Friday, September 28, 2007


If Mama sees someone sick, she decides she's ill. We've taken to lying to her when one of us has the sniffles.

What's she going to do when she finds this out?

For this and other reasons, we've decided not to mention or talk about it until 7 weeks,. Heartbeat, you know, assuming all goes well.

And that's another thing.


Assuming all goes well.

I know all too well, from personal experience and from all of you, what can go wrong.



My mind is ALL OVER THE PLACE. How am I going to haul Mama around, now that I can't life more than ten pounds. (I had to life her out of the tub last IVF cycle. The cycle that didn't work). WHERE can I find a wheelchair with a sidecar? (Seriously. Anyone have a clue?)

Assuming that all goes well.


Mama's already asked me tonight if I was pregnant. (She asks frequently; it's not unusual). I said "No, Mama," and H freaked. I can't really blame him.

Mama has punched me in the stomach before, hard as she could (and she's a strong little elf). How's she going to react to this? (She's done it playfully, saying, "I kill your baby" and "I don't want your baby").

I am thisclose to getting her, like, a b.aby.aliv.e doll or such to see how she reacts. (She's treated stuffed animals in her domain very badly in the past).

Then there's the whole what happens if I have to go to the hospital in the middle of the night thing. Who will take care of Mama? My brother is a turd; I doubt this will be the moment he steps up and helps. And our friends are either (a) not close enough to tap for this, (b) too involved with their own lives, or (c) not someone we'd trust with Mama. (One fella in H's fantasy f.oot.ball league said he'd like to take Mama out and get her drunk and/or high, as her day to day logic, he says, is similiar to his when he is drunk and/or high. He has volunteered to take care of Mama, but oh hell no.)

I'm already saying I'll need a c-section, so we can schedule it and have someone take care of Mama. (Assuming. AAGW.)

My husband thinks I'm crazy, thinks everything will work itself out.


I have to take another Beta on Tuesday.

When I am on vacation.

Anyone know where I can get a Beta done in A.tlanti.c

I know sane people, or people without Mamas, would be dancing with joy at this number.

But I'm scared sh*tless.

Not only do I have to worry about everything that can go wrong with gestation and all, I have to worry about the Mama.

(I'll be better after the second beta. Promise.)

Today I Test

Tomorrow, we leave on vacation. So if I don't post for a while after today, don't worry. It just means our vacation share doesn't have wireless.


So H went with me to get tested this morning. We get off the subway, and the street is awash with firefighters, police, ambulances. The street and half the block was cordoned off.

Omens, anyone?

So the New York thing is to ignore celebrities when you see them.

Never more so when you see them in the waiting room of your RE.

Dang. I felt kind of sorry for her. And I hoped that other people either didn't recognize her or gave her her space.


So, I knew, in the back of my mind, that it was prolly only going to be blood-taking. But. I was kid of hoping there would be some kind of SOMETHING that would tell me... SOMETHING.

And there wasn't.

Still, perhaps it was for the best. My husband was in sensory overload. And I know that even good news can go bad.


So now I get to wait.

The RE's office is calling H again. In the notes, they know they're supposed to, but they invariably call my cell. Or the house. Even thought they know they aren't to. Apparently, I am quite the anomaly in RE land.


How are you?

Thursday, September 27, 2007

All About Pee

Sunday, as you may recall, I POAS'd.

It did not go well. I think it was pretty apparent to all involved.

So Monday, when I got up to do it again, H intervened.

Now, I want to set the stage. We live in a modest-sized apartment. We have a modest-sized bedroom. And we have a teeny tiny hallway to the bedroom door.

And I make H actually, ahem, baptize the tests.

Sunday I had been in the room when he did it, and we got a negative. Monday, I resolved to pee in a cup, set it aside and let H insert stick at his leisure.


Except when I got up (announcing my intentions) H scrambled from the bed. Ran in front of me. And blocked the bedroom door.

"No," he said. "No tests today."

I was a little it surprised. Shocked. And full of pee. (I don't know about you, but *I* wake up with a full bladder. ALWAYS).

"What do you mean, no?"

"No," H reiterated. "It's too soon. It'll be a negative and it may not be valid. No tests today."

I would have argued but the floor was cold and the bladder was full.

You win this round, Arch-Enemy of POAS...

Tuesday morning came, and and we'd overslept. H turned off the alarm. I awoke with a bursting bladder and ran to the restroom. H was right behind me, urging me to hurry. He implored me so passionately that it wasn't until after that I realized I hadn't, ahem, saved any to test.

"OMG!" I cried, agitated. I explained to him what I had wanted to do (and what I had forgotten) and he wasn't upset.

He wasn't upset at all.

In fact, he was smiling.

You win THAT round, too, Mr. Evil Anti-POAS Man...

Wednesday morning, I woke up, eyes clear and mindful of purpose.

"I'm going to POAS today," I announced.

"It's too soon," says H.

"No, it's NOT," I say. I may get a faint response, but I will probably get some response. Assuming..." my voice trailed away, "Assuming I'm positive."

"Well," replied H, still nestled in bed. "Do what you want. I'm going back to sleep."

But. But. But I'm too scared to do this one my own. C'mon, please...

"No," H repeats, his tone final.

Crap. One more round to the Villain of Verification.

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

What's Different?

I have to thank my husband.

I keep torturing dear H, asking him "was I like this the last time?" This being my second IVF, you know.

Did I have these JABBING pains last time? Were my mammaries so mighty? Did I have to pee this often?

He'll say yes, or no, and usually follow up with some vivid anecdote. "Don't you remember we were walking on the street in Palerm0 (a neighborhood in Buen0s Aires) and you bent over in pain?"

I, almost always, do not remember. What I remember was getting the positive, being told it was negative, having it double for consistently for a few days... then getting on a plane... then being told by my regular OB-GYN that the pregnancy stopped after a week.

The rest pales.

But I don't want to think about that cycle. I want to think about this cycle. I want to think about WHAT'S DIFFERENT.

Now, I should mention my diet is radically different. (No sugar. No caffeine. Lots of greens). That my vitamin/supplement regime is different (multi-vitamin, folic acid, aspirin, and an assortment of other wacky supplements). And my clinic is different.


The most important thing that's different this cycle is YOU. Yes, YOU. I owe YOU. Anytime you want to come to NYC and hang out, call me. I owe YOU, more than I can ever repay.

I owe YOU for your advice, for your knowledge, for your kind words and just for being here. I OWE YOU BIG TIME.

I owe YOU because I know if I'm successful or not so successful, you'll be there with me. With words of encouragement that I am never quite sure I deserve.

I don't know how the hell I am ever going to pay you back.

Mama and the Toothbrush

My MIL used to have a toothbrush.

Well, okay, she still has a toothbrush. But she used to have a special, fancy electric one. Sonic-something-something. You know the ones I mean? One that whiiiiiiiiirred and needed batteries.

And BOY did that thing need batteries. Once a week, if not MORE often, we needed to replace the batteries.

Now, Mama loved the thing. LOVED it. Carried it with her wherever she went. Slept with the thing next to her bed. Wrapped it in toilet paper or tissue paper to "protect" it.

And we figured, well, she must be accidentally turning it on when she carries it in her pocketbook. She is using the thing to polish rocks. There must be some REASON why it ate bateries so.

Then, one day, we had a bad thing happen. Mama had, shall we say, a mishap. She was fine, some property was damaged, and we resolved to check in on her a bit more aggressively.

So one night, when my husband still worked nights, I checked on her in her room. I heard a strange noise, and was puzzled by it.

"Mama, do you hear that noise?"

"Noooo," said Mama, snuggled in her bed, covers up to her chin with only her face showing.

I still heard a noise.

In fact it was a whiiiiiiiiirr.

"Mama, are you sure you don't hear a noise?"

"Noooooo," she said again, and then thought about it.

"Wait! I think it's THIS!" she cried...

...and threw back her covers to reveal her electric toothbrush nestled between her thighs.



"Do you want to borrow it Nica? It feels good!"



Yeah, so Mama doesn't have an electric toothbrush anymore. (H couldn't handle it).

Tuesday, September 25, 2007

High School Drama

In high school, I was in love with this fella. Let's call him Carl (not his name, in case I *had* to mention).

And I loved Carl. Looooooooved him. And though we went out for only a few months, I spent the bulk of high school (and part of college) being in love with Carl.

We did the "friend" thing after we broke up, which (for me) was a thinly veiled attempt to stick close enough to him so that he could fall back in love with me. It didn't work; we never got back together. There was a moment in which we might have, but then Maria showed up and they dated for the rest of high school.

At some point (I don't remember when) Carl and I were having a phone conversation. "I fought so hard for you," I remember saying. I don't remember any sort of context. I just remember Carl's response.

"No you didn't," Carl said. "You may think you did, but you didn't."

I am not a fighter. I am a quitter. I suppose its why Carl and I never got together again, even though I knew him before, during and after Maria. I lost count of how many girlfriends I knew him through. I always loved him, and I never did anything about it.

IF is hard (duh). 2ww are super hard (super DUH). But I am feeling especially... what's the word? Crappy. Vulnerable. Weird. Weak. Desperate. Despondent. Hopeless. Pensive. Ponderous. CRAPPY. I am feeling especially (pick a word) because I don't fight. I don't fight WELL. I (feel as though I) have rarely fought for something and won. (Do we need to revisit the job fiasco?) I'm not a winner. (The fact that my husband picked me continues to amaze me.)

I have never wanted anything as much as I want this baby. I want to have a child with my husband. I want her to have his eyes and is hair and my eyebrows and freckles. I want her to have my husband's sense of courage and his artistic ability and overall sense of fearlessness. I want this more than I have ever wanted anyone or anything in my entire life.

And I haven't the slightest idea how to fight for it.

Forgot and Forgetting

As I blogged earlier, I forgot my acupuncture appointment this weekend (the only one I could manage without taking off work. The bad part of having an acupuncturist at home, not work).

Yesterday, I forgot to take my morning pills. (Including my synthr0id).

This morning, I forgot my intention my POAS. (Which, frankly, made my husband very happy. He still thinks it's too early).

What is UP with me?

Monday, September 24, 2007

We Interrupt this 2WW...

Mama comes up to me yesterday.

She hugs me tight, and looks up at me, her face all serious.

"Nica," she asks me, "I don't remember -- when's the last time I had sex?"

Um. (Did I mention my husband is RIGHT THERE?)


"Mama, I think you only had it once -- when you made H."

Mama looks at H carefully.

"Maybe you're right..." Then she turns her face so H cannot see her expression.

And scrunches up her face.

And giggles.

And pulls my ear down to whisper...

"I have sex LOTS MORE after that..."

It's th Pr0gester0ne

My breasts are huge.
(it's the pr0gester0ne).

My breasts are tender.
(it's the pr0gester0ne).

I'm urinating frequently.
(It's all the water I've been drinking)

and the urine smells funky
(it's the pr0gester0ne).

The past few days, I've felt jabbing pains on the left side of my lower abdomen.
(it's indigestion).

And now I have a dull ache in the same place.
(must have pulled a muscle).

And I was sooo dizzy yesterday
(it's the pr0gester0ne).

And I got soooo nauseous last night.
(it's the pr0gester0ne).

And I am going insane...
(it's the pr0gester0ne).

Sunday, September 23, 2007

Today, I Have No Hope

I can't imagine going through IF without getting depressed. And I don't just mean the "I feel down today" depression. I mean the "it's hard to function" depression.

Or maybe it's just me.

I fell asleep yesterday, and slept through my acupuncture appointment. And then, when I woke up, I forgot that I'd had one.

And when I remembered, I freaked.

What kind of IF'er am I to abandon the practices I truly believe will help get me pregnant? How could I forget? How could I not be more organized?

It went down from there.

H didn't seem what the big deal was about, but to be honest, he rarely does. If this cycle doesn't work, there's always the next! he says. What's the big deal?


I stuck lavender massage oil under my nose, listened to my affirmations and hoped it would be enough. H actually contributed a rub-down, but he was angry at me, and frankly it was physically painful.

I cried for a bit, but as I said, H had no idea why.

I'd made the decision earlier to start peeing on a stick. I will try every day until my official Beta on Friday. In keeping with my "I Am The World's Biggest Chicken" title, I peed in a cup and then woke my husband from a sound sleep to put said urine on a stick.

It was negative (no big surprise). I know it's much too early.


I wanted hope.

Friday, September 21, 2007

First, you wait. And then you wait some more...

I have a RL friend that I've kept up to date on my fertility trial.

I have carefully trained her; at first, she was one of the "relax, it'll happen" crowd. No more. Through months of slow and careful education, as well as a tirade or two, she is now fairly versed in the ways of IF. (She even knows to call it "IF").


Yesterday, she texted me, "Okay, what's next?"

I called her back and said, "Now I have to wait."

"Wait? Why? Can't they tell? Why can't they tell?" She was incredibly frustrated.

And I laughed.

And I explained the 2ww.

"Well, THAT sucks."

Thursday, September 20, 2007

I Miss Washcloths (and other laments)

I miss washcloths. I do. You know, those little towels you take into the shower to clean yourself?

Mama loves washcloths. LOVES them. And, slowly but surely, they have been disappearing. I can only assume that she puts them in her purse and then loses/discards them someplace else. Either that or the washcloths hated it here and have been tunneling their way to freedom. I'll prolly never know.

I am jealous of every single one of you with a laundry room. Or a laundry SPACE. Or, at least, a washing machine in your house. Yes, I am the green-eyed monster. You people, who can do laundry whenever the whim strikes you, whenever you chose, you folks who are devil-may-care with your Maytags and what not. When Mama has wet her bed or somehow dirtied herself, OH I am so jealous of you all...

I am jealous of your people who only have to pick up after yourselves. And even (a bit) of you who have t pick up after yourself and your spouse. Because I'm guessing (and I could be wrong) that your partner can be induced to help out (of only the smallest bit). And I'm further guessing that you and your spouse don't accidentally leave the tops off of permanent markers and then ALSO accidentally drag said markers against the wall, thereby ruing the paint job. I am jealous of you, too.

I am jealous of people who live in houses where things don't break. Well, in houses where you don't have to run the assumption that things are going to break. I'm jealous of houses where they can put out their good plates, their favorite mug, their fancy elephant-shaped teapots, their knickknacks without fear.

And I'm jealous of all the folks who don't have the laundry room, DO have the soiled linens, DO have to pick up after more than themselves, DO have to deal with drawing on the wall, DO have to child-proof their homes ...but have are doing it for actual children. So all these actions get wrapped in hope, not in demise. Not in deterioration.

How many more days on my 2ww?

Tuesday, September 18, 2007

Pineapple and Progesterone

So. I show up early. As in, 40 minutes early. H was late. As in, 20 minutes late.

That was a fun hour.

I hid (yes, HID) in deli while I listened to funny podcasts and sipped from my ginormous bottle of water.

We were taken to the back room right away. The nurse showed me to a changing room where I was to take off all my clothes and change into a gown. H tried to go in and "help" me. MY how the nurse objected to THAT. (It was funny, really).

They waited until we were gowned up and on the table. THEN they wanted to talk about embryos.

Turns out that SEVEN eggs fertilized. But one had some serious issues, so they tossed it (without asking!). Of the remaining six, two were okay, two were "eh" and two they said were "slow."

They wanted me to put back four. So much so that they'd gone ahead and AH'd them (even the so-so ones). They expected me to dispose the final two.

But I couldn't. So I transferred all six.

I'll be honest -- they were surprised. But when I asked them if I had a chance for multiples, they said no. The doctor said, bluntly, she thought I'd be lucky to get a singleton.

So yeah. Six.

I came home and did my progesterone. And ate pineapple.

And now I wait.

Monday, September 17, 2007

The DUMBEST decision that I have ever made...

...was to come to work today.

I am BEYOND useless this morning.

Transfer is this afternoon. It's all I can think about. People are doing the traditional Monday morning rituals. You know. "What did you do this weekend?"

I'm sooo tempted to respond, "Had 14 eggs ripped out of my ovaries. You?"

But I don't.

I just should have taken the day...


Grade unknown.

We got a call yesterday afternoon, just someone checking in. H and I were at an open house in the neighborhood. He mouthed to me who was on the phone and I went nuts. I flew around the apartment, looking for a pen and for paper, and scrawlwd notes that I then THREW at H.

Can you imagine what the poor real estate agent thought?

So, yeah. Six. SIX. More than four that I had last time, less than 3,125,676. But who's counting.

They are NOT going to discuss grades, etc. with us until we get there this afternoon. Whoever made the call flat-out didn't know.

So now we almost know.

Sunday, September 16, 2007


My clinic was supposed to call me the day AFTER retrieval and set up a time for me to come back and get implanted.

They didn't.

They were also supposed to call me with my "fertilization results."

Ditto on the didn't.


After my third or eighteenth freakout meltdown, H called them yesterday. I left the house before he made the call, because I am a big chicken. Cluck, cluck.

This ended in a classic New York moment -- my husband hanging out the window calling out my name at the top of his lungs. (And yes, I had my cell phone. But where's the fun in that?)

So I implant on Monday.

And how many? I asked. What grade? What shape are they in? How many cells?

Um... replies H. I don't know.


Not that it matters, I tell myself. Not that it really impacts anything. I mean, it is what it is. Right? Knowing NOW isn't going to make it any easier (or harder) tomorrow.

(Anyone buying this?)

So H and I had a couple talks that we may not have needed to have. How many are we putting back? How many is too many? We do not want to reduce, but we had to talk about that, too.

WATCH. I'll have only one embie to put back.



Until tomorrow...

Saturday, September 15, 2007

9 or 14

...depending on who you ask.

When I was being wheeled out of the OR, I was told 9. When I was getting my departing instructions, I was told 14.

So I'm COMPLETELY confused.

As you all probably know, we're to get the call today to tell us how many halved and quartered and what have you.


I was late taking my Medr0l, which I'm taking in case they have to do assisted hatching. (Do you think this matters?)

I come back Monday for a 3-day and Wednesday for a 5-day transfer, said the nurse. I laughed at her. LAUGHED. Do I really think I have a shot at a 5-day transfer? NO. (She looked offended when I laughed, so I apologized and said. "I'm 40 years old. 5-day transfer? C'mon....")

I have to say, by the way, that while in the past I have not been in love with the big infertility factory that is my current RE clinic, they were AWESOME when it came to retrieval. (For me, at least).

They forgot to call H. So I was done with the procedure, done with my 45 minute wait time and done with my instructions and they STILL hadn't called him to, ah, PRODUCE. H was greatly peeved and demanded to see our doctor and be assured that there was not going to be a problem with the additional delay. (He did and he was).

So now we get to wait. again.

Thursday, September 13, 2007

I've Been Shot

...and it went WELL. Thanks a MILLION to Bea and WHOEVER put up their videos of intramuscular shots. They helped a bunch. I never even felt it.

YIKES. I know I've said that before but YIKES. I've never had this many possibilities on an IVF cycle before. (I think I have six possible follies. SIX PEOPLE!) I'm starting to get, shhh, come closer because I'm going to whisper... hopeful.

But I can't really be the "h" word, because that will ring all sorts of demons. The ones who feed on, ahem "h". There was a line I read somewhere, and I don't recall the details, but the gist of it was something like "the worst thing is to be in hell with hope." It's better, goes the logic, to be be in hell and resigned to your fate. Not have a thought that it might change.

H thinks I'm NUTS. "Of course this is going to work!" he says. He's already calculating delivery dates and arguing with me about c-section versus a vaginal birth.

(Note: We had this whole crazy conversation about Mama-care with regards to me and um... you know. Like, if I have a problem and have to go to the ER in the middle of the night, WHAT do we do with Mama? H pointed out that I wasn't "p" yet, but I replied that the whole thing was STRESSING ME OUT and I wanted to know what the hell we were going to do. So we figured out a plan...)

I am nuts. Cuckoo. Scared, excited, SCARED.

My procedure is in 11 and a half hours.

Please feel free to pray for me, send me positive energy, sacrifice chickens, say a few rosaries and complete five or six novenas. (I'll do the same for you).

Okay, Breathe. I can do this.



Wednesday, September 12, 2007

I Trigger Tonight

I didn't get stats today. But the ones from yesterday:
Lining: 13
Right: 19, 18, 18, 17, 16, 16, 15, 15, 15, 14
Left: 18, 17, 14.

Today they said, "Yup, your retrieval is Friday."


I was prepared for there to be an issue with my dosage

I was prepared to underperform.

I was prepared to have them scrap the cycle half-way through because of something going wrong.



One of the lovely nurses from my clinic told me this morning. Reminded me that I needed to give myself another dose of my G0nal-F and Men0pur ASAP. I called H in a panic, and he went running home to mix and bring me drugs. (He has a far more flexible schedule than I do.)

Yikes. YIKES.

I am terrified and I am excited and I am TERRIFIED. I do not want to be the deflated hope balloon at the end of this. I don't want this to fail, I don't want to start thinking it'll work (or that it WON'T) I yi yi yi.

I should mention that, all things considered, this has been the best cycle I've ever had. When I did my IUIs, it was all me. I did the shots, I went with a cup the the RE. When we went to Argentina, H was far more involved, but somewhat distracted. After all, he was surrounded by family who he hadn't seen in a decade.

But this time... this time, it's him and me. We went to IVF orientation a few weeks back, and he made a nuisance of himself. Asking more questions than every other person in the room combined. H was so confident about his medicine mixing and needle skills he gave tips to the couple to our left.

He's shy.

When the drugs came, he personally reviewed and inspected them. This, he had decided, was his domain. When it came time to inject, he was ready. He spread out a clean towel and placed everything out. He was exacting, he was precise, he was lovely. Our instructions said to inject "about an inch" from the navel and so he measured. I've never felt so loved (and so glad to have an extra roll of fat on my belly).

I'm taking my trigger shot in three hours.

H says not to worry. He's been watching online videos on how to give an intramuscular shot.

Unfortunately, the videos were authored by the US Army, so this may not end well. ("Do you have an exit strategy for that needle?")

Tuesday, September 11, 2007


I was at work. A different job than I have now, different boss. The Boss was yelling at me for doing exactly what he told me to do. (ever have one of THOSE bosses)?

Then the neighboring cubicle got a phone call from a friend working downtown, and the world forever changed.

I can't (without lots of pain and sobbing) give you the blow-by-blow of my day. I don't want to think of it.

But I can tell you the bits that I remember this year.

That Phil, a 22-year-old who worked for me (I was a manager), called me up sobbing because he didn't know where his mother was. I talked him through her likely locations, and an hour later she came home from work (safe and sound).

That my father called up, demanding that I go find my brother because he couldn't get him on the phone. My father "knew" that I would be okay; it was B. that we had to worry about. (Brother was in Midtown, away from it all).

That I wore a new shirt that day that I'd loved in the store, but was hesitant wearing to work.

That I bought that shirt at a store in the World Trade Center.

That I threw out that shirt and never wore it again.

Six years later, it still hurts.

Monday, September 10, 2007

At First, And Then

I went in for the AM monitoring today.

At first, I was happy.

Lining 10.6
Right: 17, 16, 15.5, 15, 15, 12, 12, 10.5
Left: 22, 17.5, 14, 13

YES! I waited for the nurse as this time there were too many for me to write down. "You're doing really well," she told me.

Egg retrieval may happen as early as Thursday. And they definitely want me to come back tomorrow and see.

And I did a happy dance. And I called H and told him to get ready. And then I danced all happy around for the rest of the day.

And then.

And then I caught the date.

And I realized tomorrow is September 11.

And then I was filled with memories of walking home under the cover of fighter jets.

And then.

Where were you on 9/11?

Sunday, September 09, 2007

Cry Baby

This morning, I cannot stop crying.

The thing that is especially crappy, for my husband, is that Sunday is his day "off." Especially during football season. Sunday I am to make myself scarce (and take Mama with me). Sunday he watches TV and calls his friends and checks his computer every two minutes and does not shower.

Ah, male bliss.

Except I am a weepy, clingy mess. I don't quite know my. (Perhaps it is because the Jets are losing?)


H blames the C.etr0tid.e; last night was the first night we added C.etr0tid.e to the mix. What else could it be, he says?

Mama's grasp on reality is slowly but surely ebbing away. This morning Mama told me that she didn't give birth to my husband. (She did). Mama told me that my husband's father had gotten another woman pregnant, and she agreed to raise the child as her own. I've seen my husband's birth certificate, I've seen photos of Mama in the hospital. She gave birth to my husband, no question about it. In fact, it used to be her strongest memory. (She did NOT like labor, let me tell you). And now, in her mind, it's in question.


When the mood strikes her, Mama will strike a dramatic pose and intone, "I am a waste. I can do nothing. I should die and leave you alone..." followed by a fluttering of hands. (I'd compare it to a six-year-old trying to emotionally blackmail you. The sentiment is there, but the execution is clumsy). Depending on the context, it will either make me laugh or cry. For instance, when she's trying to get out of chores, it's funny. When she's attempting to do something (sew, crochet, cook) and she can't... it kills me.

Years ago, when we just engaged and blissfully ignorant about IF, my husband would say in response that we needed her. Who would take care of the baby?

Mama would always get excited about the baby, or the hope of one. The baby could sleep in her room, she'd say. The baby should be named after her father. The first child should be a male child, with hair like my husband and eyes like my brother (she loves those blue eyes). For a while, Mama was even passionately praying that I would have triplets, or at least twins. Mama would explain that that way she could "get one." (That I'd have so many, I would let her raise one).

We live in one of those classic New York City apartment buildings that families settle in. So 2F is the cousin of 4K and the grandson of 7L. That kind of thing. And the old ladies of the building congregate with their grandchildren. And Mama sees them, most every day. And Mama wants to be one of them.

And recently, she's given up hope.

Yesterday, when she awoke, we were not there. Later, when we returned, she demanded to know where we'd been.

"At the doctor," I explained, "trying to make a baby." But it's a story she's heard too many times before.

Mama made a dismissive gesture with her hand, and blew a raspberry. "I don't believe you," she said, "You never make a baby."

And then she walked away.

And today, I cannot stop crying.

Saturday, September 08, 2007

Cycle Day 6

Updated to show the pictures H took. (We're geeks)
I love my new RE clinic. I love that they are open holidays, weekends, you name it. I love that, in orientation, the nurse made a not of saying "if your ideal egg retrieval day is Christmas, we will have egg retrieval on Christmas." It's a solid up-side of going to a place that is SO FREAKING HUGE.

So I go in today for my "midpoint" check. I'd asked H to cme with me, and to my delighted suprise, he said yes. So we took off for the clinic at dark-thirty, and were there shortly after it opened.

Can I just say: three times I have been there for early morning monitoring moments after it opened, and three times the place has been PACKED. Easily, each time, 10 to 15 women ahead of me. Wow. Wow.

Who was it who mentioned going to an IVF orientation class, and none of the students made eye contact with each other? (Apologies, it was a good comment and I should have made note). The waiting room at my RE clinic is (mostly) like it. Today, I realized it felt like a casting call. As though, somehow, some of the women looked at the others as competition. You know? No sense of camaraderie, no "we're all in this together." More along the lines of "80% lose and is it going to be me or you?"

Maybe it's just a New York thing. (We're a little competive here.)

Anyway, the stats: CD6
Lining: 8
Left: 14, 13, 12, 11, 10, 10, 10
Right: 14, 13, 10, 10

We checked (again) and everything seems to be going normal, fine. (I've mentioned my first RE was always concerned about the overachievers, and used to put me on lupr0n. This place's response is "well, it happens. No biggie." Crimeny!)

More later.

Wednesday, September 05, 2007

Cycle Day... Um...

Okay, If I started bleeding Sunday then that makes this... Cycle Day 4.

that was hard.

Okay, I don't know if I've mentioned, but I routinely (from IUIs) have one follie that starts early, grows big and ruins the picnic for the rest of the girls. (I prolly mentioned).

Anyway, my new and improved clinic's standard protocol is to see you on Cycle Day 2, blood and wand, and then not see you for, like, five days.

With my history, I thought this was a recipe for disaster. So I asked for (and was granted) an earlier wand-and-blood.

Now, the note on the chart says "come in after three days." But when I went in for CD2, along with my instructions on how much drugs and how to mix was a note reading "come in Sept. 5." Which is Cycle Day 4 (today) which is not 3 days from the scan which is wrong.

I got confused. I kept counting and COUNTING over and over again. Finally, I thought, well, I'll just go in when the note says.

So I rise at the crack of dawn (years from now, they'll find out that sleep deprivation causes IF) and go to my clinic. And wait my turn. And my doctor comes in and says...

"Ummmm... why are you here?" (They couldn't find my chart. No one had pulled it, since no one was expecting me).

I explain. I also explain that HE'S MY DOCTOR although I haven't seen him in a year.

Results from the wand-and-blood
Lining: 3.5
Left: 11.5 and 11.5
Right: too small to measure

I ask about the overachiever (although this is the first time I've known of their being TWO) and he says "Nope. looks normal. I'm not worried. But it's early, and we'll keep an eye on it. What cycle day is it for you, he asks.

I cannot count. It is too early and I am too stressed. "I was here Monday." I say. "Well, you should come back at your regular interval," the doc says, "Friday morning."

The nurse coughs discretely. "Saturday," she gently corrects.

Math is hard.

Now: can I get context on my numbers?

Tuesday, September 04, 2007

And We're Off...


Started bleeding Sunday. Could not have been at a worse time, but there you go. Was technically a little early, but whatever. It's here.

Went running into my current clinic yesterday. Check your calendars; that's right. LABOR DAY and they were open for business. (And quite busy, too). That alone is a huge improvement over my last local RE. (Closed for holidays, weekends and whenever else she wanted).

I thanked everyone for being there on a holiday (the plebotomist who blood-ed me, the lab tech who wand-ed me, the nurse who reviewed my instruction).

Golly, it's a big place.

Anyway, I'm back in two days for monitoring. At my request -- previously, I have always had one over-achieving follie who doesn't let his friends get a chance. (Anyone had that? Is that anything?)