no. 553 – Fun With Words

XBoy: What is that? (pointing to a wheelchair in the hospital lobby)

Me: It’s a wheelchair.

XBoy: What’s it for?

Me: Some people who can’t walk or stand for long use it.

XBoy: Why can’t some people walk?

Me: Some people are physically handicapped.

XBoy: Yep. And some are footicapped or leggicapped…

I Get By With A Little Help From My Friends

Several weeksmonths ago when we had word that a donor match had been found, I sent out a call for lupron and/or PIO. I found myself very fortunate to have received not one, but three bottles of PIO.

Mary Ellen, who is currently gestating her own Trio, sent me two bottles, including one in a medium of olive oil, which I had never seen before. The glass is an umber color and reminds me of something you would get from a apothecary.

A third bottle came from Jitters.

I still have yet to thank them properly.

Now while I certainly appreciated the substances, it was the packaging of Jitter’s PIO that had me laughing outright. Not only that, she included a ceramic angel and the note included with it stated:

…she was given to me as part of a string of women who have dealt with infertility. I believe I was number 9. Every woman held onto her as long as needed and all have gone on to have children or find happiness in their life as it stands. Do with her as you wish – yes, you can throw her against a wall.

What’s so funny about it is that this ceramic angel obviously has been face-planted more than once into a wall already as her wings were effectively snapped right off her back. I forgot to take a picture, but right now she is in my cabinet overlooking several bottles of pills (I still must take for the hives) and the PIO.

If that angel screws me over, I have have to snap her head, including the smug smile she’s projecting, clean off (so, uh, yeah, anyone want dibs on her at that point?)

Here are the pictures of the box Jitters sent me:

pio-7.jpgpio-6.jpgpio-5.jpgpio-4.jpgpio-1.jpg

And here is the picture of the very stunning pendant that was sent to me from Beagle. The Pomegranate Pendant (hopefully she’ll have some more available soon). I will wear it every day and whenever I’m feeling overwhelmed, I will gently rub my finger across it’s design and remember the good things.

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Documenting A Dream

I never posted pictures of my other embryos and after each cycle failed I would take the black and white glossy film off the hallowed surface of the fridge and throw it away.

I use to refer to them as “embies”. I don’t anymore and when I see someone refer to embies, I know that they have a bit of their soul still clean and shiny and unmarred by the soot of bitterness.

Not me.

At least I thought so.

But I can’t help but look at that picture and feel some hope. If I didn’t, would I have even bothered going through with it? Of course not.

I go through these tiny spurts of where I feel as if I’m Danny Noonan from Caddyshack and Ty is whispering, “Just be the ball, be the ball, be the ball…” but instead of “ball”, my annoying optimistic self is saying, “Just be the pregnant lady, be the pregnant lady, be the pregnant lady…”

The best my pessimistic self can do is replace “lady” with “bitch”, just so I don’t start the well known crazy daydreaming antics of farting butterflies while being followed through a field of wildflowers by a heard of bunnies sniffing wondrously at my ass.

I also talk myself out of feeling good about this by remembering we did use Mr. DD’s sperm. His highly fragmented sperm. Plus I was in prep for this cycle for what I think is an inordinate amount of time. We all know what happens to a nice flaky pastry that’s been sitting in the window display case well past it’s prime, don’t we?

I refuse to discuss the “what ifs” with Mr. DD for fear of jinxing it even though I would love nothing more than to cuddle up to him at night and make jokes about how old we’ll be when the baby goes to Kindergarten; or how XBoy will act; or how our families will be so surprised.

These are simple little thoughts that go well beyond picking out baby names and nursery furniture. Those are necessities and material items that don’t even cross my mind. It’s the dreams and potential that are the hardest to not just let in, but to let go of. And yet somehow, the intangible has been caught, and presented to me on a bit of paper that fits nicely into my pocketbook to pull out and stare and dare I say, dream of?

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Frustrated

The post titled “I GET A LITTLE HELP FROM MY FRIENDS”?

Well, I’m having all kinds of problems with pictures and I’m getting frustrated and pissed, and since I don’t know how to put it back into draft form after I inadvertently published it, I changed the password.

When I have a little more tolerance, I’ll go back and get it fixed.

Sorry about that.

I Envy Bears and Their Ability to Hibernate

This morning, before we left the house, Dr. Samelastnameasme called to give me a status report on two of the embryos, which appeared normal and were starting their compacting stage, which is good. She didn’t say how many cells the first one was, but the second was at 6-cells.

I asked her how the other two looked and she said she hadn’t asked for their report as she figured we would transfer the two. I explained that I really have no desire to try a FET and that I just want this all to be over. Could we transfer three? She asked if I was willing to reduce. I said yes.

Three it would be.

I won’t get into the debate of reduction as I am not only too superstitious to even imagine a pregnancy of triplets or more, but to imagine a pregnancy at all. It just seems such an impossibility that I refuse to go any further than admitting that if I was gestating a litter, little objection would come from me regarding selective reduction. So let’s not go there.

I was told yesterday that the hospital would provide the valium whereas in the past I was allowed to get a script here and take one upon arrival at The Metro. While I was a bit disappointed, I figured I wouldn’t care where it came from. Except, Dr. Samelastnameasme was in a hurry and the ward was busy. Not enough time for a valium pre-procedure.

Crap.

We watched on the ultrasound machine the pipette go in and three fuzzy dust-bunnies float out of it. My bladder was drained via a catheter and then I was sent back to my room for an hour of good old fashioned hip-propping.

It was then I was given my valium. It certainly made watching Mr. Mom on the room’s crappy T.V. much more enjoyable and my need to move about and do something, anything, was effectively squelched.

The last part of our experience at the hospital (on the maternity ward, of all places), was “transportation”. Oh-ho! You want a wheelchair?! Forget that! Remember, we take our post-transfer patients down to pick up their vehicle on a gurney! I even asked if we could bypass that and the lovely nurse Mary Kay said no way.

I slept in a valium-induced haze most of the way home. I finished a novel I bought yesterday (and foolishly started yesterday as well effectively leaving me bored since I had only a couple of chapters to finish). Mr. DD brought me the computer and ta-da! here you find me.

When I’m able to post some pictures, I will show you a few things that have been sent to me as talismans for this cycle, including a very special pendant made and sent by the artist herself (it was waiting in the mail upon my return today and am wearing it as I type).

My beta is scheduled for Thursday, November 15, not Friday as I had guessed. I have six pregnancy tests sitting in the bathroom drawer. I suppose tomorrow is too early to test? Any bets on when I’ll cave?

One last note regarding the PIO injections: placing the needle upon the skin first and then pushing it in is much easier than trying to aim and jab. I also have to up my dosage from 1cc to 1 1/2cc since my P4 came back at 19 today. They would like it to be at least 20.

So there it is. I’m PUPO.

For now.

Thank you. Thank you all for your sincere hopes for us. It’s been a long, painful journey, but we couldn’t have made it this far without your support.

A Housekeeping Note

Thanks to those who let me know that they were having some technical difficulties getting to this blog via Bloglines. I haven’t had time to research it yet, but if you get the WordPress username and password request window when you click through from Bloglines, I would recommend you try typing in ddtko.wordpress.com in your web server box instead.

If the problem persists, I’ll have to follow up with Bloglines and WordPress to see what the issue is, but I haven’t encountered it yet. It may also be related to whether or not you use Microsoft’s Internet Explorer, which I do, and I haven’t been able to duplicate the issue.

Cuatro

It’s another update and miraculously, it’s not more bad news.

With a twist.

The fourth egg went ahead and fertilized some time yesterday and now today they are “all meeting their milestones in development” (as if they were actually six month old babies…as if).

Again, I missed the call. Just a voice mail. After I listened to it, I irrationally burst into tears.

Now I admit that all my cycles turn me into an overemotional wreck, but this one could seriously do some long-term damage. The dollars; the waiting; the realization that we’re at the end of the journey…these all make me eyeball my bottle of hydroxyzine with longing.

Speaking of drugs, the clinic normally provides a script for valium. It’s only a hand-full, but it helped to float out the 24 hours bed-rest on a cloud of cotton candy. When I called the clinic back, I was told they would provide the valium at the hospital. I suppose that will mean one for the procedure and one for the road – literally. Stingy bastards.

Yes, well. I have nothing more to add.

Transfer tomorrow morning at 10:30 CST.

As for how many will be transferred? I guess we’ll wait and see how they look tomorrow. I’m leaning towards doing them all. The last thing I want to do after a failed fresh transfer, is prepare for a FET.

That’s Disappointing

I finally got a call this morning from the clinic…while I was in the shower…so they left a voice mail message.

We got four eggs. Not what I would consider over-achieving in regards to both the donor and the clinic. Now I understand that their guarantee was four eggs, but that’s the minimum. If I had to have a C- average to graduate from college with a degree and that’s exactly what I put into it, wouldn’t you feel my quality of education was not stellar even though I technically passed? Would you want a C- surgeon operating on you even though he’s got a degree?

I had considered that the worse case scenario would be that there would be no fertilization. Now I think that since the likelihood there will be nothing to freeze after Monday is likely, THAT has now become the worse case scenario. At least I would know where I would have stood if there had been no fertilization…

I should mention that only three fertilized normally.

So there you have it.

By the way, when I relayed this update to Mr. DD he said he was disappointed since we had been told that there looked to be about 12 follicles. I reminded him that those have to be split between two recipients.

Guess what?

He said he didn’t know that there was two recipients.

You know what else?

This sure would be a whole lot easier if I didn’t feel like I was doing it all by myself.

To add to the overall feeling of complete alienation, last night I really struggled with giving myself the PIO shot. I walked around the house for over 45 minutes with the syringe in my hand trying to psyche myself up. I resorted to calling Mr. DD for emotional support.

He apologized and said, “I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Thanks, dear husband.

Thanks, for nothing.

Focus on the Random

Have you ever had a thought or a plan in your head for so long, you were sure that you had discussed it out-loud to your partner, or at least to the other person(s) involved in that plan?

Obviously I have or I wouldn’t have asked the rhetorical question.

Mr. DD called me on his way to The Metro to provide the sperm to what I hope is a cache of eggs from our donor. While we are both incredibly nervous about what will happen, he is ever the optimist going so far to say, “I just hope we don’t end up with triplets.”

First of all…doesn’t he remember all the times before where he would say shit like that and jinx the whole damn cycle?! GGRRRrrrrrrr….

(shake it off, DD. shake it off)

I told him that triplets is going to be highly unlikely since the most I will have transferred is two, depending on quality. For some crazy-ass reason, he thought I was going to have four transferred. I think it’s because men only process every other word in most any statement:

Mr. DD, each recipient is guaranteed a minimum of four eggs from the donor on each cycle.

What he heard:

Mr. DD, you are guaranteed at least four babies from this cycle.

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Last night we had to do our first PIO shot for the cycle. I started off whining about how big the needle appeared to be it didn’t seem like the right size are you sure it’s the right size what’s the next size up what’s the next size down, etc., etc.

Mr. DD asked just how many of these do we need to do?

I said it depends on whether or not I get pregnant, and if I do, it will be for a loooo-ooo-ong time.

He just wanted to know how many more days of bitching he will need to tolerate.

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During the preparation of the PIO, Mr. DD said,

I don’t know why we bother. I don’t think that stuff helps.

I tried to explain in a calm and reasonable manner that since I did not ovulate, my body will not produce any progesterone and without the progesterone there would be no pregnancy.

While I may have been calm on the exterior, I was focusing on his throat and my fingers were twitching.

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I will have to do the next couple of PIO shots on my own. After Mr. DD leaves the clinic, he will be meeting up with a couple of friends of his to go to Kansas to race his R. C. Cars in some regional race thing. I talked to his friend on the phone last night and told him to watch out for Mr. DD as he may feel like cuddling or even a nap after providing a sample so I asked him to be gentle. Yes, this friend knows what’s going on.

Mr. DD will return late Sunday night just in time for Freak-Out No. 52,116 prior to the scheduled transfer Monday morning.

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I had scheduled a seating with a professional photographer so we could have a new family portrait made out, just in time for the holiday cards (’cause I know how much you all love the holiday pictures!!), but yesterday I cancelled it.

It was scheduled for Friday, November 16th.

You do the math.

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Speaking of holiday cards, I’m looking forward to another card exchange like last year. Think about it before you rush to answer, “Fuck, no way!”.

This means you, DinoD.

Sweet Memories

Last night, Mr. DD and I talked about what kind of candy we loved to get when we were kids trick-r-treating. We talked about Slo Pokes, Bit-O-Honey, Twin Bings, Sixlets and Pixy Stix and the memories we had surrounding them.

It was XBoy’s attempt at eating a Pixy Stix that brought back that sense of nostalgia. He would lick the paper and sugar would get clumpy and block the straw and we would have to remind him not to touch the paper with his mouth. It didn’t really sink in.

I remember it took me a while to perfect the pouring of the contents onto my tongue and I would try to get as much as I could out and into my mouth at once. Then I would let saliva do the work for me and by the time I had finished 20 pixy stix, the roof of my mouth would be raw from the crystalline sugar.

Mr. DD also brought home a bag of licorice the other day. I enjoyed taking a bite out of each end and using it as a straw for my Pepsi. Then when the licorice straw was good and hard from being exposed to the cold liquid, I would blissfully chew that up as well.

Now you are probably saying to yourself, “Gawd! It’s no wonder you’re packing on the pounds, DD!” as you read this, but to be honest, it’s been a splurge to have all that crap in the house lately. It brings back so many fun memories of homemade costumes for Halloween; how my mom would keep all the candy in plastic garbage can in the cellar to keep mice out of it; and even trips to the 50-seat movie theatre in my home town, destroyed and gutted long ago.

Those were such wonderful and innocent times. Even the wrappers were different. Hershey bars had foil and then the paper wrapper. Today the two are combined so there is no more small foil airplanes to craft. Packages today require a handy pair of kitchen shears or at least a good set of teeth and two free hands to rip what must be NASA approved paper.

Just looking back 30 years, it’s easy to see why our grandparents reminisce about the “good old days”.

Is there any one candy or sweet that brings back fond memories of your childhood?