Tender Meat

I know I've been keeping you all in suspense. It's officially "after the first of the year". Has she done it? Is she pregnant?! WHAT IS HAPPENING?!!!!?

Did you not listen to me after the last post?! I can't tell you that. I have to keep a tight-lip about this very sensitive, last portion, MOST important part of the entire IVF process. I can't jinx it! I know it's frustrating because this has literally been an ongoing drama for the past 3 1/2 years not just for me, but for you too. I'm just as anxious to know the end result of this season's show as much as you are. 

When I first started writing, it was strictly for selfish reasons. It was therapy for me. It also was an outlet for me to let people know details of my situations so that they wouldn't have to awkwardly ask me what was going on and I wouldn't have to awkwardly respond. (Here's the link to my very first blog post). As I've grown through this ordeal, it's more about YOU than me. People, especially women, should NOT be afraid to talk about infertility, no matter what form it comes in. It shouldn't be an awkward topic. People need to UNDERSTAND infertility and learn about their options for treating it rather than whispering about it behind backs of others' just because you don't want to seem insensitive. 

I can't believe I just lumped myself with the word, "INFERTILITY". I was so offended when I first got referred to the Fertility Institute because if there is one thing we've clearly learned from my female bits is that, bitches, I'm pretty fertile! When I first started researching 'recurrent miscarriages' and kept seeing 'infertility' within the same paragraph, it was a hard pill to swallow. As time has gone by, I've broadened my understanding in that 'infertility' covers any couple who is, for whatever reason, not able to conceive on their own. (Here is my post about when my mystery was finally solved. Here is the first post about IVF, for I know some of you are new followers and don't want to scroll back that far!) 

I'm at the point where I'm PROUD to have that label attached to my name. Y'all, going through IVF is not for the weak. I (and Mike, actually) read so many forums online about different issues, symptoms, and topics from other couples going through the same thing and you wouldn't believe how whiny and dramatic some people are about their experience. If I get whiny and dramatic, then you have my written permission to slap me. (Okay, let's just extend that invitation only if I get whiny. Me and dramatic are too close of friends to let that be a determining slap-factor). 

You can't be a wuss and you can't be a pessimist if you are finding it hard to conceive. There's no time. Do what the DOCTORS tell you, and even though I consider myself one, you can't let me tell you what to do either. Do what they say, because they know best, and just suck. it. up. If you haven't been to a doctor yet, then GO. There's nothing wrong with asking questions! So what if your first, or second, or even third attempts don't work. Monica from Friends (the actress, not the character, although ironically, Monica and Chandler had infertility issues...) had eight miscarriages and was NEVER diagnosed with any problem. She was like, 50, when she had her kid. But she had it. On. Her. OWN. There is time and there are doctors and there are procedures for basically every problem out there. Hang in there. Don't be a wimp. 

I still won't tell you when I'm having the transfer (or have I already done it?!!) and I probably will follow the legendary 3-month wait to announce if I DO end up pregnant, but I can tell you what is going on before that. Here is the daily cocktail before a FET (frozen embryo transfer):

*Regular prenatal vitamin

*Folic acid supplement

*Baby aspirin 

*Estradiol (estrogen, 3 times a day)

*Antibiotic (twice a day)

*mild steroid (twice a day)

*Progesterone in oil injection, in the rear, EVERY SINGLE NIGHT. (This will be done even AFTER a confirmed pregnancy to continue to support the lining of the uterus.)

Basically, I'm the healthiest person on the planet. 

I posted about the shots I was taking before the egg retrieval. And I spoke too soon. I wasn't prepared for the insanity that is the nightly shot I'm doing now. Because the medicine is in oil, it's a thicker needle and it takes longer to inject. We have to alternate cheeks each night and I pretty much have a heating pad glued to my backside 24/7. My rear is black and blue and green and yellow. I'd post a pic but I just don't think y'all are ready for all that. Kim Kardashian broke the internet because people wanted to see her butt. I'm pretty sure I'd break the internet because people would be trying to escape the sight. Butt seriously though, (bahahahahaha!), we are troopers and are moving right along, scary needles and all. Medicines and shots and raging hormones will be worth it if it gets us what we want. I'll leave you with a pic (not a rear-view) that clearly shows how badass we infertiles are! 

Ice Age

Because I’m at that weird adult stage in life, I've come to realize that the holidays can be categorized into two sections. Either, ‘You love Christmas because you are a child’ or ‘You love Christmas because you have a child.’ Okay, so I forgot one category. The, ‘You love Christmas because you married a child trapped in a thirty-something’s body.’ Which is clearly the category I should be placed in with all the Batman, Yankees, Derek Jeter, and Star Wars stuff I’ve cyber-shopped for the past few weeks.

Each year I spend growing more distant from my teenage self, I find it harder and harder to get into the Christmas spirit. When I've shared that idea with others, especially older people, I’m told it’s because I’m at the age where having my own children will start to bring the magic back into the season. That’s all well and good, but what about the Christmas spirit of a mother whose eleven children are currently frozen? 

*Insert awkward pause**

Oh yes. I said eleven. The last time you got an update from me, I just had my eggs retrieved. All twenty-seven of them! That number trickled down to twenty-one, after Willy-Wonka-weeding-out the “bad eggs” from the “good eggs”. They were mixed with Mike’s cleanest, top-notch sperm and we were able to get sixteen embryos. At the time to freeze, eleven had reached the appropriate maturity level, so eleven embryos basically got “Hans Solo-ed”. (If you aren't exposed to closet sci-fi geeks on the reg, as I am, then YouTube “Hans Solo Gets Frozen” for a mental picture.)

The embryo transfer will take place after the first of the year. It’s all about the timing…getting my cycle back on track after insane hormone fluctuations…getting doctors back on track after being on Christmas vacation mode. Etc. Etc. I've been asked a hundred times how I’m going to handle this portion of the process with my blog. If I give you a date, you’ll know two weeks later that I’ll  know whether it worked or not. This isn’t a normal pregnancy announcement…most people don’t say, “OKAY! Well, we are going to go fertilize my eggs tonight! Check back in two weeks for a positive test!”

As much as I want to share those intimate details with you all, I know what it’s like to jinx myself when it comes to announcing pregnancy prematurely. In my case, you all will know when it worked when I’m waddling down the street and can no longer see what color socks I have on.

There have been lots of difficult decisions to be made since starting IVF. The first one being, “Are we going to do this?!” (The answer was always, “DUH. YES!”) The second one being, “Can we afford to do this?” (The answer being “@!@* no!!-- but what middle-class working person in America do you know that isn’t poor right now anyway? Might as well be poor a little while longer.)

This was followed up with the decision of what to do with any remaining frozen embryos-have them destroyed or donate them? (The surprisingly easy answer: donate. There are couples out there who have physical problems way worse than no Fallopian tubes. Woman who can’t make eggs, men who can’t produce sperm, among other issues. If I can provide someone the same opportunity that science has provided me, then so be it.)

The next big decision will be “How many embryos do we transfer?” This has weighed heavily on our minds since IVF became a possibility. Sadly, the general public associates “IVF” simultaneously with “TWINS”. I associate “IVF” with “THE OPTION FOR A COUPLE TO HAVE A CHILD”. All cases are different because all women’s bodies are different. The number of embryos to transfer is based on many different factors. Some women who do this are older, therefore they put more in to give them a higher shot at achieving pregnancy since this may be their one and only pregnancy. Some women have two, three, and four put in because the doctor may think their uterus lining isn't strong enough to support all of them, so while they may lose two or three embryos once implanted, at least they’ll end up with one or two live births.

In my case, I’m young. If I wanted, I could put in one the first time and see what I got. If it doesn't work, the next cycle I could put in one or two, and so on and so on. Here’s the thing: Just because I’m young doesn't mean I want to go through this repeatedly, unsuccessfully. I think we can all say for certain, I’VE BEEN THROUGH THIS, FOUR TIMES, UNSUCCESSFULLY. I basically have the Oscar for “Pregnancy: UNSUCCESSFULLY”.

I’ve always wanted a large family because I come from a large family. I want my children to experience that. I always said I wanted three children. Then I started dealing with…all this…and my tune has changed. I just want one. ONE. I get frustrated with parents who are struggling with conceiving a second and third child because I’m over here all like, “JUST GIVE ME ONNNNNEEEEEEEE KIDDDD”. I feel like they aren't appreciating what they already have. 

While I love my husband so very much and he has been through all this with me since Day One, I’m the one who has put my body through torture. Plus, there’s the whole “period” bullshit. If I had to make a decision right now, I’d say, transfer two. If I get two, great! Two for the price of one. If I get one, THANK GOD. Get me to a healthy delivery and then TAKE. THIS. ENTIRE. FEMALE. REPRODUCTIVE. SYSTEM. OUTOFMYBODY!

Bottom line, we’re going to do what the doctor suggests that we do. In a nutshell, we have six times to try the transfer using my litter of embryos. You’ll know what our decision is when I’m at the hospital on Delivery Day standing in the parking lot using my Oprah voice, hollering, “And YOU get a baby, and YOU get a baby…”

So I’m going to sail through this holiday season with no thoughts of babies. There’s no need to worry about things I have no control over. It’s taken an extremely long time to reach this point where I’m comfortable enough to admit it’s no longer in my hands. (No really, my babies aren’t in my hands, they aren’t even in my body. They are temporarily in a frosty, Winter Wonderland.) I’m going to enjoy my awkward lack-of-Christmas spirit, for the New Year brings so many possibilities for next Christmas. Until then, the saga continues in "Mike and Kristin's EGGcellent Adventure". We have much thawing to do!! 

Scrambled Eggs

Today was egg retrieval day! I can't believe it. We started our first "round" of IVF on October 10th and it has been a serious piece of cake. I have a bad habit of reading similar women's stories in the "blogosphere" and I was NOT looking forward to the shots, restrictions, and most especially, developing and taking out my eggs. Lesson learned: some women are major drama queens and take things to a whole other level than what they need to be taken to. It's time I take them down a notch!

 

Let me give you a little background info. The evening before I started my fertility drugs, we met with the doctor and I had a crash course on the do's and don'ts of this process. After two weeks of birth control, I was told, 1. No smoking. 2. No alcohol. 3. No exercise. 4. No caffeine (or very limited) and 5. No ibuprofen. Tylenol only. Umm, not sure about how your uterus feels during your period, but mine is like tiny T-Rex dinosaurs eating away at the flesh. If I'm told to take Tylenol, I might as well eat a handful of Sweet Tarts. They'd probably give me more relief.  

 

So basically, I told him to just go ahead and kill me then.

 

Surprisingly, considering my profession, the no alcohol and no smoking wasn't a big deal. However, I need the last 3 to survive on a daily basis. Ok, let's be real, I just need the last 2 to survive. A sweet tea cocktail mixed with a handful of Motrin are at the tip-top of my "Oprah's Kristin's Favorite Things" list.

 

Like all my complaints about this process, I filed my whining into File 13 and put on my big girl panties.

 

I took 2 shots nightly and three daily vitamins, one of Follistim and one of Menopur (to stimulate egg production) for a few days and then Ganirellix towards the end to basically stop the signal from my brain to my ovaries telling them to "hold up" on the natural egg-releasing. I had to make the drive to Richmond every other day for about ten days for ultrasounds and bloodwork. The day before yesterday, I had sixteen follicles and my hormones were through the roof. We knew we I'd done a great job making the eggs before we even went in. Finally, I got something RIGHT!

 

We met with my doctor and he delivered some somewhat (at the time) disappointing news. With a normal "fresh" IVF cycle, they would take my eggs today, mix with Mike's "specimen" and start the fertilization process. In 3-5 days, the developed embryos would be placed back in my uterus and it'd be a waiting game to see if I became pregnant.

 

Because it's ME, I don't recognize the words "normal" and "regular" in my vocabulary. I have to do things differently.

 

They were able to get 27 (TWENTY-FREAKING-SEVEN!) eggs today. 20 of them are of really good quality, so that's what they will mix. (By the way, the pain is nothing like what I read. I took a nap this afternoon and woke up feeling like somebody punched me in the stomach. Just soreness, not cramping.) While I am THE Rockstar of Egg-Production, (Self-titled. I'm feeling pretty cocky after today ;) it's sort of put a damper on completing the "fresh" cycle. Here's why:

 

1. First of all, did y'all ever see the movie, Grease 2? Grease is arguably one of my top 5 favorite movies and even thought the sequel was a slap in the face to the first, they had some bangin' songs emerge from the film. Not only do the characters look like FORTY year old high schoolers, they randomly burst into song in the middle of wherever they please, and they do it horribly. Anyway, one of my favorite songs from that movie is the science class scene with they belt out, "RE-PRO-DUC-TION". I'm pretty high right now because I just took an ENTIRE pain pill. When I wrote the words, "egg-production" above, I burst out to the empty room "EGG-PRO-DUC-TION", then followed it up by whispering, "egg pro-duc-tion". Just wanted to share that. And now you have that song in your head. You're welcome.

 

1 (and a half). My hormone levels are super high. Great for producing eggs, not so great for keeping developing embryos where they need to be.

 

2. My uterus lining could be thicker. The embryos would have a hard time sticking to the lining with it the way it is right now.

 

3. Women who respond greatly to ovarian stimulation often have a better success with FROZEN embyos than fresh.

 

4. Women who are petite and have many eggs removed respond better to frozen, not fresh cycles. (Doc called me petite and I basically tuned out everything he said after that because I was basically falling in love with him after he called me "small". There were literally birds, butterflies, and rainbows circling his head in my eyes after he said this. And I'm pretty sure there was Celine Dion singing in the background of my imaginary rom-com playing out in my brain starring my fertility doctor)

 

So what does this mean?

 

It means that today my eggs and Mike's sperm were mixed together (as I fondly refer to it as, scrambled, and will *hopefully* fertilize over the next few days.) I'm having a hard time because I feel like we just left them behind at the office this morning and I wanted to stay and watch the little fellas work their magic.

 

On (probably) Tuesday, the 20 (if they make it) fertilized embryos will be frozen.

 

After I go through my next period cycle, we will do the FROZEN transfer instead of the fresh. We are looking at that happening over the next few weeks. While I was a little frustrated about this, I'm so grateful I have an extremely knowledgeable physician who immediately recognized this potential frozen transfer happening. We've already lost so much, it would have been devastating to have gone through all this and had it not work due to things that could have been prevented just by waiting a little bit. 

 

We are waiting a little longer and I'm going to keep myself in check until the transfer happens. I will NOT take for granted how easy this entire thing has been for me, because there are so many women out there going through IVF who don't make ANY eggs, or don't ovulate when they should, etc. etc. If I have to wait a few more weeks with my 20 eggs, then that's just exactly what I'm going to do. Meanwhile, Santa is busting his rear preparing for Christmas...I'm putting a resume into the Easter Bunny.

SHOT Through the Heart

Or more specifically, shot through the lower belly vicinity, on BOTH sides, multiple times, everyday.

I'd just like to let you know I've been taking my injections (to stimulate egg production) like. a. CHAMMMMMMP. Last week's appointment went extremely well. We are on target as far as the cycle goes. I started my shots over the weekend. We have one more day of these two drugs before I go back for my second ultrasound this Wednesday. I did have a major melt-down freak-out over the all the medicines I received Friday afternoon, but I called the doctor and he talked me down from the ledge. We are looking at taking the eggs early next week, fingers crossed. 

I'm keeping it short and sweet tonight because I'm riding the high from Mike and I being the ultimate tag-team at mixing insanely expensive fertility drugs and injecting them into my belly. If this whole process doesn't work, I might get depressed and eat myself into a sugar coma. At least I know I'd make a badass diabetic.

I'm sharing our "Let's Make a Baby" themed Meth Lab photo below to give you an idea of the stress I've been feeling the last few days.  

**Disclaimer: After posting this I googled, "meth lab" because let's be honest, the closest I've ever come to one is binge watching Breaking Bad. Not sure what I had in mind when I pictured a meth lab, but I'm disappointed in myself as a science teacher that I wasn't even close. It still sounds super cool though, so I'm not changing my comparison.

Queen V

I can not begin to tell you about the power of conversation regarding something you're passionate about and how it can completely make your mood do a complete 180. Wait, yes I can. Pretty sure telling you stuff is the sole purpose of this blog in the first place.

 

I've been an utter, no nonsense, total Debbie Downer the last three weeks. Today is Day Twelve of my first cycle of IVF. DAY TWELVE!!! Technically, this is IVF Cycle 1.5, considering the first round was cancelled due to my doctors' impending Hawaiian vacation.
 

Last month, I was literally counting down the hours to when my period would start so I could begin round one. Then it got cancelled; something that FOR FREAKING ONCE was NOT my fault. No matter that I've been let down in so many ways years before while trying to conceive, that one cycle post-poned side-swiped me and threw me down into a rut that surprisingly, I'm just able to start climbing out of.

 

I've been on THE pill for almost two weeks now. Birth control used to be my BFF. We'd do everything together. It kept my skin clear, kept me kid-free when I ultimately did NOT need a kid, and it kept my body working like a well-oiled machine. Now, apparently, I did something to straight up piss my BFF off. I guess when I cut all ties with it 3 years ago, it got angry and decided to be vindictive. Hours after taking that first pill twelve days ago, I became nauseous. And. It. Hasn't. STOPPED. Because of this, I've basically become the green Hungry-Hungry Hippo. Having a full stomach seems to settle my spinning head, but it's also making the hard work of my last seven months of diet and exercise go down the drain. Did I mention the gigantic zit that has taken residence on my chin? Pretty sure it's given birth to triplets over the past week. God must think he's pretty hilarious because even my pimples are having babies while I'm not.

 

Lastly, if you haven't picked up on it yet, the most documented side-effect of this particular medicine is irritability and mild depression. Somebody nailed THAT on the head.

 

Needless to say, things have not been the best the last two weeks. I go to my doctor for my first ultrasound this cycle on Tuesday. Normally I'd be chomping at the bit to get there, but I'm secretly dreading it at this point. I just feel like I'm going to get there and he's going to see that my eggs have already developed and they missed it, or something equally devastating that will inevitably post-pone our efforts for another month.

Where is this coming from? Since the first miscarriage (which will be 3 years ago this Thursday) I've always been the annoyingly positive one. I've always had the most hope in becoming successful. Lately, I've even caught myself saying, "IF I have a baby" instead of my usual "WHEN I have a baby". I keep thinking that yes, IVF can get me pregnant, but it's not for certain that I'll be able to keep it. Most women freak out in utter joy when they get a positive test at the end of their cycle and sadly, I won't be able to because I know there's a ridiculously high percentage that even if it works for me, I may not be able to go full term. I'm very frustrated with myself. I'm not a fan of the Pissy-Krissy I've become.

 

Then today I had two conversations that have seriously boosted my spirits. Both were with women facing infertility just like me. I blog for two reasons: to vent and to open my door to other women who are going through similar situations. It had been awhile for me to actually talk freely about my feelings of insecurity and bitterness and downright frustration with others who know EXACTLY how I feel, I forgot for a minute that I'm not alone in this boat. I finally have woken myself back up and realized, you are human and it's more than okay to visit the crap-fest that is infertility...as long as you don't buy real estate there.

 

Both ladies that I spent time chatting with today pointed out something. I've been through it all. I've faced all the testing, gone through all the options, been through four losses. I'm still here. I'm still fighting. I'm. Still. HERE! For years now, I've been in wars with my body and wars with my emotions. I'm basically the queen of this all. (Okay, so neither girl said I was a queen, but let's just go with it. And the Queen of...what...exactly? Queen of Miscarriages? Queen of Non-Existent Tubes? Probably should have thought that out before I mentioned it...)

 

Either way, you get knocked down and you linger there for awhile. Then you get back up. And that's just what I'm going to do, no matter what happens this cycle. Let's be real. I'm The Queen Bee. Or I guess technically and more appropriately, I'm The Queen "V". Clearly, that's the vicinity where all these problems started in the first place.

Dangle the Carrot

Let's be real for a second. The title of this post is so inaccurate, because really, if you are anyone BUT Bugs Bunny, nobody wants a carrot for enticement. This is me we're talking about. Read on to continue under the new, moderately appropriately named title for tonight's brief story...

 

Dangle the Chocolate-Covered-Anything

 

Yesterday was Day One, Round One of my very first IVF cycle!!!!!!!! HOLLA!

 

Today is Negative Day One, Round One, though. No cycle.

 

No kidding.

 

I checked in with my doctor this morning to confirm the start day and to begin my pill regimen, only to be taken back a notch when he called me at the very end of the day to tell me we have to post-pone to next month. Wait. WHAT?!?!?!?!

 

I've been patiently waiting since JUNE for yesterday to get here. Basically, I've been waiting three YEEEAAARRRSSSS for yesterday to get here. I couldn't have been more ready for my period to start. I think I might have even burst into song when I wiped red yesterday.

 

Apparently, the embryologists that are in charge of monitoring my egg fertilization between retrieval and transfer are going to be in a conference about furthering their education on SITTING IN A CHAIR WATCHING FREAKING EGGS AND SPERM MATE IN A DISH. I mean, REALLY!

 

However, said conference is in Honolulu. In October. In Hawaii. Paradise. (For those who weren't clear about that location. I'm pretty sure tomorrow's lesson is going to go something like this:

 

**Pulls up Google Maps with aerial views of the big island on the Promethean board.**

 

"Students, direct your attention to the paradise on the screen. This is the state of Hawaii. The capital city of Hawaii is Honolulu, where, this upcoming October, several multi-millionaire embryologists from VA IVF will be "conferencing"...HA. PUHLEASE. VOMIT...while I am here, with you, with my eggs fully fertilized and anxiously awaiting to be yanked out, by the same embryologists who will probably be laying on this section of Wakiki beach."

 

**Aggressively, angrily points to the coastline**

 

I hope they sunburn. And get sand fleas. And severely underestimate the island cost of living and run out of money on day four and have to come home prematurely.

 

SIKE. Who am I kidding? If that opportunity arose for me, I'd already be at the airport (a month early) in a fake floral lei and a grass skirt sippin' on a mai tai with a Dole Plantation Pineapple straight from the Hawaiian heartland to set the mood. It just royally bites the big one that men can't schedule worth a damn. You KNOW they knew about this trip. Why couldn't they have helped a sistah out and let her know??

 

My doctor thought I was joking when I told him after he apologized profusely that the only way they could make it up to me was to take Mike and I with them. I mean, you promise me a kid, (dangle the carrot), then tell me I have to wait ANOTHER month for it. He was like, "You're so young still, you're healthy, this is going to work. It's not like your ovaries are deteriorating"....This is where I'm like, "HOLD ON, BRO-THA! My tubes already DID deteriorate, let's not even PLAY about anything else doing the same". He was chuckling at my suggestion to take us while I wasn't saying a word. He heard crickets. I heard the roar of anger in my ears.

 

I could have gotten really attitudal with him, but I kept myself in check. My throat was doing that clogged-up weird thing right before you cry, so I really missed what he was saying the last thirty seconds of our conversation. It was a bunch of his "I've worked this a thousand different times, but I just can't get the timing to work on our side. I'm so sorry" along with a bunch of my "uh-huhs".

 

So we have been let down. AGAIN. So we are waiting. AGAIN. It's no use in even being upset at this point because finally, this time wasn't my fault.! It just wasn't meant to be. I'm all about signs, as you know, and having this procedure done in the same month exactly three years after my first miscarriage is pretty meaningful.

 

It's just a month. It's just a month. We've waited this long to get the show on the road so what's another few weeks. Except, saying that out loud is much easier to do than actually meaning it. The yarn has been extended and the carrot is out of reach for a little bit longer. I'll keep my tunnel vision on, because thank God, THANK GOD! at least we are still working in the produce section.  

Meanwhile, Out in Leftfield

For someone who is embarrassingly uncomfortable with numbers, they seem to be taking me over the last few weeks. Since school has started and I'm back to work, my alarm goes off and I start calculating in my head how much longer I can just lay there until I reach the top level of lateness. Oh yes. Different days warrant different levels of untimeliness. Level One is rolling in a minute or two past the time I'm actually supposed to be there. Level Two is "I'm in the parking lot texting somebody in the building to come let me in the back door". Level Three is "screw it, I'd rather arrive late than to arrive ugly", which can range from anywhere between the five and ten minute late mark. Level three days are the ones I feel like I look the best, but it took hell and high water to get there.

 

This isn't something new for me. As an adolescent, I was peer-pressured into playing softball. Instead of embracing my fiercely competitive side at every game, I basically stood on the field or in the dugout and stared at the countdown clock on the scoreboard. This anticipation had less to do with the heat of summertime and my wishing to be back at the pool I was dragged from to go put on the over-sized man t-shirts the league provided...and way more to do with the free hotdogs that all players got at the end of games. I mean, there would be girls (my teammates) actually CR-YING because we'd lost and I'd be all, "yeah we lost by ten and I'd like mustard and ketchup on my dog, and for God's sake, don't be scared to get a little crazy with the ketchup." I always seemed to make my best plays at the end of the game because I knew if I just did what needed to be done to bring in the runners or what play I needed to get the out, the sooner I'd be done with it. And the sooner I'd get a free hotdog.

 

In eleventh grade, I took my first SOL writing test. I think back then it was like the preliminary, trial tests, so the scores didn't actually count for anything. But I clearly remember sitting in the library configuring down to the minute how much time I had left. Apparently it was timed? (I'm not sure about any of this. I may even be making it up. Anything is possible.) The topic was something along the lines of "Write about a time that is meaningful to you. It can be funny or sad." I sat in the library for like, three hours making up some story about losing a loved one because I didn't have any background experience at the time with the topic. I thought a sad story would make the scorers feel sympathetic.

 

With forty-five minutes left to go, I changed my mind and started rewriting a story about the time I'd gone deep-sea fishing the summer before. I kept getting my line hung up with the other lines from the opposite side of the boat and people were losing their cool with me because of it...and tossin' their cookies all at the same time from seasickness. It. Was. Hilarious. I remember using post-it notes to figure out how much time I had left before they made me stop writing. <----This took probably ten minutes of actual writing time. I finished with a few minutes left to spare. I feel like I'm about to lie to you, but I'm pretty sure when the scores came back, I had a 600, which was the highest you could get. If somebody wants to go pull my permanent record from Central to verify, please do. Just don't post it publically if I didn't get a 600, because really, that would just ruin the "feel" of this story. Don't rain on my parade here.

 

Anyway! All that writing and changing and calculating was the first real time I remember thinking, "I'm one of those people who works best under pressure". I was so proud of myself with that score. To this day, I've been counting and calculating.

 

I start my first round of IVF in approximately two weeks. TWO! WEEKS! Ohemgee. When I get my period, which is supposed to happen around September 15th, it all begins. This means I have two weeks to finally start thinking about it! Since the removal of my plumbing, I've just been pushing it off and calculating the anticipated cycle dates. I've been drowning in paperwork from school. I've been signing up to do the most random nonsense. Anything to keep my mind from focusing on what's getting ready to happen. This is our only shot at making a kid. THE ONLY SHOT! You know, no pressure or anything.

 

The statistics show that two teenagers having unprotected sex have about a 20% chance at getting pregnant in a month. The statistics (as of June 2014) show that couples starting their first round of IVF have about a 50% chance of getting pregnant (and having a live birth). Um, 50%? I'll take that. I'm not so much concerned about getting pregnant as I am about keeping it. So while most women are joyous that they conceive with the first round(usually because they've never gotten a positive test before), I'll be joyous if we make it two weeks past a positive test. Which means that yes, you will probably know the timing of when I should find out if I'm pregnant or not...but my lips will be sealed far past the normal waiting period.

 

Since June, both Mike and I have been cracking down on ourselves to make this time the very best opportunity to stay pregnant. I want to go into this cycle with NO outside factors to cause a pregnancy not to work. If you cut my arm right now, I'd bleed straight folic acid. I've been My Fitness Pal'ing since April and I'm two pounds away from the goal weight my doctor set for me before my first cycle. Faulty tubes are no longer in the way. We've both been taking a high-powered antibiotic so we will surely have the cleanest, purest sperm and eggs anybody has ever seen, dammit! We are ridiculously healthy. The odds are ever in our favor...

 

And so the countdown begins. I'll calculate days and injections and pills. I'll keep my eyes on the scoreboard while my doctors keep their eyes on the many ultrasounds that are in my very near future. After all, I tend to do my best under the pressure of a timeline. But this time, hopefully we'll get a baby. Or if not, somebody at least better give me a free hotdog.