burnt toast life

the good with the bad

This is a hard post to write, literally and figuratively.

So much has happened over the past few weeks that I feel exhausted just thinking about getting it all out of my brain and onto my blog. Big things – both good and bad – are going on right now, and the longer I wait, the more that happens. So I’m just going to dive right in and finally update this thing with the news of right now.

The first big (bad) thing that happened is that I lost my job. I know… it’s truly awful! You’ll remember that I’m working at my dream company, a place that I actively targeted for five years before finally breaching the seemingly impenetrable walls of the fortress.

This comes as no surprise, however. I started at Rodale as part of the e-commerce team, retail being a new endeavor that they were hoping to grow but which sadly had to be pared down and restructured for a multitude of reasons I won’t bore you with here. Long story short, almost my entire team got laid off (except for 3 survivors who now face the daunting task of doing the work of 12 people), so you know, nothing personal. I’ve never lost a job before so this whole experience has been very enlightening.

One nice thing is that the company gave us six week’s notice, and I am still employed until 12/30. Coming in to work the day after the big announcement was definitely awkward, but as days passed we all just got used to it. It’s not uncommon now to pass by a coworker’s screen and see a draft of her resume blatantly displayed, or overhear conversations about job interviews and LinkedIn connections. It’s all at once funny, sad, and weird.

Mostly I’ll miss the people I’ve been working with every day for the last two years. I always miss the people most of all! We have such a great group of ladies who are all so talented, and while I’d love to believe we’ll stay in touch, the reality is that it’s unlikely. It’s scenarios like this that force me to admit how useful social media can be.

Anyway, I’m remaining surprisingly upbeat despite this setback. Maybe it’s naiveté and maybe it’s just optimism, but something in me is convinced I won’t remain unemployed for long. I had one interview yesterday and have another Monday (for an internal role), and I have a couple other prospects I’m waiting to hear from. I truly believe something will work out for me.

As for the other thing… the baby thing… no, I’m not putting that on hold, even though I probably should. For one thing, I’m about to lose my infertility coverage (unless I get that internal gig) and for another, I’m not going to start planning my life around work. I like working, but I’m never going to be a ladder-climbing career gal, if you know what I mean. Motherhood comes first, work second. I have no idea how this will all play out and I learned long ago that my best-laid plans can all be dashed in an instant. So… it may be crazy… but the transfer is still happening this month.

Part of me is thinking it’s dumb to be posting this on a public personal blog. But again – whatever! If a potential employer somehow sees this and decides not to hire me based on my desire to have more children, then I’m glad to know that up front. Because my intention is to have more kids and there’s no company in existence that would change my mind on that.

I just started my daily Estradiol and my PIO shots are in the mail and should arrive today – yay. I’m picking up the cryo tank from my new fertility clinic Thursday night and heading into Manhattan (with a good friend chauffeuring) early Friday AM. One nice thing about being laid off is that things have become super lax as far as hours are concerned, and literally no one cares about me leaving early or coming in late (hours before were super flexible – now it’s a total free-for-all). I’m very nervous about this whole ‘picking up the embryos’ thing going smoothly. The new clinic required 12 pages of legalese signed, initialed, and witnessed just for me to think about bringing the embryos in the door. Checking them out from NYC only requires a one page form, but it does need to be notorized (to-do list addition: find a notary). I’ve been going nuts trying to coordinate and plan all the bits and pieces of this event, from forms to weekly monitoring appointments and everything in between. I will definitely feel a lot more relaxed on Friday afternoon when embryos are safely where they need to be at the new clinic. I’ll feel even more relaxed mid-month when one of those embryos is all the way where it needs to be – a.k.a., my uterus.

What else? Oh no big deal, it’s December and I haven’t started Christmas shopping, plus did I mention I’m unemployed? We have something going on every night this week, I’m supposed to be relaxing and mentally preparing for this embryo transfer, ALSO I’m frantically job hunting, and we need to put up and decorate the tree, and take Christmas photos, and mail out cards, and continue with the little details of daily life… ahhh! It’s enough to drive any sane person absolutely bananas.

And as if that wasn’t enough, we had a birthday brunch for Liam last Sunday on the day of his first birthday (which I had to plan, shop for, cook for, and clean for). Yes, my son is ONE! What! The party was just for immediate family, but even then the guest list included 15 adults and 13 children who all crammed into my tiny house. It was crowded, noisy, and lovely, and Liam definitely enjoyed himself and smashed his cake in his own good time (5 minutes after everyone stopped taking videos and wandered out of the kitchen).

He’s been getting much better at walking and can do the mummy-esque shuffle across the length of a room. He falls a lot, but gets right back up, and you should see how proud he is of himself. I can’t believe how big he’s getting. I can’t believe how much I’ve forgotten to write down. Oh, the poor, neglected second child.

That’s really it for now. If you could all say a few prayers for me I would truly appreciate it – that the embryo moving day goes smoothly, that the embryo transfer works (looking like right around 12/13 or 12/14, and hopefully I’ll post again before then but with my track record I’m not making any promises), that I find a job, that I find space to relax and breathe, and that I don’t lose my ever-loving mind in the meantime. Thanks, friends.

Here are some party pics of my big man:

he kept the hat on for approx 4 seconds

he kept the hat on for approx 4 seconds

he knows how old he is

he knows how old he is

yay - cake!

yay – cake!

cake = smashed

cake = smashed

need a ride?

need a ride?

three on the move

Hi there.

I’ve been a mess lately trying to work out the logistics of a big situation. It’s still not completely figured out but we’re getting there. I’ve been waiting to share until I was sure it would work out, and even though I’m still not 100% positive, I am fairly confident now that it will happen. Very soon.

I’ve mentioned many times now that no embryos are getting left behind and that we are planning to implant all three of the remaining little frosties at some point. Well…the time has come.

There are several time-related and financial reasons for the rush. First, don’t laugh, but I’m feeling old. As of four days ago I’m 32 and a half which of course is not old, but is kind of old when you’re facing the prospect of three more pregnancies. (Or two more… that’s a whole other issue). Especially considering that every one of those deliveries will be a scheduled c-section, which will be harder and harder to recover from as I get older.

Financially, the time had to be now because of boring insurance reasons. Thanks in large part to Eric’s multiple ER visits in April, we managed to meet our gigantic deductible for 2016. I know, who would have thought? Because we accomplished this feat, all future medical visits and procedures for this year are covered at 90%, and now that we have coverage for ART despite it not being state-mandated (HALLELUJAH), the embryo transfer has become – dare I say – affordable.

Of course, as of January 1st our enchanted carriage turns back into a pumpkin and we’ll need to meet that big scary deductible all over again before we can enjoy that awesome 90/10 coverage. So even though mentally I’d feel better about doing the transfer in 6 months, truly, what’s the difference? December, June, who cares? Going from two kids to three kids is going to be a giant change no matter what. If we wait until we’re truly ready we’ll never do it. At this moment, I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, and I’d much rather take advantage of all the money I’ve paid into insurance so far this year.

We had our consult last week with the new/old RE. She’s the one who originally diagnosed our infertility issues in 2011. We went to her for all our initial testing and then promptly did nothing about our crappy diagnosis because we didn’t have the money or the coverage. It was pretty funny giving her updates on our situation at our most recent appointment. Five years later things couldn’t be more different.

Considering the fact that New Hope is two hours away, it was an easy decision to leave them. Also, they are not an in-network provider with our insurance, so meeting our deductible for the year would mean diddly squat in terms of out-of-pocket expense. Interestingly, and I believe I’ve mentioned this in a prior post, doing the transfer at New Hope is about half the price as doing it at the local clinic. Yes, bizarre! But yes, I also don’t care, because again I’m only paying 10%. So whatever.

As Dr. L was going over my history she had some matter-of-fact observations, as I knew she would. First she asked that I manage my expectations. “There is very little chance of you bringing home three babies from these remaining three embryos,” she cautioned. She reiterated what I already knew – that these were the worst quality of the bunch. Of course I realized their likelihood of sticking was much less than the first five we tried. She was also alarmed by my history of repeat pregnancy loss and asked if I’d be able to handle another miscarriage. “I’ll handle it. I’ve handled it,” I said, but her words really got me thinking.

I’ve not yet experienced a miscarriage since having my babies and I wonder what the difference would be (if any). I know I would be incredibly sad regardless, but I do think it would be a different kind of sad. When I lost the twins and the next pregnancy I was mourning their loss, obviously, but beyond that I was mourning the potential of never getting to be a mother. I had no consolation in the form of living children because I had no living children. Now, I won’t be mourning both things, because no matter what happens I am a mom and no future miscarriage will change that. It makes the prospect significantly less scary. I hope I’m not making is sound like miscarriage would be totally fine and easy. I would still be an absolute wreck; I know I would. But I also feel like these past three years have given me so much perspective and I do think I’d handle it better. Even though I think I handled it pretty damn well the first two times around, considering.

Sorry, tangent. Back to the topic at hand. We went in for our little discussion, yada yada, and Dr. L wasn’t even that surprised when I mentioned the whole ‘let’s get this in by the end of the year, insurance, deductible, etc.’ song and dance. Apparently we’re not the only ones trying to get the most bang for our buck from insurance companies. I had a quick U/S on the spot to check my ute and c-section scar (man, was it weird to be back in that chair again) and was sent off with instructions to come back in a week for a lining check. The plan is to go forward with my next cycle – the last possible one of the year – which would make the transfer date sometime in mid-December. Cue the cautiously enthusiastic music here.

The next big hurdle lies in transporting the embryos from Manhattan to Pennsylvania. I have three frustrating options for this:

Option 1 – Rent a tank from the PA clinic. Pick up the tank in PA, drive to NYC, drive back to PA, drop off embryos + return tank. Tank rental cost: $300 + $1,000 credit card hold that would be refunded with the tanks safe return (are people seriously stealing these things?)
Option 2 – Rent a tank from the NYC clinic. Drive to NYC, pick up the tank & embryos, drive to PA, drop off embryos. Drive back to NYC within 1 day to return the tank. Drive back to PA. Tank rental cost: $100
Option 3 – Pay to have them safely and securely shipped. Shipping cost: $750

Ok, that last one is obviously off the table. I’d be a nervous wreck the whole time and the cost is insane.

Do you see my dilemma, though? Eric said I need to weigh the cost of making the trip back and forth four times vs. paying triple the price for the tank rental – for example, with Option 2 I’d be paying for gas, paying for parking, and paying to go through the Lincoln Tunnel multiple times which was like $12 last time I did it. It’s a big pain in the butt. But $100 vs. $300 rental fee? Come on…

I also need to figure out if I’m driving myself or taking the bus. I know it sounds completely effing insane to be riding a public bus with my embryos in a cooler tank but truly, isn’t the situation just as bizarre no matter how I do it? The alternative is, what, strapping the cooler (and yes I am literally picturing a Coleman camping cooler right now) into Molly’s carseat and driving down the highway? Either way… it’s weird. Totally weird.

The bus sounds pleasant because 1) I wouldn’t have to drive and 2) I wouldn’t have to park. Also, have you ever driven in Manhattan? It’s terrible. I’d much rather zone out with a book, Coleman cooler + embryos safe by my side on a comfortable luxury bus than white knuckle my minivan through midtown traffic and pray a cabbie doesn’t hit me.

So that’s where I am right now – trying to figure out how to get those little embryos from point A to point B. Once they are back in PA I’ll be much happier because the cost of storage will drop from $100/month to $60/month, and then once they’re moved to long-term storage that will further reduce to $40/month. No more paying exorbitant Manhattan rent, hooray!

As we cautiously approach a December FET, we’re managing expectations (haha, not really) and hoping for miracles. If all goes to plan, I’ll be able to test the week of Christmas.

What an amazing gift a double line would be to end this crazy year.

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

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!

Deeda and Cindy take New York

(**I am Deeda. Cindy is my mother-in-law.)

On Monday night Eric and I sat down and discussed whether or not he would come to NYC with us. After making sure that I wouldn’t be secretly mad if he didn’t go, he pointed out that if the transfer worked this time, I would have the baby this year and he would much rather take time off once bambino was born. Despite my optimism with this cycle, I hadn’t even considered this. Couple that conversation with the fact that when I walked into the living room just prior, he was engrossed in a local health spot on breastfeeding and said, “I’m getting some really great advice for us,” you can see why my heart utterly melted. Yes, I picked the right man to make a baby with.

On this trip I finally figured out why New York makes me feel so unsettled. Let me preface this paragraph by saying something: I am in love with New York. I think it’s sexy, glamorous and impossibly cool. I only wish that I was worthy of it. I brag about the year that I worked in midtown Manhattan like it meant something, even though if I strolled through that company today not one person would recognize my face (and with their turnover rate, I probably wouldn’t recognize most of theirs. Thankfully). Anyway. I figured out the two words that best sum up my New York experience: sensory overload. I don’t mean the lights and the noise and the people; I mean the action. I am the type of person who always wants to be part of what’s going on. I think it’s probably one of my most annoying qualities (friends – correct me if I’m wrong). I am known to whine at my sisters-in-law for going to Target or trivia nights or anywhere without inviting me, even when I’m more likely to say no than yes. The other night my two friends mentioned going to a bar together recently. I blurted out, “Oh, was it that night I couldn’t come? Or some other time? Did you guys just plan your own thing, then?” like some jealous psycho girlfriend. In this post I mentioned reading “Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me (And Other Concerns),” a hilarious book that I would have loved for the title alone. That could have easily been my own memoir’s title. (Current working titles: “Have Progesterone, Will Travel,” “I Should Have Been a Fertile: Why I was Robbed of My One True Destiny,” and “Infertility, Student Loan Debt, and a Useless Liberal Arts Degree: How to Overcome Adversity and Win at Life!”)

New York City makes me feel like I’m being left out. There are so many restaurants, bars and stores that I can’t help but feel like I’m missing something (which I definitely am, but how can anyone avoid that?) So I walk around and instead of enjoying myself, I just peek in windows thinking, “Is that place cool? Is this place happening? Are those people having a great time? Oh gosh, look at that brownstone. What if I lived there? How amazing would my life be? I bet I’d have a chaise lounge.” I cannot keep a handle on my excited thoughts and wind up not enjoying anything. New York is like my way-too-cool-for anyone, inaccessible and intoxicating lover. It gives me just enough to keep me coming back but never keeps me satisfied.

That said – we had such a fabulous time. We ate at Bangkok House the first night and got a prix fixe meal including soup, an appetizer, a salad, an entree and dessert for $16.95 per person. And it was phenomenal. Leave it to my mother-in-law to find an incredible discount, even in one of the most expensive cities in the world.

For breakfast the next morning we went to Le Pain Quotidien, a delightful French bakery within sight of Central Park. It’s the kind of place where you’ll always find Europeans, particularly French people engrossed in lyrical conversation, which I believe is a very good mark of authenticity.

Right, so we didn’t go to New York just to eat. We were there for this greater purpose that had my phone blowing up with texts and my Facebook blowing up with love. As if I wasn’t overwhelmed enough! I felt like a hero headed off to war (or how I imagine one might feel). My brain told me not to be nervous, but the night before I suffered some serious insomnia. I got up at 2 a.m. and stared out to the city streets forlornly, feeling like I was auditioning for a Lifetime movie. I should expand my vocabulary here, but really “overwhelmed” is the best I can come up with. It was finally happening.

in Central Park, right before my big moment

in Central Park, right before my big moment


My appointment was at 11 a.m. They called me back to the procedure area about 15 minutes prior, I got all capped and gowned, and then I had to wait in that waiting area. And wait. And wait. Thank goodness I had the foresight to keep my iPhone handy, because I ended up waiting for 45 friggin minutes. I did talk to a very nice woman who was there for her second transfer, her first being two years ago and successful the first time. AND she only transferred one. She also confided that Martha Stewart’s daughter goes to the same doctor as ours and that he specializes in tough cases. Overall, she calmed me down immensely.

The procedure itself was underwhelming. They did not let me watch the screen or record it. No one made a big deal about it. The whole thing felt just like a gynecological exam; uncomfortable but not painful. I watched the clock for lack of something better to look at and I can say with confidence that I “got pregnant” at 11:45 a.m. on Thursday, February 28th. Of course I was terrified to stand up afterwards, like they were going to fall out (which they assured me was not going to happen). Wanna hear something funny? The doctor kept saying “Just relax” the whole time I was laying there (possibly the only two words of English that he knows). Like, I literally had to just relax so I could get pregnant. Irony, right?

Cindy requested an "after" picture so I got silly on the subway

Cindy requested an “after” picture, so I got silly on the subway


Afterwards we headed down to Union Square because I had my heart set on checking out Forever 21’s maternity line, which is only offered at certain locations. Or was offered, I should say. Apparently the line was discontinued last summer and according to the flippant and annoyed sales girl, it “didn’t sell.” It’s probably for the best. In case anyone was keeping score, I have yet to buy one piece of maternity clothing. Maybe I should wait for the beta. Yeah.

My MIL had looked up a couple of places to visit, including an eatery called The Redhead that sells homemade bacon peanut brittle (yup, that exists). We walked to it from Union Square, which was no small feat. I tried desperately to slow down my normal speed walker pace. We walked and walked and walked… only to find the place closed until dinnertime. Ugh. We splurged and took a cab back and ate at Gazala’s Place, as seen on Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives. Again, inexpensive and delicious.

By nightfall we were exhausted and decided to forgo our plans of seeing a comedy show. We did make a stop at Magnolia Bakery before coming back to the room, so we spent the evening vegging out and working ourselves into a sugar coma. Pretty sure I fell asleep at 9 p.m.

So that’s it – I’m home and happy to be back. I’ve been trying to figure out if I feel different… so far, no. Just calmer. I have that sense of peace that comes from finishing a job interview or turning in a final exam. I have literally done everything that I can do. Now it’s out of my hands… and into my uterus. My first beta is on Thursday, which means I have to skip a ski trip to Massachusetts with my family next weekend since the second could potentially be on Saturday (God-willing).

And now… we wait.

the face of utter exhaustion.. heading home

the face of utter exhaustion.. heading home

I want you to stay

First of all, I can’t take credit for the general idea of this post. I saw a similar concept over at It Only Takes One and when I reached the end with tears streaming down my face, I knew I’d have to make one of my own.

Here is an open letter to my two snow babies on this ever-so-important embryo transfer day.

Dear babies,

Hey! Hope you’re digging the view in my womb so far. I’ve been working very hard to make sure it’s cozy, if you count positive thinking, obsessing, and trying to mentally will my lining to bulk up as “working very hard.”

Hear me out, I have a couple of reasons that I think you should stick around (haha, get it? stick?). If you reach the end and think it’s not for you, that’s cool. You’re no prisoner here and ultimately I want you to be happy. But I think I’ve come up with some pretty compelling reasons to stay. Ready? Here goes.

1) Your dad. I already know what an amazing father he’s going to be based on how excited he is today, how he treats his nieces and nephews and how much he wants to be a dad. I already know how this is going to go down: he’ll be the “fun one,” always helping you make huge, exciting messes everywhere and I’ll be the “party pooper,” yelling at everyone to clean up the mess. You see, he’s just a big kid at heart. That will come in handy for you because he’ll always see your side of things and never talk down to you. I know you’re going to love him.

2) Your grandparents. Kids, you really lucked out in this department. All four of them can’t wait to meet you and spoil you silly. Plus, you have experts in all areas including cars, bargain shopping, hard work, politics and facts of all kinds. Just wait. You’ll see.

3) Your cousins/aunts/uncles/fur brothers. I can already see all the fun you’ll have with the kids, and there will never be a dull moment. There’s tons of hand-me-down clothing (don’t worry; all good stuff) and family gatherings are always a treat. You’ll fit right in. As for fur brothers, there are two and I can guarantee they will want to play – for endless hours – even when mommy and daddy are too busy. They’re also great at cuddling.

4) Well… me. I have been waiting for you for a long, long time. This may sound cliche so don’t judge me, but I knew I loved you before I met you. And as for any challenges you may face – bring it on. I’m well aware that ADD runs in the family and I am 100% prepared for it. I will love you no matter what.

So if you heard me voice concerns about having twins in the past, I’m sorry. I’ll admit that at first I was hesitant, but I’m warming up to the idea. And since you’re both here, I definitely want you both to stick around (see, did it again. Stick!) I hope this letter convinced you, because we would be truly honored to meet you.

See you soon (hopefully!)

to clarify: the photo I used before (in "we set the date") was just found on the internet. This is a first photo of my ACTUAL children. Thinking of framing it.

to clarify: the photo I used before (in “we set the date”) was just found on the internet. This is a first photo of my ACTUAL children. Thinking of framing it.

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.