May the Odds be (N)ever in Your Favor

It's been a while since I've posted anything. I had nothing new to say since we had been ordered by our fertility doctor to hold off on trying to conceive.  Waiting was absolute torture for me, and I felt like I was just wasting valuable time (and eggs!)  My husband kept reminding me that one month is not going to make any difference in the grand scheme of things, but the crazy voice in the back of my head kept telling me that this might very well be the month I was supposed to get pregnant, and that this baby would be healthy! Luckily we managed to adhere to the doctor's orders and now I am waiting for my next cycle to start.

Whenever I wanted to poke holes in the condoms or trick my husband into having sex with me while he was intoxicated, I would remind myself that soon we would have our genetic tests back! In a matter of weeks we would know for sure if IVF PGD was an option for us, and we could do everything in our power to ensure our next baby was healthy.  We were told that with the micro-array and specific panel, there was a 70% chance that our mutation would be found.  70% sounded good to me and I told myself every night that our luck would finally change.  Why wouldn't we be in that group?  It was the most likely scenario, and the universe totally owed us a favor.

Well, last week we got our genetic testing results back.  They sucked.  

We are in the 30% category...otherwise known as the "sucks to be you, hope you like 25% odds of having a baby that is not compatible with life" category. Seriously? How bad can our luck be? 

It is estimated that around 1/50,000 people has the EVC mutation, so the fact that I have it is very rare.  I have no family history of the disease and show absolutely no symptoms that would lead anyone to believe I am a carrier.  In fact, the condition is seen predominately in the Amish community, and although I did enjoy the show "Breaking Amish" on TLC, I have no real discernible ties to the community.  In fact, I would probably be the worst Amish person ever.  Now add in the fact that both my husband and I have the mutation and you are left with a possibility that is almost statistically impossible (1 out of 2,500,000,000.)

Two billion five hundred million.  I don't even know how to wrap my mind around those odds. 

Need some perspective on what those odds mean?  Because I know I do!  The following things are all more likely to occur (in order from most to least)

• Odds that you’ll live to 100: 1 in 50
• Odds of finding a four-leaf clover on the first try: 1 in 10,000
• Odds of having quadruplets: 1 in 700,000
• Odds of dying from parts falling off an airplane: 1 in 10 million
• Odds that you will die from a falling coconut: 1 in 250 million
• Odds that you will die from a shark attack: 1 in 300 million  (how is this less likely than dying from a falling coconut!? Those things must be super unpredictable!)

Reviewing this list makes me wonder which will happen first.  Will I die tragically from a rogue falling coconut, or will I finally get pregnant and have a healthy baby?

Black Magic Ultrasounds

Lucky for our friendly fertility doctor, we failed at getting pregnant last cycle despite taking Clomid and timing things just right. The doc made it very clear that he thought we should be abstaining until we get our test results back, and to drive his point home I secretly think he put a voodoo spell on me! This is because my day 21 progesterone level came back super high (22.9, indicating a very strong ovulation) and also because I sense that he has an evil residing in his heart that is usually associated with black magic!  Dark arts aside and truth be told, I knew immediately that I wasn't pregnant. Things didn't feel the same way that they did back in August the cycle we conceived.

My mother used to tell me "I knew the minute I was pregnant with each one of you girls".  I assumed that she knew this because she and my father only had sex 3 times EVER.  The first time created me and the other two, my sisters. Also, for the record, they had sex in total darkness and there was a very thick sheet between them.  I hate to admit this [cringe] but I guess if I am being realistic, they probably had sex 4 times. I'm guessing the initial encounter occurred on their wedding night...you know, to make things official. According to all the books out there, feeling pregnant before week 6 when the nausea takes over your life and you fall into a sleep-coma every day at 2pm is impossible, because your hormones have not built up enough to take effect.  Those stupid books lie, because just like my mom knew immediately that she was knocked up, I knew that I wasn't.

Two weeks have passed since then, and I have gone in for a billion blood tests and some pretty fantastical procedures to get me ready for possible IVF PGD.  Just around a year ago, the first time I ever had an internal ultrasound done, I felt super violated and creeped out. When I booked the appointment nobody ever
had the decency to tell me that the ultrasound tech basically invades your lady-parts with a camera dildo (not the fun kind) and jabs it around while you lie there and stare at the ceiling. Anyone else having a flashback to losing their virginity? Well it turns out that those ultrasounds are actually a lovely walk in the proverbial park compared to the IVF prerequisite testing.

Hey ladies, you know what is super fun? Getting saline and dye injected through a catheter up your cervix, into your uterus, and through your fallopian tubes! Don't believe me? Try it! It's the perfect combination of comfort, relaxation, and intimacy with your physician and his trusty nurse practitioner! Thankfully for me, I was two Vicodin deep and, like the mature and professional woman I am, giggled through most it while making tasteful jokes about vaginal infiltration.

I did find out that (at least for now) my ovarian cysts are in hibernation and are nowhere to be seen. I am also happy to report that I am totally and completely done with the pre-IVF checklist.  The only thing I am waiting on, is to hear back from the genetics laboratory about whether or not they were able to locate our mutation.  If not, it seems I went through all these tests for the pure pleasure of the camera dildo.

Almost Famous?

When I was in middle school, I used to want to be a famous actress. My best friend and I dreamed about going to UCLA together where we would both major in theater, have amazingly handsome boyfriends, be co-presidents of our sorority, and have the perfect year-round tans.  After graduation, my friend was planning on moving to New York City, where she would promptly land a lead role on Broadway and pick up a couple of Tony Awards before she hit 30. I knew that I was a great actress, but due to my grating singing voice and the complete inability to master complex dance choreography, I figured that I would just stick around Los Angeles and audition for CW dramas until I landed on the next "Dawson's Creek."  The prospect of making out with Joshua Jackson fueled me alongside my desire for fame.

Fast forward 15 years, and I still have not appeared on any CW shows, not even as an extra (though I do watch many of them regularly despite my advanced age.)  I was active in theater throughout high-school and college, but quickly realized that I would never be a famous actress. To be fair, the odds were never in my favor; my parents are not Hollywood royalty, I have super small boobs and an ample bottom, and despite what my first semester of college suggests, I will not sleep with strangers to get ahead in life.  Although things turned out a little bit different than what the middle-school version of me had imagined (I live in Connecticut for god's sake) I sometimes do feel like I am a professional actress, especially lately.

Over the past couple of months, I have had countless people tell me how brave I am.  They say things to me like "I just cannot believe you well you are doing!" and "You handle this with such grace."  When I take a step back and look at my life, I have to admit that it looks pretty damn good.  I've gotten a great promotion at work, I'm going back to the gym again (okay, I've been twice, but it still counts!), I go out with friends and drink beers and smile and laugh,  I have Sunday dinners with my family.  My life seems totally normal because I act like it is.  Most days, I am totally faking it...so I guess I might just be a professional actress after all.

I am supposed to be 32 weeks pregnant and complaining about how often I have to pee, and how nothing fits me anymore.  I am supposed to be having my baby shower this month and opening adorable onesies and diaper genies and stuffed animals to decorate the farm-animal themed nursery.  I am supposed to be excited for one of my friends who is very newly pregnant after struggling to conceive for a long time.  I am supposed to someone completely different; I am supposed to be happy, but I'm not.

Honestly, I feel like a zombie at work and have to close my door for 20 minutes every afternoon so that I can cry.  I make thousands of to-do lists because my mind is too fuzzy to remember everything that I am supposed to get done, even when the only thing I've assigned myself is "send back the Netflix".  I only want to eat pizza.  I can't sleep because I have dreams about holding a baby that doesn't exist anymore.  When I find out that my friends are pregnant, I am filled with anger and jealousy and it makes me feel sick.  I am starting to worry that if I tell people how I really feel they are not going to want to hang out with me anymore because they have to handle me with "kid gloves" (unfortunate term!) Even I am sick and tired of hearing about how miserable I am.

On top of it all, my husband and I have been told that we need to take a break trying to conceive until our test results come back.  We still have weeks to go, and every day that we have to wait makes me feel worse. I hate just sitting around, not doing anything to get back what we lost. Lucky for me, I am super great at acting like everything is okay.