burnt toast life

Progesterone is a big fat bully

So I’ve been giving some thought on how to handle the next steps. Either this works and I have a few weeks of walking around like I’m made of glass, or it’s negative and I’ll be crawling into a dark cave and waiting for death (kidding. I think). But the fact of the matter is that I’m supposed to wait 12 weeks to tell the public. And that public includes Facebook, I would think.

Here’s what I’m going to do: I will continue posting on the blog, including early pregnancy, negatives and whatever else life throws at me, but I won’t share the links on Facebook as I have been doing. All you FB followers are welcome to add my blog to your Google Reader or just click on it sporadically, but from now on you’re on your own to find me. Until my big obnoxious Facebook announcement, anyway. Sorry… I’ve suffered through so many of yours, I just have to do one (suffered may be too harsh. I endured them. Stoically. Big gulps of wine helped immensely).

Just one more quick thing. If you do choose to follow me and know what is going on, please do not share it with your friends (Yes, your friends totally care. The bump watch on me has been similar to the one on Kate Middleton and I don’t want paparazzi all up in my grill) or exclaim loudly if we should run into each other in the grocery store. Let’s just pretend it’s not happening, for now, or you can simply give me a slight wink and nod. I will start posting again in earnest once we get past the danger zone.

OK, now with that out of the way, let’s talk about Progesterone. Oh…Progesterone. I’ve been creeping on so many other blogs lately and I can’t help but notice that mostly everyone gets this in the form of suppositories or even, (lucky bitches) gets it in pill form. Um… wtf? I get intramuscular (read: in the ass) shots of Progesterone in Oil every single day and those. mothereffers. hurt. The shot itself is fine, but afterwards? What can I compare it to? It’s kind of like willingly getting kicked in the ass by an elephant every day.

They started nine days ago and yes, I know, they are supposed to be “tricking” my body into thinking it’s pregnant. I figured I would have to keep doing them until maybe the second positive beta, then would get to stop because my body would be producing it naturally, right? WRONG. In the event of a BFP (that’s Big Fat Positive, FB), I have to keep doing this until the 9 week U/S. AND, as if that’s not awesome enough, this whole thing could be for naught if it’s a BFN (you guessed it – Big Fat Negative) and I get to start all over next month. Woo hoo!

sad buttWe switch sides every night but it seriously hurts to sit down and even walk sometimes. My whole lower back/upper ass is so sore. Oh, and I’m not even allowed to take ibuprofen anymore (just Tylenol). I also can’t lift anything heavy, drink alcohol or eat unpasteurized cheese. I feel like at least some of these things could help dull the pain.

Yes, I know that we can switch out and do my upper thighs for this shot. But the thought of that creeps me out and then my legs AND my ass would hurt – double whammy. I asked the nurse why I was the only person on the planet doing injections when clearly suppository (while not pleasant, I’m assuming less cripplingly painful) is the way to go. She said that above any other method, the shots work the best. When the suppositories don’t work, they switch the patient to injections. So really I’m starting out with the mack daddy of Progesterone delivery methods and I should be grateful thankyouverymuch.

Assuming this will all be much easier to take once I get that BFP. Or I can stop if I get a BFN. Either way… Progesterone is a big jerk and I don’t like it.

In other news I have been in a TERRIBLE mood these past couple of days and that’s probably why I’m bitching so much. I hope that’s indication of crazy baby hormones working overtime but I’m just not convinced. My dear friend and coworker talked me off the ledge earlier so I’m doing much better now than I was a few hours ago. I just expected to feel something. All I feel is bitter and irritated and mad at Progesterone. Boo.

what mood swings?

Last night I cried inconsolably for fifteen minutes. The culprit? A slightly emotional (but not devastating) scene on the show Parenthood.

For some reason when I heard that these injections could cause mood swings, I pictured a pendulum. I figured that I would either be on one end of the spectrum – happy – or the other end – sad. What I was not prepared for was a myriad of confusing, specific emotions that may be drug side effects or may just be my inner psyche manifesting the intensity of the situation. I will never know.

Since I started the injections almost a week ago, I have felt extreme joy, irritation, confusion, instability, excitement, fear, impatience, apprehension, gratitude and above all, anxiety. I feel anxious that the moment of truth is quickly approaching. Months ago, before we knew that any of this would be happening, we planned a short trip to Denver to sight see,  snowboard and visit with Eric’s cousin. We are leaving this Thursday. So on top of worrying about what’s to come and getting my next, incredibly expensive prescription in time, I have to plan on and pack for a vacation. I’m excited, but stressed. Very, very stressed.

The injections are going well. Eric’s mom did the first two and Eric has done all subsequent shots. The first night he had to do one I had already angered him by parking in his spot (accidentally), so he may have enjoyed doing it a little too much.

I have a whole other post planned addressing this, but I just want to take a moment to thank you all for the support and well wishes. I didn’t expect so many likes, comments, private messages, texts, in-person conversations and genuine concern. It means so much to have all of you surrounding us and encouraging us through this frightening yet exciting time. I know now that I made the right choice sharing this journey rather than keeping it all inside. I probably would have had a breakdown without a proper place to vent it all out.

Like I said, we’re headed to Denver next week. Hopefully I can relax and enjoy myself and just take my mind off it all for a little while. Ha. Ha. Ha.

A very dramatic New Year’s Eve

I bet you thought this would involve drinking, didn’t you? Well, it doesn’t. At least, that wasn’t the dramatic part.

I had my second appointment in the city on NYE. Yup, I traveled to Manhattan on New Year’s Eve. Totally sane. Anyway, I took the 7 a.m. bus and somehow made it to the NHF office (a bus ride and a subway ride) in an hour and 40 minutes. That is unprecedented. Smug and satisfied, I strolled in 20 minutes early for my appointment and made plans for a leisurely brunch with a friend. I felt breezy.

In the back of my mind there was a slight problem – blood test results. We needed them to be officially accepted into the trial and to get all of my fun prescriptions  (You know – injections and stuff). Eric got his results immediately, but since I had to have genetic testing the results took longer. For some reason I was convinced that while I sat in the French cafe with my croissant and coffee, the results would magically appear in my email inbox. Because life always works like that, right? Of course, the results did not come. I called Quest and was told that some results were back, but for some reason my PCP was not authorized to get partial results. Great.

I went back to NHF and broke the bad news. They said that if one particular test was holding up the works, they could still get stuff done that day. I gave them all the info and let them deal with Quest.

Now comes the fun part. Have you ever waited for a fax that someone said was coming? Have you ever stared down a fax machine, willing it to spit out that life or death piece of paper? I have. My car got towed in Philly many, many years ago. I was totally that girl that you see on Parking Wars, fighting with Allstate and fighting with PPA and waiting in the filthy, noisy waiting room for seven straight hours for a mystical proof of insurance document. If that show had been around back then, I would have been on it.

This “waiting for fax” episode was not quite as dramatic because someone else did all the phone fighting for me. I simply sat in the waiting room. And sat some more. I read an entire book. (Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me by Mindy Kaling. Highly recommend; laugh out loud funny). I changed seats. I watched people come and go, nurses wish each other a Happy New Year and leave, and receptionists switch off lights and head out. By the time they finally summoned me back to the office it was just me, a dark waiting room, and a young Asian child sleeping on a nearby sofa.

I’m not sure where the study coordinators are from, I’m so bad with that. I want to say they’re Russian? Ukranian? Something like that. They have thick accents and don’t understand some of my sarcasm (more’s the pity). Anyway, coordinator Matt said they finally, FINALLY got the fax after many threatening phone calls placed on my behalf. Thinking about his colleague,  a sweet and soft spoken woman whose name escapes me, on the phone battling with Quest Diagnostics for hours in broken English just to get MY blood test results gave me an instant surge of gratitude.

I drew my envelope. Matt made a big deal about this part but I don’t know, by this point I was tired and anxious and just wanted to get home to celebrate New Year’s. Plus I don’t even know if I wanted Conventional or Mini IVF; there are pros and cons to both. We got placed into Conventional.

Conventional IVF means daily injections. Matt demonstrated how to do these on a small rubberized button meant to resemble my stomach fat roll while I tried not to look visibly ill. He also said that since we are Conventional, the injections had to start that day. As in, within a few hours. He gave me directions to a pharmacy a few stops Uptown that he knew would carry the drugs and sent me off.

I should probably mention at this point that my phone was dying. I think by the time I left NHF I had 6% battery life. I also had no idea what time I could catch a bus out of Port Authority and my mom had borrowed my car, so I needed to be able to communicate with someone to pick me up. Stress levels began to escalate.

I made it to the pharmacy pretty easily. I confirmed with them that I could use an HSA card over the phone to pay for this $200 prescription. I also warned Eric that I would be calling to get the number. I called him from the pharmacy’s phone – twice – no answer. Desperate, I called him from my cell phone, thinking he wasn’t answering because he didn’t recognize the number.

Conversation:
“WHAT! What do you WANT! I’m in the shower!!”
“Hi I’m at the pharmacy I need the number now please give me the number now I have to talk fast phone is dying hurry please.”
“Oh MY GOD I am DRIPPING WET! FINE!”

I could type out even more of this story but this post is getting ridiculously long and I’m not close to finished here. Basically the card wouldn’t go through, a line formed behind me, I broke out in a rash and started sweating profusely, called Eric back at least three more times, got yelled at again, and I think our final communication was him screaming “JUST LEAVE. ABANDON ALL HOPE AND FUCKING LEAVE!” as I hung up the phone and whipped out a different credit card. If you were behind me in line, you would have hated me. I hated me.

I raced back to the subway, practically jumping over an old woman who had collapsed in the street. Sorry, didn’t have time for that shit (a large group of people was helping her, don’t worry. I’m not a monster). Somehow I made it to Port Authority in time for a bus going to William Penn. Phone life was at 2%. I called my dad and said, “Shut up don’t talk be at bus stop at 6:50 with my car phone dead k love you bye.” And with that – my phone died.

You think it ends there? Nope. I still had an injection to do, remember? Eric and I had already decided that neither of us were up for the task and we would get his mother, a (***now retired!) nurse to administer the injections. I knew she was going out for New Year’s Eve but had no way to warn her I was coming over with this urgent matter. Once I got in the car and charged my phone enough to turn it on, I called her, right as she was walking out the door. She was kind enough to wait for me to race over so she could stick me before heading off to her party.

After that we made it to our party 2 hours late, which I figure is fashionable. 2013 arrived. It better have a baby in it, and he/she better be pretty effing adorable.