'You're Up and You're Down'

My mood - and degree of hope - is a bit like a Katy Perry song at this point. But thank you all for your words of encouragement and support. You're helping keep me sane. Well, I suppose that word is relative at this point, but you know what I mean... :-)

I've managed to make it this far without testing. I was tempted this morning, but I talked myself out of it.

Friday night, we were laying in bed watching TV, and I began to feel something kind of like a kitten very gently kneading inside my uterus. I refused to get up for fear of disturbing anything that might be happening, so I took off my contacts in bed and made R take them into the bathroom to clean them. (The things that man has done for me these last 9 years!)

There haven't been any other consistent sensations, just an occasional twinge here or there. When I feel one, hope surges. When the twinge doesn't continue, hope fades.

This afternoon, I was feeling really sleepy. I know the progesterone supps cause that, but still...like I said, up and down, up and down...

I need to stop at the store and stock up on some FREDs, so I'll probably do that on the way home from work tomorrow. My guess is that's about as long as my willpower will hold out.

Feeling...Nothing

Two days post-transfer, and there's no implantation spotting (the one time I want to see a little bit of bright pink on tp, and where the heck is it?!), no pinchy implantation cramping, nothing.

For the two FETs I did that made it to at least 6 weeks, I had a tiny bit of implantation spotting within 24 hours of transfer. For the 1 FET that was negative and for last year's FET that was pretty much over as soon as it began, there was no spotting.

I always have implantation pinching/cramping, always. Last year, it was less than I would have liked, which is probably related to the fact that it ended so early.

So I am bummed.

And then I had a dream last night - R and I were in a room somewhere (blank white walls, nothing to distinguish it), and then we got the call from the nurse: BFN. After that, I walked out into a hallway, and there was Kerry Vi.ncent (of the Food Network's "Challenge" show) saying in her signature disdainful tone, "I don't know what you were thinking..." and shaking her head at me. (As in, "I don't know what you were thinking by hoping this would work.")

But then again, we've done everything different this cycle - different supression protocol, different acupuncturist, different immune treatments, staying at a different hotel, different RE did the transfer (Sur. - he was very nice), different number of embryos, etc. And if this works, I'm going to use a different ob/gyn this time, too.

So maybe this is just one more thing that's different, and it'll lead us to a different outcome. Because as R pointed out: "You may have spotted, and you may have cramped, but look how that turned out in the end."

They're On Board

I'm officially incubating. We transferred two Day 5 blasts: both survived the thaw, both were 100% re-expanded without losing any cells, and both had hatched. It was a different RE than our regular one who did the transfer. He was very nice and said blasts couldn't get any more perfect than that. Hopefully "perfect" = "they'll stick around."

I was too stressed about this to sleep much last night - I tossed and turned for all but about 2 hours. Finally around 6 a.m. I decided I might as well do something helpful and productive, so I got up and went to the hotel fitness center to walk/run (mostly walk) on the treadmill. That helped calm me down and made me feel stronger. Note to self: Must exercise more often.

I teared up a couple of times while we were at the clinic, but surprisingly I don't actually cry. I was quite proud of myself for that. :-)

Of course, the valium might have had something to do with it. I don't remember it having much of an effect on me last time, but this time it almost put me to sleep. I'm still feeling very zen - we'll see how long that lasts.

So, do you think tomorrow is too soon to start testing?

It's a Go!

The repeat blood draw at the other lab came back at 0.2, so RE's office says the cycle is still on. I still had a small bit of doubt, because how do we know it's the first test and not the second that's wrong?

But then I called the place that ran the first test (it was a local RE's office), and they were great. They got someone on the phone with me right away, and she explained that their office uses a different assay than the other lab, so in their lab anything less than 6 is equivalent to 0.5. So she was also very confident that I hadn't ovulated and that it was fine to proceed.

Why their results sheet doesn't make that clear, I don't know. And she said that our RE's office should know the less-than-6 rule, because they do monitoring for a lot of our RE's patients. The nurse at RE's office said she had never heard of that, but as long as everyone is in agreement and there is a valid explanation, I'm not going to have any "what if's" lingering in my mind over this.

So that was great news. Then the IVIg infusion coordinator called and said "um, I just checked in with your insurance and there's been a change...call me back."

I was afraid she was going to say they reviewed the preauth again and denied it. If so, we'd be paying about $3,500 out of pocket.

Well, it's going to be $3,000, but for a different reason. When she originally got the authorization, it was in May. My company's benefit year runs from June 1-May 31, so this year's benefits took affect on June 1, which means a new, $3,000 out-of-pocket requirement before insurance will start covering anything.

Fortunately, last fall when we signed up for R's benefits (which run from Jan.-Dec.), we knew we'd be doing IVIg and figured it wouldn't be covered, so we did the maximum contribution to his FSA account. So while we'll have to pay out the $3,000 up front, we'll be able to get it back pretty quickly through that.

Now that we're sure we're going to the clinic, I've got to figure out a place for us to stay. We're both going to be working all week, so we were hoping to get a 1-bedroom suite for the separate spaces while we're both on calls.

However, something major must be going on in Denver next week, because we can't find even one hotel anywhere vaguely near the clinic that has anything other than a studio available. (Well, maybe we could if we were willing to spend $300-$400 a night, but that's just not in the budget.)

Wish me luck, in more ways than one. :-)

Possibly Canceled, and Another Surprise

So, it seems that every time I move an inch closer to the finish line, it moves an inch farther out. Or, in this case, possibly a month.

My progesterone level is never, ever, ever above 0.5 during CD21 tests in a natural cycle. Except during last year's transfer, when it was slightly above 1 and caused the transfer to be moved up a day.

And this morning, when it was above 2. It would figure - the two times my body works like it's supposed to is when we're trying to do a transfer.

RE's office thinks maybe there was just a lab error, so I had to get redrawn this afternoon. We'll find out tomorrow. If it wasn't, the cycle has to be canceled, because it's too high to know for sure when it started to rise, so they wouldn't know with confidence which day to do the transfer.

I'm scheduled to have IVIg on Saturday, and our flight is scheduled for Sunday night.

I was on a bcp/lupron overlap protocol. Both of those things are supposed to prevent ovulation, aren't they (indirectly in lupron's case)? So that's what makes RE's office think it was a lab error.

Still, not great news.

But I had plans to have dinner with a former co-worker, and I was looking forward to that. She's a couple years older than me and also has no kids due to fertility, so she can relate. Except, it turns out, now she's 13 weeks pregnant.

I tried my best to put on a happy, excited face for her. But I'm afraid it probably wound up looking more like a "Seriously, universe?? How many more I-can't-get-pregnant-but-oh-look-now-I-am announcements are you going to send my way?" face.

On the bright side, at least I managed not to cry.

An Honor (and Trying Not to Hyperventilate)

I was going to lead with a title like "We've Been Chosen", but given that you'd probably think it was related to adoption, I didn't want to be deceptive. Nor do I want to jinx us...

So, you're wondering, what is this honor? Well, we actually have been chosen (in a manner of speaking) by a couple who thinks we'd make good parents. R's best friend and his wife approached us a couple of months ago to ask us if we'd be willing to be legal guardians and take custody of their son if something (heaven forbid) should ever happen to both of them.

But they also mentioned that they were considering several other people as possible guardians, so when we didn't hear anything more about it, we assumed they'd chosen one of their other options. Then a few days ago they called to tell us that they'd made a decision, and it was us.

I have to admit, even though this is a situation where of course we hope we will never gain custody of the child involved, it still felt really nice that they chose us from among all of their options. We are truly honored.

We also have to figure out how to hang out with a 7-year-old. R hangs out with his best friend and their son frequently, so he's comfortable with R. We also spend time as a fivesome doing various things (including weekend trips), but his parents suggested that it would be good for the two of us to spend an afternoon with him (just the three of us) every once in a while. I have to admit, I had a fleeting moment of "What if he thinks we're boring/lame/hates us?" But he's a great kid, so I know it'll be fine.

That's actually not what's creating the hyperventilating. The transfer is in 10 days. Beta is in 19 days (or maybe 20, depending on how I feel about the 22nd at that time). In less than three weeks, we'll know the outcome of step 1. And then be plunged into the unknown of step 2, because either way, it's an unknown. Even if we get to step 2 of a pregnancy (meaning the day after beta), that doesn't guarantee the next day, or the day after that.

As I write this, it's just dawning on me what's causing the hyperventilating. I was thinking that coming face-to-face with the beta results - the answer to which path we'll be going down for step 2 - was what was causing it. But I think it's really the unknown of step 2, regardless of which path it is, that's bothering me.

Have I mentioned that I'm not a big fan of uncertainty and unknowns?

This Oughta Be Fun

The results of my first E2 level check for this FET cycle came in yesterday. It was supposed to be at least 50, but it was only 8.

So instead of stepping up to 2 estrogen patches, then 3, then 4, I'm going straight from 1 estrogen patch to 4 patches, plus oral estrace twice a day. R is already bracing for the hormonal moodiness that is bound to ensue. :-)

The blood draw was on Monday. It was kind of complicated, because I had one order from RE for the E2, another order from the PCP for a thyroid panel, and then vials for the communicables that needed to be drawn and spun but then shipped to RE rather than run by the lab. Plus, R was with me to contribute his 2 vials for the communicables as well.

I have to admit, I couldn't help but think "I hope this is the last time I have to do a draw for something other than one simple, straightforward order." I'm afraid to find out how the cycle turns out, but at the same time I'm also ready to move on.

Speaking of which, I held out for as long as I could, but I finally gave in today and called the adoption professional we're planning to work with if the cycle doesn't go well. I'm working on updating our profile. You know me - always a backup plan. I think I'm on Plan T at at this point...

T Minus 28

Assuming all goes well, I will be incubating four weeks from today. We booked our flights last night. Gulp.

I'm trying to be calm about this cycle, but it feels like there's so much riding on it. I looked at R last night and said, "You mean if this doesn't work, I'm just supposed to stop? Give up? Admit that I can't do this? That something 85% of the population has no problem doing (half of them without even trying or meaning to), I can't do it despite 9 years, 2 countries, half a dozen states, and who knows how many needles/cycles/procedures?"

Clearly I'm not good at accepting limitations.

R pointed out, though, that succeeding at incubating isn't the end goal and that we will still have other options to get to the end goal if that particular route doesn't work.

I saw my therapist today. Our next appointment will be exactly one week after transfer, assuming transfer occurs as scheduled. Even though that's a couple days before the first beta, I'm sure I will be peeing on a stick that morning, so I told her to be prepared.

She asked if I'd rather wait to see her until after the betas. Ha. I'm pretty much going to need to be camped out on her couch for about a week, so I scheduled another appointment for a couple days after the second beta.

I'm still not really letting myself process the grief about my dad yet. She pointed that out too, but surprisingly gave me a pass again this time.

But I can tell that it is slowly bubbling to the surface - after I left her office, I swung through a drive-thru to pick up dinner, and they were featuring a banana pudding milkshake. Banana pudding was my dad's favorite dessert (I made three huge pans of it - seriously underestimated how long it takes to cook 12 boxes of cook-and-serve pudding! - for the potluck reception after his services), so I ordered the shake. And then promptly burst into tears. But fortunately there were a couple of cars in front of me, so I managed to (mostly) pull myself together before I got to the cashier's window. Thank God for the trend of Jackie O-style sunglasses.

Stuff...and a New Cycle

I've started several posts in my head during the past couple of weeks but haven't gotten one into the computer until now.

Going through the services for my dad was tough, of course, but there was good in that week at the same time. R and I got to spend some time with my oldest sister and her family (including my niece, who volunteered last summer to be a gestational surrogate for us). Although I'd only met my nephews once before, all of her family was very welcoming to us.

It was really unexpected to me, but in a good way, how much we just felt like family. It was just natural, just there. I don't know how to explain it very well. I generally think of my parents as being my only blood family, and I had no idea how much I had been missing that connection in my life until after the reception following my dad's services, when we were in the car and R told me that I should organize a family reunion. I said, "Seriously? With everything else going on in our world, you think I need to take on organizing a family reunion?" And he said, "Yeah, I know, but you're happy when you're with them." "Happy" isn't the word you expect someone to use to describe you literally a couple hours after you've buried a parent - and honestly, it's probably not a word he has used to describe me in a very long time - but I realized that he was right. So I'm grateful for that connection.

I haven't really started to deal with my dad's death yet. Certainly I shed some tears in the moments after he passed and during the services, but mostly I just force them back and haven't let myself have a good cry yet. I saw my therapist a couple days after we got back home. She said I was reciting the events as if I was describing a movie that I was watching. She pushed and probed a little and ultimately decided to let me live in my little world of denial for the moment, but I don't think she'll let me get away with that during my next appointment in a couple weeks. :-)

We got some surprising news the week after my dad's services - it looks like one of my health insurances (I'm on both my employer's insurance and R's insurance policy through his employer) will cover IVIg! The home health company that will do the infusion let me know, but I wanted to hear it for myself so I called the insurance company to verify it. They confirmed it as well, although I have to say I still don't believe it 100%.

The cost of IVIg had apparently been weighing on me more than I realized, because as soon as we found that out, I was like "Ok, let's get this show on the road!" And, as R and I so often do, he ying'd when I yang'd. He's been so supportive and strong in all of this, but as soon as I was ready to move forward, suddenly he was feeling "Whoa!" and not quite wanting to face the prospect of our last attempt (with my uterus). But now he's on board.

We still don't have quite all of the pieces together, so the transfer could get derailed, but as of right now it's planned for two days after my birthday in July. The reproductive immunologist can order the IVIg itself, but since I don't live in the state where he practices, I have to find a local doctor who is willing to order the actual infusion of the IVIg, or else I need to find another home health company within my insurance's network in his state to do the infusion, and travel there to have it done. I have an appointment on Friday to ask my PCP if she'll order it - fingers crossed.

Also, my TSH level is better but still not where it needs to be. It was 7+ a couple weeks ago, so that's about half of the 15+ it had been, but it still needs to get down into the normal range before transfer. My PCP increased my Syn.throi.d dosage again from 100 mcg to 125 (I was on 75 when I got the 15+ result), so I'll re-test again in the end of June.

Thankfully, though, it does seem that the improved TSH has reversed my kidney issues. My eGFR is now back in the normal range instead of Stage 3 kidney failure, and my creatinine is much improved (still not quite back to normal yet). Granted, the eGFR technically still at the low end of the normal range, but I'm hoping if the TSH gets back to the normal range that the eGFR will move toward the upper end of normal. It still amazes me how all of our body's systems are so interconnected.

And now, after all that good news, here's how I came off the holiday weekend and launched into the cycle (bcp's start tonight): The co-worker who I began carpooling with a couple months ago, who I clicked with right away and was so happy to find someone else my age who doesn't have kids, who I have made it a point to not discuss the kid issue with at all because I just didn't want to go there, asked me point blank on the way home tonight whether R and I have thought about having kids. I tried to just laugh it off with a "Yeah, maybe someday" kind of response.

It turns out she's 14 weeks pregnant. From her first IVF cycle. I am trying hard not to feel sorry for myself, but I'm not sure I'm succeeding.

Dad Passed On

I was not looking forward to last week, but it turned out to be a much more painful week than even expected.

Wednesday was the 5th anniversary of miscarriage #2. Thursday was the 7th anniversary of miscarriage #1.

And then, on Friday morning, dad passed away with his wife and me by his side.

It was somewhat expected, although I don't think anyone - including the oncologist - thought it would be quite that soon.

Dad had seemed to be doing well (relatively speaking) when I spoke with him several times in April, but then test results the weekend after Easter showed that despite the transplant, leukemia cells had returned. So R and I drove out to be with him two days later, and then four days after that he was gone.

I'm thankful he's not suffering any more, and I'm glad his wife, who has literally been by his side pretty much every single moment of every single day since he was diagnosed two years ago this month, no longer has to be a full-time caregiver.

I don't know if it's relief that his ordeal is over or that I've dealt with so much loss that I'm an expert at coping or if I'm just flat-out avoiding dealing with it at all (ding ding ding, I think we have a winner, folks), but so far I haven't really cried. R keeps looking at me sideways, like he's trying to spot the warning signs of the big implosion he's anticipating.

I haven't been in the mood to talk much lately (obviously, since I haven't been posting or commenting). I think between all the infertility stuff and my dad's battle, I'm just tired of medical stuff in general.

We don't know yet when we're going to do our next transfer. A couple months back, tests showed my thyroid meds dosage was way too low (TSH was 15+) and that my kidneys were in stage 3 (the middle of 5 stages) of kidney failure.

My doctor increased my thyroid meds, and I think that has also improved my kidneys, but I need to get bloodwork done to confirm that before we can move forward with a cycle. I was going to get that drawn last week, but with everything going on, we won't be home until next week, so it will have to wait until then.

Fingers crossed that I manage to keep myself together through this week - services are at the end of the week.

Doggie Pictures

To everyone who commented on my last post, thank you for your words of kindness and comfort. I can't believe it's been almost two weeks since we lost him.

There's a major deadline coming up at work next week that involves an out-of-state trip, so I haven't really allowed myself to think about it, much less grieve yet - I've just been stuffing it in. (Not a good idea, I know! It comes out eventually, and the longer it's in there, the less pretty it is when it finally does happen...)

Anyway, I think I mentioned last fall that we had some professional photos taken after Indy was diagnosed, so I thought I'd share a few of those. However, this blog is anonymous, and while the chances of someone I know happening across it and recognizing the photos is small, it's still not a risk I'm willing to take. Since Blogger does not allow individual posts to be made private, I created another blog and posted them there. If you want to see them, send me an e-mail at momto 3dogs@ yahoo (dott) com, minus all of the spaces, and I'll give you access to it.

Horrendous guilt

Coming out of my cave to share some horrible news.

We had to say goodbye to our "baby boy" at 3:30 this morning. We were expecting that we would lose him to the rare nerve sheath tumor he was diagnosed with in the fall. Instead, we lost him to an intestinal obstruction.

I don't know what happened. I don't know what it was, what he possibly could have gotten in to. There aren't children's toys to get into around here (obviously), we don't leave clothes or other stuff on the floor, he wasn't a chewer or the type to get into things. All of his toys are present and accounted for.

I keep racking my brain trying to figure it out.

It's quite possible that it was something he got into while I was at work, when there's nothing I could have done to prevent it. It's even possible that it was another tumor that was compressing his intestines; the vet offered up that possibility, although it sounded like she thought it was less likely to be that and more likely to be a foreign object. Apparently right before we got there, she had just finished pulling a fully intact pair of boxer shorts out of another dog's intestines. She also mentioned something about having pulled batteries, magnets, bikini underwear and even a tampon out of other dogs.

We could have done surgery. And though it would have been $4,000-$8,000 and required a 3-5 day hospital stay, and though we knew we only had weeks to a few months left with him, I was tempted. I didn't want to let him go like that, for that reason. But then R pointed out that his legs would have been even weaker after all the time he would have to spend laying down during recovery, and I knew I'd only be doing the surgery for me, not for him.

The vet said it wasn't our fault, that dogs will be dogs. That her own dogs have gotten into things they shouldn't, and that I shouldn't blame myself. But I do. How could I not?

I was supposed to take care of him, not let him eat something that would kill him. Maybe this is why we don't have kids. If I can't even keep a dog alive, why on earth would God trust me with a kid?

I know that's extreme. And self-pitying. And on some level, ridiculous. But still, there it is. The thought that keeps playing again and again in my head.

<insert primal scream here>

This was going to be an angry, shrieking, lots of words in capitals and inappropriate language kind of post. But then I ran/walked 2.5 miles, which made me tired, so you are getting the still not happy but much more calm version of me.

R was not so lucky. But more on that in a minute.

Everything is fine, and yet it's not.

My dad is doing pretty well. The transplant went well, and he was released from the hospital earlier than expected. He's still living near the hospital (1.5 hours from home) because he has daily doctor's appointments. He had a bone marrow biopsy this week, so we're waiting to hear the results of that. Hopefully it will show no abnormal leukemia cells.

The dog is also doing well, relatively speaking. Considering the vet gave him 2-3 months and it's now 3 months and he's still his normal, happy self (albiet playing a little less), I'm very grateful. His left hind leg seems to be getting a little weaker, and now his left front paw turns under sometimes, but he catches that before he puts any weight on it. We're just continuing to keep a close eye on him and keep him as comfortable as we can for as long as we can.

I've been lurking around the blogosphere for the past month, reading but rarely commenting, and obviously not posting.

There are so many things in my world to be grateful for - and truly, I am - but at the same time, I've been fighting not to slip down into a well of self-pity. There has been a major burst of baby announcements around me at the end of last year/beginning of this year, particularly IRL, and as much as I'm happy for others, I've been battling the "why not us?" blues.

This afternoon pushed me over the edge. I left work early, swung through a drive through to order a large chocolate shake (it turns out, chocolate does not fix everything), and slid down to the bottom of the pit.

It echoes down here, as I found out after losing that last thread of self-control I was so desperately clinging to and giving into the urge to let out 8 years of anger, frustration, disappointment, and loss in a series of primal screams.

The dogs fled, R froze, and my mother - for once! - decided it was best to give me space and stayed far, far, far away.

If there are any guys reading this, please know that when it's obvious your wife's hold on that tattered thread is very tenuous at best, "it's going to be okay" are not necessarily the wisest words to utter. R can attest to that.

So, what snapped the thread?

The adoption social worker called this afternoon. I rarely step out of a work meeting to take a personal call, but since I wasn't expecting her to call, I did.

I thought she was going to tell me "Surprise! Your home study certification has been granted already."

Ha. Ha ha ha ha ha. How far the hell up my ass did my head have to be for me to ever, EVER think that returning to the adoption process would be a good idea? (Okay, so apparently there is still a little bit of the foul-language, words-in-caps frustration down here with me...)

The court commissioner who used to handle adoption home study certifications apparently left the job recently. Then another commissioner was hired. Apparently she lasted only a couple of weeks, and during that time, she did not get around to the home studies that are waiting for approval.

Now she is gone, there is no new commissioner, there is no clear sense of when there will be a new commissioner, and so our home studies are sitting in the "in" box on a desk that currently belongs to no one.

In other words, we are out there in no man's land, with absolutely no idea of when our home study might be certified. Could be weeks, could be months.

I realize you are probably thinking "But weren't you doing LIT? Aren't you going to be doing an FET? Isn't the home study just a head start in case you wind up going down that path?"

Yes, yes, and yes.

But that's not the point, as I told (well, actually, screamed) at R when he told me "it'll be okay".

It's NOT OKAY. It will never be "OKAY". We could get another phone call tomorrow telling us that the court temporarily certified someone as a commissioner in order to get the home studies approved (we're not the only one - there are a few families affected), and it still will NOT. BE. OKAY.

Because it's not right that OUR "ability" to create OUR family hinges not just on SOMEONE ELSE who couldn't give a damn about whether or not we ever do go on to adopt (although that in itself isn't right), but right now it hinges on SOMEONE WHO DOESN'T EVEN EXIST. That is not "okay". There is no way to make that "okay", not even after the fact.

Am I over-reacting? Yes, I am. I know that I am. And I don't care.

After 8 years of hell, I get to over-react. I may not get a baby, I may not get all those happy moments that parents get to experience, but I damn well get to over-react about the fact that our ability to move forward in this process revolves around a freakin' empty chair. And that there could be many, many other empty-chair situations or other complications along the way.

It's not that I think our home study will be held up in court for the next decade. (Although I do think it's quite possible that it could be held up for months.) It's that the feeling of complete, utter powerlessness that I felt five years ago when we lived through Failed Adoption Hell came flooding back in, as if all of that just happened yesterday.

And I hate it.

It is not okay.

You Know You're an Infertility Patient When... (#4)

...you take an HPT not because you expect it to show two lines (ha! ha ha ha!), but because you know that taking it is pretty much a surefire way to bring on CD1 within a matter of hours.

Except, unfortunately, in this case.

Took the stupid thing two days ago (yes, it was negative) because I'm on something like CD45. Our anniversary is at the end of next week, we have a romantic trip planned, and I don't want to be dealing with my cycle then.

But so far, all I've seen is a little bit of spotting. Grrr. If the test can't show two lines, can't it at least just do the other thing it's supposed to do and bring on CD1? Grrrr (again).

We're heading out to see my dad in a few hours. Please keep him in your prayers - the transplant should start in about 24 hours.

Also, please stop by and visit Gypsy and The Tramp to offer some friendly, comforting words and birthday wishes. This time of year is tough in general for us IFers, and she's dealing with a loss and some other challenges right now on top of everything else.

LIT, Round 1 is Complete

And obviously, I lived to tell about it.

I was really stressed about crossing the border - I didn't sleep at all the night before. But it turned out that the whole thing was really no big deal.

The most annoying part was being badgered by a very persistent shop owner who wanted us to buy medicines from a pharmacy or get our pictures taken with a donkey while we were standing at a corner (with the clinic's receptionist) waiting for another clinic employee to pick us up and drive us to a restaurant for lunch.

The guy doing the badgering asked if we were there to see a dentist. I smiled and shook my head no. Then he asked "Why are you here?" I just shook my head no again, and he insisted rather rudely "Tell me why you're here!", then accused us of being terrorists when I wouldn't respond.

I wasn't in the mood to talk about it, but perhaps I should have gone into every personal detail - that would have made him think twice about asking the same questions of the next couple he sees waiting on that street corner! Now that I'm prepared to expect that, maybe I'll take that approach if we see him on our next trip.

After the injections, I was kind of bummed because I didn't feel or see much of a reaction. However, 48 hours in, I have red welts the size of a quarter at each injection site. (There are 8 - 4 on each arm.) The itchiness I've heard about has also developed, and I'm not allowed to scratch or take antihistamines. Thankfully the itching isn't so bad that I'm going crazy - if I'm focused on work or some other activity (Christmas baking) or sleeping, I'm usually distracted enough to not notice it too much. But still, I'll be glad when the itching goes away.

We plan to go back for round 2 in January, but that will depend in part on what's going on with my dad. He's been stable in remission for the past month, so he's supposed to go back into the hospital on Thursday, and his bone marrow transplant is scheduled for Dec. 23. Prayers are welcome.

Also...thanks to all of you who offered anniversary gift suggestions!

A Favor to Ask (I'm Desperate Here, Folks)

I need help. In more ways than one, I suppose, but for the moment I'm fixated on one particular problem...

R and my 15th wedding anniversary is coming up in 3 weeks, and I have absolutely no idea what to get him. He bought me something, which we normally don't do for our anniversaries. He's actually become quite "the perfect gift" giver over the years (after I cured him of giving me things like ice scrapers, cookbooks and cooking utinsels during our first couple years of dating) so I'm sure he managed to find something that is meaningful and, well, perfect.

I, on the other hand, have never been one of those people who manages to find "the perfect gift" when gift-giving occasions arrive. My saving grace is that R's family are big believers in maintaining wish lists, so I work from those for birthdays and Christmas.

This fall, I've been even more sucky at it than usual. I managed to get R a card for his birthday and decided what to buy him (luggage, because his carry-on suitcase was falling apart) but didn't actually get around to making the purchase. Then a couple weeks after that, I realized I totally forgot my 16-year-old niece's birthday! And it's the same day as my dad's birthday, so how the heck did I manage that? Technically she's not a blood relative (her mom's one of my BFFs and is very laid back about those kinds of things), but still...Then R eventually wound up researching and buying his own birthday present because I still hadn't gotten to it - how lame is that?! It just arrived last week. (His birthday is in October.)

So I am in serious, desperate need of help. Ideas, in particular.

We always spend the day together (take the day off work if it's a weekday), but we don't usually buy gifts for each other. The last time we did was our 10th wedding anniversary. I got him an engraved frame and a photo album with a sterling silver cover that also had an engraved plaque on it. I didn't get around to actually putting pictures in them (mostly because I hate pretty much every picture taken of me during the past 10 years), so I took them back after I gave them to him with a promise to do that. Guess what I found a few weeks ago when I was cleaning up our office?

Finally getting pictures into the 10th anniversary photo frame/album might be a great 15th anniversary gift, but realistically it's not going to happen. So, I need ideas. Something other than conjuring up a baby out of thin air, since I haven't had any success in making that happen yet. And we're going on a short getaway for our anniversary, so travel probably won't count.

Ideas?? Thoughts? Suggestions?? Help!

Um, About What I Said...

I know I've been whining lately about being tired of infertility treatments, of the tests, the shots, the disappointments. That I don't have much left in me and just want to be at the treatment finish line, one way or another.

Yet somehow, here I sit, filling out the 934th half-inch-thick patient information form I've been asked to complete in the last 8 years. For yet another doctor. About yet another treatment.

Clearly I've lost the last shred of sanity I was precariously clinging to.

I belong to a Y.ah.oo group for infertility immunology issues. I've been seeing something lately about a very new treatment called c-g.s.f. (Google it minus the periods if you're curious.) So I decided what the heck, I'll look into it.

Which is how I wound up with an 11-page form to fill out. Half way in, after asking extensive questions about pregnancy history, testing of any losses, gyn history, etc., there's a section that says "Please describe the nature of your problem."

Well, let's see. Where to begin? I have to pick just one? Off the top of my head (no pun intended)...my hair is thinning, neither my eyesight nor my memory is what it used to be, I have entirely too many things to do and not enough time in which to do them, my dad is sick, my dog is sick, I work entirely too many hours because I don't want to be the next one to be laid off, when I cook I only have about a 50/50 chance of the recipe coming out right...

Oh wait, that's right, you're a fertility doctor. Probably not the kind of problems you're referring to. Let me try that again.

I DON'T HAVE A KID. And I miscarry. A. LOT.

What do your other patients normally come to you for?? Were the first four pages not a clue? Particularly page 1, which required me to explain each pregnancy and its outcome in great detail??

But I contained the snarkiness. Probably best not to tick off the doctor before even speaking with him. Now I have to dig out the records of our last retrieval and all of our immune testing so that I can write down exactly how many vials of Gan.are.lix I shot myself up with two years ago and what my latest FSH was. (4.something, for all the good it does me...)

In other news...

This doesn't mean we've put a halt to the home study. Pool fence and home study visit are still scheduled for next week. (Hopefully the former before the latter, or else the latter will have to be rescheduled.)

We survived Thanksgiving with relatively little drama, all things considered. BIL, who was making the turkey this year, announced the day before that he wanted to eat much later than we normally do - about 6 p.m. instead of 1 or 2 p.m. - because eating earlier would have required him to get up before 1 p.m. (And no, he doesn't work the night shift - he doesn't have a job at all.) For my mom, eating at 2 p.m. is late, so I knew she wasn't going to like this.

Surprisingly, she seemed pretty gracious about it when we told her. That should have been a clue to me, but I was just so relieved she didn't throw a fit right there on the spot that I didn't get suspicious.

Then on Thanksgiving morning, when R and I came downstairs and started getting things ready in the kitchen, she came in and announced that she had called the neighbors to wish them Happy Thanksgiving and that they invited her to eat with them at 2 p.m., so she was going over there instead of having Thanksgiving at our house, where she lives.

I knew that if the neighbor had extended an invitation, it was only after a lot of obvious hinting and wrangling on my mom's part. The neighbor is lovely and sweet, but she was hosting Thanksgiving for 16 people, including her in-laws and a vegan, who she was fretting about what to serve. She was completely stressed out about it, so I knew she wouldn't have just jumped at the chance to add one more person to the chaos.

Still, I just smiled sweetly and told my mom to have a good time and tell the neighbors we said Happy Thanksgiving, and turned back to what I was doing. R's eyes had kind of bugged out at the announcement, but he didn't say a word.

At 1:30 p.m., she changed her clothes. At 2 p.m., she was still sitting in her chair in her living room. At 2:30 I offered her a drink I was making, and surprise, surprise, when we ate, guess who was sitting at the table with us??

Score one for refusing to let her get under my skin. I don't play head games. Maybe at some point she'll learn to accept that.

A Brutal Day

This was the second day of layoff notifications. It hit closer to home and was even more brutal than yesterday.

The person in the cube adjacent to mine was let go. They're experiencing some personal challenges at the moment, so I feel for them even more than most. Two others I didn't work with as closely were also let go.

And, not only was my closest co-worker, who I work with on literally a daily basis and am also personal friends with, let go, but in her case, her last day is tomorrow. I understand why they did that, but it wasn't really necessary. It also means we have 8 hours to figure out all the stuff I might possibly need from her, and as of Monday, my workload doubles. I've been working 14-16 hour days and working on weekends for the last couple of months, so I'm honestly not quite sure how I'm going to fit more in.

I'm being told we're expected to "work harder".

I told R that we're going to spend time this weekend taking a very close look at our budget and "work harder" making cuts so we can boost our savings.

We have a decent savings account, and at the moment I don't plan to look elsewhere. My work is in an emerging niche, and I think there are still a lot of things I can learn in my job. With a few more years of experience, more opportunities may be open to me, and those opportunities may come with a nice salary boost.

So for now, I'm willing to stick it out. But R and I both have corporate jobs, and I don't want to be beholden to corporate America.

I want the option of being able to tell them where to shove it if they expect me to continue working ridiculous numbers of hours with no end in sight, then turn around, walk out the door, and not have to have a second's worth of stress about how we would survive indefinitely if need be.

On completely unrelated notes...

We ordered the pool fence yesterday. Assuming they're able to install it in the timeframe they say they are, our home study visit will be in 2.5 weeks.

I've scheduled our first LIT treatment for Dec. 11, but I'm still playing "should we, should we not?" with the idea of crossing the border.

I've been comfort eating for the past two days. Yesterday's dinner consisted of butter pecan ice cream with chocolate sauce. Today's dinner was garlic parmesan fries with a kicky paprika aioli, pepperoni pizza, and meatball pizza, topped off with more butter pecan ice cream, with an even more generous squeeze of the chocolate sauce bottle. Oh, and did I mention the bag of peanut M&M's I had while still at work?

Meanwhile, I've earned exactly $0 running dollars toward a massage so far.

Dodged a Bullet

The department I work in is having layoffs today and tomorrow. Thankfully I found out that I survived, but not everyone was so fortunate, and there is still more news to come about others' positions tomorrow.

R has been through layoffs 8 or 9 times in his career (and thankfully survived all but the one in which the company closed its local offices and we declined to move to Brazil), so I thought I was prepared to deal with the stress. And I was, to a large degree, but your spouse going through it still isn't the same as walking into the room to hear your own fate.

We were a lean department as it was, so some people who are very great to work with were let go, and others were demoted to non-management positions. Several of my co-workers, including the one with whom I work the closest and have formed a friendship with in addition to a colleague relationship, don't find out their fates until tomorrow.

I have to say that I've been incredibly fortunate - our department is very professional and pleasant to work in, and there isn't anyone in the group who I wouldn't want to work with.

I really feel for those who are affected. There's never any good time to do this, but of course right now is an especially tough time. And it feels particularly unfair, because there are 5 layers of management above them that remained virtually untouched through this process.

I'm thankful to have survived, but at the moment I'm mostly just sad for my co-workers. And anyone else who has had to endure a similar situation, especially in this economy.

Testing, Round 2

I scored a deal a couple nights ago on a box of 3 FREDs, on sale for $15. When I got up this morning, the boobs were still sore, so I figured what's another $5 test at this point? I opened a test, I peed, I wiped.

And I didn't even need to look at the test to know the result.

CD1 will be showing up tomorrow. Nothing like a couple of HPTs to bring her on.

On the bright side, dad is still doing well and still has his hair (one of his biggest concerns). He finds out tomorrow if a bone marrow biopsy he did yesterday shows that he's in remission again. The dog is still his limping but happy self.

And, we got the adoption home study agency's finger printing done today.

I was hoping to be able to say that the paper work is all done too. For some reason, though, the agency director only sent us half of it to do in advance. So when we got there today, he handed us a bunch more. I filled it out tonight - we'll either take it down there tomorrow or get it in the mail.

The carpet cleaner is coming Saturday morning, so the only big thing left on that front before the home study visit is getting the pool fence scheduled for installation.

We are planning to do the first round of LIT in December and the second round in January, but oddly enough R's Hep A total test came back positive. (The Hep A IgM was negative.) So we have to figure out what that means in the context of all of this.

I looked it up to get a better understanding of it before mentioning it to him. It's common, infection often comes from eating fruits, vegetables, shellfish or not washing your hands well enough, etc., it very rarely becomes chronic, even more rarely becomes fatal, and pretty much goes away on its own eventually - there's not really a treatment for it.

I tried to approach it very calmly, saying "One thing I need to mention...it's no big deal, millions of people get it, it goes away on its own without treatment, but you seem to have the very common mild form of hepatitis."

Still, understandably, his eyes got very wide and he said "what do you mean no big deal?? Hepatitis??!?"

Sigh...our world involves far too many strange, unexpected medical conversations...