burnt toast life

A quiet house

I have always known that I wanted children, and here is one of the reasons why.

I grew up in a loud house. There was always someone yelling, lots of commotion, and lots of noise in general. I was one of three (for a long time, until I was one of five), but I would argue that my brother Eric counts for two or even three in terms of noise-making abilities.

Holidays were even crazier, typical Italian drama-fests with an entire extended family crammed into tight quarters. I loved it. That is what spoke to my heart. It felt comfortable, it felt safe, it just felt like home.

One of the first things I loved about Eric was his big, loud family. I immediately felt like I belonged there, because it felt just like my family gatherings. One of my great joys in life is our weekly Sunday dinner at his parent’s house, a cacophony of kids and grandkids and spouses.

Naturally, I imagined a noisy house of my own, filled with the harmonious sounds of kids and dogs and happiness. Of course, I treasure silence at times, but I like it as an unexpected surprise, not a normal state of being. This morning is so quiet here that you can hear the fish tank filter humming. Sometimes we keep a TV on to drown out the silence, but sometimes we don’t. And in those moments of quiet it can be so lonely.

The silence felt oppressive when there was no solution in sight. Now that we hopefully have one, it feels like the quiet before the storm. It’s a quiet anticipation. It’s like we’re collectively holding our breath, waiting for the next moment, waiting for the noise to finally come into our house. I like when things are clean and orderly, but once the laundry is done and the dishes are done and the vacuuming is done it’s a little bit sad. I definitely feel a sense of “Now what?” I mean, it’s obvious that I’m lacking a purpose. But it’s not so much lacking as it is having a purpose that’s unfilled for right now.

I’m just really looking forward to the noise.

eggs!

I feel like the theme of this journey has been “we just made it by the skin of our teeth.” I don’t know if it’s actually that way, or if it just feels that way because everything is so unpredictable and so important. We aren’t in the clear just yet, but after today it definitely feels like the scariest parts are over.

The egg retrieval was Sunday at 9:20 a.m., precisely 36 hours after my giant needle “trigger shot” to the ass on Friday night (administered by my mother-in-law, thank you very much, since Eric could not stomach it). Eric and I took the train into the city and thanks to my inability to comprehend very obvious schedule change signs on the subway, arrived 15 minutes late for the appointment. I was immediately whisked off to get blood drawn, where the tech had trouble finding a vein because I’m so black and blue and yellow. Great times were had by all. It was especially fun hearing that they accidentally took blood when they didn’t need to and had to just throw it away. Thanks for that!

I went in for an ultrasound, my very first interaction with the doctor whose name is on all my prescriptions. He reprimanded me for being late and quickly confirmed that I had not ovulated yet, saying “Good, good. Eggs still there. You go now.” Only after this all transpired did I realize how badly that could have gone if the eggs were NOT still there – that would basically mean this entire month of needles, stress, hormones and excessive drainage to my bank account would be worthless. Had I known it was that easy to fail, I would have been a lot more anxious going in for that part. I’m so glad that I didn’t know.

While still trying to process the gravity of what had happened, I was sent in to the on-site OR and instructed to put on my cap and gown. There was a small waiting area where 2 other women were already waiting. I sat there, mentally freaking out as usual, convinced that in the 30 minutes I had to wait I would somehow lose all the eggs and suffer the same tragedy that I had just narrowly avoided. Seriously, my capacity for worst case scenario planning knows no bounds. Of course, that did not happen. They called me in and the wonderfully over-the-top flamboyant anesthesiologist quickly got to work making me laugh and feel totally comfortable, saying things like “Ohh girrrrrl, we gonna get you a Dora band aid for that arm. You deserve it!” That’s probably the only reason I didn’t punch him in the face when he put the IV in the same freaking vein they had just drawn from accidently. Yeah, that kind of HURT LIKE HELL.

This was also the moment that the doctor chose to tell me that my estrogen levels were too high and I was at risk for Ovarian Hyperstimulation Syndrome (OHSS), a complication that can affect up to 33% of women undergoing IVF. For that reason the embryo transfer had to be delayed 1 month. I started panicking (what else is new?) and said, “No wait, it has to be this month!” She asked why and I stupidly stuttered, “Well… because..I’m impatient.” The doctor was not amused, reminding me that my health was the #1 concern and also saying that the transfer was more likely to work if my levels went down. She also acted like I was being a big baby, which was absolutely true. The anesthesiologist had found my vein by this point, and one second I was looking at blue stars projected on the ceiling, the next I was being helped into a wheelchair. Easy, peasy lemon squeezy.

The anesthesia, or as Eric would say, “Amanda’s $500 nap,” was optional. If you ever find yourself in this situation and have the option – DO IT. I was stressed enough, and the thought of being awake and “kind of” feeling this procedure still makes me want to cry. I know that I 100% made the right decision when I chose to be put under.

Recovery was fine, but took forever. On a scale of 1 – 10 my pain was a 2, just like mild cramps but higher up. Today it’s a little worse, but still just maybe a 4 on the pain scale. I would have expected much worse.

So that’s where we are. I’m pissed off that I have to wait, but then I remind myself I’m lucky to be doing this at all. Matt the study coordinator had tentatively proposed doing a pregnancy test by Valentine’s Day, so that date was stuck in my head and that would have been so cute. But no, that won’t be happening now.

It is nice to be giving my body a rest from all the shots, I think I obviously need that. Sorry folks, we have to just march on to March. Side note: I’m making an egg casserole for dinner tonight. Creepy, weird or funny? Maybe all of the above.
eggs

happiness on delay

I’m a happy-delayer. What I mean is that I like to intentionally deprive myself of good things and get the bad things out of the way first. I’m sure a lot of people do this – getting the difficult tasks done makes it more likely that you’ll finish the whole project. The problem is that I married a non happy-delayer (an instant-gratifier?), which has led to some interesting arguments.

For example: if I bought a flavor of juice that I didn’t really care for, I would be sure to buy a better flavor the next time I went shopping. I would not, however, open the new juice, drink the new juice, or even think about the new juice until the old juice was gone – not until I had suffered through it. Eric, on the other hand, will forget about the old juice the second the new juice hit the refrigerator shelf. I try to argue him on this point and say, “Why don’t you finish the old one first?” to which he replies logically, “Because it’s disgusting.”

Sometimes I wonder if it kind of goes back to the whole discarded food thing (doesn’t everything?). Maybe it’s a waste not, want not situation. But then I think that no, it’s actually more than that. I enjoy the anticipation of waiting for the new juice. With every sip of the gross old juice, I think, “This takes me one step closer to deliciousness.” And it’s a proven fact that the anticipation of a thing makes you happier than getting the actual thing. I read a study once that claimed employees rated their happiness much higher the week before their vacation than when they were on the actual vacation. Seems strange, but makes perfect sense in my twisted head. Once you are on vacation, it’s impossible to stop counting the days that you have left before you leave. With every fun activity, you can’t help but think “Only 3 days left of this. Then it’s back to the old grind.” But before vacation? That’s when your imagination can run wild, imagining all the exciting times that you’ll have… once you suffer through 2 more days at the office, of course.

Today I got an email from a friend into my work inbox and made myself wait to read it. I intentionally read all the emails around it and left it unread so that through each tedious task of my day, I could look forward to reading it after I had finished the self-appointed hurdles I had to jump to allow myself to read it. Did it make that hour go faster? Of course it did.

But back to my instant-gratifier hubbers. In a way, I think he can teach me something. Like… it doesn’t really profit anyone to suffer through disgusting juice. I deserve to be happy, and I deserve it right now, not later. Like that whole life’s short, eat dessert first thing; maybe I can incorporate that – at least partially – into the suffering that I somehow think is unavoidable in life. There’s enough sadness that we can’t avoid, so when it comes to those little things we can give ourselves to make the day a little brighter? That’s when it’s OK to just throw out the disgusting juice.