burnt toast life

we set the date

day5blastFunny, right? I should sent out cards. The fact that it will only barely still be February is amazing, and of course feels like some kind of sign.

The mornings of monitoring appointments, my alarm goes off at 4 sharp (this morning I did allow myself a no shower day and “slept in” until 5 since I would be working from home for the rest of the day). I rise, assure the dogs that it’s wayyy too early to go out (despite their apparent desperation) and prepare myself for the day. Typically I’m out the door by 5 and on the bus to Manhattan by 5:20. Even when I get to NHFC at 7:15, the waiting room always has at least 15 people ahead of me when I get there. I can’t figure out what time you’d need to arrive to be “first.”

I’ve said it before and I will say it again – I am beyond grateful to have found this place that, for some reason, is giving me practically free IVF. There was a painful and desperate time last year where I would have driven 8 hours daily or even attempted to charter my own private plane for that sort of opportunity. But I’m also human. I’m sick of commuting. The bus is $43.25 round trip and I’ve now made this trip more times than I wish to calculate. I spend two hours on a bus for a 30 minute appointment, rush back to Port Authority, spend two hours shuttling back and then go straight to work. It’s exhausting. I take my laptop on the bus and try to get some stuff done, but the WiFi is sketchy and typing is a real pain in the ass. Plus, you know what? I hate laptop touch pads. They freak me out. I definitely need a mouse at all times.

Today was fun because here we are on day 15 and I didn’t ovulate yet. I even had a real doctor (rather than my favorite no-nonsense tech) do the U/S and he said something about me coming back one more time before they would give me a date. I protested. He conceded and gave me some nasal spray to induce ovulation (wild, right?). Then they said based on the blood work, they would tell me whether I had to come back on Monday or whether my next visit would be the big day. The called me at around 1 and – surprise! – gave me a date, no return visit required. Small victories! We are on for February 28th.

My mother in law is coming with me to the transfer and we’re staying overnight in the city, just for fun and so I can pretend to be relaxing. I’m actually very excited about that part. For some reason I have 40 hours of unused vacation time that expires in March, so I’m planning on taking two days. Don’t think I’m some crazy workaholic; my company just gives a lot of PTO and I never take sick days. This mini vacay is going to be a nice way to take it easy, and yeah, not be rushing to catch the next bus out when I should be laying down flat with my legs up saying every prayer I know.

Eric is undecided if he’s coming, which my mother thinks is a hilarious concept. I pointed out that he was there for the conception, just not for the implantation, and theoretically he wouldn’t be around for that anyway. But yeah, it’s weird. He wants to come but he does not have 40 hours of unused vacation time and he’s not a fan of New York. That’s why I chose not to remind him that technically, his children are New Yorkers and have lived there for their entire lives so far. I find that pretty awesome. Maybe they’ll give me fashion tips.

It’s February

I keep referencing February and psychics, so I figured I would give a little background on that for anyone who doesn’t know the whole story.

Back when we were diagnosed as infertile and when I was riding the emotional roller coaster of not getting pregnant every month, certain things were tough. Baby showers were tough. Kid’s birthday parties were tough. Any event that may or may not feature children was tough. That’s practically everything, by the way. Kids are everywhere and any little thing was likely to set off a sadness bomb inside of me.

As you may imagine, Mother’s Day was a particularly hard day. On that Sunday in 2011, I awoke in a foul mood. I distinctly remember lying in bed at my apartment, delaying the start of my day and wallowing in self pity. I checked my phone, as I always do first thing in the morning, and discovered the following message from my dear friend:

I would like to offer you this small piece of hope on this special day… I went back to the psychic yesterday. The one who did a group reading for me a couple of months ago and left me with goosebumps after reciting my entire life story. This time we were alone and I asked her about you and Eric. I told her I had friends who are having trouble conceiving. She asked me for your first name only and paused for a while. She said she definitely sees you getting pregnant and the pregnancy surrounds something with a 2. She thinks the 2 is for February. She said to give you 2 pieces of advice. One, be patient because IT WILL HAPPEN, and 2 continue using those fertility sticks. The second they show you’re ovulating you need to find Eric and go to town!
I know it doesn’t take a psychic to know fertility sticks help people conceive, but the specifics of info this women gives about everything else tells me she certainly knows her stuff.
Also, she said sees a beautiful baby girl. (I loved that part because she said it so full of emotion.)
I hope you have a Happy Mothers day, because you are a mommy, even if your baby hasn’t arrived yet.

Ok, let me premise with this: I didn’t know if I believed in psychics. It certainly never occured to me that I should go to one for this issue. And given the choice, I’m not sure I would want to know. What if the psychic said I would never have kids? How could I live with that every day, true or untrue? So this scenario was perfect. I had not asked my friend to ask for me, so I wasn’t worried about getting an answer. Plus, the answer was so full of hope on a day that I desperately needed it.

Remember, this was May. I manipulated that psychic prediction every way I possibly could all year long to fit my needs at the time and justify a pregnancy. In late May and June, I said the baby would be due in February. In the summer, I said the baby could be premature. In the winter, I said February would be the month we found out the gender. So no, I did not sit by patiently waiting for February to arrive.

February 2012 was a fantastically stressful month. It was, not coincidentally, the time of my first panic attack. I was driving home from work and had to pull over because I got myself so worked up that I could not breathe. To say that I had become obsessed with the prediction would be an understatement. I spoke to people about it as though it was a fact, not a prediction. The friend who sent the message was probably ready to disown me. I begged her for more details, nuances, anything she may have left out. She’s probably happy to live 300 miles away or I would have been at her house every night dissecting something that may have been literal, symbolic, or who knows, may have just been a big hoax.

February came and went. We did not get pregnant. It was almost a relief to have it over with, even if relief was quickly replaced with despair. I went through the rest of 2012 with a lack of enthusiasm compared to the year before. I don’t know if I believed it anymore.

As soon as we got our appointment with New Hope last year, I began thinking about February again. I started getting really excited. Without trying, all of the scheduling lined up for February of this year. Our first tentative embryo transfer (ET) was supposed to be Feb 1, but with my high estrogen was delayed to Feb 24-27. It’s still February. It’s still all about February.

I’m definitely less worked up and anxious than I was last year at this time. This is our first real, honest-to-goodness try, and that’s incredible. But tell someone you’re undergoing IVF and they’ll tell you about their friend’s neighbors cousin who tried 5 times or 6 times or 12 times and was unsuccessful. It rarely works on the first round; I know that. But I do have my determination, my hope, and a very promising psychic prediction on my side. Take THAT, universe!