Pilot Light

**Previously written on February 28, 2015**

This post has probably been the most anticipated update since the beginning of my blog 3 years ago. I've been playing out how I wanted to write this if the day ever came, yet it's officially here and I'm rather at a loss for how to continue! My emotions are all over the place and for every sentence I write, I seem to delete the next one. This is basically the see-sawing trend of events my life has taken on since November. Teetering emotions? Why, that's just the tip of the iceberg that is pregnancy, my friends. 

And pregnant is what I am (forreal, with pictures and errrthang)!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

Ten weeks today, to be exact. Do you know how hard it has been to keep this secret? I have gotten asked multiple times in multiple ways on a daily basis since January 1st. I knew in late November the date of my transfer: January 9th. We knew it worked on January 19th and saw a heartbeat on February 9th. Since then, things have worked like they are supposed to in early pregnancy. I had spotting off and on for about three weeks which caused mild panic and serious doubts, but other than that, I've been nothing short of a model of a perfectly normal, healthy, baby-carrying female. The thing about going through this for the fifth time is that there is a lack of excitement when you find out you're pregnant. You can stop reading here, if you wish, for what I have to say isn't the rosey-rainbow gushing of praise about finally being pregnant. 

First of all, let me throw out my disclaimer, even though you know me well enough that I shouldn't even have to make this statement. I realize how monumentally lucky, blessed, fortunate, etc. we are. I don't remember the numbers precisely, but the percentage for IVF working on the first cycle isn't that high. We did the first time, SPECTACULARLY, I may add. I was considered the perfect case for a single-transfer (meaning, the odds were in my favor, highly, of us transferring just one embryo and it working). We decided on transferring two, though, not because we were greedy, but because if the fates allowed us to have more than one child, why not do it at the same time and be done with it? Okay, so that's what I told the doctor. Selfishly, I figured if we transferred two, got one, perfect, got two, even more perfect, and then I'd call it a day and have them take out ALL my parts, the end. I'm the poster-child for things not working out as planned, so, one embryo stuck, therefore resulting in a successful IVF cycle with one healthy, singleton pregnancy!

I've read too many other stories of women who have had success and they suddenly forget they ever went through any hardship to get there because they are blinded by the baby dust. And the thing is, I don't want to forget what I've been through just because we finally seem to be getting what we've worked so hard for. Since I first went to a fertility doctor, my world has been covered in "ifs". "If this works" or "if I stay pregnant" has been the constant mantra. I've made it to ten weeks, more than double the time I've ever made it before, I've seen my baby 3 times, and yet Mike and I still find ourselves saying, "if we make it until September". It's very frustrating but it's very real. And you all know that while I lean toward the label "optimist", I'm a realist before anything else. 

I even have slight guilt over actually being pregnant because I know there are so many women out there still trying (and failing) for the same thing. I've been there and I know what it's like to hear about that one more pregnant person that isn't you. One thing that I wouldn't let happen to myself is turning my pilot light out, and therefore that's my greatest advice for people who are struggling just like I did. When things were at their bleakest, you still have to have some sort of glimmer of hope that things will eventually work out. With my first pregnancy, I had flames so bright shining off of me that I should have had a "FLAMMABLE" sign tattooed on my forehead. And with every miscarriage, the flames dimmed. Whenever I wiped blood here recently, I stopped and said to myself, "This is just a test, if it's going to make it, it will". Things have progressed as they should; my pilot light grows brighter every day, right along with this baby.

So! While I'm still quite scared of things working out for the better, even though I've been told everything is perfectly fine, there have been no shortage of pregnancy symptoms that have taken over my 29-year old body. At this portion of the program, you may find yourself thinking pretty lowly of me, as this is going to sound ungrateful and complain-y. But remember, as I do, OFTEN, not only have I prayed and prayed and prayed and prayed and prayed for this to finally happen, I also PAID for it to...

1. Can we just look at my boobs, please? While they are sore as snot and I will quite frankly body-slam anyone who remotely puts an appendage in the vicinity of my chest, they look FABULOUS. Sadly, I've never understood what women talked about when they mention their boobs "from their 20's". WHAT? My boobs from my twenties have been small, lumpy, and kinda droopy to the sides when I lay flat. My not-pregnant boobs of my 20's had been replaced with the boobs of my future 70's. As a matter of fact, my 75-year-old grandma has a pretty righteous pair. Clearly, I wasn't swimming in the same gene-pool as her when I should've been. (I was probably at the concession stand getting a hot dog while those traits were being passed down). My pregnancy boobs are bangin'. Not too big, but they fill out my bras (the way they SHOULD be, because I've been known a time or two to buy a bigger cup-size for appearance purposes). 

2. Irritability. I can not stand to be in public places for more than ten minutes. Or at work. Or at home. I'm not sure how I've ever tolerated people while not pregnant. A man at the ATM in front of me this morning took for-ev-er to complete his transaction. I was huffing and puffing and griping and moaning and all but blew my horn at him to hurry up. Yet I was in my pajamas and had nowhere else to be for the rest of the day. 

I can't stand the music that comes on the radio. 

I screen shot like 100 Facebook statuses a day and send them to my friends so I can whine about how ridiculous people are being.

I made a playlist the other day and the following songs made it: Out of Touch by Hall & Oats, Forgot About Dre by Dr. Dre, Kerosene, by Miranda Lambert and If I Could Turn Back Time by Cher. (<----You have not LIVED until you are in a car with me when that one comes on). Obviously, nothing satisfies me at the present. 

3. Let's talk about the mother of all symptoms: food aversions, cravings, and NAUSEA. Week 6, Day 1 I woke up, ate breakfast, and sat on the sofa. 30 minutes later, my head felt funny, like I couldn't move it without feeling like I could puke. There have been 3 total days since Week 6, Day 1 where I haven't felt constantly nauseous. I haven't vomited, and I realize I'm quite lucky in that aspect, as women I've known have spent their entire first trimester in a toilet. But being so sick that you can't move your head, well, I don't know which is worse. Ironically, this feeling intensifies when I've gone awhile without eating...yet most of the time the thought of any food makes me squirm. It's a vicious cycle. 

All of my favorite foods in the world have taken a back-seat. The thought of them makes me want to hurl. There are about 5 things I can tolerate: peaches in a cup (the fully-loaded syrupy kind), Pizza Hut Breadsticks, Little Debbie Oatmeal Creampies, anything sour, and Goober Grape sandwiches. In every single pregnancy book I've read, the diet I should be adhering to looks like the government's version of the Food Pyramid. The authors of these books were MEN. They MUST be. I couldn't eat a piece of broccoli right now if somebody covered it in chocolate and called it Chris Hemsworth. The decision of "what's for supper" at my house is like trying to pass a bill in congress. A suggestion might grab my attention, but then I think of the smell of it and I have to change my mind. I'm a giant pain in the rear to live with, so please give Mike Peebles a pat on the back when you see him.  

There are SO many things about being pregnant that I need to gush about, but I'll save it for another post. Besides, from the looks of things, I'm going to be at the height of my pregnancy during the summer, which means I'll be inside next to an air vent with people cooling me down with palm leaves. There will be plenty of time for writing. You might have thought that since I officially clocked out of my job at the "Fertility Theme Park" that I wouldn't have anything to write about anymore. You thought wrong. This is only the beginning.

I'll leave you with these pictures, sort of mementos from our transfer and the time after... 

These were the 2 embryos we transferred. The one at the top had already started to hatch, which makes me think he was the one to stick. Also, he looks like a bully. Overbearing. Has to have all the attention. Probably shoved the other one out. Definitely my kid.

This is my, "PUT THEM IN MY UTERUS RIGHT NOW FOR THE LOVE OF CHRISTMAS COOKIES" selfie.

 This is right after leaving the lab following the transfer. I wanted the embryos to like me, so I gave them a chocolate chip cookie as sort of a house-warming gift.

 This was Day 3 of bedrest following the transfer. Rudy liked to keep them company.

            

And this was my last visit at Dr. Edelstien's office when he officially released me back to Dr. Gospodnetic, my regular OB. I was crying. Horribly. I didn't want to leave. Mike was mortified at my behavior, I'm sure. Don't zoom in, I have ugly-cry face.

                 

Diary of a Potentially Pregnant Woman

***This post was previously written on January 18, 2015.***

Tomorrow is the end of the elusive two-week-wait post-embryo transfer. Except I haven't had to wait two weeks. I basically jumped in the express lane towards the end of this process and now I'm fah-reeking OUT because tomorrow we find out IF...IF this whole deal actually worked. 

I had the frozen embryo transfer done on the afternoon of Friday, January 9, 2015. We got to pick the date and since I'm insanely obsessed with odd numbers (that's a whole other post in itself), I thought that particular date was the perfect match. Also, it means I didn't have to take off work for the mandatory bed rest that the transfer requires. For two and a half days, I barely walked to the bathroom and when I did, I perfected the role like I was Betty White walking the red carpet at the Golden Globes. 

How funny, I kept thinking, how many women out there never know the true date of their conception, yet continue leading their extremely dangerous lives all the while the inner workings of their tag-team tubes/ovaries/uteruses design and begin the process of making a baby. How many women were jumping up and down during an aerobics class, unintentionally shaking up the egg/sperm concoction they made with their mates the night before? How many women were shooting tequila at a mexican restaurant with friends? How many women were watching Channing Tatum perform his Oscar-award-winning dance to Genuine and then rush off to their bedrooms with husbands and boyfriends to have sex and cause their uterus' to contract, therefore giving said egg/sperm concoctions a very difficult time to STICK to the walls? 

How funny that most of the normal women in the world were doing all of these normal things and I was laid up like I had the Titanic necklace somewhere on my body. You know you wouldn't be able to move with that thing on you. They make babies every five minutes and continue doing these things like it's nothing. Ugh. I couldn't even get a sip of Pepsi for fear of over-caffeinating the embryo.

I digress. So tomorrow is the big day. It will be Day 34 in my cycle (the first day of my last period was December 17th). My last pregnancy (October 2013), I took a blood test on Day 27 and pregnancy was confirmed. I started bleeding on Day 37. I'm hopeful to find out the result as it should be clear as day by tomorrow. 

How pitiful that we won't even be able to get excited if I get a positive beta tomorrow?? (Beta means number or level of the pregnancy hormone HCG in your blood once an embryo has implanted itself into the lining of the uterus). The majority of women I know (or read about) have IVF done because they've never been able to get pregnant. I've done it four times, just can't stay that way. I never really got nervous about the egg-retrieval and preparing my body because clearly I've been able to do that part on my own four times. Plus this time, the little buggers are actually hand-delivered into the exact place they need to be. I just basically signed for it and Dr. Edelstein is a fancy-dressing Fed-Ex guy.

The blood tests following a first positive beta is just the absolute worst. It's all about the numbers and I'm a wordy kind of girl. 48 hours after the first positive test, I have to do it again and pray that the numbers have doubled. If they haven't or are slow rising, it means high potential for the pregnancy not to last. And I've been down that road. Got the t-shirt. 

I'll be excited when I see what I need to see nestled into my uterus on an ultrasound screen with a heart-beat; after all, we've never made it quite that far before. It's been a highly-stressful last 10 days. On Day 7, post transfer, I woke up with period-like cramps that lasted alllll day and allll night. It was devastating. It was quite the mental melt-down and I pretty much have been retired to my couch since that day. The cramps subsided the next morning, but after a scare like that, your brain can't settle down. I'm trying to contain myself tonight so I can focus on this upcoming week. It should be a DOOZY. I'll leave you with "A Diary of a Potentially Pregnant...via IVF...Woman's Guide to Surviving the (Didn't Even Make it to Two Weeks) Wait". 

1. Don't buy any books with the remainder of your Christmas Amazon gift card balance. Your brain can't settle enough to READ. Unless it's the same three sentences over and over over until you just say "F*@& it" and throw the Kindle to the love seat where it bounces into the floor and stays there for the next 4 days until you spontaneously decide to vacuum. <--- See #5

2. Don't read online community forums about what you will experience over the TTW (two week wait). It's worse than WebMd because it's pretty much women jacked up on junk food and estrogen and progesterone and they are IIINNNSSAAANNNEEE. Let me put it to you this way: Bitches. Be. Trippin'. Here's all you need to know if you ever go through this: if you cramp, there's nothing anybody can do. You might be pregnant. You might get your period. Deal with it and move on. Also, the progesterone shot EFFFINNNN SUUUCKKKKKS. There's no way to sugar-coat it so don't let some rando try to tell you tips to ease the pain. It hurts. It doesn't go away. End of story. 

3. DO binge watch Gilmore Girls on Netflix for an approximate total of 35 hours in a 48-hour time period. Can Lorelai Gilmore and Mindy Lahiri PLEASE, for the love of GOD, find each other and do a spin-off? Nevermind. My brain would explode.

4. DON'T watch Channing Tatum's Oscar-award-winning performance to "Genuine" on the Oxygen channel. Number one: it's not in HD. Number Two: you can't have sex afterwards because *in my whiny, mocking doctor voice* "sex is forbidden until the end of time times infinity because we don't want anything to contract the uterus" Yada yada yada. 

5. I realize that Lay's return of Tangy Carolina BBQ Potato Chips would be a bigger miracle than what I'm about to say, but it is entirely possible that you may, just for about 30 minutes, might want to clean your house. (It's brief, but it happened. It was magically horrid.) 

6. There are not enough People Magazine Celebrity Crosswords in the entire world. There. Just. Aren't. Let me rephrase. There are not enough People Magazine Celebrity Crosswords that I can actually complete in the entire world. (I've done like 87 over the last four days, yet none of them are done). 

7. Annnnd number seven. Stop reading what other people suggest you do while waiting for literal life-changing news. It's not worth going crazy over, like I am right now. I'm preaching to the choir, and every person that tells you "it's all okay" or "stop thinking about it" can royally suck it. Time is either going to go slow or go fast and the most important thing you can do while you wait is decide how you are going to handle the news, good or bad, when you get it. 

So what will the outcome be? Did it work? How many babies will it be? I guess you've been waiting over three years to find this out, just like me. 

One more day won't hurt us... 

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.