Kris Kringle and Tim Riggins are Helping Me Make a Baby!

When my husband comes home from work and there is a giant cardboard box on the front-porch, he usually assumes that I had too many glasses of white wine and spent $200 at J. Crew again.  This is followed by a lecture from him about how we need to watch our spending, to which I explain "I needed four additional cardigan sweaters in various pastel colors (and one more in navy blue because it goes with everything), new black cafe capri pants, and a florescent necklace/bracelet combo that brings out my summer tan. Plus, I got it on clearance and saved $79!"  If he remains unconvinced, I always like to add in "Honey, it's for work. I can't look sloppy, and the alums from school usually donate extra money if I am wearing a lavender cardigan!"  Eventually he will give in, stop arguing with me, and mumble begrudgingly to himself as he goes upstairs to change while I sit on the sofa and celebrate my victory.

A giant cardboard box arrived today, but this one is filled with something much more delightful (and way more expensive) than over-priced preppy women's wear.  Take a look inside, because evidently Santa Claus came early for this Jewish 29 year-old this year! What did he bring me, you ask?  Well take a peak, because this shit is on every child's wish-list:

(to be fair, this is not a picture of my actual medications--half of my meds are currently at the doc's office, and I pick them up this weekend!  For the sake of "shock value" I stole this one off of Google Images. Thank you to whomever snapped this photo.)

Needles, and creepy drugs, and estrogen patches and gauze pads, and a special container bio hazard container to throw them all away when I am done! Thank you, Kris Kringle...it's just what I asked for! No more IUIs for this chick, I am pulling out the big guns (and big needles) and moving on to IVF. My first appointment is this Sunday, and if all goes as planned I will start the injections on Sunday night.

I have mapped out how the first evening is going to go. I will lay down gracefully on the bed and ice my stomach while listening to soothing tunes and thinking about Tim Riggins. My husband will then swiftly inject me with his doctor-y precision, and I will fail to notice any pain or discomfort. Then I will emerge from the bedroom, and take a lovely stroll to the freezer, where I will return my ice-pack and exchange it for a large portion of Ben and Jerry's ice-cream. Whose the bitch now, infertility? I'm coming for you!

           

Facebook check-in: Still Totally Barren, Thanks for Stopping By!

I stayed away from Facebook for 5 months after I lost the baby. Recently I decided that enough time has passed, and that I was emotionally strong enough to resume the online stalking and silent judging of people I haven't spoken to since middle school.  Well perhaps I should have thought more critically about restarting my Facebook habit, because evidently, everyone I have ever met is pregnant. So are all of their friends.  Are any of you ladies out there looking for a quick and easy way to conceive?  Friend me on Facebook.  It's like magic.

Now don't get me wrong.  I am not entirely disillusioned; I get it. I am almost thirty years old, which is prime "we're expecting!" time.  For most people, you get married (this step is optional, especially if you are a reality television star) wait a few months to settle in to domestic bliss, have some sex without a condom, and make a baby.  Of course all the happy expectant folks out there want to share their joy and post incessantly about their pregnancies.  That's essentially what Facebook is for if you are married and ready to start a family.  If I could, I would do it to.  I assure you all...I love looking at your daily bump pics, every sonogram photo, the tiny little booties you made with multi-colored yarn, the baby names you are considering, and how bloated you feel.  Let me update all of you on how things are going with me:

• "Day 5 of my fertility drug regimen! Night sweats, insane and blinding rage, and painfully engorged ovaries!  Now who wants to have sex with me?"
• "Daily cervical mucus check-in! For more details, check out my chart on fertility friend!"
• "Lying on table with dildo cam inside of my hoo-ha. Uterine lining looking strong this month at 10.6 [insert tasteful photo of internal ultrasound here.]"
• "Blood pregnancy test is negative. What's for dinner? A 6-pack of Dale's Pale Ale. Dessert? A bucket of my tears."
• "Drinking for 2 at the friendly neighborhood bar! Visibly barren for 6 months and counting :) "

Everyone told me that once I got pregnant the first time (no easy feat) getting pregnant again would be a walk in the park.  I heard countless tales from women who had tried for a year, taken Clomid to conceive, delivered their baby and then magically they fell pregnant with their second/third/fourth/fifteenth child after only one month of trying.  After I lost the little one, I told myself that I would be one of those magic women.  It would only take a month or two, and then I could restart my pregnancy journey.  I knew all the tricks, I had my fertility drugs ready to go, and I was ready to give this baby thing another try.  Well it looks like I missed the fertile ferry, because I am still waiting at the dock and it seems the ship has already sailed.

Next month I am supposed to start IVF.  In 24 days (not that I am obsessively counting) I will have graduated to the place where I get to stick needles filled with viscous medication into my stomach and ass-cheeks.  How's that for a Facebook photo-op?  Who wants to be the first one to "like" my bruised ass?

It's Cinco de Mayo...Who Peed in my Margarita?

Today was my due date.  I have spent the past four and a half months trying to ignore how many weeks pregnant I was "supposed" to be, and now I've finally reached the end.  When my husband and I found out we were expecting on Cinco de Mayo, we laughed and joked about serving margaritas in the delivery room. We had announced the pregnancy at 12 weeks after our Level 1 ultrasound came back "perfect" with a photo of the two of us riding a fake burro and wearing giant somberos and ponchos.  We had taken the photo several years before when we were on vacation in Mexico, and had just spent the afternoon downing rum punch and stumbling around the streets in an attempt to make it back to our cruise ship.  Ahhhh, the good old days.

I don't really feel much like celebrating today, but I could definitely use a very strong margarita (or twelve.) The past 9 months have been the best and worst of my life.  The day I found out I was pregnant, the first time I heard my baby's heartbeat, feeling the little guy move and hiccup were all amazing and indescribable. I was so happy that I literally woke up smiling every single day, even when I had been up until 3am the night before, gnawing on chalky Tums and grimacing through extreme heartburn.  The day that my husband and I went in for our Level 2 Ultrasound and found out that our baby was suffering from a lethal skeletal dysplasia, and the 48 hours of procedures and pain that followed the diagnosis were my rock bottom. 20 weeks have passed since then, and I am still waiting to wake up in the morning with a smile.

I wanted SO badly to be pregnant by my due date; a small victory that would help to dissipate the sadness I feel. After getting the "go ahead", we tried Clomid for one cycle, and then Clomid + IUI last month.  Of course neither worked, and all I got were a wastebasket full of negative pregnancy tests and a bunch of empty wine bottles.  Currently we are trying our third round of Clomid (they only let you do 6 rounds total before you move onto IVF.)  I've been so worried about our 3/4 odds that I think I forgot just how difficult it is for me to conceive in the first place.  My husband keeps telling me to focus on the big picture, that it won't matter ten years from now which month we ended up conceiving our healthy little one(s).  I know that he is right, but every month that passes is another month that I don't have the baby I was supposed to bring home today.

Back in the Stirrups Again

So it's been awhile since I have posted anything to this blog, but this morning someone out there in cyberspace (and no, it was not my mother) contacted me to say that she was in the middle of reading my entries.  In her message to me, she told me that my blog was a blessing to her, as she was in the midst of her own tough pregnancy prognosis and feeling very alone. I assumed that my "page view count" was inflated due to the fact that I'm constantly clicking on it and waiting for someone to spam me with pop-ups directing me "how to date hot, xxx, local singles in your area"...but evidently my ramblings have resonated with someone. I started writing this blog so that I didn't feel isolated in my grief and fear, and I am so glad that putting my words and stories out there has helped someone else.  It is estimated that about 6 million women in the United States deal with infertility, and that 1/33 babies are born with some type of birth defect.  This blog is for each one of you.

Moving away from the sentimental and on to the speculum...let's talk about my vagina.  (How's that for a transition? Subtlety has always been one of my strongest qualities.) Having recently come to terms with the fact that the $16,000 we plunked down has gotten us absolutely nowhere in the genetic testing realm, my husband and I have decided to try and conceive again...the old fashioned way! Of course, in my case, old fashioned includes: a bunch of fertility drugs, freakishly unpredictable rage, a dildo-cam transvaginal ultrasounds, sex scheduled down to the hour, and a teeny catheter filled with the highest quality semen that my dear husband can produce with 30 minutes notice. Cue the romantic music and soft-core porn lighting--it's time to make a baby!

9 days ago, I had my second IUI.  The first one ended up getting me preggo, so I have to admit that I have high hopes for this one.  I know there is only about a 20% chance of it working, but shitty odds are kind of my specialty, so I'm keeping my head up.  I went in to the procedure with the intent of being super calm and zen-like about the whole thing, even bringing in a playlist made of amazing songs by Explosions in the Sky (they did a ton of the music for THE BEST SHOW EVER IN LIFE, Friday Night Lights.  Also any band with "explosions" in their name seemed appropriate since I was being shot full of sperm.)

The procedure was super easy and only took like 3 minutes. My doctor kept apologizing profusely for any cramping or pain I was experiencing, but after the horrors of a laminaria insertion while 21 weeks pregnant, I could get a flexible catheter threaded up my cervix hole all day, every day. #YOLO (just kidding, I don't even really know what that means, or why I typed it, but I am feeling a little punchy.)  After she was done, I lay on the table with my hips up and listened to my calming songs.  Then I got dressed, picked up a giant Dunkin Donuts iced coffee, and went home.  I took a pregnancy test twenty minutes later.

Just kidding.  But I really want to take one now.

Fertility Drugs Make You Mean.

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.