What he said...

Cranky Wednesday

So on Friday, I got my test results. Negative. I stopped the shots, the pills and the suppositories -- all hormones cut off, and I expected that I would get my period on Sunday or Monday.

I cried a little over the weekend, had my usual mourning period, and then started to think about the next steps. It's a comfortable pattern I've established. And then Monday came and no period. By Tuesday morning, I started to have hopeful thoughts.

What if the test was wrong? What if it was a false negative? What if I'm really pregnant? I will wait to tell my parents at Thanksgiving. I can tell my brother, sister-in-law and niece in person. I can tell my close friends in Baltimore in person.

And so it went, the fantasy of being pregnant. The fantasy of being able to hug my friends and family who are far away, but who I will be seeing in just a little over a week, when I tell them that I'm having a baby.

Wednesday morning...this morning, my body decided it was time to bitch slap me back into reality. And so, even though I thought I had moved beyond the mourning, even though I had decided it was time to think about next steps and be positive for December, I've taken a step backward.

I got my period, and all of the feelings I had on Friday and Saturday, the sadness, the grief, the feeling like my body is failing me -- they all came back. Five days after getting my test result. I have to deal with these emotions all over again.

And I will. And the good part about having so many failed attempts, the good part about having so many disappointments, is that I know I can move on, I know that the sadness lessens, and that I won't always feel like this. I'll feel hopeful again, I'll feel like I can do this, that at some point it will work.

Someday I'll feel like that again. But not today.

Everyone's Pregnant...

except me.

I'll get out of my funk after a weekend of crying and feeling sorry for myself. We decided to take November off since I will be traveling for Thanksgiving, and do another egg retrieval in December.

I've got nothing else to say. I can only repeat myself so many times. For how I'm feeling, see a post from one of the previous negative tests.

I'll be in a better mood next week.

I've not been a very good friend lately

I've been pretty introspective the past week, not really sharing or opening up about what I'm feeling or keeping people in the loop about the process.

I got a phone call from my friend Jan in Baltimore last night. And when I saw her number come up on the caller ID, I instantly felt guilty. I haven't talked to her in several weeks, since my last IVF, and that was a call that she initiated too. And even when we were chatting and catching up, there was an elephant in the room. I avoided all talk of fertility and babies and trying to get pregnant.

Sometimes I just don't want to talk about it. It occupies my mind 95% of the day, that every once in a while, I just don't want to talk about it.

As we were hanging up, I apologized for being out of touch, that I was in my own world, trying to deal with all the emotions. She asked what was going on, and I told her I was in the middle of my second embryo transfer. And amazingly, as have all of my friends, she took it well when I told her I wasn't telling anyone when the blood test is.

"You tell me what you want to, when you want to."

I have wonderful friends...and someday soon, I'll be the friend I once was to them again.

Tricks of the Trade

My friend (who has three IVF babies) called me the other day to check on me, and then to tell quite strongly the things I need to do this week.

Make chicken soup. My way of making chicken soup is chicken stock (from a box from the store) with veggies in a crock pot. The chicken is an already cooked rotisserie also from the store. She told me how wrong I was. "No, Ellie....you need a raw chicken, you need to make your own broth. You need the bone marrow to seep into the broth."

Three-pound raw chicken, check.

Drink molasses with hot water. "And not just regular molasses, Ellie. You need to get blackstrap molasses." It's not as bad as it sounds. It actually tasted like what I think coffee tastes like (I'm not a coffee drinker.) I added milk and I got it down without gagging.

Drink molasses, check.

Full-fat yogurt. That one I knew. That one makes sense. But in this day of health-conscious, fat-free or low-fat this, sugar-free that, do you know how hard it is to find yogurt made with whole milk? I ended up buying YoBaby yogurt.

Yogurt, check.

The chicken is in the crock pot. I drank my molasses and had a yogurt for breakfast. I'm continuing all my meds this week, including the inter-muscular shot, which has gotten much easier, despite the bruises and tenderness all over my backside.

I've decided not to tell anyone when my blood test is. I feel like too many people knew. Too many people were anxious about the results, which in turn made me anxious. My friend Jill, who drove me to Syracuse last week, is the only one who knows the date because she was there when the nurse gave me the lab slip.

So I'll continue on this path -- chicken soup, molasses, yogurt, shots, pills, suppositories -- until my blood test.

This and That....Frick and Frack

Everyone I know who has gone to the fertility guru had an unsuccessful first attempt at IVF -- and a successful attempt on try #2. I'm hoping those odds work in my favor.

This morning, Jill picked me up and after a quick stop through the Dunkin Donuts drive-through for bagels, we headed to Syracuse. Dr. Richard Gere was as charming as usual -- of course, I took a valium when I got to the office so that could have something to do with it -- and we hugged and squeezed hands and he had encouraging, spiritual words to say over my belly.

And then the speculum was in, the internal ultrasound was in, the catheter was in...and then Frick and Frack went in. In to 9mm of uterine lining, into a belly that wants them to hang on tight, into their mommy who will do whatever it takes to encourage them to burrow in and thrive.



When I got home from acupuncture this afternoon, I talked to my mom, who proceeded to tell me that she spoke to Buffalo Dave this morning. (For those keeping track, Buffalo Dave is my friend, broke my heart, and is also my parents' stockbroker.) He asked how I was doing. And rather than the easy "she's great...you should give her a call" she said, "at this moment, she's being inseminated." (I've given up trying to explain the difference between all of the procedures that I'm going through.)

I took a deep breath. "Please don't tell people what I'm doing, specifically."

"He knows you're trying to have a baby."

"Yes, but I don't tell people, specifically what I'm doing each day throughout this process. If they are interested enough in my life, they will ask me, they will call me to give me support. Without that, they don't have a right to know."

"But...."

"Just please respect my wishes. I don't need him calling me in two weeks to find out if I'm pregnant."

"He wouldn't do that."

"Not the point. Even if you think people are on the approved list, please don't tell them anything. Tell them if they are that interested, they should call me."

I know she means well. I know she's excited. But she needs to respect my wishes, and she needs to respect my boundaries.

Another example, she told my sister-in-law last month, "well no baby this month."

As if my sister-in-law (not my sister-in-law in Virgina) has said boo to me about what I'm going through in the past 18 months. No one needs a scorecard of my pregnancy tests, unless they earned the right to know. And they earn it by showing me support. Frankly, as much as I love Buffalo Dave, he hasn't earned the right to know the details. And certainly most people in my own family haven't earned the right to know the details.

I know I set standards for other people too high sometimes, I expect of them what I expect of myself. And I'm usually disappointed. My friend in Rochester is in the process of adopting from Colombia. All the paperwork is in order, they are just waiting. And waiting.

Last week, I sent her an email: "I'm not going to ask if you've heard anything, or if you have any news or when you think you might hear something or even how you're doing...I just wanted to let you know that I'm thinking of you."

If more people -- who am I kidding, just one person -- could send me something like that....it would go a long way.

Enough negativity. I'm going to get into bed shortly, listen to my meditation CD, track 2 "post transfer," and try to get a good night's sleep.

Happy burrowing, Frick and Frack.

Big Shot

When Casey brought me a dead mouse, I would have loved for someone else to have dealt with the dead carcass.

When there is a bug or a spider in the house, I would rather someone else kill it.

And I'm sure, when I'm exhausted to the point of tears and there is a crying baby, there isn't going to be anyone else to get up to change the diaper or give the bottle.

And so it goes now. There is no one to give me the progesterone in oil shot. And so I have to do it myself.

I cringe and deal with the dead mouse. Psyche myself up to squish the spider. And drag myself out of bed to soothe the baby.

Tonight, I got home from the gym, pulled out an alcohol wipe, the medicine bottle, the syringe and two needles. I pulled my sweat pants down my hip a little, cleaned a spot, sucked up 1cc of oil (it's really thick and took forever), and then reached around, contorted my back, and stuck the needle in. I pushed the plunger slowly -- slow and steady -- as the oil went into my right buttock.

And then I massaged and kneaded it, so as not to get a clump of oil. And I was done.

So the crying the other night, the worrying about doing this on my own or not being able to do it on my own....I did it. I gave myself the shot -- what everyone called "the hard shot" -- and managed to do it with little fanfare and little pain.

I can do this.

I Can't Do It

I went this morning for my uterine lining check -- three layers, 9mm, nice and thick. So I will start doing the progesterone in oil shots on Friday. These shots are much different than the previous shots I had to give myself.

Whereas before I was using a half-inch needle that went just below my skin, in my stomach, where I could pinch the fat (one good reason to be happy about the faux baby bump), this one is inter-muscular with an inch-and-a-half needle. So basically, I have to give myself a shot in the ass, with thick oil that will come out slow.

I thought I should practice putting the needle in tonight, just in case I had trouble with it, I would still have two days to figure it out.

Well....I pulled out my box of meds tonight, an alcohol wipe and the needle. I tried grabbing as much skin as I could, I tried sitting on one hip, rolled to the side and sticking it in that way. I got it in a little and couldn't go any further. I have a couple of little spots of blood and will probably bruise.

And then I started crying. I have to be able to do this. This is like one of my tests. If I'm going to be a single parent, I'm going to have to do this that aren't fun, that don't feel great, that I would rather someone else do. But there isn't anyone else, I have to.

I wrote an email to one of the nurses on campus and basically asked her if she could jab me in the ass tomorrow, just so I can feel the level of pain. That's what I had to do with the previous shots, and look at how good I got to be at it. Right?

I don't feel quite so positive about this experience. The needle is huge!

Shades of Red

More about J of Baltimore. It has to be the baby, or impending baby, that is keeping his attention on me. As I've mentioned, he and I have been friends for seven years. In those seven years, we have, for the most part, ignored or at least have not acted on the undeniable attraction between us.

For the past few years, every six months or so, we would get into a raunchy text conversation, flirting heavily, but leave it at that. When I'm in Baltimore, we try to get together for a drink or breakfast, and it's business as usual, nothing improper.

But then, this past June, we chatted on the phone one Friday afternoon. He was in South Carolina golfing with his brother, I had just gotten home from happy hour with some friends. I can't remember exactly what he said, but whatever he said, led me to believe he knew I was trying to have a baby. (My former boss and several former co-workers know I'm trying, and since J is on the board, they could have mentioned it to him.)

Once we got past the misunderstanding -- he had no idea -- I ended up telling him what I've been going through the past year. And made a joke that if he hadn't canceled on me the last time I was in Baltimore, I would have told him, was planning on telling him in person. So I gave him the scoop, told him I was having surgery the following week, and he was curious about the whole process. How did it work at the doctor's office, how did I choose the sperm donor, how long does the process take. He was full of questions.

I had my surgery and two weeks later, he texted me to see how it went. We ended up texting back and forth, getting more than a little flirty, and then he ended it with "we would be so great together. gotta go, but this should happen."

About a week after that, the texting turned into a phone call, and since then, since the end of June, he doesn't go two or three weeks without a phone call or a text. Most of it ends up with nothing but sexual content, but almost always he asks about the baby process. What's the next step? Am I okay?

He was one of the first people I wanted to tell when I got my positive test result. I tried to call him, but got voice mail. I didn't leave a message, but a few hours later he saw the missed call and called me back. He was so excited that I was finally pregnant. It was genuine happiness for me, and for him since he's been so interested in this whole process.

And so the following week, it was so hard to call him and tell him I was no longer pregnant. And he said all the right things, including texting me later that day to make sure I really was okay.

I don't know what he's thinking, or feeling. I only know that I never make the first move. I always (well....almost always) wait for him to call me, because as Bubbles says "you're busy, you're making a baby, you don't have time to think about him." But he' reeling me in, whether he intends to or not. And at some point, I'm going to need to have the hard conversation. At some point, I'm going to have to ask the hard questions and find out what the hell is going on in his life.

Is this a game? Is he playing me? I truly believe he cares about me, but to what level, to what extent, I have no idea. I can't even venture a guess, because it will only set me up for something that probably isn't there.

And honestly, at this point, I don't want the answers to those questions. I'm enjoying the attention, I'm enjoying him wanting me. It's like I've replaced Chris with J. The same sort of relationship, the same sort of feelings.

I know I should think more of myself, that I should be asking him those hard questions and kicking him to the curb if he doesn't give me the answers I deserve, but I can't. It's just easier this way. And he may not be doing this baby thing with me the way a traditional partner would, but he does feel a part of it. And I can't let that go.

Hump Day Blues

Just when I think I am okay this month, just when I start to think positive thoughts for the next cycle, something hits me -- yet another person (in my life or someone in the news) is pregnant, or I saw the picture of the embryos on the fridge, or I get an e-mail chain forward thing and the person wished for me to have a baby.

And then I cry. Or I got to sleep early to try not to think about it anymore. Some days I'm just fine. Once I got over my period on Sunday, I felt good. I felt good about moving forward. I had my baseline ultrasound and blood work -- the first step for the next time. But the past few nights, I haven't felt hopeful, I haven't felt good.

I wonder how many more times I can take this. How many times can I be hopeful and then be crushed, and survive the disappointment?

I talked to a friend at work today who is also going through fertility treatment. Her issues are different from mine, but we both understand what we're going through. Sometimes we are the only ones who can understand what the other one is feeling, or thinking.

We've both had so many road blocks. Today, she found out she has Hep C. Not a death sentence, but the treatment of it will take time. Time that feels like she doesn't have if she wants to get pregnant. And her husband, sweet as he is, has children from a previous relationship -- so while he can sympathize with her, he doesn't understand completely.

And so April and I are trying to be supportive to each other, trying to be the shoulder to cry on, trying to be strong for each other.

I'm not sure what any of this means, and how any of this is interesting to you, my dear readers, but it shows the kind of mood I'm in, the kind of scrambled brain I've had the past few days. And how one moment I can feel so good, and for no reason at all, in the very next, I'm sitting at my computer crying.

Not only do I feel out of control with the baby thing, but also the weight thing. I've tried to let it go. I know that my body and my brain are in direct conflict with each other. My body is trying to prepare itself for pregnancy. For the past 18 months, it has been given all sorts of hormones to prepare for a baby. And yet, in my head, I still try to count calories in and count calories burned, try to weigh myself every day without wanting to throw the scale through the window.

And no matter what, I have no control. My body is hungry when I've just eaten. Tired when I'm at the gym and should be wanting to work out for 90 minutes. My belly is swollen with no baby in it. I need to try to get control of one thing, just one aspect of my life. And I don't know how that is possible at this point.

Shark Week

I stopped taking all of the hormones on Tuesday night, and last night before bed had the tell-tale signs that my period was coming. When I woke up this morning, I had it full force, along with a pain I've never felt before.

The pain is bearable. I'm not doubled over or anything, but it is beyond the usual cramps. And I don't know if that pain is real or because what it means. I thought I was okay and was able to move on this month. Apparently not.

It hit me hard this morning. I sat in my office and cried. I sat in Hope's office and cried. It's just not my period, but what is being washed out of my body with it. And even though I shouldn't think of this as a miscarriage because it was just a chemical pregnancy, how can I not.

There was never a heart beat, and even for the four days that I thought I was pregnant, I was extremely cautious. I never got truly excited about the pregnancy. Either way, this is different than getting a negative pregnancy test.

This was thinking that the last 18 months of ups and downs, of having hope and being crushed, was all finally worth it. This was the moment that I had been waiting for, the moment that everyone promised me through all the other negative tests was going to be worth it, the moment that would make me forget the pain and disappointment of the last year.

And this moment is now being absorbed and flushed away.

It's Officially Over for this Month

I went for more blood work this morning. My hCG level was 13. Was I really pregnant and now I'm not?

The nurse said that I could have been, and I miscarried. Or it could have been a chemical pregnancy. Either way, she told me to stop taking all my medications and call her when I get my period.

I skipped the gym for one more night. I'll go back tomorrow.

I wasn't hopeful last night, so unless someone else makes me cry, I've been okay today. I still have two frozen embryos in the freezer. As soon as I get my period, we'll start the frozen transfer protocol.

And lucky me, I get to start giving myself shots again!

And I know it's not the end of the world, no matter what it feels like right now. I still have choices, options. I'm going to an adoption seminar on November 1st, no matter what happens. And even if I was pregnant right now, I would have still gone. I have to continue to work on plan B.

Not So Fast

I got my blood work done again today, and my hCG level dropped. To 20. Not good. It was 47 and it should have doubled in 72 hours.

It's puzzling because my progesterone level is still going up. So it could have possibly, maybe been a lab error but it's not looking good.

I have to go back to the lab tomorrow and have the test repeated. Needless to say, I'm not in the mood to write much, to do much, to talk much. I already have my pj's on, I'm watching Days of Our Lives from today, and there's mac-and-cheese in the oven.

I'm staying somewhat hopeful, because really what else is there?

Knock Yourself Up

I wrote the post for today in my head so many times over the past few days, and now because of the results of my blood test this morning, I can't use any of it.

I went for blood work this morning at the hospital, and it took forever. There was only one person taking blood, and she was a talker. So after 25 minutes of waiting, with only three people ahead of me, it was finally my turn.

And then when she saw what the test was for, "are ya hoping for good news?"

"Yes." Lip quivering.

"How long have you been trying?"

"About a year and a half."

"I'll be praying for you."

I thought was I going to lose it right there in the middle of the outpatient lab at Cayuga Medical Center. But I held it together, made it to work and made an attempt to start working on a website.

My cell phone rang about 9:15. I saw the 315 area code and my heart starting pounding. I was practically crying when I said "hello."

"Ellie....it's Linda from the fertility guru's office. You haven't taken any hCG, right?"

"That's right."

"Well good then....your test is positive."

And then I lost it. The tears spilled down, my face scrunched up, and I grabbed a tissue and balled it up in my hand. "Really?"

"Really. Your hCG was 47. We like it to be around 40. You'll go again for the same test on Monday to make sure your numbers are moving up the way they are supposed to."

And just like that, my life changed. Every little sign that I had this week, that I chalked up to something else -- always hungry, the weather changing; twinges in my lower abdomen, I haven't had my period since August; and tender breasts, I am taking 300 mg of progesterone every day -- it all seemed to make sense. I wasn't reading too much into it all. I'm really pregnant.

I know it's early. Way early. And so I'm being cautiously optimistic about it all. Not looking at my Target registry that I made 15 months ago. Not buying anything. I haven't even told my mom yet!

But now...it feels like this will stick. And as my very wise friend said to me this morning, no matter what happens, you know your body can do what it's supposed to, you know you can get pregnant.

And she's right. And it is. And I can.

Patience

I'm playing it pretty close to the vest these days. I don't know if it's to manage my expectations and potential disappointment, or to ward off jinxing myself. Either way, I'm not talking too much about the embryo transfer, not sharing it with the usual suspects who were in on the other procedures. I think that is the way to go.

And so, I'm taking it easy this week, listening to my IVF meditation CD, doing nothing strenuous, eating comfort foods, keeping my stress level down, and taking all my pills twice a day.

And that's that. For now.

These three little buggers were transferred into me this morning. I'm resting and giving them encouraging words of implantation.

A Baker's Half Dozen

I had my retrieval yesterday and the fertility guru got seven eggs out! Whoo-hoo. But I'll start at the beginning.

I was starving. I couldn't eat or drink anything, and of course, on days like that you wake up wanting a feast. We got to Syracuse a little before 8:30 and they called me back. I got undressed and put on the oh-so-attractive hospital gown and sat in the little room, hooked up to a heart monitor and a blood pressure machine.

And I got to meet face-to-face the fertility guru, Dr. Richard Gere. He held both of my hands, brought his face about three inches from mine, asked if I had any questions, and then said, with a hand squeeze for good measure, "let's make a life today."

I was in and out of consciousness so quickly that it didn't even feel like it. When I woke up I asked the nurse if they found any eggs. She said yes but wasn't sure how many, but would find out before I left.

Another nurse came in and said, "did you hear? We got seven eggs! Isn't it great?"

I almost cried. Here I was thinking that there was the possibility there would be none. And he was able to pull out seven!

My friend drove me home, but not before stopping at the grocery store I worked at in high school, for the best donuts in the world. I got a yummy headlight and enjoyed every single calorie of it.

I napped on and off and then had acupuncture, and then started my rounds of medicine (all oral, thankfully). Five supplements from the acupuncturist, one antibiotic, one estrogen, and a baby aspirin. All of that twice a day, plus the oh-so-lovely vaginal suppository of progesterone, three times a day.

I knew that I would be hearing from the doctor's office today but wasn't sure when. I was thrilled when my cell phone rang a little after 9am to be told that of my seven eggs, I now had five viable embryos and they will be putting those suckers back in on Tuesday.

I will wait to meet with fertility guru and the embryologist on Tuesday, but I think that I will put two in this month. If it doesn't work, then I have three for next month.

And then we hope that at least one of those suckers can implant and stay viable and healthy.

It actually seems like it can happen. It actually feels real.

Tomorrow's the day

I have egg retrieval at 8:30am tomorrow morning. I just came home from acupuncture, listened to my IVF meditation CD, and am about to jump in the shower and get into bed.

Think good thoughts.

Eggs, Eggs, Eggs.....

Another ultrasound and more blood work this morning (again from the same vein, in the same spot that they've taken blood the last six times), but it's all worth it. The nurse called to say that we can move ahead with egg retrieval on Thursday.

Tonight I give myself shots of my two hormones, tomorrow morning another dose of one of them, and then at exactly 9pm tomorrow, two shots of hCG. Wednesday, no shots. Also no food or drinks after midnight, and then I have to be in Syracuse by 8:30am on Thursday.

The whole thing should take less two to three hours and then I can come home to rest. They'll call on Friday with an update on how many embryos they were able to make in the petri dish and then I go back (probably Saturday or Sunday) for the embryo transfer.

Think good thoughts....wish for eggs, nice big healthy eggs.

My Yankee

I got another call from my Yankee last night. He woke me up about 12:30am with a text.

"whats up"

Are you kidding me? "not much. how about you?"

"nada. just chilling"

It could have been a drunk dial but doubtful. They played a 7:05 game, I went to sleep about 9:15, and he was out of the game, but I don't think he would have left the Stadium. Unless he drank hard and fast after his most recent pitiful performance.

"me too. laying in bed, watching SNL."

"were you at the game today" He doesn't, at most people who have never lived in the upper part of New York state, understand the geography of the Empire State. NYC is a good six hours from where I live. I was closer to NYC when I lived in Baltimore. But now was not the time to get into it.

"no...probably won't make it to any more games this year"

"ok going to sleep"

But I didn't get that text until this morning. I think he sent it immediately after the one about being at the game, and I didn't notice that there was another in my in box.

I'm not sure what he wants. I'm happy to be an outlet for the drunk dial or even the phone booty call. But he needs to work with me a little more.

Maybe he's shy.

(Let's all laugh at that as we remember the very brief -- and very not shy -- conversation in the bar two months ago:
"Derek wanted to come but I told him I wanted you all to myself."
"Don't fuck with me."
"Oh I will fuck you later.")

OK, so he's not shy. Even so, as I did when I worked in Baltimore, when I had to deal with professional athletes on a regular basis, I made it easy for him.

"I missed your last text--must have fallen asleep. Next time tell you're in bed. I can talk you through some fun things."

Nancy thinks it's almost time to give him his own special ring, like J has. Soon, I think he needs to earn it still.

PS...on a somewhat related note, how fucking cool is that Derek Jeter needed nine hits going into this homestand to tie Lou Gehrig for most hits at Yankee Stadium -- AND he got all nine of them this weekend in three games!? Even Mr. Team Player was in awe of what that really means.