burnt toast life

mama called the doctor and the doctor said…

Yesterday my friends and I planned a day at the beach to celebrate one friend who turned 29 on July 1st and one who turns 29 today. The weather ended up being absolutely horrific – I’m talking a downpour on the way there, overcast and freezing when we got there and gloomy all around. But we did have a lovely time just hanging out all together and even sat our butts on the gray and cloudy beach for a whole hour before the skies really opened up (and we thanked our lucky stars for the existence of beach tents and umbrellas). The day was pretty terrific except for one little thing – my throat hurt. A persistent tickle started midway through the day and progressed into full-on sore throat as time went on. I was, understandably, freaking out. Did corn syrup somehow sneak into my food?

My only stray from bottled water was when I stopped for coffee at Dunkin Donuts. I ordered an iced decaf with milk and Splenda (that’s what I always drink), but maybe they used creamer? Or something else evil? Usually creamer doesn’t even have corn syrup, plus I ordered milk, but I can’t think of any other explanation. Something I ate or drank was an epic fail.

I tried my damnedest not to worry about it too much and just enjoy my day. By that point it was too late to do anything anyway. I got home in the early evening and settled in to watch two glorious hours of The Bachelorette. I was home alone (Eric was off on a road trip buying a truck from a coworker) when all of the sudden I felt a “whoosh!” down below. Don’t panic, I thought. Until I went to the bathroom and checked. Bright red blood. Bright freaking red.

I bled for a minute, tops. I’d estimate it was no more than a teaspoon, and it stopped as mysteriously as it started. I walked carefully back to the couch, sat down in a daze and started calling everyone who could offer any words of wisdom. Eric said it’s totally normal and I should calm down because stress makes it worse (uh, yeah). My sister said she bled for hours like a period while pregnant with her son. My mom bled with my brother. I started to feel marginally better, but was still on edge. Between the corn syrup scare and the bleeding, July 1st was not a very good omen.

I woke up with an incredibly stuffy nose and a less sore but still not back to normal throat. I didn’t bleed all night (trust me, all I could imagine was waking up to sheets soaked in blood). I went to work since sitting home would only make me more stressed. I called the OB/GYN first thing in the morning and was half hoping they would say, “No big deal, don’t worry about it.” Part of me was terrified to wait until Monday to do an ultrasound after yesterday, but another part was worried that them bringing me in signaled a reason to worry. Probably because of my history, they did request that I come in for a scan. So I got a surprise ultrasound this afternoon.

I was a bundle of nerves in the morning but as the day progressed I calmed down significantly. Everyone kept telling me to relax and I kept trying to relax but I know how wrong these things can go. I’ve been there. I’ve done that. I kept trying to logically think why there would be blood. I mean, there shouldn’t be blood, right? Why would I bleed? Last time I was spotting post-intercourse but it was traced to that specific event, plus it was light pink and non-threatening. This blood was so red it practically glowed. AND the nurse asked me that – what color was it, did you have intercourse prior. So I assumed them forcing me to come in had to do with the fact that neither of my answers were acceptable.

I had to wait until 3 for the appointment. I won’t beat around the bush: there is one baby and one THANK GOD I CAN SEE THAT LITTLE FLICKER heartbeat. There is also, somewhat alarmingly, a large gray mass in there which the tech had a few suggestions for. She said it could be super fattened up lining from the PIO shots, it could be subchorionic bleeding (basically, blood clots in the uterus that are usually benign but can cause some bleeding) OR it could be the other embryo that attempted to attach and did not develop properly. No matter what, there was a 6 week 1 day little bean in there looking just fine.

There was a huge sense of relief in seeing that heartbeat and in the nonchalant way everyone talks about first trimester spotting. Really no big deal. But then as I was standing at the reception desk scheduling my next appointment, I started bleeding again. And, well, I’m still bleeding right now (3 hours later). It’s kind of on and off but it’s definitely more than a teaspoon this time. The only thing keeping me from absolutely losing my mind is that I know her poking around in there with the ultrasound wand probably disturbed Weird Gray Mass AND that three hours ago, one of my babies was doing just fine. But damn. Can the flow just stop now so I can stop worrying for half a second?

The tech said that New Hope should be able to determine what Weird Gray Mass is at my next appointment or the one after as things develop further. In the meantime I’m laying on the couch like it’s my job and wishing like hell that I had a backup supply of maxi pads, but I figured keeping them in the house would “jinx it,” so I literally have none.

And in case anyone was keeping track, this is all right in line with what the psychic said. My friend said earlier that my gender reveal party will be the most underwhelming thing ever since clearly I’m having a girl in February. Honestly, that’s one of the few things keeping me from curling up into a ball and sobbing at how much a jerk my uterus is, messing with my mind like this.

That’s all, folks. A healthy dose of drama as we march on towards Monday.

flakes (and one final beta)

I have a bit of a rant before I get to beta news. Bear with me.

The last word that anyone would use to describe me is the word “flaky.” I’m far from perfect, but I take pride in my dependability and reliability (yes, I am most certainly a Taurus). If you invite me to something and I say I’ll be there, you better damn well expect to see my face on the scheduled date and time. That’s how I roll. I’m the antithesis of flaky. I’m the human embodiment of Head ‘n’ Shoulders shampoo. I have no tolerance for flakes.

boowhoreI realize that this is not a typical quality, especially in this day and age. Everyone is all, “Yeah, TOTALLY, that sounds like a good idea, we should DEFINITELY meet for lunch on Thursday!” Then Thursday rolls around and the inevitable text pops up, “OMG so sorry, my cat threw up and I can’t make it.” It drives me insane. I know I made an entire list of pet peeves, but by far, flakiness is my number one. Just do what you say you’re going to do, or don’t say you’re going to doing it. It’s that simple.

In case you’re wondering where this rant is coming from, let me tell you about Friday night. I’m part of a book club and have been for about a year now. Call me nerdy, but whatever, I’ve always loved reading and talking about the things I read, so a book club makes perfect sense. We have a fabulous group of girls and have a grand time whenever we get together. But life is busy, and inevitably someone or something gets in the way of scheduling. It’s kind of a running joke – each time we set a date for book club, it gets changed at least four times before we actually meet. But then it ends up being worth it because we have so much fun.

One of our members moved about an hour and a half away, so we thought it would be neat to do book club at her new apartment. It would be a road trip! It would be an adventure! We were all so excited at the prospect. Plus, we were reading The Great Gatsby, so how can you go wrong? We set a date. People couldn’t come. The date was changed. People couldn’t come. It changed again. And so on, and so on, for about two months until we finally decided it would be this past Friday night. I was going to drive everyone because clearly I could not drink. And then…well, you see where this is going. I ended up driving that hour and half all by myself. But you know what? I went anyway.

The girls who didn’t come have become some of my best friends and I can tell you with absolute certainty that they aren’t flaky people. I love them and love spending time with them, plus they are sweet and genuine and caring. If they weren’t, I wouldn’t be friends with them. And both of their reasons for bailing were understandable (no cats vomiting). These friends are not flaky, they just flaked this one time. (And if we’re being totally honest, I will admit to flaking myself for one specific type of event – parties that try to sell me something. Jewelry parties, Pampered Chef parties, Please Buy This Awesome Yet Unjustifiably Expensive Stuff parties. In my defense, I usually RSVP maybe, so it’s not really flaking).

But still, I think the incident speaks to a larger societal problem, especially with my generation. There’s just no dependability anymore. As my aunt pointed out, she’s constantly bombarded with reminders for events and it drives her crazy. She said, “Obviously if I say I’m going to be there, then I’m going to be there. Stop reminding me.” But I pointed out that she’s the exception, not the rule. Most people assume that when you say you’re definitely attending, you’re really a maybe. And maybes often turn into sorry… I have indigestion. I’ll take a rain check.

We ended up having a really good time at book club, despite historically low attendance. There were three of us (me, the host and another friend and book club member who lives close by). The host is a girl who I used to work with who is 24, and is living right outside Manhattan with two roommates. If you ever want to feel ancient… hang out with 24-year-olds. The roommates were very nice, of course, and when they quickly deduced that I wasn’t drinking wine because I was pregnant, there was a lot of shrieking and congratulating. One of the roommates is “like, so totally obsessed with pregnancy and having kids one day,” so she immediately started asking me a bunch of questions. She asked if it was my first and I only paused for a fraction of a second before answering yes. I never really thought about how to answer that question, and in that moment bringing up miscarriage seemed like such a buzz kill. Plus, she was making me feel so delightfully normal. Next, she asked how long I had been married and I answered three years. She nodded emphatically, saying, “Oh yes, that’s perfect then. So you had some time with your husband and now you’re having kids.”

I had to hold back laughter at that one. As if these past three years have just been devoted to “building our relationship” before we started our family. As if I haven’t been consumed with the idea of getting pregnant since day one. As if I haven’t spent every single minute of our marriage worrying about having a baby. As if this baby wasn’t created in a lab somewhere and stored in a freezer. As if we just woke up one morning, decided it was time and magically conceived a baby. Oh, to be 24 and ridiculously optimistic again.

In other news, I had my fourth and final beta yesterday – 14,483. So, still pregnant for now! I’m symptom-free besides some sporadic shooting boob pain and a bout of nausea from waiting too long to eat. My first ultrasound will be on July 8th in NYC (the same day Eric starts his new job, so of course he can’t come) then I just have to make it through two more until I graduate from New Hope. Hopefully for forever. Still holding your breath, everyone? I’ll need it right around weeks eight and nine. Thanks.

side effects may vary, but they all suck

blowfishI woke up this morning and discovered that I was five months pregnant. No, I haven’t morphed into a creepy fairy carrying Andy Bellefleur’s quadruplets (PLEASE tell me someone gets that reference). It would appear that I’m incredibly bloated, which is a fabulous attribute to add to my current state of itchiness and gassy-ness. I’m just a whole lotta sexy wrapped into one here, aren’t I?

I hit my personal peak of fatness in Cayman, and ever since have been slowly slimming down and even fitting into clothes I haven’t worn in months. Of course I realized that this could not last if this cycle was successful, and it goes without saying that I want a huge rotund belly more than I’ve ever wanted anything. But it was a little strange to go to bed with a relatively flat tummy and wake up looking very pregnant, indeed. I’m thinking this has less to do with the baby(ies) and more to do with something I ate that didn’t agree with me. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t know what it was.

I was recently caught plugging the new Turkey Hill All Natural ice cream on Facebook because the existence of it practically moved me to tears. Remember, this was mere days after I had to skip the ice cream social at work because they purchased a brand that had corn syrup. ALSO, while waiting in line to pay for my groceries, a kind woman in front of me in line (who I had been silently judging for buying so many TV dinners and HFCS poisoned sodas) turned around and offered me a $1 off coupon for the very same ice cream I was purchasing. It was fated.

The whole scene made me want to go on a rant about how if more food companies cared about people and used fewer, less scary and unpronounceable additives, the world would be a better place. This ice cream has four ingredients – cream, milk, sugar and cocoa. That’s all. Reading the ingredient list made me want to do a fist pump right there in the frozen foods aisle. I imagined a supermarket filled with delightful options such as this, and in doing so, my own personal heaven started to take shape.

But here’s the thing… I am lactose intolerant. And only after two days of savoring small-ish bowls of mind-blowing, all natural ice cream and waking up to super preggo belly bloat did I realize that perhaps I should start popping Lactaid again. Taking Lactaid (a 100% safe for pregnancy drug, btw) makes the biggest difference in the world for me. So now I just have to remember to take it. I never had a reaction to dairy the way I had one to fructose, so I’m not super freaking out over the ice cream gorging. But I have to remember… Lactaid. Always take the Lactaid.

Besides the big bloat, there’s been some creepy itching. I’ve been taking Prednisone, Estrace, baby aspirin, prenatal vitamins and doing PIO injections daily, and I’ve been itchy as all hell. A week ago I got a really fun looking rash on my abdomen that has since vanished, but it feels like my whole body is covered in hives (which it isn’t). I look like Dave Chappelle’s version of a crackhead, constantly and intensely scratching my skin in violent, jerky fits. I was taking the Estrace, PIO and prenatals last go-around and was never itchy, so I have to assume it’s the Prednisone or aspirin. It’s annoying, but still not serious enough to warrant going off my potential miracle drugs. One of those two things will be my salvation here, right? So I’ll just have to continue acting like a quasi-crackhead.

On a serious note, I’m more concerned than normal about things like bloating. My body is supposed to be settled and serene for this part, and it is to some extent, but I’m not 100% perfect yet. Each physical malady leads me to wonder, “Am I screwing this up? Am I causing my immune system to attack the baby toast(s)?” (Shoutout to Lentil for coining the embryos’ new and frankly perfect nickname).

I know, I cannot cause or prevent miscarriage. But over these last few weeks I’ve been thinking that maybe I can. So now that I’m essentially failing, I’m getting irritated. Not to mention bloated. And so itchy. Dammit.

sorry for the delay (a.k.a. beta #3)

I am very sorry for skipping my promised post yesterday. I got a frantic text from my sister-in-law at 11:30 p.m. demanding to know my beta, assuming it was bad news since I didn’t post.

The news is good. Beta #3 was 2,462. Four digit numbers are a hell of a lot more reassuring than two digit numbers.

A few people who I told expressed excitement that the number was so high, and thought it might be two. I went back to check – last time at this point with the twins, my beta was over 6,000. So I’m reeeallly thinking it’s just one this time.

Not much more to say than that. I went to bed at midnight last night after having a lovely backyard campfire under the supermoon with some friends, got up at 7, let the dogs out, then promptly fell back to sleep until 11:30. So you could say I’m abnormally tired.

Is it a symptom? Sure it is! I’m going with it, because otherwise I got nothing.

thank GOD (a.k.a. beta #2)

Beta number 2 was not only good news, but the news came in a timely manner. What a pleasant surprise.

Today’s beta was 80, which is the number I had in my head and is perfect doubling time. So…I’m really pregnant! And these low betas are making me think it’s a singleton, so I’m SO happy they transferred two (because if they had just picked one, what if it was the non-planning-on-sticking one?). I mean, technically it could still be two. But with these super low betas and non-crazy doubling time, my money’s on one. And that falls in line with what the psychic said anyway.

I just wanted to clear something up from the other day, when I was acting all cool and non-excited over my positive pee stick. This low beta experience has shown that I’m still a veritable ball of anxiety, and that nothing is for certain. I was grateful the whole time, of course, but I think I was getting a little bit too assured that I could at least make it to 8 weeks, just because I had done it before. These past few days prove that there’s always something to worry about. Always.

Thanks for all your kind words and quick research skills yesterday. I feel soooo much better today. My next beta isn’t until next Saturday, and I just need a break from thinking about it for a minute, so that’s good. I’m actually leaving for the beach tomorrow night and staying until Thursday (impromptu last minute vacation with Eric’s family) and I hear there’s no internet where we’re staying, so if I go MIA next week, that’s why. I’ll see y’all when I’m less pasty white!

Anxiety came back and she’s a total bitch (a.k.a. we have a beta)

Sorry to leave you all in suspense for the beta. The sad fact of the matter is, despite running the test yesterday, I didn’t get the results until this evening. It’s kind of a long story.

I went yesterday morning for the beta at a lab in my area, an option that was offered last time but that I didn’t pursue because 1) New Hope insisted on same-day results, and my normal lab doesn’t do those and 2) I was just used to going to New Hope. But last time, after getting super pissed at the 4-hour round-trip bus ride for a 30 second blood draw, I decided to do something different. I’m sure I’ll have to go back to NYC if I make it to the ultrasound stage, but in these first weeks when they’re just drawing blood, it’s 100% ridiculous to go all the way to New York. I found a lab very close to work that does same-day results, and it’s so much more convenient.

The one downfall of outside lab monitoring: waiting. As much as I claimed to be calm, by 3 p.m. yesterday I was starting to feel a little anxious. For my first beta, I’m pretty sure they called around noontime. Yesterday I kept getting up from my desk and forgetting to take my phone with me, then running back expecting to see a missed call and not being able to reach someone. Were they not calling me because it was bad news? I know they don’t do that, but still… my mind was going nuts.

Of course I didn’t decide to reach out and call them until 4:50 yesterday, and of course they didn’t answer the phone. I had to go through last night not really knowing what the answer was, and on top of that I got a pregnancy announcement from someone pretty close to my inner circle of family/friends (can’t spill who, not sure if she’s “out” yet). I was happy and excited and frankly unsurprised since I knew she wanted another child, but you know… pregnancy announcements bring up such mixed emotions, even though I kept trying to inwardly calm myself with “It’s OK! You’re pregnant too! I mean, probably. Hopefully. Maybe.” It just would have been so much easier to take it all in if I had my solid beta number in my pocket.

This morning I called New Hope first thing, and they claimed to not have received the results, which is why they didn’t call. They gave me a number to fax the results to that was completely different from the one on the paper, so I’m thinking the lab just faxed it to the wrong place. I called the lab, and they agreed to fax it to the new number. Phew. The woman on the phone was literally looking at my results so of course I had to ask, “You can’t tell me what they are, can you? Wink, wink?” She could not. It was just so frustrating knowing that she saw my fate, but I had to wait to hear it. Damn privacy laws. You’re protecting confidential information about me from me. Doesn’t make much sense.

I called New Hope in a couple of hours and they confirmed that the fax came through. Again, the receptionist couldn’t tell me what the results said, and just promised that someone would call me back once the doctor looked them over. I waited. I waited. My phone was permanently attached to my hand, even in the bathroom. We threw a baby shower for a girl at work today, so I sat through the entire thing willing the phone to just freaking ring – yes, another baby-centric event I had to endure with no damn beta.

They never called. I finally emailed and got back a response in about 5 minutes (who would have thought that could work?). And the answer is… Yes, pregnant. Beta is 32.

32.

32?!

Last round my beta at 7dpt was 155. This time, it’s 32. Since my response came in the form of an email and not a phone call, I couldn’t express my skepticism at this number or badger anyone to make sure it’s acceptable. I’m currently badgering a friend from the IF world via text, which I’m sure she appreciates.

So Anxiety is back, full force. Worry is back. Calm packed his bags and left. Why do I have to know any of this shit? Why do I have to obsess over betas and doubling? Why can’t I just pee on a stick and assume that in 9 months I’ll just have a baby? Faaaaccckkkkkkkk it.

The most underwhelming BFP in the history of BFP’s

I’m going to let you all in on a little secret. Don’t get mad at me, OK?

I’ve been eerily calm, for like, weeks now.

I cannot explain it, nor can I give any advice on how to achieve it. Months ago I was a veritable bundle of anxiety, bouncing around worst-case scenarios and totally owning that shit. Not only was I highly stressed, but I was also kind of proud of it. I had issues. My stress was justifiable.

But lately, out of nowhere, I’ve adopted this live-and-let-live, whatever will be, will be attitude. I wasn’t even trying. In the past, every time that I tried to convince myself to calm down, I did so with the wink-wink, nudge-nudge of knowing it wasn’t actually going to happen. It’s like telling yourself to appreciate every moment, or don’t sweat the small staff. Nice in theory – mostly impossible to practice. Then something inside of me inexplicably shifted.

It was an interesting way to spend the 2ww (or in my case, 1ww). Of course I was aware that I could be pregnant. But… I didn’t think about it every moment. I didn’t obsess over when I could test. Actually, I didn’t even decide whether to POAS until this morning. This morning! As in, 2 minutes before I actually did it (I think deep down I knew I would. But I didn’t obsess over it like last time).

Despite my lack of nail-biting, I was extremely relieved to get that BFP this morning. Telling Eric was pretty funny, he could not have been less surprised. Later on he admitted to be hesitant to get too excited until 12 weeks, which I totally get. It’s scary and exciting. I fully realize that I should be freaking the hell out, but I’m just… not.

There’s a tiny, eensy weensy voice inside that’s wondering if my HCG levels are registering a positive because I wasn’t back to zero a week before the transfer. How high do your levels have to be to get a positive? Plus, I did get the HCG injection on Thursday with the transfer. Could it (gasp!) be a false positive? I suppose it could. I’m hoping not.

Beta tomorrow. Then a few weeks of terrifying ultrasounds. Then hopefully trimester two brings a sense of security.

But for now… calm. Maybe it really will turn out OK in the end.

snapshots from ET round 2

Even though it wasn’t quite the circus that it was last time, I did get a bunch of sweet messages:

katiewish
ashleyswish
sarahwish
wishcindy
rachelwish

Here’s the text I sent my sister:

ashleywish

On the bus ride into the city, I got inspired by The Berry’s Morning Coffee post:

buddha

After I got off the train I rode the escalator up to street level. While Coldplay’s Paradise serenaded my eardrums, I noticed a woman with the telltale inner elbow medical tape bandage proving she had just come from a New Hope monitoring appointment. Immediately behind her was a very pregnant woman. Together we formed the past, the present and the future. Maybe it was the Coldplay influence, but I swear, in that moment it felt like all was right in the universe.

Here’s my babies’ first picture:

embryos

Aren’t they adorable?!

Here’s the wittiness you missed because you didn’t “like” my Beloved Burnt Toast Facebook Fan Page yet:

screenshot

The transfer went fine, as I knew it would. This was my first time talking to Dr. L since the day which shall not be mentioned, and she had a lot to say. Specifically, she made me reiterate over and over that the tissue results from the D&C had been normal. She was shocked about this. Could not believe it (what can I say, I’m a medical marvel, apparently). She said, and I quote, “So what are you going to do to keep this from happening again?” JUST LIKE I TOLD YOU SHE WOULD SAY. Like I have control over it or something. I should mention that when she said this, I was already in my cap and gown, legs up, lady parts out, embryos thawed on a little table on the other side of the room, but despite all this I did think for a moment that she was going to stop everything and make me hash out my very own Miscarriage Prevention Plan. Of course, she did not. She did the transfer, then made me wait a freaking hour and a half to speak with her after the procedure. It was just me, sitting there, alone with my terror thoughts.

Her miraculous solution: baby aspirin daily. I mean… duh. I knew she was going to say that. I also have a prescription for Prednisone, which falls under the “can’t hurt, might help” category of medication. I just looked it up and it’s a immunosuppressant, which makes my heart happy. When she asked for why the pregnancy failed last time, I stuttered out some words about food allergies and she just stood there looking at me like I was insane. She gave no reaction to my ramblings; no acknowledgment, no counter-argument, nothing. It was as if she was watching a crazy person have a bad bout of verbal diarrhea. But the Prednisone script proves that she gave me a little credit, right?

She also mentioned Lovenox, which is a bit controversial and has yet to be a proven remedy against the big MC. Dr. Google says it’s “anticoagulant therapy indicated to help reduce the risk of developing DVT, or deep vein thrombosis,” so we’re back to blood clotting drama again. She said she never liked to prescribe it but desperate women started seeking out other doctors who would, and it’s become a kind of standard in NYC for recurrent losses. I bit my tongue at that – seeing as I’ve only had one loss – but she is using a wait and see approach, because it’s a “giant needle,” is “very expensive” and “is not necessarily covered by insurance.” Oh, goody.

So yeah, I’m officially PUPO (that’s pregnant until proven otherwise). One week ’til the beta!

went to the puppet show, saw all the strings

As some of you might recall, February’s embryo transfer was a big to-do. I took a couple days off of work, my mother-in-law, aunt and I all stayed in a hotel in the city and tons of Facebook friends were wishing me love and luck throughout the day as Eric live-posted pictures of me in my surgery cap. It was kind of a circus.

This time it’s quiet. Eric asked if I needed him to come with me (several times), and several times I reassured him not to bother. Wasting a precious vacation day to sit for hours in a waiting room is silly. I can’t explain why, but I’m feeling very calm and relaxed. I remember the night before the last transfer I got a serious bout of insomnia. For some reason, I can’t picure that happening this time (but hey, I could be wrong).

Because I live my life in movie quotes, I just keep hearing one in my head from Jerry Maguire: “They’ve been to the circus, you know what I’m saying? They’ve been to the puppet show and they’ve seen the strings.”

Granted, the eloquent Rod Tidwell is talking about single moms, so it’s a little odd that I choose to relate this particular quote to my situation. But I just keep thinking I’ve gone behind the scenes of getting pregnant. There’s no mystery; there’s no magic. I’m a time-worn, weather-beaten veteran, not a shiny, happy new bride just awaiting her big moment. I’m exhausted. I’m excited, but that excitement is tempered by these past few months of loss, sorrow, regret, renewal and determination. I’m ready to just get on with it and do what needs to be done, no excessive celebration required.

It’s a little bit like a less important version of a second wedding. Everyone already made a big deal about it on the initial go round, and now it feels a little gauche to act like it’s my first time at the rodeo. Plus the “first wedding” was only a couple of months ago, so it’s even worse. I just want to quietly slip away and get it done, then celebrate later when I prove it’s going to work out this time. We’re delaying the reception, because last time it was so heartbreaking to return all the gifts when it ended. Ha, I wasn’t sure if this analogy would pan out, but it totally did. I’m basically getting remarried. I’m a once-married bride trying again. I’m older; I’m wiser. I understand what can happen if my fairy tale dreams don’t come true.

I wasn’t going to take the day off of work, but work insisted that I needed a “day to rest.” I’ll admit that I’m kind of happy I did that. My incredibly sympathetic and caring boss even forbade me to come in Friday, saying I could work from home but must spend the say “with my legs in the air, taking it easy.” Last time after the transfer I walked around the city streets in search of bacon peanut brittle for about 2 hours, and it still worked out. I don’t think bed rest will make a difference, but hey, I’ll take a free work from home day without argument.

bestiesTonight my besties and I got together for a little last hurrah party with a big bottle of wine and some peanut butter brownies. We talked about a lot of things other than what’s happening tomorrow (though we did talk about that, too) and it made me happy. It was nice and relaxing; it was just what I needed, despite the fact that I’m not feeling very anxious.

So that’s all. Getting ready for the puppet show, even though I’ve seen the strings. If I had to describe my feelings at this very moment I would use the following: composed, reflective and contemplative. I’m ready to get on with it, now. I’m waiting for the show to start.

can someone get me off this emotional roller coaster, please?

I’ve mentioned before that at my RE’s office, most of the doctors/nurses/techs don’t speak English very well. So far my biggest issue with that has been the recurring need to make them repeat things during phone calls, and the occasional abrupt and funny conversation. Then yesterday happened.

I went for CD11 blood and sono and had to wait until 4 freaking 30 for the results. The whole day started off on a sour note because I had my least favorite tech for the sono, the same tech who did my “your babies have no heartbeat” scan, so I was already feeling a little weird about the whole thing (at least it wasn’t the same room). She usually tells me nothing, except life-changing, terrible news, but today she said, “Mostly we are looking at the lining… you’re at 7.7, that’s perfect… Follicle on the left is measuring 21, and you’ll ovulate soon.” OK, I can live with perfect. Great. But then I had to wait eight hours for the blood results, which is uncommon. Despite my earlier good news, throughout the day I convinced myself that my hormone levels would be unacceptable and we’d have to cancel this cycle. They finally called.

English as a Second Language Nurse: “I do not know how to say this…”

Shit, right? She even repeated it, followed by a long silence. My heart dropped. Tears formed. I was working from home, so I looked forlornly out into the backyard, doing quick mental calculations of how we could possibly afford to do an FET on our own by next month. What about a yard sale? Maybe I could sell a kidney? How long would it take to raise the money? Seriously, in the space of 30 seconds I was already offering up my own organs to get pregnant again. Then she continued:

ESL Nurse: “I do not know how to say this, but did you give us a copy of the tissue results from your D&C? Do we have those?”

On the list of phrases to be banned from fertility clinics, I’m going to have to recommend that “I do not know how to say this” should be in the top ten. She literally did not know how to say something. I guess she didn’t realize that in the English language, prefacing your statement with, “I do not know how to say this,” means that the next thing you say will be awful, awful news. I felt both relieved and emotionally drained once I figured out what the hell she was actually saying. We straightened out the paperwork snafu and then she gave me my transfer date – June 6th. I don’t even have to go back for monitoring between now and then. I just have to start my Estrace, start my lovely PIO injections, and show up at 11:30 on Thursday to get pregnant.

I feel weird about this. We did a natural cycle FET last time, so I feel good about that, but I remember going back every day around ovulation to determine the precise time of it happening. They even gave me some nasal spray to induce it when I hadn’t ovulated by CD15. But this time, they’re just like, “Uhhh… yeah, come back Thursday. That should be good.” Maybe because it worked last time, so they don’t feel the need to be so precise? Maybe they don’t care that much? I just don’t know. And once again…I’m at the mercy of these people and cannot demand answers since I’m not a paying customer. I’m just a number in a study. I’m just a girl getting a free ride who needs to sit down and shut up.

I got a second emotional smack in the face on that same phone call. At my miscarriage ultrasound, Dr. L mentioned the possibility of just transferring one embryo for the next round. I’ve been mulling that over for the past 6 weeks and had finally come to terms with it being a good idea. I was scared of my ability to handle twins, especially for my first children, not to mention the added risks of having multiples. Plus it felt even more like trying to “replace” my lost children. So I made the decision. Yes, we would just transfer one. I had a higher level of confidence that just one would work since both of them stuck last time.

On the call, ESL Nurse said, “We will transfer two embryos.” I protested, mentioning that Dr. L had offered to just do one, but she said, “No, no that would break protocol. We have to do two.” So again… six weeks of planning and decision making was out the window. I’m scared enough to be pregnant; now the likely chance of twins again? I couldn’t sleep last night. I’m just so worried. (And before you ask if I can just talk to Dr. L, I’m now remembering that she kept getting confused if I was a clinical trial or regular patient. So she probably thought I was regular when she offered to do one. I know it makes more sense that they would have to do two again, so they don’t screw up the study).

I know, I sound like an asshole. Here I am so concerned about achieving the greatest goal: getting pregnant. Poor Amanda, her lining is just too welcoming and sticky. But I am a little messed up about the twins thing. More than I realized before I got that call. I’m stuck in that same conflicting place of wanting both my babies but only wanting to have one at a time. I can’t have it both ways, I know that.

This post just reeks of skepticism and negativity, I’m now realizing, but the entire gist of it is good news. I get to do a transfer this cycle. I knew it would be June 6th because that is my dear friend’s birthday, a friend who has been inexplicably linked to my infertility in strange and amazing ways (post explaining this further to follow). When I saw that things were lining up for early June, I thought, “The 6th. It’s definitely the 6th,” and it was.

Onward to Thursday, then…

Wheee!

Wheee!