Category Archives: IVFs (Ultimate Fighting Rounds!)

Earworm: Ten Little Indians

WARNING: The following may be contagious and should be read only under the condition that you can obtain immediate access to a radio to eliminate the chance this Earworm may infect your head for the next 24 hours as it did in the host.

“One little, two little, three little embryos.
Four little, five little, six little embryos.
Seven little, eight little, nine little embryos.
Ten little embies fertilized.

Ten little, nine little, eight little embryos.
Seven little, six little, five little embryos.
Four little, three little, two little embryos.
One little embie planted.”

Make Mine a Lite!

I’m still spotting, but I figured I would for some time since I was flushing out a cycle’s worth of repronex, progesterone, antegon and of course one teeny-tiny embryo who really did take after mommy and got too lazy to stick around.

The cramping was pretty bad the first couple of days. It was like one of my old periods where I would gorge myself on chocolate and mochas days before CD1 would show and not drink enough water. Do you know what I mean?

Friday is my ultrasound to see how my lining looks in prep for the FET. After tonite I will be on 8mg of oral estrodial and I am trying to take my folic acid and vitamins daily.

I have reviewed the 2003 CDC findings for my clinic and they have a 50% success rate for women my age (38), but – and it’s a BIG BUTT – they only did 4 FETs in 2003 in my age group of which 2 resulted in live births. And they only did a total of 13 that year, of which 4 resulted in live births. Again the odds are better than if we were trying on our own, but I can’t help but want something a little more…definitive, ya’ know?

It seems surreal that by the end of next week we will have done another transfer – godwilling that a couple of the embryos survive the global warming, petri-dish style. No injections so my buttocks have finally healed and my underwear no longer sport little red polka-dots and I haven’t had a good wanding since the transfer on Dec. 21. Suzanne coined the phrase in one of her emails that this cycle should be called IVF-Lite: All the hopes, but half the stress!

Thanks everyone for offering support when I’m feeling none from those I should. Also, I’m sorry that I am not a brunette…this year anyway. I had been growing out my hair since I lost Baby May as a way of mourning. Some women slice off their hair, I decided that I would grow it since I really do not like long hair on me, I’ve got a pinhead, hatsize 7. I’ve always been the type to keep it short, very short, so by it being so long, it’s an evil reminder every morning that I still am not pregnant. But that is about to change. Friday I have scheduled a hair appt: 1) to take care of those nasty roots as I am a brunette (of mousy hue) under all that blonde; and 2) to take a couple inches off. I have to start slow as Mr. DD associates long hair with babedom. So by that standard, I have only become a "babe" in the last year of our 13 year relationship. Whoda’ thunk?

Sometimes the Clinics Have GOOD Nurses, Too

I *heart* Nurse W. at my RE’s office! Just *heart* her!!!

I told Mr. DD that since his “services” won’t be required with the next cycle I thought we should get some additional diagnostic tests done to see if we can determine what has happened to make our IF a Male Factor dominated issue. It wasn’t until we headed into IUI #2 that we realized on hindsight that the amount of eejakulut (try Googling that, ya pervo troll) had been significantly reduced in volume. In what little research I can find, there isn’t much more in testing we could do except maybe an ultrasound to determine if there is some blockage or whatnot. I called the clinic and left a message for a nurse to call me back to see if we could look into this.

Nurse W. called me back and before getting all clinical and professional, she offered her condolences for our loss. Yes, our Loss. She made me feel like I was a person, with a face, and heart instead of just another uterus.

Being an efficient nurse that she is, she had already pulled my chart and talked to Dr. Blinksalot to see if there really was anything else they could do, and she apologetically told me that even if we got the quantity up, the quality will never be there. In short, my pregnancy with X and the pregnancy with Baby May were in fact, Miracles. In other words, we have been an Infertile couple all along; we just happened to get lucky and did things in reverse.

She really thinks we should look into IVF#2 if this FET does not work, even though she sincerely hopes it does. She sees more heartbreak at the office than I even care to imagine, but she sees the miracles as well. She thinks we can do it. Logistically, I think we can to.

What really good (or really bad) experiences have you had with nurses at your clinic?

Sanity Check: 24 Hours Later

Weird day yesterday. I felt good mentally for the beginning half of the day, but my mood took a one-eighty by 7:00 pm. In the morning, as you know from yesterday’s post, I had felt at peace with what had happened and what was being planned for the immediate future, which will be the FET.

I should elaborate a bit on the FET schedule: Dr. Blinksalot informed us that we could move directly into the procedure once the most expensive period I will probably have, begins. In other words, CD1 will also be Day 1 of the FET cycle. If we had opted for IVF#2, we would have had to do one cycle on BCP (Birth Control Pills), then the IVF cycle. I think knowing that I don’t have to "waste" a month off was one of the reasons I was feeling some optimism earlier.

And yes, I had also said in an earlier post that I didn’t know if we would move forward with ANYTHING. That’s my frustration and grief talking. If it was up to me, I would keep trying every available treatment there was until I had a sibling for X. But Mr. DD would never allow that. I fear a huge argument will ensue *if* the FET fails on what we will do next. I find his aversion to a donor to be nothing more than a shield to his male ego. But then again, am I so desperate for a baby that I wouldn’t care if it was his baby or a stranger’s? Some serious and sobering thoughts. Thoughts that took hold of me during the early afternoon yesterday and contributed to my good mood taking a stumbling trip out the door.

Also part of the problem yesterday was we went to The Metro. Mr. DD had purchased tickets to see this event as a surprise to X. Tickets to see some Monster Trucks. Now before you make any snap decisions as to my IQ or taste, I opted to go with the two boys so I could see the look on X’s face when he found out what we were doing. The event and all it’s sights and smells will have to be saved for a later post – including pictures! I’m sure you’ll be on the edge of your seats ’till then, right?

Anyway, we went to The Metro. I feel like Pavlov’s dog and have been conditioned to abhore the trip. It use to be associated with a relaxing day full of shopping, but now has become the 2 hour anxiety-filled trip to the RE (how are my E2 levels? will I have cysts? will there be any follicles? how big will they be? what will be my due date if I get pg this time? and on and on and on…). So I began to think about those emotions and didn’t want to mention them to Mr. DD on a day that was supposed to be filled with fun. Then when we arrived, we had planned to eat an early supper before the show started so we went to F^mous D^ve’s. It ended up being the last straw for my good humour.

We were seated in the exact same spot we had been over 4 1/2 years ago when we had found out we were pregnant and we had been invited to eat there with Mr. DD’s niece, her then fiance’ and his family to celebrate their engagement. I was nauseous and could barely eat. I think I was only 6 weeks and we didn’t want to trump the engagement party with an announcement of our pregnancy so I sat in what I now realize was the most wonderous misery. It brought back so many emotions and feelings including how I would give anything to go back to those days when infertility and miscarriage were awful things that happened to other couples, not us. Now that same niece is expecting her first baby in just a couple of months. And as we were sitting there, two couples sat next to us. One couple was considerably older and it was easy to figure they were the parents of the girl, who was very pregnant. I was subjected to their discussions of how she was already dialated and so much effaced. My appetite had vanished and I was left with nothing more than a bitter taste in my mouth.

Will I ever make it out of purgatory? How does one ever make peace with any of this?

And Now Back To Our Regularly Scheduled Program Already in Progress…

All the positive thoughts, prayers and hopes were not enough to save what we now get to refer to as a Chemical Pregnancy, which means that at least one embryo stuck but failed for whatever reason and died before a heartbeat would have been detected. Even though I knew in my head that this pregnancy was going to end before it really had a chance to start, there were moments this past week that I thought, “maybe…, just maybe…”

Chemical Pregnancy is too clinical an expression and trivializes what we are going through. A “chemical pregnancy” sounds like it wasn’t even real and that nothing happened. But what is so heartbreaking right now is that it DID work. Even if it was just for a few days, I was pregnant. I went from an all-time high last Friday once I saw the HPT was positive to an all-time low today, exactly one week later.

Nurse K. at the clinic, who I am beginning to like less and less, said that I should discontinue my medicine and my period (read: miscarriage) should happen in about four days. They had only requested the lab run the hCG/beta – not the estradial or progesterone. This was my first hint that even they thought that a beta of 63 was not a good sign on Monday after she dared reprimanded me then by saying, “This could be a good pregnancy and for now, you still are pregnant, and we haven’t given up.” Now the words are like burrs under my saddle-blanket as they had obviously given up just as I had. When she told me this morning that it was not good, I told her I knew that already. Oh, did I already know the level (beta was only 13), she asked? I said no but explained when I talked to her earlier this week, I knew that we could’ve had this resolved by Wednesday and putting me through 4 days of hell would not have been necessary.

My “period” will be in full flow by the time my niece’s baby-shower takes place, which I have already decided I will not attend. It’s the day before what would have been my 6 week ultrasound.

When Dr. Blinksalot called me, she explained that it was 95% likely that it was the egg and not the sperm that caused the embryo(s) to fail after implantation. Not what I want to hear when I’m trying to convince Mr. DD to try donorsperm IUI in an attempt to overcome the male factor in our reproduction attempts.

She wanted to know if we wanted to move into another fresh transfer, IVF#2 (I never thought I would have to number any of our ART attempts, but there it is) or to try FET (frozen embryo transfer). Mr. DD has nixed the idea of IVF#2 because he cannot bear watching me go another 2 weeks of hell. I have tried explaining that all this physical and mental anguish will slowly resolve, and that he needs to take into account how all the medications magnify the emotional portion of an IVF cycle. Right now he’s not buying into it and is only willing to look at the FET because I can do that without any major mind-bending meds except estrogen.

They would thaw the embryos and let them stew for a couple of days and then do the transfer at the blast stage. My clinic’s thawing success rate is around 50% but their pregnancy rate is 40%, which are obviously better odds than if we were trying without their help. As Mr. DD said, since Team A (the 3 fresh embryos) were unable to pull it out, it’s time to bring in the second string, Team B. I will not try to get my hopes up, but will anyway, so I don’t know why I bother trying to psych myself out.

I believe we are getting to the end of our reproductive journey. I don’t foresee Mr. DD ever being convinced to try an IVF#2, even if we had won the lottery (it seems to me we would have a better chance at that!) and lately he has begun chanting the mantra, “What will be, will be.” I can’t believe that this was how things were meant to be for us, which in the Grand Scheme of things is not too shabby: one healthy, smart, cute preschooler whose only care right now is seeing how large he can amass his empire of HotWheels; and a marriage that will see us into our old age. But I honestly must admit I will always feel a tug and get a lump in my throat each time I’m reminded of What Could Have Been.

It’s not good news

My beta was only 63. It should have been at least 88 ideally. Nurse W. said she has seen it go either way, but I need to be realistic.

I knew it wasn’t going to be good news. I test again Friday.


Edited to add: Just as sure as those little embryos are dying, I am, too. The more info I find on "doubling" the more reality sinks in that a miscarriage is inevitable. Bless you, Cricket, for trying to find the bright spot in this, but right now I really don’t see one.


I’m sorry if I scared any of you with the initial tone of my last post. It wasn’t intentional.


Yes it was.

I cannot pretend that my writing is brilliant by any stretch of the imagination. I believe I pulled a B in the lit class in college and that was because I tested well, not because of my literary skills. And if you believe this person’s comment (I corrected the spelling) on one of The Goddesses of Blogs, I certainly only have the angst going for me:

“Angst is necessary if someone isn’t funny or insightful but you don’t need any, so call off any dramas you had planned on our account.”

Starting earlier in the week and as you certainly noted in Wednesday’s and Thursday’s posts, I was convinced that the IVF had failed. I made more bathroom trips in those two days just to take stock of what I thought would/should be there on the tp any moment.

Even after everyone’s common sense advice, I did what the Normal Woman 8dp3dt (8 days post 3 day *embryo* transfer), and unwrapped the last Evil Pee Test Thursday a.m. If you NEVER have done this, YOU are not normal, my Friend…no offense.

As I was saying, one Evil Piss Test of the pink variety was peed on Thursday a.m. BFN. All day Thursday I was either a ranting lunatic or a sobbing, pitiful shell, but even with ALL the cramping I just didn’t know what to think. I called the RE’s office and ask Nurse K. to be honest: Is it too early for me to get a positive on an HPT? “Well,” she started on a cautious note, “These two days before your test day can be iffy. Yes, to be honest, many will already have a positive on this day, but a negative does not indicate what will happen on beta day.” I then tearfully told her that I don’t know how anyone does this cycle after cycle without throwing themselves in front of a train, and then I told her with the warning of not to be offended, that this whole IVF thing is just One Big Mind-Fuck. She kindly agreed, but suggested I hold out until Saturday before throwing in the towel.

So can you guess what I did? I went out and bought a 3-pack of HPTs, this time of the blue-positive variety. I’m sick, aren’t I?

Thursday nite, just so I can go to bed with more tortured thoughts of failure, I stick-peed again. I wish you could see what I saw, because even now, neither Mr. DD nor myself can make out the now invisible positive line I swore was there Thursday nite. A trick of light? My desperate imagination? I don’t know anymore, but I sat another one out for Friday a.m. At 4:00am I awoke and decided I wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep until I had used up the 2nd pee stick. And sure as shit, it was positive!

So by Saturday a.m. I knew the beta would be positive; I just wanted to know the number. 44. Not impressive, but within the range of normal so I floated on a fluffy, white cloud for the rest of the day and my second beta is scheduled this Monday a.m.

My cloud has gotten darker since yesterday. I’m letting Paranoia bring me down. Get off my cloud, you fat whore-Paranoia! There’s only room for two and Hope has already started getting bloated and gained a half pound (lovely fricken’ digital scales!).

I just keep re-reading your comments to prevent me from be sucked completely down. I can do this, dammit!

BTW, did you see that the “ttytt” mystery was solved? “To Tell You The Truth”! Thank you Kris and the power of G%gle; and of course Firebrand, who got us to use that gray matter between our ears in the first place! But, I still need more suggestions for The “A” List, so keep ‘em coming!

Where’s My Bubbly?

I woke up about 6:40 a.m. and in a half-conscious state, I pulled on a sweat shirt (which ended up being on inside-out; my attempt at "trendy") right over the top of the t-shirt I slept in and traded my flannels for jeans. I slipped on some socks and ran a comb thru my hair without even bothering to look in the mirror. 5 minutes later I slipped out past Jerry sleeping on the couch and into the garage. I had kicked him out very early in the morning for snoring. We just accept that fact that on the average, one of us will end up on the couch by the time the sun comes up. I’m too light of a sleeper, even with ear plugs; and his snoring cannot – and will not – be alleviated.

By 7:00 I was in the lab having my blood drawn for the beta. It’s too early for me to do anything but smile politely at the phlebo as she cheerfully sucked my blood into a syringe and deposited it into 3 vials: Progesterone; Estradial; Beta hCG.

When I got back home, it was if I had never left. It was still dark and quiet. No one was awake except for two cats begging to be fed. I crawled back into bed, dressed as I was, and shut my eyes. Within minutes, I heard XBoy in his room and I braced myself for the whirlwind of his presence which always starts with him throwing open the bedroom door and asking if it’s time to get up. At what age should your kid be able to tell time???

We watched cartoons for a while in bed, just the two of us. Mr. DD was able to catch a few more zzzz’s, but it was time to get moving.

We made breakfast and ate. I started a batch of chili in the crockpot and by the time I noticed the clock, it was already 9:45. The RE’s office was supposed to close at 9:30 and I still hadn’t heard from them. I called the number expecting the answering service, but actually got the receptionist. Coinicidently enough, the nurse was on the other line getting ready to call me. She picked up the phone, gave me the results and then we wished each other a polite Happy New Year’s, and . . . that was that.

It appears by the quiet around me that Blogtopia has taken the weekend off and I am finding just a few new posts. Everyone must be getting ready to celebrate, and maybe already are. It’s got to be the final countdown somewhere by now. Jerry probably will stay up and watch some SNL and may actually see midnite come and go. I will probably be in bed.

I will not be celebrating.

I can’t, even if I wanted to . . .

My beta was 44.

I’m pregnant!

“Let’s Make A Deal” or other ways to make the next few days pass a little less painfully!

. Three more full days before my beta. It’s time to play the IVF version of "LET’S MAKE A DEAL!"

Should I select Door #1!

Take the Evil Piss Test Thursday or Friday (I only have one left in the drawer and I swear I’m not buying another)…

Or, should I select Door #2!

Wait until Saturday a.m. beta results, which will mean an early bloodletting and then waiting a couple hours before I get any results…

Or, should I select Door #3!

Take the Evil Piss Test Saturday a.m. and THEN do the beta just so I can see if the hospital would acutally admit me for a mental condition when the fucking piss test glares back at me with only 1 line in a symbolic gesture of "the finger!"

Now remember, your choice will be negated in the event there is an early arrival of any one of the following: Aunt Flow, Bloody Bloomers, The Visitor, Maroon 5 (god, I wish I could remember who put that in their post once!), Mentrual Cycle, Moon Blood, etc., etc.

The voting process will begin NOW! In the event of a tie, I’ll just do what I want to do…so there. *****raspberry******

Who Will Decide? Faith or Hope?

Since the transfer last Wednesday I have overheard Mr. DD say to close friends and family (in jest), “I just hope it’s not triplets,” in the relating of our IVF process. Every time I heard him say this, I would see red.

So last night after XBoy passed out from exhaustion from having Christmas at three different houses, we talked. I myself am dealing with the guilt of not thinking positively and reading every sign, and lack-thereof, as one more and final, failed cycle. So I tried to explain how I interpret his bemoaning of triplets as the worst possible outcome as an arrow into my shield of Faith and Hope. The worst case scenario for us is that this IVF will have failed, and we will be done.

I further explained how if that was the case, then not only will I realize the harsh reality that we will be a family of three, and Hope will have her ass kicked to the curb; but it may also mean I will probably lose the last of the Faith I had been trying so desperately to hang onto. And it’s not necessarily me that I’m trying to hold onto it for, but for XBoy.

Mr. DD and I were both raised Catholics and it was an important part of our childhoods. As adults we were left with the decision on whether or not we would pursue and continue that tradition. It wasn’t until XBoy came along that we thought he should at least partake in it so he can as an adult have the same options we had. I hope that makes some sense, I’m not really with it today (hopped up on cold medicine).

The point I wanted to make with Mr. DD was that he needed to realize that we would be incredibly blessed to have triplets, even though the chances of that happening are incredibly rare. That would mean that Someone thought we were strong enough to handle that. To find out that even with all the medical assistance and a near perfect transfer, we would come up empty handed would tell me that we just aren’t worthy or capable of raising more children.

This morning after XBoy woke us at 7:00, I told Mr. DD I needed another hour of sleep. I dozed off again and I awoke about 50 minutes later in a panic: I had dreamt that my period had started, and I was never so glad to have pulled from a deep sleep. All these things are taking a toll on me mentally, physically and spiritually. It’s the latter that I will have the hardest time recovering from, if ever.

Remember when I said in an earlier post that I was going to need a lot of hand-holding? Well, I need that more than ever right now.

24 Cells

Why didn’t anyone tell me that Squirty up the Clacker frickin’ hurts!! That one little valium is supposed to make the procedure a little more tolerable, huh? I would’ve needed to chase it with a half a bottle of wine to make it "tolerable"!

Suzanne over at Palatial Squalor advised me that I don’t need to have a bladder so full I would pee my pants if I sneezed so I tried to keep it at a comfortable volumn. But they kept pushing the water. Mr. DD, being the consumate joker, used the bathroom in the room to relieve his own bladder. When he opened the door, he gave this big sigh of relief (release) and exclaimed a little too bouyantly, "Boy! Do I feel better!" Jerk! By the time I walked down the IVF Woman Walking hallway, my teeth were swimming. And guess what one of the techs did while Dr. Blinksalot started manipulating the cervical catheter? She was supposed to apply "gentle" pressure to my bladder to insure proper placement of the embryos. However, no one seemed to notice but me that she had applied just enough pressure to elicit leakage from my eyes. Mr. DD, in his testosterone-induced oblivion, believed the moisture were tears of joy. The final insult was the catheter inserted and subsequently removed when it appeared my bladder had been emptied, which was disproven by my nearly immediate visit to the bathroom back in our room.

They transferred three 8-celled embryos, one of which was already starting to compact, which is a good thing for you non-IVFers. I’m not sure of the exact make-up of the embryos we decided to freeze, but I believe they included one 8-cell for sure, and then I think two 6-cell and a 4-cell. The runt of the litter, #9, appears to have arrested. Poor little tinker.

I now get to lounge around for the rest of tonite and thru tomorrow. I will try to time the remaining valium consumption around the PIO injections, which also have been intolerable. And just as I had predicted in my last post, my test is scheduled for New Year’s Eve. I think I’ll have to make sure I have a bottle of sparkling cider (per Cat’s suggestion) AND a bottle of the real stuff, just to cover the bases.

Question: Should I Wear Socks?

It’s been a long 24 hours. By the time Mr. DD and I got ourselves some supper and a hotel room near the Metro Hospital, it was 11:00pm. With the goal of getting up by 6:30am so we can be dressed and at the hospital by 7:30, how much sleep do you suppose I got? Now whatever number you came up with, divide that by the factors related to a strange hotel bed and a husband who chronically snores. Yeah, you got it, not much.

This may seem like a rather redundant post for most of you that have "been there, done that," but by writing out all the details, I will finally be able to answer the all-consuming question regarding the socks (see prior post). So pay attention.

Our appt was to be held on the 9th floor, Labor & Delivery. Yup, that’s right, L&D. Nurse W. from the clinic was optimistic by telling me that the location was so I can be familiar with the area when I needed to come back in 9 mos. I’ll go with that, even though driving 2 hours in labor will not be my idea of fun, just to fulfill some destiny. Plus, since I never got a L&D with XBoy, I thought I should take advantage of the situation.

I was instructed to change into one of the loviest gowns I have ever had the privelage to cover my bear posterior: grass green, with purple and pink plaid striping, designed by none other but Gucci…Fred Gucci, Mr. DD smartly pointed out. The nurse started an IV, with some trouble, due to "tiny veins." She also reviewed the discharge orders and found out that we would do 1cc PIO nightly, starting tonite. The anesthesiologist came in and started me with some stuff to help prevent the nausea, which I usually experience post-anesthesia. The nurse then presented me with quite the stylish blue chapeau and a pair of matching hospital slippers. So . . there you are. It won’t matter if you wear socks with holes, socks with individual toes, or no socks at all, because the surgical ensemble trumps it all.

By 8:30am, I was escorted by a nurse who pushed the iv tree while I was shuffled in my designer gown and slippers; the anesthesistist; and Dr. D. who caught up to us walking from the L&D to the surgery suite; with Mr. DD pulling up the rear. The picture that came to my head, which someone else in another blog once wrote, IVF Woman Walking (if it was you, feel free to take credit).

Once in the suite, I had to figure out how to gracefully mount the table without tangling myself up in the iv line or knocking over the sterile supplies, yet still end up in the appropriate position conduscive to an aspiration. I did manage it without looking like a total doof. My legs were lifted into the padded stirrups and both arms were spread onto the extensions: one for the anesthesiologist and the other for the bp cuff. I told them that I felt like a bug impaled on a pin, and I giggled at the mental picture. I was asked if I was starting to feel a little drowsy, to which I replied, "no" (more giggling), then I said, "yep, I’m feeling it," and that’s the last I remember until I woke up back in L&D. The staff told Jerry I giggled a lot, pre- and post-procedure.

Dr. D. only took 15 minutes to do the aspiration. I was in recovery for another 45 at which time they came and got Mr. DD, and the L&D for about an hour. Surprisingly, I felt pretty good. I had a minute amout of spotting, some cramping, but no nausea (yippee!). By the time we were released, I felt good enough to do some quick shopping before we headed back to Smallville.

They are supposed to call me with the fertilization report tomorrow. It makes me wonder at which point can I stop anticipating the "next day" nervously. You’re right. Probably never.
Oh, did I forget to mention how many eggs they got? Now before I tell you, just keep in mind I have no idea what the initial quality and maturity are and that I would’ve been thrilled with 5 . . .
They got 10.

Counselor – Bad, Bitch Slap – Good

I went to see the counselor last night. All I can say is even though I cried several times when discussing my miscarriage and the potential for things not to work out with this IVF, I will not go back. She was nice enough, but right now I don’t need assvice that borders on the obvious, such as "Discuss with Jerry what your options will be if the IVF fails," and "Try to determine how you plan on getting through the pain of a failed IVF." I need someone to tell me to snap out of it and quit feeling sorry for myself, and her meek, mild form of communication will make that an impossibility.

I did, however, ask Mr. DD when I got home what he thinks we should do if it doesn’t work. He said, "All I know is that if it does, I’m going to church."

That’s big. Why? The last time Mr. DD and I went to church for anything other than a baptism, wedding, Holiday mass with parents was . . . oh, that’s right . . . never.

So I have proposed that Saturday nite, before we head to the metro for a night in a hotel in prep for the retrieval/aspiration, we go to Mass with my mother in Small Town B.

I still have some unresolved issues with G*d with the miscarriage and subsequent surprise infertility, but I figure now’s as good as time as any to try to come to grips with it. I’m telling myself that since Baby May had the abnormalities, He’s decided that going through some ART was an additional way to test our Faith.

And you know what? This is going to work, people, so I’m not even going to think about the "what if it doesn’t" scenerios. You will probably need to remind me of that over the next two weeks if I start to get whiny. A virtual bitch-slap will be my "snap out of it" and I know it will be delivered with nothing but love! And remember, I would do the same for you.

Day 11 of IVF/ICSI Cycle

OK, I’m pissed at BlogLines. It seems I have been missing some new posts and feel like a putz for not being there for some of my peeps. It looks like I’ll have to resort to just pulling up each one on my favorite’s list to make sure I’m in the know…

Also, it appears that since I got pregnant with XBoy in 2001, I have gotten ugly. How else could I account for our infertility woes? This article is about as pointless and stupid as saying that the bigger a guy’s dick is, the more sperm they have. I’d like to see a composite picture of that research…uh, then again…maybe not. Ick.

Quick update: Left ovary – 19, 19, 17, 16, 15. Right – 19, 13, 10. Probably only 4 mature eggs. Right at the cut-off for IVF with my clinic.

Estrogen: 1436 (woohoo!)

Uterine Lining: 14.2. Sounds a little thick but Dr. M., who I have now finally nicknamed Dr. Blinksalot, is very happy with that.

Tonite: Continue the repronex and antagon.

Friday Nite: Trigger at 10:45 p.m., which is waa-aa-a-y past my bedtime.

Saturday: Relax. bwwaahahahahaha! and no food or drink after midnite.

Sunday: Be at the hospital at 7:45 am, but first stop by clinic to pay all associated retrieval and transfer fees with one very pathetic check of $5500 (sorry family/friends, no more money for holiday gifts!). The aspiration is scheduled for 8:45 am. Jerry will need to be available for his own brand of "payment" within the hour. Start the PIO that nite.

Monday: Info on eggs retrieved and fertilization status to be forthcoming from the clinic.

Tuesday: Relax (again, more manic laughing).

Wednesday: Transfer!

When you put it that way, you have to wonder what the big fucking deal is, right?

I’m Crazy, How ‘Bout You?

I finally have scheduled an appointment that is long overdue. In fact, I should have scheduled it a year ago after we lost Baby May, but I was too proud to even think that I should seek counseling.

I have decided to take advantage of our Employee Ass.istance Pr*gram. Even though I have made it a full year without completely falling apart and committing myself to the ward just two stories above me at work, I fear that this upcoming transfer will put me as close to the edge as I’ve ever been. Due considerably to the stress and worry of yet another, and quite possibly, the last failure we could go through in trying selfishly for the ever-elusive “baby sibling.”

XBoy is now at this stage where he wants you to play with him. That sounds weird, unless you knew him. He has always been independent and very good at playing solo when at home. It used to give him a chance to unwind from all the sharing requirements he follows at daycare. But I have noticed a change recently.

Last night, after getting him ready for bed, which includes a bath, jammies, and the reading of 2-3 books, he proceeded to give us the stalling technique we have grown accustomed to:

XBoy standing with both hands in a “stop” gesture: “I tell you what. I’ll play for a while and when I’m done, I will call you to tuck me in.”

Normally, we let him do this because it’s within 5 minutes that we would hear his little call, “I’m ready!” but last night his little neurons were cooked. He was at both day care and preschool, had no nap, and went to bed late the night before.

Dad: “XBoy, it’s time for you to go to bed. You said earlier that it had been a long day and you were tired.”

XBoy: “No! I’m not tired anymore!” He climbs into his bed and lays his head on the pillow. “I want you to play with me.”

Dad: “Not tonite, XBoy. We can play tomorrow. Good nite, I love you.” Mr. DD exits XBoy’s room.

I am in the bathroom washing up, getting ready for bed myself. His room is on the other side of the wall. I hear XBoy sniffle a little and then say out loud himself, “I have nobody to play with.”

It was if someone has squeezed my heart with their big, meaty fist. It’s obvious how the miscarriage and subsequent infertility has affected Mr. DD and I. But how did we overlook the affect that this has had, and will have, on XBoy?

If the event our IVF fails and we have to come to terms that XBoy will be an only child, I’m sure he will adjust to the circumstances quickly, as he has nothing to compare to. He will eventually enjoy the privileges that come with being an only child.

I am hoping that counseling helps not just me to move beyond the guilt, and even some shame that comes with infertility; but helps me be a better mother by not taking for granted my son’s existence. I am trying to be prepared. I am trying to stay positive. It’s really hard, you know?

My RE appt is tomorrow a.m. I’m guessing we will be triggering tomorrow nite if we decide to move forward. My appt with the counselor is also tomorrow nite. It should prove to be a very emotional day. Thanks everyone for the good vibes. I’m sure it was your positive thoughts and prayers that have gotten me as far as I have.