burnt toast life

The most underwhelming BFP in the history of BFP’s

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

snapshots from ET round 2

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

katiewish
ashleyswish
sarahwish
wishcindy
rachelwish

Here’s the text I sent my sister:

ashleywish

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

buddha

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

Here’s my babies’ first picture:

embryos

Aren’t they adorable?!

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

screenshot

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

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

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

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

went to the puppet show, saw all the strings

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Onward to Thursday, then…

Wheee!

Wheee!