Bad Infertility Humor

How do you know you've been dealing with infertility for waaaaayy too long? When a joke like this is funny to you:

R and I were talking a few mornings ago about the idea that since he has sperm again, and since we've gotten pregnant the natural way twice, maybe it will happen for us next month. He actually kind of gets upset at the idea, because he feels like I don't produce great eggs/lining on my own and we might be likely to repeat the miscarriage pattern. (Never mind the fact that our pregnancy conceived through treatment led to the exact same outcome!)

I assured him that I'd do my best to exercise a lot and eat low-carb, because that helps reduce the PCOS symptoms and improve egg quality.

"So, you never know - maybe one of my ovaries will cough up a relatively good egg next time around," I said.

He replied, "Ok, but can you tell it to please make sure it coughs up one with a yoke this time?"

Get it? Yoke - yoke sac? Which is what is consistently missing from the picture during our ob ultrasounds.

I told you it was bad...

The Results Are In

Not a big surprise - today's beta was negative. I had begun to suspect as much, because my symptoms abated during the weekend.

We're fine with it. Chances are, egg quality wasn't high and my lining wasn't great coming off the miscarriage, so we wouldn't have had high hopes even with a positive beta. That, and I need to lose some major pounds before we give this another serious go, because after the last two cycles I am now overweight to the point that my blood pressure is a bit high.

On a happier note, this is my last full-time week at work, so hopefully I will actually drag my overly plump, sorry little (well, actually not-so-little) bottom to the gym very soon. I bought a new swimsuit last week for just that purpose. You know it's bad when you've outgrown even the stretchy things in your wardrobe. Like your old swimsuit...

Sometimes, You've Just Gotta Laugh

Because really, what else can you do? Especially when you find out three weeks after you've miscarried twins that there's a chance you might be pregnant again.

Yep, welcome to my life, which at this point makes a three-ring circus seem dull and ordinary.

I showed signs of ovulating last week. I thought, "Okay, good, maybe my body is working like it's supposed to. I'll see if CD 1 shows up in a couple of weeks." I usually bloat during ovulation, then it goes away for about 10 days, then it comes back a few days before CD 1. This time, the bloating hasn't gone away. So I thought, "Okay, this is a bit unusual, but my body's been through a lot, so it's probably just confused."

This morning, as I was driving to work, I felt a little bit of unusual pelvic cramping. It wasn't menstrual cramping, and it wasn't the typical pinch I get around ovulation - that already happened last week. So I thought, "Hmm, this is kind of weird. It's almost like implantation cramping. And the timing would be right for that, because today is CD 22, and I typically ovulate around CD 16. But nah, it can't be...because R hasn't been on Arimidex for seven months, and he doesn't produce sperm unless he's on it."

I didn't give it any more thought as the morning progressed. Until Dr. Crass's nurse called to give me the report of the semen analysis R did on Monday: "Normal, normal, normal, normal, normal!" She was in shock. So much so that she double-checked the cup to make sure it had his name on it, even though he was the only patient she did an analysis for on Monday. She said she almost fell to the floor in disbelief.

So R has sperm. 78 million/ml's worth, with 53 percent motility, and the vast majority of them swimming in the right direction. And one of my ovaries may have coughed up an egg. I've been instructed to resume the baby aspirin, Lovenox, mega doses of folic acid and progesterone supps.

We'll see what next week's betas bring.

A Leap of Faith

Big changes are afoot over here.

I gave my two weeks' notice today at work. It's something I've been thinking about and R and I have been talking about for a while, but still, the timing was a surprise even to me. R had been hesitant for us to take this step right now, but yesterday he did an about face and said, "Why don't you quit?"

So today I did. I won't be staying home full time, but I'll go into more detail in another post. For now, let's just say that at least I'll have more time to blog and to catch up with all of you.

Between this and the sudden house-buying of last fall, I seem to be living my life on the impulsive lately, don't I? Let's hope this works out as well as the house has!

Not much to report on the fertility front. Unfortunately, there wasn't enough tissue from Baby B to do any chromosomal testing. We had hoped there would be, and that that would provide us with some answers.

Basically, our next steps are:

1) I have to have blood drawn for a genetic karotype to see if I have some sort of chromosomal issue that might be causing genetic abnormalities in the embryos. (R had his done a few years ago when he was first diagnosed with male factor, and it was normal.)

2.) We have to get an answer from our clinic about whether we can do PGD since we are in their shared-risk plan. They generally don't allow patients to do the shared risk plan if they need PGD, but usually they know before patients enter the plan if PGD is necessary or not. It sounds like Doc is willing to consider it, but he has to get the other partners in his practice to sign off on it. Doc wants to do PGD if my karotype comes back abnormal. I want to do it even if the karotype comes back normal, in the hopes that it might provide some more clues to why I keep miscarrying.

3.) R had to have another date with a cup. Since his surgery, for the past 18 months his counts have ranged from barely within normal to practically non-existent when he's not on Arimidex, even though his testosterone level now seems to be holding steady in the normal range. (It was very abnormally low before the surgery.) Because of the fluctuations, Dr. Crass (the urologist) wants to recheck his hormone levels and counts before agreeing to restart the Arimidex.

4.) Unless something unforeseen happens, we're planning fresh IVF #2 for late spring. Retrieval should be sometime the first week of May, and I will probably be spending Mother's Day on bedrest. At least that would be a nice change from the recent years' routine of spending it miscarrying.

Since I'm going to have much more flexibliity in my schedule soon, I have big plans to exercise like crazy and acquaint myself with our kitchen in an attempt to lose the weight these past two cycles have piled on. Forget outgrowing jeans or shirts - I've outgrown my SHOES! Eeeeekkkk!

Well, That Was Fun While It Lasted

As I’m sure you can guess, Friday morning’s ultrasound did not go well. It was done at an office that includes a perinatologist, a genetic counselor and a radiologist who specializes strictly in obstetrical radiology. If you’re there, it’s because something is going (or appears to be going) very, very wrong – it’s not the kind of place where you go if you’re having a happy, run-of-the-mill pregnancy.

After what was by far the most thorough wanding of my life (the tech recorded 53 different images!), the radiologist came in and gave the verdict: “abnormal pregnancy tissue,” “an abnormally shaped gestational sac” and “there’s no hope for this to progress.”

I held it together pretty well up until the words “there’s no hope,” and then my throat closed, my eyes started to fill up and I scanned the room in hopes of spotting a Kleenex box. The tech noticed, and she grabbed a very long, thin box and brought it over to me.

For a moment, I didn’t understand, because this was not like any Kleenex box I’d ever seen. Then, as she pulled out this big, thick paper that had to be at least 20 inches by 20 inches, the image of a clown pulling a giant handkerchief out of his sleeve flashed through my mind. The sound that came from my throat began as a laugh but ended up more like a choked cry.

The radiologist and the tech took that as their cue to high-tail it out of the room, which they promptly did. As soon as the door shut behind them, I buried my whole face in the clown Kleenex and wailed.

I have to hand it to that place – at least they know their audience. No normal-size tissues designed for a dainty little sneeze. No siree, these were definitely industrial strength Kleenex, designed for industrial strength tears.

I’ve been told to stop all meds and to expect the miscarriage of baby B to begin sometime this week.

Two miscarriages less than three weeks into the new year. Not exactly the way I had pictured to start 2007…

Complications

On Monday, I was composing a post in my head about how well this pregnancy seems to be going. My symptoms were good over the weekend – fatigue, increasing nausea, etc. I was ready for lunch by 10:30 a.m. on Monday (the women in the office were laughing at me), and I made R stop and get me a ridiculously large dinner when he stopped by my office at 4:30 p.m. because I was already starving again. Just before he arrived, I went to the bathroom. Everything was fine – not even a speck of spotting.

Less than three hours later, there was blood. Not just a little bit of spotting, but a small clot in the toilet and enough to bleed through to my pants. I paged the doctor on call at my ob/gyn’s office, and he advised us to go to the emergency room.

So we did. And we sat and waited, and sat and waited, with me getting up every hour or so to go pass more clots. When you’re barely 6 weeks pregnant and bleeding, the ER docs and nurses know there’s really nothing they can do for you, so you are at the bottom of the waiting room food chain.

We sat there for five hours, until 1 a.m. I finally went back to the triage nurse, told her I was thinking I’d probably be better off just going home and promptly burst into tears. She promised to try to get me a bed as quickly as she could, which turned out to be another hour later.

They put me in the ER’s ob/gyn room, which at least afforded us a little more privacy than being in a bed separated only by curtains. I remember R and I joking and laughing about things, although at this point I don’t remember what the subject of our jesting was. I just remember commenting on how perverse it seemed that we are able to laugh while I’m sitting there possibly bleeding out our baby. But I guess we’ve been through this so much that it doesn’t phase us like it used to.

An ultrasound was done, and the tech couldn’t see a gestational sac. We thought that was the beginning of the end, but then my hcg level came back at almost 7,400. The first miscarriage I experienced was at pretty much the exact same point in the pregnancy, and that time my hcg on that day was only 424. So we grasped onto the little bit of hope that number presented.

We finally got home at 6:30 a.m. on Tuesday, and then slept for several hours. The bleeding had turned to light spotting, and by early afternoon, it stopped altogether for a few hours. It returned Tuesday night, but by this morning was brown instead of pinkish red and then stopped by late morning.

We went to my ob/gyn for another ultrasound today. He was able to see a gestational sac, although he said it only looked like it was about 5 weeks, and I’m 6w3d today. He wasn’t happy with the quality of images he gets from his machine for this early stage, so he’s sending me for a level 2 ultrasound someplace else on Friday morning.

The spotting resumed again after the ultrasound, but it’s still very light and mostly brown, so I’m trying to take those as good signs. Our RE thinks we still have a good chance of this working out, and that I probably lost a baby on Monday night. The ob/gyn says we “have a fighting chance” and he’s not willing to say it’s a non-viable pregnancy at this point, but of course he’d prefer the sac be bigger. (Wouldn’t we all?!)

So for now I’m sitting at home, trying to rest and not drive myself too crazy worrying about what is ultimately beyond my control at this point. I’m going to try to catch up with all of you during the next few days.

Poking My Head Back Out

I suppose it’s time for me to come back out of my cave.

I’m fine – I haven’t been sad or depressed or anything. It’s just that we’ve had a lot of non-infertility stuff going on what with moving, trying to sell two houses and getting adjusted to a new boss, so the infertility stuff (and blogging and pretty much anything else not house-related) has kind of been pushed to the background for a couple months. Actually, it’s been kind of nice not to focus so much on infertility – I was even beginning to remember what it is like to have a “normal” life!

But, of course, “normal” only lasts for so long, and in my case it tends not to be long at all.

We did our second FET in December. Doc gave us two choices after FET #1 failed: Do another FET, this time transferring back three embryos rather than two; or leave our eight frozens alone for now and do another fresh cycle with less stims (not that I was on much to begin with) to see if that could improve egg quality.

I didn’t see myself being up for another fresh cycle until March or April, so we opted for the FET. To be honest, I wasn’t really in the mood to do that, either. I looked at it mainly as one more thing we had to do so we could cross it off our list, and at one point I almost opted not to go forward with the cycle and wait until after the beginning of the year.

But finally I found a little better place, and we continued forward. Then the betas came back:

Dec. 22, 7dp5dt: 48
Dec. 26, 11dp5dt: 181

So, I’m officially – well, you know. I still have a difficult time saying the word. There are some people who know we were cycling. I’ve told them I’m “incubating.” It’s more scientific, less emotion-laden. It helps me be detached.

I’m 5w1d today. I had some mild pain/cramping/aching from about 3w6d to 4w4d. That made me nervous. Then it went away. That, too, made me nervous. It came back a little bit yesterday. That made me happy, then nervous.

I’ve also had nausea and a heightened sense of smell on and off, but that doesn’t seem to be happening consistently either. I’m happy when I feel it, but nervous when I don’t. On the plus side, so far there hasn’t been a speck of spotting and I’ve been going to the bathroom pretty much every two hours very consistently.

Our first ultrasound isn’t scheduled until Jan. 11, which would be 6w4d. It will be with my ob/gyn, since we cycled out of state. I’m debating whether to call and see if I can get it moved up to this week. What do you think?

People keep saying, "Oh, aren't you so excited?!" Honestly, no, I'm not. Blissful ignorance is not an option anymore in our world. I'm scared. I'm trying to have faith. I'm taking it one day at a time, because there are no guarantees and things could change at any moment. I don't know that I will truly be able to be excited until I am holding a baby in my arms.

Here's hoping that 2007 is a year that brings all of us great joy...

Still Here

I'll be quick about this, because I rose very early this morning to 1) finish contact papering the pantry shelves, 2) register for a make-it-and-take-it dinner place I'm supposed to be going to with a friend in a couple of days (but won't be if I don't sign up before the cut off today) and 3) get to work early. Hahahaha. I got the last four pieces of contact paper cut (turns out I made them about 3/8" too short) and then the lure of the computer sucked me in - I've spent the last hour catching up with as many of you as possible.

We've moved, although we still have a few boxes worth of stuff inside and about half of the garage at the old house. We're getting unpacked, but it will take a bit of time, mostly because I haven't taken any time off work to do this. While I hate to pack, I actually rather enjoy unpacking and getting things organized, so if I had a big chunk of time to do it, we'd be completely unpacked within a few days.

My mom moves in this weekend. It will be interesting. My mind keeps blocking the fact that the whole reason for this move is so she could come live with us. Let's hope we manage to co-exist with minimal strife and that we don't all kill each other.

I talked with Doc the day after our BFN. He gave us two options: 1) do another FET, this time transferring three blasts or 2) leave the 8 blasts we have frozen and go onto another fresh cycle, this time with slightly lower stims. He is concerned that at this point we've transferred back two terrific-looking day 3 embryos and two fantastic day 5 blasts, and nothing has stuck. He thinks we've got the blood clotting issues and immune issues under control, and my lining looked great. So he thinks it may be an embryo quality issue that isn't visible to the naked eye, even via microscope.

He thinks that given R's drastic swings in sperm production (from almost literally zero sperm, highly fragmented while he's not on meds to pretty much totally normal when he is), there could still be an inherent sperm quality issue that is causing problems. He also thinks that while my E2 levels didn't rise too terribly high given the 32 eggs retrieved, he would want to keep everything even lower next time to try to make sure it isn't an egg quality issue. I wasn't on a high dose of stims to start with (300 units for the first two days, then 225 after that), so there isn't a whole lot of room to go lower, but there is a little bit. I imagine he'd start me on 225 and then drop down to 150, but we didn't get into details.

I'm not up to another fresh cycle at the moment, so we've opted to do a frozen cycle in December, then consider another fresh cycle after the beginning of the year (probably March or April) if the frozen doesn't work. Lupron begins on Nov. 11 - hard to believe it's less than three weeks away - and the transfer will be sometime around Dec. 15.

I'll keep trying to catch up with all of you as I can, even though I'm not posting a whole lot right now.

In Other News…

“…and now, we’re taking a break from our regularly scheduled fit of self-pity to bring you this important news bulletin:

I hate packing.

I promised R that I would pack like a Tasmanian devil this weekend. I have no motivation to pack, and I’ve been doing everything I can to procrastinate on it for the past few weeks.

My ‘Taz’ imitation lasted until I finished packing the guest bathroom, which was the first room I tackled. It consisted of a few towels, a couple of candles, a flower arrangement and a harness thingamajig with suction cups on both ends that is (theoretically, anyway) supposed to keep the dogs from leaping out of the tub when we’re giving them a bath.

It took me all of 10 minutes. And after that, I was ready to be done with the packing. But I pressed on, mostly because R wouldn’t let me stop.

In the room where we keep the cats when we’re not home, I dumped scratching posts, kitty beds and toys into a box without bothering to vacuum the coating of hair off them first. My mother is one of those people who cleans her entire house every weekend, and the idea of packing something without cleaning it first is beyond comprehension to her. The first thing she will do as we begin to get settled is unpack the pets’ stuff. Let’s hope I get to that box first, because if I don’t, the shock of it may be more than she can handle.

There’s still a ton of packing left to do. Did I mention that moving day is this Saturday?

It should be an interesting day. R has no problem paying other people thousands of dollars to paint the inside of our house, install landscape, etc. But spend a few hundred bucks to hire movers to load our stuff up, drive it over to the new house, and unload it? No way! He insists that he and his dad are going to move us. I don’t think it’s a money thing – it seems to be more a matter of machismo.

But here’s the thing. R is not in shape to do this, and neither is his dad. Not that I’m the picture of fitness, because I’m certainly not. But I have learned to recognize my limits. R, on the other hand, got out of bed this morning by rolling gingerly onto his side while moaning, then slowly slid his legs over the edge of the bed until he was kneeling on the ground, then put his hands on top of the bed and used his arms to push himself up, his face contorting in pain the whole time.

This, after only half a day of packing. I can only imagine what he’ll be like next Sunday morning, after moving the entire contents of a house into and then back out of a truck.

And now, back to our regularly scheduled programming…”

It Didn't Work

The first beta was less than 2. I don't know what the second one was because I was in a meeting when the clinic called and couldn't answer my phone. But seeing as how the message was to stop taking my meds, clearly the second beta didn't come back with some fantastically high number.

Our clinic usually doesn't give out the results until after the second beta. But on Tuesday I couldn't stand the not knowing any more, so I got the cycle coordinator to tell me. I can be a bit of a PITA patient, so she doesn't even fight it anymore - I think she figures it's easier to just do what I want, because then I'll go away and won't keep bugging her.

I didn't tell R until last night. I wanted to let him have one more day in the Land of Hope, because he was so happy there. As I was walking out of my building at work, he called to find out if I'd heard anything yet. I'd been really calm up until that point - faking hope during the injections he helped me with on Tuesday night, not crying at all since getting the news. But telling him gets me every time. I sank down on a curb in the parking lot and sobbed and sobbed as I told him. I was probably flashing the world since I was in a skirt, and other employees were driving by on their way out of the parking lot, but I didn't care.

At least we have the house to focus on and keep us distracted. I'm hoping to talk to Doc today to get his thoughts, and then I think we're going to do the next FET in the beginning of December. We'll find out the results right at Christmas. A couple years ago, there's no way I would have been willing to do a cycle with that kind of timing. But now my thinking is that we have no child now, so in that sense, how can it get any worse? If it's a negative, we're simply in the same place we are right now. If it's a positive, it's another reason to (reservedly, with great caution) celebrate.

Oh, and you want to hear something ironic? R and I tried to adopt for two years. We let all of our family, friends and neighbors know that we were wanting to adopt, but none of them ever heard of any potential situations. Now, since Friday, two friends and a neighbor have all said, "I just heard of someone I know who is pregnant and planning to put their baby up for adoption. Would you be interested?" It would figure. I've left it up to them to find out more information for us. We wouldn't be totally against it, but given that we've already lost tens of thousands of dollars on that process, we're also not willing to be matched with someone who needs major living expenses for several months.

I haven't told R about any of these situations. Apparently, I'm getting very good at keeping things from him. That's probably not a good thing, but sparing him dashed hopes and pain spares me pain. And right now, I've got just about all the pain I can handle.

God, when does this end? When is it our turn? It seems like almost everyone we know who is dealing with infertility, in the blogosphere or in real life, is having success while we're still left standing here, watching them all go on to have the happy lives we can barely even dream of anymore. I know that's not true of everyone, that some of you who are reading this are still in the boat with us. I wish it was a place none of us had to be.

What to Say?

I’ve been a bad blogger lately, I know. I could use the excuse of the new house and new position at work, and that would be true. (The only reason I’m getting a few minutes of uninterrupted time on the computer now is because R left early this morning to go meet the painter at the new house. Otherwise, after two minutes he’d be scolding me to go pack something or do something else move-related, which I am so not in the mood to do even though I should.)

But the other reason I haven’t been blogging is that I’ve simply been trying to avoid facing infertility altogether. Kind of difficult to do in some ways, I know, given that I’m sticking needles in my backside every night. But it feels like I just don’t have the energy to face it anymore. It’s been 3 ½ years, and I’m tired.

I’m scared, too. You’d think I’d be on cloud 9 given what is about to follow, but I’m not. I’m just scared. The FET, like our fresh cycle this summer, went even better than we could have imagined. Two blasts were thawed, and both survived. The embryologist described one as “spectacular” and the other as “very good.” Doc asked her if he should talk with us about thawing and transferring a third one, and she told him absolutely not. When he did the actual transfer, he was able to see the exact spot he wanted to put them in, and he was incredibly happy with how that spot looked. So happy that I seriously thought he might start jumping up and down around the room after it was done.

My NK cell level was retested after the infusion, and the fat cells seem to have done their job – the level dropped from 13.9 percent to 8.6 percent. The clinic wants it to be less than 10 percent, so I’m in the right range.

So now we’ve transferred two embryos that probably couldn’t be any more perfect and placed them on a lining that probably couldn’t be any more perfect. I’m on metformin to address the PCOS hormone imbalance, low-dose aspirin and Lovenox to address the blood clotting mutations, steroids and fat cell infusions to address the immune issues, antibiotics to prevent any possible post-transfer infection and estrogen and PIO in what I suspect are doses adequate enough for three pregnant women.

So, given all that, what if it still doesn’t work? What’s left? Like I said – scared. Betas are Monday and Wednesday, and at this point I honestly can’t say which way I think it will go. Here’s what I’ve got so far:

The “Maybe This Really Did Work” Category

• Transfer was at noon on Sunday. I saw a tiny little bit of brown spotting late Monday morning, but nothing since. This has never happened before, not after any of the IUIs or the last transfer. Maybe it was implantation spotting.
  
• Since Monday, I’ve been even more tired. Maybe it’s because of pregnancy hormones.
  
• Since Monday night, I’ve been having vivid dreams. (Unfortunately, they’ve mostly been dreams of my mother and I having screaming matches in our new house or dreams of me going ballistic over something at our old fertility clinic in front of a waiting room full of people.) But still, I rarely dream hard enough to remember it in the morning. Maybe it’s those good ol’ pregnancy hormones again.
  
• I felt a little bit nauseous yesterday morning, around the same time that I usually did during pregnancy #1. Maybe it’s the beginnings of morning sickness.
  
• I felt a brief, little, painful twinge in my uterus yesterday as R and I were driving to the final walk-through for our house. Maybe it was an implantation pain.
  

The “Who Am I Kidding” Category

• Transfer was at noon on Sunday. I saw a tiny little bit of brown spotting late Monday morning, but nothing since. Probably a little bit of old blood from the transfer.
  
• Since Monday, I’ve been even more tired. It’s probably because I started the progesterone supps on Monday night, adding even more progesterone to my system. But wait! The extra tiredness started Monday afternoon, before the first supp. Maybe it really is because of pregnancy hormones. Yes, why don’t I just continue torturing myself over this one tiny little point…
  
• Since Monday night, I’ve been having vivid dreams. (Unfortunately, they’ve mostly been dreams of my mother and I having screaming matches in our new house or dreams of me going ballistic over something at our old fertility clinic in front of a waiting room full of people.) Forget pregnancy hormones – can we say “subconscious fears coming to the surface during the dream stage”?
  
• I felt a little bit nauseous yesterday morning, around the same time that I usually did during pregnancy #1. Maybe a greasy, spicy dinner full of salsa and a quesadilla covered in green chili strips wasn’t such a great idea after all.
  
• I felt a brief, little, painful twinge in my uterus yesterday as R and I were driving to the final walk-through for our house. If only I had a nickel for every time I thought a uterine twinge was the sign of a pregnancy.
  
• And, the one that’s stressing me out the most: Every night since the transfer, I wake up around 3:30 a.m. because I have to go to the bathroom and my bladder refuses to let me go back to sleep until I do. But I slept right through last night until the alarm went off at 6 o’ clock this morning. The same thing happened with this summer’s cycle – I kept having to get up to go to the bathroom (usually at 2:30 a.m.), then the day before beta #1 it was 4 a.m., then the day of beta #1 it was 6 a.m. I’m afraid that means my uterus is shrinking back down and not pushing on my bladder as much. Especially because I drank plenty of milk last night, so I know it wasn’t that my bladder was empty.
  

I’m probably not going to POAS this time. House stuff will keep my mind occupied this weekend, and I really, really don’t want to start out the week by staring at an overly white pee stick first thing on Monday morning. On Wednesday, I have a meeting with an out-of-town vendor at 4 p.m. I think I’m going to tell the nurse at the clinic “don’t call me, I’ll call you.” Either way, I don’t want the news until after the meeting.

Again, sorry for being such a bad blogger. I’m going to try to catch up with all of you this weekend.

By Golly, She Really Has Lost Her Mind

I didn't mean to disappear again. It has unexpectedly turned into a crazy couple of weeks, part of it self-inflicted, part of it not.

I've been given a new, interim position at work. I'm very excited about it, because it allows me to focus more in depth on a few areas rather than spreading myself over many areas, which is what my current position entails. If I do well, it will become a permanent position. The downside is that I have two months to prove myself, but I'm still doing several pieces of my other position, so I'm not able to focus all of my energies on the new one. Should be an interesting couple of months...

Then, as if we don't have enough chaos in our lives as it is, I dragged R to go look at new homes on a whim over the weekend. In a few hours, we're signing the papers to buy a ridiculously large, gorgeous spec home. This Friday, we're out of town at the clinic so that I can get loaded up on fat cells and have an ultrasound to see how my lining is progressing. The following Friday is the expected transfer date. Then, the Friday after that is the day I have my first beta, which will also probably be the day we get the keys to the new house.

We hadn't planned on this - like I said, we went looking on a whim. So our current house is not on the market and is nowhere near ready to be shown. But there are some reasons behind my madness. My mom will be moving in with us because she is in her 70s and it's getting harder and harder for her to work full time. (Because of the financial situation my parents' divorce put her in, she can't afford to live on her own unless she works.) This house gives us all enough space that we will hopefully be able to coexist without wanting to kill each other. Plus, the builder was offering huge incentives on the house in terms of a price discount and closing costs/loan rates because they want to get the house closed before their new fiscal year begins on Oct. 1. So once we get our house and my mom's house sold, we'll have a small mortgage that will allow me to stay home or work part-time at some point.

The next couple of months will be interesting. I had a check up with my regular doc yesterday, who is also my mom's doc and knows us both very well. I think at this point, he wants to insert a permanent IV into me and keep Ativan (anti-anxiety drug) flowing through me on a continuous basis.

I am horribly behind on catching up with all of you, please forgive me. I'll be back to catch up as soon as I can.

Better Fertility Through Fat

Our first frozen embryo cycle is officially underway. Lupron? Check. Delestrogen? Check. Ultrasound appointments scheduled, plane tickets reserved, infusion of fat cells planned? Check, check, and check.

Yep, fat cells. And I’m not talking collagen to add extra pout to my lips, which, believe me, are pouting plenty on their own over this latest development.

Doc wanted me to repeat a few tests before we do the FET. He doesn’t have all of the results yet, but the NK (natural killer) cells results came back today. I had done that test and several others at a local lab during The Bloodletting of 2005. The NK results were normal that time, but Doc wanted me to repeat a few of them through a lab he uses. This time, my NK level came back at 13.9 percent, with anything over 10 percent considered elevated.

I haven’t done a lot of homework on NK cells yet, but my rudimentary understanding is that if they’re elevated, it can mean that they’re attacking the embryo and the developing placenta instead of recognizing them as things that are okay to be growing in the uterus.

REs who believe in immune issues often use a blood product called IVIg to treat women who have elevated NK cell levels. Doc is among those who prescribe IVIg, but he and one of his colleagues have also recently begun using something called intralipids in place of IVIg. It’s hundreds of dollars per IV infusion rather than thousands, it only takes an hour as opposed to three or four hours, and it’s not a human product, so it doesn’t pose a risk of disease transmission. There isn’t a lot of data on intralipids as a treatment for NK cells in infertility yet, because it isn’t widely used for that purpose at this time, but Doc says success rates are proving to be about the same with IVIg.

The intralipids infusion involves an IV bag full of a milky white solution that includes 20 percent fat cells (from soybean oil I believe), hence the “lipids” part of “intralipids.” I asked if I couldn’t just eat a couple extra bags of potato chips instead, but no such luck. The infusion is scheduled for mid-September, about a week before transfer.

Like most of you, there are things I never thought I would have to do, such as give myself shots or go through IVF. But allowing myself to be injected with fat cells?!? That is so far beyond “things I never thought I would have to do” that I’m at a loss for words in some respects.

I do, however, still have the ability to form at least a couple of thoughts:

1) Boy, are the future kiddos ever going to owe me for this! Forget the “do you know how many hours of labor I had to go through for you??” guilt trip – they’ll have to sit through my “do you know how many fat cells I had to have injected for you??” tale of woe. (I’m joking, I’m joking. Mostly, anyway.)

2) Since I have to suck it up and have this infusion, I think it would only be fair if I could at least direct the fat cells as to where they’re allowed to take up residence: “The cells on my hips and thighs already have plenty of company, thank you, so can you please make your way to…well, never mind that, there are very few slender places on my body to begin with, and I’d really prefer that you not make any of those places bigger, either.”

“So once you’ve done your duty by binding to the NK cells and neutralizing them, can you please just make a speedy exit out of my body? Because, let’s be honest here, even I know my threats to exercise you away will only incite mirth and not instill fear. And I certainly don’t need any more of you jiggling around on me while you’re laughing.”

So there you have it, the latest weapon in the infertility fight: bags of fat. Is it just me, or is all of this starting to sound a little bit insane??

Following Our Hearts

Despite what my silence since the second beta post probably implies, R and I are okay.

It’s just now occurring to me that I never mentioned that we have frozen blastocysts. Ten of them, actually – four that are Grade A, six that are Grade B. Because of that, R is still very optimistic and took the news of the negative betas pretty well.

The thing I was dreading most about the whole cycle was how he would react if we didn't get a positive. Once I was able to believe he really was okay (either that, or he’s become a very good liar as of late), I was fine. Well, at least as fine as one can be under these circumstances. I just didn't think I was up for handling it if he was as devastated as he was by the first miscarriage or as angry and disappointed as he was by the second one. I'm to the point where it feels like I can take just about any pain myself, but please don't make me have to watch him go through any more pain and heartache.

So, the plan is that we’re going to do an FET cycle next month. Since the betas weren’t ever even at a level of 1, Doc said we could go right into a cycle without having to wait a month. I started the BCPs last Thursday, and the Lupron shots begin again on Saturday. The transfer will be sometime in the second half of September.

Right now I’m just trying to focus on being positive and visualizing that I can stay pregnant. I haven’t exactly been a shining beacon of optimism these past few years, and it doesn’t help that my dad called me today to say, “Honey, God spoke to me this morning and told me that what you’re doing – the treatment – won’t work.”

In all fairness to him, he did go on to relay what he believes to be a very positive message: that God will heal us and R and I will become “very fertile” and will have biological children…just not through treatment.

R and I are Christian, and I credit my faith largely to my dad. However, he has some views on faith and God that I don’t necessarily subscribe to in the same way. I absolutely believe that God can and does heal people, so I’m not making fun of his comments. Miracles happen. To R and me, our pregnancies, as brief as they were, were miracles nonetheless.

But I also feel like we are doing what God wants us to by going through IVF at this point in time. That we’re with the right clinic, with the right doctor. I can’t say for certain that I know IVF is what will get us to parenthood, but I have a peace about pursuing this that I didn’t have when we were pursuing adoption.

Deep, deep down, I always felt like I was forcing adoption too soon; it was a back-up plan I was trying to keep under my control in case God didn’t “come through” for us with fertility treatment. I needed to let go of that and step out in faith to do IVF without a safety net that I had created for myself, if that makes any sense, so we let our adoptin certification expire this summer. That’s not to say that I wasn’t sincere in my desire to adopt, because I absolutely was. And despite all of the heartache we’ve endured in that area, if IVF doesn’t work, we will go back to adoption, albeit probably via an agency or international route. But it wasn’t the right time, we weren’t doing things in the order God wanted us to, and underneath it all, as much as I tried to bury it and ignore it, I felt that.

Now I feel like we’re on the right path for us at this moment and time. R and I prayed about starting our family pretty much every single night for seven months before we started actually trying to conceive. We’ve prayed through all of the pain and misery of the past three and a half years. Sometimes they’ve been internal, “how can we bear this, why are You allowing this to happen to us, I’m angry at You, God” kinds of prayers, but we haven’t stopped praying.

If a time comes when IVF is no longer the path we should pursue, I believe we’ll feel God leading us in a different direction. I just hope my dad can accept that we’re choosing to follow our own hearts on this one, and that they’re telling us something different than his is telling him.

It's Official

The results were the same today, so this cycle is officially a BFN.

We're doing okay. I went to lunch and a movie with a couple of friends on Saturday, and R and I jumped into shopping for a small home improvement project on Sunday, so those things kept me from dwelling on the likely reality of today's news.

We have a consult with our RE tomorrow to review the cycle and find out if there's any more testing he wants us to do or any changes he wants to make in protocol before we do an FET. If he says it's okay and I get a period this week, I'll start Lupron again on Aug. 26 for the FET. If he wants me to wait a month or so, then the FET wouldn't be until October.

But I'm anxious to get going again, and I'm feeling great physically, so hopefully he'll let us cycle sooner rather than later. My hormones are normally out of whack, as is the nature of PCOS. I think the stims and the progesterone make my hormone levels much more balanced, because my skin has been so much more clear these past three weeks, and I feel better physically than I normally do. Silver linings, people, silver linings. I'm trying to focus on the positives.

Interestingly enough, when the clinical coordinator called to tell me the results this evening, she also mentioned that she would recommend transferring three embryos for the FET. She said she thinks there's a better chance with three than with two, but of course she also said to talk with Doc about it. Given that he offered to transfer three for our fresh cycle, he'd prbably be agreeable to it.

At the beginning of this journey, my mom kept cautioning me about all the bad things that she thought could happen - like the drugs causing cancer, or me having a "litter," etc. She would "tsk, tsk" any time we started a new protocol. Tonight, she said, "I think you should transfer back three or even four." When I reminded her that she used to be against treatment because she was afraid I'd wind up with seven or eight at once, she replied, "I'm much more educated now." And really, she is. She has a much, much better understanding of infertility and treatment processes than a lot of infertility patients themselves, much less her fellow 70-somethings.

Then I teased her that if we wound up with triplets, she'd have to pitch in to help. "Oh, I've already thought of that! I have two arms and a big lap. I'm all ready for 'em - bring 'em on!" she told me.

Easier said than done. But who knows? Maybe we will transfer three after all.

Three Strikes and You're Out

Great eggs, great sperm, terrific embryos, a beautiful lining.

Big, fat negative beta.

It came back at less than 1.

I Caved...

...and it ain't pretty.

Yes, you guessed it. I HPT'd this morning, and it was negative. Not even a hint of a line, no matter how hard I looked. And believe me, I looked hard.

Today is 8dp3dt (well, technically 7.5dp3dt, since my transfer was in the afternoon). I want to try to stay positive because I know that it's still early, but I don't think this bodes well.

The first beta is tomorrow (Friday). Since 48 hours would be on Sunday, my second beta isn't until Monday. For some strange reason, our clinic refuses to give the results until after the second beta.

Unfortunately, I have things at work on Tuesday and Wednesday that I just can't get out of. So if the results aren't what we hope for, I'd like a little time over the weekend to deal with that. I think I'm going to try to get the lab tech to give us the results tomorrow. She knows me and our situation, and she was good about sneaking the results to me during the May pregnancy.

Something NOT To Say While Helping Your Wife With Her PIO Shot

All is going well here. We got home fine, then jumped back into work, although I probably haven’t been as productive as I could be this week. I had some twinging, sharp-ish kinds of pains intermittently throughout Saturday afternoon and Sunday, so I’m hoping those were implantation cramps, but time will tell.

For some reason, I’ve started having a slightly tougher time with the shots. It reminds me of when I was in gymnastics while I was growing up. I’d learn to do a tough trick, like a backflip, without spotting from a coach. I’d do it for a few weeks, and then one day I’d regress. I’d walk into the gym and say, “Uh-uh, no way, too scary. I could fall and break my neck.”

I’ve run into a similar mindset with the shots. “I don’t want to stick this needle into me, it will hurt.”

The other night, R was helping me with the PIO shot. Laying on my side in bed, I tried to stick the needle in. I got the tip of it in, and it hurt. Ouch! I pulled it back out, and a drop of blood appeared on my skin.

R tried to be encouraging. “Here, why don’t you try that spot.” He pointed to an unbruised area of my backside.

“I. Don’t. Want. To. The last one really hurt.”

His eyes widened in surprise and fear. This was not something he had anticipated. “Oh, come on, you can do it.”

“I. Don’t Want. To.”

Now the fear turned into a look of terror. He was probably envisioning having to sit on me and jam the needle in himself.

Finally I worked up the courage and gave it another try. The needle went right in, no pain at all. As R was pushing in the plunger, he said, “Boy will I be glad when we don’t have to do this any more!”

I don’t know if it was his tone, or the absurdity of his use of “I” when it was me who was getting the shot, or just the emotions of the past couple of weeks rising to the surface. Whatever the reason, his comment struck me as outrageously humorous.

I began to laugh. Big, whole-body guffaws that made it look like I was having convulsions. While the needle was still in me, the syringe now waving madly back and forth.

R did not expect this reaction. His head snapped up. “Stop that! Stop that right now! You’re making the needle move!”

Which only served to make me laugh harder, until tears poured down my face. I tried to stop, tried to bring myself under control. Finally, when I had calmed down enough, I told him to continue pushing the plunger.

As soon as he started, the laughter began again. It took us about three minutes of starts and stops to get the last half of the PIO in. R has vowed never to make any more comments during the shots, lest he trigger a repeat performance of the hilarity.

Transfer Update

I've asked R to put these two posts up for me...

Transfer was Wednesday afternoon, and it went well. We transferred two 8-cell embryos that were graded Stage 1. (If you want to read about the full Day 3 embryo report, please see the post below this one.) Betas are next Friday and Monday the 14th.

The afternoon was not without it's moments, though.

I'm prone to leg cramps, and I think that drinking a lot of water quickly can trigger them. So there I was, laying on my back, the transfer table angled so that my head was lower than my pelvis. Doc had just transferred the embryos.

Then the cramping set in.

Both of my hamstrings began burning. I focused on not allowing myself to bounce around and dislodge the embryos. I tried to will the cramps away, but no luck.

After what seemed like an eternity but was really less than 10 seconds, I had to speak up and tell Doc what was going on. Still positioned with a full view of my nether region, he had to lift up one leg toward the ceiling to relieve the cramp, then the other leg. Laying there with two embryos newly transplanted inside of me, I was doing what looked like can-can dance kicks, wearing nothing but a paper drape below the waist.

I would have been mortified, if I hadn't already lost all semblance of modesty and dignity about 18 vaginal ultrasounds ago.

Day 3 Embryo Report

I've been very, very fortunate and blessed to have (so far, at least) the kind of IVF cycle that I wish every one of us could have. Of course, the betas are still a ways away, and I know that not all great cycles result in great betas, so my optimism is still very much guarded.

Nevertheless, I am feeling what I can only describe as "survivor's guilt" for having the cycle go well so far when I know that some of you are struggling right now.

I realize some of you are curious about how the rest of the embryos are doing. The short answer is that they're doing well. But I don't want to put the details in the post itself, so as strange as this sounds, I'm going to put the report in the Comments section instead.

If you want the details, please go to the Comments section of this post. If now is a tough time and "the transfer went well" is about all of the news you want to hear, please skip the Comments. And if you could use a good laugh and haven't already seen the post above this one, go read about how I wound up doing some physician-assisted, can-can style dance moves while still on the table after transfer.