Into the Rabbit Hole

Another Day

2012-02-06T12:04:00.004-05:00

Well, it's another no good cycle. I've really never felt so discouraged. I was really, really hoping that this time it would work out - and the due date, incredibly, would have been very close to our son's birthday. And I thought - wouldn't that be funny! And cool! And crazy! And I started making plans. I started thinking about this little girl (because I've decided that we're going to have a girl, yes, I know) . . . that she's going to be really spunky and independent and a wonderful, delightful handful. I started thinking about how I'm going to need to plan for the time off . . . and how we really need to start putting money aside. And then I worried about the Boy and how he would handle it. And then it didn't happen. Again. So, back to clomid. Another round. Another added three million pounds (clomid is not good for my waist line. Either that or I'm just plain eating too much. Obviously it's the clomid). Deep sigh. This is getting ridiculous. Onward and upward!

Oh, Le Sigh

2012-02-01T09:57:00.002-05:00

I tested at 9 DPIUI and got a faint positive. I was excited. I was happy. Then I looked at the Boy and felt a little sad at what life is going to be like for him soon - how will he handle a sibling? Will he be OK? Did we make the right decision? Then today, totally negative. Snow white negative. So, probably the HCG was still in my system from the trigger shot but I'm hoping that I still have a chance so I'm going to keep testing. As much as I worried about The Boy, I was totally excited about the prospect of numero dos. So . . . we shall see. Waiting game. As usual.

And . . . we're back!

2012-01-26T18:07:00.004-05:00

We did four IUIs last year and . . . nothing happened. Nothing. I thought, "Hey, maybe we're OK as a family of three!" And really, I am OK. But then I told my mother that it was pretty likely that we were only going to have one, that we tried and it didn't work and that I was totally OK with it . . . and then I burst into tears. Unexpectedly. It caught me completely off-guard. So, I'm back at it again. Doctor Superman's plan is to do an IUI twice, if necessary and if that doesn't work, we move onto the big guns, IVF. Yikes. So, here I go, rolling the dice again. Oh, also, I thought I'd completely screwed up this entire cycle because I told Doctor Superman the completely wrong day as "day one". Whoops. According to the nurse it's OK because they monitored me, etc., etc., but this probably explains why the right follicle was strangely ENORMOUS and the left one was normal. So . . . they're pretty sure that if I do get P* this time around it's from the left side. Good to know.

In other news, I'm really old. Like, really old. I'm getting really, really old. So, this is kind of it for us - if this doesn't work out, we really have to throw in the towel. In other news! I have a lipoma on my back! And arthritis in my knees! Yes, getting older is as glamorous as it sounds! If you're lucky, you two can be plagued with non-cancerous lumps on your back and rickety knees! I really shouldn't complain, I feel pretty normal for my "advanced maternal age" and MOST people (except for my pre-pubescent interns) guess that I am wayyy younger than I actually am. Convinced yet? Yeah, neither am I.

*I hate to sound like a 5-year old but I can't bare to say it . . . not yet.

Defeat

2011-03-15T10:21:00.005-04:00

So, I tested last night at 9 dpiui and it was a big old negative. Tested this morning, negative. Although it's early, I again don't feel like this one is going to work out. I'm feeling fairly un-pregnant. Doctor Superman gave me about a 12-15% chance with each cycle due to my age. Yikes. If I'm really "clogged up" (a phrase I frankly loathe) I don't know that I can even have a hysterosalpingogram (HSG) again to verify - as I've already had three (there's a limit due to the radiation exposure). I'm not really sure what the next step will be - I've already had four rounds of Clomid (one with a former RE). Clomid and an IUI again? I'm frankly sick of it (I know it's only been two times) but I'm not supposed to run for two weeks while we wait which is totally horrendous (and I believe, completely unnecessary but I follow it anyway). And then there's the whole Lovenox fun, too. The progesterone suppositories I don't really care about - it makes me feel more pregnant than not (soreness, etc.) but it's not really that big of a hassle (although I do kind of debate its efficacy in my case - since I used it in three (?) of my failed pregnancies).

In other news, my son's daycare is "concerned" with his "poor" pronunciation. I went to his pediatrician, fully expecting him to be nonplussed by the whole thing but instead he gave me the number for a specialist to have him evaluated. I suppose that is sound, but it worries me to no end and was not what I expected. It also makes me start wondering about dyslexia - which runs in my family. Could he be dyslexic? That's a very real possibility. Although the family members who are dyslexic are all very accomplished and intelligent people, it certainly made things like school more challenging. Plus the stigma alone is terrible . . . . In my experience not being able to understand a two year old all of the time is pretty normal. But perhaps that is not true at all.

Back to the waiting game.

Oh, Clomid

2011-02-28T10:33:00.003-05:00

So, even though I was supposed to go in for a blood test, I didn't. It seemed, well, silly. So, I didn't. And then I called on "day three" because I couldn't bring myself to call before that. I've been finding myself resisting a lot - in fact, we first started discussing having a second one LAST YEAR. It took me this long to get the courage to start trying again. If I'm completely honest as to why I've been gun shy, there are two reasons: 1) I don't want to have another miscarriage and 2) I don't want to have another miscarriage. If I never get pregnant again, GUESS WHAT? No miscarriage. But I do want a second child. I see babies and I sigh a great sigh. When we were discussing whether or not to have another - and I voiced my opinion that maybe I was fine with just one, my husband said, "If we don't have a second, we could get rid of all our little one's old clothes!" Sometimes the husband boggles my mind. Boggles. Yep, that sounds like as good a reason as any to NOT have a second child - less stuff. Sigh. The Husband is going a bit crazy lately with our living situation. Honestly I am completely fine with it. We live in a large one bedroom and if he would let me do the things that I would like to do (which he won't without a huge battle royale) we could live quite happily. I don't understand this obsession with bigger, bigger, bigger, mcmansions, etc. I lived in Europe in high school (exchange student) and was completely blown away by my host family: they had one small, beautiful apartment in the city and one country house. They only had what they needed, nothing more, nothing less. And what they had was beautiful and cherished. My problem is that I haven't quite gotten that equation down - I have a lot of stuff, which as I mentioned, is driving the Husband batty. Which is driving me batty and so on (which by the way, means that if we are lucky enough to have a second bambino, I will relent and agree to move). Anyway, so, back to the point: I'm on 100mg of Clomid. ONE HUNDRED. WHAT?!?! This would scare me, except that last time I had three really good size-y follicles and then . . . nothing. NOTHING. I'm shocked, frankly. And a little worried about what this means. All three eggs were duds? Duds! THREE! Three duds? This makes me a tad concerned about the quality of my eggs - which I would imagine has a lot to do with my now advanced maternal age. ADVANCED MATERNAL AGE. Or could it mean that the eggs weren't even released at all? I mean, I had to be cleaned out in November. Could it be clogged up again? Anyway, I go in to see Doctor Superman on Tuesday and I imagine I'll have IUI #3 this Saturday. It's very strange and also very different, to be back here again. Until then.

Negatory

2011-02-16T10:38:00.002-05:00

So, I tested (because I couldn't wait) on 10 days post IUI (10DPIUI) and it was negative. Tested again this morning, 11DPIUI, and again, negative. And wow, when it's negative IT REALLY IS NEGATIVE. No matter how many times I flipped that thing in different light it was still COMPLETELY, UTTERLY, NEGATIVE. I know that it's early, but I'm not feeling too positive - except for the soreness in that one area, you know the one, (which is likely from the progesterone supplementation) I'm not feeling it. On the other hand, the Husband found a sweet kitty on our doorstep yesterday evening. On the other hand, he took him to a shelter this morning. Sigh. He seemed like a really sweet kitty. And no, we don't need another pet but after losing our dog it was nice to spend some time with such a sweet animal.

Now I'm in the doom and gloom phase - it's never going to happen, etc., etc.

The One in Which We Wait . . . and Wait

2011-02-08T14:08:00.001-05:00

So, trying to move on. Miss my dog. Made some horrible misjudgments, etc. But as I’ve been told a thousand times now (yes, I’ve been ~~talking~~ crying about this with everyone I know . . . ) we did what we thought was OK at the time.

So, Saturday. We had to be there at 8:15 AM. Which is a herculean feat in and of itself but even more so when you have, you know, a wee one to contend with as well (oh, who are we kidding? It’s me, I’m the one who is terrible about getting places on time). What to do with the Boy? Every time I see Doctor Superman he asks when are we bringing in the Boy. And really, he SHOULD meet him since he’s pretty much the why, the how, the etc. . . . So, for an appointment the other day I brought him . . . and was met with a few icy stairs in the reception area. I felt completely weird having him there – and he was, of course, completely disruptive as well (he flipped out, FLIPPED OUT when I put the car seat behind the reception desk – he loves that thing. We took a cab there. It’s strange, the City Boy’s attachment to a car seat. He’s crying, carrying on, saying mournfully, “Car seat. Car seat. MY car seat.”). I felt weird bringing him and then it was even more weird when I got an ultrasound because the Boy insisted on sitting on my lap – so, you can only imagine how graceful that was, not to mention the future therapy needed for the Boy. But it was wonderful for him to meet Doctor Superman. It was really great to see them together. Anyhoo, so, right. We check in. We go upstairs so that the Husband can deposit his, er, "sample". That was also weird. But we had the upstairs waiting room all to ourselves for awhile – which was great. I actually READ A MAGAZINE while the Boy flipped the light switch on a lamp on and off multiple times all while “reading” his own books. It was a glorious few moments. And then many other couples arrived so letting the Boy run free like a madman was no longer an option. Then we walked a few blocks away to get a breakfast of mediocre bagels and mediocre danishes and mediocre coffee and while away the hour or so that we had to wait. Upon our return we were whisked into a room, I threw my legs into the stirrups and Bada Bing! Done. And now, we wait.

It's 3 AM

2011-02-05T03:51:00.002-05:00

It's 3 AM and I can't sleep. My mind keeps going through every possible scenario about what I should have done for my dog. I wish I hadn't put him to sleep - I wish I'd just had them repair the wound and done the ultrasound. I said OK to putting him to sleep because I felt like repairing the wound, which would have been painful and awful for him, was not something he should go through for my own selfish needs to keep him alive. Now, however, I wish I'd just done it because I can never right the wrongs. I can never make it up to him. In my crazy-it's-3am-in-the-morning-mind I keep thinking the vet didn't think we deserved to have him live so recommended that we put him to sleep - because we are awful people and deserved to live with the guilt and the terrible loss of our beloved dog. I was being told by three separate people to put him to sleep: my husband, the doctor and my sister (who is a nurse). I was told I had to make the decision RIGHT THEN. I've never believed in putting dogs to sleep - I never understood it. It goes against my fundamental belief system and now I am completely tortured by it. He was a large dog and at age 13 1/2, I realize he was near the end of his life. But he was the greatest dog I've ever known and he shouldn't have gone out this way. I don't understand why I took such a backseat to his care. I don't understand why I never even looked a the wound - my husband told me not to and so I didn't. I wish I had just looked - I would (hopefully) had insisted on taking him in earlier. Why didn't I just do the ultrasound? I used money as an issue - but I think I just couldn't face any of it. I was so overwhelmed by catheterizing him, by him peeing all over the carpet, all of the time. I really didn't know what to do. He'd had inklings of this problem twice before but it had gone away - we took him to two different vets before this one and they couldn't figure out what was wrong. I don't know. I really didn't believe that this would be the outcome. I didn't think when we took him in that we would be leaving without him.

I miss my dog. I really miss my dog. It wasn't time for him to go. I can't believe I agreed to put him to sleep. It was not the right decision for me.

IUI #2

2011-02-04T14:08:00.003-05:00

So, here we go again. Saw Dr. Superman today. Have three follicles in the good range (I honestly can't remember what they were - something like 20, 21 and 21?). I was a bit surprised that there are three - when I was in on Tuesday Dr. Superman pretty much wrote off the follicle on the left side - somehow, miraculously, it caught up. I'm not sure how to feel - I want to believe, I want to be optimistic, I want to be excited, I want to think good things (because, as we all know, even if it's complete bullsh*t we all succumb to the stupid notion that somehow "positive thinking" will make or break you) but at the same time I want to hold back, because, you know, these things don't always work out . . . there are no guarantees. Even with three, fertilization could not happen. I mean, that's the one thing Dr. Superman talked about with me when I first saw him - how no matter what they do, the actual act of fertilization, why it happens sometimes and why it doesn't other times, is still largely a mystery. Last time I firmly believed it wouldn't work out and, well, now I have a kid, so I think, hey, maybe I need to believe that it won't work in order for it to work. It's annoying, frankly. It would be nice to have something good come out of this truly horrific, horrible week. Would it be weird to name my kid after my dog? You know, if it works out.

Hello, Rabbit

2011-02-03T15:07:00.006-05:00

So in the midst of grieving for my beloved dog, I'll be going to the clinic tomorrow to check out how things are going on the fertility front (I was put on clomid last week - which is probably the world's worst drug (or one of, at least) to be on when you are having to decide end of life issues for your dog). I'm not sure how to feel about it right now. I'm overwhelmed with guilt and sadness about my dog and can't really get my head around the whole clomid-iui-heparin-folbic-baby aspirin life ahead of me for the next two weeks.

When I was making the appointment for Friday, I was told that the office would be closing early for the Chinese New Year. My doc's assistant told me that the Year of the Rabbit is a pretty good thing, especially, apparently, after the Year of the Tiger.

So, here's hoping that the old Rabbit brings us all good things. Also, Delinquent Eggs is knocked up . That's a very, very good thing.

Saying Goodbye

2011-02-01T10:59:00.009-05:00

We lost our dog over the weekend. He was the most wonderful dog I've ever known. He was 13 1/2 years old, gentle, patient, stoic and handsome. He started having problems urinating - his bladder wouldn't empty completely and he was unable to control when and where he urinated. The vet could not figure out why. He was losing a tremendous amount of weight. When pressed, the vet said that it could be tumors in the spine but they really had no idea - and that we could do an ultrasound but the ultrasound may show nothing. They were not incredibly encouraging. We opted not to do it - partly because I was angry that they couldn't figure out what was wrong and we kept doing test after test without any results and partly because, I think, I was afraid of what they'd find out - would they find tumors? Would they recommend we put him to sleep? In retrospect, I wish I'd just done the test - although it may have not given us any answers it would have given me peace of mind now that we'd tried everything. The vet showed me how to catheterize him at home. We talked about end of life issues - about when is the best time - before they get really bad? When they get really bad? I was overwhelmed by the very idea of catheterizing my dog and scared. I did it, however. I then decided to keep him in diapers in our apartment (he was not able to control where he voided anymore) - which I'm sure was completely humiliating for him and something my husband hated. He was such a beautiful dog. My husband would get so irate when he'd pee on the floor that I thought it was a good solution. I was completely, utterly, horribly wrong and it led to his ultimate demise. I did not realize that diapering your dog can lead to urine burn (why didn't I know? I've heard of diaper rash for gawd's sakes). I feel horrible that I didn't know. The urine burn became infected (also something that I didn't know because I never actually saw it because I left all the diapering to the Husband) and we were advised to put him to sleep because the burns would just keep happening. They could dress the wound and then sew it up after five days of pretty horrible dressing changes in which they would have to sedate him (it was that bad) but they told me it would just keep happening. And he was still not able to empty his bladder which was also painful for him. I didn't know it was that bad. I actually thought diapering him was this great, genius solution to a problem that was becoming completely overwhelming.

Putting him to "sleep" was the hardest decision I've ever had to make. I am filled with regret, with guilt.

I'm so sorry my beautiful dog. The world was a better place with you in it. Thank you so much for coming into my life - I can't believe how incredibly lucky we were. I wish you peace. I miss you terribly.

Post-Op

2010-12-06T12:21:00.005-05:00

So amazingly, I felt virtually no pain immediately after the surgery. They must have pumped me up with a lot of the good stuff prior to my coming to . . . I also managed the pain on ibuprofen at home. It was an interesting day after the surgery - I don't know when the last time was that I had that much time alone. Maybe two years? I watched a lot of movies (the Kiddo was at daycare).

I've had a LOT of people commenting lately on our (at this point, imaginary) second child - strangers commenting that we will be having a girl, etc. (hello, I'm not even pregnant yet!). Most people seem to assume we'll be having another. It took us a long time to come to the conclusion that we wanted to try for a second child. I'm a lot older (I got pregnant three years ago!) and well, becoming pregnant for me has never been the difficult part, staying pregnant is another matter entirely. Did I want to go through that again? The possibility is there. It's looming. I try to tell myself that I will be OK if it doesn't work out, because I am deliriously happy and feel incredibly lucky to have one, yet I know the truth: I will feel completely knocked out if we are unable to have a second child. What will we do then? Adopt? I'm not sure. I remember reading a few seasoned bloggers who had gone through multiple miscarriages, finally had a child, and then went through hell in order to have a second (or in some cases, twins). At that point, without even one, I thought they were being, oh, I don't know, greedy? Crazy? But wanting to have a child is such a normal, natural and biological need. If it doesn't work out . . . well, I don't know. For now, onwards.

As far as daycare goes - I sat there with the Kiddo for about 2 1/2 hours and decided that the daycare wasn't for us. It's a good place, but the Kiddo was the youngest one, there were a lot more kids in the class than I was expecting and it was a tad too Lord of the Flies in there. We may try it again in the fall when he's a tad older and I am, er, he is, a tad tougher (I think ultimately he would be fine - I was another matter altogether).

Post-op appointment on Friday.

Is this Thing On?

2010-11-26T10:31:00.003-05:00

Testing, testing, 1-2-3. Why, hello there. I realize that I will be writing into the ether here, but here goes anyway. I have a son, a beautiful, funny, smart, charming redheaded (yes, redheaded!) two year old son. Neither The Husband, nor I, have red hair, by the way.

The Husband and I have been discussing whether or not to have a second child (easier said than done, of course). And so, long story short, we made an appointment with Dr. Superman, he did the old HSG and whamo! I have blocked tubes. I go in for a laparoscopy and hysteroscopy on Monday, almost exactly three years from when I had it done before. I'm taking three days off - and having just re-read my post about it from before I am realizing that three days may be incredibly insufficient. ALSO, my mother was going to come into town for the procedure but she fell in the driveway, on the ice, on Thanksgiving and wound up in the ER. She's currently resting and on a lot of pain medications. No broken bones, thankfully, but she's been advised not to fly (she has a very large hematoma and the risk from blood clots is high) and wouldn't be able to help this invalid as she's pretty much an invalid right now as well. I'm sure she's pretty miserable.

So, anyway, I go in on Monday. And then I get to try to take care of the Kid or take him to daycare or I don't know what. We'll figure it out, I keep telling myself. Also, as an aside, we've decided to change daycare - which has been traumatic for me, to put it mildly. I like where he is (mostly), he loves it, but it's outrageously expensive and we are forced to pay for the summer, when we don't actually need it. The new place won't charge us for the summer, so we'll be saving about $5,000 (it's also a tad cheaper per month). The thing is, though, we'll have to change him to ANOTHER place this fall because the rates at the new place go way up. Let me just say this, I am grateful to have to worry about this kind of stuff at all.

See you on the flip side.

THE BIRTH STORY

2009-08-13T23:38:00.004-04:00

My intention was to write the birth story immediately after the Boy was born and start writing over at Out of the Rabbit Hol e. That didn't happen.

So, now, uhem, almost ten months later, I'm going to write that birth story (damn it!) with little or no editing so I can just get the thing done (sorry!) and move over to Out of the Rabbit Hole. This is an infertility blog, not a mommy blog. It seems appropriate to shut the shop and move over there.

So, here goes (as best as I can remember):

My due date was early October and my parents made the trek out here and were waiting patiently for the Boy to be born. I was afraid, however, that the Parents would have to leave before his arrival. So, we waited. And continued to wait. It was now almost a week past my due date and, fearing that I may never a) give birth or b) give birth but never again be able to go out in the evening (best guess!) I got discounted tickets to go see The Master Builder. The Husband and I arrived before the Parents - I can't actually remember why. We stepped gingerly around a construction site to get there. We milled about the lobby of the theatre – which was dark and cool, with flickering lights. The Husband and I sat in the back row - thankfully, because I was completely uncomfortable throughout the show - getting up periodically to stretch my legs. Forty some odd years earlier, my mother went to see a play when she was pregnant with my sister, was incredibly uncomfortable, and went into labor that night. Anyway, when we got home, I laid down while the Husband took the dogs out on a late night walk. I heard a POP and had a little bit of pain. It was odd. And weird. I waddled to the bathroom and well, I'll spare you the gory details but I was pretty convinced that my water had broken . . . I cried a little (I was scared!) and then called the doc on call and it was Dr. Arrogant Rude – the doctor I had feared delivering me the most. Perfect! Of course he told me to come in immediately. I told him I would – even though I had no intention of coming in. It was kind of liberating, “Ha! I will not come in! I am having no contractions and you can’t make me! Yes, I know all about the infection risk, etc., etc. I’m waiting. I know all about you and your obsession with the horrible pitocin and your mad desire to induce, induce, induce! I will not be fooled!” So, we waited. Once the sun came up and Dr. Arrogant Rude was likely off his shift, the Husband drove us to the hospital. And well, they sent me home. No evidence of contractions (even though I believed at this point that I was having them) nor was there any evidence that my water had broken. Oh, and the person who sent me on my merry way? A twelve year old physician’s assistant. So, we went home and I continued to feel like I was having contractions. Since we were told that I was in fact, not in labor and not having contractions, I tried to just occupy myself (which at times involved laying down, sitting on my exercise ball or showering) and endure the non-labor-labor pains. Then my sister called and told me the same thing had happened to her and she had the same exact contractions for several weeks and so not to worry, nothing was happening. My sister, the nurse (by the way, over the years, I’ve learned to do the exact opposite of her advice, this time, however, I was vulnerable and listened to her. Wrong!). Anyway, this continued to happen throughout the day and I continued to endure the “non-labor-labor pains”, convinced that if this was not in fact labor, when I was in actual labor, I would likely go blind. So I continued to soldier on. The Husband went to the store. The husband watched TV. The Husband asked what was wrong (whatever this is - it doesn’t feel great!), the Husband helped me onto the exercise ball and counted with me through a contraction. Then the Husband went to bed. I took a shower. I tried to watch TV. I tried to play on the Internet. I couldn’t really do anything and the pain at this point was becoming, uh, painful. In fact, at this point, sitting alone in my house, I convinced myself that since it wasn’t labor pains, I was having severe gas pains. So, I began walking rapidly up and down the hall because I thought that it would get rid of it somehow. Then the pain became nearly unbearable so I called the doc on call. She essentially told me that she couldn’t tell if I was in labor or if it was gas pains unless I came in but that that was up to me (wait, really?). I got off the phone and then took a good look at the spacing of the contractions, which I had been noting, on a small piece of paper. Alarmed, I decided that either I needed to go in so that they could relieve this horrific “gas pain” or I was on the verge of giving birth AT ANY MOMENT because the “contractions” were minutes, as in less than four minutes apart. I screwed up the energy to rouse my husband by yelling at him from the living room. There was no response. Again I called out his name. Nothing. Finally, I yelled as loud as I could and I’ve never seen that man move so fast. We’d been arguing about taking a cab versus him driving (he wanted to cab it) but at this point I just said, “You’re driving” and he said, “Yes.” The drive over was dark and quiet. The pain lessened somewhat (I’ve heard that happens when a little adrenalin takes over). We drove up to the valet and the parking lot attendant was sleeping or too involved in his crossword or iPhone to notice us. The Husband about lost his mind yelling at the guy to get our car. Then, not really thinking, the Husband asked me to carry up some of my stuff, which I quietly did. All I could think about was the fact that I would not be able to tolerate hanging out waiting at triage to be admitted. Luckily they got me right in and asked me to give them a urine sample (I think?) and when I came out, I told the nurse, “I can’t stop peeing.” She tried not to look amused and said, “Perhaps your water just broke?” Apparently my water just broke. Then the doctor came in felt around and asked me if I wanted drugs and I asked how far along I was because frankly, if I was 1 cm dilated then I wanted EVERYTHING thank you very much. “8 cm” he said, then quickly, “And now your 10 cm. You’re having a baby!” WHAT???? I couldn’t believe it. I seriously couldn’t get my head around the fact that I was in labor and I was about to have a baby. There were a few snickers about that fact that everyone hoped that when they were in labor they thought it was just gas pain and then there was a lot of hooting and words of encouragement because everyone was excited that I was going to give birth sans drugs. And then I pushed not knowing what the heck I was doing and then the Boy was born. I’m missing a little bit here: an emergency ped doc attended because they feared meconium aspiration but he was OK and I was not expelling the afterbirth (sorry, again, ugh) and was having a bit of a bleeding issue. Oh, and by the way, why doesn’t anyone tell you how much it hurts afterwards? Yikes. Tearing, stitching, etc. And he was beautiful. And I was completely in shock. Totally, utterly shocked. And I still am. And he still is beautiful and wonderful and amazing.

Thank you so much for reading (although at this point, probably no one is reading anymore). The blogosphere kept me from going completely, utterly, mad during the "Troubles." So, again, thank you and I hope you'll visit me at Out of the Rabbit Hole.

Use Your Head, I Say

2009-04-16T09:57:00.004-04:00

The husband's folks, sister and nephew were in town. They left, with the exception of the mother, this morning. For us or me, family visits breed chaos - and in the case of the husband's family - I become hugely stressed. There is usually some stupid argument where someone says something I find offensive or I find troubling in some way - and instead of letting it go - we get into a (stupidly) heated argument. I was very good this time - and refrained from "engaging." The mother-in-law is now here for two weeks as our nanny granny. God help us. God help us all.

Today the Husband called because I left half of the breast pump at home (again family visits=chaos) and he was running it over. I assumed he was bringing the Baby. When he got here and no baby, I burst into tears. I'm really mad/sad/hurt. The problem with the Husband is that he can become strangely rigid about many, many things. Like, for example, naps. We've learned that if the Baby doesn't get enough naps he can be a nightmare to put to sleep at night and then wakes up with much more frequency than normal. So, the Husband has become somewhat psychotically rigid about naps -sometimes trying to put the baby to bed when he's clearly not sleepy and then there is a battle of wills where the husband rocks the baby maniacally until he WILL FALL ASLEEP. And it's frankly, annoying (we've also joined ww and he's become fairly psychotic about that as well - even trying to persuade his sister to not have a retirement dinner out for their father and letting him cook at home - it should be noted that his weight loss to date is almost twenty pounds and mine is, um, well, four). However, one little sojourn during the day isn't really enough to do too much damage - especially considering the fact that the Husband takes the Baby out to the Park to see a friend of his at least weekly and sees me once per week as well. I'm really unclear as to why he didn't feel the need to bring the baby - I could have breastfed him, spent time with him, etc. It's better for me and better for the Baby to see me, his mother, upon occasion. As it stands now, I see him for about an hour in the morning and an hour at night. I'm really weepy about this. Sometimes, the Husband is . . . e-x-h-a-l-e.

This is where we went last night to celebrate the Father-in-Laws retirement:

Image via flickr: smaginnis11565

New Milestones

2009-04-13T00:34:00.003-04:00

The other night, very late, the Bambino awoke and began crying. I then went searching, half-blind, for his pacifier. I knew it was in his co-sleeper somewhere. When I couldn't find it, I was forced to trudge off to the kitchen. When I returned, the Wee One had found his pacifier himself and had it in his mouth. Now, for some people this may not be such a big deal - for me, however, seeing as I had never seen him do this before, it completely cracked me up. He is also now rolling over - which means that I can't just plop him down in our bed anymore - especially when the other night he lay there sleeping, rolled over and landed in the c0-sleeper. He was not pleased. He's now sitting up as well. This is quite a crazy development. Obviously I know that he will meet these milestones at some point - but it's shocking to me each time it happens. Recently I sat with him in our glider, looked up at the Husband and said, "Is this real? Am I really holding our son?" Sometimes, I really just can't believe it.

Thank you to all who voted on my photography project - if only I'd learned about the contest earlier. At any rate, it's a project I've been thinking about for a long, long time. So, thank you.

As I told all my friends on facebook about the project, many of whom did not know about the recurrent miscarriages, a friend of mine e-mailed that she'd like to get together. She also told me that she wanted to meet because she's just had her second miscarriage and she wanted to talk to someone who understands. I can't tell you how much this killed me. It's so upsetting to think about ANYONE having to go through miscarriage, let alone one of your good friends. I'm so glad, however, that because of my "coming out" that I may be able to be there for her. So, perhaps it's a milestone for me as well - I've come out to a bunch of people and nothing horrible happened. It's a hell of a lot easier to do so, however, when you feel as though you are through it and not in the thick of it.

New Happenings by the Boy

2009-03-30T10:17:00.002-04:00

So, the Boy, a few days ago, awoke from a sound sleep, saw his father sleeping, and said, loudly, "Hey!" in order to rouse his father. I know, I know, he's just over five months old, he couldn't possibly have said, "Hey." But there it is. That's what it sounded like, at any rate.

This morning, I was on the far side of the bed - and we'd just put the Boy on the side of the bed where his co-sleeper is - he rolled all the way from one side to the other and landed, quite snugly, against my side. He seemed fairly amused by the whole thing. I think he's been secretly rolling onto his tummy - despite his obvious dislike for it, for sometime now.

I haven't been checking infertility blogs too much lately - but was thrilled to see that wordgirl is knocked up!

I have been having a good time looking at craft and photography blogs. I'll post some links to some of my favorites soon.

Ah, the Boy. He is scrumptious.

Perfect

2009-03-23T20:14:00.002-04:00

I remember going out to dinner with my in-laws somewhere downtown, in the middle of a cold winter. My mother-in-law, who was talking about how worried she was about her daughter, announced that she didn't worry about her son, because he was, you know, perfect. Perfect in every way. I couldn't help but to roll my eyes. My husband, as wonderful as he is, is not perfect. And the fact that his mother thinks this is so, is something that I can't help but to find annoying. I really wanted to start listing those things which make her son in fact, not perfect. Which is kind of a strange reaction from one's wife. But I don't believe in perfection. Perfection just doesn't exist. And I think someone who thinks that their son is perfect, is well, not living in reality. Maybe that day or maybe it was another day, she said that I'd understand once I had a child. And perhaps, in a way, I do now. It's not that I believe that my son is perfect - it's that it would pain me greatly for someone else to see flaws in my son. It would really wound me. It's a strange thing. I want to protect him from hurt. And someone thinking he is not perfect, is, well, or would be, hurtful, I suppose. So, in a way, I understand now. Which is annoying because I sure as hell don't want to agree with my mother-in-law. I also understand that the term perfection, in this context, means that he is happy, that he is well, that all is right. And he seems to be - he is great and happy and thriving. He is our greatest reward. I cannot believe how lucky I am. After all this time, after all this want, I finally get to be around this wonderful, wonderful boy.

And since I am most definitely not perfect, I am going to attempt to write that letter to my son, the one that I thought I'd do every month and I've managed once:

Dear son:

You are now five months old! You now wiggle around and flip over from your tummy to your back. We think you learned this because you hate to be on your tummy. However, you are starting to tolerate it for a little longer now. You squeal with delight when Daddy tickles you or says something funny and you laugh politely at Mommy's jokes. You and Mommy fall asleep together most evenings and Daddy has to try about fifty times to wake up Mommy so they can eat dinner. You are adorable when you sleep. You have also started grunting when you are dissatisfied or unhappy about something. You grunt in a most displeased way until we pick you up from whatever terrible predicament you have found yourself, such as sitting in your bouncy seat for too long or laying on that boring old play mat. We love that you are so assertive! You used to love to stand rod straight on your legs - however, now you like to make your legs like jelly and bounce up and down. You are really paying attention to your surroundings now, too. Today you put your hand in Mommy's hair and took a long, curious look at it through your fingers. You do love to talk and you have a wonderful voice. You have a lot to say! We love listening to you.

We love you very, very much.

--Mommy

Happy Valentine's Day

2009-02-14T13:23:00.006-05:00

I am now taking Wednesdays off. It's fantastic. I am so glad to have done this. Next issue? Nipple confusion. We're trying to work through it. Stupid bottles.

Onto other news - our beautiful boy rolled over on Friday. We are so incredibly thrilled. And because we're his parents, of course we think our kid is incredibly brilliant and obviously very advanced. I posted about it on our baby blog. Then a friend of ours, whose baby is just about two weeks younger than ours, commented on our blog that their baby rolled over on the same day. The same day? How can this be possible? Should this annoy me? No. Should I find this incredibly irritating? No. But I do. I really, really do. It was this special thing that our kid did and now it's just not. Kind of rained on our parade, so to speak. So now I've decided she rolled over earlier than our baby because she spends all of her time on the floor, being neglected. This is of course, totally untrue but it makes me feel better. Gah. Parenthood and all its petty splendor.

Happy Valentine's Day.

14 Weeks

2009-01-27T10:31:00.003-05:00

I spent fourteen weeks home with the bambino. I'm back at work this week and spent most of last week crying thinking about returning. It's been a rough morning. When I try to talk to the Husband about going back home for three more months or at least going part-time he's incredibly resistant. I don't really understand why. He says things like, "We can't afford it" or "What will that do to your career." It's amazing, because I couldn't care less either way. I never thought I would feel that way - but what's more important than the well-being of my kid? And I'm not talking about taking off six years - that would be a serious financial burden - I'm talking about three more months. Three more little months. And we have savings. And we'd have to do things like not get take out quite so much but that's really hardly a sacrifice. Of course, I have know idea how my boss would react and that does concern me but again, in ten years, will I really care what these people think? I'm trying to continue to breastfeed and its incredibly hard. I don't really have a proper ending here because I have to run out and try to scrounge together some items I neglected to bring with me for the breastfeeding extravaganza . . . but mainly, I just really wish I had had the OVARIES to tell my boss and the Husband that I needed to take off three more months. The Husband is home with him and I think that may be the real reason for the resistance - he hates his job and loathes the idea of going back. However, I don't see why he would have to go back - he's on paternity leave earning an income - why does he have to go back? How lucky would our kid be to have two parents home for three months? Sigh. I know the reality is that I am too scared to ask my boss (even though I'm allowed seven months off under the FMLA) so I'll just continue to come to work, continue to be miserable, continue to feed my kid compromised breastmilk (apparently frozen isn't as good as fresh), continue to feel like this is a mistake.

Just Cuz

2009-01-13T22:40:00.004-05:00

This is a HAT

2009-01-13T00:10:00.003-05:00

That's about all the creativity I could muster for a title. It's on backwards. The hat, that is. I just wrote a whole blog about how annoyed I am with my mother-in-law because I now have to watch exactly what I write on the Baby's blog (created in order to send photos of the Baby to the Fam) lest I offend her. However, I don't want to upset the Husband, since it is his mother, and now I am a mother, of a son, no less, but let's just say that it gets exhausting having to write and re-write posts because you fear you may offend said Mother-in-Law by saying, for example, that a hat she made is on backwards, because, you know, that means she did something wrong with the hat and she's a terrible person and her hat is just awful, etc. It's exhausting. Sigh.

But hey, on another note, I, miss-does-not-cook, made pad thai this evening. Seriously. And I did the dishes! And I went out and got coffee (they were closed). But still! I left the apartment! This is no joke, people!

P.S. I should probably mention here that I actually do love the hat - it took a lot of love and time.

The New Year

2008-12-31T00:41:00.007-05:00

About an hour ago, with the lights low, I held my son close to me, trying to rock him to sleep. He was looking up at me and I felt his warm little head and thought about how our time together, just he and I, will soon be ending. In less than a month, I will be back at work, full-time.

When I initially planned this out - three and a half months seemed like a very long time. I felt lucky - 3 1/2 months! As difficult as it was at first, I never realized how fast it would go, or how I would feel about returning to work. I love my job. But I feel like there is more important work to be done - raising my son. I'm afraid of what I will miss - will I be there to see his first steps? His first word? I ache thinking about not having him near.

A year ago tomorrow, I was running through Central Park at midnight. The air was cold and the sky was dark as pitch but the people around me were chattering excitedly, bouncing around to keep warm and wearing crazy costumes. As we set off, fireworks shot out just above us. I didn't run fast. I was still recovering from multiple failed pregnancies, infertility drugs, surgery. But it was truly a glorious run - I cried a little as I thought about the past three years and all we'd been through. Yet, I was feeling relieved and excited about what was coming. Although my doctor and the Husband were trying to convince me to try one more time, I had come to terms with the idea that in order for us to be parents, we would be adopting. It was a relief. No longer would I be dealing with infertility, I could stop researching, consulting, worrying. I could stop having procedure after procedure that always led to the same conclusion, "we just don't know, not for sure." I would never again have to hear, "there's no heartbeat." I would be becoming a mother, we would finally be parents, sometime soon.

How full of wonder I am about this years past. This time, as I run around my favorite park, my son, (my son!), will be sleeping soundly in the Husband's arms as they wait for me at home.

Perhaps now I will be a little less skeptical, a little more forgiving, when people discuss miracles. I can't help but think that I have been touched by one.

My hope is that you had an incredible year - and if not, that 2009 will be full of wonder, hope and dreams fulfilled.

Happy New Year.

Letter to My Son

2008-12-22T12:55:00.000-05:00

(Better late than never!)
Baby--

You are one month old today. Mommy and Daddy are still in awe that you are here. Mommy has held you and looked at you and cried - she can't believe how lucky she is. And Daddy, too. Mommy and Daddy are so happy that you are finally here.

On the day you were born, Grandpa J and Nana were in town. They had been waiting for days and days for you to be born but you just weren't coming! Mommy was worried that Grandpa J and Nana would have to go back home before getting to meet you. But you waited exactly one week to be born from your due date and Grandpa J and Nana were still in town. Mommy and Daddy and Grandpa J and Nana went to see a play, the Master Builder, on Thursday night and things started happening that night! Mommy cried a little because she was scared and wanted to make sure that you were alright. Mommy labored all day on Friday but it wasn't too bad until the evening. Then Mommy yelled at Daddy to get up and take her to the hospital and Mommy has never seen Daddy move so fast! Once we got to the hospital, the doctor said, "Let's go have a baby!" Daddy was so excited he started jumping around the room! Mommy was surprised, she couldn't believe it was really happening! She was lucky to have Daddy there and a great nurse who helped. You were born pretty fast! Mommy didn't get to see you at first for a long time because they had to make sure you were OK - but Daddy was with you the whole time. That was very scary for Mommy.

Grandma J and Auntie M jumped in the car and drove from Ohio to meet you. They were very excited. Grandma J, Auntie M, Grandpa J and Nana got to meet you on the day you were born! Grandma J told your Auntie M to stop hogging you and to let her hold you, too.

Mommy wanted you to always be in the room with her at the hospital. The first time you fell asleep on Mommy's chest was one of the best moments in her life. It was very, very late and the hospital was very quiet. You had been crying in your bassinet and Mommy picked you up and held you close until you fell asleep. It was the best.

When Mommy and Daddy took you home they were very excited. Mommy dressed you in an outfit that was a little too big and Daddy thought you looked like you were wearing a fencing outfit. Then Daddy drove us all home very slowly. When we got home your two doggies, Ben and Momo were very surprised and curious to meet you. Daddy brought home something of yours earlier so they could get a little familiar with you. Even though Mommy and Daddy were very tired, we spent a lot of time staring at you. You were just perfect.

Even though it's only been a month, you've grown and changed a lot.

You smile and coo whenever you are first put down on the changing table. You don't particularly like to be changed - but once you are, you are back to smiling. You make the best noises.

You have found your hands and sometimes you suck on your fingers. Oftentimes you put the side of your hand in your mouth, or your pinky. Once when you were breastfeeding, you also had your finger in your mouth! Sometimes when Mommy looks down at you, you have your hands clasped together, sometimes resting under your chin. Mommy and Daddy remember seeing your hands always near your face in the sonograms, too.

You have already braved the New York City subway and gone to the Museum of Modern Art. You slept almost the entire time. There was a Miro show and a very crowded Van Gogh show. Your cousin R was there along with your Grandma J, Grandpa D and Nana. Mommy fed you for a little while just inside the museum. Nana played with cousin R so that Grandma J could see the Miro show because Nana saw it with Grandpa J when they were waiting for you to be born. Grandma J said that the Miro show gave her great inspiration for her own paintings.

You also recently had your first real bath. You didn't like it at all. Daddy bathed you while Mommy and Grandpa D watched and took pictures. You found it very undignified and maybe a little scary. Daddy was sure to bathe you fast so that you could get back into your warm clothes.

You love your sling - it hugs you close to Mommy or Daddy and makes you feel warm and safe. You usually fall asleep in the sling. Sometimes, when you are crying, Mommy puts you in the sling and walks you up and down the stairs. Most of the time, you will then fall asleep. Sometimes you don't like to sleep at night. You may cry a lot or seem perfectly content to look around and see what's going on, even when it's 4 AM.

You have already grown out of your undershirts. You are growing fast. Mommy and Daddy can't believe it!

Daddy likes to put you in fancy outfits but mostly he just wants you to wear the Justice League shirt. Daddy would probably like to have about 15 Justice League shirts for you. We've discussed the possibility that you may not be as big of a Justice League fan as Daddy is - but Daddy doesn't believe it. But Mommy and Daddy know that you will have likes and dislikes that we never anticipated.

Mommy and Daddy love you very much! Happy One Month! We're so very lucky that you are here!

Don't You Need a License for this?

2008-12-18T18:48:00.003-05:00

I've finally figured out why everyone in the known universe (that would be, Santa, the elves, the lady on the airplane, the flight attendants, the barista, the check out guy, etc., etc., etc.) thought that MY SON was my sister's kid and not mine, because I look like the biggest incompetent who couldn't possibly be this child's mother. There is my sister, with three thousand different baby items slung around her, popping this open and that, sliding that thingamajig there all while swigging some coffee or eating lunch, while effortlessly holding the baby on her hip while I sat staring wide eyed off in the corner. The woman has four kids. And apparently, that makes a difference. Wouldn't you think people would think that the lady who looks sleep deprived and confused would be the mother? Nope, nope, not at all. Which is why, while on the plane, even though I was falling asleep, and even though I took the Baby out of the front carrier, and even though my sister asked if I wanted to let her hold him, I refused, and then promptly let him slip off of me and into the side of the plane. Someday, I'm sure he'll forgive me.

Random stuff

2008-12-11T11:04:00.005-05:00

It's been far too long since I've posted. I continuously write, then save it, then never publish it. Since the Baby is asleep right now (scrunched up in his sling) this will have to be fast. Here are some thoughts, quickly jotted out, to myself:

1) Never expect your in-laws, or anyone, for that matter to help with the baby. They may not. Mine didn't. We were so looking forward to some naps or some time alone while in Ohio for Thanksgiving. Or something. Didn't happen. No offers. Nothing.

2) Try not to get angry when said in-laws have a party with 35 people and your baby gets sick six days later. Maybe not related - but still . . .

3) Realize that you just can't clean. Ever. It just doesn't happen. Take a damn nap.

4) Running with the the baby jogger (FINALLY) is exciting and also . . . weird. Try not to worry that the baby is getting brain damage each time you go over a bump. Try to realize that your stomach hurts like the dickens because it was stretched into another time zone for quite awhile.

5) Try to get out. Sometimes. Really. Seriously.

6) Put some pants on, brush your teeth. Your husband will thank you.

7) Bathe the baby more than once a decade. Even though he hates it.

8) Thank Zeus for the internet - without it, no one would have a gift, nor would anyone communicate with you, since you abhor the phone.

9) Sending out the birth announcements two months late is OK. Seriously. I mean, you are taking care of a new baby, and the announcement is awesome. So, it's worth the wait.

10) Try to appreciate every day. Every sleepless, sleepless day. It goes fast. He won't want to cuddle with you forever, you know.

OK - all for now. Sister coming from Seattle to stay for a few days (to help! She's going to hang with the Baby while the Husband and I go out. To dinner! To a movie! ALONE!). Must make some attempt at picking up or she won't be able to find her bed, aka, the couch.

And Another Thing

2008-11-23T16:48:00.002-05:00

I have yet to pump - managed to sterilize the pump first (and my mother, who was in town also washed the parts that they tell you NOT to wash - she didn't believe me, apparently). So, a question - the pump comes with containers. Do you pump into said containers, store, and then put a nipple on THOSE containers or do you transfer the milk from the containers to bottles with nipples once it is needed? I recognize that this may be a really silly question and the answer is obvious - but we're running on practically no sleep here people.

Signed -
Confused.

Future Blackmail

2008-11-23T16:43:00.002-05:00

I've probably started fifty different entries that I have yet to complete. So, instead, I'm attaching a photo - one that my son will be horrified by someday (and we'll be sure to whip out when he brings home a date).

My Beautiful Son

2008-11-17T17:06:00.003-05:00

How anyone manages to take a shower, let alone post anything with a new baby is beyond me. How am I doing it? Both my mother AND the Husband are nearby.

So, although I read a lot of books about pregnancy and eventually read about the birth process, I neglected to look at the actual CARE of a newborn. And although one can go crazy reading all those childcare books that give conflicting advice, at least I may have been more prepared for, say, breastfeeding. It never occurred to me that I would need to breastfeed TWENTY-FOUR HOURS A DAY. Just didn't get it. Nope. Didn't. So, now that that is firmly established . . . WOW. Twenty-four hours a day. Every day. EVERY DAY. Will try to start pumping this week - but am totally intimidated by it - it's a scary looking machine. Also, although it will be fantastic to actually be able to go out and leave the Baby with the Husband or another relative, it makes me a little sad, too.

The Marathon

2008-10-29T11:30:00.004-04:00

Occasionally I worked for a sports photography company - shooting races in and around NYC. I did it mainly for fun - but the extra money was also nice. However, there were a lot of headaches that went along with it. For example, I could spend hours, unpaid, editing the photos, burning them to disk and sending them to the company. I dropped everything several times to shoot for them when they were in a bind, was taken off shoots when they had too many shooters without complaint, shot later than other photographers and even continued shooting after a runner accidentally hit me in the face, giving me a black eye, all with no thanks from them. Every year I shoot the marathon for them. The marathon is on November 2nd. I agreed to do it because I really thought the Baby would be around three weeks, and once I wasn't pregnant any more, everything would be a piece of cake. Not to mention that I really enjoy shooting it. However, when I realized that the race was THIS weekend and I was still having pain issues, not sleeping through the night, taking care of a newborn, figuring out the whole breastfeeding thing, I decided that it would be too difficult. The Husband has been asking me not to do it for weeks. The day starts early and ends late - I've shot it before with no breaks at all. I really don't know how I would manage without being able to rest or pump. The thing is, it's very difficult for me to admit that I may not be able to do something - it makes me feel terrible. So, it was with a lot of thought that I decided to tell them, at the last minute, granted, that I would not be able to do it after all. They did not react well. They e-mailed me that they will NEVER hire me again. I feel terrible. However, the Husband has pointed out repeatedly how little they care about their photographers and have not exactly treated us well over the years. But they are running a business and if they can't rely on me to actually be present at a shoot, why hire me again? I feel terrible about it - the last thing I want to do is have a bad relationship with a former employer. By the way, as a contract employee, the Family Medical Leave Act doesn't apply - but this type of situation is exactly why it was enacted in the first place. Sigh. The thing is, the Baby and my own health has to be the priority - in the end it just wasn't worth it to me to kill myself like that and to potentially disrupt breastfeeding (the whole nipple confusion controversy not withstanding - but also whether or not I could handle not pumping for 8-10 hours). Ugh.

Colic Anyone?

2008-10-28T12:37:00.003-04:00

col·ic (kŏl'ĭk) Pronunciation Key
n.

1. Severe abdominal pain caused by spasm, obstruction, or distention of any of the hollow viscera, such as the intestines.
2. A condition of unknown cause seen in infants less than three months old, marked by periods of inconsolable crying lasting for hours at a time for at least three weeks.

It may not truly be colic but nights have been difficult. The Baby begins crying (screaming really), generally around 9 PM and is not easily consoled. Generally, however, he'll quiet down eventually (usually with a pacifier which is apparently a controversial move if you are breastfeeding). Last night, however, he began crying around 8 PM, and excluding a period from 3 AM to 6 AM he continued screaming all night long into this morning, It didn't end until now at NOON. I'm at my wits end. I've read from What to Expect, Your Baby & Child and attempted the techniques from the Baby Whisperer, i.e., the Happiest Baby on the Block, all to no avail. There's nothing like seeing your baby scream uncontrollably to make you feel completely inadequate as a parent. We change him, feed him, swaddle him, hold him, walk with him, sing to him, talk to him, change the scenery, try the sling, the bouncy seat, the swing, the car seat and nothing works. I did think that it might be gas - and have a call out to my doc to find out if there is anything over the counter that we can use - but really, that's just a stab in the dark. And to think, a few days ago we were patting ourselves on the back wondering why everyone said that caring for a newborn was so difficult. Ha ha ha.

Too Tired for Titles

2008-10-24T12:51:00.005-04:00

A night with a lot of crying - and that was just me. The Baby was NOT happy last night - we never did figure out why. Probably would have been a good idea to actually READ all those parenting books I have . . . hmmmmm.

However, he is just delicious. We stare at him constantly. He has his father's feet. It kills me.

More later . . .

2008-10-23T13:53:00.004-04:00

So, no one told me that not only would I feel like someone took a melon baller to my insides, but that barbed wire would be stuffed down my pants for good measure as well. Eeeow.

The Baby is wonderful. I'm still shocked each and every day. I can't believe how amazing it feels when he falls asleep while I'm holding him.

More later - typing one-handed is a bit of a challenge.

Out of the Rabbit Hole

2008-10-18T12:32:00.004-04:00

Hi folks. The Husband here.

I'm sure Ali will want to write about the birth experience in great detail, so I won't say much, other than that she is truly hardcore.

My purpose as guest-blogger today is simply to announce the arrival of our son. And to say thank you to all of you for your support of Ali through the last couple of really trying years. You all made the difference through some tough times and I can say, truly, that without the infertility blogging community, my son would not exist.

So thank you. Here's hoping your life has half the joy ours does today.

The Master Builder

2008-10-17T01:15:00.005-04:00

My mother recently told me that she went to see a play on the night that my sister was born. She couldn't get comfortable at all and then later that night, her water broke. Tonight I arranged to see the Master Builder at the Irish Rep here in town with my folks. I had trouble staying awake - and my legs needed to be outstretched constantly. I enjoyed it but was totally disappointed that nothing seemed to be happening. When I layed down to go to sleep tonight, however, I heard a POP!, then I felt pain for about 30 seconds and THEN, hello, mucus plug (totally, totally disgusting by the way). And because I thought it an odd color I called the doc on call. While I was waiting, my water broke. The color of the mucus plug is not a problem but I did tell him my water broke. He said I needed to come in for an exam to check things out. So, looks like things may actually be progressing, one way or the other (and I am trying to avoid going in too soon - even though I know that they want you in promptly after your water breaks because of the infection risk - while a midwife would not be quite so anxious - I'm trying not to be a total idiot and play Russian roulette here either - but I also don't want to go in too early ). So, thanks Henrik Ibsen. We won't be naming our son Henrik or Ibsen - but thanks all the same.

***UPDATE***

So, right, I'm back home. I'm only 2 cm dilated, 50% effaced and the contractions are irregular. So, they sent me home. Oh, and the water breaking? They don't think that it did - and, um, we shall never speak of this again . . .

Another day . . .

2008-10-16T11:06:00.002-04:00

When the Husband and I first moved here, we lived in the far off land of Yonkers (shudder). I can’t remember how long it took to get to Grand Central by train - but it was a bit of a hike. I would often come into the city on the weekends, homework in tow and sit at a café down in the Village and “study”. It was fairly ridiculous, really, going all that way, with heavy books in a backpack to study, when I could have saved tons of time by staying at home. But I got very sick of being cooped up in that horrible house and needed a change of scenery (horrible house + heinous roommates = not fun, not fun at all). When the Husband moved here, we’d go down together. However, I always had an incredibly difficult time getting him to leave Grand Central. It is beautiful. It has everything you could possibly need - food, magazines, books . . . why leave? I’m starting to wonder if Junior here is following in his pop’s footsteps - there's food a plenty, coziness, familiarity and the lulling sound of a heart beating. Why leave, indeed.

Any suggestions on how to get the little guy out (sans pitocin)? I'm all ears.

Witchy?

2008-10-15T16:28:00.002-04:00

Has anyone else noticed that Sarah Palin's two youngest daughters, Piper and Willow, are also the names of two TV characters, Piper Halliwell from Charmed and Willow Rosenberg from Buffy the Vampire Slayer? Just here to keep you informed . . .

Still Here

2008-10-13T23:50:00.006-04:00

Still pregnant. Still very, very pregnant. However, I did manage to finally finish this:

The friend I made this for is due this week - about a week behind me. However, at this rate, she'll have her baby before mine. Ugh.

It was the Husband's birthday today - we spent it not exactly celebrating - but anxiously awaiting the arrival of our little one. No such luck. We're both extremely disappointed that we have to go to work tomorrow. Perhaps my sister is correct - all the fam goes late, so I should expect to go late (OK - I'm already late, but how late, no one knows). We'll see.

Well, that was unexpected . . .

2008-10-10T10:42:00.003-04:00

Last week at my non-stress test, the nurses asked if I was supposed to schedule another one for the following week. I said I didn’t know, but to go ahead and schedule it and I’d cancel if my doc thought it unnecessary. However, my doc thought that we should do it again, "just to be on the safe side." I was a tad surprised since each test is the same - the babe does very, very well, his heart rate always elevates appropriately during periods of movement and I get a lot of "very goods" and "excellents". So, I resigned myself that I’d have to lay there for another half an hour of extreme boredom while I attempted to read at an odd angle and not be too annoyed at the discomfort of laying in one position for all that time. In addition, I was going to have to go it alone this week - the Husband would not be able to arrive until the doctor’s appointment, an hour later. As I lay there on Wednesday, thankful that I had worn pants this time, I had quite a long contraction. A very long contraction. However, I’ve been having fairly long contractions, at irregular intervals, for sometime now. Most memorably, last week on Thursday and Friday when I thought that perhaps "this was it!" until they petered out to a disappointing nothing. The nurse came in and said, "You are having a really long contraction. Are you feeling it?" I said that I was. It didn’t feel great, but it certainly wasn’t the worst pain I’ve ever experienced. And I was using my relaxation techniques, which helped. She poked my belly and said, "Stop that!" Another nurse came in to review the data and said, "Um, that was a very long contraction and your baby’s heart rate has decreased, considerably. We need to do a sonogram, right now." I was then whisked into the sonogram room, with my shoes in my hands, and she fired up the sonogram machine and started looking around. The baby was moving appropriately and his heart rate seemed again, normal. She asked if I was leaking fluid. Now, here’s the thing - I have had some leakage - but I haven’t been sure if it was just, um, urine (yuck) or if it was, in fact, amniotic fluid. I really couldn’t tell - but I tried the old, "lay down for sometime, and then get up - if you feel a rush of fluid, it’s likely amniotic." But that didn’t happen - I had to imagine that I was becoming, shudder, incontinent upon occasion. But just a trickle! And maybe only once or twice. And only with sneezing! Anyway, they then had me wait until the doctor, a fellow, arrived, to discuss what had happened. The Husband then arrived, and I filled him in on the details. The Fellow explained that during the contraction, because it was so long, the oxygen had decreased enough to make it difficult for the baby to breathe, causing him distress, and thus, his heart rate slowed. I didn’t think to ask to what level. I think I may have been too scared to know. The husband asked how long the contraction was and we were told that it lasted seven minutes. She proceeded to tell us that if I were her patient, she would feel that everything was fine now and not too worry - but she had a call out to my doctor. My doctor, who happened to be in labor and delivery, wanted me there, on a fetal heart rate monitor for another hour. It was strange to walk in there without actually being in labor. I also found out that in fact, although we’d been told that we were pre-registered, we were not. Good to know. When they printed out the hospital wrist band , I noted that I was apparently under the care of my RE and told the staff at the desk that he’d likely be pretty surprised that he was delivering me. They weren’t amused. They strapped me in, I read, we joked around with the nursing staff, and I tried not to feel too terrified. My doc came in, read the results and said that it was "textbook perfect" and sent me home. However, he wants me to do another test today. I am pretty sure that if the test wasn’t going well that they would have done a C-section. Right then. Right there. I didn’t think to ask about the after-effects of the decrease in the bambino’s heart rate. Could this have damaged him in some way? Permanently? Brain damage? Heart issues? I was too shell-shocked to ask anything. I was just there - the most compliant patient in the world. It’s amazing what fear does.

Blah Blah Blah

2008-10-07T18:56:00.004-04:00

I know that I should be chomping at the bit and all - since, I don't know, my due date is on Friday, but I'm not. After my sister informed me of the whole two weeks late phenom, I just kind of let go of any anticipation. When my doc told me last week that I was one centimeter dilated and would be surprised if I went beyond my due date, I was excited. And then I thought, "He doesn't know! He hasn't a clue! He's not a magician! People can be dilated 1 cm for weeks! Please!" So, I'm relaxing or "chilaxin'."

People at work are getting quite nervous about the idea of working until I actually go into labor. But I don't really want to sit at home and twiddle my thumbs. Yes, I have stuff to do. But I'd really prefer my time off to be spent with the little guy.

There's a lot of talk at work about what my plans are and how I'm going to get to the hospital, etc. And I wave them off, thinking, you know, it's the first time, I just don't see myself going into rapid labor and giving birth on the floor of my office. I just don't (uh, knock on wood). And when people ask how I plan on getting to the hospital when my water breaks (which apparently doesn't actually happen with that much frequency - it's more likely to be a slow leak) I shrug and say, I don't know, I guess the subway? When they ask if my bags are packed, I say, um, no, I haven't figured out how to pack stuff that I actually need. When someone suggests that I bring an extra skirt with me everyday and pads, I say, that sounds like a good idea, and then proceed to work and forget about it. I know. I must be driving people completely insane. Am I normally like this? Not really. But being huge and tired has made me less, I don't know, uptight, then I was, perhaps even two weeks ago. I'm excited to meet the little guy, but know that he's going to come when he's going to come. If it goes on too long, though, there may be castor oil in my future . . .

Well, I'm off to forget to pack my bag, bring an extra skirt and pads, and instead, continue reading The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo and likely fall asleep.

Two More Weeks or Four?

2008-09-29T22:20:00.003-04:00

Less than two weeks to d-day.

I was just informed by my sister that everyone in the family goes into labor about two weeks AFTER their due date. Now, you'd think that I would be completely upset by this - what with the being as big as a house and all, but actually it made me slightly thrilled because it may mean that I have a little more time to get things done - which means that I won't actually go two weeks late, I'll be in labor tomorrow. Or you know, right now (no, I'm not in labor).

Last Wednesday I talked to my doc about going off of heparin. I'm sure I'm driving him crazy with this back and forth - but he seems pretty convinced that even if it was necessary at one time, I can safely cease using it now. I felt like a selfish jerk for deciding to stop - what if? What if? All because I couldn't take the bruising anymore, or the fear, however slim, of bleeding out if I should happen to have complications during labor. So, I've been free of the twice a day heparin administration since last Wednesday and the bambino seems to not have noticed - he continues to move around in there with much frequency. I have a non-stress test on Wednesday. Hopefully it will show no changes.

When I told the fam about the bambino, around 12 weeks, my sister started bombarding me with "birth plan" talk. What was I doing? What kind of birth did I want? Did I have a birth plan? The thing about dealing with infertility and recurrent miscarriage is that it robs you of the luxury of thinking about birth plans and what kind of birth you want because you can only think about getting through the present - you just can't think about what's happening tomorrow, or the next day, let alone, the birth. I did not really feel comfortable thinking about it until, oh, about two weeks ago. And although she sent me quite a few books on the subject, I stowed them away until recently. I also found her comments at the time to be annoying and a little too out there - or so I thought (she's had four kids all without any drugs - but her births are very, very fast which I'm sure makes a difference). The problem now is that all of this reading has lead me to semi-distrust the medical establishment, when it comes to birth, and specifically, the hospital and the ob/gyn team that I will be working with. Here's the thing - I am with one of the best OB/GYN high-risk groups in the country. I am also at a hospital that has gotten "Best Hospital" for years and years. But they are extremely medical-intervention-happy. They seem to look at birth as a medical emergency and are prepared for any and all complications - which should be a comfort, and in part, it is, but I'm concerned about this "snowball effect" that I keep reading about. Although I realize that complications can and do happen, and certainly hope that that is not the case for us - and will be thankful, obviously, that I am somewhere that can handle complications if they should arise - the "snowball effect" concerns me: your labor isn't "progressing" (meaning you've been laboring in the hospital for, like, six hours ) so they give you Oxytocin, "Pitocin". Now, you're in horrible, horrific pain so throw on that epidural. Now the labor has slowed down and the baby's respirations have slowed as well (due to the drugs), so guess what? Congratulations, you get a C-section! Some theorize that this is a direct result of the very real risk of litigation that OB/GYN's face. Others say that hospitals are also, at least in part, to blame - they want you in and out. When it comes to your child, what kind of risks are you willing to take? If they tell you that your unborn baby's respirations have slowed down, what would you do? Fight it? Not likely. You will be scared out of your mind and likely scream BRING ON THE C-SECTION. Could this have been avoided? Maybe. Maybe not. At my medical-intervention-happy hospital, the minute a laboring woman walks in the door, she is given an IV. An IV! I find this ludicrous - if only because this is NOT a requirement at all hospitals. Furthermore, they administer pitocin routinely after the baby is born to expel the placenta. Although hemorrhaging is one of, if not the highest cause of maternal death (which can happen due to complications with expelling the placenta), the actual risk is very, very slim. And again, this is not a universal requirement. And hey - in general, women actually expel the placenta naturally! And breastfeeding helps. Imagine that. Anyway - I realize that a birth plan is silly in some ways - I have to be prepared for anything happening, including a c-section or pain medications or other things that I don't think I want. I do realize that. And I have no issue with someone knowing that they want an epidural, either. It's just something I would rather avoid. I am having an open mind - I've never been through labor before, so who knows how I will react? And the important thing, really, is the Kid and his welfare. This is really a very short period of time and meeting my son and taking care of him is what really matters.

Starting to Believe . . .

2008-09-10T12:06:00.003-04:00

There are still moments when I find all of this, well, shocking, amazing, unbelievable. I wasn't able to read books on birth or child care until, well, very, very recently - which makes things a little daunting as I try to read as many books as possible in these last few weeks. Not to mention trying to absorb the information.

We had our child care class last night. While the husband looked on lovingly at his swaddled fake baby (his swaddling is much better than mine, by the way, who knew?) - I couldn't help but to feel . . . overwhelmed, scared, unprepared. Bathing seems entirely frightening. The amount of clothes to dress them in? And SIDS. Just her mentioning SIDS practically had me running from the room sobbing (I am pregnant, donchaknow).

Then there are moments like these . . . when I go to the Stirrup Queen website and see that my blog has moved on the blogroll from "Pregnancy Loss" to "Pregnancy After Infertility or Loss" and I'm just, again, so incredibly shocked . . . and thrilled . . . and in disbelief, that this is really happening. It's really quite extraordinary. The husband always believed . . . I cannot say that I was always in that same mind set.

I have a feeling I'm going to still feel shock and disbelief (and elation!) for a very long time to come.

Uh, WHAT?

2008-09-07T13:19:00.004-04:00

I have less than five weeks left. LESS THAN FIVE WEEKS. This is mind boggling. Truly. And we have so much yet to do. We've decided to stay in our 1 bedroom apartment for the first few months, keeping the bambino in our bedroom with us and then moving to a bigger place. Renting or buying is still up in the air. It's been kind of a run down memory lane for both of us as we try to make more space and wade through all of our junk. I think it's making us both feel nostalgic and anxious (we have so much junk! SO MUCH JUNK that we can't seem to part with!). I brought out the old junior high year books - and eee gads - those were some frightening years, for the both of us. I have to say, preemptively, sorry kid, it's likely genetic.

I was feeling pretty good about myself, I found a glider and ottoman in excellent shape for $80. It's listed at $800 retail. $800!!!! Then I made the realization, today, that the bellini changing table top I purchased in order to save space (attaches to any dresser) was NOT the best purchase in the world when I could have simply purchased a changing table cushion for anywhere from $25 - $50 and called it a day. If I keep the bellini (I purchased it used - I'd have to resell it), I still have to purchase a pad, too. Ugh.

Nothing else new to report - except that last time I saw the doc, the Kid's head was in the downward position - which I was thrilled with - but also kind of knew, since my ability to walk has completely altered in the last week or so. It's waddling time, baby!

Just an Observation

2008-08-20T10:16:00.003-04:00

Apparently, according to Amazon, customers who bought a knitting book for babies (clarification: when I say "knitting book for babies" I don't actually mean the book was designed for gifted babies who can already knit, but presumably, for their adults), also bought Sports Illustrated Swimsuit: The Complete Portfolio. Huh.

It Never Leaves You

2008-08-05T10:53:00.003-04:00

I've begun knitting a hat for the Kid and because I've decided that I am now the world's most experienced knitter and can handle something more advanced, I've started searching around for some punk/crazy/cool knitting patterns for babies. I was directed to one blogger's site and as I read her most recent entry, I slowly began to realize that she's just suffered a miscarriage. The pain . . . I'm not sure that it ever truly leaves you. You may think about it less often, less obsessively perhaps, but it is always there. It is always painful. She's a beautiful writer and I am so very sorry for her loss. Read her story here.

Stopping Lovenox

2008-07-31T13:07:00.004-04:00

As someone who has the potential for a clotting disorder but who has had no actual outward signs of a clotting disorder, except for four miscarriages, the lovenox/heparin was administered to give me some peace of mind and because I continued to insist upon it. Over the course of this pregnancy and before, I'd read that most physicians stop the lovenox/heparin at around 36 weeks. When I asked my doc about this yesterday - he said between 34 to 36 weeks was fine. The Husband then asked how will we know if there's a problem and the doc said that essentially, we won't. But he also said the likelihood of there being a problem is very, very remote. This unfortunately gives me little assurance because, hey, you know, this is my kid! Today, unfortunately, I started in on doctor google and found out that most people were switched from lovenox to heparin at around 36 weeks because the effects of the heparin can be stopped easily via medication. In other words, if I had to have a c-section or an epidural, there would be little to no concern that I would bleed out if I switched back to heparin. Again, I was of the mind that I had to stop it completely. If you've had experience with heparin/lovenox during pregnancy what did you do? I'm very concerned about what this could mean if I cease taking it - but recognize that it could have no effect at all.

I Knew This Was Coming Soon

2008-07-28T16:11:00.004-04:00

I just had someone at work ask me when I was due. When I told him, his eyes bugged out and he made a few utterances about how far away that seemed. Not realizing, at all, what I was walking into, and frankly being impressed that it seemed long to him versus those who are constantly telling me I have no time left, I told him that it seems long for me, too. And THEN he said, "I mean, it's just that you are so HUGE." Wow. Anyone want to represent me after I give this guy a knuckle sandwich?

The Baby Sugars

2008-07-24T21:34:00.005-04:00

So, we attended our first birthing class. And I'm so glad that I signed up for it. The instructor seems super savvy, funny and no-nonsense. She also has a pretty impressive background. We were instructed to go around the room and introduce ourselves, give three personal facts and mention an issue we'd like to see addressed during the course. In general, I find talking about myself, even for a minute, excruciating (I turn bright red when my boss even mentions that I'm pregnant - weird, yes. Explainable? No.). After my quick, quick intro, wherein I restrained myself from saying that my big concern was finding out how I could pay someone else to go through the birthing process for me, it was The Husband's turn. The Husband indicated that he wanted to understand everything about the process so that he could remain calm. The next guy to speak said, "Unlike The Husband over there, this is about HER and I want to do what I can to make HER calm, it's not about ME." Wow. What a douche. I don't think The Husband meant he wanted to remain calm so he could stay down in the lounge and read, but, uh, OK. Anyway, there was an extremely adorable pregnant there who said that she was just diagnosed with gestational diabetes and was extremely fearful of needles and of having an overly large baby. I know that it is manageable, but when you read about what can occur to your child if you have it, it is a very scary thing. This pregnant seemed so fragile and so scared. The instructor did say that it's become much more common and it's much more easily managed than in years past, which I hope was a comfort. I wanted to get a chance to talk to her a little bit about the needle thing, but there wasn't time. I too have had a bit of an issue with needles - but the Lovenox thing has become so routine that it almost bores me. I find it annoying because I am sick of doing it, not because I am so incredibly fearful of the pain (not, mind you, that I embrace the pain - sometimes it hurts, sometimes it doesn't - I'd rather, of course, that it never hurt). And a few times, when I've pushed around on my stomach to find an area free from tenderness, The Kid has pushed back. How wild is that?

Oh, and I got the call this afternoon: gestational diabetes? Negative.

Huzzah.

I Vant to Drink Your Blood

2008-07-20T08:45:00.007-04:00

To say that I become a tad stressed at the prospect of getting blood drawn is something of an understatement. After years of having people dig in my arms repeatedly only to have not even the tiniest amount of blood trickle out, I'm a little, um, anxious about it. So, I was a tad concerned, shall we say, about Friday's four blood draws. I was not all that concerned about the no eating or drinking after midnight mandate, however (and I was wrong about that one, oh, so wrong). The husband and I took a wonderful indulgence to get there (cab) with my unopened heating pad under my arm (I'd read that heat can help!) and I sat, unable to read, until I could see the phlebotomist. Needless to say, the phlebotomist laughed at my heating pad. And, she was fantastic. She did not have to do multiple pokes each time - she got it on the first draw. And she told me that I wasn't a difficult draw - but that other "phlebotomists" may be, essentially, idiots. Nice. It was also met with some amusement by the husband when I was brought to the front of the line each hour on the hour because the timing was essential for the test. I really thought there might be a throw down. People don't, apparently, like it when others are moved to the front of the line for blood draws. Personally, I could care less - I can put it off a few more minutes? Sounds great. One woman started to throw a little fit about it (her husband was having the blood drawn) and the calm, cool, collected phlebotomist explained that my test was timed and her husband would just have to wait. The funny thing is that it didn't appear that any of these people had actually been waiting all that long - they just did not like someone cutting in front of them. What I did not expect, however, was the cold sweat I developed while waiting for our lunch at a great place called Good Health. I felt, wretched. Not eating or drinking for hours, having a fasting blood draw, consuming a repulsive cola flavored "drink" and then having blood drawn every hour on the hour, apparently can render one a tad ill. I felt more normal after eating but WOW, yuck. Anyway, I'm really, really, really hoping that I do not have this. It makes me quite worried about the bambino, who, by the way, has started moving around in there something fierce. I've told a few people how at times, his movements feel so weird, so odd, that I have to get up and move around in the hopes that they will cease. Most people look at me like I've lost my mind - you know, wow, this one isn't very maternal, is she? But sometimes the movement is so bizarre that it, frankly, weirds me out. But for the most part, I do love it. I love hanging with him. The first time I told someone that sometimes I find his movements a bit unsettling, he barely moved for a very long time. So, lesson learned, watch what you say in front of the kids.

Panic Spiral

2008-07-11T10:35:00.003-04:00

So, I had the gestational diabetes screening test done last week. Yesterday, as I was walking (in a huff, I might add, I was extremely crabby - I barely slept the night before and was overheating) to the Park to hang with the Husband and go for a walk, I noticed that I missed a call while in the subway. The message from the nurse sounded ominous . . . something along the lines of, "We have your blood test results back, it's not an emergency but please call us in the morning." The Husband was dubious, "You don't have gestational diabetes!" As much as I love it when he plays doctor, I did not take his diagnosis as the final say. I was convinced that her tone indicated that I had a positive screen and would need to do the follow-up diagnostic test. Unfortunately, I was correct. I have to go in for the three hour test wherein I fast and then get poked for blood every hour. I've been anxious the whole pregnancy about my weight - I started out so much heavier than normal and have gained about twenty pounds so far. Although that's in the normal range, my goal was to gain twenty-five TOTAL. I can't help but to think that this latest issue is directly related to my weight (and why shouldn't I think that? It's a risk factor). Reading through several websites and my three trillion pregnancy books makes me also realize how serious and dangerous this is for the Kid. I'll be scouring gestational diabetes diet plans for the next week - and upping my exercise, hoping that this will result in negative diagnostic test. And that is all I can say - I'm trying not to go into a panic spiral - but, that's easier said than done.

The Tale of Frankenfoot and Trigger Finger

2008-06-30T10:04:00.003-04:00

Ah, the wonders of the strange going-ons in one’s pregnant body. As I approach the third trimester (HOLY TOLEDO!) I’m having some, um, interesting issues. Occasionally I’ll glance down at my feet and it appears that they have been stolen and replaced by Fred Flinstone’s. They are, shall we say, large, frighteningly large. A little feet elevation and more water usually does the trick - but I am unable to wear about 99% of my shoes. Which is why I became obsessed with Crocs - thinking that those were the answer. I bought a pair of Mary Jane like Crocs (my husband banned me from looking at the traditional style) that I wore around work for awhile - but I began to feel ridiculous (Does everyone know that I am wearing plastic garden shoes right now? With a suit? Did she just look at me weirdly? She’s wondering why I’m wearing these to work! I just know it.) So I moved onto a larger, wide size shoe from a cheapy shoe store instead. I occasionally grow out of those, too. I finally broke down and bought some super expensive, super comfy flip flops which work most of the time. In addition to Frankenfoot, I now spend my nights with a wrist splint strapped tightly to my right hand because my fingers go numb constantly throughout the night - and it takes a very, very long time to revive them and occasionally, the numbness returns just after I’m convinced it’s gone. This does not bode well for restful sleep (I did however, recently dream that I professed my love to that actor from Entourage - all while very, very pregnant. Sadly, he did not return the sentiment. Dream-me was quite crushed, and had to walk away in shame). Most recently I awoke with a new issue, the pinky finger on my left hand appears to have come out of joint, but doesn’t remain that way after I’ve gotten up and waddled around the apartment for a spell. The first time I found it quite disturbing. I’ve since learned (courtesy of “Doctor Google) that it’s called, “Trigger Finger” and may be pregnancy related (apparently not only do my feet swell, but my tendons swell as well (and nerves compress) - hence, the trigger issue and the numbness - which may be pregnancy-related carpal tunnel). Now I wear a wrist splint and a finger brace. I know! Sexy! When I told me doc all of my recent woes, he said, “Yep, and it’s just going to get worse.” Grand. The good news is, however, supposedly this will all go away once the babe makes his grand entrance.

On the other hand, I’m actually beginning to see my BELLY MOVE when the baby does. It’s amazing. I thoroughly enjoy knowing his routine - he’s super busy in the mornings (I think he might be constructing a house, or maybe playing cards in there) and then he’s super busy again around 8 PM. Although I realize he's likely following my routine (sleeping when I'm busy, busy when I'm not) I enjoy thinking that he's a morning person, like his father.

Thank you all for your great suggestions on names - several of those names lost their favor once we tried them out with the Husband's last name. Although he denies it, he has a very difficult last name to work with. A lot of names rhyme with his last name - and not in a good way. However, we will be hyphenating the bambino’s last name (shocking! Call the national guard! How could we! It’ll be SO long! How will he survive?) so that could soften the blow somewhat, but it’s unlikely. Still, though, the Husband is set on a name, and has even begun calling him that name - while I’m still on the fence about it.

I’m very, very excited to have the third trimester near - it’s truly amazing. I’m constantly amazed. And although I complain about my most recent issues, they are really so very minor. And so very worth it.

How to Make a Pregnant Woman Cry

2008-06-15T21:34:00.003-04:00

1. Be iTunes
2. Decide to "sync" iPod for no apparent reason
3. Erase 90% of music from said iPod
4. Make sure that music you erase was not previously burned to disc (someone in this scenario is a dumb ass, and it's not iTunes)

The Name Game

2008-06-11T09:31:00.002-04:00

I had my reservations about starting this - somehow the idea of considering a name that people in the blogosphere suggest seems to cheapen the whole idea about naming your kid. I even posted something - and then withdrew it. But I am at a loss. There are several names that we like - and it's important to me that the middle name is a family name or means something fairly significant to us - but the first name? I want something solid that says "Good, upstanding citizen." The problem is - most of the names that I have chosen or we have chosen are a little fancy pants. And that worries me. Also, nothing is speaking to me yet as "his name." Almost, maybe, but I'm still unsure. So, what the hell, hit me with your best shot - if you are willing to give up a favorite boy name, I'm curious to hear it. Or read it. Whatever the case may be. Also, we're desperately trying to steer clear of uber popular, trendy names. So no to Noah (although I love that name) or Mason. One of our top five, happens to be a popular name. But, well . . . we're not perfect.

P.S. - if fancy pants names float your boat - I'm interested in those, too!

Good Nutrition

2008-06-05T13:26:00.003-04:00

I recently read a post on one of my favorite blogs regarding nutrition during pregnancy. I understand that his wife miscarried several times before this pregnancy. As the one who does the bulk (?) of the cooking, he is trying to achieve a nutritionally balanced diet for his wife while she is pregnant. So, they consulted a nutritionist. And while said nutritionist may not have had a TV (horrors!) it appears that she gave some pretty sound advice - try to eat more whole foods versus foods with additives. Try to eat more fruits and vegetables. What I don't get, however, are the comments. Many of the people who commented seem to equate trying to eat well, or at least her advice, as despicable. Why? I find this so incredibly strange. I am trying to eat well during my pregnancy and I am far from perfect in my attempts - but I would never fault someone else for trying to eat well. And although I complained about people exercising and climbing mountains during their pregnancies - it's only because I was so sad that I wasn't able to continue to exercise during the early part of this pregnancy. I happen to enjoy exercising. I had dreams of running throughout my pregnancy. I know that may seem crazy - but running is really one of my most favorite things to do. And no, I'm not thrilled that I am as big as a house - but I am also trying to ignore that and think about the kid and his needs. I would think anyone would recognize that eating well during pregnancy can only benefit mother and child. If you want to eat junk food all throughout your pregnancy, that's your prerogative - but why get upset if someone else is trying to eat well? I only have one shot at this - this kid is only in my womb, developing like this, once. This is HIS life, not my life. I'm far from perfect - but the junk I do eat upon occasion (I had my share of Pringles during the first trimester) I try to combat by also eating as many fruits and veggies as I can. And frankly, I feel better when I do.

Now go eat your damn Twinkies.

Does Size Matter?

2008-05-31T23:08:00.005-04:00

Let me begin this by saying that I am incredibly grateful to even BE in this position. And in the scheme of things, as long as this doesn't mean anything other than, perhaps, my own vanity and discomfort, it's really no big shakes. That being said, I'm not quite sure what happened - but one minute I was a little upset because I wasn't really showing - but wasn't entirely fitting into my clothes (bella bands, rubber bands, large pants, rejoice!) and the next minute? Well, I look about nine months pregnant. No, really. I wanted to look pregnant. I felt weird as people continued to act stunned when I revealed how far along I was - I wanted that badge of honor. But hey, the joke is on me. I've become huge. And, have I said, uncomfortable? Huge and uncomfortable. I don't know if it's the fact that I weighed so much more than normal when I started out this time around, the restricted activity for the first four months and/or the 12-15 pounds that I've gained since becoming pregnant - but I am the size of a small planet. And although they tell you that this time of pregnancy is the "honeymoon" trimester where you feel better, have more energy, etc., that's not what's happening here. I'm uncomfortable. I feel like I'm carrying around a bowling ball. My feet are swelling up. And I have heartburn 24/7. Although this isn't really all that bad, I suppose, I'm a tad afraid of what's in store for me as the pregnancy progresses . . . every woman is different and every pregnancy is different, but really? If I look nine months now, WHAT WILL I LOOK LIKE COME OCTOBER? Believe me, I'm thrilled, ultimately with all of it, I feel lucky, I feel grateful, but I also, yes, feel totally uncomfortable. And you? If you jogged three trillion miles a day all while feeling completely wonderful, I really don't want to hear about it . . .

Pink or Blue

2008-05-23T19:45:00.004-04:00

I live with all males. I have two male dogs. One male cat. And the husband, as you've likely guessed, is also male. I have believed throughout this entire pregnancy that I am carrying a boy. Why? I do not know - I just have. I have had a VERY difficult time looking at girl names, in fact, I've actually thought, "Why are we looking at girl names anyway? I know it's a boy." A woman at work, who says that she "knows things, has feelings about things" (and hey, maybe she does) has said repeatedly, that although I am "carrying like it's a boy" she sees girl. I shrug my shoulders and tell her that I feel, however, that it's a boy. I've also bought all boy clothing - despite the fact that I had no definitive proof of the baby's gender. It just seemed wrong to buy anything girlie or neutral - because I just felt like, it's a boy, why buy some lame yellow or white outfit (and anyone who tells you that neutral baby clothes are just as cute as gender specific clothes is completely out to lunch, if you ask me, which you didn't)? My mother's side is all girls, everyone, until my sister came along, has had girls. My sister, defied the odds (although yes, it's totally determined by the male, but whatever) by having three boys and then one girl. When the first boy came along, we stared at him and didn't know quite what to do with him. A boy! What does one do with boy?! When the girl finally came along, we stared at HER and weren't quite sure what to do with her - so used to boys we'd become.

In all this, although you might say things have been "planned" (Clomid, IUI, etc.) it didn't feel that way - everything about my reproductive life in the past three plus years has felt completely, utterly, and absolutely unplanned, in so many ways. So, it was an easy decision for us to want to know the gender. And the husband has been anxiously awaiting the 20 week scan in the hopes that we would find out. I, on the other hand, was mainly concerned that the scan would show no anomalies but was, excited (when I let myself) to know as well. So, when it came time for the 20 week scan, the minute I laid down I said, "We would like to know the sex, if you are able to tell." She did a beautiful job of telling us exactly what she was doing and that each and every measurement was normal. However, the little bugger was in a transverse position, with the head near my right side and the rump near my left. The hands were also in front of the face. This made it nearly impossible to see a clear view of the lips or of the heart. And despite the fact that I tried to jump around, poke at my stomach, drink juice, and lay on my left, the bugger wouldn't budge. So, I have to go back next week for those remaining two measurements. At the very end, she said, "Let's find out if the room will be pink or will it be blue?" She moved the scanner around and at last said, "Boy. It's a boy!" And I yelled, "I KNEW IT!" like a complete lunatic. Later, the husband said, "My son" and we both laughed and carried on with the delight of it all. A son. We're going to have a son. And we couldn't be more thrilled.

MOVEMENT!

2008-05-18T22:51:00.005-04:00

There is really nothing quite like the first time you realize that someone is moving around in there. The doc told me at the last visit that if I hadn't felt it already, I would soon. I thought at that time that I may have - but I wasn't really sure. This week, however, it's been coming on with much more frequency. Something is really happening in there. I'm not sure what he/she is doing, but I'm sure it involves something like calculus. There's a lot of fluttering and occasional tap, tap, tapping. I keep imagining the little guy in there pointing his index finger and jabbing, rhythmically, at the sides of my stomach, which I thought odd. My sister pointed out that it's more like swimming - so one stroke, two strokes, three strokes feels like a jab, jab, jab. When it happens, when I'm say, sitting around with other people, I just want everything to stand still so I can pay as close attention as possible to the happenings inside the womb. It's such a wild, wild and wonderful thing.

The parentals are in town for my birthday (today) and my father's birthday (Friday). It's been a great visit - although occasionally, they drive me completely bat shit. I can't help but think about how this will play out exactly the same way, thirty-six years from now - the husband and I driving our little one bonkers - all the while we look on in confusion. It's sad, really, but possibly inevitable, no?

I'll write more later, but currently I need to hoist myself into bed - I was falling asleep on the new club chair we just bought (yay). This is the first time we've bought a truly nice piece of furniture, in, oh, say, ever - and just think, it will likely be the last, as now, we have to have things that are kid-proof. Grateful? Absof#$(*!%lutely.

Cheers.

The Cape

2008-04-27T19:16:00.005-04:00

We spent the weekend at the Cape. We sat at many restaurants looking through a name book - which was at times daunting and strange. We napped. We ate. We biked (a little). Waiters asked my due date. I talked to a woman in a kitchen store about her jogging stroller. We bought a few baby clothes. And all the while I felt afraid. Afraid to let myself go. I do not know if this is a healthy pregnancy. Still. I do not know. And I am afraid to know. I am afraid of the miscarriage risk, but I am also afraid to know. Once I know, there is no turning back. I have to begin accepting, dealing, moving forward. For now, I can deny.

The rest of the time was spent with the husband reassuring me that, in the end, everything is going to be all right. Sometimes I forget that it's not just me who is going through this - the infertility, the miscarriages, the possibility of our continuing to have problems. This child, whomever this child is, is part of other people's lives too, those who love us. I forget that. I forget that I am not completely alone in this. My sister signed off an e-mail recently with, "I love you and I love the baby." If something is wrong with my child - I will be angry. I will despair. I will blame myself. I already do. But I am not entirely alone. Grief is a lonely business. But supporting and loving this child does not need to be.

To Amnio or Not to Amnio

2008-04-24T13:34:00.010-04:00

Although you may have thought I'd closed the chapter on the whole nuchal scan issue and have been kicking around the city gleefully purchasing new maternity clothes because I have accepted my potential fate, whatever that may be, that's not exactly true. The more I thought about the results of the nuchal scan/blood test (high hCG) the more I thought I should talk to a genetics counselor. Conversations with my sister (long time RN and currently studying to be an NP, but no background in obstetrics - besides having four kids) and searching on-line is probably not the best way to handle potentially devastating news. So, we met with one yesterday. For some reason, I thought that it might alleviate some of my concerns. It did not. I wanted to get as many facts as I could about the risk of amnio, so that I would feel like I made an informed decision not to have one. Also, I wanted to get a better analysis of my results. This is what I learned (according to the counselor):
1) There is no known genetic link to Downs - in other words, just because no one in my family has Downs and no one in the husband's family has Downs, does not mean we have a lower risk of having Downs. The risk is completely about the age of the mother. This surprised me. I have read some studies, briefly, about a potential risk between the MTHFR gene and Downs, but let's ignore that, thank you very much.
2) I will be 36 at the due date - the analysis increased my risk to that of a 37 year old. However, from what I've read, it's more like 38.
3) Although the PAPP-A and the nuchal were considered normal, the hCG was decidedly not. They want the numbers to be around 1. A number above 1 for the hCG and below 1 for PAPP-A gives a higher risk for Downs. My hCG was quite a bit above 1, but again, the PAPP-A was normal. The counselor did say that it was the hCG that placed me into that risk category.
4) When I asked what the analysis would be if you changed my age to 25 or 30 she basically said that wouldn't make any sense because the risk at 25 or 30 is so much lower, therefore, the results would be meaningless - because it's all about the age of the mother.
5) The blood tests in the first trimester are actually more accurate than those given in the second.
6) I still have less than 1% chance of carrying a baby with Downs. However, I could be that one person . . .
7) The national average for "complications" from amnio is 1/400. Complications include, but are not limited to, severe cramping, bleeding, leaking amniotic fluid and miscarriage. I've read that the risk of miscarriage from amnio is 1% - but it's hard to quantify. The hospital does not have their own averages for complications from amnio. I found this highly irritating.
8) Upon learning that the husband is a teacher, she basically went on to say what a cake job teaching is, you know, summers off, etc. This did not sit well with the husband.
9) She seemed to be pushing for the amnio because "the birth is supposed to be happy, and what if they take the baby away suddenly and all the doctors are trying to figure out what's wrong, wouldn't that be horrible?" I found this completely bizarre. Right, because even if I had the amnio and the baby was normal, that means that there is absolutely no possibility that there could be complications. Is it possible that she receives kick backs from each amnio performed? One wonders.
10) She doesn't necessarily think blood tests are great tools because you could just have a concentration of one thing in that particular blood draw. In other words, we could have had the test done fifty more times and my hCG would be normal. On the other hand, they could take the blood 100 times and one time it shows a problem, and there really is a problem.
11) I hate genetics counselors and I'm still not having the amnio.

The End.

********
I should have mentioned that we will be having the 20 week scan and we'll know more then, potentially, and the amnio is still available at that time. Again, though, the risk of a miscarriage from the amnio is still higher than my statistical risk for carrying a child with Downs.

Hello, Maternity Mega-Store!

2008-04-18T09:25:00.004-04:00

Ah, it's an upside down, crazy world when you start thinking these jeans not only look comfortable, but down right kicky!

But am I grateful for this sudden foray into all things elastic and stretchy-paneled? You better believe it.

Moving On . . .

2008-04-12T12:22:00.002-04:00

I'm definitely in a different place than I was a few days ago - I'm more relaxed, less hysterical. I wish I'd never had the test done - I'm not going to do the amnio - although the risk may seem minimal, if I did miscarry - even if it had nothing to do with the amnio, I would never forgive myself.

The test consisted of the nuchal scan, body scan and blood tests. As you know, it's not a diagnostic test, but merely a statistical analysis. The nuchal scan wasn't really the issue - the nuchal scan was normal to high normal. There is a nasal bone. The rest of the scan was completely normal - no abnormalities were detected. The blood work, however, is another story. I was just over normal on one and a little bit just over that for the other (hCG and PAPP-A). What further tipped the scale is my age. Additionally, according to my sister's own analysis, they used to do the nuchal translucency test in the second trimester but found that the nuchal scan was more accurate at 11 - 14 weeks (13 weeks, 6 days). The blood tests, however, are more accurate in the second trimester. She thinks I should have those redone and then also wait for the Level II ultrasound (offered to all my doctor's patients).

I've spent plenty of time on message boards in the last couple of days reading of women who had a higher risk than myself, did the amnio and all is well. Of course, there are those where the amnio confirmed the chromosomal abnormality - but that seems to not be the norm (at least in my reading). However, I'm trying to just accept my fate - and enjoy this pregnancy, enjoy seeing my child grow, whatever lays ahead. I don't have a problem, specifically, with having a child with special needs, it just will take some readjustment. But I am also not so naive as to think that it is an easy life, or the life I dreamed of for my child. Again, you reassess, you readjust, you deal. I also do not have an issue with someone who would choose to terminate their pregnancy - it's just not something at this point in my life I could do. Going through four miscarriages was difficult and I'm not willing to let this one go. I already love this child. Whomever he or she may be.

Thank you for all your comments. They are a comfort.

Nuchal @#()#)( Nuchal

2008-04-09T19:25:00.004-04:00

And there I was getting all caught up in the likely non-existent lead poisoning debacle when I had so much more to be worried about: the nuchal transulcency test results. According to my doc, at my age (the practically teen aged 35), the risk of Downs is slightly elevated, but still low, considering it is at less than one percent (my google research shows 1/400 or .0025). The results of the nuchal test elevated that to slightly higher but still less than one percent (1/161 or .006). I don't want to have an amnio - I'm fearful of the miscarriage risk (although small). And I also know that at less than 1%, it's still likely (one hopes, one hopes) that things are fine. However, I'm worried that you will read this and think, "Oh, no, that is bad. I've never heard of such a high risk!" I'm worried that maybe I should have an amnio - even though I've been against it since day one. I've been reading a few other blogs who had nuchal scares - and their statics were somewhere in the 1/250 range. Shudder.

The doc seemed mellow about it, however. He indicated that some people probably would have an amnio with my results - but when pressed, said that he himself, if it were him, probably would not (the mental picture of him pregnant, was amusing). He also said I should keep in mind that he's just not the overly anxious type and he's had patients with a 1/5 chance of Downs who, in the end, did not have a Downs baby.

One minute I'm fine and sure all is well, and the next minute, well, I'm crying while trying to puncture myself with a needle filled with heparin.

Ah, onwards and upwards, dear ones. I suppose only time will tell.

Lead Paint

2008-04-07T08:43:00.002-04:00

So, I have something new to obsess and panic about - lead paint. Yay me! I was in a "home" this weekend for about five minutes that has some serious lead paint problems. I was in another home a couple of weeks ago, also with a lead paint problem. We're very casually looking at places to buy and occasionally I come across a "fixer-upper" and then proceed to force my husband to go take a look. Of course, every time we go we shout, "Oh my gawd! This place is a nightmare" and run screaming down the street. We are in and out very fast, considering. At any rate, I've been reading a little about lead paint exposure and came across this, "No level of lead exposure can be considered safe." I'm completely freaking out that I've caused brain damage to my unborn child by looking at some horrifically decrepit "homes" that are in serious need of repair (but the asking price is so REASONABLE, cough, cough). What do you think? Don't mince words, seriously. I may even ask my doc to test me for lead paint exposure. Am I losing it or do I have reason to be concerned?

Waterlogged

2008-04-03T08:59:00.003-04:00

We had the nuchal translucency scan yesterday. We saw him (I'm using "him", for now), the Bean, wiggling about, moving every which way, flipping over constantly and refusing to uncross his legs. We were on such a high afterwards that we went and bought a ridiculously overpriced tiny, tiny vintage superheroes t-shirt from a chi chi Upper East Side baby clothing boutique. It's very the husband. Then we proceeded to call a ton of friends to tell them about my status, including the friends who told us they were pregnant very early on and are a week behind us. They actually didn't seem overly enthused. Which kind of saddened me - but who knows? Perhaps they are mad we didn't tell them sooner and are feeling ridiculous for their constant apologies for being pregnant around us (we kept telling them, no need, no need). Anyway, although initially I was feeling fantastic about it all, it didn't take long for the usual worry and anxiety to return. I won't know for another week how the scan went. And I know that it's only a statistical analysis (blood test for markers, age of the mother, size of the nuchal fold) and isn't a diagnostic test - but it still scares me. The ultrasound tech did say that from her point of view, at least, it looked OK - and there is a nasal bone, which is also a good sign. I didn't know, at the time, what size of the nuchal fold is considered normal so wasn't able to make my own mad Google analysis (perhaps this is good?). However, I did take it upon myself to find a thousand photos of other nuchal translucency scans to compare ours - I kept thinking, I don't know, it looks too big, it looks too big. The husband did point out that as far as he knew I had not trained in ultrasound technology, but what does he know? Anyway, we'll know in a week.

Next dilemma - when do I tell the boss?

Also, is there some horribly evil person behind the whole, "drink five hundred gallons of water an hour before your ultrasound"? It was excruciating.

"Labor of Love"

2008-04-01T08:42:00.006-04:00

As someone who has gone through infertility treatments and worked with no less than three reproductive endocrinologists, I am saddened but by no means shocked by this man's treatment by reproductive specialists, his family and friends. The author, a transgendered female to male sought treatment to become pregnant because his wife had a hysterectomy due to severe endometriosis. I in no way mean to imply that the situation isn't mind-bending, it is, and it raises a lot of questions, but no one deserves to be told that it's a good thing that their pregnancy didn't survive because it was likely "a monster." Long ago I read the book, She's Not There and one of my favorite all time books is Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides. Both explore sexual and gender identity and both protagonists lived a life of incredible anguish because they felt as though they were born to the wrong bodies. If he had done this so that a sibling could have had a child would the perception have been different? How many of us in the infertility community have been shunned in some way because we should "just adopt"? The author of the article, Thomas Beatie, writes, ". . . our situation ultimately will ask everyone to embrace the gamut of human possibility and to define for themselves what is normal." It's an intriguing story. Read about it here.

Birthing Plans?

2008-03-30T22:38:00.003-04:00

So, the husband claims that I am becoming more and more irritable and is blaming it on my current status. When I asked him to explain why then I found him highly annoying upon occasion while not knocked up, he said,"PMS." He was joking, of course, and although it did make me laugh, it also gave me pause. Am I more irritable than normal? I don't know. I do know that when my sister sent a long e-mail about birthing plans, a subject she is very, very into, I became highly annoyed. I e-mailed back to try to explain that this is a day to day thing for me, my next appointment will take place three weeks after my last one (and who knows what's going on in there) and I just can't think that far ahead. Just one of the many difficult outcomes of going through infertility, recurrent miscarriages, etc. But she didn't really get it. She responded by e-mailing that she'd try to bring it up again in a month or so. I responded by telling her that if I cared to discuss it, I'd bring it up. Partially, I'm just too scared. Simple as that. You start making birthing plans, you start buying cribs, and then your world falls apart . . . I seriously may have to send people out for diapers and a crib WHILE IN THE HOSPITAL, like one of those ladies who doesn't know she's pregnant until she gives birth . . .

All I care about is the kid being ALIVE and HEALTHY. I don't care about home births, water births, unmedicated births, epidurals, pitocin and the like. There may have been a time, long ago, pre-multiple miscarriages, when I had the luxury to care about such things, but that time has past. I do care somewhat about c-sections and episiotomies (something I would like to avoid), but also told my doctor that if the baby is in distress, slice me open.

The thing is, it's needling at me. Perhaps I should care? Perhaps I should be thinking about such things (already?). Am I a bad parent (already?) If I don't start making birthing plans now? Do birthing plans even work? Isn't it better to relax and realize that you don't really have that much control?

Not to let all her wisdom go to waste (I really do love my sister, and she is a long time nurse studying to be a nurse practitioner and also has four kids, so she does knows a little something on the subject), she recommends the following books: Your Baby and Child, by Penelope Leach, The Birth Book by William Sears and Martha Sears and Natural Child Birth the Bradley Way. She strongly advocates using doulas, breast feeding until the end of time (joking, or am I?) and natural child birth. What do you think? I ask this delicately, because I know you may not be in that position right now . . .

And trust me, if this works out, I know how damn lucky I am. And will be shocked for a long while. I just feel like I'm in a holding pattern, suspended in mid-air, always, until that next appointment. It's also very weird to have my family know - and a little unnerving, frankly. Again, expectations, dashed dreams. It's hard.

Out of the Closet

2008-03-24T17:46:00.003-04:00

I called my parents yesterday and while talking to my pops realized that they'll actually be in California next week (the magic day when I was going to spill the beans - it actually says, "Spill the beans" on my calendar at work). I tried to slyly ask if they'd have their cell phones with them but they didn't seem to know and were quite confused as to why I was asking. So, I hung up, met up with the husband who was playing frisbee and made our way to the Met to see, "Depth of Field." I told the husband that I thought either we should tell both the parental units next Wednesday, wait until the nuchal transulcency scan on the 2nd or tell them right then - because all these dates were starting to seem arbitrary. I also felt that if the nuchal scan isn't great, I'm really going to need their support. The husband, who has been chomping at the bit to tell his parentals since day one, jumped at the chance to do so yesterday. So we did. His parents who have been desperate for grandchildren for about ten years (at least) and only have one now who isn't even a year old yet, and my parents, who have four grandchildren and seemed only concerned about the fact that we were unhappy, reacted quite differently. The husband's parents were very, very reserved. My father was so thrilled he got a little emotional. It was great. I think the husband's parents are scared and cautious and don't know what to do with such information. I think my sister was somewhat annoyed that I hadn't told her earlier - but she doesn't understand how superstitions and paranoia come into play in times like these. In fact, telling them all this early is a little suspect, although also, a relief.

The post about my father was taken down because I wasn't sure if I really wanted it out there - denial is a great coping mechanism and I plan on using it for all its worth for the time being. However, I decided it's weird to post it and then take it down. So , there it is.

Pops

2008-03-21T14:59:00.004-04:00

In August of 2005, my father was diagnosed with renal cell carcinoma (kidney cancer) and had his kidney removed. In October of 2005, he was diagnosed with a distinct and unrelated cancer, non-Hodgkin lymphoma. I became pregnant in November of 2005 and miscarried in January. It has been one of my greatest fears that however I end up becoming a parent, my child won’t know my father. He just told me today, in between joking around, that he received the results back from a CT scan and will be starting chemo after a short visit to New York, mid-May. I’m not normally a crier - well, that’s not entirely true, but at the very least, I usually restrain myself to times and places I feel are more appropriate, but most definitely, not at work. When I got off the phone - I just sat in my office and sobbed. I started to believe, that maybe, just maybe, he’d licked this thing. This has hit me like a ton of bricks.

My parents don’t know of my status. We decided to tell them at the end of next week when I reached that magic number of weeks (you know the one). I certainly haven’t lost my fears on that front either - I saw my new doc on the 12th (very elegant, very French, very anti-episiotomy) and won’t seen anyone again until the 2nd when I have the nuchal fold scan.

So, I sit, I wait, I cry, and I worry about my pops.

And Another Thing . . .

2008-03-11T19:24:00.002-04:00

What's with these people who JUST peed on the old the pee stick MOMENTS AGO and are immediately out shopping for car seats and the best 529s? Friends of ours just told us about their pregnancy at SIX WEEKS. Two weeks before that, LITERALLY TWO WEEKS BEFORE THAT, they began buying baby furniture and rearranging their guest bedroom. Are these people insane? Are they aliens? I'm completely baffled. Meanwhile NO ONE except for you and the good people (you know, random strangers with funny clipboards) at my clinic know of my status.

Boggles the mind, really.

So, right, she doesn't post for weeks, and now she won't shut up . . .

Carry on.

The "P" word

2008-03-11T12:39:00.004-04:00

And I don't mean "prostitute".

I’m still in this in-between stage where I don’t quite know what to think - can I get excited yet? Can I start to believe? Does the fact that I’ve met a milestone I’d never met before matter? Of course, I’m afraid, because anything can still happen . . . but it was so incredible to hear that heart beat and to see that little guy who looked so much bigger than I’d imagined. I’m going to be slightly nutty for, OK, well, honestly FOREVER. I don’t want to be one of those hovering psycho moms - but I’m starting to understand that compulsion more and more.

Yesterday was really the first day (at least in the light of day) I looked at a p______ related book. Last Saturday I found myself reviewing a section in What to Expect when I couldn’t, for the third night in a row get back to sleep (FYI - even though you are exhausted, if you repeatedly wake up in the middle of the night and can’t get back to sleep - stop taking mid-afternoon naps - even though they are delicious). I am actually beginning to let myself (for only brief interludes) contemplate how much time I’m going to take off (likely three months - although I’d like to take off six) and when, exactly, I’m going to tell my boss (something I can barely fathom). Yes, it might be premature - but in my p______ state, my mind wanders. (However I just read a note from my mother - her friend’s daughter just had a baby after four miscarriages - apparently the doctor said she was out of the danger zone only after she’d reached five months - so this gives me pause to slow down a little. But isn’t that wonderful? I’m so excited for her - and I do understand if you are not - I've known that feeling well).

I’ve also graduated to "fat pants." I’m not looking at all p______ (at least I don’t think so) but my waistbands are uncomfortable and tight. I’ve had to purchase a size I can’t even utter (I started out a little on the fatty side this time as well - I didn’t think IUIs actually worked - so I figured I had time to get the post-surgery-shingles-lethargy weight off, but hey, I’m fine with it - I’ll take it off later - and really, what I get in return is far more important than my own damn vanity, really).

Nausea has been a fun and exciting twist this time around. For awhile there - I wasn’t nauseous when hungry, only while eating or afterwards. So, brilliantly, one day, while feeling particularly green, I decided to forgo lunch. Mistake. I came home and dry heaved. In the sink.

I also can’t figure out the whole "cravings" thing. Nothing sounds appetizing, AT ALL, until one thing does COMPLETELY and then once I’ve tracked it down - it doesn’t live up to the hype. Yesterday the husband asked if I preferred a black bean quesadilla or Thai style spring rolls. I was no help at all because frankly, I was feeling queasy again. Anyway, once the husband made the decision to make quesadillas and I’d had one, I wanted, oh, say, about a dozen more. It’s frightening, really. Who is this person?

Anyway, I am still on heparin (and have the old banana looking stomach to prove it - actually, more like an old banana that’s been run over by a car). And Doctor Superman has released me into the capable hands of some OTHER doctor whom I’ll be meeting tomorrow - alone. The husband won’t be able to make it.

The big story around the water cooler here, though, involves a governor and his poor judgment. Oh, and a prostitute and money and the Mayflower Hotel. Discuss.

Measuring 9 weeks 1 day

2008-03-07T12:14:00.006-05:00

Still in shock. Heart rate at 170 - which worries me. But doc seemed to think not a problem. More later.

Wowza

2008-02-22T17:28:00.002-05:00

Ultrasound today: measuring at exactly 7 weeks (technically I'm 6 weeks 5 days). Heart rate at 144 beats per minute. I was, and this is a rarity, speechless. I also couldn't hold back the tears.

Doctor Superman seemed surprised, however, that I was at work last week (due to the bleeding). At the time he'd said, "take it easy" - I didn't know that he meant not to go to work. This time he again told me to take it easy, that this is a critical time, etc. I didn't think to ask him about the photo shoot I have scheduled tomorrow - I'll be on my feet for one to two hours. So, now I don't know if I should cancel or not.

I am equally thrilled and stunned. We're still far from being out of the woods yet but we've graduated. I have to make an appointment with a regular (albeit high risk) OB.

Not that long ago, when I told my sister that we were moving on to adoption (which we still want to do) and to stop harassing me about getting pregnant again, she e-mailed me back and said, "Miracles do happen. Who says they can't happen to you?" In a couple of weeks, I'm going to e-mail her, with these words, and these words only: "Miracles do happen . . . " She'll instantly know. I am sure of it. And I can't wait.

Exhale, exhale, exhale.

1st Scan

2008-02-15T09:05:00.003-05:00

Scan showed a gestational sac and it is measuring appropriately. Doctor Superman thinks the spotting is from an irritation of the vaginal wall as there was no detection of a problem internally. I'm a little perplexed as to why there was only a gestational sac and no yolk or fetal pole but the doc did not seem concerned. Of course, I'm worried. I have another scan in a week. He made three seperate illustrations: 1) with only the gestational sac, 2) with the sac and yolk sac and 3) with the sac, yolk sac and fetal pole. He indicated that this is generally the progression. If we still don't see anything at the next scan, that is likely problematic. In my last pregnancy that made it this far, we saw a heartbeat. Again, worried.

The husband cried like a baby.

I've never been so thrilled to have to make a trip to the in-laws.

Thank you for all your kind comments.

I'll be holding my breath all week . . .

(I'm considered approximately 5 weeks 6 days).

Game Over

2008-02-14T08:39:00.003-05:00

I have no cramps, my breasts still hurt and my temperature is still elevated, but it's turning red. Bright, bright red. I have a scan tommorow, but . . .

When I used to read other people's blogs who miscarried multiple times, I couldn't figure out how and why they kept going. What drove them? Why would they put themselves through it time and time again?

I'll tell you. Hope. You think, it couldn't POSSIBLY happen again. And love. You think, I want to see a little face that reminds me of my husband. And . . . denial. You think, it's not happening again, even when it is, right before your very eyes.

Five times. FIVE TIMES.

I made a deadline for myself to have the initial application with the adoption agency done by January 31st. Then I got pregnant. And then there was hope. Everything looked good - I actually produced eggs on Clomid! More than one! My lining was great. The IUI went smoothly. I took a home pregnancy test and got a faint line. And every day that I took another test, the line got darker. My hCG was high. My progesterone was higher than it's ever been. I stopped running. I cut out soy. I ate fish (I'm normally a vegetarian). I shot myself twice a day with heparin. I took baby aspirin, folate and prenatal vitamins. I drank hormone free milk. And orange juice. I went on walks. I tried to think positively. We visualized a positive outcome. I let myself think about the possibility of twins. TWINS! And yet, still . . . again. Same old story.

We are supposed to be going to the husband's hometown for his mother's birthday. I'm bailing out. It's difficult for me to be around a baby right now.

I wish I had more to say. But, I can't really get my head around this. When I came into work today, I went to the bathroom, came back, and noticed that I had spilled water all over my desk, my chair, the floor, my pant leg. I'd been walking around like that for a good twenty minutes and hadn't even noticed.

Spotting.

2008-02-12T21:22:00.000-05:00

Again. I've been trying to be cautiously optimistic . . . but . . . now . . . this.

I'll meet you over at the Prozac dispenser if this goes where I don't even want to mention.

And the only thing to do now is wait.

Finally . . .

2008-02-05T11:29:00.000-05:00

I just threw my intern out of my office so I could call and find out if there were any results. The nurse said, "Yes, I just got those and I'm going to have the nurse practitioner call you and explain the results and what you need to do next but you are pregnant, and your hCG is 358, which is pretty good." My hCG was taken from what I'd estimate as exactly 14 days post ovulation. My progesterone was at 57.38. I've actually never had a progesterone at that level - and that seems insanely high. I am on progesterone supplementation, however. As I am want to do - that makes me slightly nervous. So, I guess next stop is to get another hCG done.

***UPDATE***

Your encouraging comments mean the world!

I just got off the phone with the Physician's Assistant - who left me a message about getting my second beta within 48 hours from the last, on Thursday. I phoned her back to make sure she understood that the initial results were from Saturday - not today. She hesitated and then told me that perhaps a second beta wasn't really necessary - she felt that these numbers looked good, etc., etc. - something about it being more difficult to tell the doubling rate when it's more than 48 hours. I then explained a little bit about my history and she then said that I would be treated the same even if the beta wasn't doubling properly (progesterone, etc.) and so there was perhaps not much of a need. At first I was OK with this - now I'm starting to get more and more anxious about it. However, I imagine that if Doctor Superman has an issue with this, he'll call. In the meantime, I just wait. I know, crazy.

No News is Good News

2008-02-05T08:22:00.000-05:00

By 11 AM yesterday with no news, I was about ready to jump out of my skin. So, I called my doctor's office and they didn't have any results. I then called the blood draw clinic and they didn't have any results either. Every time my cell phone rang at work (which seemed to be about a million times) my heart leapt out of my chest. It was excruciating. By the end of the day I was totally keyed up and freaked out. And I yelled at a friend of mine and called him an idiot (perhaps I should apologize? I'm thinking about it). In the past, I may have had good news only to be followed up by bad news - it's really not a wonder why I became totally and absolutely anxious. Anyway, who knows when I'll know? I'm trying to forget about it, for now.

So, ummm, go Giants!

Groundhog Day

2008-02-02T16:10:00.000-05:00

So fitting that today is Groundhog Day, as I go do my duty and get yet another blood test. And I thought, as I was sitting there, that I could practically do this myself - you know, take my own blood, test it, and be done with it. So, I've decided that I'm going to devise a kit, a home pregnancy BLOOD test for all those infertiles out there. Lord knows I've done it enough times.

Anyway, I won't know the results until Monday. Spotting has seemed to cease. Awoke with terrible cramps however in the middle of the night. It's always something.

Trying to take it one day at a time . . .

You Gotta Love Insurance!

2008-01-31T20:33:00.000-05:00

Several days after the IUI, my husband discovered that someone in billing from Doctor Superman's office left me a message on our home phone (the phone we never answer) regarding some pesky billing matter. After some delightful phone tag, "Venetia" left me a message that the procedure I had done was not "certified" and I needed "pre-certification" and my insurance company was unlikely to retroactively certify the procedure. She instructed me to call my insurance company to straighten things out or at least have the policy explained to me. Ever the dutiful patient, I called and was told that no, the procedure was not covered and that yes, I needed it to be pre-certified, and no, they wouldn't do it retroactively. My blood began to boil. "I AM NOT PAYING FOR THIS. YOU ARE", I screamed. The person on the phone quickly said, "I'm going to send you to super-special immediate assistance department." After that got me nowhere, they sent me to the fertility billing department to get me pre-certified for any other procedures "for the future." Apparently for the "fertility benefit" I have to have everything pre-certified. So the woman there asked, "What is your infertility diagnosis?" When I said that I didn't know what the hell she meant, because they don't know why I'm having problems, she said, "Well, what has your doctor diagnosed you with? They are supposed to give you a bunch of tests and determine the cause of your infertility." Oh, really? And what if they can't determine what it is? Like that's ever happened. I said, "it's idiopathic." Dead air. Then I said, "I'm a recurrent miscarrier." She was feverishly excited with that one, "I'm going to get the bonus of the year! Denied!" "The ability to achieve pregnancy, whether carried to term or not, is not defined as infertility. You are not eligible for the infertility benefit." So I said, just for the hell of it, "High FSH! Diminished ovarian reserve! Blocked tubes! Endometriosis! PCOS!" She ignored me. Then I said, "So, I've been trying to have a baby for THREE YEARS and I don't have one, NOT EVEN ONE but I'm not considered infertile because I've been able to achieve pregnancy in the past?" That's great, right? The REALLY FUNNY thing? It turns out that the IUI is covered under my general benefit and that the billing person mistakenly thought that I did an IVF cycle and apparently, that's what she tried to bill for. It wasn't an altogether fruitless call, I did learn that if I am ever recommended IVF it's likely going to have to be paid for out of pocket. And New York has mandatory IVF coverage. Wonderful.

Still spotting? Yes. Being driven mad? Quite. "P" word or not? I can't bare to face it.

Curses.

2008-01-25T11:14:00.003-05:00

It's been one week since the IUI. And I'm bleeding. Ever so slightly. And crampy. Ever so slightly. I've heard of the mysterious "implantation bleeding" but thought it was the result of tall tales and wishful thinking. Or at the very least, in all of those four times I've held a positive pregnancy test in my hands, I never had implantation bleeding or any bleeding for that matter, beforehand. I am, however, on the heparin, so who knows? I read that cramping should not accompany implantation bleeding. So, this may not be looking good.

Curses. What now?

One more week.

On Pins and Needles

2008-01-20T10:15:00.000-05:00

I went in to see Dr. Superman at 7:30 AM on Thursday. His kindly nurse scheduled me right before his day o'surgeries so that I could miss barely a minute (more like 45) of work. Follicles were at 15 mm, 18 mm and 20 mm. I had my HCG shot in my rear (thankful for once for my barely exercised booty as of late - did not hurt at all) and was scheduled for the IUI the following morning. I was more worried about the whole collection process for the husband than for the IUI. We got there at the crack of dawn and I started to follow him into the "collection room" - but was stopped because "that is not allowed." Feeling like I was trying to solicit a crack whore in a back alley, I made my way back to the waiting area. The husband emerged not fifteen minutes later ("Wow! That was fast!") and we were off to find some coffee to wait out the dish washing, the drip/dry, the holy water sprinkling of the sperm. When we returned, as I was tired and not following directions well, madam collector handed the husband the vial of pink solution (it's a preservative! We wondered at first if it was all girl sperm) and was told to hold it upright. And not to toot my husband's horn, so to speak, but the boys were apparently champion swimmers and were more amazing then any sperm they've ever seen - OK, that bit is made up. Although they did report excellent motility and extremely high numbers, etc., etc. The procedure itself was fairly fast, if not slightly uncomfortable and there was a lot of, "just relax, relax your buttocks" because I am not exactly known for my zen-like qualities, "I'm a cat! I'm a lazy cat laying around next to a fireplace. I'm, I'm - no, not working." The husband held my hand - which was nice and then I laid there for fifteen minutes - which was also nice and made me think of those napping houses in Japan and what a great idea that is. Afterwards, the Nurse Practitioner who performed the procedure, discussed the progesterone that I would need to start on Sunday. I mentioned the heparin. She looked at me like I had two heads but said she'd consult with Dr. Superman and call me later that day. She did, called it into the pharmacy and I was left with some on-line teaching tool to find out how the hell I was supposed to give myself a shot.

When I was five years old, I went in for my vaccinations. Shots were something that I hated. I loathed. I dreaded. I know, no one likes shots, but I brought it to new psychotic levels - when I was really little, they used to have to restrain me. My mother would bribe me with a McDonald's strawberry milkshake to get me to go. And sadly, apparently this worked.

On that particular day, the doctor told me that I didn't have to get another round of vaccinations until I was twelve. This was supposed to be some sort of saving grace. It wasn't.

Upon my twelfth birthday, my aunt asked me if I was excited about turning twelve. I looked her square in the eye and said, "No. I am not. I have to be vaccinated this year." My mother was of course, shocked. No one had mentioned the vaccinations in the last seven years, and of course, she herself had forgotten all about that conversation all those years ago. What she also didn't know was that upon each subsequent birthday from the ripe old age of five onward, I would let out a slow exhale of relief that this was not the year that I would have to get a new round of vaccinations.

So, it is not without some irony that I am begging to have a self-administered shot of a drug that burns, not once, but twice a day. A drug that may or may not do anything for me. A drug that I am administering prior to a positive pregnancy test.

The NP seemed fairly dubious about the whole operation and lectured me for quite sometime about the dangers of heparin. I thanked her kindly, watched the video, made my husband watch it, and then proceeded to have a freak out. The needle, however, was the size of an angel's wisp of hair and went in easily. I pushed the med in, withdrew the needle and put ice on it, immediately. And then it burned for several minutes. Since then, the burning is non-existent or only ever so slight. Last night I had to crawl over several people, including my unwitting friends, to administer the drug in a movie theater bathroom. I watched the rest of the flick with an ice pack stuck down my pants.

So, we'll see. And, here again, like a song that you can't get of your head, here begins the two week wait (you know what I mean, you used to like the song, but now it's annoying that it's stuck in your head like that and it won't leave you, even for a minute).

POSTSCRIPT:
In order to minimize the pain, ice may be recommended at the injection site before the heparin is administered. But I'm no medical expert, so take what I say with a grain of salt. Here are two interesting sites that I read (for entertainment purposes only): How to Administer Heparin Injections and Do's & Dont's.

Magical Thinking

2008-01-15T17:44:00.000-05:00

"Magical thinking can occur when one simply does not understand possible causes, as illustrated by Sir Arthur C. Clarke's suggestion that 'any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic' but can also occur in response to situations that are largely random or chaotic, such as a coin toss, as well as in situations that one has little or no control over, especially those one is emotionally invested in."

When I was, maybe nine or ten, my grandmother was dying. She wasn't really that old and it shook the entire family. As she lay in her hospital bed, I began wearing a macaroni necklace. I told myself, as long as I remembered to wear it, she wouldn't die. One day I forgot to slip it on. That day, she died.

Since miscarrying multiple times, I find myself doing similar things. I tell myself that if I don't start thinking more positively, I will, essentially, will the worst to happen. If I don't constantly visualize myself with a full, pregnant belly, I'll never have one. If I don't clean my house and go all feng shui on it, the universe won't hear my call. Frankly, it's exhausting. I don't exactly know how to get my head around it - that I really don't control whether or not this will all work out by my own thoughts, positive attitude or not, but I need to let go a little. The fact is, I don't really have control over whether or not I miscarry - much as I seem to believe otherwise.

I'm also keeping this whole IUI business on the down low. I can't really bear to hear my sister, mother, friends do the whole, "OH! I just know it's going to work out for you this time." I can't take it. I know that's odd, I suppose, but I just eye them and think, "You really don't know what the hell you are talking about." I can't handle the enthusiasm because I'm trying to keep myself from getting too carried away - because if I get carried away and it doesn't work out, it's all the more crushing. Then again, I find myself getting a little excited with each new cycle - because it really could all work out. Yep, I'm a flip flopper.

And now onto the minutia of my cycle Day 10 appointment: lining is at 7.5 mm, three follicles, 11 mm, 15mm and 16 mm. Last time I was on Clomid, I had one follicle and it was barely at 15 mm. Dr. Superman seemed pleased. We're marching onto "collection time"wherein the husband gets to get romantic with a cup. Splendid.

Polar Bears and Midnight Runs

2008-01-01T22:33:00.001-05:00

I spent a lovely New Year's running through Central Park at midnight. There were a few teary moments as I thought about what a year it's been and contemplated where we might be at this time next year. Closer? There? In flying cars? You never know what the future may hold. It was a tad surreal to be running through the Park after midnight, thinking about such things as a Scarecrow and a tiny Dorothy are running next to you - and up ahead an M & M is having trouble with his shoe.

Today the husband and I trekked out to Coney Island for the Polar Bear Club's Dip. I wasn't brave enough to do it - but the husband found it completely invigorating and it was fantastic to be a spectator. The boardwalk was filled with people, young, old, costumed, tiny skivvies and all. According to the founder, Bernarr Macfadden, "a dip in the ocean during the winter can be a boon to one's stamina, virility and immunity." HERE'S TO THAT! It was a great time. Hope you and yours had a lovely, lovely, fantastic celebration.

Happy New Year!

2007-12-31T13:54:00.000-05:00

We had our appointment with our RE on Friday morning. In a nutshell, we’ll be doing the IUI this month (as in January) and I’ll be starting Clomid likely around the 4th. I can always tell when my period is nearing - I gain weight and am crabby and emotional. So, yep, it’s likely approaching. I’m not thrilled about the Clomid - I was miserably bloated the last time. Any known remedies for terrible Clomid bloat out there?

My father is visiting and he’s been sick. Having my sick father wedged into my tiny apartment hasn’t been easy. He’s kind of a loan wolf - it’s likely cramping his style. Also, I think as we approach the IUI I'm becoming more and more stressed out. It’s difficult to leap into the fire. I’m afraid that the IUI won’t work and I am afraid that it will work and then I'll miscarry yet again. I’m trying to rest on the idea that we are still looking into adoption, no matter what happens. AND I'm trying, desperately, trying to THINK POSITIVE. Ugh.

I couldn't resist reprinting some festive New Year's quotes:

"The proper behavior all through the holiday season is to be drunk. This drunkenness culminates on New Year's Eve, when you get so drunk you kiss the person you're married to."
- P.J. O'Rourke.

"The only way to spend New Year's Eve is either quietly with friends or in a brothel. Otherwise when the evening ends and people pair off, someone is bound to be left in tears."
--W.H. Auden

"New Year's eve is like every other night; there is no pause in the march of the universe, no breathless moment of silence among created things that the passage of another twelve months may be noted; and yet no man has quite the same thoughts this evening that come with the coming of darkness on other nights."
--Hamilton Wright Mabie

Have a wonderful New Year and may it be filled with happiness and light.

Egg Nog, Christmas Cookies and Injectible Anticoagulants!

2007-12-20T16:33:00.000-05:00

As the time nears when we may start trying again (and if this is confusing to you : Adoption? Yes. Trying again? Yes. Just think of my husband), I’ve been obsessively searching for data on those who have the MTHFR A1298C gene mutation, used heparin and had a successful pregnancy. What I found, mostly, were people who will be using it the next time. Of special note, however, were several people who began heparin therapy at cycle day 6 or at ovulation. Last time I met with Doctor Superman, he checked the incision sites and we discussed IUI versus naturally trying to get pregnant. He mentioned using progesterone the minute I get a positive pregnancy test but didn't specifically mention heparin. So, I said, "And heparin? Right, you’ll be using heparin?" He said yes, I could start heparin at the time of a positive pregnancy test. It seemed as though he was advocating for us to try naturally at first - and the husband and I discussed this and it seemed like a fine plan.

However, as I continued to read the message boards where most if not all were starting heparin before a positive pregnancy test I began to panic. I told the husband about the whole "cycle day 6" business and he suggested that I call Doctor Superman. But I just couldn’t. There were so many times during discussions with Doctor Wonderful (previous RE) where he seemed to dismiss everything that I said, that I just couldn’t muster the energy to go there again. I feel like I’ve been screaming since day one, "Something is wrong with me! This is just going to keep happening until someone figures it out!" And it has always fallen on deaf ears. All I heard, time and time again, from my OB/GYN, RE and everyone else, were the statistics regarding miscarriage were in my favor, that it’s a common occurrence and most women go on to have a healthy, normal pregnancy the next time around. I was still, unbelievably, told this after the fourth miscarriage. Doctor Wonderful’s (that name was always used with a touch of irony, by the way) mantra seemed to be, "Keep trying, eventually it will work out." It’s difficult, as a four time loser to sit back and think "everything will work out." I don’t necessarily believe that heparin is the magic bullet either - but I’d like to try everything. I mean, what the hell do I have to lose?

In the end, my lovely husband took it upon himself to call Doctor Superman and Doctor Superman discussed the three different "points of entry" for the use of heparin during pregnancy: 1) from the beginning of your cycle, 2) at ovulation and 3) at a positive pregnancy test. Doctor Superman doesn’t really see the point of starting heparin at the first day of your cycle and he wasn’t really sure why anyone would do "cycle day 6" but he was willing to start heparin at ovulation. It’s incredible, in a way, to me, oh, girl-with-the-needle-phobia that I am pushing for the use of heparin - but again, doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result seems akin to insanity. I suppose, however, if there were chromosomal problems in several of the pregnancies, and I was told there was only say, a 20% chance or even a 50% chance of the chromosomal problem occurring again, I may continue trying (that is, of course, until it continued to not work out (how many times? who knows) and then I would insist on IVF with PGD). But when virtually nothing has been found - it’s hard to just blindly fall of the cliff again and again. Heparin is my last ditch effort. So, I will be going on the lovely Clomid again (which I hated), and moving towards an IUI (do IUIs ever work?). One study, which I’ve mentioned previously, predicts that those with the A1298C gene mutation will respond poorly to the use of stimulating drugs, such as Clomid. And I didn’t exactly prove that theory wrong last time. I think the husband is somewhat dreading the whole escapade (who wants to do your business under the watchful eye of several dozen medical personnel - even if the bathrooms, and I’d imagine, "the Depositories" are beautiful and ready for a photo essay in a chi chi interior design magazine).

IUIs do make me nervous. It seems like a lot of effort when there's still a very real possibility that I won't even GET pregnant in the first place. Then I'll have given myself heparin shots for two weeks for nothing. I'm sure that this may be the doctor's thinking when they prescribe heparin at a positive pregnancy test versus earlier.

On a semi-related note, the husband and I put ourselves on a strict budget for Christmas shopping this year - we are trying to save as much as we can for Ze Adoption. Let me tell you, $100 sure doesn't go very far in this town.

'Tis the Season!

Baby W

2007-12-06T14:42:00.000-05:00

While I was laid up post-surgery, my mother and I perused the mountain of adoption agency packets the husband and I gathered at the adoption conference in Jersey (in New Jersey! We drove to New Jersey - this is ridiculously perceived as a wild adventure for those who live in NYC and see no reason to go beyond its borders). One agency's packet contained a photo book of children waiting for adoption, many with special needs. One child, an infant, Baby W, was missing part of one ear. He had no other medical needs and his hearing seemed to be fine. My mother and I stared at this baby with the wild shock of black hair for a long time. Eventually, I e-mailed the agency and requested more information. This week, the coordinator e-mailed that I should be receiving his packet shortly. Today, however, I got another e-mail that he's been adopted.

I am thrilled for this family, of course. Mostly. There was a split moment, however, when I felt incredibly sad (and jealous). I'd already imagined meeting him for the first time. I'd thought about what milestones he may be missing if he's in an institution (which in this case, he may not be). I hoped he was getting as much one on one care as possible. I saw us going and getting him. I saw myself reviewing his packet of medical information with the famous Manhattan adoption doctor with the blue rimmed glasses. I imagined the husband videotaping our first meeting and he and I crying and Baby W just staring into our eyes, mostly confused. I saw his little hands. And I saw myself kissing his little face. I wondered how he would feel about being from a different race and culture than his adoptive parents. I'd thought about him searching for his birth parents when he was older. I'd thought about the two of us sitting down and writing letters together to send to his birth mother through his agency. And including his brilliant drawings.

I'd thought all of these things without even realizing it.

It should be noted that we have not applied with this agency - we have not applied with any agency. We're still in the very beginning stages of all of this - and I was getting completely, totally, utterly carried away, ridiculously, for just a few moments. And I recognize my ability to over-dramatize at these times - because, I suppose, everything is so rife with emotion when it comes to building your family in a non-traditional way (i.e., through infertility treatments or adoption or third party reproduction).

I'm beginning to get a small taste, however, that I may be leaving one area of uncertainty for another. Although thankfully, adoption, unlike infertility, guarantees you will be a parent in the end. But really, it's still going to be a damn roller coaster.

Shingle Bells

2007-11-30T19:18:00.001-05:00

So, Tuesday my left breast was killing me - and the pain was radiating to my back. It was odd. And then a horrible rash broke out on my breast. I thought I'd wait a day or so in case it was just an allergic reaction to something (although I couldn't quite fathom what on earth my left breast had gotten into). When it persisted, it occurred to me that I could have shingles. My father had shingles when I was a teenager. It was an odd kind of pain - it didn't itch but felt like daggers in my chest and back. My back also spasmed and would jolt me out of bed. It felt viral, if that makes any sense, and not topical.

After consulting Doctor Google, I realized that if I indeed had shingles, it needed to be treated within 48 hours of the first outbreak. I began to panic. 48 hours from the outbreak was the night I was reading the information - at 11 PM. My post-op appointment was the next morning, and I thought maybe Doctor Superman could take a look at it.

Of course, Doctor Superman does not treat skin disorders and calmly told me he couldn't treat something that's not his area and didn't want to steer me in the wrong direction. Always the professional. He sent me upstairs for a consult with a dermatologist. Due to Doctor Superman's persistence, they agreed to see me today. Thank goodness - because I do have shingles and am now on the proper medication for it. Hopefully it should clear up in seven to 10 days. But I have to tell you, it hurts like a mother. When I asked the resident who was assisting the treating physician if I should tell people I work with to stay away from me if they haven't had chickenpox (shingles is the same virus as chickenpox and if an adult hasn't had chicken pox it's highly contagious - and worse for an adult to contract than a child - according to my mother) she looked at me like I'd lost my mind and told me that I shouldn't be at work, AT ALL. I was stunned. I'd already lost a WEEK of work due to the surgery. I have deadlines. I have discovery requests. I have a hearing approaching. I am essentially still working two jobs while they find a replacement for my old position (and P.S., shingles can be brought on by stress-interesting, no?). It's crazy. Anyway, the treating physician said that he would recommend missing Friday and Monday and to call if it looked like there was no improvement - it should cease being contagious at that point and I should feel better.

Anyway, back to the land of infertility: Doctor Superman said that everything looks good. The tubes are cleared and he removed the scar tissue from my uterus. And a polyp. He had me look at the incisions after he removed the bandages - I was astonished at how tiny they were. And because of there location, I'll likely barely notice them once they are completely healed. And yes, this is what everyone was telling me before the surgery.

So, at this point, he basically told me that we could go ahead on our own or go forward with the IUI. He said that because of my age, only 35 (I love this man), he feels comfortable in us going forward naturally. If no dice in the next couple of months, IUI. I told him I'd discuss with the husband. Also, he again reiterated that the moment I get a positive test I must contact him and he'll throw everything in his arsenal at me, including heparin. I'm so relieved - because otherwise, it's just doing the same thing, over and over again, expecting a different result. I' m a little disappointed, in a way, that he didn't want to march right into the IUI but it certainly makes things easier not doing one. We'll see.

And really, I'm normally a pretty healthy person. And not so whiny about pain. Normally. Really.

Back in the Land of the Living

2007-11-24T11:09:00.000-05:00

First of all, sadly, and let us please all bow are heads, the belly button ring is no longer. Hacked off with enormous cutters by a marathon-addicted madman in charge of the OR.

As I was having the IV placed (sonofabitchthatthingfrickin'hurtlikeamother) and writhing in pain, Nurse Ratchet began asking me a series of fairly innocuous questions, "When was your last period, did you have anything to eat or drink after midnight, do you have any jewelry left on your person?" Why yes, Nurse Ratchet, I do. I have a belly button ring, but I discussed it with Doctor Superman and he preferred that I leave it in - something about infections. She actually whipped around, narrowed her eyes and bellowed, "I find that hard to believe." "Really? Well, generally I am in the business of LYING to medical staff because I am only SEVENTEEN YEARS OLD and don't want my mother, who happens to be in the next room, finding out about this piercing I had done ten years ago, but today, lady, I am actually telling you the truth." This went around and around for several minutes. She continued to ask the exact same questions and I continued to answer in the exact same manner, "Have you ever tried to have it removed?" "Yes, I have tried on several occasions, and so has my husband. I don't have a problem with removing it - I just have never been ABLE to remove it. It's supposed to twist off, but I have never been able to twist it off. This is why I asked Doctor Superman about it - because I figured I would have to go to a piercer to have it removed. " "Have you ever actually tried to remove it?" And so on. I implored her to call my physician, to at least verify that he did in fact tell me to keep the ring in. After delaying my surgery for over an hour, they sent in Mister OR Director (i.e., Marathon Addict), a youngish man who discussed his marathon addiction with me and tried the tactic of "relating" to the uncooperative patient by discussing his own past piercings in his left nipple and up his left ear. I kept repeating, "I don't have a problem removing it, I just don't know how to remove it, I'm afraid if you cut it, the sharp edges will cut my skin because it's a barbell." Etc. Etc. Etc. My doctor did come down and verified that he told me to keep it in - but the hospital was hearing none of it and wanted that thing removed. No metal in the operating room. Under any circumstances. Including, apparently, in one's mouth. I wanted to ask, "Do you actually pull out people's fillings?" All the while my mother was in the waiting room - watching them drag me and my IV and my layers of hospital clothes (I have yet to figure out which way the stupid pants were supposed to tie - front or back - both seemed decidedly wrong - but no matter, once I entered the OR they made me drop my drawers) from room to room. I was becoming increasingly agitated. I was already nervous and the IV continued to hurt - I just wanted the surgery to be over and done with.

When I finally got into the operating room - I jokingly apologized for the delay but said that I really enjoy making a ruckus and even more, enjoy being the center of attention and planned the whole thing when the anesthesiologist said, "Really?" and I said, "Um, no, that was a joke." Wow. No sense of humor. In a few minutes however I heard the anesthesiologist say to the anesthesiologist nurse, "I'm administering the cocktail" and then I was out.

I awoke in recovery with a nurse sitting in a chair between my bed and another's. I was quite surprised upon waking because I had envisioned waking without pain and the pain, if any, would come on gradually in the evening. That was not the case. I was in pain the instant I awoke and could tell precisely where they'd sliced me. I also woke with no feeling in my right arm. This didn't really bother me - but apparently it bothered the staff as I kept flapping my arm around for sometime. The medical staff was concerned and even Dr. No Sense of Humor came by, but eventually the numbness subsided.

The man next to me was an actor who kept telling everyone who would listen that he had been a professional actor for forty years and played plenty of doctors. He also didn't want any pain medications and despite staff trying to convince him otherwise, he knew what he was talking about, he'd played plenty of doctors, you see. I looked him up later and he is indeed a working actor who has played plenty of doctors. Obviously, he knew what he was talking about.

My doctor, it should be known, did tell me that I would experience some pain. He also told me that I really needed to take the week off but I thought he was being overly cautious. He wasn't. Although I thought my mother and I would be able to take advantage of my week off by shopping and running around the city catching movies and plays, I spent most of the week asleep. I didn't begin to feel normal until last evening. I still have soreness, but I am improving. Perhaps I am just wimpy, I don't know. But I think that cutting one's abdomen, no matter how small the incisions, and then stirring things around in there, doing a little repair here and there, is bound to induce a little pain. At least, that's what I keep telling myself.

Anyway, I hope everyone had a Happy Thanksgiving! I think I best go lay down for a spell.

Too Tired for Titles

2007-11-18T23:51:00.001-05:00

In four more minutes I am not allowed to continue sipping this soda, nor eating, nor consuming any type of beverage, soda or not. Tomorrow I will be going in for the laparoscopy/hysteroscopy and repair (a little rotor rooter if you will) and am just trying my hardest to not think about it too much, just go in there, and get it over with. I was a little surprised when Doctor Superman began diagramming where the incisions, INCISIONS PEOPLE will be going. For some reason, it hadn't occurred to me that there would be any type of slicing. Small as those incisions are, but still.

I was also a little embarrassed when I had to ask about my belly button ring and whether or not it should be removed. That old thing was put in about ten years ago (when I was young and carefree) and I'm starting to feel a little ridiculous about it. I'm not exactly hanging out in bikinis these days. I had to lift up my shirt in his office so he could check out where it's located. That was fun. Oh, doctor, I run ALL THE TIME, I want to make sure that I can CONTINUE RUNNING. Oh, the flab all around my belly? Um, right, well, that's just something weird that's been happening lately. NORMALLY you see, I am very, very in shape. No fat all all. This is just a momentary fluke. Really.

You'll all be thrilled to learn, I'm sure, that removal is unnecessary.

The husband and I attended an adoption conference today. We are both exhausted. More on that later.

Happy Monday.

Becoming a Parent

2007-11-11T12:24:00.000-05:00

I've been drafting a post for sometime now - but I'm having trouble expressing it all with any brevity.

I used to scour blogs for hours looking for women who had miscarried multiple times and went on to have successful pregnancies. Many of them have. However, for the most part, they had chromosomal issues in one or more of the previous pregnancies. Or they had Factor V Leiden and went on heparin. Or they had a correctable issue with their uterus. The other women continued to miscarry until they stopped trying to get pregnant with their own eggs or moved on to adoption. I feared these women. I didn't want to be them. I didn't want to give up and adopt. I didn't want the consolation prize.

My mind, however, is changing on that front. I read Dan Savage's The Kid (highly recommend) and am currently reading A Love Like No Other: Stories from Adoptive Parents. The husband and I have attended no less then three events about adoption in the past week. We are feeling good. We are feeling positive. It doesn't feel like a consolation prize at all. It feels like a godsend.

We're going to work with Doctor Superman, but we've given ourselves a deadline. At the deadline, we're marching over to the adoption agency and submitting the application.

We like the certainty of international adoption. In many countries, it's a fairly streamlined system. The wait is known, the travel time is known, the approximate age-range is known. At this point, we're leaning towards Korea - which has some of the best foster and medical care for their children who are waiting for adoption. We also have a good chance of knowing something about our son's (mostly boys from Korea) history - which is important to us. The husband and I are committed to attending Korean cultural events with our child, of sending him to culture camps during the summer, of trying to recognize, appreciate, keep a sense of where he came from. But we recognize our inability to completely do so. On that front, we've been joking around about our teenage son coming home with his friends and being mortified because his geeky very white parents are sitting around the house in traditional Korean garb, eating traditional Korean food and speaking to each other in Korean (learned from our intensive Korean language course at the New School, of course). As many internationally adopted kids are - he may have little interest in his birth country until he reaches adulthood. But we want those options out there for him.

It's the first time I've felt truly excited and happy when thinking about our future as parents in the past three years. For the first time, I've realized that with time, I will parent a child. And it feels fantastic.

From Fertile Infertile to Infertile Infertile

2007-10-29T21:19:00.001-04:00

I just came back from several days spent in New England with my mother (she travelled north after spending the previous week with my father and Aunt and Uncle on a genealogy sojourn to West Virginia) and the husband. It was, mostly, a good time (the Husband and I found the Shelburne Museum creepy and weird. We half expected to find Mrs. Shelburne's embalmed body hidden behind a fake closet. My mother, of course, loved it.). Edited to add: For those of you annoying like my husband, who seem to think facts are important, there is no Mrs. Shelburne, her name was actually Mrs. Webb.

I then went to work for a few hours today until I had to leave for HSG numero dos. I was not looking forward to it. The last time I had it done, I found it extremely painful - during the procedure, not afterwards. The insertion of the the catheter had me writhing in pain. This time, I felt, nothing. Well, maybe not nothing, but only slight discomfort. When I mentioned this to Doctor Superman, he said that they use an incredibly thin catheter because it is "simply more humane." Apparently my previous doctor used a catheter the size of a mack truck. I am beginning to wonder if my previous doctor was something of a sadist. He wasn't exactly gentle with the dildo-cam either.

The good news: I have amazingly wonderful birthing hips! I have the pelvic bones of a fertile goddess! They are the perfect shape! The perfect size! They're like the wings of a butterfly!

The bad news: My uterus is badly scarred. And my fallopian tubes are now blocked. He indicated that this could be from the multiple miscarriages or the D & C (the uterine scarring, not the blocked tubes) or both.

Hide-your-head-in-the-sand-news: Apparently I have to have surgery to smooth out the uterus and unblock the tubes - and check to see if I have endometriosis. And I'll be having it the week of Thanksgiving.

Wonderful.

In other news, my friend from high school had his baby (well, he didn't, his wife did) and named him something akin to "Great Emperor" and another friend just e-mailed me today to tell me she's expecting her second. The first was born September 2006. When it rains it pours.

doctor superman

2007-10-21T10:17:00.000-04:00

The husband and I decided to take a cab Friday morning. A decadence we rarely indulge. The cabbie wound his way through Central Park and to the East Side. We hopped out in the 70s and found our way to a long waiting room filled with female patients and their partners. We waited. And waited. And waited. I explored the bathroom - glass vase filled with smooth rocks, the new-fangled incense in oil, floating sink and walls covered with tiny glass tiles the color of sea glass. It was, likely the best, most architecturally modern bathroom I have seen in a physician’s waiting room. Ever. Appropriate to see in the pages of Town and Country or some such magazine. This place has money. A lot.

And still, we waited.

Eventually someone came out in brightly colored scrubs. Apologies all around. She sat us down in our new doctors “office.” It was clearly not his office. It consisted of a computer, a desk and three chairs. I learned later that his office is actually upstairs. Our doctor greeted us with a warm smile and handshake. Does he know that all my hope, my last bit of hope resides in him? I met much of what he said with vigorous nodding and tried in vain not to cry. When he mentioned that we were in a good place, really, the tears began. He indicated that since we’d had a “connection”, that there had been implantation, that that was a good sign. When implantation isn’t working, there is little they can do. It is a much trickier place to be when you have failed attempt after failed attempt with no implantation. Implantation, he indicated, is very mysterious - and they still know little about it. They can place the best looking blasts into the uterus and still no connection. And they don’t know why. He said that he understood that many who have repeatedly miscarried would prefer not to get pregnant at all but that the reality is that this, biologically speaking, is a better place to be. They just have to figure out what isn’t working.

He went through a list of tests he’d like to do. Including another HSG. Something I would prefer never to do again. But, I will.

He also said that due to the MTHFR coupled with the repeated miscarriages, he’d like to see me on the folic acid combo (B6 and B12), baby aspirin and heparin.

Heparin.

Again, tears.

He then discussed doing the FSH three day test. I told him that my FSH was tested and it was 9.2. His eyes widened. He didn’t like that result, not at all. He said that at my age it shouldn’t be any higher than 7. He asked what my previous RE told me about this result and I said that he said anything under 10 was OK. I didn’t mention that I had to ask him what it was - and this was approximately 9 months after it was taken. The FSH was taken in November of last year. The new RE wants to do it again. And on Saturday. I shoved forth a study that indicates that those who test positive for the MTHFR (A1298C) gene mutation have higher FSH levels and respond poorly to ovarian stimulation (fewer follicles greater than 13 mm). It also cites a study that found that folic acid had little effect on those with the MTHFR A1298C gene mutation. I’m proof positive of that, I think. It has great effect for those with the C677T mutation. The study does not outline treatment methods however, but seemed to imply that those with that particlur gene mutation need stronger meds for ovarian stimulation. All and all it’s not exactly the greatest study in the hope department - but it does, possibly explain, my poor response to the Clomid. He initially wanted to know whether or not the study had been published - I think perhaps in a way to dismiss its validity, its relevance, or to explain why he knew nothing about it. When I told him that it had been published in the September 2007 issue of “Fertility and Sterility”, he was surprised, a bit taken aback. But he wasn’t irritated or annoyed, he seemed slightly embarrassed. Which I appreciate. I want a physician who can be humble - and is secure enough in his abilities that there isn’t a lot of unnecessary posturing and that whole god complex crap. I think my old RE would have been completely pissed off and possibly dismissive (as he was when I asked about heparin). I actually don’t expect my doctors to spend time crawling through each and every study and article about MTHFR. That’s something that I can do. And believe me, I do.

When we were done and the husband and I reached the elevator. I burst into tears. Heparin. He’s willing to do it. He’s willing to try.

I couldn’t sleep the entire night before I had to go into get another FSH done. I’m not sure I want to know. I told the doc as much and he said that that wasn’t exactly the way to do things and my husband agreed. I understand that. I’m just dreading hearing the phrase, “donor eggs.”

Afterwards I forced the husband into Pottery Barn Kids. Why the hell would I want to go there, he asked? I said, because instead of making me sad, it makes me feel like it’s really going to happen for us. I know, that doesn’t make any sense. But the way I think about it these days is this: if we really want to parent a child, we will. It just may not be through the traditional route. And I’m trying to get myself to come around to that idea.

With that in mind, after my run yesterday, I went to a bookstore (stinking up the place, yes) and read through Cross-Cultural Adoption and skimmed through The Adoption Decision. I decided to buy The Kid by Dan Savage and A Love Like No Other: Stories from Adoptive Parents.

So, here we go. I’ve dubbed him, for now, Doctor Superman. I have to believe that he has super powers. Or else I can’t get on this train again.

mixed tape

2007-10-08T21:39:00.000-04:00

I hate to make the equivalent of a mixed tape, but if there was one, this song would be on it, and I would be telling you how this, all of this, may be coming to an end - I'm not sure how much more of this I can take. I've encountered so many in similar circumstances, or worse, and they, despite the odds, still have all this hope, this knowledge, this belief, this certainty, that somehow, some way this will all work out in the end. I don't have that belief. From the first miscarriage, from the first, "this happens all the time, just try again" I knew something was seriously wrong. And over two years later, no one has been able to tell me what.

I have to take stock of my own life. And begin to move forward. I will always mourn what I have lost. I will never be who I used to be. I have to remember that we have a good life, my husband and I. I love my husband. That is more than so many have.

But I still, I still miss the person that I used to be. And I miss the little ones who I have carried, for such a short time, and what they could have been.

Don't you know that I'll be around to guide you
Through your weakest moments to leave them behind you
Returning nightmares only shadows
We'll cast some light and you'll be alright
We'll cast some light and you'll be alright for now

Crosses all over, heavy on your shoulders
The sirens inside you waiting to step forward
Disturbing silence darkens your sight
We'll cast some light and you'll be alright
We'll cast some light and you'll be alright for now

Crosses all over the boulevard
Crosses all over the boulevard
Crosses all over the boulevard
Crosses all over the boulevard

The streets outside your window overflooded
People staring, they know you've been broken
Repeatedly reminded by the looks on their faces
Ignore them tonight and you'll be alright
We'll cast some light and you'll be alright

--Crosses by Jose Gonzales

I saw the hematologist today. I really believed he would take one look at my medical records and order heparin, immediately. It was maybe my last hope, really. But no one seems to think that heparin is necessary. Not him, not my RE. Just try, try again. "Eventually", my sister says, the doctors say, others say, "just try, try, try again, eventually it will, has to, work out." I'm just not so sure. If someone could say you will have x number of miscarriages and on x pregnancy you will have a child - maybe then, maybe then I could do it. I could muster it up. I could soldier on. But no one can know that. Until they figure out what is wrong, I believe it will just continue - indefinitely.

I'm the friend that you could see adopting. You wouldn't be surprised, you would almost expect it. But here's the reality, at this point, right now, I don't want to adopt. I resent it. I resent that that's what I have to do to parent a child. I don't even know myself anymore. Who is this person? I think adopting is a great thing. I'm just not there.

I'm completely obsessed with myself and my own fertility. I'm a nuisance to the doctors who treat me. I trust none of them. I second guess everything they say. I do my own research. I decide based upon an article here, a study there, a blogger's experience, how I should be treated. It's practically all I discuss with my husband.

I looked at some donor profiles. I found a lovely girl. A college student who loves to write. She's interested in activism. She is short with brown hair and light eyes. She wants a family who cares about the arts. She's looking for a family who is open-minded. I liked her. And when I realized this, I woke my husband up with my crying.

I won't know what she was like at age three. I won't know if she used to draw for hours on construction paper while her mother did the laundry. I won't know if she used to tell the same joke over and over again. I won't know if she had a dog named Rascal or if she got jam stuck in her sleeves. I won't know about the time she slammed her finger in the car door or when she had her first kiss. I won't know any of these things.

I'll only have what I read on a few pieces of paper. Does she wrinkle her nose when she laughs? Does she salt all of her food? Does she always put her hair behind her ears? Does she listen to comedy albums over and over again? Does she spend her Saturdays at art museums?

I have two more appointments with two different REs. We will see what they have to say. And then, I need to reevaluate. I need to be thankful for what we have. I need to stop feeling like a failure. I need to stop feeling like I've failed my husband. I need to put this behind me.

Remind Me Next Time to Wear Pants

2007-10-03T23:40:00.000-04:00

Quite sometime ago, due to the recommendation of an infertile friend (age 41, pregnant now from second IVF - due any day) I read Inconceivable by Julia Indichovia. My impression of the writer after reading it was that she was slightly cracked. Right - Chinese herbs and visualization (hanging out on her bathroom floor, apparently) and changing your sheets to red will lower your FSH level! Fantastic - I have a bridge over here . . . Anyway. I could only think that the change in her FSH and resulting pregnancy was due to the bodies natural inclination to change - to have one result one day and one result the next. However, she really did have an FSH of 42 and she really did go onto have a child. Despite the odds. So, now, in the face of this possibility, I think, what the hell? What do I have to lose? God knows I could benefit from a little yoga, a little acupuncture, a little diet overhaul just so that I might occasionally RELAX a little, despite the outcome (hey, by they way, if any of the gods are out there listening - looking for a positive outcome.) My sister and mother-in-law have already begun uttering the word, "adoption." Just to be clear - the doc did not say that I have diminished ovarian reserve - just that that could be a reason why I haven't really responded to the Clomid and why I seemed to have surged (LH) prior to there being properly matured follicles. This would also explain the repeated miscarriages. And this explanation was given to me only when pressed, repeatedly, and threatened with a pie-in-face scenario.

So, I called the YMCA (around the corner from my apartment) and wouldn't you know it but they had a yoga class in fifteen minutes. I ran out of my apartment and over to the Y. In shorts. Shorts that perhaps I shouldn't actually be wearing. Shorts that show my currently pale fatty legs. Oh, and please, please make sure that you have me bending down, backwards, with my head through my legs so that I can look up and accidentally see the back of my legs and my REAR in the mirror. Shorts are a bad idea for yoga. A VERY, VERY bad idea.

So, please, please remind me to go to that ridiculous store with the worst window displays I've ever seen and the twenty or so sales persons milling about the store with fake smiles plastered to their mugs with a tendency to hover over each patron out of sheer boredom in order to buy some damn yoga pants.

I'll be going once a week.

Don't let my chattiness about all this fool you. I am still terrified.

That is all.

The Challengers

2007-10-03T11:38:00.000-04:00

Challengers

The New Pornographers

Yes I know it was late

We were greeting the sun

Before long

And you live with someone

I live with somebody too

Leave it there

For safe keeping

One of the west village in plains

That was the custom

Come dawn

On the walls of the day

In the shade of the sun

We wrote down

Another vision of us

We were the challengers of

The unknown

"Be safe" you say

Whatever the mess you are you mind okay

That is the custom

On down

Until I see you around

Until we clear the accounts

Leave it there

Leave it to us

We are the challengers of

The unknown

My husband looked at me the other day when this song came on and said that it always makes him think of us, that it has become for him, our song. My husband is one of the most sentimental people I know. For him to not father a child . . .

The physician uttered the words, "Diminished ovarian reserve." He does not know, but it could be. It could be. Explains the miscarriages, actually. Keep plugging along until we hit one that works. And in the end, that could be never. Didn't seem too keen on IVF - the "expense" he kept uttering. I asked what he meant by that and he said, "Not only the monetary expense but the emotional toll. It's a lot of time and effort and in the end, it could still not work out. " He said that for us to get a better picture we would need to do a Clomid challenge test. Up the dosage, etc. He also said we could abandon this road and go for egg donation. On the other hand, he said, "it ain't over until the fat lady sings." Even if I have a "diminished" ovarian reserve it doesn't mean that I have zero good eggs at all. Again, though, it's not enough information at this point to go on. My FSH was fine, normal in fact. He finds the size of the follicles in relation to the LH troubling. If I was surging in order to ovulate, the follicles should be around 20 mm. My largest was 15 mm.

This is the strange thing - I always thought I would have fertility problems. Even as a young kid. Why? I haven't a clue. Did I do this to myself? If I'd started at age 20 would this still be a problem? I started at 32. We'll never know, but it could be. Could be. My mother had me at 34. My sister had her last at around the same age. I also, later, imagined my husband shooting me up with fertility drugs for an IVF cycle. Pretty much from the first miscarriage. Perhaps it is just an overly worried, neurotic person who imagines such things from the first sign of trouble. My doc doesn't seem too thrilled with the whole IVF idea but I'm willing to go there. I guess I'd like to try all avenues and then in the end, I won't have to wonder if it would have worked or not. My doc seems overly concerned with the cost of things. I want to start yelling, "I DON'T CARE HOW MUCH THIS THING COSTS. DAMN IT!"

So, there we are. The Challengers. Yes, I know it was late but we were "greeting the sun. " We have another vision of us. One with children. Just one.

What the @#$)(*#????

2007-10-02T16:02:00.001-04:00

My body has been slowly, very slowly, responding to the Clomid. After the day of bloat from hell, nothing major has been happening. This includes when they've done scans, blood work, etc. I'm just poking along. Today, however, it looks like two of the follicles have dropped out and one remains. It's not very large. Not as large as they'd like to see. The nurse read my blood test results over the phone:

Estradiol: 164
LH: 41
Progesterone: 1.2

I asked what these numbers mean. She said that the LH is running high. I asked what a high LH meant, and she hesitated, and then said, "I don't know."

Now, when a nurse tells you, "I don't know" I think this should read as, "I do know, but the doctor is the one who should tell you."

Normal results for LH women are typically between 6 and 30 U/L.

In women, "LH and FSH levels can help to differentiate between primary ovarian failure (failure of the ovaries themselves or lack of ovarian development) and secondary ovarian failure (failure of the ovaries due to disorders of either the pituitary or the hypothalamus). Increased levels of LH and FSH are seen in primary ovarian failure. Some causes of primary ovarian failure are ovarian agenesis (failure to develop ovaries), chromosomal abnormality, such as Turner’s syndrome, ovarian steroidogenesis defect such as 17 alpha hydroxylase deficiency and premature ovarian failure due to such things as radiation, chemotherapy, autoimmune disease and chronic anovulation (failure to ovulate) due to polycystic ovary syndrome (PCOS), adrenal disease, thyroid disease or ovarian tumor."

I know nothing at this point. Next appointment is the 9th. More blood work. More scans.

Things are looking bleak.

Zippo

2007-09-30T00:21:00.000-04:00

So, the old bod isn't really responding to the Clomid. My ovaries look virtually the same as on Tuesday. My twice done blood work (evil, evil!) shows little change. My lining is a tad thicker (from 5 to 7?) and my doc's partner in crime (whom I've never met before, Dr. Bow Tie) said that there were three "baby follicles." Somehow, for some reason, I liked the term, "baby follicles." It sounds so nice. Cozy even. I suppose, I shouldn't have (or want) baby follicles. I should have (and want) big honkin' enormous, mature, hairy, motorcycle-driving follicles. Bring on the beer guzzling follicles, please!

Anyway, I started wondering if this poor response was another clue in the puzzle of my infertility. Do I actually have a luteal phase defect? Does this explain the miscarriages? Am I on the road to no longer producing eggs? WHAT'S HAPPENING?

I did a mad Dr. Google consult and found this:

"It is important to determine whether you have responded to the treatment (i.e. ovulated) by measuring blood progesterone levels around day 21 to 23 of the treatment cycle or performing an ultrasound scan. The starting dose of Clomid should only be increased if their is no response after the second cycle of treatment because of those women who will respond to 50
mg dose, only two thirds will do so in the first cycle. If the Clomid drug treatment is successful, ovulation tends to occur about a week after the last pill. "

Despite the fact that "there" is misspelled, I am taking some comfort in the above. My last pill was on Monday. I did a scan and blood work on Tuesday. Again on Friday (blood work) and Saturday (scan). According to the above, I shouldn't expect to ovulate until at least Monday. From what I'm getting from the docs, I should have had more of a response by now. The fertility monitor, however, finally showed, "high fertility" today. In a normal cycle, I would have ovulated yesterday.

I hope things start to whip up soon. Or at the very least, that it is not that unusual to show little response on the first round of Clomid. I really don't want to up the dosage anytime soon.

Any experience with this?

The husband and I spent the day kayaking down the Peconic River, eating pizza and playing with our dogs at the beach with some friends. We came home to two jazz musicians, a saxophone player and a trumpet player, practicing on the sidewalk on the opposite side of our street (they were about to go play in a club nearby). The sound was great. It was a nice (albeit exhausting) day.

Violet Beauregarde

2007-09-25T21:14:00.000-04:00

No sooner had I typed the last word on my previous post was I overcome with a horrific, awful, no good, very bad, feeling of bloat. And pain. And nausea. That partially lasted (the bloat) until well into this evening. I have been feeling a tad Violet all day, basically. I thought it necessary to have someone roll me on home. Because I am a complete idiot, I was convinced that this was the result of a massive consumption of cauliflower earlier in the day. It did not occur to me, not once, that it may have been due to the Clomid. That is, until after I'd seen my doc and the write-up from the pharmacy spilled out from my purse onto my car floor. And wow, did it not say, "if you experience severe bloat or nausea, consult your physician." I mentioned the bloat, but not in any great detail because:

1) nothing has changed - my ovaries look identical to their scanned appearance last week, and

2) I have some fluid - apparently in my abdomen or in my uterus. When he said that I had an usual amount of fluid somewhere I shut down and started silently freaking out. He could have said it was coming out of my nostrils, and

3) My lining is the tiniest bit thicker.

I left there with a script for some blood work (progesterone, estradiol?) but no results as of yet.

As I was entering the lab, I scanned the bottom of the blood draw form, and was taken aback (as I always am) by the diagnosis checked off at the bottom:

"Habitual aborter."

What an ugly sounding term.

Are You There Heloise? It's Me, Alice

2007-09-24T18:45:00.001-04:00

I love giving blood. I think it's so fantastic. I have to give blood tomorrow! How lucky am I! There's nothing I love more than having people (I use that term lightly) unable to get blood from a vein, try rooting around, switching arms, and then, as is par for the course, still unable to get but the tiniest trickle. I also enjoy watching the green, yellow and slight purple shades spread over the inside of my arms - in that, "Yes, I do a little horse now and then, what of it?" way. It's a great way to start your morning. Blood, coffee, more blood, bruising, more blood, fainting, etc.

Obviously the Clomid is scrambling the old noggin'.

I have to have a scan as well. I can feel things rumbling around in there - a little mittelschmertz here and there if you will. I think I may have been a touch more irritable than normal, and I was blasted hot the first night and afflicted with a rager of a headache, but since then, nothing really out of the ordinary.

The husband and I went on an exciting quest for a fertility monitor (I hate the damn sticks, I can never read them) which cost a fortune. And yes, I should have gotten one from the eversopopularauctionsite but didn't, because I can't get it together. We also went a searching for the magical, uhem, in anticipation of problems that may occur for those of us lucky enough to be on the Clomid. Of course, the easiest place for us to find said magical, uhem, was one of those stores where you know, people go, for you know, stuff, that has to do with, you know, (whisper) s-e-x. I do so hope that there's no need . . .

She lost her innocence there that day, people.

Not really.

Anyway, so I have the fertility monitor and again, because I can't get it together (see above) I neglected to set it on a proper day. Therefore I lied (i.e., it wasn't cycle day 5 when I said it was cycle day 5). So, this is going to be a problem. Luckily I have consulted with the internets and they tell me that I can reset it next month.

But on to really, the most important question of the day. How the hell do you get icky mold out of your grout in the tiles in your shower? I'm having little success and have become slightly obsessed. My landlord had a shindig over the weekend and I used his loo (to floss, actually) and the white grout between the white, white, white tiles in his bathroom was spotless. SPOTLESS. SPOTLESS!

My husband did point out that it's possible that our landlord has cleaned his bathroom tiles more than once in the last five years, but let's just let that slide (I was in law school, people! Then I had a heinous commute!) Seriously, who has time to get out an old toothbrush to clean grout?

Welcome to the Funhouse

2007-09-19T20:13:00.000-04:00

For those of you who aren't in the know, part of the whole "CLOMID ODYSSEY" involves a postcoital test. Apparently once you and your partner are done having "relations", your doc (your male doc in this case - because really, isn't it more fun that way?) will pop up from amidst your bed sheets, straighten his hard hat, adjust his safety light, lick his pencil in preparation for his amazing note-taking skills and dive in to analyze your cervical mucus to see whether sperm are present and moving normally. He also may give you a few pointers as well, while he's down there.

"Within 2 to 8 hours after you have sex, your doctor collects and looks at a cervical mucus sample."

ARE YOU FRICKIN' KIDDING ME? How did I get on this ride anyway? I'm self-conscious enough as it is (really, forget the whole airport incident) and I have to contact my PHYSICIAN and say, "Right, so, we've just had sex, can I come on over?"

These funhouse mirrors sure are pretty. But I have to say, the whole sideshow thing is a bit dated.

Into the Rabbit Hole

Another Day

Oh, Le Sigh

And . . . we're back!

Defeat

Oh, Clomid

Negatory

The One in Which We Wait . . . and Wait

It's 3 AM

IUI #2

Hello, Rabbit

Saying Goodbye

Post-Op

Is this Thing On?

THE BIRTH STORY

Use Your Head, I Say

New Milestones

New Happenings by the Boy

Perfect

Happy Valentine's Day

14 Weeks

Just Cuz

This is a HAT

The New Year

Letter to My Son

Don't You Need a License for this?

Random stuff

And Another Thing

Future Blackmail

My Beautiful Son

The Marathon

Colic Anyone?

Too Tired for Titles

More later . . .

Out of the Rabbit Hole

The Master Builder

Another day . . .

Witchy?

Still Here

Well, that was unexpected . . .

Blah Blah Blah

Two More Weeks or Four?

Starting to Believe . . .

Uh, WHAT?

Just an Observation

It Never Leaves You

Stopping Lovenox

I Knew This Was Coming Soon

The Baby Sugars

I Vant to Drink Your Blood

Panic Spiral

The Tale of Frankenfoot and Trigger Finger

How to Make a Pregnant Woman Cry

The Name Game

Good Nutrition

Does Size Matter?

Pink or Blue

MOVEMENT!

The Cape

To Amnio or Not to Amnio

Hello, Maternity Mega-Store!

Moving On . . .

Nuchal @#()#*)(* Nuchal

Lead Paint

Waterlogged

"Labor of Love"

Birthing Plans?

Out of the Closet

Pops

And Another Thing . . .

The "P" word

Measuring 9 weeks 1 day

Wowza

1st Scan

Game Over

Spotting.

Finally . . .

No News is Good News

Groundhog Day

You Gotta Love Insurance!

Nuchal @#()#)( Nuchal