, or a stranger's. If I can fall in love with a child in 30 seconds flat, God knows the limits of the love I can give my own child.

But the best part of today was the fact that it did not make me impatient or frustrated about having a baby. Rather, it just made me realized that when it does happen, I will be ready, and I know it will be more wonderful than anything I could ever have imagined.

A Day in the Life (or lack thereof)

Today is exactly two weeks since I've been laid off. Week one was a fun, novel, refreshing reprieve from the crazy rat race I'd been stuck in for the past 13 years. Week two, not so much.

Here is a rough breakdown of my daily activities for the past two weeks:

7am: Wake up, spend some time with Stacey before she goes to work. Walk the dog.

8am-11am: Check my email, baby forums, various blogs, favorite websites, peruse apartment listings. Tell myself to get off the couch and be productive. Check email, baby forums, various blogs, favorite websites, apartment listings one last time, you know, in case anything new popped up.

11am: Get off the couch. Go to the kitchen for something to eat/drink. Make a list of everything I need to get done. Tell myself I will be productive. Start my chores, and then think of something I need to look up online. Get sucked back into checking email, baby forums, various blogs, favorite websites, and apartment listings, real quick, and then that's it for the day.

12pm: All My Children. (Yes, I know, I know. It's humiliating, and I'm not quite sure how it happened, but I tell you, that show is more addicting than crack. I have turned into the quintessential, sterotypical housewife, complete with favorite IQ-melting soap opera.)

1pm: Do chores (for real this time). Go for a walk. Wish I had someplace to actually walk to or someone to walk with. Get bored. Come home. Try to find something to do. Go back online.

2pm: Try to write a post in my blog. Realize my life is a complete bore right now, and I am only able to come up with an inane rundown of my incredibly boring day.

2:15pm: Miss my old job.

2:15:01pm: Snap back into reality and remember that my job sucked the life out of me.

2:17pm: Wish I had some other stay-at-home friends to play with. Or, friends that would let me hang out with them at their jobs while they work. Anything, just so I can be around people again.

2:30-4:30. Study for the GRE. Clean up a little. Maybe get around to taking a shower.

4:30. Start thinking of what to make for dinner. Hopefully come up with something that calls for a trip to the grocery store, just so I can have an excuse to go somewhere.

6pm: Wait for Stacey to get home. Study. Listen to music.

7pm: Wait for Stacey to get home. Hopefully there is a Cubs game to turn on.

8pm: Wait for Stacey to get home. Start dinner.

9pm: Stacey comes home, and I am a puppy delirious with excitement when she walks through the door. Exhaust her by demanding all her attention.

10pm: Realize that after only two weeks, I have turned into a completely bored, dependent, unchallenged, self-pitying, needy, uninteresting shell of my former self. I've got to find something to do with my time. This is ridiculous.

11pm: Right before bed, realize I need to check my email, baby forums, various blogs, favorite websites and apartment listings, one last time. Heaven forbid I miss something really important.

I Never Was A Soloist

Just this morning, I was telling Stacey about a memory that had just come back to me, after about 26 years of suppression.

When I was in the 3rd grade, our school's music teacher had us put on a recital for the other students. For the recital, we could pick any song we had learned during the school year. We could do a solo, or a duet, or both if we were ambitious. The year was 1983, and my favorite movie was "Annie", so of course, I chose the dramatic, soaring, not-a-dry-eye-in-the-house classic, "Maybe". I was gonna bring the house down, no doubt about it.

During the week before the recital, my best friend Mervet asked me if I would do a duet with her, as she was too scared to sing a solo. Amused at her childish stage fright, I humored her. I assured her she had nothing to worry about, because with a partner like me our duet was going to kill. Especially after "Maybe" brought the crowd to their knees. They'd be demanding an encore from me. Mervet was smart to want to collaborate with me. I still remember the song we picked, "Together Wherever We Go."

"Wherever I go, I know she goes. Amigos. Together." You know, that one.

The day came for the recital. We all piled into the music room. I can't remember if parents were there or not. Looking back, I certainly hope not. One by one, and some two by twos, the 3rd graders performed their songs. As I watched them, something changed in me, and my smug confidence somehow abandoned me. My heart started to pound. My throat closed up. I thought there was a very real chance I might wet myself. I wanted desperately to tell our teacher I changed my mind.

Suddenly I heard my name called. "And next we have Kelly, performing 'Maybe'."

Applause, applause.

I made my way up to the front of the room, successfully avoiding eye contact with everyone present. My teacher began the first few notes of the piano accompaniment, then it was my cue. I looked at the crowd of faces, and froze. Nothing came out. Not one note.

She played the intro again.

I stayed frozen.

Kindly, she began a third time, and started singing the words to help me along. I tried to squeak out a few words, but could only manage a whisper. I thought my teacher was doing a fine job singing the song on her own, so I just kind of gave up and let her do it. Mercifully, she ended the song after the first verse. There were a few giggles, a sympathetic smattering of applause, and I quickly sat down next to Mervet, covered my face with my hands, and cried.

Mervet was as comforting as she could be, considering the fact that in a few minutes she'd have to go back onstage with this sniveling mess next to her.

"C'mon," she whispered, "you were fine. You did great." But even as she held my hand, the look on her face was one of sheer terror.

After a few more songs, I was due up onstage again. Mervet somehow pulled it together enough to put a smile on her face and drag me up next to her. We stood there, looking at the crowd. The piano accompaniment started, and Mervet began to sing.

"Wherever we go, Whatever we do, We're gonna go through it together..." She looked at me and smiled. I smiled back and jumped in: "We may not go far, but sure as a star..."

And just like that, everything was okay.


Flash forward 26 years.

After sitting on the sofa this morning, enjoying a nice leisurely cup of coffee with the wife (after telling her the above story), I got a surprise visit from my dear old aunt. So I immediately called FCI to schedule my baselines tests and initial ultrasound. I like the fact that we are starting again right away, and the fact that this time we are getting help from the experts. I'd actually be really excited about it, except for the fact that Stacey can't go with me tomorrow.

She is going to drop me off for my appointment at 7:15 on her way to work, and in I go by myself. I'm not a huge baby or anything, I mean I can handle a doctor's appointment by myself, but this process, the whole "making a baby" journey has been one we've done together, every step of the way. It's been really important to us that we do this as a team as much as possible. I mean, this is OUR baby, not just mine, and we want to make sure everyone is clear on that. Going to the doctor to start try #4 without her feels weird and wrong.


I never was a soloist.

The Next Step

After a particularly un-enjoyable weekend of mourning our latest failed attempt, dealing with raging hormones (thanks, prometrium!), long work hours (Stacey, obviously, not me), and general feelings of irritation and annoyance towards each other caused by all of the above, we each took a deep breath, sat down, and talked things over.

We realized that we may have exhausted our Do-It-Yourself opportunities, and have decided to put our fertility concerns in the hands of professionals. And while playing doctor, keeping it intimate, and conceiving a baby the old fashioned way (well, as old-fashioned as two women could possibly make it) has been fun, the fun is definitely over. It is now just uncomfortable, unpredictable and frustrating. For three attempts we have purchased swimmers, took a shot in the dark (pun intended), and kept our fingers crossed. We've basically been buying $2500 worth of lottery tickets, and expecting to get rich. Well as the daughter of a banker who's been on my case about my financial security for the past 35 years, I've learned that's not exactly a sound plan for success.

So, we are taking the next step, and moving onto in-office IUIs. We called FCI, got a breakdown of costs (for us, fertility treatments are 100% out-of-pocket. Another reason I can't wait to move to MA), and decided that the benefits outweigh the costs. We will wait for my cycle to begin, then go into the office for an ultrasound, come back when we're ready to dance, and do the deed. I think we will do two tries, about 12 hours apart. Adding together the bloodwork, ultrasounds, prescriptions, IUIs, and trigger shots, we're looking at about $1600. Not that much more than we've been paying each month for the "shot-in-the-dark" method.

So now, we just wait for CD1. I stopped taking the prometrium last night, so hopefully my body won't take that long to bounce back to normal. We are just praying I start before the weekend. If it's this weekend or later, there's a good chance I'd be ovulating during our apartment-hunting trip to MA. That would be awful. Is there anything I can do to induce CD1? Coffee? Spicy food? Jumping on a trampoline??? Any and all suggestions welcome.

So, next step, here we come. I really hope this is as far as we have to climb on this wretched ladder of infertility.

This sucks.

So, it looks like this month was a bust.

My temp dropped significantly this morning. Never a good sign. Took a test. It was negative. An unequivocally, very specifically bad sign.

I can't really describe what I am feeling right now. It's more than disappointment. It's more than sadness.

It's frustration. Frustration at the fact that Stacey and I cannot create a family by ourselves. We need to purchase a complete stranger's ingredients in order to make a child. And after three attempts and a total of 9 vials, that is $1800 spent thus far on just the swimmers alone. Add in all the extras: clomid, estradiol, prometrium, opk's, preg tests, vitamins, raspberry tea, iron extract, primrose oil, etc, etc, etc, we are probably creeping closer to $2500. Frustration at the fact we are once again living our life in a series of two-week increments. I start my period, and we wait to weeks to ovulate. Once that happens, we wait two weeks to find out whether we are going to have a baby, or if we have to start the whole process all over again. And it's not like we can think of anything else during those 2-weeks. We are constantly looking for symptoms, signs, any sort of clue that I may be pregnant. Every pinch, twinge or ache suddenly becomes a sure sign that This is it! It is two full weeks of being myopic, obsessed baby-fiends.

It's envy. Envy for anyone and everyone who is lucky enough to create a child with their partner just by having a little roll in the sack. Envy for friends and family members who are either on their second or third pregnancy now, or who are done having kids. They had all they wanted, and now their families are complete. And this morning, I have a suffocating hatred for anyone who has recently posted a picture of their latest bundle of joy on Facebook or MySpace or one of the countless baby sites I have been lurking on lately. Yes, I know you are proud of your beautiful baby, and you have every right to be. But I REALLY don't want to see how happy you are right now.

It's humiliation. Humiliation for thinking so foolishly that it just might have worked this time. Thinking I was actually pregnant. Yesterday I ate a protein bar that tasted pretty funky. It was supposed to taste like chocolate, but it tasted more like the seaweed wrap on a sushi roll. I shrugged it off, thinking, "Wow...this pregnancy has really thrown my taste buds off! How funny!" Turns out, the protein bar really was funky, and I spent all morning with an upset stomach, burping up nasty seaweed stink. It would be pretty funny if I didn't feel like such a fool for actually thinking I might be pregnant.

And it's fear. Definitely fear, more than anything else. I feel like time is running out for me. I know I'm only 34, but in 2 weeks from now I will be 35. There is a good chance I may still be trying to conceive a year from now. And that means being a first time mom at 37. Maybe 38. Hell, I feel old now. My joints and muscles ache all the time. I creak, crack and moan any time I bend over to pick something up. I fall asleep at 9pm. My eyes are starting to go. Not to mention whatever kind of deterioration is going on in my reproductive organs. Who knows how often I ovulate, and even then, how many of my eggs are still viable. And without a steady supply of swimmers on tap, it's not only a matter of timing, but luck. Lots of luck. And that's definitely been running a little low lately.

I know I'm feeling sorry for myself. I admit it. I also know that this will pass, and in two weeks we will be so excited to start all over again. We will get hopeful and optimistic, and we will post on the baby sites, and peruse the infant wear department at Target and start feeling every twinge and pinch and think, This is it!! That's the way this cycle works. And that is why it sucks.