Thursday, December 19, 2013

Dear Heisenberg

Dear Heisenberg,

Technically, as of this moment, I am 6 weeks and 1 day pregnant with you.  Which I cannot freaking believe. It took us a long time to get you here - a super long time.  (And when you're older I'm going to tell you this just enough for you to know how wanted you are in this world, but not enough for you to feel bad about arriving a little late. You came when you were supposed to come, we just wanted you so bad the wait wasn't easy).

I'm writing to you mostly because I need you to stick around.  Tomorrow is a big appointment where they look for your heart flutter (we just need to see it) and then they can say to us 'okay, things seem like they're going well - you can breathe easier'.  I don't care if you're extroverted like me or introverted like your Dad after you're born, but I'm going to need you to show up to parties - like tomorrows - before you are. Just to say hi.

They say babies choose their parents (I know I did and I went to a lot of trouble to get there).  You went to a lot of trouble to choose us - a lot of trouble and a lot of asskicking - it seems only right to tell you a few things about us.

I'm your big-eyed (you probably will be, too) and insanely goofy Mom. You will absolutely not have the best cookies at the bake sale with me, no crafting we ever do will be pinterest worthy and I'm sorry to say if you get my curly hair I don't really know what to do with it - but I will always try to make you laugh, I will always try to make you happy (while ensuring you are still a good person) and I will always, well, try. I haven't let myself buy you anything yet - but when I can, I have your first real purchase already picked out:


It's a onesie with the inexplicable face of Bill Murray on it.  I'm not sure why but I feel that's pretty indicative of the type of Mom you'll be getting.

Your Dad is the tall and furry genius.  He's just as goofy as I am, but way more thoughtful and focused. He's a great big, nerdy and delightful weirdo and I hope you get his non-picky eating habits and pineapple hair. Because of him it's entirely possible you'll be able to tear apart computers and explain them to me, and it's definite that you'll be playing some kind of musical instrument as soon as you're able to sit up (don't panic, in a fun way, not a required way, like so -

What do I know about you so far?

I know that you're a freaking fighter - strength is just something you have a lot of.  I know this because of the many hurdles you've encountered and didn't just jump but sailed over. I need you to keep sailing over them.

Wanting someone like your Dad in my life was wanting someone to love me (and as an added bonus, give love back).  Wanting you was having so much love to give someone (and as an added bonus, maybe one day you'll love me back).  At this point, we have so much love to give you you wouldn't even believe it.  SO much love - it would knock you over.  We promise to mess you up just enough to give you a sense of humor without doing any permanent damage, and that we're going to have so. much. fun. once you get here...

Please, please please, show up tomorrow.  Love you and want you so very very much.

Mom (and Dad)

Thursday, December 12, 2013

Strawberry Funk

It. Is. Thursday.

May yours be full of glitter and unicorn farts and topped with a generous helping of awesome sauce and a sprinkle of fuck yeah.

Just wanted to say really quick - this blog is my crack den of free therapy and you are the coke I get to snort off of a hookers teet. Therefor it should go without saying, that if all goes well I will not be doing the ole "well, fixed that problem so peace out, suckas!". Nor will I hold it against you if you have to take a step back from me a bit or a lot at any time, and if you're on the fence about it - let me just say I don't want to sit at the freaking fertile table at lunch.  Also, I am unsure how much I will be talking about pregnancy on here but I can tell you that for now it may be a lot because I'm nervous, but once that subsides a bit when I do talk about it it will be in the manner I talk about everything else which is 90% totally freaking ludicrous. And that's all she wrote for now.

My betas went swimmingly - at 12 dpo (7dp5dt) it was 44, 14 dpo 135, 16dpo 386.

Today I am - and I can't believe I am saying this - 5 weeks and 1 day pregnant. I am nervous and grateful and nervous and excited and nervous.

...And nervous.

I know what you're thinking - 'just enjoy it you asshat!' because this is what I would have been yelling a few weeks ago. And I'm trying to.. I'm trying to.  I'm trying to live every moment as though its soundtrack was a super duper relaxing 70s funk song.

(No joke - I was up for two hours in the middle of the night with that song stuck in my head, being further and further enraged that there's no explanation as to why it's called strawberry letter 23 WHEN THEY KEEP SINGING 22. No I was not high though that would greatly help my nerves at this point).

I'm trying to be a groovy, groovy bitch and I am about 60% of the time.  The other 40% is spent worrying what will happen if I allow myself to be totally happy.

I go from feeling like a giggly creature high off the ole strawberry funk to totally overwhelming anxiety.  Pretty damn quickly.

I just wonder when it lifts - when the worry lifts and it feels real.  When the overall worry will lessen enough for me to mostly feel the happy.

And before you get totally irritated with me - I am SO happy and so fucking grateful there are no words for it.  I just want to feel it fully without being a superstitious ass about it and get it through my thick skull I won't get punished for enjoying the happy.

I have to be better about letting myself feel happy because right now, in this moment, I am pregnant.  I've been waiting for this for so long, and damnit I'm going to enjoy it.

I occasionally shout to my husband (full decibel) THERE'S A PERSON IN HERE.  Mostly because that doesn't fully register with ME.

There's a PERSON IN HERE. I have to try to relax and enjoy that shit because by the beard of Zeus, after 4 years there is, as of this moment, a PERSON IN HERE.

Tomorrow is my first ultrasound - I'll only be 5 weeks 2 days so they'll just be looking for a sac (or sacs).

I promise to become a much more interesting person once this worry subsides a little.

Keep a toe or two crossed for me - I shall update tomorrow.

Until then, you stay funky internet.

Tuesday, December 3, 2013

The Results Show

Happy Tuesday, tiddlywinks!

It's DECEMBER!!! Mind you, this has been the longest 2 1/2 months of my life quite possibly but at the same time.. been so hyperfocused on IVF turned battle o late blooming embryos turned IVF (aka, full tilt boogie tour of all injectables) that I feel as though I should still be recovering from Halloween.

So I'm gonna talk about the last week, my Beta tomorrow, the end of FET, etc.. So if you're not in a place for it - skip this!  Skip it!  Skip that shit!

Get out of here guilt free or so help me this cat will get you when you LEAST EXPECT IT.


Are they gone?

Are we sure?

Okay just in case - one more pic and then you're in or you're out or I shall punish you like this dog!


Almost exactly four years, eleventy rounds of clomid, 1.5 IVFs, many special tests, 90 gajillion shots, one chemical pregnancy, many miracles, so much money and one FET later - as of this moment, I am pregnant.

PREGNANT.  With like, a HUMAN BABY. (Or babies).

PREGNANT. La Bamba and/or Heisenberg dug deep.

None of it has sunk in yet.  None of it.  None.

PREGNANT.  And we're talking about ME here.

Okay backing up.

My transfer was last Monday and I tell you I felt weird pinches that day (I'm guessing Heisenberg as he is THE ONE WHO KNOCKS.)

The night of Thanksgiving, as it's starting to hit me it may not work, I start getting dull cramps and the tiniest little spritz of red flecks (and I mean tiny - a mentally stable person would have probably missed it.)

I start feeling like I'm getting the flu I'm so tired - I of course think I'm just getting the actual flu on top of my negative-to-come and start getting weepy about my bad luck.  It was actually a very relaxing holiday at my Moms and I ate ALL THE THINGS.

Saturday, Bub and I come home having agreed that I will hold out to test until Monday.  Beta scheduled for Wednesday, and if there is no hope I really want to be eased into it instead of being shocked.  So Monday.  Monday makes sense.

Naturally, after we get home I go out to get Jamba juice - and a pregnancy test. Just going to ease myself into seeing that negative - it's only 5dp5dt at this point (10dpo for you non-IVFers, 10 days past ovulation for you fertiles) which is LUDICROUSLY early because my period wouldn't be due for 6 days.

I put my purchased FRER in my purse, take purse into bathroom, pee into cup.  Dip in FRER.  Set aside.  30 seconds later look, and start cackling like a mad woman.  Then I yell "HEYYYYY!!!" and start sprinting out of the bathroom for Bub, and say oh by the way I'm pregnant and PS I bought a pregnancy test.

What you're looking at - top one is Saturday at 5 PM, middle is Sunday at 5 PM, bottom is yesterday at 5 PM.

I paged my Doctors office. Initially the on-call Doctor said to wait until Wednesday (14dpo) as planned, but then she called me on Sunday to say she spoke to my Doc and to come in early on Monday.

So I had my Beta yesterday - took forever to hear back, but my hcg is 44. (Keep in mind that's two days early - but yeah, I thought it'd be a little higher). I am pregnant.  Doc said to keep doing what I'm doing, it seems to be working, come in for retest on Wednesday to make sure number is doubling.

I go back and forth between "holy shit I'm pregnant" and it not hitting me AT ALL.  Like, AT ALL.  Yesterday getting my number made me realize I kind of have PTSD about pregnancy... Just keep having to remind myself this is SO much earlier/darker/higher than last time.  And I already feel... weird.

Please pray for nice, doubling numbers by tomorrow.  I am at the end of the line here, last stop to have a baby- I promise to be a benevolent and understanding knocked up woman.  Let me be that crazy story you tell people when they're losing hope. Light a candle, think a happy thought, send some good juju, this has to be it (or them).  Has to be. Any good vibes you have I will appreciate.

I almost hesitated in posting this today but am pushing through.  Tomorrow is going to be awesome! Awesome awesome.

Everything is going as it should (which who knew could HAPPEN to ME) so far.  I just have to keep reminding myself I'm actually pregnant.

I'm pregnant I'm pregnant I'm pregnant I'm pregnant.

Thursday, November 28, 2013

Gobble Gobble

Happy Thanksgiving, U.S.!

May your pants be significantly tighter by the end of the day.

I have two embryos on board.  On Monday, they defrosted perfectly and went in smoooooth like.  You're going to think I'm nuts and I'm completely aware that I'm on a lot of medication that could be tricking me but literally since Monday night I have felt all kinds of weird pinches.  (Thinking optimistically that it's them... I'm sure La Bamba is a dancer, and obviously Heisenberg IS the one who knocks). I'll go into it more, later, just to be helpful to anyone getting a transfer (maybe) but for now let's worry about the turkey at hand.

I give you, La Bamba and Heisenberg:

I am thankful I get to play Mom for at least the next 6 days - I'm going to enjoy every PUPO moment.

I'm thankful for my husband who has had to put up with every hormone under the sun.

I'm thankful for my own kickass Mom.

I'm thankful for this community for existing because it is a lifesaver.

I'm thankful for my friends who have been unbelievably supportive.

I am thankful LB & H fertilized (albeit a day late), that they made it to freeze, and that they were put safely in my uterus.  Badasses, those two.

I'm thankful for my RE and his RN both of whom are amaaaazing.

I am thankful I get to have hope, I am thankful that my belief in the possibilities of miracles has been restored, I am thankful for every moment I get to think "maybe...."

Thankful for so much more, but I have to go get a shot in the butt.

Happy Thanksgiving - go eat your damn turkey!

Gobble gobble.

Sunday, November 24, 2013

Twenty-Twenty-Twenty-Four Hours to Gooooo

It. Is. Sunday.

Wanted to pop in real quick because it has occurred to me that today is my last 24 hours empty wombed for hopefully a very long time.

Tomorrow I will be leaving my house two, and returning four.

Heisenberg and La Bamba get all up in there around 11 AM.

I've been OFF the crazy juice known as Lupron since Wednesday and on the PIO shots.  That's an entry in itself.  They're not as bad as you think but yes, the rumors are true, your butt will die.  RIP butt.

I believe I have been a little bit anxious.  I'm still feeling positive, but on some level I know that This Is It.

So por favor, my internet angels, por favor think a happy thought, send some good juju for a safe and wildly successful transfer.  Please, please, please.

I am nervous-nervous.

Despite my nerves I am still, however, going to rock the shit out of this.

Friday, November 15, 2013

Frozen: The Potion of Despair

Happy Friday, my ferocious Follicle Farmers.

As it has been awhile, a brief synopsis of what has happened in case you need a refresher.

IVF #2 was in October.  Day after retrieval, Bub and I have zero fertilize.  (In the event that you're new, my favorite albeit possibly least helpful way of explaining our problem is here. And if anyone other than me gets why I titled that post 'Tybalt' I'm pretty sure we're soulmates). Two days after retrieval, MIRACLE surprise knock-me-over-with-a-feather two badass embryos. Since they were late-late bloomers, my lining wasn't ideal for them, so the plan became to freeze them and switch to FET in November if they made it to day 5 blastocysts which was highly unlikely.  And THEN THEY MADE IT.

Everyone remember in Princess Bride, when Wesley is retelling being captured on a ship... and every freaking day his captor says 'Good night, Wesley, I'll most likely kill you in the morning'.  That whole week was like THAT. 'Good night, Stork, sweet dreams - most likely they'll be dead in the morning.'

At any rate, on the 25th La Bamba and Heisenberg are being transferred.  I can't be sure as like most infertiles I avoid children's movies like the plague, but judging by the movie posters I'm fairly certain my story has been optioned and set to be released the same week as my Transfer.

Oh hey, so you're wondering what you should be thankful about for Thanksgiving?  Here goes: THAT YOU'RE NOT MY HUSBAND.

I realize it has been quiet over here in Storktown but that's only because of my very real, and very slow descent into hormonal madness.

Okay fine - so I normally dress like Helena Bonham Carter and what comes out of my mouth is usually a heavy dose of sarcasm, HOWEVER... I am really quite nice and positive and my experience with the ledge usually revolves around talking people away from it not approaching it my damn self. In short: I am a robot. Typically speaking, though I really truly understand the reasoning behind tears or being coocoo (because I have the same reasons)... When I see outwardly, hugely emotional people my first NANO second response before hugging is usually side eye because that whole feeling-things-fully doesn't come easy to me.


I have previously 'lucked out' in the hormone department - I don't seem to have had the 'usual' response to anything side effect wise, and so I've happily lived as the woman who could give you hope that you wouldn't either.  With Clomid, all it did was make me euphoric when I took it, and then after a painful O would be a teensy bit more sensitive than usual.  With all the IVF shots - no, not my favorite but really they just gave me a shit ton of energy and an ability to eat all the things.

In case you're keeping score, after LB & H get put back in on the 25th and I begin the PIO shots (which I anticipate not being fun, don't worry) I will have gotten the full tour, the full tilt boogie tour, of infertility drugs.  Just all of them.  All of them... All of them. Prior to this month, I would have been the prime candidate for you, before you start a new treatment, to calm you in full confidence with 'okay it's not fun, but it's not that bad'.


Lupron, which I have been on for 3 weeks as of today, is devil juice.  DEVIL JUICE.

Surely you've read or at least seen all the Harry Potter's - if not I don't even have time to address your psychological issues in one post as I can barely handle mine.  At one point, Dumbledore and Harry go adventuring into a crazy ass cave, and Dumbledore has to continuously drink some seriously poison shit out of a bowl and he says to Harry beforehand, 'no matter what happens, no matter how crazy I get - you have to keep spoon feeding it to me'.

As further proof that you should absolutely re-read these books every few years because you learn something new everytime, this is potion is CLEARLY Lupron, Dumbledore is CLEARLY trying to get pregnant and Harry is CLEARLY the unwitting partner who's a little disenchanted he can't just jizz somewhere and call it a day.

Moral of the story, as I have always suspected based on his prescription glasses and scar that he claims is from a dog bite: my husband is Harry Potter and thanks to drugs I can now grow a beard like Dumbledore.

Day one and day two, I breezed through with a slight headache and the general high of doing something that felt pro-active.

Then my brain froze. Generally speaking in my life when I've been depressed it's been 'about' something. This was about nothing.  My emotional dick went limp, all my happy thoughts went bye-bye, Tinkerbell died and I couldn't wait to see her fall to the ground so I could squish her because basically she's a glorified bug.

For two weeks, clean clothes seemed far less important and I started to resemble some sort of living blanket. Curious of all curiosities, Bub can in one second be my favorite person in the world who I want to weep over with love to seeming like an unwanted debt collector spritzed in onions and shit perfume.  I reached my 30s without having any acne experience, and now I look like a 13 year old boy who has been sleeping facedown in pizza grease and chronically masturbating (yes, ladies and gentleman, the rumors are true - I am Sasha Fierce).

The transformation was slow and thorough. Optimistic and determined - bitch who's just biding time - multiple personalities -DEATH INCARNATE.



Thankfully, I got to start taking estrogen last week so I am... better.

My brain has started to produce it's usual insane curiosities (like - do doll people and bronies hate each other? Discuss) so I'm taking that as a sign of thaw. My shenanigans shall slowly return.

Initially my transfer was going to be around the 20-22, but as of this morning it is set for the 25th.   On the downside, that's a few extra days of Lupron not to mention this month has gone by at a snails pace.

On the bigger upside, it'll put extra days between cigarettes and embryos (refer to Girl Interrupted picture) and it'll give me one extra weekend for me and Mr. T to greet my husband, like so, at the door everyday regarding shit that has to be done in this house pre-baby.

I whine to exorcise it a bit and because you are my troops.  I am, however, above all things super grateful and super excited and would do this 10,000 more times if it would give me a shot.

But my husband is a fucking saint.

Friday, October 11, 2013


I can't even...

I mean...


My words are not going to be very writerly today, but I'm going to write it all out because I want it here for when someone is searching.

First of all, let me say I was running LOW on hope.  I mean, as close to empty as I could possibly go and still be able to put clothes on in the morning and impersonate a functioning human being.  I've been like that for about a year.  Don't get me wrong - in the 4 years we've been trying to conceive, I got low on hope fairly early in the game.  (Well, definitely not early it was probably a year after torture, but now it just seems that way by comparison). In the last year, I have reached this whooooole other level that I didn't know existed where you're just.. as close to being empty as you can be without being a pod person.

I was a centimeter - a centimeter - away from just thinking that nothing good will happen for me.  I'm not religious in any way shape or form, I'm one of those liberal spiritual types though. I have always liked to think that there's some universal force, or good, or something, that even when it has to do bad shit to you doesn't enjoy it, and will eventually throw in some good. And that part of me just went dead.

I am a goofy funny person (funny people tend to be very dark) and I was still awake enough to realize I would seriously start to infect the people that love me if I didn't make an effort to stay goofy and positive, so I have.  And don't get me wrong - moments of sheer optimism!  But for the most part, it was something I was doing to impersonate an earlier version of myself so as not to alarm anybody, and because everyone should have hope in their life as long as they can possibly have it and I didn't want to beat anybody over the head with my discovery that hope was a myth.

And I've always been so grateful for other areas of my life - my husband is kickass, I have some fantastic friends and family, and a bunch of little things that all add up to me having it a lot sweeter than a lot of people. It's just this one area of my life where I felt like whatever universal force there was was chasing me around, whispering "If I just make this one thing go completely dark and punch you at every turn, I can make even the lightest things in your life go dim".

When they called Sunday to say ZERO had fertilized and that the remaining six eggs that were less mature had a less than 5% chance (mind you, this was IVF WITH the special chemical that was the only help of solving this) I felt that last little bit start to go dead.  Funeral was to be held Monday. Begged and pleaded with the universe and asked you to do the same for me (and you did, you did!).  Didn't think anything would come of it, and that's why Monday morning when they said two DID fertilize, I wept from happiness for the first time in my life.

Even less likely that they would keep growing, that they would make it to blast, I have basically been in a panic attack for the last five days trying to remain hopeful (and starting to tilt my head and squint at the power of good juju) while trying to prepare myself for when they told me none of them made it.

By this morning, I was a complete wreck.  I conked myself out last night (yay drugs!) but my stomach was apparently creating it's own superpower adrenaline and nauseousness, and I was worried when they said 'zero' despite my best efforts I would crumble and throw things. Everything on me was shaking.

When they called me back, there's Nurse Angelface standing right behind the door patients go in (across the office from where she usually is) smiling.  She says "I have good news for you". (She later told me she raaaaan down the hallway when she got the lab report).

I went into shock and kind of said "YOU DO!?!?!" and then she quickly shoved me into Dr. Kickass' office and handed him a paper.  Bub and I are now plopped down in chairs.

Dr. Kickass fumbles with glasses a second, looks at paper, and says "Oh my God". Then nurse Angel says they are both blastocysts, and not only that but they're Grade A.

Ummmm.. WHAT?!?!?!

So glad I had already gone to the bathroom because I probably would have peed my pants.

I started crying, Bub started laughing, I declared my crying gross which thankfully stopped the crying.

Of the late-late-late (two days!) bloomers, one of them has pooped out, the other is still mysteriously chugging around.  (Are you kidding me?)

I do not remember undressing, getting an ultrasound to check on my post-ER progress (apparently they just had to push hard on my stomach to get to my tricky hidden ovary for it's eggs - which I'm so glad they did! - so that's probably why I'm still sore).  I do remember thanking the Doctor and giggling at Marc and unable to decide who to text first.

Afterwards we went into the little nurses' nook where Angelface works and ended up laughing and having lemoncake with them for a half hour. (Icing is now on my leggings). Nurse said honestly, a miracle - and they were so excited when the report came in they whooped and she went running.

I know I'm not pregnant (YET!) and this is just getting a couple of blasts.. But holy shit me, are you KIDDING ME?  I get a CHANCE? WHO has heard of one cycle going from ZERO fertilizing to having two, perfect blasts?

My point is whatever little but very crucial part of me started to completely and utterly die this last weekend was slowly, tentatively reviving all week and now it's awake.  And I'm smiling. And there's no part of me that thinks bad HAS to happen and that miracles DON'T.  If you knew what kind of hardcore cynic I am you would know that that in itself is a miracle - you all had so much to do with that I'm going to be forever, and ever, and ever grateful. I can't believe I'm lucky enough to have so many people thinking happy thoughts and lighting candles and cheering me on.  Some weird kind of magic happened that I wasn't expecting and I didn't think I deserved, and now I have a really good shot because of it.

The proper words to you fail me.

I have nothing but love right now.

And what a couple of unbelievable ASSKICKERS these two are!  BOOM!  Heisenberg and La Bamba kicking ass, taking names and making history!!!

Off for a big celebratory lunch with Mr. T!

Love, love, love you people.  Oh so much.

Thursday, October 10, 2013

Embryogate Day 4

It. Is. Thursday.

Last night was a lovely distraction... It was a comfort to be around the gay husband Mr. T (who I have spoken to on the phone but haven't seen in person since the debacle because I'm a freaking maniac who can never remember if she's even showered). There were a gaggle of hilarious gays, guacamole and pizza, a viewing of Hocus Pocus and American Horror Story... Oh it's so good.  Completely twisted. And Bub got a couple of drinks in him and had a good time (I'm sure he's beyond stressed and I'm such a mess I'm no help to anyone, so it was nice to see).

Additionally, Mr. T got me two pairs of socks for my hopeful FET, a colorful pair with individual toes and a pair that just cleverly says 'fuck' over and over again.  Here's hoping I get the opportunity to make a splash.

So my plan for anticipating the morning-updates and retaining some level of sanity is to stay up as late as humanly possible, then pop an Ambien, and then stay unconscious as long as humanly possible in the morning (hooray for being a writer and making my own schedule!).  

So this morning Dr. Kickass' call woke me up.

So the two that fertilized late are now 'multi-cellular'.  Meaning they have so many cells that they're no longer counting them.  He stressed repeatedly that they won't know if they divided up properly until tomorrow - but as of right now, as far as they can tell, they look how they're supposed to look for day 4.

The second two that fertilized late-late-late - are still dividing.  Found out from nurse angelface this afternoon that one is 8 cell and the other is 5 (it's technically their day 3, so apart from the late blooming working against them, the 8 cell is still about right). There's not a whole lot of hope for them, but they are still dividing.

Fun fact: also found out that what they did for me isn't considered 'rescue icsi' it's considered 'delayed icsi' which is apparently a whole different and rarer beast (which doesn't have that great of success rates, hence the rarity). 

So they are telling me to be hopeful, and as of this morning everything looks like it should be good, but man alive they are stressing the unlikelihood of this situation. Obviously given the circumstances ( and just them being smart) no one can say 'yeah!  this is kickass!' but basically.. everyone will be surprised if this goes well (including me).

(Quite nicely, Dr. Kickass did say that this is going to keep him up tonight waiting, so he can't imagine how I would be feeling.. and nurse angelface assured me upon request she will be lighting candles and sacrificing the metaphorical chickens.)

Tomorrow morning I go in for an u/s at 8 AM because my stomach is still bothering me from Saturday (not in OHSS territory just in weird, feel like I pulled a muscle territory).  That should be right around when they get the report from the lab so I will probably be in the office when it comes.  I have mixed feelings about this because I have no idea how I'll react.

I'm losing a little bit of steam, here... Things are certainly less grim then they were earlier this week, and holy shit me over the last few days there's a lot to be thankful for.. but man, I'm reaching coocoo nervous territory.  

I just keep reminding myself we've slaughtered the odds thus far.  So far, that we've done.  The likelihood of any fertilizing a day late are SO small, and  it definitely looks like they've made it thus far. It's just requiring more effort to keep thinking YES these are fucking BADASS embryos that are punching statistics right in the face and they're going to continue to do so.

And this is just getting them to freeze.  Please, please, please God, mother nature, universe, just let me have the damn shot.

So the two front runners - they have to decide to be blastocysts by tomorrow morning. I am beyond hoping for that, but at the very least they have to get to the pre-blastocyst phase so they're still showing signs of life and then maybe can be frozen Saturday.  So the next 24 hours is the big finish, the big pre-freeze finale.  I need them to be blastocysts.

These have to be my kids, have to be.  I've been through enough, I've been on the wrong side of statistics for long enough - Universe, I will be taking my kids home with me now and retiring to being a bombass cheerleader for others, thankyouverymuch.

Please, pretty pretty please, keep hoping and praying and crossing fingers and lighting candles and sacrificing goats and petitioning to the powers that be on our behalf. We're so close to being able to let them freeze - they just have to surprise everybody one more time, and then they can rest before the big show next month.

I am SO humbled and thankful by all the support and happy dances... please keep them coming.  One more day of working our collective magic and then I'll have a SHOT.  Kick it into overdrive today/tonight, if you would. Hopefully I'm going to get on first thing in the morning and have a happy update for everybody.  Let's DO THIS.

Sidenote:  I think Heisenberg has won out for the second embryo's name.  Again, I feel my embryo should be a badass with a say-something hat that doesn't take shit from anyone.

I've gotten amazing stories in my inbox so far... I mean, amazing.  I'm gonna wait a few days to hopefully have more trickle in and then I'll put them up. If you have an amazing story, send it! (I'm thinking of making it a tab on here instead of a post, so that I can continually add to it when anyone comes across the request and wants to).

Thank you thank you thank you thank you for all the kindness and thoughts and well wishes... Please keep them coming, pretty pretty please.  So far it's done amazing things. I'm just a bug eyed infertile in Los Angeles that you will probably never meet, but you have/will be helping me beyond anything I'll ever be able to communicate, and so help me I will pay you back with wild dances and encouragement of unfathomable proportions.

If I can get embryos/pregnant with these kinds of numbers and odds, then a real, honest miracle will have happened.

Pray/hope/wish/petition that tomorrow morning there's word of a miracle.

Wednesday, October 9, 2013

Embryogate: Day 3, Shots, Magic and A Positive Idea.

Happy Wednesday, Womb Warriors!

Or to rephrase:  halfway through the longest. week. of. my. life.

PS - someone left a comment yesterday that said this is like watching Breaking Bad and that made me die laughing.  (Which made me think Heisenberg is another option for an embryo name as he is clearly a badass and involved in chemistry.  Plus clearly my embryos would be rocking some sort of say-something hat).

Okay so.

No official update from the lab - no lid lifting today. Yesterday I thought having no update today would make me feel more sane but we have gone in the other direction.  This morning angel RN worded it in a way that gave me pause - that the day-late fertilizers are more likely to poop out.

Trying trying trying to stay positive - they weren't supposed to fertilize in the first place.  And there are two of them.  Trying to hold onto the gleeful feeling of Monday morning being shocked that anybody did anything. They are pissed off and feisty and demanding life.  I need them pissed off and feisty and demanding life.

Plus - these are made of Bub and me.  And Bub and me would NEVER do anything daunting on a weekend so it would make sense they would just hold off until Monday.. right?

So I may possibly get an update tomorrow, or it may be Friday... and more than likely Friday will be the freeze day although apparently it could also be Saturday.  Asked about freezing more thoroughly today, and apparently they have some latest-freezing technique where if an embryo is viable, it will absolutely survive freezing and thaw. So there's that.

Anyways.  I know I sound like a broken record but please keep the candle lighting, the prayers, the good juju and the chicken sacrificing going. It's fucking doing something.  Miracle part 1 was completely against the odds, so miracle to completion is possible.  I have stated before that we are all clearly witches but man.... Please keep it up with the international happy juju for them.  You will be internet aunts and with a wee bit of hope restored in my life after all these years I can use all my badassery and pissed off feistiness and focus is it entirely on WILLING everyone's babies into existence through sheer will and mind scolding.

And speaking of witches - Mr. T and a gaggle of gays are having an American Horror Story: Coven viewing party tonight.  So that will be nice and distracting.  I will be the only ute present, Jessica Lange, Kathy Bates and Angela Bassett are clearly good for the soul, and so help me I will make them wave all their fairy godfather hands around and say prayers.  As Mr. T put it, they can be my Goven.

(Source.  And clearly just a promo for IVF).

So today as I'm taking a surprise hour long car ride because Bub left his insulin pen at home today (I mean.. the man's been shooting me up with needles for two weeks and dealing with side effects - least I could do is bring him his needle) I started thinking-thinking in car, and plotting things to google when I got home.

Mainly I wanted to come home, and for the millionth time in my TTC career, look up shot-in-hell-turned-pregnancy stories.  They're all over the place, but there's not a whole lot in terms of a wide variety of stories in one spot.

So I'm thinking we could do a collective post on here about shot-in-hell turned happy stories, like most of us have needed at one point or another, for people to find all in one spot.

Stories about low betas, poor fertilization, concerning bleeding, weird placenta problems, 'you're definitely not getting pregnant', small number of follicles, expected miscarriage, etc., turned successful pregnancies.

So if you have had one yourself or know someone who has, email it to me (Stupid Stork 4 at gmail).  However long you want it to be, just the crisis and how it turned happy part, and let me know how you want to be credited (name/link if you have one).

I just think it'd be cool to have a variety of stories like that from real infertiles (not fertiles talking about their sisters aunts cousins hairdressers) all in one spot.  For the lady a few months from now googling for some hope when it's almost lost.  I'm sure it'll be a virtual hug for someone at some point, and some good karma for us to boot.

Whatdya think?

In the meantime I started a thread about it on Fertile Thoughts...

And honestly, I can't fucking mention this enough.. Thank you for all the prayers and wishes and good vibes and juju - we're at the end of the fertility road here, and if I have to be this frightened I'm glad I have such awesome and understanding people with me.  If anyone can make a miracle happen with good vibes and juju and prayers it's you people - you're like the Seal Team 6 of Magic.

Thank you thank you thank you and please oh pretty please keep them coming... These have to be my kids.  Have to be. I'm out of shots, here. This is them, I've waited long enough.  I'll be collecting my kids now, universe, and then retire to channeling my energy to others. Please please please please thank you thank you thank you thank you.

Tuesday, October 8, 2013

Embryogate: Day 2

It's only Tuesday?!  Are you SHITTING me?!

I am getting more and more proof that you people have ACTUAL MAGICAL POWERS.

So today was my Grandpa's 89th birthday.  Got up, got in the Batmobile.

By accident ran into my  husband at Starbucks.  Also, Arsenio Hall was there (the beginning of a day which required me to repeatedly ask myself if I was dreaming). I like to think that Arsenio Hall manifesting in a random non-Hollywood Starbucks is a good sign.  I think I read that in Aesops Fables.

Driving through LA to start the hour and a half to get to Gram & Gramps house (over the river and through the woods and all that) I drive past Beverly Hills where La Bamba and friend are.  If anything maybe they'll stick around because right now they should be under the impression that we're really, really fancy.

Thinking happy thoughts, playing songs that will keep me optimistic (and I am!  I'm optimistic!).  Halfway there my phone starts ringing and I see it's Dr. Kickass so I put it on speaker.

It's the Angel RN (whom I love - she and I would totally be friends, I think, had we met elsewhere).

In case you're just tuning in - on Saturday I had my egg retrieval and they got 20 eggs.  On Sunday morning, Dr. Kickass called to break it to us that out of the 11 eggs that were mature that day, 0 fertilized.  ZERO.  They had six more eggs that didn't mature until Sunday, and they were going to try to fertilize them although it was a 'less than 5% chance' that even one would fertilize.

I called my Mom and told Mr. T - who in turn got my family, friends, and people I don't know praying and lighting candles.  I got on here and on twitter, and every person went into 'best freaking people ever' mode lighting candles, making facebook posts, blog posts, etc.  I was not feeling hopeful but I was feeling very loved.

Then yesterday morning he called and said that two of the six had fertilized.  TWO. TWO!!!!!!!

Cue choir of angels and weeping and overall meltdown of orgasmic glee.

 Anyhoo, RN calls this morning...

She says that they checked on embryos.  Both are still growing - one is 4 cell and one is 3 cell, which is right around where they need to be today.  (Miracle I haven't googled this yet...)

She also said that when they lifted the lid off the crockpot this morning to check on those two, that there are two others they're 'going to keep their eye on' because they seem to be doing something.  So not to get my hopes up, but I may have 'a couple more' on Friday.

I begin to, yet again, well up from happiness.  And to tell her I know I'm being silly for being that happy about it but holy shit what an increase from 0!  She also said they may call with an update tomorrow, but if not it'll be Friday (when they freeze).

I had no idea any of this was even POSSIBLE.  When I think about the likelihood of any of this having gone my way I start to LEAK.

Sunday it felt like the END, and somehow, someway, Bubs sperm and my eggs decided to punch statistics right in the throat.

Please, pretty please, keep the prayers and candles and happy thoughts and goat sacrifices coming.   I'm overwhelmed with gratitude that I'm getting them in the first place but holy crap if our collective magic can get them to Friday and beyond.

I can't believe I actually get hope. To be an anomaly within IVF... I mean, I have felt hope for mostly everyone but honestly I was starting to feel (and on Sunday, wholeheartedly feel) that hope was just not something worth having for me. I know the smart thing would be to not get my hopes up high, but holy shit me I GET SOME.. I mean, I'm going to be upset if things get wonky anyway, why not have optimism for as long as possible?

Sidenote: name ideas for embryos to accompany La Bamba:

*El Jefe
*Lil Asskicker
*The Space Cowboy

I love you people.  Please keep tapdancing and sacrificing chickens and talking to the powers that be for us... I will GLADLY be that girl where when someone is feeling hopeless, they get pointed in my direction like "dude, look what happened over HERE.  Crazy wonderful shit can happen even when it seems like all is lost".

Please please please please please.

Monday, October 7, 2013

Holiest of Holy Shits.

Umm, I love you people.

I fucking love you people.

Yesterday morning when the Doctor called and said "none", I immediately went dead inside.  Just dead.  Lights out in Storktown. Here we are at IVF, here we are at super snazzy challenging IVF, here we are still screwed. I know people have it worse, I do.  There are some women who I marvel at on a DAILY basis all the shit they've gone through (you are probably reading this).  But four years, ninety gajillion dollars, heartbreak and the exhausting attempt to keep my optimism later, and not an embryo (or really, a hope of future embryos) was too much.  I went dead.

Every couple of hours I'd look at my phone, and there would be a new comment on my post from yesterday, a tweet, a picture of a candle lit for me (which slayed me), a text, a message on Facebook, and I would WEEP.  I know weeping is normally considered bad, but it was the ONE release I had yesterday (better than Vicodin or a cigarette). I have never felt so embraced by the IF community and I've always felt pretty awesomely embraced. I am just so very, very, very thankful for you and for being allowed to be a weird little corner in this community.  It's fucking awesome, humbling, comforting - a big comfy bosom at the ready.

I asked for prayers, happy thoughts, good vibes, candle lightings, a stern mental petition to science and nature, and I got them.  The dead part of me didn't think it would do anything, but it made me feel better, and loved, and not alone.

Then some crazy shit happened, one after the other.

Last night I'm sitting on the couch with Bub trying to convince myself to sleep.  I don't use my phone for music - at all, NEVER (I like my tiny Ipod).  Also, a few weeks ago Bub finally convinced me to put one of those passcode thingamajigs on it to get into it in the first place.  The phone is sitting several feet away from me and I haven't been on it in hours, and it starts playing music.  At first I thought it was the TV with a really weird choice in song - then when we muted the TV, it was clearly coming from my phone.  Took us a few minutes to figure out how to turn it off.

It was playing "I can tell that we are gonna be friends" by the White Stripes.

I don't have any songs on my phone - just ringtones. I DO, however, love that song.  On my Ipod it's on my IVF playlist.  Yeah, I have an IVF playlist.  Just songs that make me happy, make me think of babymaking, make me optimistic.  The White Stripes song is one of my favorites.  Eons ago a spiritual/cooky family member of mine told me 'you're going to have twins one day'.  The last couple of months when I tried to force my mind to be optimistic, I'd listen to that song and think "they're going to get embryos, they're going to stick in two". Again - rare attempts to be optimistic, here, and that song just makes me think of two friendly peas in a pod.

It was absurd - like, really?  My technology has to go all haunted and wonky JUST to torture me? So once we figured out how to turn it off I went to bed.  Done. D-O-N-E.

I barely slept, kept waking up crying or just angry.  You know like when you had a bad break up in high school?  You'd wake up in the middle of the night and for a hot second things would be fine, and then you'd remember life sucked and your stomach would drop through the floor. Like that.  Mixed in with getting lovely messages, and saying out loud to the universe I KNOW my eggs are feistier than this. I was also beyond moved by the hope friends, family, IF people were showing me and was plotting exactly how I would kindly and non-dramatically say "thanks for trying, but..." in the morning.

8 AM Doctor calls - he asks me how I'm doing physically post egg retrieval (since they got twice as many this time, I'm super duper sore but that's the least of my problems).  Two minutes in he says "Well, out of the six we talked about yesterday -" I literally brace myself wanting the zero to be over with - "two of them fertilized normally".

At this point I start screaming and crying.  I say "SHUT UP!  ARE YOU LYING?" at which point Bub hears me from the other room and comes sprinting in, and Luna the lovable moron begins circling and howling. (Thankfully my Doctor thinks I'm funny).

He's a Doctor so apparently he's not supposed to lie.

Yesterday, 11 out of my immediately mature eggs didn't fertilize.  Not one.  He told me the embryologist was going to try with the leftover 6 eggs that had matured since Saturday, but that the chances of even one fertilizing was less than 5%.

Fucking miracle. Miracle, miracle, miracle.

I have never - NEVER - cried from happiness before in my life.  EVER. Seen it in the movies, didn't know it was an actual thing, and I WEPT.  Wept.

Since they're a day behind, my uterine lining is going to be a little too fluffy for them right now.  So they think the best chance is if they survive until Friday, they're going to freeze them, we'll get my lining all synced up with them and do a FET next month.

Stopped crying long enough to tell Bub what was going on who was enormously relieved.  Immediately texted my Mom who had my entire family (all 90 million of them) lighting candles last night (she said miracle: part 1).  Texted Mr. T who was rallying the troops last night and cried with me on the phone today (whose text response is priceless)


I am so happy.

I realize that that may seem ludicrous - I've seen women upset that they only got 8 embryos and I have 2. And my 2 are behind where they should be...

But holy shit!  2!  2 is SO MUCH better than 0!  And those two had less than a 5% chance of existing in the first place! Yes they have to survive until Friday (please please please) and then to freeze/thaw, etc... but OMG, for the chance, just for the chance...  And if we have to do this again (I'm hoping not) at least I can say "well, last time out of one batch there was a 33% fertilization rate" which is much more optimistic than 0. If I have to have a round 3, it'll be easier to go into it with some hope now.

I am so happy to have hurdles and hope.  So happy.  

... And this could be them.  This could be them. This could be them, feisty and pissed off and demanding life.  This could be those two I've dreamed about and was told I was going to have.  This could be them. They could right now be deciding if they are going to have my bug eyes.. Last night they could have showed some of Bub's technical genius by somehow communicating via my phone (could they not send a text?).  This could be them.  This could be two little feisty ass kickers who insisted on getting here come hell or high water.  They just have to stay feisty and strong - and I'm feisty and strong, so they have to have that in them, right?

I am overwhelmed with all the love I felt yesterday.  Overwhelmed.  Everyone was so unfuckingbelievably amazing.  I'm so honored and humbled to have you in my life.  (And though there's been countless awesome people, COUNTLESS who have gone above and beyond, a special shout out to my darling Fox who has been sending me silly videos and rallying troops on my behalf for two weeks. Honored to call her a friend).

Please keep thinking, praying, lighting candles, etc.  I'm totally fucking humbled that so many people did this in the first place so it feels weird asking for even more (I want MORE free candy, damnit!) but my gawd, you all have some kind of magic.  

And I would love - LOVE - to be that blog that people accidentally stumble across via google one day.. when they've been given terrible, awful 'it's never going to happen' news, and they want to find someone who's prospects were even bleaker and came out the other side.  I will rock the SHIT out of being that girl - I have had enough with being the horror story that scares people. I was MADE to be the girl that can take someone by the shoulders and say 'oh no, honey, this is GOING to happen for you, I KNOW it will'.

If I do manage to come out the other side (please please this time would be great) I will be sensitive, and wonderful, and without complaint.  I will write (as I do, anyway) mostly about unrelated shenanigans and light the whole fucking street on fire when you need someone to burn a candle.  If I loved you times a million yesterday, I love you times a gajillion today.

I am just... okay this is rambly, but I am just so grateful for you.  So grateful.  And grateful for whatever the hell miracle happened in the last 24 hours that gave me at least a shot. A shot is a SHOT damnit.

I'll end this with my peas in a pod song... For you and for my two.

My darling embryos, please, please, please stick around and give me the chance to be your silly Mom who will inevitably be blasting that song into my uterus for the entire 40 weeks. (Sidenote - I have not named you in your embryo state yet, but I am thinking one of you will possibly and inexplicably be La Bamba.  Just trying to think of another name that is also ass kicking).

Thank you for all the love - please keep praying and thinking happy thoughts and sacrificing goats and lighting candles and whatever else you got.  I will be one happy, happy and appreciative Stork.

Sunday, October 6, 2013


0 fertilized.

They retrieved 20 eggs yesterday and 11 were mature. 

They did ICSI on all 11, plus special chemical, and as of this morning 0 fertilized. 

Since yesterday, 6 more eggs matured. Today the head embryologist is going to try to fertilize them but the chances are 'less than 5%'. 

A miracle is required. 

The next 24 hours will probably be my swift quick from spiritual agnostic to atheist. From always finds the silly to total nervous breakdown. 

I know we do a lot of praying and hoping and good vibing for each other. I honestly at this point have a hard time believing it does anything but if it does... 

Please please please pray for us. Pray for those last 6.

We're good people. I don't need a baby army, I will be as kind and silly a mom as possible and Bub is just about the greatest guy you'll ever meet. 

After 4 years and every kind of fertility treatment imaginable this is the last stop on the train for us before we have no choice but to get off the train & take residence in All Hope Lost. 

I will not be able to live through this and keep my sanity. 

Please light a candle, say a prayer, do a dance, something. Anything. It would be great if something could happen that would make me believe in God or miracles or that good things happen. 

I try my absolute damnedest to laugh through the shittiest things. It's my gift it's my Jennyism it's the one bit of sunshine I contribute to the world and that is going to be murdered. 

My plan for today is to smoke a cigarette, take some Vicodin because I'm still so sore from yesterday and try not to become an empty shell.

Thanks to everyone on twitter for kind and/or pissed off words. Greatly appreciated. 

Please get pushy with God on my behalf it would appear he can't hear me. I would love to be the happy story people can tell in their dark hours - 'listen to what happened to this girl, if she can get pregnant anyone can' - and not the horror story people are afraid of becoming. 

It's a shot in the dark and I may not deserve it but I need a miracle.  

Prayers, candles, retweets, a stern mental request, a happy thought... Anything. Help me I'm quickly approaching helpless (and if I'm already there I can have one more day before I have to accept it). 

Friday, October 4, 2013


Stork and Bub are married.

Stork and Bub are wildly compatible people, the only shocking difference is volume level.  He is very introverted, and I am.... Not.

At last years IVF we discovered our eggs & sperm basically have the same dynamic.

I don't really ovulate, but with good drugs my eggs come out ginormous.  Bub's sperm have no problem getting to the egg, but get overwhelmed and decide not to tell the egg it's there in the first place.

So to recap, my eggs come out all sassy, shimmying and jazzhanding their way through our Petrie Dish in a parade of glitter and feathers.  Bub's supermodel sperm gets invited to the party, but upon arrival decides eggs are weird. Decides that eggs are too horrifying to even alert of his arrival, freezes, and then lays still and quiet so the egg won't even know he's there.

Still don't get it?  Okay here's a reenactment of what happened, with the role of my eccentric egg being played by Dave Chappelle as Prince, and the role of sperm being played by cats.

You're welcome.

So here we are, 15 months later, and in 13 hours I'm gonna be sedated and have my eggs retrieved.  

I'm super excited about that part, seeing as how it's the one day where the IVF drugs are going to be FUN.  

Useless IVF (or any fertility treatment involving injections) tip:  DO NOT READ THE HELPFUL INSERT FOR ANY INJECTABLE.

No seriously, don't even glance at it.  If your eye so much as passes over it in a half ass manner, horrible words will pop out.  Just horrible, horrible ne'er to be explained properly words about what the fuck is in that shit to begin with. Two second glance over and this is what it looks like:

Again, you're welcome. And screw you my handwriting is wonderful enjoy the free art.  I'm explaining some very scientific shit left, right and center today.

I shit you not, Bub informed me that the trigger I shot up last night contained something called CHO - as in Chinese Hamster Ovary. You just let that sink in.


So tomorrow is the egg retrieval.  They're going to add the secret spice to make Marc's cats talk to my Prince, hopefully, and then we will know how many fertilized on Sunday.  Considering last time it was 1 out of 10, I'm very nervous about Sunday more so than anything.  

We have to leave here at 5:30 in the morning tomorrow (weeee!) so the plan for tonight is to bulk up on Fajitas (that's protein, right?) and watch "The End".  

By sheer convenient coincidence, this movie does contain one scene which is relevant to the House of Stork climate.  I give you, Jonah Hill's interpretation of any given infertile woman once she starts progesterone suppositories, as I will be doing soon:

I am feeling lucky (I get to do IVF when I need it, after all).  I am feeling unlucky (I need IVF, after all).  I am feeling nervous, I am feeling excited, I am feeling the need for fajitas.

If I have ever made you laugh or think or pause or smirk or you have any warm and fuzzies towards me whatsoever, please think a happy thought for me during the next couple of days.  Pretty pretty please. 

Monday, September 30, 2013

Fat Monster

Hey guys!!!!

Remember how I said I inexplicably had a LOT of energy after the first few days of stims?!?

No shit - like a LOT of energy!  TONS!

Like drive the hour to my RE's office on the one Saturday I didn't need to just to verify an appointment because I'm restless kind of energy!!!!!!

Like, get my husband to take me to breakfast two days in a row and in exchange like the classy brawd that I am, have the "going out of business" style of sex - multiple times - kind of energy!!!!

Did you even know they send COUPONS in the MAIL like, directly to your house?!?  That gives me the buy all the things everywhere kind of energy!!!

Have you even NOTICED the size of hair balls that have attached themselves to my screen door? I bet if I just shimmy up on a table with a swiffer I could TOTALLY de-fur it kind of energy!!!!

What does this SWITCH do?!  How can we have a switch in our own damn house and not know what it does - where-is-our-spirit-of-adventure-we-should-remedy-this-immediately kind of energy!!!

Does ANYONE have a car they need pushed someplace?!  Fairly certain if you're changing continents I can STILL get your car there using only my hands and sheer mental prowess kind of energy!!!!

Seriously, guys, I have tapped into an unlimited amount of inner soul fuel, I can't believe people waste time on blinking!  YOU SHOULD TAKE ADVANTAGE OF THIS!  I am a never ending human crack pipe of constant ener -

Dear Internet Mistresses of Ute,

As I write this, I am in my sixth day of needle captivity. For the first four, I was spry. Confident.  I was beginning to wonder if the hormones were working at all, or if somehow in the last year since our last rendezvous, I had bulked up on so much natural awesome juice and kickass and hair of fuckyeah that my body just refused to bow to the feel bads. 

What was once spritely little energizer bunny is now fat and swollen sea beast.

I am now the Nessie of Los Angeles County, bloated and fat and mysterious popping out only often enough to scare a tourist. The fact that I live 20 minutes inland and have managed to grumpily slither all over solid land without being harpooned makes this all the more impressive.

At this very moment I would equally like to cry, do the entire dance from Bobby Brown's "every little step" video, and eat pizza.  Not good pizza, mind you, but the really shitty oily pizza with the giant nippley pepperonis and grease that you can only get in middle-of-nowhere malls and/or hospital cafeterias. 

I am teetering between moments of mostly unadulterated optimism and happiness, followed by sheer terror/anxiety. Watching me from moment to moment is like watching an alien try to absorb what exactly a clown is or how to feel about it.

I AM A SHE-BEAST SEA-BEAST.  (.... with a propensity for 80s R&B and obese america's truckstop take on Italian Food.)

Please, if I am harpooned, netted, strung up and sold to the Discovery Channel so everyone can stare at my bloated, bloody carcass with horror/wonder on a show titled "WHAT THE FUCK?!?!" someone at least explain to the producers I did it because I wanted a pregnancy test to deviate from it's usual message to me.

Stork the Seacow


Now, I don't mean to scare anyone who hasn't had IVF.  This is number 2 for me.  While it wouldn't make any money as a spa treatment, it aint that bad. I'm just bitching and moaning for the same reason I scream bloody murder if I see a harmless hairball that I briefly mistake for a murderous spider - I'm a creature of theatre, and I like to condense nervous breakdowns to 5 second, gutteral versions.

I may go into further detail about the medications later on in an attempt to be helpful to any newbies to IVF, however for the time being just some observations - some things that I forgot and some things that are just totally fucking different than the last time.

Menapor is partially nuns pee.  Virginal, post-menopausal nuns pee that burns like syphillis going in. IVF last year - it didn't burn me at all, I had you all written off as cray cray.  Thank you to whoever made this drug but I nonetheless must say, Lawdy lawdy, this year I got the piss of a pretty freaking potent nun.  This nun is CRAZY.  CRAZY NUN.  Not as much virginal nun as the nanny from the Omen.

Also, I am NOT a crier.  I repeat:  left to my own devices, I cry about twice a year. Though I have yet to have a good one so far, I have at least once a day fought the urge to just cry some delicious, delicious and totally unnecessary tears.  This morning I was standing in line at the bank, and the thought occurred to me, apropos of nothing, that Eddie from Frasier is probably dead (that's right DEAD.  DEAD DOG) and it took a solid minute of pinching my nose and blinking dramatically to stop myself from weeping.


That is probably a dead dog you guys.  A DEAD DOG.  DRESSED AS SANTA, wishing YOU a MERRY CHRISTMAS.  Is he going to have a good Christmas this year?  Is he going to be gifted a giant bone with a red bow on it? Will someone wrestle him into Santa's lap at a Petco for a photo op?  NO BECAUSE HE'S DEAD AND THAT WOULD ALL BE HORRIBLY CREEPY. How can I know something like that and then be expected to do something normal like go to a bank?!  What am I some sort of Mr. Monopoly Money Monacled Monster?!?

Whether I'm exhausted or full of energy, my mouth is working super duper fast and my mouth works pretty damn fast to begin with.  I must be an utterly confusing human to be around.  Yesterday I said to my husband, and I quote, "You NEVER see a hen sitting on her eggs whilst engaging in hardcore sex.  NEVER.  And there's a reason for that!  Oh there's a reason!"

What does that even mean?!?!

ALSO.  Poop is a thing of the past.  I will miss you, poop.  My recollection from last time was that you decided to leave me closer to egg retrieval but this time you have gone above and beyond.  6 days in and I am Lorraine Warren level full of shit.

And speaking of - in addition to decaf anything, I'm officially declaring pants of any kind bull shit.  Not only will they not fit over my bloat but I would like a healthy breeze round my privates thankyouverymuch. Considering starting a fashion line called Sexy Sea Monsters for women going through fertility treatments. It's hard to cram fins and tentacles into a sensible boot cut jean.


Still feeling optimistic.  And happy.  Okay, in the logical part of my brain I am optimistic and happy - there's no pessimism or misery, there's no poor unfortunate soul as I am incredibly fortunate (and it feels good to be doing something to get pregnant.) It's just that the hamster who likes to talk about hen sex gets control of the wheels, occasionally.

Optimistic.  This could work.  This will work.

Just don't look at me in the meantime I'm hideous.

Friday, September 27, 2013

I Value Fuckery

Ferocious Friday, my little pop tarts.

This morning after 2 hours in traffic, I arrive at the laboratory for blood work.  I sit in one of the 50 empty chairs.

After I sit, rather than choose one of the now 49 available chairs, a surly woman with an inexplicably uncovered cup of pee comes and sits directly next to me. 

I look at her buggily.  She is unmoved. I very seriously contemplate licking her neck very gently as we are clearly involved in a very serious relationship now, or just slowly and breathily whispering in her ear "I'm soo... glad.. we're getting..."

We sit together for an awkward two minutes as I attempt to tweet about this in a way that she can't see. We're practically dry humping. I am halfway to pregnant.

She then, gesturing with the pee cup so that I can intimately hear the gentle sloshing, asks me if I had to get a number.  Before I could decide how to answer, a nurse calls her in.  Her name is Mrs. Poonanny.

I can't even discuss it.

Translation: we are now day 3 into IVF #2, the super sci fi edition.  I have made two requests with the universe, one for this to work (obvi) so I'm not out of options, and two, to keep me giggling as long as humanly possible.  Now it's just a matter of egg farming (coocoocachoo) and eating all the things everywhere until I am a jiggly pile of food made flesh.
(Yesterday the BFF and I went on a distraction mission to Target. 4 hours of artful photos ensued.)

(Don't even ask me about what happened with bacon this week. Everyone knows bacon goes good with making eggs.)

As it is nearly impossible to keep everyone's ute straight, a brief synopsis to spare you from guessing and/or looking up:

Bub (the husband - not the above banana) and I have been trying since 2009.  I got PCOS.  I don't ovulate without Clomid. We got problems. 99 problems and a baby aint one.

We get to IVF last year.  I respond well.  Inexplicably, even with ICSI only one out of twelve fertilized (would normally be 70-80%). One gets transferred.  Mother effing chemical pregnancy.

Bub's sperm looked awesome - so did my eggs.  Dr. Kickass had his sperm tested for DNA fragmentation - he was fine.  Dr. Kickass got him enrolled in a study to see if he was missing a protein that tells my eggs his sperm is there in the first place -ding ding ding!  So this time, we're trying to get me to make some more eggs (coocoocachoo, I say!!) and then bypass Bub's deficiency by adding the protein to our dishes.  Weeee!

So same shit, basically, as the usual IVF - injecting me with craziness, egg retrieval, etc. - they're just trying a secret spice this time when everybody finally gets together to cook in the pot.  We're adding nutmeg, if you will.

(My spread).

I am medicated.  I have been injected with nuns pee and the like (true story - look it up). The irony of virginal nuns pee burning like a raging case of the ole syphillis going in is not lost on me.

I am zippy.  Inexplicably, 'has she had the blue Heisenberg shit?' zippy.  Nurse Kickass says this should wear off soon and I should start to feel like bloated walrus carcass any minute now.

There is no reason for this zippiness. Let's review - I have had a flu shot, hormones, and though I have quit my sleeping medication I have also quit caffeine.  And right now I could push a fucking car.

Apart from that, I have exactly two responses left to my actual husband: either I want to kill him or fuck him. I can't imagine what other purposes he serves as he is either infuriatingly sexy or just infuriating.  So clearly, the hormones are indeed kicking in.  (And speaking of fucking - today is my last day to do that safely.  I am none too thrilled with this news as I am practically a 14 year old boy and I currently have the pimples to prove it).

The BFF (banana-for-fuckssake) is coming over and we are going to walk to Starbucks to get me some bullshit decaf coffee.

(For the record, folks, now that I'm on the good girls list I can officially say decaf, non-smoking, non-anything is bull shit and you know it.  And so help me if you wave a bunch of kale in my face and tell me it solves everything I will wrestle you into a pork-costume and whisper moistly on your neck).

Mostly I'm kind of euphoric, though.

So please, Universe, pretty please, keep me as positive and giggly and enjoying my fuckery/shenanigans as much as humanly possible while I can.

Please, please fellow infertile.. I don't expect you to feel 100% thrilled or hopeful for me, I appreciate whatever you can muster.. But to nominate myself for a little bit of your positivity: this is my last shot.  I am not the girl that gets pregnant on round one of Clomid, I am not the couple that believes they are in the throws of despair after a few months.  I'm the girl that gets on the train, stays on for years, drives well past screwed, passes the time with jokes.  I am the rare occasion, the horror story, that people could genuinely pull out and say "well if she got pregnant, then there's hope".  Let me be hope.

Please, please, Universe, Gawd, Energy, Universal Force, Frida Kahlo and Bill Murray's testes.. It's my time. 

I've had enough.  I've done a pretty good job at staying silly and tapdancing, and 4 years later I'm still Ms. Bojangles over here.  

It's not my time because I deserve it more or less than anyone else.. it's just my time.  That's all. It just is. Time for a new lesson.

And if you nominate me to Mommy, I will reign benevolently and humorously.  I will be sensitive to others, love my kid beyond anyone's wildest expectations and do the absolute best I can - and possibly most importantly, be full of gratitude for every shitty and/or wonderful motherhood experience.

Please universe, don't punish me for a rare show of optimism.

Please, please, please, please.