Category Archives: Donor Eggstravaganza


First I have a PIO horror story and then I’ll wrap it up with something not-so-light.

Since the time I had to do my own PIO while Mr. DD was out of town, I have continued giving them to myself even when he’s around. It’s not as bad as I imagined, plus they weren’t as nearly as painful as when Mr. DD gave me my shots. Can’t explain it.

Saturday night, per my routine, I shot myself on the left hip. When I finished I couldn’t understand why something was still coming out of the injection site even though the needle had long been withdrawn. It looked like a dark thick string…

It was blood.

My arse had taken on the distinct characteristics of the Dutch dyke that had sprung a leak.

For a few seconds I watched the blood shoot out horizontally for a couple of inches and drop to the floor. I must of said, “Oh shit!” as my husband came around to see what had happened. By then, I had grabbed a tissue and pressed it over the gusher.

On the tiles beneath me was a plate-size blood splatter. I looked at it. I looked up at Mr. DD. Then I promptly burst into tears, bordering on hysterical.

I was so traumatized that I had Mr. DD do my shot last night.

I should note that I’ve never have pulled the plunger back after the injection to see if there’s blood. I don’t know what it means if there is, I just know I’m not injecting myself twice in one night.

To make matters worse, I’m convinced that Murdock is dead. I woke up this morning in a panic and have been trying to come up with some good excuse to get an ultrasound this week as well as next. Since the only reason I have is extreme paranoia and fear, I’m afraid a request will fall on deaf ears.

I try to push the image of seeing an empty gestational sac out of my head by imagining how things will be if this works out. I try to imagine myself fat and cumbersome. I try to imagine the guest room as anything but. I try to imagine myself worn out by chasing around two children…but guess what?

The images just won’t come to me. They are unimaginable. Literally. They all get pushed away by an ultrasound screen with black and white blurring together punctuated by a black hole filled with a frozen nothingness.

If there’s a hell, this would be it for me.


I’ll get to the crux of the matter:

There’s one yolk sac of .36cm inside of one gestational sac.

Inside the yolk sac we saw what will become the heart. An electrical physio flicker is at work now.

I return in two weeks for a follow up.

Why the title?

I had my blood draw at 9:00 a.m. By 12:30 I still hadn’t heard back so I called the clinic. I was told that Dr. Samelastnameasme was in surgery and hadn’t had time to review it.

Where has Dr. Blinksalot been? Why can’t she look at it? I haven’t seen her since my saline HSG in October…

Didn’t anyone tell you? She left the practice at the end of October to take a position in New York.

I wonder if she knows I’m a day shy of being six weeks pregnant…

It stings that I’m just finding out now.

I’m naming the embryo Murdock in her honor.


How do you think things are going to go when you toss and turn all night, waking every hour waiting for the clock to say 6:30 a.m.?

Or what about after waiting two hours for some kind of news, the lab calls to let you know the phlebotomist used the wrong vial and I need to get a new draw?

Or how about when you call the clinic after waiting two more hours and are told that the doctor hasn’t had time to review the results because she’s in surgery and I will have to wait until she calls me back for the results?

So my morning was shot to shit sitting on pins and needles.

During my eye exam (which I scheduled last week), I kept fogging up the machine because I was in such a state of complete freakoutedness.

Beta 3590. First ulstrasound next Thursday.

Holy shit.


I have to admit I feel as unpregnant as I did three months ago. I would give anything to feel something besides some cramping, which has also pretty much disappeared.

Earlier I mentioned breast tenderness? Gone.

I understand that a majority of symptoms do not manifest until closer to six weeks, but let’s hypothesize here for just a  moment.

Let’s say that the ever illusive hCG was increasing as it should. Since my initial levels started off higher, wouldn’t it then make sense that if I was going to feel any symptoms, I would feel them earlier?

So of course I am now justifying the reason I am not feeling anything is because there’s going to be nothing to feel.

Much suckage would ensue.

On the other hand, I remember Wolf. That sly embryo kept me forever at the edge of my seat in a pregnancy-induced schizophrenia:

“I didn’t get pregnant. It’s over.”

“I’m pregnant, but it’s over.”

“The beta didn’t increase. It’s over.”

“The beta increased, but didn’t double. Now it’s over.”

“Wow, the beta increased in less than 40 hours! It can’t be over!”

“Empty gestational sac. It’s really over.”

“Hey! Now there’s a heartbeat! I can finally be ‘cautiously optimistic’ and enjoy the idea of not having the crappy symptoms!”

“Ooops. Enlarged gestational sac. Yep. This time it’s over.”

Hence, the name Wolf (The Girl Who Cried Pregnant).

Only three more days until the third beta. At least I can be thankful it’s not another six days, right?

Is valium bad during a pregnancy, even I don’t mix it with alcohol?

no. 555 – Winding Down or Winding Up?

You all are just trying to mess with my head now, aren’t you? I really did not make the Holiday Card Exchange confusing…

You send me your address. I send you my address.

You send me a card. I send you a card.


You only have to add one more card to your pile; however I will have to add oodles. And I actually do write something in the card! Not just my name! It’s awwwwwwesome, dude! Bring out the exclamation points!

Now send me your address. Quit stalling and being all nambypamby. You know I’m talking to YOU.

I think I’ll set the cut-off date to get your address to me for November 30th since I would like to get the international cards sent out early December, which may reach those of you celebrating Hanukkah a bit late…(sorry about that).


Rumor has it that I closed down this blog. Not so. I decided to devote the majority of my blogging energy to TKO during the month of November. It was important to me to keep myself from feeling too scattered at this time and while others went the route of NaBloPoMo, I went the opposite, since posting every day wasn’t a challenge. The challenge was to leave this site for one month, and as you can see, I wasn’t able to meet said challenge.

I’ll be back in December. For how long after that still is yet to be seen.


That would be how my follow-up beta could be described. Not stellar. Not an inevitable crash.

Just adequate.

First hCG:122 mIU/ml Second hCG:217 mIU/ml  
hCG Difference:
Time Difference:
48 hours
Total hCG Increase:
78 % (1.8)
Daily Rate Increase:
33% (1.33)
Two Day Rate Increase:
78% (1.78)
1st Day hCGAs If:
2 Days hCG As If:
Assessment: The Two-Day hCG rise was 78% and is considered adequate.

As you know, my first beta was 122.

My second beta on Saturday was 217.

I was praying like a zealot Friday night while I lay in bed (after bursting into great big sobs and smearing mascara all over Mr. DD’s shirt earlier in the night before because I was scared witless…) and just asked for 244. I didn’t think that was asking for too much. I lay on my back with my hands intertwined over my abdomen and let the tears track from my eyes to my ears while I chanted, “244, 244, 244, 244, …”

Should I even bother to mention how when I called the lab for my results, the phone cut out at the very moment he told me the level and I heard him just say “17”? I almost passed out with grief, but was able to repeat it back to him, which is when he corrected me, “No, 217.”

It was about 40 minutes later when the clinic called. My estrogen and progesterone levels look good (bully for them), and even though my beta didn’t “quite” double, Dr. Samelastnameasme isn’t concerned. Instead I must have a third beta on Friday.

I guess it was too much to ask to go to Thanksgiving dinner with the in-laws while Nutbag’s daughter, Unibrow gestates Baby #2 (another girl, too) and not feel as if my insides were shriveling up and my heart was breaking all over again.

What I wouldn’t give to be able to go back in time six-plus years ago to remember how easy it was to see the positive pregnancy test and schedule my ultrasound six weeks later. Why is this so easy for so many others?

Why couldn’t I have had “perfect” instead of “adequate”, just this once? I know I’m lucky to even be pregnant, but shit, I just want to be able to breathe again.


Sorry I left you hanging. Our computer was not playing nice.


Today I am 8dp3dt.

Eight Days Post Three Day Transfer.

I am also G6P1.

Gravida Six Para One.

Six pregnancies, one birth.

This is one of the hardest posts I think I’ve ever had to write solely based on the emotional toll this is already taking on me. I got a positive on Sunday. The minutes have been eternal.

I will wait until Thursday for the beta, as scheduled. I will then have to wait the 48 hours for another beta, and of course, due largely to my last Gravida that didn’t turn Para back in May/June, I will ask for a third.

I am trying to stay upbeat and excited (not to mention sane) as I have every right to do, but I hope you can appreciate a few simple requests until I can exhale again:

No. 1 – Please, no congratulations yet. Save that for the potential birth;

No. 2 – If you decide to calculate a due date, that’s fine, but please do not tell me or even hint at it;

No. 3 – Please do not suggest multiples. While I am well aware of the risks we started with and the implications of early positives, I also remember back in May I test positive on CD11, and all I got from that was another miscarriage 10 days later.

No. 4 – Please do not suggest that this has broken the “November Curse”. November is not over, and this pregnancy is barely even beginning. This only reminds me of what could have been, and what I selfishly think, should have been.

I’m sorry if I sound rather ungrateful when in fact I shamelessly admit that I am completely and utterly overwhelmed with the possibilities. However, to allow myself to feel so much of what could be good right now, I must also acknowledge that I am acutely fearful of what is to come.

P4 and Counting

The progesterone is certainly doing its job if that includes making me a freak who cries at the drop of a hat and the boobs….

Sweet moses, the boobs! I accidentally got one pinned between XBoy’s elbow and my rib cage last night and it took every once of control not to fling him across the room in a spontaneous reaction to the pain.

I’ve been asked in a couple of emails if I’ve tested yet. If I have and it was positive, don’t you think I’d tell you all by now?

And just final proof that the hormones are working the kind of magic that would make even Criss Angel the Mindfreak envious, a commercial played earlier on the television where a baby begins to cry.

I promptly burst into tears.

Progesterone: an evil necessity if there ever was one.

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?