burnt toast life

starting to look something like hope

Well, today was scheduled ultrasound #2 (but technically my third so far this pregnancy because of my little freak out last week).

Baby is freakishly on time, measuring 7 weeks 5 days. That’s precisely where he/she should be based on my LMP of September 11th, and the fact that last Monday he/she was measuring 6w5d, and Thursday was 7w1d. Like I said… freakishly on time. Heart rate is 172 (That’s high. Is that high? Doesn’t that mean it’s a girl?)

The “most” I’ve ever been pregnant is 8w1d. Or really, I guess 8w0d because 8w1d was the day we found out we lost the twins (and they said we had JUST lost them). But that was my second ultrasound. So I’ve never made it past the second ultrasound. This means that next Monday is my graduation ultrasound from New Hope. As in, if all goes well next week, I get to be a regular patient at my regular OB/GYN. My head is seriously spinning.

I feel amazing. I feel so emotionally invested it’s not even funny, even though I promised myself I wouldn’t get all crazy excited until at least 9, preferably 12 weeks. But you guys. I’m making it to graduation day. My throat doesn’t hurt. I’m intermittently stuffy nosed and clear, but it’s not as bad as it was. I feel like I have a handle on this. And that heart rate? So strong. So beautiful to see in there.

At that wedding this weekend I got a LEETLE resentful when all I could eat (literally, the only thing) was dry salad with the croutons picked off. (To Eric’s credit, he did hunt down a catering person to see if they could make me something special, but everything was pre-cooked and they weren’t very accomodating. Oh well). So I sat there sipping my water, watching everyone else stroll merrily down the path of drunkenness and gobble up the yummy food, and I thought: this sucks. Then today, seeing my perfect little blobby, who Amy has so cleverly dubbed “Baby Crumb,” I thought, damn, this is worth it. Turnips and motor oil. Dry salad. Whatever. If I get a baby out of this, I don’t really care how many sacrifices I need to make.

I’m so confident cocky? that I talked to work about it today. Here’s the reason why. My company is doing a build-out expansion and most of us are moving our seats to the new area in about 2 weeks. Because of this upcoming move and space constraints, I do not currently sit with my department. I’ve been excited to move because I definitely feel like I’m missing out by not sitting with them – on information, on bonding, you know, normal office stuff. It’s nice to be able to talk with the people on your team by twisting around in your chair and giving a holler. As it stands, I’ve bonded more with the department I sit with than the one I’m actually part of. BUT. There’s a huge BUT here. I work for a cigar retailer, remember? And parts of the building are ventilated and allow for cigar smoking. My department is one of those places, and also will be when we move. So essentially I’d be sitting in a smoke-filled room 9 hours a day if I sat with them, because they have to sample cigars and pipes at their desks. It’s part of their job.

I talked to my boss about it because…well…it didn’t seem like such a great idea. As much as I want to sit with them, I don’t know just how smoky it will be and I don’t want to risk it. He agreed, and now (assuming I continue to stay pregnant), I will be sitting with the same people I sit with now, in a non-smoking section. It’s good and bad. I hate that I can’t sit with my team, but I’m glad I don’t have to worry about smoke, or worse, to make the guys feel guilty/weird about lighting up just because I’m around. And when I get back from leave, I can move into the new area with them.

I know; such problems to have, right? I definitely get the feeling that this pregnancy is really happening. Which is super duper scary. Because at this point if things went south, I would be absolutely devastated. I’ve allowed myself the audacity of hope.

It’s freaking frightening. Also exciting. But mostly…yeah, I’m pretty scared.

betas

Hi there. Sorry to leave you hanging.

Here’s what happened: first off, I was legit busy all weekend. I was all go, go, go for two solid days, and you know what, it was wonderfully distracting. Saturday Eric dragged me on a ten mile bike ride with my brand new bike (I know, weird purchase for this juncture of my life, but whatever). It was hard, but when we were done I felt strong and accomplished. Then I came home and fell into an intense sleep for about an hour. I woke up, called my mom, met up with her and my little sibbies and went for a hike. Oh yeah, most active day EVER! Then we all went over to my parent’s house for steak and a campfire. And then…finally… New Hope called at 7:30.

My first beta was 69.

So that was great, but then my old friend worry started creepin’ in. You see, my throat was being all kinds of weird this week, and then this weekend it started leveling off. It started feeling normal. An optimistic person would think, oh, I must have managed to fine-tune my diet to just where it needed to be. But what I thought was, “It got better because something went wrong. This is definitely going to be a chemical pregnancy.”

Sunday, after doing some serious praying at church, I went to a Renaissance Faire with my best friends. It was seriously so much fun, and again, just the right amount of distraction. Plus they had plenty of foods that worked well for me (um, hello, Steak on a Stake). We even got to do grape stomping! I was able to stay in good spirits all day.

This morning, not so much. I woke up miserable and dreading the beta. It all came to a head when I actually got the blood draw. The kind tech had soft, warm hands and could tell I was shaken up. She asked if I was nervous about getting stuck with a needle, and I laughed and said I was a pro at that. When I admitted that I was terrified of the results, she kind of patted my arm and explained in broken English (this is a theme with me, it appears) that her daughter just had a miscarriage and was devastated. She was very compassionate, which really set me over the edge. By the time I left I was openly crying…from nerves, from fear, from the whole stress of this pregnancy in general. I am not calm. I am not peaceful.

Then I got to wait allllll dammnnnnn dayyyyy for my phone call. I finally broke down at 4 and emailed them, asking nicely for the results. No reply. I came home from work, changed into yoga pants, and pulled the covers over my head (I told you that was my coping mechanism). I woke up around 6:30 and heard my email “ding!” It was New Hope.

Second beta is 188.

Instantly, relief washed over me. I don’t think I’ve ever been this freaked out over betas, so now I’m really dreading ultrasounds. Here’s the worst part. At my old job I was able to work from home, so on ultrasound days I just worked from the road. At my clinic they make you do ultrasounds after 10 a.m., so there’s no possible way I can be back in town and working by noon. Working from home is not an option. And I’m not taking 3 (unpaid) days off work. So. I’m going to have to do outside monitoring for ultrasounds, which is fine, but it means I won’t get the results until they call me since the techs aren’t allowed to tell you. THOSE days are going to be absolute torture. Plus, if I do get that call at work? Sorry, no heartbeat? Ugh. I can’t imagine. I guess I’ll just deal with it when I get there.

I hate the guessing game. I hate not knowing. It’s funny how everyone says to me, “Oh that diet sounds so difficult! How do you do it?” It’s really not hard. The truth is that I’d gladly eat nothing but turnips and motor oil for nine months if it guaranteed a baby, and I’d do it with a huge smile. The hard part is not even knowing if what I’m doing is working. The hard part is being so terrified to lose something I want so much…again. The hard part is getting my hopes up all over again. The diet? Easy. Not having any semblance of control? Nope, not easy.

Have to go now. My covers are beckoning.

three for three

Well… I’m pregnant.

I know, what’s up with that? No exclamation marks? No joy? Nope. Not for this girl. Pure, unadulterated terror over at my house. Eric barely glanced up from what he was doing when I told him this morning. “Not a shock. Now let’s get to twelve weeks so we can really celebrate,” was his reply. I don’t blame him. I feel the same way.

I’m grateful that I can get pregnant easily. It would seem that I am my mother’s daughter in that respect. But unfortunately, I also follow her pattern of RPL. Now I just need to find a way to make it stop, once and for all. After that I’ll study up on how to be less of a control freak, which I so clearly am.

I got back the results of the clotting disorder tests: all normal. Just as I figured they would be. I’m going to keep taking the Lovenox as an added precaution, because I already bought it, and because I’m a glutton for punishment? I don’t know. I just can’t bear to do everything the same this time around and then wonder why it goes wrong. I have to try something.

So much thanks to everyone who offered advice on making the shot more bearable, especially Ashley who gave me a whole paragraph on what to do differently. It went sooo much better last night (except that Eric kept making me giggle as he said, “sloooowwly, oh so slooooowly” and it’s very nerve wracking to giggle while you have a needle inside of you). Below is my bruise pic. The big one is from the first night, the tiny little dot below it is from last night. For some reason the other side didn’t bruise one bit.

evil, evil LOVENOX

evil, evil LOVENOX

So what’s different this time? Let’s see, I knew I was probably pregnant because my throat is being funny already. It’s nothing like last time… not even close, but I couldn’t help but panic a little. It got that “weird feeling” after drinking my water with lemon, so I nixed lemons from my ever dwindling list of things that are OK to eat. It also happened after a salad, so avocados got cut from the list, too. One of the great things about an elimination diet is that you are so, so sensitive to what’s bothering you that it’s easy to figure out what the culprit is within hours. It’s also one of the crappy things about it. Bake sale today at work = no fun for me at all.

I’ve also been chugging water. Because I got up so many times to fill my cup at work, I brought in a half gallon pitcher to keep track of how much I really was drinking every day. Yeah… I’ve been drinking more than a gallon. Almost two, probably (I don’t measure at home). Is that even healthy? I can’t figure out if I’m really that thirsty, or if I’m just desperate to stave off “weird throat feeling” because I’m so terrified of it. All I know is I hit the bathroom upwards of 10 times a day and it’s terribly distracting. This should not be the case when you’re only 3 weeks pregnant.

I’m trying my best to remain calm. Beta tomorrow. Important beta Monday.

But for today, I’m pregnant.

third time’s a charm

The embryo transfer went just as expected yesterday. I basically feel like an old pro at this. Big shock of the day? Only one transferred this time, not two. But more on that later.

I hate to associate this experience with “signs” or jinxes” or anything silly like that, because I’m still more than a little heartbroken over the psychic prediction that was so, so wrong. You can’t count on coincidence or happenstance. But it is… interesting, let’s say, that this our third time. Because of the well-known adage, “third time’s a charm,” and how that relates to us specifically.

You may recall that Eric and I did not get married the first time we got engaged. Nor did we get married the second time we got engaged. I could go on for days with all the reasons, but for the purposes of this post I’ll just say this: people were pretty skeptical when we got engaged for a third time. Hell, I think even we were skeptical. There may have been some sort of betting/pool over whether we’d actually go through with it among family and friends, but that’s never been confirmed.

When he proposed time #3, he had a new ring. I can’t say I was particularly shocked on the night it happened because we had been talking about it, we were on our annual family vacation at the beach (also the site of proposal #2, heh), and he asked me to go on a random night walk on the beach. So getting the ring… not a surprise. But he did get me something sweet that I didn’t expect – a charm with a heart and a little engagement ring that was engraved with “third time’s a charm! love, Eric.” I love that. And when things started going downhill last time, Eric’s mom even said, “Oh, it’s always the third time that works out for the two of you.”

Anyway, back to yesterday. My mom came with me this time. They don’t allow anyone past the waiting room and Eric despises NYC, and probably despises waiting around doing nothing even more than that (severe ADHD). Again, he asked if I needed him to come, and again I said no, I would be fine. It’s not a huge deal. Also, lunch and a little shopping with my mom afterwards sounded highly appealing.

We got to New Hope with plenty of time to spare. They called me back into the procedure area and showed me the printout picture of my embryo – singular. At first my heart sank, assuming one didn’t survive the thaw. But then when I questioned her, the check-in person said no, I still had three left. They automatically did one since my results aren’t being included in the study anymore; apparently you have two tries max for that. So… one, then.

I was thrown. First thought: why the hell are they doing a free transfer if I’m not even included in the study anymore? Second thought: shit, I kinda thought I might want to have twins. Third: Last time only one stuck. Should I do two?

The third thought I voiced out loud, and the check-in girl brightened, “Oh, you want two? Ok, you just wait one hour, we can defrost another one.” I mean… how weird is that? An hour to defrost your child? Like a pound of chicken breast. This whole thing is just so bizarre.

In the end I opted to just do one. Both the check-in person and the embryologist commented on how “beautiful, perfect” it was. I now have two successes under my belt, and I just have a good feeling about this time all around.

The procedure went smoothly. I left with a script for Lovenox that I have not filled yet. I hear it’s quite pricey, so I don’t know. I should get my clotting result tests back this week, which is also conveniently when I can test. AHH! Beta on Saturday.

You know the drill… I need your thoughts/prayers/vibes for now. I know I already have them. It amazes me sometimes when I find out all the random people keeping up with my blog and thinking of me… so humbling. Thank you all for being there for me.

Sorry this isn’t the most eloquent post. I did a lot this weekend and I’m sorta exhausted. Hope everyone had a great weekend. And because I did it for the other two, I need to share baby’s first picture below. A so-called “beautiful” 5-day embryo.

Third time’s a charm.

thirdcharm

the last red folder

Hello my friends. This is gonna be a quick one because I am so, so sleepy. Plus there’s not much to report.

I went for monitoring this morning and all looked good. And once again I was the only red folder in a huge sea of green, further proving what I already feared… the trial is over. This is probably it for me.

Our group orientation for the clinical trial was on December 14th of last year. So it’s conceivable (ha, see what I did there?) that the other two couples in our initial session could be pregnant right now. Heavily pregnant. Giving birth, even. That’s crazy to think about. I often wonder what happened to them, and if their stories played out very differently from ours. I hope for their sake that it did.

Transfer date is tentatively set for Saturday, which is fabulous because that means I won’t have to take an unpaid day off of work. I just have to go for blood monitoring Thursday to confirm my levels, then they’ll give me the date for sure.

PIO shots start tomorrow. Here’s the funny part – on the phone they told me to do Prometrium suppositories, which they’ve never mentioned or prescribed before. But then I was like, uhhhh no, I have three freaking bottles of Progesterone bought and paid for from last cycle, plus I’ve heard creepy stories about Smurf vag. I’ll stick with the ass injections, thanks.

And with that, I’ve realized how skewed from normal my life has become. Ass shots and Smurf vag. Eesh.

Guys…I’m getting really excited. I have a good feeling about this one for some reason. (And fair warning: obligatory “third time’s the charm” post is already in the works. Sorry, I have to).

it’s on

After much debate, both internally and externally, I called New Hope to report CD1 yesterday. And while I’m sure you don’t need me to, I do feel some sense of obligation to defend my decision to do this. Here are my reasons:

1) I was very disappointed when we didn’t get pregnant the low-tech way, despite all evidence that we would not (a.k.a. 2 years of evidence). Maybe it was the itchy nip, maybe it was just the fact that I’ve jumped that hurdle now twice. A BFP didn’t seem impossible anymore. HA!
2) Clinical trial, people, clinical trial. It’s over. My participation in it is questionable, since technically I was supposed to be kicked out in June. Any moment someone is going to realize this.
3) I’m not going to be able to afford going to a Reproductive Immunologist this century. Even if I could, I wouldn’t be able to afford the treatments. So… waiting changes nothing. I know the protocol. Dr. L can prescribe the things I can afford, like Lovenox. So why wait? (I have a whole other long post about my findings on Reproductive Immunology in general, and I will get around to posting it one of these days).

Anyway. I called New Hope yesterday, CD1. Person answering the phone checked my chart, sounded confused as to why I would call, put me on hold for a long time and then transferred me to the clinical trial mailbox (a veritable wasteland of messages that are never returned, as far as I can tell). I left a message, hung up, and started crying. I figured I was out of the trial. I even began researching clinics around here so I could start inquiring about prices for an embryo transfer, though it obviously wasn’t going to work out this month. Then I figured, hey, why not try to shoot them an email (pretty much the only way you can get a response). The nurse replied with, “Can you come in tomorrow?” Can I come in… so you can break up with me in person? So you can do monitoring? I didn’t understand. But still, I simply said, “Yes, I’ll be there.”

While I did feel better that they wanted to see me, I wasn’t entirely convinced that I was still acutally in the trial. Trial patients have red folders, regular patients have green ones (because they pay money?). I was literally the only red folder in a huge stack of appointment folders for the day. But they drew my blood. They did the sono. According to the ultrasound tech, my ovaries “looked perfect.” And then they sent me home.

I’m scheduled to go back Monday, the 23rd. So it sounds like the transfer is happening. I feel… nervous. Like it’s happening really fast, even though it’s really not. I hope that doesn’t mean I’m not ready. I think more than not ready, I’m terrified, so much more than last time. If you have one miscarriage, you won’t necessarily have two. But it seems like once you have two you’re likely to have more and more. And this is probably most likely our last try, despite having two more embryos left after this. But more on that some other time (or hopefully not, because hopefully I won’t have to worry about it).

I have a question that I’ve been curious about for some time now, and if it’s too personal or weird, I apologize. I notice that some of you get many embryos, do a transfer, then when you do another round of IVF you do the whole process over again rather than using the additional embryos from the first go-round. Is this just a fresh vs. frozen thing? A quality thing? I’m curious. As for me, I’m on my round 3 draft picks (I feel terrible saying that, haha, but it’s the truth). First time both stuck. Second time one did. Now… well, like I said, I’m nervous. I didn’t ask what the grading was because I don’t want to stress about it, but I’m assuming it’s good enough to potentially work or they wouldn’t bother. Does that make sense? Again, we have to use what we have either way, I was just wondering why some of you opt not to. Feedback appreciated.

September transfer. June due date. No psychic predictions, no premonitions, no weird coincidences. Just a random month and possibly a Gemini. I can deal with that.