Out, Damned Spot!

The last 24 hours… ugh.

Tuesday was my last day of birth control pills, so I went in yesterday morning for my baseline ultrasound and blood work.  I expected this to all be fine, since when I did my Day 3 testing everything was great.  However, I should have realized that the universe was not going to let me off that easy: the ultrasound showed that there is a freaking cyst on my right ovary.

Now, cysts usually aren’t a big deal.  They seem to happen naturally on their own, and go away just as naturally.  If I gave it a week or two, it might disappear. Except I don’t have that kind of time to kill – I have to start stims by 12/2, or wait until January because of the holidays.  I really, really want to start now.

So I left the office with two possible paths ahead of me, depending on what my blood work showed: if my cyst was producing estrogen, my cycle would have to be delayed because the cyst would interfere with the hormones.  If my cyst wasn’t producing estrogen, we could aspirate it and move on as scheduled.

“Aspirate,” is turns out, is a fancy word for “put a needle through the wall of your vagina and into your ovary and suck out the fluid without any kind of anesthesia.”  This is the option I was hoping for.  IVF is so fucked up.

So I waited all day for news.  I did some Googling, which didn’t teach me anything new, and had some moments where I felt very dramatic about the unfairness of it all, but mostly I was surprisingly laid back about it (for me).  I didn’t have any control over the outcome and this probably wasn’t going to be the last minor tragedy I was going to encounter throughout this process, so I might as well get used to staying calm in the face of uncertainty.

Around 4:30, I finally got the call: all of my blood work came back perfect; I would just have to do, as I explained it to Henry, the “needle vagina thing” on Friday, and I could start shots on Saturday as planned!

Of course this whole thing is a headache....  First, I have to do the aspiration tomorrow in the middle of the workday.  Hopefully I’ll be able to come back to work after without much of a problem, because I don’t really plan on telling people that I’m leaving (it’s over lunch, so it’ll just be a long lunch). I know this is a small thing and I’m happy to skip work if it means a baby yada yada yada but it’s still less than ideal. I’m really busy and trying to get all of my work done now so that it’s not a huge deal when I’m out for the retrieval and transfer in a couple of weeks.

I also have to take antibiotics for the next few days.  This was, firstly, annoying when I went to get it filled – I missed the turn for the pharmacy and, thanks to one way streets, it took me 10 minutes to get back.  Then, this morning I was really good and took my pill on an empty stomach, as directed.  BAD IDEA.  Twenty minutes later my stomach was so upset that all I could do was sit on the couch and try to eat something to calm it down.  I thought it had worked, until I stood up and promptly puked into the sink.  I’d managed to keep the pill down for 40 minutes, though, so I think I was able to get most of what I needed from it.  I hate that nauseous feeling, and all I could think as I was sitting there was “If this works, you’re going to feel like this for two months straight.”  Ugh.

Anyway, back to last night, did anyone else see the moon?  As I was pulling onto the highway for my drive home, I was feeling pretty distracted.  I came around the corner, and there was the moon: full, low, huge, and orange.  It looked exactly how I imagine my cyst.

God might not always be fair, but He is funny.

The Infertile Person's Guide to Holiday Shopping

I’ve been thinking a lot about Christmas shopping lately.  Although I really enjoy giving gifts, I hate shopping for them – I worry too much about finding the perfect present.  Since one of my goals over the next few weeks is to stress as little as possible, I’ve come up with a list of gift ideas and shopping rules to help me get through this in the least stressful way possible.  I thought they could be useful to all infertile people, so without further ado, here they are!

Gift Guide

Liquor.  Craft beer for my brother, wine for the white elephant exchange, bourbon for my father in law… who doesn’t love the gift of booze?  Liquor stores are great places for one stop shopping, most of them are small businesses, and the sales associates are actually helpful.  Even better: There probably won’t be any kids there.

Spa Gift Certificates. Give a friend a gift certificate for a manicure, and she’s probably going to invite you to come along when she redeems it.  A stress-free gift that might later turn into a stress relieving activity?  Win-win!

Baked Goods and Crafts.  This one is highly personal: if you find baking or crafting to be a stress reliever (and have someone to clean up after you), make your presents this year.  If it stresses you out, don’t even try.  This probably isn’t the time to attempt anything new or fancy, but everyone loves a tin of home-made candy or cookies.  And if you like the idea of giving something handmade but not the handmaking part, Etsy has never let me down.

Books for Kids.  If you have kids to buy for, don’t go to the toy story or the children’s department – it’s going to make you sad and you know it.  Just remember your favorite books from that age, go online, and order them.  No worrying about sizes or tastes, no “accidentally” wandering into the newborn section, no stress.

Antiques.  I am lucky to have a number of reasonably priced vintage stores near me, and for some reason I’m really into giving antiques as gifts this year.  The stores are fun to poke around in, anything old automatically seems thoughtful, and there usually aren’t kids there. Etsy also has a fantastic vintage section that’s lots of fun to browse.

Christmas Shopping Rules

Don’t worry about money.  Obviously I’m not going to blow my budget, but if I’m waiting in line at Target with a $20 gift and suddenly remember that I could use a coupon on the exact same gift if I got it at Bed Bath and Beyond, I’m going to force myself to just pay the extra money.  The $4 I’ll save is not worth the stress (and time) of having to make an extra stop.

No flash sales.  Does anyone else get a thousand e-mails a day from Ideeli, Rue La La, Gilt, One King’s Lane, etc?  Does everyone else regret almost every single purchase they make through these sites?  I get impulsive when I’m stressed, and these sites feed off of impulsiveness.

No malls.  Crowded places full of babies… no thanks.  I’m sure I’ll inevitably end up at a mall eventually, but I’m going to try to get in and out as quickly as possible.  No browsing!

Be decisive.  If I see something I think someone will like, I’m buying it.  None of this “Ohh, I’ll remember where this was and come back!”  Because either (a) I’ll forget where it was or (b) I’ll remember where it was and it’ll be gone when I get back.  Best case scenario, it’s there when I come back but I’ve still wasted the time it took to go back and get it.  Time I could have spent soaking in a nice warm bath.

What did I miss?

The Third Degree

While on our run Thanksgiving morning, Henry and I prepared for the big question: “When are you having kids?”  We wanted an answer that was honest and would prevent people from asking us again when they see us at Christmas, but wasn't too revealing.  We decided on some variation of, “We’re trying, but it hasn’t been as easy as we thought, so we’re seeing a doctor who is helping us figure it out.” And then, if there were follow up questions, something like, “We’d really prefer not to talk about it.”

Of course, since we were ready, it never came up.  But there were a few questions - totally normal questions! - we got asked over the weekend that we found surprisingly hard to answer.  Fellow infertiles, take note! These are the real stumpers of the holiday season.

Would you like wine or a champagne cocktail while we wait for dinner?

If I was answering honestly, I would have said: I'm trying to limit my alcohol intake because of my fertility treatments, so I've planned to have one glass of wine with dinner and one glass of champagne with dessert.  So, even though I've never turned down a drink before, I'll have a water until it's time for my allocated alcohol serving.

But instead I said: Oooh, I'll try the cocktail!

What have you been up to?

If I was answering honestly, I would have said: Doctors appointments.  Commenting on Babycenter threads.  Learning how to mix medications and give shots.  Trying to bank up some goodwill at work.  Watching Law and Order on Netflix. Crying. Wondering if my decision not to have surgery was the right one. Writing a secret blog.

But instead I said: We've been kind of boring, just in a routine.

What do you want for Christmas?

If I was answering honestly, I would have said: A baby.

But instead I said: You know, I'm really not sure.

What are you doing for New Years?

If I was answering honestly, I would have said: Well that will be after our transfer but before our pregnancy test, so I won't be drinking and won't be able to do anything strenuous.  So, probably laying on the couch, eating pizza, watching the ball drop and trying to resist the urge to pee on a stick.

But instead I said: We'll probably lay low this year.

What banal questions did you find surprisingly hard to answer? Leave them in the comments and we'll make a list to help us get ready for the next round of holiday parties!

Happy Thanksgiving

I don’t consider myself particularly religious, but I do pray from time to time. It seems like a safe bet: saying Hail Marys before bed is just as soothing as counting sheep, and could have the added benefit of getting me into heaven. Win-win.

There was a night during this process, (I can't remember if it was the night after my HSG or the night after my follow-up appointment) when I started to pray as I was falling asleep. I expected the prayer that would come to mind would be a prayer asking for a baby; this was certainly something I’d prayed for many times in the previous six months. I was shocked when what immediately popped into my head was a prayer of thanks, and even more shocked when I didn’t run out of things to be thankful for before I fell asleep. (Although, to be fair, I was taking a lot of Ambien in those early days so it didn’t take long).

In honor of Thanksgiving, here are some things that I’ve thanked God, the universe, the flying spaghetti monster, or whatever for over the past few months.

Yes, that is a turkey cheeseball that I made for Thanksgiving last year.

I’m thankful that Maryland is one of the 15 states in the country with mandated insurance coverage for IVF, and that my insurance covers up to three rounds of IVF per birth.

I’m thankful that my insurance has authorized everything we’ve asked for quickly, and our clinic has helped make everything happen as fast as possible.

I’m thankful that, while I’ve had over $5,000 worth of procedures so far, I’ve only owed about $250 out of pocket, and that every cost estimate I get is lower than I expected.

I’m thankful that, even if my three rounds of insurance-covered IVF fail, Henry and I can afford to do more.

I’m thankful I live in a major metropolitan area, where I am close to good doctors and hospitals.

I’m thankful that I was born in a time and place where IVF is not only possible, but routine.

I’m thankful that I’ve always been fascinated by medical technology, so this whole process seems cool instead of awful.

I’m thankful that vaginal ultrasounds aren’t nearly as bad as everyone makes them out to be.

I’m thankful that my doctor is part of a huge group where he can access the expertise of dozens of doctors, but that his specific office is so small that I see my doctor and my nurse and even my receptionist at every visit.

I’m thankful that we got a diagnosis and got to go straight to IVF rather than having “unexplained infertility” that stretched on for years.

I’m thankful that I’m not allergic to latex, iodine, or penicillin, because it seems like that would be pretty inconvenient.

I’m thankful for a job where I can come in a few minutes late or slip out for some extra time at lunch without anyone noticing or really caring.

I’m thankful that Henry’s boss is really understanding about when he needs to come in a little late.

I’m thankful that our families and friends don’t ask us about babies (much).

I’m thankful that I haven’t gotten drunk and told everyone what we’re going through (yet).

I’m thankful that we have friends at all stages of life - married with kids, married without kids, dating, single - to help us keep perspective.

I’m NOT thankful that my best friend also has fertility problems, but I’m thankful to have her to talk to about this.

I’m thankful that no one has told me that maybe I’m not meant to be a parent, or that I should look into adoption, or that I should trust God rather than going through fertility treatments. And everyone else should be thankful that they haven’t said these things to me.

I’m thankful for the support of my family. I’m 99% sure I’ll never want my sister to carry my baby, but it’s nice that she’s offered (even if it was a joke, and even if her main motivation is so that she can hold it over my head for the rest of my life).  I’m also thankful that I have something to look forward to if my cycle fails: the look on my sister’s face when I pretend I’m going to take her up on that offer.

I’m thankful for Groupon, and for the cheap massage I will be getting soon thanks to them.

I’m thankful that, other than my infertility, I am healthy.

I’m thankful for Google, and the ability to understand what is happening.

I’m thankful that my genetic screening test came back 100% clear.

I’m thankful that, with the exception of my tubes, everything down there appears to be perfectly normal so far.

I’m thankful that Henry and I have a strong relationship and that infertility doesn’t seem to be affecting that.

I’m thankful Henry is still attracted to me even though, biologically-speaking, I’m useless.

I’m thankful I discovered this problem while I’m young, increasing my odds and giving us the chance to have several children.

I’m thankful this is all happening so quickly, while I still have emotional reserves and a sense of humor.

I’m thankful I stopped my birth control pills six months before we started really trying, because my insurance required me to be off of birth control for a year before getting my first round of tests done.

I’m thankful that my two week wait will be over the holidays, which should distract me.

I’m thankful that I won’t be getting all these shots in the abdomen during bathing suit season.

I’m thankful I’ll never have to worry about or pay for birth control again.

I’m thankful that all of our children will be planned.

I’m thankful for the glass of wine I'll be allowing myself with dinner tonight, and the glass of champagne I’ll have with dessert.

I’m thankful for blogging, even if no one reads this.

And, if you leave me a comment telling me what you’re thankful for that isn’t on my list, I’ll be thankful for you, too!

Let's Take Some Shots

I thought that I’d start this morning with some song lyrics that are really meaningful to me right now.

Shots shots shots shots shots shots

shots shots shots shots shots

shots shots shots shots shots

everybody

everybody
-LMFAO

Take a minute to let those words sink in.  Let a tear fall at their beauty, if you need to.

Are we ready to continue now?  Good….

Today was my “injection class,” and, well, shit just got real.  I’ve never minded shots, but when the nurse brought out the BIG needle, the one used for the trigger shot, and the look on my face made her pause, look at me, and ask, “Are you ok?”, I realized that the reason I’ve never minded shots is that I never look at the needles.  The nurse brings in a tray, I turn my head away, done.  But now, when I’m not going to be just getting the shots, but actively involved in the pointy metal thing going through my skin?  Shudder.

But I won’t have to think about it too much, because the shots are Henry’s job; I’ll be staying a comfortable distance from those needles until the last possible second.  I also know I’ll get over any squeamishness quickly - by my calculations, if I stim for 10 days I will get 26 shots in that time.  That’s not counting the blood draws I can expect “at least every other day,” the IV that will deliver my sedatives during my egg retrieval, and various other things that will go down my throat or up my vagina between now and the end of the year.

So yeah, for the next month, my body is just a thing to be manipulated. Like when the nurse showed Henry where to inject my trigger shot: as I pulled down my pants and leaned over a table so she could point out the exact right place on my butt for him to put the needle, it was like a scene from a porno for people who love redheads and middle aged nurses.  “IVF: Sperm Sluts."

Speaking of pornos, is it weird that I find the idea of Henry giving me shots to be strangely sexy?  Not so much the shots themselves, but the care he’ll take in mixing the medications, the idea that he’ll want to do it without hurting me, the fact that it’s his way of contributing to this process… I picture him mixing the drugs in our kitchen, with his beard and his ever-present plaid flannel shirt, and then bringing the needle out to me on the couch and kissing the spot when it’s done. The mix of sensitive, tender caretaker and doing-what-needs-to-be-done provider that I see in those imaginings kinda gets me going, and is almost enough to make me not mind the shots.  Am I crazy?  Is this just my brain’s last-ditch effort to keep baby making sensual?

Of course, that’s just the husband of my fantasies.  The husband I have in real life clearly saw the same porno scene I did: as we rode the elevator down after our appointment, he smiled evilly at me and said, “I finally get to stick it in your butt.”

Lost Luggage

My road trip with my sisters this weekend was great, but I did have one rough night.  Never underestimate the power of bland hotel rooms in the middle of nowhere to provoke an existential panic.

Why is it that the deeper we get into fertility treatments, the less it feels like they’re going to work?  The first month we tried, back when we thought it was going to be easy, I could easily picture me pregnant and us with a baby.  Now, we might as well be trying to teach the dog to make coffee for all the success I anticipate.  In the middle of the night, in the middle of upstate New York, our struggles feel very Kafka-esque.

Being, as I was, on the road while these thoughts were keeping me awake, I decided (oh so creatively) that the journey to parenthood is like any other trip.  Besides the obvious parallel that both trying to conceive and a vacation involve a lot of sex (well, not vacations that you take with your sisters, but you know what I mean), in both travel and babymaking things are bound to go wrong but we tend to attach a disproportionate amount of meaning to things that go wrong in the beginning.  Which reminded me or my and Henry’s one year anniversary trip to France.

We had been planning this trip for a while; our honeymoon had been spent lounging on a beach, so we were hungry for some real travel.  But when we arrived at the airport, the entire northeast was under a severe thunderstorm warning.  Every TV monitor in the airport showed the same band of red thunderstorms advancing east and stretching from DC, where we were taking off, to Boston, where we were transferring to our flight to Paris.

Our flight was canceled, but our airport rep was great.  He quickly booked us on a flight that would transfer in Detroit.  We’d have to switch planes quickly, but we should make it!  As we waited in line for that Detroit flight, though, we got increasingly discouraged.  Our departure time came and went, and we were still waiting to board.  How would we ever make the transfer?  And why were we flying west, towards the thunderstorm?

So we went back to our rep who was, again, great.  This time, he got us on a flight south, through Atlanta, where there were no storms.  We took off just before the storm arrived in DC, transferred without a problem, and were on our way to Paris!

All good, right?  Not really.  In retrospect, there are few more appropriate comparisons to how it feels to see a negative pregnancy test month after month while everyone else is having babies and moving forward with their lives than the feeling of standing at a baggage carousel, seeing everyone else pick up their luggage and hail a cab, watching it go around and around and around while your bag just never arrives.  Our bags, it turns out, never made it off of the Detroit flight, and predictably had missed their transfer.

There is one flight into Paris from Detroit per day (I have to wonder – is this Detroit’s preference, or Paris’s?).  We’d be in Paris for 24 hours without our luggage.  Instead of spending our first day sipping wine and looking at art and being chic, we’d be spending it in our sweaty, wrinkled plane clothes trying to figure out where to buy cheap underwear.

Clearly, our trip was doomed and France hated us.

But of course it wasn’t doomed, France loved us, and it ended up being one of the best vacations we’ve ever taken. Over the next 11 days, plenty went wrong (such as when we picked up our rental car for the second, countryside portion of the trip and managed to get terribly lost within about 30 seconds) and plenty went right (such as when, shortly after we finally figured out where we were, we discovered that the rental car had a GPS), but nothing carried the emotional weight of that first series of snafus.

Infertility is like a bad start to your vacation: it makes you feel doomed, not meant for parenthood, in a way that the other problems, big and small, that you will no doubt encounter later in pregnancy and parenthood just don’t. When nothing has gone right yet, it’s hard to imagine anything ever going right. But of course, you’re not doomed because you got off to a bad start, any more than your vacation is doomed because of a canceled flight or lost luggage.  It’s just something to be gotten through before you get to the good part.

Right now I’m shopping for underwear in my stinky tee shirt, and this entire trip feels doomed.  I just have to remember that it still has the potential to be the best journey ever.