Searching for our silver lining

Reality check

2012-02-29T21:27:00.000-08:00

It's been one of those weeks. You know, the ones you wish you never got out of bed.

Between advising, meetings with students about grades (translation: me calling them into my office and discussing a plan for helping them not fail my course), recommendation letter writing and editing proposals, I'm ready for a long nap. Sadly, it's only 4 pm on a Wednesday.

The last few days I've been grappling with the Lupron monster. For the most part it's been an interesting battle: there are moments where I've managed to kick the monster's ass fairly thoroughly, all while demanding "who's your daddy," while hog-tying the asshole. Other moments, it's got me pinned, crying out "you are, YOU ARE" in hopes it will loosen its grip so I can jump it again. Grey has been watching all of this go down, resorting to finally naming the monster "Looloo." Now we just need to find a muzzle.

Last night, though, we decided to make peace. And all of this was due to two very incredible posts by two bloggers, both of whom are named Mo.

The first post is by this Mo. I've only recently started following her blog (thank you ICLW!!!) and have already learned so much from her posts. The one last night hit me like a ton of brick: in honor of Dr. Seuss's birthday she wrote about her favorite book from his work, "Oh! The Places You'll Go." I'd never read this one, somehow missing it probably due to the fact I was a teenage when it was released. But reading Mo's post immediately opened the flood-gates. All starting from the image of the prickle-ey perch.

Grey found me midway through Mo's post and immediately wanted to know if I needed a shock-collar for Looloo. It was then that he sat down and helped me finish Mo's post, helping me read aloud Seuss's words.

The post sparked a conversation we've been meaning to have for awhile, a conversation about change. The last few years have been hard ones, with us being in a holding pattern not only with trying to expand our family but also with our work and our dreams. The excuse for a long time was that we couldn't move on because one of us was in the middle of completing our education. We're finally at a point where we are planning for the next transition, but in the meantime we're both feeling catch in a holding pattern, waiting for the outcome of this cycle, of the next year. Both of us are hurting from being stuck on the IF rollercoaster, but neither of us have been able to put words into the awfulness of the situation. Seuss did that for us. And Mo summarizes all of this better than I ever will.

The second post came from this Mo. Only a week after the loss of her son, she is already writing about what Nadav has taught her. Her strength inspires and awes me, so it wasn't a surprise that this post would do the same.

Like many women, I'm awful at asking for help. I feel the need to sacrifice myself so others don't suffer or are inconvenienced in any way. Many times, this is unconscious, driven mainly by guilt and a mentality that I'm somehow weak. Mo's post made an outstanding case for why we need to stop hurting ourselves this way, and called on us to stop feeling guilty for asking for help.

But her post also touched on a mechanism for why we may do this, especially during periods of loss. Her observation about her parents having a difficult time seeing her grieve really hit home. No one likes to see someone they love hurting so badly. But it never dawned on me that this needs to happen. It needs to happen in order for healing to happen.

After reading both these posts, my mind was a whirl, sensing a connection from this wisdom. The answer finally hit me like a ton of bricks at 4 am: I'd been waiting quietly in the "Waiting Place." And not just while dealing with infertility; I'd been doing it for most of my life. Some how, I got it into my head that all my drama would be dealt with if I just waited my "turn." I would have my baby when it was my turn. Thing is, my "turn" never came. And despite everything I'd been told, my most memorial moments in life were when I stop waiting and took action. When, good or bad, I could own the outcome.

And I'm currently doing that. Good or bad, Grey and I are moving forward with this FET. There are no guarantees that this will work and even if I am lucky enough to end up pregnant, this doesn't mean I will end up with a baby. But that's not the point. The point is that I'm finally doing something.

T minus 8 days till I'm off the Lupron and get to say good-bye to Looloo. Till then, I'm holding out hope for a muzzle.

All aboard the crazy train

2012-02-27T07:50:00.001-08:00

CD5: Mood swings are in full oscillation. It didn't help that I spent my whole weekend stuck indoors grading. But it's noticeable. So noticeable, that even Jax and Dais will leave the room. During my IVF cycle, I remember the period right before I started stims as being one of the tougher ones. Lots of tears and constant anxiety. Initially I thought part of it had to do with the holidays. Note to self: it's all the Lupron.

Doing a Google search for "Lupron mood swings" results 1,300,000 results (all in under 0.29 seconds). The first result titled "Will Lupron make me a Wack-a-doo?" is enough to freak out anyone who doesn't have experience with this medication. This is followed with hit after hit with "mood swings" either capitalized or having "severe" plopped right in front of them (sometimes both). Either way, there's no overlooking the cause of me turning into a mope.

The question is, how does one combat the mean reds and/or the blues? The original plan of distraction, either through burying myself in work or spending time with friends, hasn't been working. Friday's experiment involved '80s comedies (John Cusack in "Better off Dead"), which worked for the interim before calling it a night, but definitely didn't solve the problem. Today I'm experimenting with exercise, as that has worked wonders just with battling day-to-day life. Either way, it's become apparent that something has to change.

Why all the fuss? Well, part of it is I don't want to burn-out Grey. Poor guy has been amazing through all of this and I know he's worried and anxious about this cycle too. The miscarriage threw him in a way that he wasn't prepared for, so even though he's marching ahead with me, I know he's worried about this cycle failing or ending the way it did in January.

But the other issue is my students. This semester I'm working with 41 young adults ranging from 19-21 yrs, with the oldest being 26 yrs old. And as much as they'd like to believe they've got it all figured out, they don't. The deal is though, I need to not bring my drama to the table. Be that during lecture when it becomes clear half of them haven't prepared, listening to them protest about how hard it is having quizzes on Mondays (though their exam scores are SO MUCH BETTER because of it), getting excuses about why papers haven't been turned in on time (and how I'm being unfair about enforcing the late assignment policy), all the way down to working with advising for a student who clearly is struggling. My drama can't be there.

Hello Lupron, you hear that? I've got to be the stable one.

So, I'm coping. Be that through taking 30 mins in the middle of the day to go for a quick run or shutting my office door for a quick cry. I'm coping.

10 more days of Lupron. God help me.

Dreams of moving on

2012-02-24T20:35:00.000-08:00

Dear Infertility,

I want to break up.

Love, Cristy

Flashbacks

2012-02-23T10:56:00.001-08:00

A belated welcome to all those visiting from ICLW! A bit of background on me: Grey and I've been TTCing for a little over 2 years, with a formal diagnosis of "Unexplained Infertility" in January 2011. This past December, we took the leap and underwent IVF. The cycle was successful (8 beautiful embryos and a positive pregnancy test). Unfortunately, 4 days after the first beta, we learned that something was wrong. This resulting in a week on the beta roller coaster followed by a diagnosis with a blighted ovum. I had a D&C on January 11th. I've spent the past month healing, reflecting and preparing myself for a FET in March.

This past week has been a rough one. News of Mo's loss hit me harder than I ever imagined. This was followed with news that a friend on an online forum suffered a chemical pregnancy, which probably could have been prevented if her RE had checked her day 21 progesterone levels, realized that it was low, and prescribed her supplemental progesterone. I've been filled with anger and sorrow over both of these losses because both of these women have been through so much and deserve to be holding their babies, not trying to remember them.

But I'm also scared. Scared shitless. This news has triggered memories of that awful day in January. The day when Grey and I learned that we would lose our pregnancy. That the brief moments of happiness and peace we had experienced were over. All that was to follow was pain. I never want to live through that again. And I'm worried that I'm setting myself up for the same thing.

Today I am officially CD1. After threatening for a few days, my period finally arrived. With that came the instructions to reduce the Lupron and start Estrace. I've heard time and time again how much easier it is to go through a FET than IVF, and so far on the physical end they've been right. But this week has reminded me that though physically I can take it, emotionally I'm still weak.

Miscarriage and infant loss is one of the biggest taboos in our society (next to infertility). All too often, people respond with suggestions like "it's for the best," "it wasn't meant to be" or (my personal favorite) "it's all in God's hands." In a lot of cases, parents are lucky to even get these responses, as people become incredibly uncomfortable about the subject and just assume that not saying anything is for the best. But the worst of all of this is that as time goes on, people assume you'll have 'gotten over it.' That because there was never a baby for them to see, it never existed. That this child was just an idea.

The problem is, like any trauma, the wounds may heal, but scars will remain. Sometimes the scars are tiny, only noticeable to those who look for them. But other times those scars are not so tiny. In fact, they are damn ugly. We try to hide conceal them, covering them with veneer to make them appear less ugly, but we know what they are.

For the past few weeks, I've been looking at the scars I've accumulated during this journey, particularly the most recent one. I've convinced myself that I'm okay with them, as they are part of me and I'm not ashamed of what I've done during this time. But this week reminded me that I'm not okay. I'm not okay with having to undergo fertility treatments, I'm not okay with having to hide my tears following a pregnancy announcement, I'm not okay with people I know and love suffering miscarriages and loving their children.

I'm not okay with the loss of my one and only pregnancy.

And yet, starting today, though I'm scared out of my mind that in a month all of that sorrow will repeat itself, I will move forward. With my husband by my side, we will try again. I will pop the pills, stick myself with needles and forgo caffeine. I will steal myself, meditate to relief my nerves and try to remember that there's a chance that all of this works out.

All because I know that if I don't, I will forever be stuck in this limbo of wondering if I had tried, would it have worked. And that limbo scares me more.

Wish me luck.

Redefining family

2012-02-21T11:20:00.001-08:00

Many years ago, a piece was circulating via email about Urban Tribes and their role in a person's development during their single years. I really liked this piece for a few different reasons, because I was never much of a dater yet I had a good support system through my friends.

What stuck with me through all of these years, though, was this idea of family. Traditionally, we've defined family as being composed of individuals who are genetically related: you have a mother, a father, grandparents, aunts and uncles and siblings. The phrases "blood is thicker than water" and telling someone "we're the same blood" have been ways to emphasize the strong tie family has and how important it is to us and our society.

So what happens when blood relatives let you down? In the case of infertility, this will happen more times than not and to varying degrees. Whether it's parents prying too much about when you're going to have children, a relative's remark about how you just need to get a surrogate, a cousin talking for hours upon hours about how difficult is it to be pregnant, or learning your younger sister is pregnant. In an ideal world, we cry, but the love and support for one another would help us through those difficult times, building strength within the family.

But sometimes this doesn't happen. Sometimes, in all the excitement of a grandchild, your mother tells you to get over yourself because your sister is going through something really hard. Sometimes you're told you're being selfish, that you brought this on yourself. Sometimes "family" causes more harm than good.

About 5 months ago, I made the difficult decision to cut off contact with my family. Infertility was not the reason for this, but it certainly was the straw that broke the camel's back. For years I've had a difficult relationship with my mother, filled with multiple incidents of abuse, mainly verbal but also some physical. Still, I hung onto the relationship because I craved family. I craved it so much that shortly before my official diagnosis, I tried confiding in both my parents about my pain and sorrow of not being able to conceive.

My sister's announcement that she was pregnant was a blow, but I was determined to be there for her and support her. What drove a wedge was not her being pregnant, but her using her pregnancy as a weapon to attack when an argument ensued. What continued to make things difficult was the gossiping that was happening on both sides of the family, with Grey and I being judged continually and told to "just relax." But the final straw was an email in August, where I was told that Grey and I should adopts my cousin's son because the state was pulling him from the home. It was only following a heated phone conversation, where I indicated that Grey and I were not ready for that path, that I was told "no child you adopt will ever be yours."

Since then, I've found that I've been in a process of redefining "family." During this journey, both Grey and I have met many people on the same path, forging new relationships. In addition, our relationships with some friends and family in the Pacific NW has strengthen, with them being huge sources of support during this period in our lives. But probably the biggest change has been finding this community; finding others who are on this journey to share stories. Initially it was a place to gain information and read about others people's experiences, resulting in my feeling a lot less lonely when everyone around me was able to get pregnant so easily. What I never expected was to form friendships with a number of bloggers nor that in my darkest hours, it would be getting those emails that would help me through those moments of grief.

In a non-traditional sense, while living on the island of IF, we come together as a tribe; we redefine our family. My family is no longer restricted to a blood relatives, it includes kindred spirits, women and men I've met during this journey who understand my grief, my excitement and even my dreams. In during moments of crisis and joy, we come together to support one another, despite different points of view and being at different points in our journey.

Ethan Watters said it best:

Tribal behavior does not prove a loss of ''family values.'' It is a fresh expression of them.

Calling on community

2012-02-20T15:55:00.000-08:00

Today I was planning on writing a post about redefining family, following on the heals of Mel's post about community. Instead I'm joining the voices of many other bloggers offering support and love to one of our own.

I've been a lurker on Mo's blog for 9 months. Learning today that just shy of 23 weeks she is losing her son stopped my heart. There are no words how awful this is and I'm beyond angry with the universe for allowing something this tragic to happen to any expectant mother, but especially to the women in this community.

If you have a few moments, please stop by Mo's blog and send her some love today. You can also ready more here and here.

Trying my patience

2012-02-19T18:32:00.000-08:00

Okay, I'm the first to admit it: I'm not a patient person.

You know Daniel Goldstein's marshmallow test that demonstrated that those who were able to practice deferred gratification were happier in life? Well, I was the kid who would have failed it. Hell, I would have stolen the other kid's marshmallow too.

Why so huffy? Well, I'm waiting for AF to show up. And in this first time in 20 yrs of menstruating, I'm late. And not in a "honey, I could be pregnant!!!" way.

Yes, I've ovulated (check) and I'm going through normal PMS symptoms (double check) and even had the little bit of spotting after sex one night (triple check). Still no AF and without AF, I can't call the clinic and get CD1 instructions on moving forward with this cycle.

Yes, I'm whining. I know I shouldn't be, but I am. Someone smack me.

The joys of Lupron

2012-02-17T10:11:00.000-08:00

Okay ladies, I need some feedback.

For those of you on Lupron, what are your symptoms?

Here are mine (what I can remember and what I'm currently experiencing)

1) Dull pain from ovaires (feels like they're shriveling up and dying) - usually in the morning after the shot
2) Hot flashes - usually at night
3) Excessive sweating - usually at night
4) Feeling incredibly cold - all day
5) Swollen breasts - probably the only perk
6) Increased need for sleep - it's been a busy work week, so I can't say for sure if this is the Lupron or my work schedule

Last cycle I was overlapping with BCPs, so I haven't experienced any mood swings, but I just started all of this again.

Reflections on "the truth about IVF"

2012-02-15T23:00:00.000-08:00

A few days ago, SIF wrote this post that has been causing somewhat of a stir. Before I go further, I feel it's necessary to state that I admire her bravery and strength in expressing her point of view. For a lot of people in this community, it's not a popular one. But blogging has never been about being popular and I hope that though there is disagreement, there will continue to be support for expressing different points of view.

Back in December, while in the middle of our IVF cycle, Grey started digging into the history. His interest was not only sparked by the fact that we were in the thick of things, but also from the announcement of Robert G. Edwards receiving the 2010 Nobel Prize. Briefly, for those of you who don't know the history, Edwards and his colleague Patrick Steptoe developed in vitro fertilization. Their work lead to the birth of the first "test-tube" baby Louise Brown. What lead to Edwards receiving the Nobel Prize was not simply the fact that the procedure lead to Louise's birth, introducing a new way to help infertie couples who formerly had no possibility of having a baby, it was the fact that Louise was ultimately able to go on and reproduce without additional medical intervention. The reason Steptoe wasn't awarded this honor was because he passed away in 1988 and the Nobel Prize is not awarded postmortem.

All of this is fascinating, but equally fascinating is the history of fertility treatments, which is long and staggering. For those of you who want an abbreviated version, here's a timeline. To see that some of the first attempts at fertility treatments began in 1855 is mind-boggling. But what is really a piece of fascination that I was previously unaware of is the Del-Zio's lawsuit. I won't talk about this case today, as I believe it desires its own post, but I will say that the idea one would interrupt someone's attempt to expand their family, even though it happened almost 40 years ago, caused a very strong emotional respond.

As of today, tens of thousands of children are born each year in the US because of fertility treatments and IVF, though only a small percentage of these treatments, still has the highest success rates. Because of this procedure, many women like myself are able to become pregnant.

Despite what we know today about fertility treatments, there's still this onslaught against those who pursue treatments. Because we are willing to inject our bodies with hormones, take medications to sustain a pregnancy and even go through extra measures to bring home healthy children, we are viewed as pushing something that is "unnatural." Not too long ago, I listened to someone who was clearly ignorant on the subject talk about how she would rather live childless than expose potential children to any of "those drugs."

But here's the thing: we live in a contaminated world. Our food, our water, even our air. There's no escaping it. Worse yet, we accumulate these harmful chemicals in our bodies over time, ultimately passing them on to our children. Sure, we can try to live an organic lifestyle, but the reality is that the fertility drugs we use to promote ovulation and pregnancy are far safer than the fumes we are exposed to from motor vehicles. They're far safer than some of the water we drink. And they are far safer than most of the chemicals we expose ourselves, our world to on a daily basis.

In addition, biology is a wonderfully robust system. It's amazing under what conditions life will thrive! If given just enough to be able to do so. For some, it requires a little bit of progesterone because their bodies aren't making enough, for others it's a matter of identifying what is not functioning properly and correcting it. Again, there's nothing wrong with this, because it is proper medical care. And for a lot of women, addressing these issues not only allows them to have children, it also allows them to lead healthier lives.

Despite the fact that I don't agree with SIF on the point of supplementation and fertility drugs, there is one thing she talks about that I do agree with, which is the dark-side to ART treatments: with the technology comes the continual possibility of hope. And it's all to easy for couples to become lost in the loop of trying again and again.

So when is enough, enough? The reality is, that decisions is a personal one. I've met a couple who have gone through many years for treatment, pursuing multiple rounds of IUIs but will never venture into IVF or adoption because of religious/cultural beliefs. I've met a couple who have moved straight to IVF after being diagnosed with endometriosis. And I've met a couple who decided after 2 yrs of this madness that adoption was their path to parenthood. Their son and daughter will turn 2 yrs and 4 yrs this year. I think what we each need to ask ourselves is how long we will continue on this journey before we are willing to explore other options. Because I've also seen women who have ruined themselves and their families through continually pushing for fertility treatments, refusing to ever look to another road. Though it's wholly unfair, their refusal to resolve leads to madness. And to allow infertility to take your sanity means that it wins.

The truth about IVF is that it's an amazing medical treatment. One that will hopefully be more accepted in our society one day soon. But the other truth is that it's not a silver bullet, as some will not be able to bear children after going through this procedure. And though it has given so many a reason to hope, ultimately it is our responsibility to those we love as well as to ourselves to make potentially painful decisions.

Back in the stirrups again

2012-02-14T12:12:00.000-08:00

First off, happy Valentine's Day everyone. If you're like me, you probably recognize this overly-commercialized holiday as a way to capitalize on love and romance. But, it's also become a day for me to stop and reflect on where I've come during this journey. How much I've survived because of those around me through their love and support. So sending all my readers much love. That and chuckling at this poor schmuck who clearly forgot to purchase his significant other some roses (grocery store ones will have to do).

Secondly, thank you all for the comments on my last post. I'm doing better and I appreciate your suggestions. I guess one of the things I'm learning from all of this is how to address things that were broken a long time ago. Never easy, and I don't necessarily know the right path for dealing with all of this, but daily I'm learning how to navigate my way through. Unfortunately, with my family, that means no contact (long story as to why doing otherwise is not good with my family). But that's just for now. Time will tell.

Anyway, on to more important business. Grey and I went in today for my second mock transfer and the saline sonogram. Because I've had so much difficulty in the past filling my bladder, I made sure to start chugging water at 7 am. I went a bit overboard, but more on that in a minute.

The clinic I see has 3 REs who oversee all the fertility treatments. Though Dr. Optimism is my primary RE (love her), I also can be seen by Dr. Sage (the medical director for the clinic; adore him) and Dr. Practical (younger RE). In the past, I didn't really care for Dr. Practical, but since going through IVF, where she was the one in charge of monitoring my stimulation, and then the D&C, where she immediately returned my phone call when I was complaining about severe cramping, I've become more fond of her. Today though, I've decided I really do like her. And it all came down to how she handled the entire appointment.

First order of business was the mock transfer. Right after they confirmed I wasn't pregnant (routine for any SIS), they proceeded to check my bladder. To my surprise, it was full. Apparently I don't have much of a tolerance for a full bladder, as I get the urge to pee before it's truly full. Not today, which means I know now EXACTLY how uncomfortable I need to be. Anyway, the mock transfer went smoothly.

Next up was the saline sonogram. I've never had one of these, but I do remember the HSG and how painful it was. Grey was immediately by my side, holding my hand. To both of our surprises, this was painless and easy too. Dr. Practical applied a topical anesthesia to my cervix and then made a point of slowly inflating the balloon on the catheter. Hence, no cramping. The good news is that everything looks like it's healed well and no scarring was detected!!! So we're good on that front (hooray!!!). She also took measurements of my uterine lining (very thin) and looked at my ovaries (both back to normal size with zero activity).

After I was allowed to dress and visit the bathroom for the third time, Dr. Practical brought in the FET consent forms to sign. We talked once again about the procedure and the risks of twinning. Thankfully, she didn't push for the eSET. I think due to the fact of how this last cycle turned out. As we wrapped up, she asked if we had any questions. Though I didn't, Grey did.

The first one was whether we were moving the FET date. Dr. Practical took a moment to count the days, reconfirmed my last day of bleeding and then ordered some blood-work. Based on today's results, we'll have a better idea if we need to push things back or not, but she's keen on trying to keep those dates.

The second question had to do with the embryos. Grey had questions about how they were frozen (number per straw, whether it was a new method called "glass freezing," etc) and instead of brushing him off, she took the time to answer each point as thoroughly as possible.

I know how busy this practice is on a day to day basis, whether it be IVF, IUIs, counseling patients, training medical students and residents, etc. So the fact that Dr. Practical took the time to work with us, even though this was not a part of the appointment, won me over. She will still be Dr. Practical to me, as she has a straightforward way of answering questions, but the animosity is gone.

I'm hoping to hear back from the clinic tomorrow morning with news on the blood work. I've never had a cycle go so long and I'm wondering if the end is somewhere in sight. We'll see. In the meantime, all I can do is wait and be thankful for the medical team we have working with us.

UPDATE: Heard from the clinic and progesterone is at 17.4! Highest level on record for me. Start Lupron tomorrow and instructed to call clinic on CD1 to start Estrace. So we're officially on for the week of March 12.

Missing my dad

2012-02-11T19:41:00.000-08:00

Before the fallout from this last summer, my dad and I were close. Always have been and, in a way, always will be.

The problem comes with the fact that I haven't spoken to either of my parents since the comment in August. The conversation were it became clear that he would always back my mother, no matter how much she was destroying me.

Why all of this now? Well, on Thursday my Dad turns 62. And for the first time in my existence, I won't be contacting him.

And I miss him so badly. Just writing that sentence make me cry.

I know that independent of my mother, he would be supporting me during this time. That, though we wouldn't talk much (because he's not big on phones) he would be sending me love.

But my mom hates me. Since birth. And he's faithful to her to the bitter end. Because of this, I lose. I lose my father because I'm not willing to allow her to torture me anymore. And though I now know that his decision has nothing to do with me, I still hurt.

Fuck infertility. It's robbed me of my denile. My willingness to live in a world of not rocking the boat for those who were willing to sacrifice everyone around them in order to maintain family. But most of all, it's resulted in the loss of my dad. And I'm so sad. Because I want to share with him those 4 happy days and be comforted by all that I've experienced.

Instead, I'm orphaned.

Smoke and mirrors

2012-02-09T16:34:00.000-08:00

Most people in real life have no idea I'm living with infertility.

There is no brand, no scarlet letter. I do things most fertiles do: grocery shop, exercise, go to work, etc. There is no obvious way to identify me out of a crowd.

But for those who are living with infertility, I'm easy to spot. I am the one who gets quiet when someone announces that are pregnant "after only a month of trying." I'm the person who avoids the play area at the mall. I look longingly into strollers as new mothers push their children pass. Not only am I easy to spot, but I have no problem spotting fellow IFers. I've become tuned in to the signs.

When people learn that Grey and I are living with infertility, they usually act surprised. I had one person tell me "but you look so healthy!" when she learned the news. Granted, there's always that moment where advice is offered (and gently rejected), but usually silence follows. Because the idea that a happy couple like Grey and I living with something so terrible is something most people don't want to try to comprehend. The idea that 1 in 8 couples is struggling with this disease makes it all too real that someone they know and love is quietly battling.

Because of this mindset, I've also learned techniques to deflect questions about plans for children from people who really don't know better. I don't have the emotional energy to defend myself from the onslaught of questions that comes with this news every waking hour. And, frankly, there are moments where it's just not worth the announcement. In a way, I've become an illusionist: oohing and awing my audience with the image of a carefree and full life.

As all of you know, though, it's all smoke and mirrors.

So, how does this work? Well, there are a few universal truths.

First: the imagination always makes for a better story than the truth. The last event Grey and I attended was for his work. I spent a good amount of time dressing, doing my hair and even applying some make-up. The goal was that even though I felt awful inside, I was determined to show a happy, healthy me. In addition to this, while we were at the event, I made certain to keep talk about myself to a minimum. I answered basic questions, smiled loving at my husband when people talked about his accomplishments, and then quickly made sure to change the subject. Basically, I keep things vague and present an image of prosperity. This is the smoke.

Which brings me to my next truth: everyone loves to share their story. Whether it be about the vacation they just took, their woes with their teenage children or even telling you about a life-changing event, most can spend quite a bit of time filling in the details of their life. So I use this and have found that it's very easy to keep conversation going without having to touch on my life outside of some superficial details. And when the conversation starts to die, I stoke the flames with another question. This is the mirror.

The problem with being an illusionist is that one becomes paranoid about who knows your secrets. Though many at Grey's work know now about our infertility, I'm cautious about letting them know about the details from the last month. Those memories are painful and a source of weakness. So when asked how I'm doing, I smile and say I'm fine while actively looking for an exit in case I need to break down.

But now I wonder if keeping that facade is hurting everyone involved: me for feeling the need to hide and them from not learning the truth about infertility. I'm not suggesting that I sit each person down and explain the horrors of the D&C, but answering "you know, I'm really not doing well, but today is okay" may not necessarily be a bad thing. After all, the truth is suppose to set you free.

Update on FET: Saline sonogram and mock transfer has been moved to Feb 14th. Honestly, I can't think of a more comical way to spend Valentine's Day. In the meantime, I'm "patiently" waiting for AF to show up.

Lovely

2012-02-06T13:10:00.000-08:00

Warning: This post contains references to rape and loss. If this is a trigger for you, PLEASE do not read any further.

Over the weekend, I finally had the opportunity to watch "The Lovely Bones." I read Alice Sebold's novel in 2002 when it was circulating on the New York Time's Bestseller list and managed to devour the book within a week. The story is not an easy one, nor does it have a classic happy ending, but I found following the aftermath of the main character's death to be an interesting insight into how a family copes and grows.

The film is definitely not as good as the novel, but I found watching it brought back thoughts from when I was first reading the book, particularly what I was thinking about each of the characters. In general, I had no issues empathizing with all of them (minus the killer): I could connect with Susie while she remembered her life on Earth, her father Jack as he sought out him daughter's killer, her sister Lindsey and her little-brother Buckley as they dealt with growing up in the aftermath of this tragedy and even Susie's eccentric grandmother Lynn. But, no matter how hard I tried, I had trouble connecting with one of the characters: Susie's mother, Abby. From her initial criticism of her husband following Susie's disappearance, to the affair and finally her abandoning her children, I remember reading about Abby's actions with disgust. How could a mother be so selfish? How could she abandon here children, her family, in its time of need? I didn't understand her, her motivations or why she would be so destructive following the loss of her daughter.

10 years later, while watching the film, something clicked. I picked up the novel again, rereading the different portions that detailed Abby's actions and disgraces. And for the first time, I understood.

Before I share with you my thoughts, I need to start by talking about how our culture deals with death and loss. Normally, we honor the dead publicly, holding a funeral where all who knew the person can pay their respects and say good-bye. But there are rules with this: loved ones are expected to grieve in a certain manner and only for a certain period of time. In general, these rules are not challenged, as most people have a way of finding closure with the loss and are able to move on.

But what happens when the loss is mingled with something horrifying? In Abby's case, her 14-yr-old daughter is raped, murdered and her body never found. Instead of being allowed to grieve this loss, she is dealing with another level wrapped in shame and guilt. Though she is in no way responsible for her daughter's death, she is wrapped in guilt. For the rest of her life, she must deal with the shoulda-coulda-wouldas.

In a way, Abby's loss is similar to the loss caused by infertility. With infertility, one day you decide to start a family assuming all while be well, while with Abby, one day she is simply making dinner and wondering why her teenage daughter is running late. Then something changes and our world is turned upside down. Like Abby, we are immediately thrown into a state of grief, shock and fear. We turn looking for help and answers, but we find that our support system is not as robust as we originally thought. Some are able to be our rocks, but many are lost as what to do and begin to pull away. As time goes on, people begin to hint that we need to move on because life is too short. But the thing is, how does one move on when the answers are not so simple? For Abby, having a memorial will not give her the closure she needs because of the nature of this loss. For IFers, resolving is not a simple decision, but usually a process that requires time, money and even counseling before we can move forward. In the end, it's not as easy as everyone would like us to believe.

Recent events from the last month have really pushed me to my limits emotionally and physically. And there were points where I literally wanted to pack a bag and walk away from it all. What's stopped me is the relationship I have with Grey and the love from good friends who have been an unending source of support. While rereading the passages about Abby, I realized that she didn't have any of this. Despite being surrounded by family, she was alone. And because of her grief, she lashed out by having an affair and then tried to escape from all of it. Don't get me wrong, her actions were selfish. But to villainize her because of these mistakes is wrong. It's wrong because her family failed her too.

The last month has been one that, if I could, I would want to forget for the most part. The bright spots have been the realization that my support network is strong and amazing. Without it, I'm sure I would have thrown in the towel long ago. Instead, I'm trudging along, holding onto hope. This network has been something I cherish and know first hand how hard it is to build. But in a way, I'm lucky. Because now I know who to turn to when my world comes crashing down. I know beter how to communicate with Grey so that instead of being a burden, I can also be a source of support when we get unhappy news.

In a weird way, I'm lucky.

Brief update: bloodwork revealed that I have not ovulated, so we are officially on hold until AF shows up. I'm thinking it will be in the next couple of weeks as my eye has a nice patch of eczema around it at the moment. But I don't have a crystal ball and, frankly, it's out of my hands.

Did she really exist?

2012-02-04T12:19:00.000-08:00

The bills have started to arrive from late December/early January. Marked "laboratory" and "surgery," we've begun fielding the costs for the betas and the D&C. For the most part, the only emotion that I've been feeling when I see these is frustration: frustration that we are being billed for things we've already paid for and frustration with insurance for giving me the run around (hopefully all of this will be solved soon). But one bit of information threw me yesterday, giving me pause. We received a letter from Dr. Optimism with the cytogenetics results.

During our appointment a couple of weeks ago, Dr. Optimism walked us through the meaning for the potential results of the cytogenetics from the D&C. Armed with the pathology report, which concluded I was pregnant, she noted that the amount of fetal tissue was very small. So there were 3 possibilities: one was that the karyotype would show aneuploidy, indicating why everything stopped growing, another was that the karyotype would be normal 46XY, indicating the embryo was male. The final was that the karyotype would be 46XX. This would be very hard to interrupt, as they wouldn't be able to tell whether it was the embryo's karyotype or mine. All they could definitely say is that there was no translocations.

Guess what the results were.

Reading the letter brought on a wave of emotions that I thought I had resolved. It's caused me to question whether this pregnancy even existed. In addition, there came sorrow over the possibility, though slight, that this embryo was indeed a girl. A little girl. And I failed her.

I hate yo-yoing between being okay and not. I hate that the reminders that time as so negative and sterile. I want to be able to move on, to move forward with love. And I want to stop questioning whether I actually was pregnant every single day. Because being in a state wondering if she did exist doesn't help.

I get by with a little help from my friends

2012-02-02T21:51:00.000-08:00

First off, for anyone who follows Jay's blog (The Two Week Wait), please stop by and send her some love.

As mentioned in my previous post, I've decided that to make the most of this down-time prior to FET and made a list of things to do. So far, the jogging hasn't happened due to a very busy week with my students, nor have I started meditating. What I have been good at though is relaxing. Last night was spent sitting on the couch with Grey and flipping through cookbooks for recipes to try over the weekend. Tonight was an impromptu stop at a local restaurant for good food and some wine. Tomorrow I have a date with the tub and I nice bottle of Claret.

What really started all of this was a phone call from a good friend, K. Though not living with infertility, K has been a constant source of support on this TTC journey. Following being diagnosed, while others pulled away, she made a point of contacting me, listening when I needed a shoulder to cry on and cheering us on through many rounds of treatment. So when I told her about my "change" list of FET, she immediately offered to help: this Saturday we are hitting the spa for some girl time. Her reasoning behind this decision is based on two things: 1) we've both earned it and 2) some things are best left to professionals.

I've been reflecting on friendships lost and made since our diagnosis with infertility. I'd be lying if I said that every relationship has remained intact while I've been on this path. But I'd also be lying if I didn't admit the role infertility has played in strengthening many of my relationships. As much of a curse being on this road has been (physically, emotionally and psychological), there has been the blessing that all fair-weather friends, toxic friends, friends with ulterior motives and "frenemies" have vanished from my life. I no longer have time or energy to be supportive of those who view me as someone to compete with, emotionally drain or simply hang around when everything is okay. What's been replaced in those voids have been women and men who have offered unlimited kindness, unfaltering support and love. Some of these people have been part of our lives for years and our bond has only strengthen because of this journey. Others have come from unexpected sources: work, online and even through random chance. This has been the most unexpected and wonderful part of this journey.

This past month tested some of these relationships to their very core. And though it was quiet for a few days following the D&C, I knew in my heart it was not because no one cared but because they were respecting my space and giving me time to grieve. As I've been coming out of that dark period, I've begun to get back into contact with people, letting them know that though wounded, I'm still not broken. The response has been amazing, with messages of support and love when it would be all too easy to say "hey, that's great, but you know you're kinda bringing me down." Sure, there have been moments that haven't been perfect, but the fact so many have reached out to me in my time of need leaves me in awe.

So, to each and every single one of you who have followed me these past couple of months, cheering me on during the good moments and offering words of support and love during the bad ones, I want to say thank you. This journey isn't over, but I know I have the strength to move on because of all of you.

******
Quick update on the FET cycle: blood draw tomorrow morning to determine whether or not I've ovulated. I've already been warned that due to the D&C, there's a good chance that this cycle is anovulatory, meaning that I wouldn't be able to start meds till have AF arrives. So tomorrow I'll either have the green light or we'll be back on hold.

Getting back on the roller coaster

2012-01-31T18:16:00.000-08:00

The main focus for the past couple of weeks have been healing and getting back into work. Work has been wonderful for the healing process, as I've been able to focus on my students and my lesson plans. Still, in the back of my mind, I've been thinking about the pending FET. Thinking about when this will happen, what it will take to prepare and trying not to worry about the outcome. Because of work I haven't had a lot of time to think about this. Until today.

This morning, I received a phone call from the nurse that handles the IVF schedule for my clinic. I've said it before, but I'll say it again, I been very fortunate to find this clinic because of how outstanding the doctors, nurses and staff are. So, without surprise, the conversation with E went quickly, was to the point and very informative. Basically it comes down to this: I'm on the calendar for a FET in the middle of March. Seems so very far away, but in reality it isn't and there's a lot to do.

1) I need to go in for a blood draw on Friday to check my progesterone levels. They want to see where I'm at in my cycle.
2) If I'm in the luteal phase, then I start Lupron on Sunday. You read that right, THIS SUNDAY!
3) Grey and I are being sent consent forms. We need to sign both of these and have them notarized in order to proceed with the cycle.
4) At the end of Feb, I go in for another mock transfer as well as a SIS (saline infused sonogram). Basically, because of the D&C, they want to check that my uterus is healing properly and then they need to repeat the measurements for the transfer. Considering all the posts I've read about transfers-gone-wrong, I'm more than happy to chug a couple gallons of water in order to go through the procedure again.
5) If everything checks out, my first ultrasound will be at the end of February.

The nice thing about all of this is that I won't have as many appointments nor are they worried about pushing my ovaries. Plus the drug regiment is lighter, resembling what I was on after retrieval through to the D&C. Simpler and calmer.

Yet, after getting off the phone with E, I immediately felt the familiar wave of anxiety begin to rise. And immediately all I could feel was a sense of dread knowing that I would once again be allowing my life to be dictated by injections and pills. The madness of it all.

I've spent most of the day in a cloud because of this. Yes, I want to be a mother more than anything, but I also don't want to go through this limbo again; it's hard and exhausting. So as I made my way through the day, I slowly came to the realization that if I was going to survive around round of this roller coaster ride, I needed a few things to change.

1) I will schedule some time for myself to meditate and relax each week. Getting back into meditation on a daily basis will be essential for staying sane on a daily basis, but I also think I've earned that weekly bubble bath.

2) I will start jogging again. I was actually pretty good at this last semester, but fell out of practice because I was so bloated from the stims. Not an issue this time, so no more excuses.

3) I will make a point to do non-fertility related activities. This one I've already started doing with the help of colleagues. I actually had a chance to hang out at the faculty club with other co-workers last week. I was a lot of fun and very needed. Clearly that needs to happen more often.

4) Dinner parties need to start happening again. I figure bribing friends with the promise of good food and wine is a good place to start.

5) I will make peace with this situation. This one is by far the hardest because this is kinda it. If this cycle fails, then things need to change. As I've said in previous posts, I don't have it in me to keep doing treatment for many years. I'm too impatient. So, while all of this is happening, I will take some of Grey's coworkers up on their offer of coffee to begin exploring adoption. This doesn't mean that I will forever close the door on treatment (hell, something may come up that suggests success from another round), and I reserve the right to back out of this previous statement that this is the end. But I'm also not strong enough to spend another Christmas doing the same thing over and over again.

So ladies, as of next Sunday, I'm officially back on the coaster, riding through those crazy loops and hoping that at the end there will be good news and joy. G_d help us all.

Of sore boobs, hummingbirds and First Aid Kits

2012-01-29T13:50:00.000-08:00

I've gotta ask: has anyone had sore boobs after a miscarriage? I've been experiencing shooting pain through both breasts the past couple of days. Completely new experience for me. And before anyone gets overly excited, I'm fairly certain this is not a pregnancy symptom.

In other news, I have a pair of Anna's hummingbirds who have decided to stay the winter with us. I never saw hummers as a child, so I've been completely fascinated by them and am learning so much (had NO idea these guys could perche and chirp). Anyway, I'm currently at the mercy of these two nuggets as I'm trying to make sure that they are well feed. And are they particular! I made the mistake of not replacing their food for a couple of days and also letting it freeze. Boy did they let me have it! For the record, Grey thinks it's both funny and sad for me to be apologizing profusely to something that weighs less than a pound. Can't help it, though. Anyway, does anyone know anything about hummingbird shelters/ houses? I know they make nests, but I don't know if they're for long-term shelter.

Finally, I was listening to NPR and KEXP the other day on the way to work and found a new band called First Aid Kit. As it's rainy and cold here in Western Washington State, this music has been warming my heart.

Happy Sunday, everyone! May this next week be a good one.

Lapped

2012-01-28T19:43:00.000-08:00

I remember the beginning of this TTC journey all too well. Grey and I were optimistic, so certain that it wouldn't be long before I was pregnant. As time went on and we didn't get pregnant, I watched as women who had been trying for about as long as us or less became pregnant, one after another. I did my best to be supportive and congratulatory, but as time went on, those announcements became harder and harder. The worst part was the loss of connections and support, as these women moved on to have successful pregnancy and give birth to healthy babies. It's like there are two camps that exist in the world: those who are mothers and those who are infertile. Rarely do the two camps talk: partly because hearing complaints about raising a new baby has been difficult for someone struggling just to become pregnant. But I suspect the other problem is that fertiles too often put their foots in their mouths around infertiles. For instance Grey has co-workers who, until recently, have thought nothing about complaining bitterly about their lot as parents. What changed was him telling them of our journey and, most recently, our miscarriage. For now, they are quiet.

Over the years, I've become hardened to this situation, chalking it up to a part of this journey and learning many techniques for dealing with surprise pregnancy announcements. In addition, I've been fortunate to find this community and people in real life who have been supportive of us while we've been in treatment.

Recently though, a new wrinkle has been throw into the mix. It started with a card from someone I knew in high school. This individual is nice, but clueless at best and keen on announcing his life achievements to all the world. I also don't hear from him unless he wants to gloat. So when I got the card that was of the exact size of a birth announcement in the middle of my IVF cycle, I made the decision to mark "Return to Sender." My most mature moment, probably not. But I was dealing with a lot of emotions at that point and didn't need the added stress. Two days before my first beta, I get an email.

Hey Cristy,

Sent you an announcement about the birth of my daughter, but it got sent back to me. Then I tried calling you and it said the number was no longer in service. Then I tried Facebook to tell you the news, but I couldn't find you. So I figured I would try this. . . . . Hope you're alive.

*Sigh*

Anyway, this message was the beginning of a surge of pregnancy announcements for those on their second and even third child. Where as previously I was able to swallow my pain and wish them a brief congratulations, I find I'm struggling to even do that, particularly in the "oops" cases. With each of these announces came the additional sting that not only am I infertile, but I'm being left in the dust by people who have no trouble conceiving. While they're complaining about balancing pregnancy with child-rearing, I'm left with a mourning this miscarriage. I'm happy for these people, I really am. I just wish they weren't so smug about it.

The problem comes with the fact that though I don't like being so distant, I no longer feel guilty about having these feelings. Granted, I recognize that no one is plotting to make me feel bad by procreating as quickly as possible. But I also no longer feel the need to congratulate who conceives without a thought every time they announce they are knocked up.

All of this is complicated by the fact that I don't have the same animosity toward pregnant infertiles or infertiles who have resolved their infertility. And I think a large part of that has to do with these women not only getting it, but also being willing to support those of us still in the trenches. Granted, this isn't universally true, as I know perfectly fertile women who have been awesome about being supportive and, likewise, infertile women who have become insensitive as soon as they achieve pregnancy. But it's like the rest of the fertile world has become separate from our existence. We may pass one another on the street, but neither of us has anything we can really say to one another. And, it's really too bad. Because with a little bit of compassion vs. silence and looks of pity, words of support instead of one-liners like "just relax," I think we'd all feel better about the situation.

My whole point with this rant: being lapped sucks. And it hurts all the more right now as I realize that today, if I was still pregnant, I would be 8 weeks along. Instead I sit here with an empty uterus and memories of 4 days when after 2 years on this journey I actually had what comes so easily to others. Pardon me if I don't jump up and down when I'm blind-sided by a round-two (or three) pregnancy announcement.

End rant

Rubbish

2012-01-26T12:14:00.000-08:00

Last night few nights, I've been having nightmares. My personal favorite was one from a couple of night ago: I was working with a group, trying to protect our home. We were overwhelmed, surrounded by a force that would take away our home. We were desperate, so I began searching for answers. On one end was the uncertain solution of fighting. But there was a myth of summoning a mystical guardian who would wipe out our enemy and protect us. There was a price for pursing this route: I had to pick-up, pet and then move to another chamber a spider. A big hairy spider. Somehow, beside every warning going off in my body, I did this. Because I needed to protect our home, our family. The reward was that the guardian did appear. To our horror, though, it was not what it seemed, And I was left with a spider that was threatening to harm me. What I had subjected myself in hopes of protecting my family was ultimately our undoing.

I'm not big on dreams having exact meanings, but I do believe that our dreams reflect what our subconscious is processing. So, after calming myself down due to encounters with phantom spiders, I began to reflect and came to a conclusion for what is triggering this series of nightmares: I'm scared of having another miscarriage. I'm scared that my body will kill another potential child. That all of this will be for nothing.

Logically, I know that the loss of this pregnancy in January was nothing I could have prevented. I did everything the doctors told me. Yet, I've struggled with the idea that all of this has been due to chance. That maybe there's something going on that we've missed.

The past couple of weeks, I've been searching for answers for my infertility. I've scoured through the PubMed hoping to find some reputable source on connections between unexplained infertility and immunology. Nothing (or at least nothing trustworthy). I've turned to Dr. Go.ogle in hopes of finding something that would help guide my search. More rubbish. All of this lead to a long fight with Grey, one of the rougher ones we've had since we've started treatment. His concerns was that I was allowing myself to believe the quackery; not assessing clearly the rubbish that litters the internet and preys on those who are desperate for answers. And, most importantly, that in an attempt for answers, I would inadvertently harm myself.

Last Saturday, we sat down and had it out. Grey pulled many articles from some of the top IVF centers around the US looking for answers and they all said the same thing: try again. Because right now, we don't fall into the RPL spectrum. There's no indication to even begin thinking about that route. In addition, there's data to suggest that IVF success rates are higher the second or third time around.

So, armed with all this information as well as the information I had been finding online, Grey and I met with Dr. Optimism on Monday. The appointment was pretty straight-forward: she checked to see how I was recovering, we went over the pathology report from the MVA (confirmed pregnancy tissue was found in my uterus), gave me an ETA for the cytogenetics and described what information we would likely be getting back/ what they would be looking for (balanced translocations are the main concern) gave me paperwork for a final beta (found out yesterday that HCG level = 6, so I'm officially no longer pregnant) and then talked about scheduling the FET. Finally, I brought what I had been finding about unexplained infertility and the suggested connection with immunological issues.

I love Dr. Optimism for many reasons: her ability to explain completed issues, her cheerful bed-side manner, her connection with each of her patients, etc. But one of the things I value the most is her ability to talk candidly about any issue, no matter how strange the topic. Basically her explanation came to this: through RPL, there is data for a connection between APL and clotting issues that is accepted by the American Society for Reproductive Medicine. But there is no data suggesting such a connection for unexplained infertility. We talked quickly about Factor V Leiden, my family's history with type I diabetes and my eczema and she did acknowledge that if this FET didn't work we would have the possibility of exploring these possibilities. But for now, there was no medical indication. Unfortunately, unexplained is still unexplained. But that doesn't mean that they won't provide the best care possible.

At the moment, I'm satisfied. A lot of this has to do with the fact that I do trust my doctors and because of what Grey and I have (and have not) been able to find. I realize that what I'm saying isn't going to be popular with everyone, but I also know that for me, until we have more data, we need to proceed with what we know.

Snow days

2012-01-19T12:51:00.000-08:00

Well, as I'm sure most of you know, Seattle is in the middle of a snow storm. The drop in temperatures and the accumulation in precipitation has resulted in the city being shut-down, except for essential services. We're currently lucky to have power (no overly large trees in my neighborhood to interfere with power lines), but not everyone is. It's all suppose to start melting by tomorrow.

Probably the thing about this storm that has gotten the biggest amount of attention is Seattle drivers. I've seen my share of videos, with cars sliding around and into one another. Looking out my window, I can see the result of some of those encounters. Don't get me wrong, I've done my fair share of head shaking, but I do need to point out one thing that is generally overlooked when people are watching all of this: Seattle has some steep hills. Steep enough to sled down when you get a few inches of snow. It's bad enough that even a seasoned winter driver as myself knows to stay away from the hills and to walk vs. drive. Where I start shaking my head is after watching people who attempt these hills and, without fail, lose.

Anyway, I digress.

Because of the weather, the past two days I've been home. This normally wouldn't be something that I would be frustrated by, but considering I was out sick on Monday and barely functioning on Tuesday, I'm really to be back in the world. Or at the very least, not stuck inside. The reason I was out sick? Well, Sunday night the cramps started to intensify. By Monday morning I had full-blown menstrual cramps, ones that I haven't had since before I went on birth control at age 20. And with the cramps came bleeding.

Monday was spent trying to figure out how to manage the pain and bleeding. The bleeding wasn't overly heavy, but it wasn't spotting either, which initially had me a little bit worried. After all, I thought they had removed everything during the D&C, so I wasn't expecting anything like a normal menstruation. The cramps were a new challenge: Advil helped, but the heat pad actually made them worse. It took me a couple of hours to finally figure that one out, during which time they came in intense waves. I broke down after hour two and called the REs for advice. Despite the weather, Dr. Practical called me back immediately and calmed me down. Based on what I was experiencing, she wasn't too worried, but she recommended no heat pad, more Advil and to call her back if things didn't change so they could start pain management. This left the heat pad for Jaxson, who spent the next couple of hours after that laying completely prone on it. At least someone was happy.

By Wednesday, all the cramps were gone. And outside of some spotting, I'm back to my pre-IVF state. It's almost like November-early January was a dream. A long dream filled with so many emotions and a sad ending. Usually with those, I'm happy to wake up and tell myself that I'll never have to live through something like that. But in this case, me feeling better has had me beginning to worry about the FET that is looming. What that experience will hold.

To be honest, I'm a bit terrified of this next step. Not because of the physical discomfort from the medications and the procedures, but because I don't want to have another failure. I know logically that we do need to proceed, as staying in a state of doing nothing is ultimately worse. But losing another pregnancy is not something I want to go through and I'm terrified of the thought of doing a FET only to be back in the stirrups for another D&C.

Because of all of this, I've been doing more reading into reproductive immunology. This is a topic that is still quite controversial, with people falling into two camps: it's relevant or it's not. Because of this, finding articles from reputable journals has been hard. I'm not going to lie, there's some junk out there. There are people who write things that make little to no sense to me, covering up their hogwash with jargon in hopes of convincing everyone that the reason they don't understand is because they're not as smart. If I've learned one thing during my time in science, it's that these people are liminal and not to be trusted. But, there are some good articles: doctors and scientists who are interested in educating the public about this area and are trying to help.

Where I'm going with all of this is that I'm thinking about talking with my REs next Monday about the possibility of autoimmune disease. My family now has a history of type I diabetes and for the past year, right before I start menstruating, I've developed eczema on my eyes. That and the fact that we now know that Grey and I can make embryos, but there seems to be a problem with implantation suggests that it's worthwhile asking. And, to date, my REs have been very good about talking with me candidly. Yes, there's a risk of them blowing me off, but considering they haven't done so to date, I find it unlikely.

Today, though, all I intend on focusing on getting Grey outside, making some snow angels and finding some hot chocolate. I'm leaving you with a photo of two very happy kitties and a song that makes me want to dance.

Nice and warm in their condo

Signs

2012-01-16T12:07:00.000-08:00

This past weekend, Grey and I journeyed to our sanctuary. The journey was not without complications, as we encountered a snow storm while making our way down the coast. At one point, the storm was so bad that we almost didn't make it. At that moment, we looked at one another, remembering similar moments during our journey through infertility and decided to chance the road for a few more minutes. Through luck and cautious driving, we made it to our destination.

Sunday morning, I awoke to familiar panges from menstrual-like cramping. As I cursed my body while hunting for the Advil, I turned over and looked out onto the ocean.The view from our room is the same as the one above. I began to watch the waves as they rolled into the shore. As each wave crested, slamming into the shore, so did my cramps peak. Before long, I was left only with the waves. Mesmerized with the peaceful roar and they're steady pattern, becoming lost in their beauty. It was only then, as the snow began to fall, that I knew it was time to let go of my fear of the future and move to the final stages of my grieving process. Acceptance, reconstruction and hope.

Being at the ocean has always been a spiritual experience of sorts. I grew up around lakes and always found peace with being near water. But the coasts of the Pacific Northwest have an added element due to the cooler temperatures, leaving them shroud in mists a lot of the time. Though sunbathing is a rare event in the winters, I've learned that wandering through those mists can be incredibly therapeutic when all seems hopeless in the world.

This time as different from anything I have every seen before, though. The winter storm brought with it lots of precipitation in the form of snow and I saw some of the fattest snowflakes I've ever had the pleasure to behold. With the snow was an added level of silence, muting the roar of the waves so that it all seemed like a dream. Moments later, the clouds parted and suddenly a large rainbow appeared in the sky. Wide at the base and with a full arch. And with that rainbow, peace finally returned to my heart. Somehow, things are going to be okay.

Grey and I spent the trip reconnecting and regrouping. We talked candidly again about the plan, with me offering options that I never would have considered before. Finally, in a moment where I felt like I would lose myself, he held me and reminded me that we promised not to break ourselves in order to bring a child into this world. Because the reality was, if we were broken, how could we be good parents? It doesn't mean we'll be giving up, it just means that the plan is firmly in place for the next 6 months. We will try again. We will give it our all. And no matter the outcome, we will move forward together.

Today, I'm no longer frightened. I don't know what the future holds for us, but all doubts from decisions in the past are gone. Sure, there's everything that I could have done. But there's no guarantee that the outcome would have been different or for the better. I've made the best decisions I could during those times and despite how much infertility sucks, I don't know if I would have done things differently.

Healing

2012-01-14T10:27:00.000-08:00

Silence. That's what my home has been filled with. The phone hasn't rang since Wednesday and things have been quiet around here. What's been strange is that I really haven't pushed for more interaction with the world. I've preferred the silence, as it brings no reminders, no triggers. I've been living in a cocoon.

The problem is, I hate the fact I'm currently in this state. Yes, a lot of bad things have happened in the past couple of weeks; things I hope I never have to go through again. But I can't stay in this state. Life is too short and I made a promise to Grey that infertility wasn't going to break us. To wallow means the bitch wins.

There have been some good signs suggesting that I'm beginning to emerge from my cocoon. The cramping from the D&C has begun to subside and my body feels stronger. I'm dreaming again too. A good sign that my soul is finally beginning to heal. My need for sleep is decreasing and my energy level, though still low, is beginning to rise. The thing is, to continue the healing process, I need to start taking steps to promote healing. And this is a problem because a very lazy part of myself doesn't want to leave the comfort of the cocoon. It's like trying to get out of bed early on a cold winter morning: the first step of getting out from under the covers is always the hardest. Yet, I know if I don't start, the wounds will never truly heal.

Over the years, Grey and I have found that following trauma, a retreat to a safe haven has been critical for allowing the healing process to advance. During summers while we were both in graduate school, hikes into the mountains or camping was an easy solution to reconnect and feel rejuvenated following failed experiments or bad work weeks. But for more serious traumas, we've retreated to the ocean. Wandering through the mists that engulf the shore and the constant lower roar of the waves helps me find my footing and forces a sense of calm on my heart. It's spiritual in a way. Almost like being reborn.

Tonight, we will journey to our special place. The skies are threatening snow, yet we will chance the weather in an effort to advance this process. I have a few things that need to be finalized before we leave, but with luck we should be able to begin our journey before the weather turns nasty.

Unexplained

2012-01-12T08:21:00.000-08:00

Grief. It's such an ugly, though necessary, process. One can spend hours reading article after article on how best to deal with it. Yet everyone is different. Some will spend longer periods of time than others at the different steps. There's no correct way to journey through this process. But one thing I've found is that sometimes grief can trigger change; opening doors that previously were unknown.

The past couple of days, I've been searching for these doors. Searching for an explanation for why this happened. My REs were clearly as surprised by the outcome of the IVF cycle as Grey and I were and are advising us that we should try again with the embryos we have. The thing is, I'm not much of a gambler; I like hypothetical explanations for what might have gone wrong with options for how to test those possibilities.

My anxiety over trying again comes from the fact that we are "unexplained." Based on all the tests Grey and I have undergone, there is no reason why we haven't been able to achieve pregnancy. This IVF cycle didn't give us much insight either, as everything went exceptionally well. I responded well to the drugs; I ended up with 13 mature eggs. Grey's sperm was able to fertilize my eggs and we ended up with 8 beautiful embryos. I still remember the excitement in Dr. Optimism's voice when she called to tell me that we were able to freeze the remaining 6. It was all considered textbook.

So why? Why is this happening? What is it that went so terribly wrong? Because, after two long years on this road, I have a hard time believing it's just a bad roll of the dice. I'm worried we're missing something. Something important.

If you Google "Unexplained Infertility," a number of websites and articles appear. Many will scare the hell out of anyone, using terms even I haven't heard of. What I managed to put together with the help of the National Library of Medicine is that unexplained infertility falls usually into 3 categories: problems with getting sperm and egg to meet (usually due to mild endometriosis or scarred fallopian tubes), inability to fertilizer (poor egg quality, poor sperm quality, genetics) and finally implantation failure (genetics, maybe immunology). The beauty of IVF is that it over comes the first category, and one can get an immediate answer for the second. But the third one is tricky. One failed IVF attempt isn't enough to raise red flags. Usually it takes 2 or 3.

In a way, unexplained infertility is a curse. Don't get me wrong, I'm not belittling anyone who lives with male factor infertility, endometriosis, PCOS, blocked tubes, etc, as these diagnoses are life-changingly awful too. But with these diagnoses usually comes a treatment plan and an idea on how to proceed. With unexplained, from the moment you walk through the door, the doctors are clueless on how to help. Some are even arrogant enough to assume that this is all in your head and will be readily resolved. But as time goes on, the conundrum grows and you begin to question whether what's limiting you is something no human will be able to resolve.

Bu there are many hypotheses: I've read about mutations in the folate pathway, specifically focusing on a mutation for an enzyme on the biosynthetic end, and how they COULD be a cause. The big problems with these papers is that they only show correlations with a small population and their statistics havent' been overly convincing. Though I do believe these mutations exist, I have a hard time believing that a single mutation is the case of all of this. Especially this one mutation as it's easy enough to treat by supplementing with folic acid, which we're very good at doing in this country. Another hypothesis which does make a bit more sense to me is this idea that one's immune system may play a role. I need to send some more time here, but considering I don't have a family history of autoimmune disease, I don't know if this will help.

Finally, I've begun digging back into the research about the mind-body connection. There's been a lot of work that's come out showing a direct link between mental state and basic body function (hormone regulation, mood, even IVF success).

I'm scared about proceeding with this FET because I don't want to go through another miscarriage; another failure. I had the D&C yesterday: it was painful, but it was over quickly. The hardest thing was waking up today and immediately feeling that my body was empty. It's like any residual hope was sucked out of me. I know it was the right decision, but it's not something I want to ever go again. Hence I search, hoping that I'll find something that will help guide my doctors so that I can prepare my body for the next round. So that I can reduce the risk of living through this heartache again.

The only thing that has kept me going has been the love and support I've received from so many of you. I've read every single one of your comments, and they all reminded me that I'm not on this path alone. A very special thanks to MissC for her amazing gift. You have brought so much peace to my heart. Because of all of you, I know that I will be okay and will be able to move forward. For now, I just need to build my strength.

Weird Goodbye

2012-01-09T10:22:00.000-08:00

It's confirmed: Pregnancy is not viable. We had our ultrasound today and I should be 5w5days pregnant if everything is normal. Instead we saw a very small gestational sac that measured under 4 weeks. Dr. Sage and Dr. Optimism agree on the diagnosis: blighted ovum. Medication has been stopped. I have a D&C scheduled for Wednesday.

I'm numb from all of this. Part of me wants to be angry and bitter over all of this. To scream at everyone who told me coming up to this moment that everything would be fine and that I simply needed to relax. But the other part of me is simply at peace because the roller coaster from last week is now over. Grey and I will move forward with our plan; we will try again with our other 6 embryos. And though we don't know the outcome of this plan, we do know that we will expand our family. For now, we have some closure.

The other question I'm struggling with is whether this is actually a loss. I hurt so much right now because I wanted this baby, but in truth we didn't get very far with this pregnancy. We never saw a heartbeat; an image of a fetal pole. It's more like the loss of an idea instead of the loss of something that was real. Because of this, I feel guilty for even grieving, for calling this a miscarriage. Because I know so many of you have lost your babies, experienced the pain of no longer seeing your baby's heartbeat.

So this is my weird goodbye to this baby. My tribute to my child who I will never hold in my arms. Your father and I loved you and will always love you. We both wish today would have been different, that a miracle would have happened. Instead, all I can say is I'm so sorry I couldn't protect you and help you grow. That I couldn't bring you into this world. You will always be in our hearts.

Hope?

2012-01-07T11:09:00.000-08:00

Beta history (i.e. "the rollercoaster)

28 December 2011: Beta #1 = 66
30 December 2011: Beta #2 = 124
1 January 2012: Beta #3 = 91 (diagnosis: chemical pregnancy)
3 January 2012: Beta #4 = 119
5 January 2012: Beta #5 = 300
7 January 2012: Beta #6 = 887

I have an ultrasound and beta #7 scheduled for Monday morning.

Crawling back into my cave now.

Limbo

2012-01-05T20:00:00.000-08:00

Short post today. My mind is racing and putting together coherent thoughts has been very difficult.

Here's why: apparently I'm still "pregnant."

On Sunday, Grey and I received the news that my HCG levels were down from 124 to 91. Dr. Practical suggested that it was a chemical pregnancy and that I should stop the meds. I pushed for one more beta to verify this (I'm a biologist and I like to see trends). Tuesday morning ultrasound showed some blood in my uterus. Dr. Sage was pretty convinced that I would start bleeding that day and that we would be reassessing in two weeks.

Then I got the phone call that evening. It's never a good sign when your RE starts the conversation with "there are days when this job really isn't easy." Take home message: HCG levels were back up to 119. Another beta scheduled for Thursday. I'm ordered to stay on medications. Mourning has been put on hold.

I'm pretty sure that everyone believed that I would be bleeding by now and that the next beta would level off or drop. Imagine all the new confusion when, today, we learned that my HCG levels are at 300.

Let me be clear: no one is celebrating at this point. There's a lot of doom and gloom, with my medical professionals preparing me for the worst. There's the very real possibility that me being "pregnant" means the only thing that is growing is placenta (blight ovum). So I may have to have a D&C (tentatively scheduled for Monday). Then there's the all so fun possibility of an ectopic.

But the other possibility is that I only lost one embryo. That the other one implanted late and is now growing. This is something that is talked about after the fact, because it's rare. Add to the fact that Grey and I have learned that HCG isn't really a great indicator for how the pregnancy is progressing (think PSA tests for prostate cancer), but it's the only early marker we currently have, and that adds a whole new level to the anxiety mix.

I want an answer. "No" hurts, but at least I get to grieve and have some closure. Limbo is it's own special hell and Grey and I are beginning to wonder what we did in out past lives to deserve this.

Beta #6 is on Saturday.

Picking up the pieces

2012-01-03T10:58:00.000-08:00

The last couple of days have been hard ones. Harder than I every imagined. I've cried a lot, both in private, with friends and with Grey. I've watched him cry too, which broke my heart all over again. I've bargained with the universe, had moments of sadness and anger. But mainly I've been kicking myself for allowing myself to finally feel some peace follow the first couple of betas. Though short, those few days where everything was progressing allowed me to feel that we might actually be able to move forward for the next few months. How foolish of me.

Today I went in for my final blood draw. When I called the clinic to find out where I could pick up my lab slip, I learned that Dr. Sage wanted to see me after my blood draw. I barely held it together in the waiting room, dreading seeing all of them again. But I'm glad we saw him. Dr. Sage examined me and confirmed that, though the pregnancy didn't last, there were good signs that this cycle had been successful. He told me that he thought it was simply a bad roll of the dice and encouraged us to take a month off and then to proceed with a FET. I have an appointment in 2 weeks with Dr. Optimism to check on my progress of recovering and to talk about the future. In the meantime, I've been ordered to rest, allow menstruation to start and to take care of myself. Both Grey and I received many hugs and condolences as we were leaving, reaffirming how lucky we are to have found this clinic.

The question, now, is how long do we stay on this path. The answer is different for everyone; some stop at IUI and immediately move on, others will continue with treatment for many years. There's no "correct" choice and I would never be naive enough to suggest someone take a particular path. Yet it's something, if you've been on this road long enough, that you'll start thinking about.

Last night, something shifted. A good friend took me out for some tea and we spent 2 1/2 hours of me talking/crying and her listening, followed by 30 minutes of her offering words of support and comfort. During our "conversation" it became clear that I needed to begin the process of resolving my infertility. I've been on this journey for too long and I only have a short amount of patience left for treatment. That's when our conversation turned to adoption.

A bit of background on Grey and I regarding this issue: we come from families with two very different view points on this issue. Grey's family is rich from adoption; his maternal grandmother was adopted, one of his cousins and even his eldest nephew. He's always viewed this process as a beautiful thing, as without it he would not have the family he has today. My family views adoption as a great option . . . for everyone else. Like many others in this country, adoption is very misunderstood and is seen as something only "broken" people pursue. And adopted parents are seen as substitutes for the child's "real" mother and father. Granted, this is never spoken outright. Hell, they'll even deny it! But this summer, this view-point became glaringly clear after my mother and aunt conspired to have me adopt my cousin's son after the state threatened to remove him from my cousin's custody. My mother's response to my reasoning why this wasn't a good option of "no child you adopt will ever truly be yours" still echoes in my head.

My view on adoption began to change when I first meet Grey's nephew. Though physically different from the rest of the family, this child was clear one of them. And it was infectious, as they demonstrated to me that love was not a conditional thing. When Grey and I were starting off our marriage, adoption was something we talked about, something to consider after we started our family. It wasn't until last year that I was faced with really analyzing this option that it became apparent it was something I really wanted to do. As I talked with members of my support group about resolving, I realized that no matter if pregnancy was or wasn't an option, adoption would be the path we would take.

Now I know that the road to adoption is a hard one. The process is filled with many different options (domestic vs. international, closed vs. open, infants vs. small children) and I'm more than aware of all the stories of heartache from adoptions that have fallen through, delays and even stress from the process. In addition, there are many things that need to be considered within the next few months, if this is going to happen, and none of it can be decided overnight. But I also see the stories of those who have come out on the other side and see how much they love their children. The joy that is there in those families. And I want that.

So, here's our plan for 2012: We're giving ourselves 6 months. We'll proceed with the FET and hold onto hope for pregnancy. But in 6 months, if our situation hasn't changed, we begin the adoption process. I've already looked into local agencies such as AMARA and Holt, but plan on spending time that I normally would worrying about a cycle on researching our options.

Tonight, we are saying goodbye to our two embabies. We will tell them, though they were with us for such a short period of time, how much we love them and miss them. Tomorrow, we'll begin picking up the pieces and moving forward.

It's over

2012-01-01T15:24:00.000-08:00

Beta #3 = 91.

Dr. Practical has agreed to do one more beta on Tuesday, but she's fairly confident that based on this trend, we had a chemical. I'll stay on meds till Tuesday and if the results indicate trending downward, will stop all medication.

Both Grey and I are in shock and denial. Heartbreak will follow soon.

Reflections

2011-12-31T13:15:00.000-08:00

Over the last couple of days, I've been reading post after post reflecting on 2011. Some have been filled with anger, others have been hopeful for the future and some have been somewhere in between, talking about happy times as well as frustrations with this journey. But there is a common theme of wondering what 2012 will hold.

The last three years have been miserable for Grey and me. 2009 was when we both were diagnosed with mono, I had a close call with death while rock climbing, all my experiments failed and I wondered if I would actually make it out of graduate school. It was also the year that the baby bug hit and though I got to meet my niece and nephew and spend some wonderful days with BIL and his wife, I was filled with jealousy as I knew Grey wasn't ready. All that changed at the end of our trip to Washington DC to help the new family, so though 2009 was rough, it ended with a note of hope.

2010 started off terribly. As we were toasting in the new year, I watch a golden retriever, who's owner's were stupid enough to leave him outside during the firework display, escape from his yard and ran down a major arterial. He was almost hit multiple times by on-coming traffic and though we tried to help, he was off into the night before we could get to street level. It was an omen for things to come. Months passed with more and more friends, coworkers and my 19 yrs old, unemployed cousin becoming pregnant while we were trying. We ended the year with me having a mental breakdown and beginning to look for support. 2010 was the year that I joined a forum of women who were trying to go through TTC calmly and since some of those women have become some my biggest sources of support and strength. It was also the year a prominent committee member announced that I had completed all the requirements for my PhD, but need to focus now on my paper and the next step. After 5 1/2 years, the end of graduate school was in sight.

2011 has been bittersweet. Grey and I were diagnosed formally with "unexplained infertility" at the beginning of February and treatment was immediately put on hold so that I could focus on finishing my degree. That's still a decision I regret. In addition, my grandfather, who I was very close to, passed away. A day before I was to fly back to the midwest for the funeral, my sister called to announce that she was pregnant. I did find a support group that focused on teaching meditation and relaxation techniques in order to improve fertility and cope with the process (if you haven't read Ali Domar's "Conquering Infertility," I highly recommend it), but I found that the group wasn't a source of support when we were released for our group leader's guidance. 2011 is also the year we began treatment, with three back-to-back IUIs that failed. That was a turning point for Grey, as he really did believe that simple intervention was all it would take. Despite this pain, 2011 was the year I began to find my voice regarding infertility. We began telling people our story and seeking support from family and friends. Some failed miserable (my family in particular) and had to be excised from our life so that would could survive. Others surprised us and have become our rocks. Probably most surprising was finding support from unexpected places: from people in the blogger sphere (Jay, I'm thinking of you), from those in online forums (Keisha, Shelley, Gina, Libby, Jacqueline, Nicole, Leslie and Marisa) to those in real life who I never expected. With this new reality has come death, but there's also been birth. Through all of this and quite a bit of encouragement, I finally bit the bullet and started this blog. Just in time for IVF. It's by far the best decision I've ever made as I've been blessed to find all of you.

I have no idea what 2012 holds for me. I'm scared to think that far ahead. My second beta was yesterday = 124. Not exactly double the first beta = 66; but Dr. Practical is happy with the number. Tomorrow is beta #3. The thing is, I'm no longer naive; I know all too well that all of this could be over tomorrow. And outside of being a bit more tried and hungry, I have no symptoms. But I also know that stressing about it isn't going to change things for the better. And I've learned that I really do need to give up this thought that I can, otherwise I will drive myself to madness.

So, 2012, bring it. I know there will be moments of sorrow (there always are), but I also know that I'm stronger because of this path I've been on. There is nothing you can throw at me that I can't handle because I won't be alone. And I'm determined that there will be moments of joy; moments that I can look back on and treasure for the years to come.

Let's get this show on the road!

2011-12-31T11:54:00.000-08:00

I have vacation brain. I should be preparing for the upcoming semester, clean the house and reflecting on 2011, but instead I've found dreaming while curled up under the covers to be a formidable temptation. So, again, I apologize for my laziness and not getting this out sooner.

Here's the list for the sock exchange I have to date:

1) Kelley @ Ready For My Miracle
2) Her Royal Fabulousness @ Waiting for Little Feet
3) JustHeather @ BattleFish
4) Our Life in Cycles @ Living Our Life in Cycles
5) Still Hoping @ Hope Delayed
6) Chanel @ Just Waiting for My Turn . . .
7) Kayla @ Life is Simple, It's Just Not Easy
8) Toni @ Who is this "Fertile Myrtle"?
9) Belle @ Scrambled Eggs

The exchange will continue to be open to anyone who wants to participate (just shoot me an email), but it's time to get this show on the road.

For transparency, this is how I've assigned "sock exchange buddies." I used a random list generator found here to randomize the names and then paired people off based on names that were next to one another. Once you know who your buddy is, contact them to exchange shoe size as well as contact information. Again, socks do NOT need to be handmade, but I know all of you have a creative streak, so pick out something special. Let me know if you don't hear from your buddy within the next few days.

So, without further ado, here's the exchange list:

Kayla and Her Royal Fabulousness

Still Hoping and JustHeather

Our Life in Cycles and Belle

Chanel and Kelley

Cristy and Toni

Good luck!

Fertility socks, part deux

2011-12-29T12:06:00.000-08:00

A few posts back, I proposed a fertility sock exchange. The whole point being that it would be a way to support one another while we're on this journey. I haven't forgotten about it, I've just been distracted.

Anyway, this is the current list:

-Kelley
-Rebecca @ Life of an Army Wife
-JustHeather @ BattleFish
-Our Life in Cycles @ Living Our Life in Cycles
-Hope Delayed
-Chanel @ Just Waiting for My Turn . . .

If you're not on the list and want to be, please let me know in the comments section. Similarly, if you're on the list and don't want to be, let me know too.

I'm hoping to set all of this up in the next couple of days, with instructions for how to make all of this happen.

Game changer

2011-12-28T14:11:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, I started a post talking about broken dreams and finding the need to move forward. In that post, I planned on talking about the biology behind IVF; how it's a great diagnostic tool as well as an effective treatment. How, before IVF, couples were subjected to living quietly with infertility, having no real treatment options, medically speaking. I think it will be a good post, particularly regarding the biology and the advances. But that will be for another time.

Yesterday, after posting about my anxiety disorder about HPTs, I went upstairs to shower and change out the Crinone. It was then that I found blood. Not a lot (none of it made it to the panty liner I was wearing), but enough that all I could think was "it's over." Grey found me in the shower, sobbing like a baby. Immediately, he took control of the situation, ordered me dress, out the door and into the car. His mission was to get me out of the house and to find sunshine, somewhere in the state of WA. So off we went, over the mountain pass.

We didn't find sunshine. But what we did find was snowfall. And during the drive, Grey calmed me down, reminding me that a little bit of blood is normal. And that he wasn't ready to throw in the towel. Because no matter what, we were going to expand our family. Our children exist, it's just a matter of time.

I hadn't seen snow in over a year. Standing outside as those big flakes landed on my face helped me remember happier times. And as I calmed down and began to listen to my body, I realized that even though I had zero pregnancy symptoms, I wasn't ready to quit.

This morning, Grey woke me up and told me it was time. Shaking and crying, I did my first HPT in over 6 months while my darling partner held my hand. And that's when, for the first time in over 2 years of this madness, we saw the second line.

The RE on duty called me 20 minutes ago about the results from the blood test: Beta #1 = 66. Not as high as I thought it would be, but higher than I ever expected. Second beta is on Friday.

Today, I find myself in unfamiliar territory. By no means are we out of the woods yet, but today we are further along in this process than I ever allowed myself to imagine we would be. But I'm also sad too. I'm sad because I want all of you to have this too (outside of the hysterics . . . that I'll keep). I want to be able to wave my magic wand and to give all of us a baby, right now. Because all of you will be mothers, and awesome ones to boot.

Grey and I are off to go spin the prayer wheels.

POAS PTSD

2011-12-27T09:11:00.000-08:00

I remember the first couple of months of TTC. Like most women, I was fairly confident that I would be pregnant within a couple of months of trying. After all, infertility was unheard of in the women in my family. As time wore on, though, I started to become wary of HPTs. The anticipation of seeing that second line or only seeing the word "pregnant," began to be replaced with a sense of dread.

Today is 8dp5dt and I have yet to POAS. Originally the plan was to take an HPT yesterday so that we would have some resolution before my birthday, but when it came time, I couldn't. The anxiety of seeing only the one line and then having to wait until Wednesday to follow up with a blood draw was just too much. As much as I want to know, the rollercoaster ride that would ensue following the event isn't something that my heart can take.

I think I'm in the minority with this issue. Over the past couple of weeks, I've read many posts about follow IFers posting HPT result after HPT result. The anxiety I feel from reading these posts has made it difficult to follow a lot of these blogs and I've felt a lot of guilt for not being able to be more supportive.

Tomorrow morning, I go in for my beta. I will also bit the bullet and POAS. There will be tears for sure. And shaking. And so much anxiety, praying, bargaining with the universe. But not today. Today I'm trying to hold on to this feeling that Grey and I have done everything we could.

'Twas The Night Before Christmas (IVF style)

2011-12-24T20:37:00.001-08:00

This isn't mine; I can't possibly take credit for this work of genius. But I love it and thought all of you might too.

'Twas the day of the transfer and out the door we went,
My hormones were raging and I felt emotionally spent.
The stockings were hung by the stirrups with care,
In hopes that a baby soon would be there.

The nurse was prepping and readying the bed,
While visions of implantation danced in my head.
Me in my paper gown, and my husband in his cap,
I was getting ready to settle down for my Valium nap.

When out in the waiting room there arose such a clatter,
My husband sprang from the OR to see what was the matter.
Down the hall he flew like a flash,
Ran into the receptionist and gave her the cash.

The florescent light beamed down from the ceiling above,
Giving the lustre of paleness to my true love.
When, what to our wondering eyes should appear,
A man in a white coat and I felt nothing but fear.

With a look in his eye that said nothing was missed,
I knew in a moment it must be my reproductive endocrinologist.
More rapid than pregnancy news, his assistants they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

“Now Betty! now, Alice! now, Sally and Sue!”
“On, Donna! On, Margaret! on, on Kelly and Drew!”
“Get the embryologist in here. Get her right away.”
“We’re ready to do this! I hope this will be your lucky day!”

As we said a prayer and everyone got ready,
The doctor pulled the catheter trigger and held it real steady.
So, up to the uterine lining it flew,
With a shot full of embryos and culture solution, too.

And then, in a twinkling, I knew I desperately needed to pee,
I said, “My bladder is about to explode, don’t you see?”
As I wiggled and squirmed and looked for my man,
I turned just in time to see him coming with a bed pan.

He was dressed in paper footies and was as handsome as ever,
I sighed in relief and immediately felt better.
I laid still for 20 minutes while he watched the clock,
Then, in someone came. “You can get up,” said the doc.

But his eyes, they were serious,
He said, “There’s something we need to discuss.”
“Lay still for three days, before you get up and go,”
“You must give those embryos time to burrow in and grow.”

So off we went as my husband wheeled me away,
Back to car and we were on our way.
I laid in the backseat and looked at the embryo picture,
And, hoped with all my might that God might hear my whisper.

I felt chubby and plump, from all the hormones,
And, then thought of tomorrow’s injections with a groan.
With a wink of my eye and a twist of my head,
I knew the two-week-wait would be something to dread.

When we arrived back home, my mom went straight to her work,
She made a great lunch, then turned with a jerk.
She said, “You just lay there to relax and rest.”
“Leave everything to me and don’t you stress.”

With two weeks to wait and Lovenox to endure,
We readied ourselves for heartache some more.
I stressed about my symptoms and missed drinking wine,
Then we prepared for the big test and we hoped for two lines.

A Case of the Mean Reds

2011-12-24T18:36:00.000-08:00

The holiday season is in full swing. Last minute gift shopping is rampant, Santa hats are everywhere, traffic is crazy, you get the picture. Grey and I are laying low this year, as we are in the middle of the two week wait. And for the past few days, we've done a fairly good job of distracting ourselves while embracing the holiday cheer.

Until today.

The day started innocently enough. I had finished all my grading and submitted it while Grey was off getting a hair cut. We went out to run a couple of errands and decided to stop by a local park to walk along the beach of Puget Sound. As I gazed out onto the water, I spoke out-loud to the embryos, promising them that if they decided to implant and hang out for the next 9 months that we would bring them back there and spend a day in the sand.

And instantly, upon saying those words, I got hit with this overwhelming feeling of dread and despair. And a singular feeling that it was all over.

Somehow, we made it off the beach before I broke down sobbing. I don't remember how we got home. All I know is that I somehow made it to the couch and cried myself to sleep.

Part of all this is due to recent bad news from other bloggers, watching them as they go from utter elation to absolute despair. The other part is this ongoing belief that there is no way this will happen based on the simple fact that I don't deserve this. That, since birth, I was destine for this misery. Logically, I know this isn't true. Yet after 2 years without a single positive result, it's hard to refute that thought.

Tonight, while families around the world gather to celebrate, I find myself on the couch shaking. My body is sore from the last month and my heart is bleeding from yet another holiday without my children. Yet, somehow, we're expected to trudge on, suck it up and put on a smile for all the world to see. And if I don't, I'm immediately reminded how "lucky" I am. I don't have cancer or some life-threatening disease. I have a warm home. I have food to eat. I should remember how blessed I am, right?

Yet, what people don't take into account is that there are far worse things in this world than death. And that life requires more than simply physical sustenance. Soul-sickness can kill too.

I'm struggling. I want to desperately to believe that there's still a chance for this cycle. And I'm so very tired of hitting this point in the 2 week wait where all I can do is cry. Just once, I'd like that happy ending; some sort of miracle.

The Weight Before the Door

2011-12-21T13:31:00.000-08:00

First off, welcome all from ICLW. Brief background on me: after 2 years of TTC, we took the plunge and proceeded with IVF. From this cycle, we ended up with 8 embryos. 6 were frozen, 2 were transferred. I'm currently in the two week wait.

In an effort to distraction myself from analyzing every twinge and pang during this wait, I've been reflecting on my own journey so far and how it has changed Grey and me. Yesterday, as I was going through some old boxes, I came upon our wedding programs. The trip down memory lane was quite a bit of fun (we had a small wedding on a lovely summer day in June 2004. Overall, it was a wonderful day). While flipping through the program, I came upon a story that we put at the end of it. This story was collected in Morocoo in 1908 by Feridah Kirby Green, who was the daughter of a British Minister. I first heard the story while taking an African Storytelling course as an undergraduate and I fell in love with it's lesson immediately.

The Weight Before the Door

There lived once a man so rich that he measured his money by the bushel, as we poverty-stricken ones measure barley or bran. One day, he fell very ill, and, feeling that his last hour had come, he called his son and gave over to him all his wealth and property. He said to him, "My son, I leave your welfare in the hands of the Almighty, and to the care of such-and-such a one, who is my friend. Listen to his words, as if they were mine. I have instructed him to find a bride for you when you are ready to marry."

Having blessed his son, the man died.

After a time, the young man desired to marry, so, according to his father's last word, he went to the his father's friend, his guardian and informed him. The Guardian said, "It is well," and he set out and found a young woman. He made all necessary preparations, and caused a suitable feast to be prepared. The morning before the carrying of the bride to the groom, the Guardian called the young man and siad to him, "Son of my friend, I have found you a bride. But before we may know that she is the one destined for you by Allah, it is necessary that you should do this. Tonight, after the bride has been brought to your house and she is seated in your room awaiting you, and before you go to her, I shall cause a heavy weight to be placed before the door of the room. You are to attempt to remove the weight. If she is the fitting wife for you, you will succeed; if you do not succeed, you will know that she is not for you and you should divorce her tomorrow without so much as seeing her face."

The young man wondered about this, but said, "It is well."

That night, the bride was brought with much pomp and rejoicing, and the bride was taken to the man's apartment and seated there in a rich robe to await him. Her eyes were closed and a veil covered her face.

The bridegroom, after tarrying a while in the mosque with young men of his acquaintance, came up to the door of the room. The door was agar, so that he could see the shrouded figure. Before the door lay the weight, of which the Guardian had spoken. The weight was round like a ball and not large.

The youth though, "I shall life it with ease and won't wait to go in to my wife." But when he tired to lift the weight, he could not move it---no, not the breadth of a finger nail. He tried with all his strength to move it by lifting and pushing and rolling it, but in vain.

He did not enter the room.

The next morning, he went to the Guardian and told him what had happened. The Guardian said, "You must divorce this woman, my son, and I shall seek another for you." This was done.

The Guardian, after he had found a second woman, caused a yet finer feast to be prepared. The bride was brought, as had happened the first time, and the bride was seated in the young man's room. When he came to enter, the weight again lay before the slightly open door. Though he saw the veiled woman, and though he tried with all his strength to remove the obstacle and go to her, he could not---no, though he struggled until dawn.

When the Guardian heard that the young man had failed once more, he signed and said, "Nor is this wife destined for you by the All-wise. Let us send her back to her father and I shall seek again."All was done as he said.

When the young man came for the third time to try to enter the bridal chamber, for the third time he saw that the way was blocked. He said, "This time, I shall remove the weight or, if I cannot do it, I shall try no more. If I do not succeed this time, I shall know that it is decreed that I should die unmarried." He bent his back and seized the ball with his two hands, and he pulled at it until he groaned with weariness, but in vain.

The young woman within heard his groans and she said to herself, "Shall I let this man who is my husband kill himself without striving to help him?" She arose, put aside her veil and her outer robe of gold and pushed herself through the half-open door. She approached the young man who was wrestling with the heavy weight and said, "Let me help, my lord."

The two placed their hands together on the ball, and pushed with all their force. The weight rolled on one side of the door, so that the entrance was free.

The young man looked on the fair face of the woman who had come to his aid and saw that she was in truth the bride destined for him. He embraced her and the two entered the room together.

The past couple of nights, Grey and I have been reflecting on the journey we've been on. The road hasn't been easy: there's been a lot of loss, a lot of pain. In truth, there were many times where it would have been a lot easier if we had simply given up. Yet I couldn't. He couldn't. Because giving up would have meant giving up on our family.

7 1/2 years ago, I stood with this man before friends and family, promising to move any stone in our path. I never dreamed that some of those stones would be the size of boulders and that there would be moments where we would be working together to climb over them as we were unable to move them. Yet I can't imagine any other person I would have wanted by my side during this.

The moral of this story is simple, though not easy: A fruitful and blessed marriage will be one in which the husband and wife (or husband and husband or wife and wife) struggle with life's problems, problems that are represent by the weight before the door.

In 7 days, we will receive results from this cycle. I pray that weight is nonexistent.

A Christmas Carol: Destigmatizing Scrooge

2011-12-20T18:10:00.000-08:00

This last Friday, Grey and I went to see a radio-show performance of "A Christmas Carol." I'm sure the story of Ebenezer Scrooge and his emotional/ethical transformation following his supernatural visits is familiar to all of you, so I won't bore you with retelling it. What I will say is that seeing the ghost of Jacob Marley as an adult isn't any less frightening than it was as a child.

While watching the performance, I found myself reflecting on Scrooge in a way I wouldn't have considered prior to infertility. Scrooge is villainized early on for being a miser and curmudgeon, leaving many to wonder why he is so cold. As Scrooge begins his journey with the spirits, we learn that he had a difficult childhood and the foundation is laid for why he is the person he is today. But this vision is brief and before long the audience is shown that Scrooge made choices too, leading him to his current state. Ultimately, Scrooge is able to make a choice to change his nature, embracing the Christmas spirit. The audience applauded this happy ending and the auditorium was filled with a sense of knowing that good can prevail as long as you chose to have it be so.

I didn't walk out of that auditorium with that sense of peace, though. Frankly, I was a bit sad. Because for the first time, I could really identify with Scrooge and it angered me that all the blame for who he was was put squarely on him while Dicken's glossed over one very important fact: hardship can break a person and someone neglected of kindness and love will become the only thing they know.

I thought about Scrooge a lot today as I walked around town. As I watched mothers pushing scrollers with their children, ooing and ahhing at window displays, I felt like an outsider. Though I'm so grateful for the gift that I currently have in my womb, the knowledge that all of it could be gone in 9 days isn't lost on me. Because of this and because of this journey, I will forever be an outsider. And as much as society would like me to go hid in the corner, I find it hard not to acknowledge that society is a major part of the problem.

Yes, Scrooge makes some very cold decisions: he threatens to dock Bob Cratchin's pay for taking Christmas off and only allows him that one day to spend with his family. He treats his only nephew poorly when invited to Christmas dinner. He stomps around and pouted when Christmas carolers come to his door. But what Dickens neglects to focus on is how society reinforces Scrooge: he's isolated during his childhood, considered an outsider by his peers. Though there are happy moments, leading us to believe that not all of his life was filled with hardship, there are moments where we are reminded that the world is a hard place. In that, Dickens fails to touch on a critical point: villains don't magically arise, they are created.

As the holidays rapidly approach, I find I work daily to confront feelings of bitterness and isolationism. This year is less hard, as I have an amazing circle of support, both online as well as off. But I've learned first hand that the world is scared of infertility: there are no easy answers/solutions to our plight and ignorance runs rambit regarding medical intervention. In short, society would prefer to villainize, casting us in the same light as Scrooge. And that's just wrong.

Tonight, I'm destigmatizing Scrooge. Instead of focusing on his miserly ways, I chose to focus on how he became the symbol of kindness and love. Because Scrooge isn't the villain of the story; he's the hero. Just as every single one of you have become my heroes. Your stories, your rants, your humour; they all inspire me to have hope. Without it, without this community I would be lost.

A happy day

2011-12-19T18:45:00.000-08:00

Sorry for the delay, but all the excitement from this morning left me pretty exhausted.

We transferred two beautiful embryos: one 5AA, that was just starting to hatch; one 4AA that wasn't far behind. I cried when I saw them. I've seen textbook images of blastocysts, but never ones quite as clear. They are beautiful.

We ended up freezing down four embryos today and they are culturing the other three for one more day to see how they develop. It looks like we may have one more.

The only hitch of today was me not having drank enough water ahead of time. I really thought that after 4 liters I would be okay; learned that isn't the case. My RE and I had a nice chat about horses and riding while we waited for my bladder to fill.

Tonight I'm meditating, relaxing and indulging in bad TV. And praying that in 9 days I get the best birthday present of my life. I'm also incredibly grateful for all your words of support. I'm so lucky to have all of your support.

Transfer Day

2011-12-19T07:55:00.000-08:00

Well, we're finally here: transfer day! I heard from my RE on Saturday that all 9 embryos are growing and dividing at a good rate, so all are in the final media. I cried like a baby outside the post office after receiving the news. I'm so grateful that we've made it this far.

I'll update you all later today, but I wanted to share a photo. This is a shrine my neighbor set up for us. One tea-light for each embryo.

Fertility socks

2011-12-17T10:42:00.000-08:00

As mentioned in a previous post, I'm a knitter. A chronic knitter. Keeping my hands busy calms me and helps me process. Knitting has been a life-saver during treatments, especially in the waiting room. Gee, the doctor isn't here yet and will be 30 mins late, no problem! I'll just work on the next 10 rows.

About a year ago, just prior to starting the whole fertility work-up, I found a website talking about Fertility Socks. The whole concept is genius: a pair of socks is sent to those going through treatments so that while they're in the stirrups they have a conversation piece as well as a reminder that they are not alone in this journey. There's one problem, though: the creator Emily is swamped with requests while donations have been low. The site has been down for a while, too.

Last February, I decided to put my knitting skills to use and I knit my first pair of socks.

I had been following the recipient's blog for a while and was my way of saying thank you as well as offering support. She told me later that she worn them to every visit and I'm happy to report that she's expecting.

A month later, I knit another pair for a lady in my mind/body group.

I wasn't as excited about these, but apparently she likes them. Her twins were born last month.

The final set was for another woman, who had just suffered a miscarriage following IVF#1.

I found out later that she worn them during FET, which resulted in a BFP.

As I've been reading your blogs, it's dawned on me (sorry, I'm a bit slow) that a number of you are starting treatments in January. As much as I would love to, there's no physical way that I can kick out socks for all of you. But I do know that what has kept me sane while in the stirrups has been a small collection of mementos from those who have been cheering me on.

So, I propose a fertility sock exchange. Socks don't need to be handmade, nor is this exchange limited to those currently undergoing treatments, so anyone who is interested can participate. All that matters is that you pick out a pair for a fellow IFer and send them to them. I have no idea on exactly how to organize this (and it someone does, please chime in), but the first bit of information is who's interested?!?! Once I get a list, we can work out the details of how to do (Mo's Chocobuddy system would be a great model . . . I just need to ask her for permission to use her idea).

The waiting is the hardest part

2011-12-16T13:21:00.000-08:00

In 1981, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers released their album "Hard Promises." If you haven't had a chance to listen to the album, I highly recommend it (the duet with Stevie Nicks is amazing!!). The most recognized song on the album is "The Waiting."

Oh baby don't it feel like heaven right now
Don't it feel like something from a dream
Yeah I've never known nothing quite like this
Don't it feel like tonight might never be again
We know better than to try and pretend
Baby no one coulda ever told me 'bout this
I said yeah yeah

Chorus
The waiting is the hardest part
Every day you see one more card
You take it on faith, you take it to the heart
The waiting is the hardest part

Well yeah I might have chased a couple women around
All it ever got me was down
Then there were those that made me feel good
But never as good as I'm feeling right now
Baby you're the only one that's ever known how
To make me wanna live like I wanna live now
I said yeah yeah

Chorus
The waiting is the hardest part
Every day you get one more yard
You take it on faith, you take it to the heart
The waiting is the hardest part

Oh don't let it kill you baby, don't let it get to you
Don't let it kill you baby, don't let it get to you
I'll be your bleedin' heart, I'll be your cryin' fool
Don't let this go too far
Don't let it get to you

Yesterday was a wonderful day. Grey and I finally received news that it is possible for our gametes to fuse and make embryos. All that came crashing down, though, when reality seeped in that fertilization was only one step of the process. That just because our two genomes were able to fuse doesn't mean we're in the clear. Now these embryos need to divide. They need to become morulas and ultimately blastulas. And through those divisions, set up to the different layers that will eventually become their bones, their hearts, their lungs. I also know that human embryos are SLOW; they need time to do this. But most importantly, I know where things can go wrong. I know first hand that all of this can halt and that within a day, the dream can be gone. And there is nothing I can do.

Monday is our scheduled transfer day. We've been told that no news = good news; that we won't hear anything about how they're doing until it's time to proceed or unless something awful happens. Grey has banned me from Pubmed for the weekend, reminding me that I can't research my way out of this. But what I can do is meditate and focus on preparing my body. I can hold them in my mind, sending them love and asking them to grow and be strong.

Quick update

2011-12-15T08:46:00.000-08:00

Two things this morning, all.

1) I you follow Rebecca over at Pink Lipgloss and Prenatals, stop by this morning and give her a hug. She had quite a scare yesterday all starting with a visit to Urgent Care. Rebecca, I've already said it, but I will say it again. Thinking of you today and sending you so much love and light.

2) RE called this morning with the fertility report:
22 follicles
18 eggs retrieved
13 eggs mature
9 fertilized
I'm so relieved because now we FINALLY know that it is possible for Grey and I to make embryos. I now have one wish: GROW!!!

Sympathizing with a small brown dog

2011-12-14T14:02:00.000-08:00

First off, thank you all for your comments and kind words! I'm so incredibly fortunate to have all this support as we go through this cycle. You all rock!

This post starts with a story about a small brown dog. Every year, my graduate program held a BBQ at the end of the academic year to celebrate the upcoming summer and to congratulate one another on surviving. It was always a great party with faculty, staff and grad students, where we could toast getting through it intact and spend an afternoon not talking shop. It also was a time for graduate student mischief, usually involving kickball (side note: I loved kickball when I was 9 years old; kickball as an adult involving alcohol usually involved blood and bruising. This crew plays for keeps). Not long after I started my program, it became an annual tradition to roast a pig. This is a day long process and the area around the pit became a favorite spot for every dog within a 5 mile radius. Most of the dogs were very obedient, taking only what was given to them. But there was one dog who was food-motivated and a bit too smart for her own good. Her name is Sara, the brown dog.

One year, Sara was making the rounds, convincing every naive soul that she haven't had her share of the pig. Near the end of the BBQ, the person in charge of the pit remarked at how quickly all the leftovers had been snatched up. No one thought anything of it. During kickball, Sara's caretaker commented that she had had a good day and was going to sleep well that night. We all lovingly patted the brown dog as the party ended and headed home. A couple of days later, I ran into Sara's caretaker, who was clearly pissed off. Turns out the brown dog had had an interesting night following the festivities. Around midnight, brown dog was twitching uncontrollably and couldn't stand. Afraid for the worst, she was rushed to the emergency vet clinic and admitted right away. After 20 minutes, the vet on duty called her caretaker to the back. She was followed by two vet techs who had tears in their eyes. Once in back, the vet put up an x-ray of Sara's abdomen and announced that she had a diagnosis. "You see, her stomach is very distended, filled with food. Her problem is that it's stuck because her colon is full, because she can't poop. And she can't poop because her bladder is full. And she can't pee because her stomach is full." At this point in time, both vet techs were laughing uncontrollably and the vet had a grin from ear-to-ear. The resolution: a $500 enema.

I thought of Sara last night when I woke up at midnight because of a sharp pain on my right side. Immediately I was freaked out that I had developed full-blown OHSS. It felt like I had a rock in my abdomen that was pressing on both my colon and my sciatic nerve, sending pain up and down my leg. Grey grabbed cold washcloth to apply to the area and as soon as he put him hand on my belly, we both felt the gas bubbles move through my GI tract. "Damn" I thought as we both came to the realization what my issue actually was. Once I managed to relief some pressure, I felt better for a couple of hours, only to be awoken again due to the same problem. It occurred to me following the third attack that I was at a point where I could empathize with brown dog. The only difference was that instead of a full stomach, I had enlarged ovaries.

This morning I went in for egg retrieval. I was warned that following I might experience some pain and discomfort. Nurse S had a good laugh the story about the brown dog and how, like her, was actually feeling better following following some induced relief.

The report so far: Started with 22 follicles. 18 eggs retrieved, 13 mature. We should know tomorrow morning about the fertilization status.

In the meantime, Grey has me on a strict diet of soup and salad. And he's threaten to have the brown dog come over to act as my nurse if I don't follow doctor's orders.

Doubts

2011-12-12T16:50:00.000-08:00

I hate being a pessimist. Nothing is attractive about all the self-loathing and the second-guessing. When I was younger, I longed to be one of those girls who's so confident that "everything will work out for the best" or "though the rain falls, the sun will peak it's head out from behind the clouds soon." Yeah, I hated those girls.

My problem: to date, this cycle has been going really well. I'm currently at CD11 and have 22 follicles. That's right, 22. Any doubt I have about their existence is continually squashed by the lower back pain, the feeling of two cue balls pressing up against my kidneys and stomach and the constant feeling of nausea. E2 level is 4728 as of this morning. We're triggering tonight for a retrieval on Wednesday morning. For all practical purposes, I should be very hopeful and optimistic. After all, the medical staff is elated. Yet instead, I'm finding myself waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Being on this path long enough results in hearing a number of IVF stories: there's the ones where everything was perfect from the beginning leading to a very happy ending. Everyone on this path wants one of those. Then there's the ones where things didn't look that great going in, but resulted in a healthy happy baby. I've done my share of cheering for those. And then there's the stories that people talk about in the third person or are not told till years later. The stories of the optimal cycle that failed.

Tonight, I'm finding myself on the edge of a cliff, getting ready to dive head-first into this next step. Though I know that there is nothing I can do to change the future, I'm absolutely terrified. I'm terrified that in the next few days everything that I knew will be changed. There's a chance that all of this will work out wonderfully and the thought of that brings tears to my eyes. And yet the eternal pessimist looms, pointing a gnarly finger at the other possibility. I really wish that I had a bat to beat her up, knocking her out of commission, if just for one night. So that for once, that sense of caution and preparation for the worst was gone. That I could for the first time in two years embrace the unknown, excepting whatever the outcome would be.

Fog

2011-12-09T21:18:00.000-08:00

One of my favorite things is to walk through the woods when they are covered with fog. There's a quiet that sets in due to the land-cloud muffling any noise and a sense of mystery. You never know what's around the corner. The problem with fog is that it can be disorienting, masking potential dangers. If it gets too thick, there is a very real danger of becoming lost.

The past few days, my head has been in the clouds. I've been finding it hard to concentrate on the simplest tasks and have become incredibly forgetful. It's gotten so bad that yesterday I had to stay home from work, concerned that driving would be disastrous. The problem with being so foggy mentally is that I don't know what's good news from bad news, what's up from down.

Today was monitoring appointment #2. Dr. Practical has been in charge of watching my follicles grow, upping my dosage of Gonal-F. Today she had a resident and senior medical student in tow. When they entered the room, all I could think of was "don't say anything dumb." Nodding and smiling was something I can do without having to seem mentally together. As I lay naked from the waist down on the table, allowing them to visualize the progress of the medication and ask questions/make observations, I found my thoughts drifting to the Muppets song 'Mahna mahna." It wasn't until about 2 minutes in to playing this over and over in my head that I realized that the room was awfully quiet. When I opened my eyes, I found Grey giving me the most amused, bewildered look. I looked over at the three medical professionals who were starring silently at me and it was then it dawned on me that I had been humming.

Good news of the whole visit: I have 19 follicles, with the leading follicles being around 12 mm. They want to see me Sunday morning for another visit, but I'm hoping that we're getting close. Bad news: I'm now one of "those" patients; the ones that become immortalized for abnormal behavior. So I have two options: fret about it, or run with it. I'm all for the latter, but I don't know if I can come up with something as equally entertaining by the next visit.

Dear Gonal-F, I want my brain back

Sometimes when you lose, you win

2011-12-07T16:54:00.000-08:00

Many years ago, I took a literature class that assigned Dante's Divine Comedy. This epic poem describes Dante's journey through Hell, Purgatory and Heaven, representing a soul's journey to find "God." As a final assignment, we were asked to analyze and compare one part of the Divine Comedy with a modern and/or popular form of art. "What Dreams May Come" had just opened and, being a rather smug college student, I decided to write my paper comparing the Inferno to this movie.

For those of you who aren't familiar with this film, it's based on the book by Richard Matheson and is billed as a supernatural drama. The story focuses on the journey of two soulmates, Chris and Annie, following tragedy and sorrow, leading to hopeful new beginnings. The story starts with the pair meeting in Italy while on vacation, followed by a scene of their wedding. We then get a flash of their idyllic life together with their two children. This all ends, following a fatal car crash. The wife, Annie, blames herself for the accident, believing that if she had been driving that day, their children would still be alive, lending her to a complete mental and emotional break-down. The movie jumps between scenes in the past and present, where the couple has pulled through this tragedy. It isn't long after, though, that Chris is killed and begins his journey through the afterlife and, ultimately, back to Annie.

There's one scene of that movie that I've been playing over and over in my head as I've been reflecting on our journey. And I'm been thinking about it all the more as I see many posts from fellow bloggers talking about the despair they feel with having to be on this road. How alienated they feel from those around them, especially their partners. It wasn't that long ago that Grey and I were constantly fighting over infertility: him feeling that I was overreacting all the time; me feeling alone and pushing him away while hurting so badly, day in and day out. In the movie, because of her despair of losing Chris and her children Annie commits suicide. Because suicide is a sin against nature, she is sent to Hell. Angered over this, Chris journeys to Hell to rescue her, traveling through the different circles. When Chris finds Annie, he finds her in a state of being unable to remember anything. In his attempt to help her remember, he recalls a conversation that originally saved their marriage.

During this discussion, when Annie was originally institutionalized following the loss of their children, he reveals that he is part of the problem. Because he couldn't join her in her grief. It is only after that realization that they are able to move forward. And it is because of that realization again in Hell, and his decision to stay with her in damnation, that ultimately saves them both.

The last couple of days have been hard for Grey. Infertility has taken such a toll on both of us, but it has only been within the last few months that we've both been on the same page. Watching him as he grieves and deals with feelings of despair has been so difficult. It hurts me so much to see him hurt like this. Partly because I can't do anything to alleviate the pain. Partly because I understand it so well. Yet, reflecting back on that scene, I also realize that his joining me in my grief is actually a good thing, as we are now in a place where we can actually comfort one another. Just as Chris says to Annie, sometime when you lose, you win.

Today is a better day for both of us. We've been feeling more hopeful following the news from yesterday morning. But doubt still creeps in, along with daily reminders of the fact we have to struggle. The hardest part of all of this has been remembering to hold fast to one another as we travel through our own revision of Hell.

Quick update . . .

2011-12-06T10:33:00.000-08:00

It's that time of year, again. With the holiday season in full swing, finals week is looming. My students are officially in full panic mode (I've been informed that I'm part of the problem) and demanding that some form of help comes ASAP. So, it's bullet points for today.

Had first monitoring appointment this morning. And we have 15 follicles currently at 10 mm! There are potentially more, but they won't be able to tell for a few more days. Next appointment is Friday morning.
The drugs are making me very sleepy. Last night I passed out at 8 pm. This means I was up at 4 am. Jax and Dais were totally excited about the idea of 4 am breakfast.
Because of said panic, my students have requested two review sessions prior to the final. One over the weekend (which I can do) and another right before. Problem is, I may be doing the retrieval at that time. So I had to level with them and tell them that I was going to be having surgery, but can try to set up a skype review session. Now they're concerned I'm dying. It's nice to be liked.
We've been slowly decorating the house for Christmas and I now have two very happy furballs who are camped under the tree. Jax has moved all his favorite toys and insists that play time center around him hiding under the branches. When I'm more awake, I'll post pictures.
With the holiday session comes holiday parties. Grey and I are being selective regarding which ones were attending. And I've thrown all caution to the wind and have been telling everyone who asks how we are about our IVF cycle. Found it's been a great way to get people to shut up regarding the "when are you going to have children" question and allows me to immediately deal with any misconceptions regarding this treatment. I'm sure this will bite me in the ass at some point, but I'm officially done caring about what other people think.

Award encouraging TMI

2011-12-05T19:21:00.000-08:00

Hooray for another award! This one from Her Royal Fabulousness at Waiting for Little Feet, promoting community and encouraging oversharing. If you haven't had a chance, I highly recommend you check out her newly redesigned blog about her infertility journey.

Similar to the Liebster Blog Award, certain rules also apply in receiving this award:

Thank the person who passed the award on to you. (Thanks Her Royal Fabulousness!)
List 7 things that people may not know about you.
Pass the award to 15 other bloggers and don't forget to notify them as well. Feel free to ignore my nomination if you received it from someone else

1) I hate crowds. This makes activities like shopping, concerts, airports, etc a bit difficult. Having a plan of attack when needing to be in crowded areas helps a lot and so do various forms of distraction, but I have my limits.

2) I love water. Particularly large bodies of it. Some of my best nights of sleep involved being near rivers, lakes and the ocean. I love how free my body feels when I'm floating, the energy of water rushing past me, how warm and wonderful the liquid feels as it surrounds me. In my next life, I'm coming back as a mermaid.

3) As much as I hate to admit it, I'm hopeless addicted to Disney. I cried like a baby at the beginning of "Up," hosted a girls-night-out centering around "Finding Nemo," watched the "Lion King" more than I care to admit, you get the picture. We even spent part of our honeymoon at Disneyland. Corny, yes. Totally worth it, though.

4) I'm the opposite of a rapid adopter. Smart phones scare me. Just starting a blog was a huge deal. Universe help me if Grey dies before I do.

5) Some of my happiest memories involve sinking my hands into soft, black soil and working in fields in the Midwest. Despite this, I've managed to kill most of my plants.

6) I dream in color.

7) I've never been off the North American continent. No joke. Everyone else in my family has traveled to Europe, Asia, even the Middle East. Your's truly really wants to travel. Or at least live abroad. Trying to convince Grey that this is a great option since doing what everyone else does doesn't seem to be working for us.

Now the blogs;

Brooke at Becoming Parents
Trisha at The Elusive Second Line
Will Carry On
Kayla at Life is Simple, It's Just Not Easy
Chanel at Just waiting for my turn
Hope Delayed
Jessica at Our roller coaster through IVF . . .
Amanda at My life in a nut shell
Gee at Geebaby
Rebecca at Life of an Army Wife
Alissa at Miss Conception
Belle at Scrambled Eggs
Rachel at Eggs in a Row
Rain Child at Weathering the Storm . . .
Sara at A Mommy's Thoughts

Have fun, all!!

The great embryo debate

2011-12-01T11:20:00.000-08:00

Okay, just to get this out of the way: I had my suppression check this morning and we are good to go!! 17 follicules and the RE on duty (I have three at this practice) decided to up my dosage of Gonal-F. So I'm waiting patiently for the phone call for instructions for tomorrow.

Before the ultrasound, I had a very tense discussion with the RE. As I mentioned, there are three practicing REs at my clinic. Of the three, the youngest, Dr. Practical, is my least favorite (The other two, Dr. Sage and Dr. Optimism are awesome!!). It was expected that any serious discussion with Dr. Practical would be tense, as her bed-side manner is not very good. The topic of discussion: Single-embryo transfers.

For those of you not familiar with this option, Elective single embryo transfers or eSETs, is a procedure where one embryo is transfered following fertilization or thawing. Usually it is a high quality embryo that is selected from a large set of high quality embryos. The whole push for this comes with the knowledge that a multiples pregnancy is dangerous, both to the mother and the fetuses. And even after birth, there are long-term health consequences for the children.

Grey and I are very well aware of this. My BIL and his wife were able to conceive fraternal twins naturally and, though the pregnancy went as well as could be expected, there have been a lot of complications. The delivery was very hard on my BIL's wife (she lost a lot of blood) and recovery took a lot longer than usual despite it being vaginal. Shortly after the twins were born, we flew out east for an emergency visit when we learned our two-month-old niece would be requiring surgery due to the fact that she wasn't able to keep anything down (luckily, the surgery was cancelled at the last minute). And when we got there, we were immediately immersed into a world that had been turned upside down. It took four adults to manage two less-than-healthy infants and though I loved every minute of it (feeding them, rocking them to sleep, holding them), it was obvious that this was a very stressful situation for the parents. Even two years later, life revolves around what is best for the twins. Though they are both healthy and happy, my BIL and his wife are still dealing with the aftermath of their birth and my niece still requires physical therapy.

Knowing this, and also knowing the research, avoiding twins is something that is at the fore-front of our minds.

But I also know that single-embryo transfers have a lower rate of success. For my own selfish reason, I don't want to blow our chance of getting pregnant because we only transferred one. It's only slight (5%), but it's still there. In addition, I have no idea how I will respond to the drugs, if we'll get eggs and if they will fertilize. And if we are so lucky to end up with embryos, we won't know the quality TILL they are being cultured.

So even though Dr. Practical wanted to get a verbal agreement from me that if we have high quality 5-day-old embryos, that I would only do a single transfer. She pushed, I stalled. I stalled because I'm not willing to verbally agree on a hypothetical. And it was obvious that this wasn't what she wanted to hear and the pressure to make a decision increased. Thank G-d Grey was there. He immediately started firing off questions and, between the two of us bombarding her, we made it clear that she wasn't going to be getting an answer today.

After the ultrasound, Grey and I talked. I'm amazed at how well he is able to break down the situation, offering different hypotheticals for each outcome. He agrees with me that no decision can truly be made until we have the data following the retrieval. But he also told me that he'd really like to avoid twins. And that, if everything is optimal, that eSET may be for us.

I'm still processing all of this. And as this cycle begins, I know that over the next few days I'll get more and more data to help us make this decision. But right now I'm blocking it. Partly because I don't like generating multiple hypotheses without any data to back it up but also because I'm scared that I'll jinx myself. That after all this talk, I'll won't even end up with embryos and all of this will have been pointless.

In need of inspiration

2011-11-29T10:31:00.000-08:00

Thursday is my suppression check. I'm both excited and nervous. I'm nervous they're going to find a cyst again, nervous that everything is not sufficiently quiet, worried that they'll put us on hold.

Today I'm trying to keep my hopes up, listening to music that will provide me a sense of peace and purpose. This song from Charlotte Martin summarizes everything a little too well.

Am I being selfish?

2011-11-27T13:32:00.000-08:00

First off, thank you all for your feedback yesterday. It helped guide me as in the decision making process. I decided after a lot of thought to simply send a card to the family, expressing our sympathy. I don't know where the funeral is being held and contact the mother would equal a long conversation trying to pretend that everything is fine, which right now it's not. So the card will do.

A fellow blogger, Gee, recently wrote a fantastic post that I wanted to expand on. The second to last paragraph touched on a persistent thought that I've had since our diagnosis.

On sleepless nights I worry about this, that my overwhelming desire to be a parent is not because I think I would be a good one but because I'm looking to fill some inner deficiency. That pursuing extraordinary measures to conceive is the height of selfish, adolescent self-centeredness. That I'm just jealous and obsessed and petty and everything an adult shouldn't be.

Or, the way I think about it: Do I want to be a parent simply because everyone else is? Is my desire to have a child selfish?

I'll be honest, there are many days, especially as the end of this month nears, that I have my doubts. We're filled with this image of Mother from the time we are little. This person gives of herself daily, putting herself second to meet the needs of her children. Everything she does, every thought, every action is all meant to protect her children, allowing them to prosper. In short, a Mother is a selfless person. And as I struggle with infertility, I feel that my actions are more self-serving. I've doubted that I really want children, that my pursuit of treatment is simply to fulfill a selfish desire. And that through my actions, I am unworthy of having someone call me "Mom."

But in my calmer moments, I reflect on the fact that most fertile women probably never ask themselves these questions. Or if they do, usually it's after their toddler has hit the terrible twos. And when I actually watch most mothers, it becomes obvious that they are not entirely self-less; that their relationships with their children is fulfilling a need to love and be loved. Sure, they make sacrifices, but their are also many rewards. Despite what we are lead to believe, motherhood is not an altruistic act; it is both selfless and selfish. And that's the way it should be.

The cruelty of infertility is that it robs us of the chance to love. Suddenly, something that is so pure and simple is gone and we begin a journey filled with uncertainty. Some of us will be lucky to resolve our infertility through pregnancy (either through treatment or not), others will come to a cross-roads where they will need to pursue adoption or decide to live child-free. But one thing is certain, to make this journey, to make these decisions, requires that we be selfish and self-less.

A purely selfish person wouldn't spend thousands of dollars on fertility treatments.

A purely selfish person wouldn't subject themselves to cycle after cycle of drugs that alter your body physically and emotionally.

A purely selfish person wouldn't muster the courage to congratulate a friend/coworker/family member following a pregnancy announcement, and then cry quietly in private later.

A purely selfish person wouldn't spend hours filling out paper work for an adoption agency nor subject themselves to the months of waiting and uncertainty.

A purely selfish person wouldn't even consider parenthood. It's not on their radar.
(BTW: I've met couples who made the decision early on that they did not want children. I don't put them into the same category as a selfish person because children were on their radar. There is a difference)

Everything is do in life has some element of self-interest. We rely on our environment to produce the food eat, provide the water we drink. We require shelter to protect us found the elements and clothing to protect our bodies. And we also require love. Without love, life is hollow.

My main point of this rant is that I think anyone who has walked for a little while on this path has reflected on whether they are pursuing parenthood for selfish reasons. Ultimately, in my opinion, it's that reflection will make/has made them better parents. We have to work harder than most to build our families.

What would you do?

2011-11-26T11:32:00.000-08:00

At some point in your life, every girl has a best friend. They're the ones you talk on the phone with all night, go on adventures with, hang out with at school, etc. Some of us are lucky enough to grow with this person from childhood into adulthood. Otherwise find that their best friend changes as they move through the different stages of their life.

The BFF that made a particular impact on my life (outside of Grey) is Jan. I met Jan when I was 13 yrs and I was instantly attracted to her wild behavior and ability to laugh. Over the years, the bond formed more deeply: we learned to drive together, attended concerts with garage bands, teased the boys and even spent a couple of Spring Breaks together. I became a part of her family (sang at her mother's wedding, helped move her father into his new home) and she became a part of mine (holidays, visiting my grandparents, etc). In short, for a time, we were like sisters.

In 2002, after I had been in Seattle for only 4 months, Jan moved in with me for 7 weeks. She had been engaged for about a year and was having doubts about the relationship. Her mother encouraged her to go see me (hell, she bought the plane ticket) and we ended up spending the summer as roommates in a one-bedroom apartment. Jan was the one who found the one of my favorite coffee shops in the city. We went to Mt. St. Helen's together. She even humored me about a guy I was seeing, but was clearly treating me poorly. She disliked him so much, that during a game of frisbee, she made sure to throw the disc in a manner that had him running all over the park. Apparently many people were amused.

At the end of the summer, we had a serious discussion about her going back to the midwest to end her engagement. The plan was, if the discussion with her fiance didn't lead to some serious changes, she would end the relationship, I would break my lease and she would move out to Seattle. Considering all that happened over the summer, I really thought they were through. Imagine my surprise when she called me a few days later and announced they were buying a house.

As I think about this now, that decision was kind of the beginning of our currently relationship. Shortly after returning home and buying the house, we started to lose contact. Though there was the occasional phone call, in general I didn't hear from her. Jan was married 3 months after Grey and I and shortly after, she was electrocuted at work, resulting in a lot of pain. Through communication with her mother, I was able to learn the particulars and began a one-sided letter writing campaign in hopes of maintaining some sort of contact. We reconnected in 2007 after her mother was able to help with establishing a phone call and again in 2008 shortly after the birth of her son. During that visit, outside of briefly holding the baby, Grey and I were ignored.

I remember calling her when we were starting our TTC journey and chatting excitedly about what to expect and wishing each other the best. And then, as had happened in the past, all phone calls went unanswered. At the end of 2010, when it was clear something was wrong, I tried again to contact her. No response. This time, though, I was hurting too much to pursue contact. We haven't spoken in almost 2 yrs.

Yesterday, I received an email from Jan's mom telling me that her father had passed. Her dad has never been in the best of health, nor has he really been willing to take the necessary steps to improve his situation. But I do know the pain that comes with losing a loved one. I'm torn though. A few years ago I would have called right away to see how she's doing and to offer my sympathy. If necessary, I would spend the next month writing letters just to let her know that I'm thinking of her. But, right now, I'm emotionally spent. I can't be the hero in this situation. And I tired of being the one to reach out. I'm tempted just to send a card and leave it at that.

So I'm in need of advice: what would you do?

Human Nature?

2011-11-25T11:22:00.000-08:00

The holidays are a time that brings out the crazy in most people. As people come together to celebrate the year, we are bombarded with messages of materialism, pressured to present our homes in a seasonal manner and told that everything needs to be perfect. This usually leads to humanity at its worst; headlines of "Black Friday Mayhem" always appear (this year, pepper spray is a big theme), aggression increases in daily life as people prepare to travel or receive guests and there's a major focus on making sure there are enough presents to open.

Can I ask, is anyone else sick of this?

Yesterday, Grey and I had a lazy Thanksgiving. Originally we planned to spend the day skiing with friends, but when we realized that it would involve crossing the US/Canadian border with my injectables, we decided not to chance it. Instead, we slept in, woke up around 10 am, made love and began preparing dinner around noon. Instead of roasting a turkey, we roasted chicken. We made pumpkin pie, green beans, herbed stuffing and mashed potatoes with the skins on them. Grey called family and spoke with each of them, catching up with where everyone was at. We ended the evening with some tea and cuddling on the couch while Jax and Dais enjoyed a small helping of chicken and some whipped cream. In short, a perfect day.

It hasn't always been this way. When we were first married, we played the whose-family-are-we-visiting-during-which-holiday game. Which meant either 4-5 hr car trip or flying to the midwest. With my family, there was always the rush to prepare everything, race over to the aunt or uncle that was hosting and then spend the next few hours making small talk, always under the instruction not to bring up the elephant in the room. Sometime is worked, but there were holidays were it didn't. And the aftermath from the events, usually involving one person being unhappy, always took months to recover from and the stories have become legends.

It was hard not to reflect on this yesterday, as it was one of the first holidays that my stress-levels weren't through the roof. Opening the local paper resulted in some of that stress returning, as story after story reported various incidents around the country regarding early morning shoppers. And I began to wonder: why do we do this to ourselves?

If you google human nature, you'll find a nice overview on Socrates and his view on the subject. Socrates is said to have studied the question of how a person should best live and believed that the best life and the life most suited to human nature involved reasoning. Yet when we talk about human nature in a non-academic context, usually it's associated with primitive behavior, usually in the absence of rational thought. The high we receive from dashing through crowds to save a few dollars, to yell at that individual who cut us off in traffic, to send that enraged emailed because the item we ordered won't be here in time for Christmas: we chalk all of it up to human nature.

This year, in light of my upcoming IVF cycle, I'm rebelling. As I'm suppose to be as calm as possible this upcoming month, I've decided to share that with everyone around me. For the next 30 days, I will smile at strangers, perform small acts of kindness, laugh more and find pleasure in the things around me. I'm determined to make this experience, no matter the outcome, a turning point. A reverse-Grinch if you will. And I'm hoping it's contagious.

What I'm thankful for . . .

2011-11-24T11:55:00.000-08:00

I'm thankful for having a warm, dry home.

I'm thankful for being employed, especially in a position that I love.

I'm thankful for my general health and that I'm healthy enough to be able to live life to the fullest.

I'm thankful for friends who have supported us on this journey. They've helped me through some dark hours.

I'm thankful for my family. Though small, there is a lot of love and laughter.

I'm thankful that 8 1/2 years ago, I found my partner in life. Grey, I can't imagine my life without you. You're my other-self.

Finally, I'm thankful for this community; for all you've taught me and all the support. Though I'm only beginning to know all of you, your words have helped me as I prepare for this cycle.

My first award!!

2011-11-24T11:37:00.000-08:00

Given to me by Kayla at Life is Simple, It's Just Not Easy

Liebster is a German word meaning dearest, and the award is given to up-and-coming bloggers

with less than 200 followers.

Here are the rules:

1. Thank the giver and link back to the blogger who gave it to you.

2. Reveal your top five picks and let them know by leaving a comment on their blog.

3. Copy and paste the award on your blog.

4. Hope that the people you’ve sent the award to forward it to their five favorite bloggers and keep it going!

The 5 Blogs below are the ones that I want to pass this award onto:

Alissa at MissConception

Chanel at Just Waiting for My Turn . . . .

Gee at Geebaby

Amanda at My life in a nut shell

Hope Delayed

Thank you again, Kayla!!

Distraction

2011-11-23T09:13:00.000-08:00

When I was little, one of my favorite activities was to daydream. I'd spend hours weaving stories in my head of a heroine (usually with dark hair and green eyes) off on some adventure. In my mind, she would leave all she had known and find herself in a new land. She would attempt to integrate herself into her surroundings or she would seek out adventure. You get the idea. Daydreaming was my way of escaping from the world I currently existed in. In that world, there was no loneliness, no heartache, pain was temporary and the sky the limit.

I've fallen out the the practice of daydreaming. The way I've coped with stress in my 20s was to go on adventures with friends: some of which involved simply hikes, others that have become legends in their own right. It was fairly easy to distract myself from what ever crisis I encountered and most things were resolved when I was able to think clearly.

Today I am on Day 5 of Lupron, with one more day of BCPs to go. And I'm driving myself a bit crazy thinking about how December 1 can't get here fast enough. Because of this, I've spent the past few days thinking more and more about techniques I've used to cope during times of stress. There are simple things I can do to make the time go by: go for a run, grade, meditate, go for a walk, knit, etc., etc. The frustrating part is that no matter what I do, the waiting always looms.

Grey and I were talking about this last night on the way home. He had had a particularly frustrating day at work and, because of the weather, wasn't able to distract himself with a bike ride. As he grumbled about delays caused by miscommunication, he made the connection about how frustrating it is to wait for something so that you can move forward, whether that be for work or for life. And how at times, the only thing you can do is distraction yourself during the wait. It's not laziness, it's survival.

Today, I've made myself a schedule of distractions: the morning will be spent finishing plans for dinner and doing the necessary shopping. Early afternoon will involve a run, followed by a long bath. Late afternoon will focus on grading and preparing for the coming week. Sounds good, right?

How about everyone else; what do you do to distract yourself while on this journey?

November ICLW

2011-11-21T16:40:00.000-08:00

My first ever ICLW. Welcome all! Here's a quick introduction on me and our journey.

1) My name is Cristy. My husband, Grey, and I have been together 8 1/2 years, happily married 7 1/2 years. Yeah, I know. Very fast engagement. But when you find the love of your life, it's hard not to want to be together.

2) We are the proud parents of two furbabies, Jaxson and Daisy (both 9 years old). Both add so much light and laughter to our lives. Both have extensive back stories. I'll share in the near future.

3) Contrary to everyone else we know (family, co-workers and friends) we can't get pregnant. We've been trying for 2 years to conceive with not a single BFP to date (despite all the tears, cursing and threats to the universe). After doing the IUI route, we are now preparing for IVF #1 this December.

4) To deal with the stress caused by infertility and being surrounded others who are able to conceive just fine, I knit. And I knit a lot. To the point that I now have knitting injuries (no joke) and more yarn than should be tolerated. I have a niece and 2 nephews, so they are current recipients of my many projects, but I've also made fertility socks for women undergoing fertility treatments. To date, I am 3 for 3!

5) After almost a year of being a lurker, I decided to take the plunge into blogging. I'm not a writer (nor do I pretend to be), but the community I've found through the blogs I've followed has helped give me strength and hope as we make this journey. I look forward to meeting new bloggers as well as coming out of the lurker closet with the old.

Mission: Optimism

2011-11-19T12:21:00.000-08:00

The past few days I've been riding the emotional roller-coaster. Some moments I'm incredibly optimistic for the future, seeing good signs and hearing stories of hope at every turn. Other moments, not so much. Part of the lows are being fueled by the drugs on currently on, another part is the weather, but the truth is the doubt and pessimism are coming from a part of my subconscious.

On October 31, results from a study were released concluding there is a link between mood and mortality.
Headlines on this research titled "Happy people live longer" began to circulate and many began to speculate why. Many wanted to know how this data was collected, as there is really no standard to measuring "happiness." But where a lot of attention went was wondering what choses these individuals were making that was extending their lives. Did they take more vacations? Laugh more? Did they turn down that career-forwarding job and opt for something that was less stressful?

It's no secret that there's a direct connection between mood and fertility. Alice Domar, one of the leaders in the field of mind/body intervention just published a report showing a significant difference between IVF success rates between the control cohort and the cohort that participated in a mind/body program. The connection is so striking, that RESOLVE has many links on its website promoting finding support following diagnosis and prominent bloggers, like Keiko Zoll, began talking about the importance of remaining optimistic during treatment. Women in the trenches of infertility are encouraged to laugh more, focus on the positive and even quit overly stressful jobs, all in the hopes of boosting their fertility. Some may scoff and announce "BS," but the data is hard to deny.

So, based on this, what's my issue? I know all of this. I've participated in a mind/body program. And I love doing yoga! The problem? Well, like most pessimists, I'm lazy. It's been easier to feel sorry for myself and focus on what I don't have. A big part of it is that I'm tired of defeat: I've charted, peed on more HPTs than I ever dreamed of, meditated, avoided alcohol and even say a psychic (not my proudest moment).

It wasn't until this morning, with help from Jay, that I realized I've been pouting. Sure, it's not fair that half of all pregnancies in this country are unplanned and that most of expectant mothers have never experienced (and never will) the heartache of longing for a child. But that's not where my focus should be. My focus needs to be on the fact that though I'm here, there's hope. There's a good chance of all of this working, so I need to stop focusing on all the things that could go wrong and instead focus on where I'm currently at.

In the spirit of that, today is being spent rallying support, opening up to friends and busting out the knitting needles. Grey and I are planning a ski trip and preparing for Thanksgiving. And instead of focusing on what I don't have, I'm choosing to focus on what I do: an amazing husband, two awesome furbabies, a job I love and hope.

Maybe this could work . . .

2011-11-17T10:02:00.000-08:00

As December rapidly approaches, I've found myself fluctuating more and more between optimism and pessimism. I've sufficiently driven myself crazy analyzing IVF success-rate stats from various clinics as well as spent more time than should be spent with Dr. Google.

A major reason fueling this concern about IVF not working is that over the summer, 3 separate couples I know had failed IVF attempts. The one that hit home the most was the couple that's around the same age as Grey and myself. The aftermath of the summer was facing the reality that there was a chance that IVF wasn't going to work. And it's something that I've had in the back of my mind until this week.

I've been spending November being a cheerleader for a former co-worker/ current friend who has been finishing her IVF cycle. I've watched in awe as she made the decision to transfer only one embryo and last Thursday she received wonderful news that she's pregnant. My first thought when she emailed me was "finally, some good news."

Then Saturday, I received an email from a friend who had started IVF this summer, but ended up freezing her embryos because of OHSS. She was given the all-clear to proceed with embryo transfer at the end of October, but I hadn't heard from her in a while. She had finally wrote to let everyone know that the transfer had worked and she was finally pregnant. The amazing part of this whole story is that they were suffering from severe male factor and were told initially that they would never get pregnant, so the news was completely amazing.

Then, yesterday, I received a surprise email from the one summer couple that they had secretly done an embryo transfer and that her second beta came back over 1000. I was floored! Shocked that she managed to keep this a secret from her entire support network, but equally happy that finally they had received such amazing news.

So, in less than 10 days, I've received a more than enough validation that IVF can work and that there is light at the end of the tunnel.

Yet, I'm still so very scared.

2011 has been a year where I've finally started reaching out to others who are on this journey, seeking support and comfort. During that time, most of them have finally been able to become pregnant or resolve their infertility through adoption. These women have been the strongest and most supportive group that I've encountered during this whole process. They get it because they've lived it. And now I've terrified that come December, I will lost them. That things won't work out and I'll be left behind to deal with the aftermath. It's such a selfish thought and one that I'm embarrassed to admit I'm having, yet there it sits. Ugly and everything. I hate that it exists

I'm spending this morning battling the fear, attacking each moment of anxiety with positive thoughts in an effort to restructure my mood. Strangely enough, there are moments it's working, but there are also moments when distraction works far better. The seed of hope has been planted, but I'm working very hard to get that seedling to grow and thrive.

And we're off!

2011-11-10T22:04:00.000-08:00

Prior to infertility, IVF was one of the procedures that everyone knew something about or knew someone who knew someone who had gone through it. The jist of this conversations consisted of 1) it always worked, 2) said couple always had twins or triplets and 3) it was as routine of a procedure as having your teeth cleaned. Mind you, I have enough of a background to understand how sperm met egg in a petri dish, but all the details were lost on me. Mainly because it wasn't something I ever thought I would have to go through.

Fast forward to January 2011. I began meeting other couples dealing with infertility and, of course, fertility treatments were a common topic, but it wasn't until later conversations that IVF protocols even came to mind. As one couple talked about their first IVF, it became apparent that everything I thought I knew was complete BS (minus the biology of sperm meets egg). So like any curious bystander, I began asking questions, reading IVF blogs and doing my own research. In addition, I watched and supported each group of couples as they each went through the procedure. I celebrated the joy of good news, cried with them during bad news, but also learned about the different aspects of IVF and what to expect along the way.

Grey and I had our first appointment with the RE regarding our IVF cycle this week. The goal of the appointment was two-fold: the first part was to receive education regarding the injectable medication and the second part was to do a mock transfer. A mock transfer is a procedure to measure the depth and angle of your uterus in order to determine the best way to insert the catheter, taking away the guesswork during the actual transfer process and reducing any errors that could occur along the way. In general this is usually fairly quick and painless. What can take the most time is waiting for your bladder to fill if you didn't know you weren't suppose to pee prior to the appointment. Something worth noting prior to the actual transfer.

What I've been learning throughout all of this is how important it is to ask questions, even though everything seems obvious. Even though I may think I know what will happen and what to expect. But most importantly, I'm learning that things are not always as they seem.

No baby on board

2011-11-05T16:14:00.000-07:00

Throughout this journey, there are many things that, once not on the radar, immediately become a reminder one's inability to reproduce. Baby bumps, Cadalac strollers at the park, open debates about breastfeeding during work hours, etc. All of these, for the most part, I've been able to handle. My main conclusion has been that none of these things are meant to actively broadcast one's ability to reproduce to the rest of the world.

There is one exception to this, though. Baby on board stickers. Within the past 12 months, it seems like the stickers themselves are proliferating like rabbits, attaching themselves to vehicles from all walks of life; from Lexus SUVs, Toyotas & Hondas all the way to Ford F150s, they're everywhere. I'll admit, pre-infertility I really wouldn't have given it a second thought, but now I find myself filled with rage simply at the sight of them, feeling as if they are taunting me.

The past couple of months, these sightings have become more and more of a problem. Only a few months ago, I was your typical pedestrian/bus commuter. I was happy to enjoy my 20 mins walks to and from the bus stop, then spend the next 20 minutes catching up on reading or enjoying the scenery during the ride to work. Most importantly, I was happy to have someone else do the driving. With the fall, though, that all change when I started my new position. Suddenly I've found myself driving over 2 hours a day to and from work, putting me in the midst of drivers from all walks of life. And that was when I became aware of the plethora of these stickers. Seems I can't even escape reminders of infertility while on the road.

I've been thinking about this more lately, as we start our IVF cycle. What is it about these stickers that as me seeing red? My best guess is that the whole purpose, from my point of view, is to advertise to the world why you're so special. It a look-at-me-I-have-a-baby attitude that makes me think the parents are less concerned with the safety of their child and more interested in special treatment. Kinda like the "my child is an honor student" stickers.

But because of infertility, it now goes deeper than that for me. These stickers are a painful reminder that I don't have a baby on board. That after 2 years of trying, we are no closer to bringing home a child. And on that end, it sucks. I can deal with the bumps, the strollers, the unexpected pregnancy announcements and even the questions. None of it is meant to be malicious. But to be reminded of that painful reality while in traffic is a bit too much.

Playing the waiting game

2011-11-01T22:58:00.000-07:00

October has been a month of attempting to be patient. Since our finally IUI, we've be scheduled to do IVF in December. The initial idea was to take some time to allow all the previous drugs to leave my system while attempting to reclaim something of a normal life.

I have a problem, though: I'm not a patient person. I was the kid who woke up early on Christmas morning, eager to open presents. I hate long lines, loathe crowds and am that crazy person who gets upset when someone cuts in line (another story for another time). Usually I deal with my impatience with activities ranging from constructive (knitting, craft-making, etc) to less than constructive. Still, it's a problem, especially now.

My period is due any day. More specifically, it's due tomorrow. Once it comes, I get to graduate from sitting on the fence and start the first round of medication for IVF. Starting meds means I'm no more waiting; I get to start doing something regarding my inability to conceive. I finally get to have some control over the situation. And I can finally move from the realm of wondering if this is ever going to happen to the realm of "well at least I'm trying to do something about it."

In the meantime, I'm stuck playing the awful waiting game.

Dusting myself off . . .

2011-10-27T20:24:00.000-07:00

This past March, my Grandfather passed away. He had lived a long life, filled with lots of mischief and memories. He had also survived lung cancer, kidney failure and multiple hospitalizations, so it wasn't a great surprise when he finally passed. I miss him, though. We were close and I learned a lot about life from the old man.

The day before I was to fly back to the midwest for the funeral, my younger sister, Marie, called me. Grey was out of town on business and I needed to purchase a few items before the trip (tampons being one of them). The conversation started benignly, then she became quiet. Marie was well aware that Grey and I had been trying for over a year at that point and that I was hurting. She told me she had something to tell me, began to cry and told me she was pregnant. Apparently the birth control had failed and all of the sudden she found herself in a situation that was less than ideal. Somehow, I found the words to comfort her and assure her that, in that moment, everything would be alright. At the same time, I felt like my world was crumbling around me.

It still amazes me that infertility can turn one's world completely upside-down and inside out. Only a few years before, I would have been incredibly sympathetic and comforting. Even excited for the arrival of a new niece or nephew. But infertility colors everything. Instead of being excited, all of I could think of was why. Why is it someone on BIRTH CONTROL can get knock-up and I can't? Where is the father in this situation and why is he so lucky when he's only been in the picture for such a short time? Why her? Why not me? This inner dialogue is quickly followed by quilt and blame. I'm a bad sister, because I'm not being more supportive. I deserve this; I waited too long. Etc, etc.

I've been reflecting on that conversation a lot this past week. Part of the reason is that two days ago my sister gave birth. The other reason is because in a very short time, I start IVF meds. In a way, I get a fresh start from these recent events. All the pressure to produce my parent's first grandchild is gone. In addition, all the responsibility of being "the first" is also lifted. But, like death, there is pain that comes with all of this. I'm still scared that IVF isn't going to work and that we'll find ourselves at Christmas with a BFN. But I'm also grieving the loss of the way I saw life.

Like most midwestern girls, I attended a college that wasn't terribly close to home. Unlike my peers, instead of moving home and settling down, I relocated to another coast. I think everyone in my family secretly believed that it would simply be a matter of time before I moved home, taking on my role as the caregiver. Marrying Grey through the first wrench into those plans. Graduate school added another. Yet it was still believed that one day, I would see the light and start having babies. And it would be easy!

Infertility has ripped that life from me. What once was a given is now gone. My children won't be the first and, if I am so lucky to become pregnant, it will be viewed in a negative light by them. Never-mind adoption. But also the need to rush home is gone too. In a weird way, it's like the shackles have been unlocked, freeing me from a supposed life. All the issues are now wide out in the open and for the first time, I have some decisions to make.

Battling my inner child

2011-10-23T11:30:00.000-07:00

Back in September, after IUI #3 failed and we were given the green light to pursue IVF, Grey and I decided it was time to start preparing ourselves for the roller-coaster of drugs and monitoring. We bought a bike rake, had the bikes tuned-up and Grey started biking to work almost everyday. I pulled out my running shoes and started jogging on a regular basis.

In addition to the cardio, I decided to get serious about my mental anguish and started yoga. Every Sunday morning, while most families roll out of bed, dress in their Sunday best and head off to church, I carry my yoga mat to the local yoga studio and spend the next 1 1/2 hours rediscovering muscles I forgot I had. Though I may not think it while straining to do Warrior 3, I think I'm getting the better end of the deal.

I love my yoga instructor. She has such a calm nature to her and is incredibly warm and welcoming. She knows that I'm preparing for IVF and has been incredible about helping me modify the postures so that I can use them throughout my cycle. In addition, she's also started having the class meditate on what we want out of life and modifying our thoughts in order to promote more well-being. And I've been completely okay with that, until today.

Today's class started with the following quote:
"An adult is one who has lost the grace, the freshness, the innocence of a child, who is no longer capable of feeling pure joy, who makes everything complicated, who spreads suffering everywhere, who is afraid of being happy, and who, because it is easier to bear, has gone back to sleep.

The wise man is a happy child."
~ Arnaud Desjardins

The whole idea is to find the joy in your life and to embrace it. Something I completely agree with. But here's the thing: my inner child is currently not a happy one. My inner child feels like she's been told that she can't play with the other kids because she's "weird." My inner child causes the other mothers to whisper and point in her direction. In short, my inner child is tired of being patient and is on the verge of throwing a temper-tantrum.

What shocked me the most was that this imagine actually has been empowering. I spent the rest of class mentally conversing with this sad child, telling her I was sorry for the situation, that she was loved, that she wasn't alone and that things were going to change very soon.

"But why is it taking so long!!!!" she wailed.

"Because we have to do this the right way" I said

Because if we don't prepare for December and things don't turn out the way we hope, we won't be strong enough to continue forward. Because December is the time that we'll be able to rest and focus our energy on IVF.

My inner child still isn't convinced, though. She's still pessimistic about the outcome of all of this. And that's when it really hit me: I need to get this kid on board. Because without her, I'll just be self-sabotaging myself and I'm so tired of all the doubt.

In the beginning

2011-10-22T13:41:00.000-07:00

For me, introductions are like icebreakers: seem very simple in concept but incredibly hard to execute.

My name is Cristy. I live in the Pacific Northwest. I love being outdoors, but am also addicted to sleeping in on Saturdays. I'm married to the love of my life, Grey, and have been happily married for 7 1/2 years. Two years ago, after many blissful years for of coupledom, we decided to toss the birth control and try for a baby. After all, it was suppose to be so easy; no woman in my family ever had trouble getting pregnant. Yet here we are, 2 years later and not a single BFP. Two years of hoping; two years of disappointment.

After being diagnosed with unexplained infertility and 3 failed IUIs, we are preparing for IVF. IVF: those three letters bring so much hope and so much dread.