Tag Archives: ttc
I spent all day yesterday remembering, but now knowing what to say. I remember. I can never forget. Little things remind me no matter how hard I try to ignore them. Pictures of my own baby can not be viewed without thinking of the baby that came after him. Would they have looked the same? Acted the same? Or completely different. How was I so blessed to have one so perfect, although a bit of a hand full at times … followed by two who tried to kill me, literally, and one who wouldn’t leave my womb long after it’s tiny heart had stopped beating. What was wrong with those two? What is wrong with me?
One of my biggest regrets? Missing so much of Monkey’s childhood as I tried, and failed, repeatedly, to give him a sibling. Days of bed rest instead of days at the zoo. Days of morning instead of days of enjoying what I have.
I hope everyone is having a fabulous National Infertility Awareness Week and that the infertility fairy has been good to you. Or at least decent. Or at least bought you a drink before spitting in your dreams.
I figured that since I have, as of last February graduated infertility to join the ranks of doting grandmother (if you are a new reader to this blog, well, I’m sorry. It’s sorta like join into Soap mid-seasson. You have a lot of catching up to do, but in the end, it will be totally worth it. In the mean time, use these cliff notes to catch up.)
But now that I’m a
bitter old lady doting grandmother, with an active little Monkey lovingly waking me each morning with a karate chop to the neck (seriously. WTF kid?) I have no need for the Infertility Community. Right? I’m not cycling. I’m not hoping. I’m not involved.
Today is 7dp6dt. 13 days passed ovulation. I have been plagued with heartburn the last couple days. And heart palpitations. And the occasional dizziness. And sore boobs. And lots of nausea. And a crazy appetite.And peeing ALL the fucking time. I even had the tell tale change of scent in my lady city, and speaking of scent – I can smell my fridge from here every times it’s opened.
With shaking hands I pee’d on a first response. I snapped on the lid and set it upside down on the bathroom floor. I finished peeing and left to get a good luck sniff of Monkey.
I stared at the bathroom door.
I stared at the little stick.
I reminded myself that I would much rather get a BFN then have another miscarriage.
I reminded myself that I have one fabulous Monkey (who I really wish would nap again.)
I reminded myself that it was only 7dpt and that it was afternoon pee.
I’m trying not to obsess. I really am. I’m trying SO HARD not to run to the nearest Target rip a box of pregnancy tests off the shelf and pee on them right there in the aisle. Partly because I really like shopping at the Target and I don’t think they would let me back after that, and partly because I know it’s too early at 4dp6dt to get a result.
I’m trying really hard not to obsess over every little symptom. Are those implantation cramps or am I just constipated? Is Monkey’s poop just a little bit more gag inducing today? Or am I getting a little sensitive to smells? Is that the progesterone causing this nausea? Did I have this much nausea during my last two week wait? WHY AM I SO HORNEY? Is it just because I am on doctor ordered pelvic rest, or is it because there is more blood flow to my Lady City. (Thank you @DresdenPlaid for the most awesome new name for my girlie parts ever!) And if it’s just from being told I can’t have sex, wouldn’t co-sleeping also make me incredibly horny because Hello?! There is 28 adorable pounds of razor sharp toenails and kung fu jabbing elbows between myself and my Mr every night. It’s the progesterone isn’t it.
Tomorrow I turn 43. And, unless something big happens in the next couple of hours, I will not have discovered the real answer to life, the universe and everything. I feel completely let down by Douglas Adams.
Tomorrow I also start my ovulation predictor kits for this final cycle. That’s not totally true. Because I’m a POAS addict, I pee’d on one today.
I am not ovulating.
Hopefully, I will get a positive this weekend and everything will move forward as planned. A BFP in a couple weeks would be grand. But seriously, at this point, I’m just ready to be done.
Which totally means I will get a BFP and probably go through the long drawn out hell that will result in a miscarriage just like last time. My body seems to be rather insistent on reaping maximum heart break from this whole process.
Really wish I felt more positive going into this. I know bringing home a baby is a possibility. But so is winning the lottery.
Well. This is it. Aunt Flo is here. The husband has had his pre-transfer freak out. The paperwork has been signed. Nothing can stop me from killing these embryos with my uterus. We are looking at doing the transfer on the 30th of January, give or take a couple days, as it is a natural cycle. Then, my TCC days will be behind me. That will be about 10 days after my 43rd birthday.
Oh good lord, how did I get to be so old? In my brain, I’m still the lost, confused, wondering what I’m going to do with myself, girl child who is trying to get her problem skin under control and figure out what to do with her hair.
No. Wait. I’m still all of that. I’m just now doing it in my early 40′s rather then my early 20′s. And now I have a zits on my wrinkles.
Last year, my goal was to be decent to myself. Coming off 2010 and my miscarriage at 12 weeks, a failed FET, a failed fresh cycle, and my Mr being let go of his job of 8 years, it was about all I could muster.
I wanted to start exercising – mainly because my wii-fit had mocked me. This year, I pulled the wii-fit out for my yearly check in, replaced the batteries that had started to ooze from neglect and stepped on. It made a grunty noise, but seems to think that I’ve lost a pound. Over the course of the last year.
I totally call that a win! Actually, losing a pound while doing a round of IVF and then a FET and getting pregnant and miscarrying is sort of a win. A sad, sad win.
Today I received both a note from my Dr that my HCG is undetectable aaaand … a note from Enfamil congratulating me on my little one reaching it’s first birthday. Thanks assholes. I hadn’t even remembered that my former due date was coming up.
Next month is, if my body co-oporates, going to be our final transfer. I know I’ve said this before, but really and truly, this time is it. Next month I will also turn 43 and there is no way we can afford donor eggs. We will be happy with our Monkey and I will find something new to obsess over.
Like making the marketing people at Enfamil miserable.
Because this last cycle was so weird, I went ahead and bought some cheapie OPK and have been using them the last couple mornings to see if my body has started ovulating again. I should have started on Christmas Eve, but forgot, then Christmas was an exhausting clusterfuck of crazy, so I didn’t use one until the 26th. That should have been the day before I actually expected to ovulate and the line was super dark, but not as dark as the control line. The next day was also dark, but not as dark as the control line. Today the line was really light.
I laid in bed for twenty minutes after my bladder woke me. I debated just waiting until tomorrow for the beta to know the answer.
I just needed to end the suspense though.
And so I did.
You have never seen a pee stick so white.
Or maybe you have, and for that I’m sorry.
I laid in bed cuddling with Monkey afterwards for several hours. One of the bonuses of getting up at 5am, and having a pool party hung the fuck over toddler. I think after every BFN, I realize even more what a miracle he is. I’m going to be co-sleeping with him until he’s in high school. I’ll be the crazy mom staring at him while he sleeps when he comes home from college.
This cycle went swimmingly. I prepped my body for three months before transfer. No sugar, caffeine or booze. Mostly all organic. Hard core sumpliments and gym and meditation.
Today was my 6th day of stims. If we include the Devils Drug, lupron, that means it’s the 17th day of shots. All together? 34 shots that I’ve given myself in my belly. So far all they’ve gotten me is bloated, irritable and a wee bit crazy.
At my first ultrasound Tuesday morning, we saw 6 follicles on each side tracking about the same -which is great news and pretty good for an oldie! But, I’m having a hard time being optimistic at this point. This whole cycle I’ve told myself that I’m hopeful, but trying not to get my hopes up. I’ve done everything I can, the wheat grass and the DHEA and the coQ10 and the cleansing… but when it comes down to brass tacks? I’m 42. The chances of this cycle working are pretty slim.
Which of course makes me feel like shit for pouring another pile of money (and several gift packages of donated meds) down the infertility hole of heartbreak and despair.