burnt toast life

change of a dress

Today was so much better. I guess that’s just how life is – good days and bad days. You can’t lose all hope during the bad days, and you can’t expect the good days to last forever. You just have to keep breathing, keep living and keep going.

Want to know what really helped? My dress today. As most of you may have noticed, I’ve been lamenting my weight gain over the past couple of months and have been reluctant to buy any new clothes, but I feel awkward and uncomfortable wearing my regular clothes because they don’t fit correctly. My mom did a closet cleaning this weekend and I was able to snag a couple of things from her. My mom: she’s the sort of person who will buy things and forget she has them, resulting in a closet stuffed full of brand-new-with-tags merchandise and unworn shoes. She was finally forced to confront the situation when her closet rod detached from the wall and collapsed from the sheer weight of her dress collection. True story.

Besides having a bunch of brand new stuff, she has a range of sizes spanning from size two to about size sixteen. It was nice, because I snatched up a bunch of stuff that wasn’t quite the right size for her or my sister. It was like going shopping and not spending any money. New clothes (literally) for free? Yes, please!

When I put on my brand new, perfect fit black sheath, Coach heels and chunky funky necklace this morning, I felt a little bit glamorous. And that’s when I realized… I’ve been kind of slacking in the personal maintenance department. Sure, I shower every day and put on makeup and blow dry my hair. But that’s where the effort stops. We have a casual dress code at work, so I can literally wear jeans and a t-shirt every single day. My outfits lately have been just that, with flip flops and maybe a bracelet if I’m feeling adventurous. After work I come home, peel off my comfortable clothes and put an even comfier ensemble of yoga pants and oversized shirts (often Eric’s that I’ve stolen) with a messy bun. It’s not sexy. Sometimes it’s not even presentable. And I do believe that your outfit can make your mood better, and your view of yourself can change your whole day.

I doubt I’m going to start dressing up all the time now, and I still love me some wine and yoga pants at the end of a long day. But still… putting in a little effort today made me realize how much I’ve been neglecting me. The girly, silly, makeup and stilettos version of me. I don’t have kids yet, that’s true. So I’m thinking it’s my time to be a little selfish and even a little vain. And if it boosts my mood in the process, that’s really a good thing. Bring on the dresses and impractical heels.

On the fertility front, I got an email from New Hope today that nearly gave me a heart attack right there at my desk. I assumed that they were emailing me to let me know I was out of the trial, my time was up, it’s been real fun but now it’s done. Of course it didn’t actually say that. They asked if I was getting a hysteroscopy (Dr. L mentioned that last time) and also inquired about my well-being. Then at the end they said to “let them know when I’m ready to move forward.”

What an uplifting email, right? See, they don’t normally communicate with me at all. This proves that they still want to keep me around, which helps to ease my worrying mind. On top of that, my friend at work (the same dear soul who suggested clinical trials in the first place) found a Reproductive Immunologist who, according to some quick research, does free Skype consults. FREE! I’ve yet to call or investigate what that entails, but it sure beats $900. At the very least, it gives me a little bit of hope for right now.

So, to sum up – I’m less worried about starting up treatments again (when I’m ready, of course), today I was all, “Damn, I feel like a woman” in my new dress and tomorrow I leave for vacation. My mood is better. My outlook is sunnier. It’s been a pretty good day.

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.

It’s February

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

calm. down.

I haven’t felt calm for more than two years. Sure, I’ve had brief periods of relaxation – mostly wine-induced – but on the edge of my subconscious there has always been been a tiny voice screaming, “You have to do something! You have to do something! Do something now!”

The voice was referring to the baby situation (some might call it a biological clock, but I think it’s more complex than that). However, it extended well past scheduling specialist appointments and Googling “homeopathic fertility methods.” Every aspect of my life has been affected by this anxiety. I’m often impatient and irritated at work. My catchphrase at the office is a deep, exaggerated sigh, and my cube mates often giggle when I let out one of these overly dramatic, oh-so-put-upon exhalations. I stress out over the state of my home’s chaos, such as how many dishes are piling up in the sink, how much laundry is piling up in the hamper and how much dog hair is accumulating in the corners. Even as I sit on the couch watching TV, my mind often keeps going a million miles a minute thinking of all the things I should be doing.

We went for our initial consult appointment on Friday. The office was gorgeous, and huge. It took up the entire floor of a building and reception had no fewer than 30 people waiting. We were ushered into the consult with two other couples – an awkward proposition at first, but once the meeting started we quickly got over being self-conscious. We were all there for the same reason.

All the tests took 4 hours. To my surprise, they said we would get a 98% acceptance or denial into the study that very day. We were sent to lunch, and promised that upon return, we would have our answer.

I have had two panic attacks in my life that I can recall. The first one was last year, in February, and that story almost bears a whole other post. Suffice it to say it had to do with a psychic prediction that foresaw us getting pregnant in February. I managed to stress out my body enough to delay my Aunt Flo three full days. Cue panic attack #1.

The second happened this past Friday. As the clinical trial coordinator sent us out to get lunch while our tests were analyzed, my heart started racing. My mouth went dry. I felt like I was going to throw up, pass out and levitate all at the same time. While Eric scarfed down a burger and cheese fries, I quietly died in the corner of the Goodburger on Columbus Circle. He couldn’t understand my meltdown. I couldn’t understand his lack of a meltdown.

When you’re trying to have a baby and you’re not able to, people like to tell you to calm down. “It will happen if you just relax! Don’t think about it so much!” Yeah, ok. I feel like the phrase “easier said than done” was created specifically for this sentiment. The amount of stress created by trying to force myself to relax was almost as bad as the stress that already existed. Does that make sense? I’m sorry if it doesn’t. Let’s just say I was doubly stressed out.

We got back from lunch (by this point I was shaking visibly) and were finally, finally escorted back into an office. The coordinator Matt took his time getting to the results. He said, “You seem like good candidates for the study.” I made him confirm three times that yes, this in fact meant that we WERE accepted into the study. I breathed the hugest sigh of relief and started babbling thanks and nonsense, while Matt (a non-native English speaker) looked at me puzzled and said, “But I do not understand? Why you freak out? You don’t need to freak out.” Eric just laughed.

That’s it folks: we are in. I feel like a huge weight has been lifted off my chest. I feel like a gigantic part of this stress I’ve been lugging around has melted away. This weekend I sat under my dog hair covered blanket, dishes in the sink, laundry in the hamper and smiled, completely unconcerned. The funny thing is that Matt suggested that we start using condoms. You see, oftentimes people accepted into clinical trials can accidentally get pregnant from being too relaxed, and our next visit will be too early to test for such a phenomenon  I think this may be the definition of irony. Or maybe not. Like Alanis, I’ve always had a hard time defining irony.

Anyway – this is good news! I will try to keep you all updated as much as I can without saying too much. Just know that if my hopes have ever been sky high, now is that time. It’s like an inevitable that I have to now patiently wait for. But I just think it will be worth it.

spoiler alert: we’re not pregnant

I’ve debated a lot over this post. Probably more time than one should devote to thinking about something as inconsequential as a blog post. Here’s why I ultimately decided to do it:

1) It’s what’s going on. The most successful blogs are real, gritty, everyday life, right? So why wouldn’t I put this out there? This is what’s happening in my life.

2) It got harder and harder to post about other stuff. It felt like ignoring the biggest thing – the most important thing – the elephant in the living room.

3) This is like my worst kept secret anyway. I’m mostly open about it with people who I know and even sometimes with people who I don’t know. So organizing my thoughts and putting them all down isn’t going to be some big revelation.

Longwinded preamble aside… Eric and I are have been trying to have a baby for two and a half years but we don’t have one yet. There, I said it. My master plan was to wait until I was pregnant and post a whole long thing about the process leading up to it, but this “side blog” was getting long and frankly unreadable. I wanted to wait until I actually achieved the goal to post anything. Why? Because I don’t want anyone to know if I fail, that’s why.

Confession time: I used to blog about this under a super secret name and not tell anyone about it. This BBT blog is more lifestyle, less specifically allocated, so I’m going to keep things light (not that the situation is light, not in the least). Basically, I want to give an overall view of what’s going on without being too graphic. However, if you do want or need specifics, I have a gold medal in over sharing. If you ask nicely, I’ll quote you medical history and test results all day long. I just don’t think most people reading this particular blog care to know.

In the fall of 2010 we went for fertility testing and figured out the problem. Knowing the problem does not mean that you can afford to treat it, however. Most insurances cover the testing portion, but when it comes to treatment there is little to no coverage. Currently 15 states require providers to cover at least some of the treatment costs, but Pennsylvania isn’t one of them. And so we bid adieu to a potential $15,000 medical bill and decided to keep on tryin’ the old fashioned way (giggity).

So far, clearly, it hasn’t worked. Again, I could write pages and pages on the subject, but I’m just going to gloss over a lot of fine details and say this much: the past 2.5 years have featured plenty of tears, venting sessions, joys, ups, downs, hopes, despair, prayers, selfish tantrums, weird dreams, one ill-advised visit to a psychic, fights, make-ups, fights again, and pretty much every other emotion on the spectrum. We’ve learned an awful lot about each other but we still don’t have a baby.

Fast-forward to a couple of weeks ago. A friend suggested that I research clinical trials as an alternative way to pay for the IVF that we need according to the specialist. Lo and behold, the first result that Google returned sounded promising. New Hope Fertility Clinic in Manhattan is currently running a study comparing 2 different types of IVF (though saying the words “clinical trial” to one particular friend got the immediate response, “But does that mean you’ll grow a mustache?!”) The whole thing sounds legit.  And best of all, minus the cost of testing and some meds, it’s totally and completely free. Free! For those of you who don’t have conception challenges – this is comparable to winning the lottery. At least it feels that way to me.

We aren’t in yet. Our consult is coming up soon and we could still be rejected from the study for any number of reasons. Despite the cliché and despite how much I DETEST this phrase – everything does happen for a reason. So if we don’t make it in, something else will come along. A month ago I wouldn’t have even believed this opportunity existed, so it proves that anything can happen. That’s why when that Ellie Goulding song comes on in the car I totally bust out some crazy vocals. Anyway, I will keep y’all posted on what transpires (nice details only). But I really, really REALLY hope we get in. I really do.