Tag Archives: Waiting
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.
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.
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.
Finally. A week late. She rolls in like nothing is amiss.
I’ve never been so happy to see her. The PMS symptoms started on time a week or two ago. Especially the bloat and the crazy. Was pretty sure I was turning into fat elvis. Fat crazy Elvis.
I don’t even know what to say/think/feel at this point. I’m impressed that I was able to get pregnant AT MY AGE. Fuck. One more Dr uses the term advance maternal age, I’m gonna go postal. *I* am not old you pompous fuck, my eggs are prematurely napping. Now give me a baby. And no, using AMA does not help. It makes me feel the same way about you a I feel about kids these days using abbreviations for fucking everything. Lazy fucking bastards.
Blarg. Did I just say “get off my lawn” to two thirds of twitter? I guess I am old. Whatever. Give me a baby.
Since I’m in dire need of a distraction from the fact that I am sitting in a house, alone, on a hill, with my 2 year old, and a dog who would sell me out for half a stale dog snack, waiting for a dead fetus to fall outta me, I have decided to join up with BlogHer’s Nationals Blog Posting Month celebration and post something here every single damn day.
See also: I now have an excuse to whine each and every mother fucking day on this blog about this miscarriage.
I mean. I will be forced to dig to the bottom of my email bin for the really twisted letters from passed clients.
There is a nasty rumor circulating around Twitter, that I excel at waiting because I didn’t POAS all week. That I am some kind of Buddha-esque blogger lady. Buddha belly? Yes. Buddha patience? Absolutely not.
I feel I need to clear up that rumor.
The last few transfers I would POAS every morning and get more and more depressed with every snow white negative staring up at me. This time I definitely wanted to find out on my own, rather then waiting for the Dr to call with that sad “Well, I don’t have good news.” So, my mom and I decided to take a road trip to Disneyland for a distraction. My Dr said that as long as I didn’t ride any bumpy rides and remembered to take enough down time, that it was fine.
This morning I got up, put on my red underwear and headed to the clinic to pick up the embabies. Not sure why I thought it needed to be red… this just seemed to be a good time to bust it out.
It was so very weird going to something like this on my own. Mr is in NYC at a conference and is in the middle of starting a company, so I’m pretty much a start-up widow. He has been working so hard and so many hours on his company that he has nothing left over to worry about ultrasounds and blood work and embryo transfers. Not that he wouldn’t be thrilled if we got a BFP, but, I hate to bother him with all the details of this s(t)inking ship.
Truthfully, he’s so busy in NY working 18 hours a day at a neck break speed (and eating dinner at places like Keens and Les Halles and Carmine’s ((JEALOUS!!))) that I’m not even sure he knows that we have embabies on board.
So, we got into the clinical trial! Yay! And it starts in July. Um. I will be WAY too close to 43 then. Soooo… we are going to move forward and start the pill beginning our final, final round of IVF when Aunt Flo shows up around the middle of May.
Sidenote: How the FUCK did I get so old??
We will be doing a low dose HCG with gonadotropins protocol. This one, I know nothing about, but it’s supposed to be better for egg quality in the older ladies. The low dose HCG is supposed to trick the smaller follicles into maturing into quality ripe eggs ready for the picking.
Now, since we didn’t get into the clinical trial, I’m having to find other ways of raising cash to pay for this cycle. The adorably pregnant Lis at Built in Birth Control has donated her left over Lupron and forever has my gratitude. I’m also thinking of selling some fetish wear. Which, if I have my way, I’ll never be small enough to fit in again. Anyone interested in a corset? Leather gloves? Heels??
Met with the new Reproductive Endocrinologist yesterday. He is:
A.) Much better looking then our last one.
B.) Has much better taste in office decor then our last one.
C.) Is WAY better at explaining things then our last one.
D.) Not a former client. That I remember anyway.
And yes. I do worry about that almost every time I meet a new Dr/Lawyer/Accountant. I’ve been spanking butts in the same area for a LONG time, and those are the butts I spank. So chances are, at one point or another, I will run across a client. I did have a *really* uncomfortable appointment with a Dermatologist once, but I didn’t recognize him – although, he seemed to recognize me and was way uncomfortable about it. Either that or he’s just socially awkward and always performs mole checks from across the room.
But I digress. This post is not about my paranoia, nor who I have spanked in the past. It’s about who I would like to spank. My former RE.