Birth Story: An Epic Novel

Our little hapa arrived at 2:05 AM on the 23rd, just two hours past her due date.  She weighed a whopping 5 lbs 7 oz and was 18.5 inches long.  We call her A*n*n*i*e.  She's as darling as can be.  Her first name showed up on our name list pretty early in the game.  It means "graced with God's bounty."  We liked that.  When we saw a name meaning description that mentioned it being a combination of Hannah and Elizabeth, two women from the bible who were infertile and eventually blessed with children, we were hooked on it being the perfect name for our Chipmunk.  Her middle name is given by her paternal grandfather in Korean-American tradition.  It means "wisdom" and it pronounced "Gee-Heh" or [ʤi hɛ] for IPA geeks like me.

I started having contractions on my way home from work on Monday.  I was psyched.  They were very manageable, I didn't have to worry about my water breaking in my office chair, and it looked like she was going to be born on her due date.  I looked at the clock in my console and it seemed that they were 10-12 minutes apart.  When I got home, we started loosely timing them while we ate dinner, excited about the rest of the evening.  By 9 PM we figured we should get some sleep, since the contractions were still not all too powerful or close together.  At 2:30 I woke up knowing there was no way I was going to be able to sleep.

I got in the tub and found that contractions were running about 6-7 minutes apart.  The tub felt great and I'm not sure if it was the position I was in or what, but it didn't take long for us to hit the "5 minutes apart lasting 1 minute each for 1 hour."  I called the OB on call and she said we could go in for a labor check.  At that point I noticed that things seemed to slow down.  All the sudden we were back to 6-7 minutes apart.  I leaned over our exercise ball, trying to recreate the position in the tub, and as soon as we got a few more contractions that were 5 minutes apart, we notified our parents, let the dog out, and headed to the hospital.

At the hospital we had a nice long stint in triage.  When we first got there, my blood pressure was high.  This was a first for me.  They had me lay on my left side (you'll find this left side thing will become a theme) and took it again.  Still high.  The OB wanted to draw some labs, have me lay there for a bit, and see if my BP would come back down.  Eventually it did.  My labs were fine and Chipmunk's heart rate was thumping along happily.  Problem was that my cervix was only at a two.  That's right, a two.  80% effaced.  This was more dilated than I was at my doctor's visit a week before, but still disappointing.  They were well aware of our desire for a natural birth and didn't want to admit me before 4 cm in an effort to avoid interventions.  So they had us walk to hospital floor for about an hour.  During our stroll, contractions were coming much stronger and more frequently, but still didn't seem altogether regular.  When I was checked again... still a two.  No movement at all.  The consensus was that I was in early labor, my contractions were real, but my body just wasn't getting into a rhythm for whatever reason.  The OB recommended going home or "going for a walk around the mall" (WTF?).  She said a good way of knowing when to come back was when it was impossible to breathe through my contractions.  This was the dumbest thing I'd heard.  If it was impossible to breathe through contractions, why did I spend so much time learning how to breathe through contractions?  J kept telling her that I have an ungodly high pain tolerance, but she just brushed it off as OBs tend to do.  So home we went, tails between our legs, feeling a little silly.  I had a regularly scheduled OB appt for 3:30 and was told to keep that visit because it would be a good way to check and see if I had progressed.

My 3:30 appointment was with the only doc from the practice I hadn't met before.  I knew I wouldn't meet her until late in the game and was totally anxious that I wouldn't like her and she'd end up being the one delivering our baby.  When we got to the office, I was honest with her that things hadn't seemed to progress much since we'd left the hospital.  She checked me and said, "Well, I think you're doing pretty good!  You're at a solid four.  Head on back to the hospital and I'll meet you there!"  Fist pump!  We were ready to go!

This time our arrival at the hospital was greeted with a immediate placement of wrist bands and a room.  We got all checked in and settled.  They wanted to put the hep lock in and get some labs back before they let me start moving around.  The nurse put me on the monitors for a mandatory one hour check while we waited for the labs.

J was mesmerized by the heart rate monitor and watching my contractions on the screen.  He kept giving me play by plays.  "She's still at 150.  Kid's heart rate has been solid this whole pregnancy.  Crazy.  You're having a contraction?  I can see it.  That's a long one.  Your blood pressure still looks good too."

We'd been awake since 2:30 AM at this point and J and I started dozing off here and there.  I had been listening to the "beep beep beep" of the fetal monitor for so long, that when I suddenly didn't hear it, I noticed.  I yelled out J's name and we could see on the monitor that Chipmunk's heart rate had dropped to zero.  I hit the nurse button and just yelled "Something's wrong."  Within nano seconds there were three nurses in the room followed closely by the OB I'd just met.  (Let's call her Wonder Doc.)  I was on my left side with an oxygen mask on my face and a doctor between my legs before I could blink.  "Lisa I'm just going to break your bag of water so I can put a scalp electrode on her and get a better reading of her heart rate."  Swoosh, I feel my water break and instrument number one is inserted and secured to my inner thigh. There was meconium in the fluid.  Her heart rate still wasn't going up so they flipped to my hands and knees with my butt in the air and my chest pushed to the mattress.  Then we could hear the monitor start "beep beep beeping" again and there was an audible sigh in the room.

We managed to get me back on my left side and all was well with Chippy.  My blood pressure had dropped in the scuffle so they started me on an IV and wanted me to keep the mask on.  Wonder Doc laid it out.  She wasn't ready to give up on natural labor, but wanted us to understand that if this happened repeatedly or if her heart rate dropped for an extended period of time, we'd be looking at an emergency c-section.  We told her that baby is number 1 for us and she said that mom AND baby were number 1 for her. She'd like us to be able to do a vaginal birth if at all possible, but that we might want to think about an epidural.  Her main concern was that we would be looking at an emergency c-section and that without having an epidural placed for a spinal, they'd have to put me under general anesthesia and J wouldn't be able to be there for the birth.  That made a lot of sense, but also, it had been a long freakin' time since I'd slept and I was really feeling like I wasn't going to have the strength to push.

And I was still at four cm.

Wonder Doc wanted to place an intrauterine monitor to see what was going on with my contractions since I still wasn't progressing.  Obviously this would be something that would be best done with an epidural in place.

I agreed to the epidural, while being very nervous about what changing my position to get the darned thing would mean for Chipmunk's heart rate.  The IV fluids were making me shake like crazy too.  The anesthesiologist was there shortly and the nurses and my doc managed to get me into position while keeping Chipmunk happy.  It was an easy and painless placement, but they had to put me back on my back to let the drugs flow properly.  That didn't last long.  Her heart rate started dropping and I was turned back on my left side.  "Beep beep beep" she was happy as a clam again.  The intrauterine electrode (crotch equipment count two) and catheter (make that three) were placed.

At this point I didn't want anyone to move me, period.  I was perfectly happy to attempt to give birth on my left side.  Apparently, you can't lay on one side like that for forever and a day.  They tried moving me to my right, no go.  They tried putting me on my back with the head of the bed elevated and that seemed to be okay.  So I tried hanging out there for awhile, mask still on.

One of the nurses was prattling on, trying to calm us down I think, asking about how we chose our dog's name.  I tried to answer her and promptly threw up.  Heart rate dropped again and came back up as soon as I was on the left side.  They thought the throwing up was good though!  Surely it must mean I was in transition, right?

Nope.  Still at four.

Wonder doc explained that my contractions weren't strong enough to move me past 4 cm.  She wanted to add Pitocin in little bits because if Chipmunk couldn't handle stronger contractions, she wasn't going to be able to handle a vaginal birth.  They were trying to keep the epidural to a minimum to keep from slowing labor down which was fine with me.  I was handling the contractions okay.  Every time I felt one coming on I would breathe and count the "beep beep beeps" from the heart rate monitor while J murmured what the rate was and how strong the contraction was.  Bradley and Hypnobabies it wasn't, but it was all we had.

Several hours later, Pitocin had only moved me to a five.  I vomited again, and when blowing my nose in the aftermath, her heart rate dropped again.  It was completely clear that this child was not going to be down with labor and neither was my cervix.  Wonder Doc was explaining that I couldn't give birth only on my side and I said "If I can't blow my nose, I'm thinking I can't push."  "My thoughts exactly," she answered and we were off for an immediate C-section.

It's amazing how quickly a group of professionals can sweep into your room, shave your lady bits and get you all prepped for surgery once your doctor says the magic words.  Before I knew it, I was being wheeled down the hall, still on my left side with my trusty oxygen mask attached, ready for a quickie C-Section.  J was dropped off at another room and given hasty instructions on how to change.  Luckily, four IVF transfers and three egg retrievals had him well versed in OR dress code.

Once we got into the OR, the tricky part was how to keep me on my left side and keep monitoring Chipmunk's heart rate while they prepped me.  All the staff already knew the issue by the time I arrived.  I carefully moved onto the OR table with help and they quickly put a wedge under my right side to keep me tilted.  I was washed, draped, and drugged in the blink of an eye.  You could hear the heart rate monitor in the background and it was still going, but not all that quickly.  Wonder Doc said, "You know what she's telling us right now? She's telling us we made the right decision."  Once I was prepped I had to be flat on my back.  Scalpel went to belly and she said, "Tell me when you don't feel any sharp poking anymore."  My reply went something like this, "I feel that, I feel that, I feel that, I feel that, NOW!"  "Cutting," she answered and we were off just like that.  J came in shortly after and Wonder Doc told him we'd started.  After what seemed like forever she announced, "She's out!"  We knew that they were purposefully not making her cry because of the meconium, but I heard her whimper and I started sobbing.  The NICU staff whisked her away with a "take a look mom" but all I saw was feet.  They told J he could follow them into the next room.  I heard her cry when they opened the door.  That's when my hallucinations started.

I was shivering uncontrollably, which I know is a really common thing, but it was really awful.  I swore I saw bugs crawling across the floor.  A large group, followed by a solitary straggler.  Then another large group, followed by another solitary straggler.  I don't know why I didn't say something.  There were two anesthesiologists sitting right by my head, but obviously they would have noticed the preponderance of bugs in the OR if they really existed.

I was trying to hear what was going on the next room and had my eyes stuck to the door.  Wonder Doc said she looked good and that she was just a little slip of a thing.  I told her one of the other docs was estimating 7-7.5 lbs.  She laughed and said she might be 6.  There was a lot of laughing going on next door and I heard things like, "No dad, you have to take a picture of that.  She'll want that.  Here, hand me the camera and I take the pictures."

The NICU staff came out with an announcement that she was 5 lbs 7 oz and looking good.  J brought her over so I could look at her for a few minutes.  She took my breath away.  The first thing he said was, "Look!  She has a pointy ear like you!"  I could see myself in her and I wasn't expecting that at all.  She just stared into my eyes in wonder and mouthed the edge of her blanket.  J was beaming from ear to ear.  The NICU staff said they had to take her to the special care nursery just for a few more checks, but that she'd be in recovery waiting for me.  I sent J with them.

Later J told me that when he went into the room, one of the NICU nurses said, "This is an IVF baby, so she's extra special."  That warmed his heart.  He didn't know if Wonder Doc made it a point for them to know that or if they saw it in her chart.  They also informed him that Chipmunk had been using her cord as a pillow, hence the desats.  I just hope she wasn't doing that regularly during my pregnancy.

The sewing up portion lasted a really long time and finally I was able to go to recovery.  They transferred me to a different bed and wheeled me down the hall.  Chipmunk was getting a bath and wailing away.  The charge nurse commented on how strong she was and how surprisingly loud her yell was given her small size.  That made me smile, maybe she'll be a singer like her mama.  She finished up her bath quickly so we could do skin to skin and try nursing.  I held my little bundle in my arms and the whole world changed.  They were pushing on my belly and doing all the crap they needed to do to me, but I didn't care.  She latched on like a champ and I never wanted to let her go.  It was the scariest and most wonderful day of our lives.

She was 30 grams below the threshold of being categorized as "low birth weight" so we've had a lot of follow up at the hospital and apparently we will have more from the state.  A neonatologist would come in to see her and mention that sometimes due dates are off and she could just be small because of that.  We tell them she was an IVF baby born 2 hours after her due date and they change their tune to, "Well, you guys are small people."  We aren't really concerned.  She seems strong and alert and she's already back to her birth weight, plus an ounce.  We've been back to the pediatrician already and she gave her a clean bill of health so far.  The biggest issue is finding clothes to fit her!

Our room in the hospital overlooked the entrance to the Women's Center.  The first day after Chipmunk arrived, James was holding her and looking out the window watching the couples walk into the center for labor class with their pillows and yoga mats.  "They lie to you," he muttered.  I was struck by that.  There were so many things in our labor class that were briefly mentioned as "that never happens" interventions which we, of course, received.  There was no talk of C-sections, even in the generic hospital class.  We planned and prepared for this natural birth, determined to make it happen.  During IVF and even IUIs, we were always learning about the worst case scenario.  We wanted to be prepared for what could happen, but when it came to actual birth, we wanted to make it happen a certain way.  Instead, we like so many others, became that couple that walked in with a birth plan and walked out just feeling grateful for a healthy baby.

8 Weeks 3 Days

AND THE CHIPMUNK IS MEASURING RIGHT ON TARGET!

Heart rate looks good (he didn't measure it, but said, "Oh it's nice and fast.  With growth like that, there's no way it would be slow."  I'm down with that.)

I swear you guys, it looked like a mouse.  I'll scan the photo in later, but it totally looked like a mouse.

I had a little bleeding scare last night.  After bowing to the porcelain god, a GIANT clump of Crinone came out.  Enough that it clogged the toilet (I know, gross, but there's no such thing as TMI on this blog.)  Anyway, when I was wiping to make sure I got it all, I had some bright red blood on the TP.  The doc thinks  it was just from irritation from the Crinone and nothing to worry about.  I'm not worried about it because it hasn't continued and I'm feeling rather raw and irritated from all that junk.  It's so nasty.

So I stopped meds on Monday and I go to the OB on Tuesday.  Like a regular person.  Who totally doesn't feel like a regular person.

Why can't I stay at my RE forever?

Speechless

162.  My Beta is 162.

I don't even know what to say.

The Year of Betterness - A Guest Post

For some reason, we thought that tossing out the BCPs ceremoniously on New Years was a great idea.  Now it just gives us a very obvious marker of how long we've been trying.  It's been two years.  I know many people have been on this road for much longer, and I can't imagine how doing this year after year would wear on a person and a marriage.  I do know that we went through so much in 2012 alone.  Three IUIs, two fresh IVFs, one FET, one laproscopy/hysteroscopy/D&C, and two months of Lupron Depot therapy.  We are determined to grab 2013 by horns and make it "The Year of Betterness."  After all, we will find resolution this year.  Whether it's the ending we're hoping for or an unforeseen path, it will still be a resolution and we are excited about that.  My husband is much better about talking about this than I am, so I'll let him do it...

My wife casually mentioned the other day, “Will you write about our Year of Betterness?” For a brief moment, I was confused. In my defense, I was watching Iron Chef and pondering how Mortadella, a strange amalgam of pork slurry with pistachios extruded into person sized logs, constituted fine cuisine. As my daze lifted, I agreed with a half-hearted yet enthusiastic, “Uh, okay.”

A day removed, I sit in my office and try to write, yet remain confused. Allow me to explain.

Go and ask your loved one or co-worker the question, “Define better.” Chances are the most common response will go something like this, “What do you mean, better?” or a simple confused look. If the other person responds by using the word better to define better, than call it a day and send the person away.

Dictionary.com defines better as “of superior quality or excellence” which would in turn lead to the justified conclusion that 2012 was of lesser quality. By all accounts, this is a fair and true assessment because 2012 has been a disappointment. No champagne wishes and caviar dreams here. Let’s be honest, it was crap-tastic. Time wasn’t measured in days and months. It was measured in IVF cycles, injections, appointments, and a lot of wait and see. The wait and see was the worst part. It served as a reminder that as time moved forward, our collective feet were mired in concrete.

The casual reader would and rightly so interpret this to mean that it would have been better if 2012 never happened. This is where we would part company. As crazy as it may sound, I learned a lot about life, friends, and the relationship I have with my wife. Some of these lessons were bitter-sweet, but in the end I learned that my marriage can withstand anything. Love you babe.

This leads to the whole point of my inconsistent ramblings. Will 2013 be better than 2012?

1. Nothing today is promised tomorrow. So make the most of today.
2. Choose the happy. Whether we like it or not, it’s up to us.
3. More bacon. Rumors of a price increase have been dispelled. So let them eat bacon.
4. Three Little Birds by Bob Marley. Listen to it once every day and I dare you not to smile.

I have no idea what 2013 holds for us as a family, but it should be interesting. In closing, I want to leave everyone with one of my favorite quotes and true words to live by from Coach Jimmy Valvano:

“To me, there are three things we all should do every day. We should do this every day of our lives. Number one is laugh. You should laugh every day. Number two is think. You should spend some time in thought. And number three is, you should have your emotions moved to tears, could be happiness or joy. But think about it. If you laugh, you think, and you cry, that's a full day. That's a heck of a day. You do that seven days a week, you're going to have something special.”

Let There Be Ice Cream!

It's our Date-iversary!

Let me 'splain.

I met J through a very popular online dating site.  I had been doing online dating for years and years and years and years.  Yeah - a lot of time, I'm ashamed to say.  I had pretty much given up on the whole thing.  My profile was still on the site, but I wasn't actively searching or anything thing.  One September day, I felt compelled to check my account.  There was an email from a guy who did not fit any of my snooty parameters (ie, he wasn't a tall white dude with at least a graduate degree).  It was an easy, casual email and I noticed his profile said he was from Chicago.  I always get along with fellow mid-westerners, so I figured what the heck.  He asked me out for coffee the following weekend... his first (and last) online date ever.

I met him at the designated meeting place (every online dater knows that you don't let them pick you up and you make the first date short, sweet, and in public!).  We quickly figured out that neither of us were actual coffee drinkers.  Thankfully, there was a Ben and Jerry's next to the Starbucks, so we got something we both really love... ICE CREAM!  I was charmed by his easy smile and relaxed demeanor.  We just talked and it was so easy.  I don't know how to explain it other than to say it just... was!  I know I should say there were unicorns farting rainbows and galloping around us, but that wasn't what happened.  It just felt warm.  Like I had known him forever and this was what was supposed to be.  On some level, I just knew this was it.  Like the billion years of prayers had been simply answered in this wonderful man in front of me.  In fact, on our wedding day, a friend played me a voicemail I had sent her a few days after this date saying that I had found my lobster.

Since that first cone of Chunky Monkey with J, not a day has gone by where I haven't heard his voice and I love it that way.

Today is the anniversary of our first date, and every year we celebrate it by heading back to the Ben and Jerry's and having us some ice cream.  We love this day.  We get to celebrate us and happiness.  It's all about the happy today.  Not the mushy, not the the trials and tribulations, just the happy.

And just for the record, he says I was late on our first date, but I saved the text message exchange five minutes before our scheduled meeting time that says I was parking, so he can bite me on that one.  AND he only lived in Chicago for the first five minutes or so of his life.  Online daters are liars.  I lied about my height. :)

A Milestone Menage A Trois

This is my 200th post.  Within the next two weeks, we'll come upon the anniversary of my first visit to the RE and my first blog post.  Instead of depressing myself and all of you with three depressing posts in rapid succession, I'll try to make this one big post about what the last year and 200 posts has brought.  Or is that brung?  Is brung a word?  I'm pretty sure it isn't.

To go back and look at the posts from last September is like revisiting a diary for me.  There were so many things going though my head back then.  On one hand, I was hoping to tempt fate by starting an infertility blog.  A sad, smug, voice in my head thought that if I went so far as to start a blog, our first round of treatment would work and then  boy would I look silly!  On the other hand, the opposing little voice was afraid that this would be a long road.  But even that voice was intending for this space to be a place where I could record the journey and offer hope to others when they saw a shiny happy Hapa family at the end.

Instead, a year later, I have an unexpected life.  While I wouldn't wish this road on anyone, I feel like infertility had tried to test my fledgling marriage and we've been able to give it the middle finger.  I've learned that this man I married is 100% my partner and best friend.  The "for worse" part?  We can handle it.  It's a good thing to know this early in the game.  I've learned lessons that I didn't know I needed to learn.  Lessons about empathy, judgement, and identity.  I've learned that my body sucks, but my soul is more resilient than I knew it could be.  I've met new friends who I may never actually meet.  A whole community of amazing women who have kept me sane and become my strongholds.

Back then, the thought of not having children would pierce me like nothing else.  Even the thought of it would send me into racked sobs.  Now, a year later, I have a Child-free/less folder in my reader and I so look forward to unread posts showing up in that space.  Now the thought of not having children seems like an alternative rather than a painful sentence.  Somedays it actually feels like a welcome alternative.

So here were are, three IUIs, two IVFs, and a two-for-one surgery later and not a double pink line to show for it.  It's been a rough year, an emotional year, but an important year.  I can't say that I've reached a point where I'm glad to be experiencing infertility, but I am grateful for what I am learning.

Why I Almost Cried In The Bathroom At Office Max

Today, while the hubmeister and I were shopping for his new home office, I got a little teary.  Was Office Max full of infants?  No.  Did I have a moment of sadness because the new office is going in a potential nursery?  No.  I cried because I got my period... and these were tears of joy.

I wasn't happy because CD 1 means we can get IVF #2 going.  I was teary because I just stumbled upon my period.  It wasn't heralded by a very real need for a Vicodin to avoid a day in the fetal position.  I didn't have four days of spotting to let me know it was coming.  I just went to the bathroom and there it was.  Friends, I have had zero pain.  ZERO.  I'm shocked, amazed, and thankful.  I was able to work on the new room and shop all day and I was so happy to be doing so.

I had no idea that it was supposed to be like this.  It's not even an issue.  It's like... well... it's like what the nuns told us it was going to be like back in 5th grade.  So here's my PSA:  If you think that "womanly flow" is akin to more of a Mount Vesuvius and molten lava event than a stream, you should mention it to your doctor.  If the start of your period means you fear a #2 because you know it's going to hurt like a mother, you should mention it to your doctor.  If the first person to give you prescription pain meds for your period was your pediatrician, you should mention it to your doctor.

The surgery was completely worth the lack of pain I'm now feeling.  Even if it doesn't help my fertility, I'm so glad I did it.  So glad.

A Year Ago Today

A year ago today I walked down the aisle towards my future with the most incredible man I've ever known.  After a lifetime of dates requiring rescue calls from roommates, and way too many nights at home alone with Ben & Jerry, I'd finally found my prince.  It was a beautiful day that I will never forget, spent with our nearest and dearest.  A day full of love, light, and comfort.

Our first year of marriage hasn't been what we expected, but I don't think we would change it.  We've had a crash course in communication, trust, compassion.  We're learning what we're made of before some couples have figured out where to keep the Kitchen-Aid.  We have many more wonderful years ahead of us.

We were on a swing.  I know you thought we were magically suspended in mid-air.

Transfer Day

It was a weird morning.

My cell went off before my alarm, and when I looked at the screen I saw it was the clinic.  My heart lept into my throat, thinking they were calling to tell us that no embryos survived and that we shouldn't come in.  I answered, and instead it was the RE on call, who would be doing our transfer, asking us to come in early because he had somewhere to get to.  Whew!  So we brushed our teeth and off we went.

We went straight back and I had some acupuncture.  This was my first time with the needles and all that jazz and I've gotta be honest, I wasn't a fan.  Don't get me wrong, I'm well aware of the fact that I suck at relaxing, but I had an impossible time quieting my mind.  She had headphones on me with this new age music going and all I could think was "Has it been 30 minutes yet?  Has it been 30 minutes yet?  Has it been 30 minutes yet?"

The doctor came in, we'll call him Dr. Huggie, to explain that two of the fertilized eggs didn't divide at all.  He put his hand on my leg and squeezed.  It was kind of creepy.  He looked me in the eye and said very directly, "Three have made it, which means that the other two have died."  I didn't really know how to respond to that, so I said, "Okay."  So then he offered us the option of transferring all three or freezing one.  No thanks on the three!  Did you not notice that I'm under 5 feet?  What if all three took!  Good Lord!  He thought two was a wise decision, but I guess he had to offer it.  I asked if the third was still of decent quality and he said, "Oh sure!  But if we do end up doing future cycles, you'll want to use it as a store to add to." 

They took us back to the procedure room, and I didn't even have to drink anything to get a full bladder.  I'm just that awesome with my mini-bladder.  Our embies were on the screen and it was really cool to see!  I knew that they weren't as fantastic looking as I've seen on the internets.  Not as bad as the bad examples, but certainly not the textbook examples I've seen.  I asked about the grading, since all we knew was that there was a 7 cell and a 6 cell.  Dr. Huggie was very evasive.  He just said, "Oh, she does that in the lab, but I don't even pay any attention to it.  They're fine.  Some perfect embryos don't result in a pregnancy and some ugly embryos turn into some really beautiful kids."  Ummmm, okay? 

So we did the transfer, ultrasound guided so we got to see them being "launched."  He gave me a hug (Swear.  I've just met this man.) and told us he'd pray for us.  This IS the south, so that's not all that creepy.  I thought it was nice.

We went back to the holding area and I had the second half of the acupuncture.  This time I opted against the music and she let J stay in the room.  The sound of the AC was way better than that music.  J closed his eyes and I closed mine and it was much more relaxing.  I still don't think I'd do it again, though.

And now, we wait!  I'm the most pregnant I've ever been.  I know a 6 cell and a 7 cell aren't the best, and they aren't gorgeous, but they're what we've got.  My beta should be on Mother's Day.  I'm hoping they reschedule that.  Yowza.  Here are the kids!

Oh, and PS: PIO shots aren't as bad as the internets will make you believe.  I think they are way harder on my husband than they are on me.

A New Kind of "Unexplained"

When I have bad news to relay to a patient's family, I sit on it.  All day long it languishes on my "to-call" list until the last minute.  Apparently, REs do the same thing.

We wanted to avoid ICSI unless we really had to and there was no reason to believe we needed it.  I didn't like the increase in abnormalities (albeit very small) and if we could do one thing naturally in this process I wanted to do it.  So we had a semen profile where they went over J's sample with a fine toothed comb for any known issues that would result in a need for ICSI.  He passed with flying colors and we opted not to do ICSI.

All 26 eggs were mature, but only 5 fertilized.  He said there was no reason for it and just something that happens for some couples.  My eggs looked great and the sperm was perfect.  They were all still alive and kicking this morning, but for whatever reason, they just didn't fertilize.  The 5 embryos we do have looked good today, so we're still hopeful, but there probably won't be anything to freeze.  We're going to do a three day transfer on Sunday.

I asked if this was the reason for our infertility and he said that it most likely was.  He said that for that reason alone, having the answers, he thinks we made the right decision to not to ICSI.  I agree wholeheartedly.  And I know, we should be so happy to have 5.  Some people don't get that far, but I'm still in tears.

I spent years of heartbreak and soul searching to find my J.  I hate the feeling that no matter how much we love each other, our gametes don't really like each other much at all.

We Done Got Retrieved!

26 eggs!  I'll write later with details for posterity.  I started typing them up, but apparently, I'm still out of it enough that I don't know the difference between spacebar and backspace.  Typing is a PITA.  But I'm feeling pretty good so far.  A little queasy so I just sent J out for crackers and Diet Sprite.

My 100th Post!

I realized this morning that my next post would be my 100th and I felt kind of sad that I didn't have anything monumental to say.  Then I realized that I kind of did!  Well, it's monumental to me at least.

I deactivated my facebook account.

I can come back to it if I want to, but I really need a break.  There were four, yes FOUR pregnancy announcements in my face this week. I just can't hide people quickly enough anymore.  One was my 26 year old cousin and his wife.  That stung.  They were married shortly after us and the wife just started a masters program.  I thought we had some time before that one hit.  Another was a friend who grew up across the street from me.  He's been married forever so I thought they might be "in the club."  If they are, I'm super happy for them, but the cute little announcement stabbed a bit.  One chick I went to college with announced hers four times in one day in four different cutesy ways.  FOUR TIMES!   This was for her 3rd kid.  Another is pregnant with her 4th.  When you are in your 30s and Catholic, people lap you in a big way. 

I just need a breather.  My mother pointed out that it's more of a self-torture device than a source of entertainment at this point.  My real friends will still email or *gasp* pick up a phone... I hope.

Down The Hatch

And so it begins.  I took my first fertility drug ever this morning.  Last night I had a complete flip out about it.

At first I was feeling kind of excited. Like we were finally doing something proactive.  I knew we still had a snowball's chance in hell, but at least we were moving in the right direction.  Then I got this email from my mother about how excited she was that we would be doing the injections at her house.  She said she felt like she was really part of the process and she couldn't wait to tell our daughter (!) about the magical Christmas (yes, she said magical) where her parents moved heaven and earth to make the dream of her come true.  I did not respond to the email.  She knows we have 11% odds with this crap, so why she felt the need to write all that is beyond me.  Suddenly I felt like I had more weight on my shoulders. 

My husband and I are trying to be realistic.  Our mantra has become, "One hurdle at a time."  Now all of the sudden my mother has me pregnant... with a girl.  W.T.F.

So I went on my run last night to try to clear my head.  I was only 5 or so minutes in when I got a horrible pain in my tailbone that shot under my hip and down my leg, making my toes go numb.  Then I remembered that this happened my last period too and I was wondering if it was endo related since it started in my notoriously painful tailbone.  That's when the tears started to flow.  I hate that my body betrays me.  I hate that I want to run to destress over my body angst, but even that doesn't work because my body plays games with me.  I hate that I eat when I'm stressed and when I can't run the eating catches up with me.  I hate that we have to do any of this at all.  I feel like I've let my husband down. He would never say that I have and he refuses to point fingers, but I know it's my body that's the problem. 

It was a long night, with a lot of talking and thinking of what lies ahead.  We came back to our hurdle mantra and are just going to tell everyone else to back the f off.  Then this morning, it was down the hatch.  Onward we go.