Sensory Overload

WHERE TO BEGIN? I guess I'll start with when we first arrived. They had appetizers. I love this Doctor already. Turkey and Roast beef wraps (like pinwheels) with bell peppers and cream cheese. And an open bar. Okay not really, but I could have used a beer to take the edge off my nerves fo' sho'. With food in my tummy and a steno pad in my purse, I was more than ready to get started.

When we walked up to the desk to give our names the nurse coordinator greeted me with a huge smile and a cheerful "Oh, hi Melissa!". My first reaction was a little disconcerted, while I returned her smile I wondered why her demeanor was more like checking people in at a high school reunion and less like a symposium for a group of people who are (potentially) experiencing the biggest challenge of their lives. But as I listened from the inside of Conference Room A to her greeting other people, I had to laugh at my own jadedness. This wasn't a Rosary. We shouldn't feel sad or ashamed. And as the doctor began speaking I knew instantly that I was thinking like an asshole. This event should bring everyone attending hope and excitement. This man could FINALLY get us knocked up for Fucks sake - put a damn smile on your face!

But it was obvious that I wasn't the only one with trepidations, I quickly noticed that I was the only one laughing at the doctors attempts at jokes. Like when he said his head Embryologist was "Anal and scrupulous; not the kind of man you want to be married to, but definitely the man you want watching over your gametes".

The rest of the seminar was great. I don't mean to sound like a douche, but I was significantly well versed in most of the topics he covered. (But I'll chalk that up to the obscene amount of time I've spent reading so many of your well documented blogs.) The exception being the structure and operational elements of his lab and his philosophies on various topics.

• Day 3 vs Day 5: He almost always does Day 5 unless by Day 3 there is only a small amount of embryo's, or some other significant factor. He likes to see the embryo's as close to the hatching point as possible before transferring.


• How many embryo's to transfer: His decisions are mostly based upon age. Under 35, no more than two - barring special circumstances. Over 35, no more than four. (A post on this specific topic is in the works.)


• Vitrification: They use the vitrification process for freezing. Which freezes the embryo to -196 degree's Celsius in milliseconds, leading to zero crystallization. Which means lower attrition, and better thaw rates

Overall it was a really great experience. And I'll bet the folks who are newer to the process gained a lot from this meeting. It was very thorough, and included video's of ICSI, egg retrievals, embryo transfers. Things I had seen, but I knew Brian hadn't. We ended the evening with questions from the attendees, the only questions I had were pretty specific to our situation and I prefer to ask them during our consultation this Saturday. After our consultation, we'll get started on testing again, since it's been about two years since our last round. CD3 could be as early as Monday or Tuesday for me, and we'll be doing an updated SA for Brian - I CAN'T WAIT to see if the tic tacs worked!

I guess this means our break is over, huh?

FUCK YEAH IT IS.

It's Seminar Day!

Holy Crap it's the end of September already! We're attending the seminar given by our more-than-likely new RE tonight. I'm so fricken excited that I'm not even a little bit mad that I won't have time to eat dinner in between leaving work and racing off to the seminar. Hopefully I'll find the time to inhale an apple or something because MELISSA DOESN'T SKIP MEALS.

Low Blood Sugar + Melissa = Rage

Just ask Brian.

Poor bastard.

Wow, am I still talking about food? Hell yes, because Melissa hasn't eaten breakfast yet. And being hungry compels me to make statements in the third person.

So the seminar, VERY EXCITED. And Saturday we have our phone consult with the good doctor. SUPER DUPER EXCITED.

More to come!

Out Of The Frying Pan

I took a pregnancy test yesterday morning. Don't get excited - it was negative. I really didn't think that I would see more than one line, but AF is two days late, and I wanted to drink coffee and alcohol guilt-free. Also I think I'm coming down with an infection (awesome) and I didn't want to worry about scrambling our egg with meds- if you know what I mean. And of course, I know you always do.

I keep all of my TTC paraphernalia in a small storage box in my bathroom linen cabinet, and since January it has been tucked away on the bottom shelf, all the way at the very back. I had to get down on my hands and knees just to reach it. And when I finally pulled it out, it took me a good minute before I could actually open it. I suddenly felt very aware that I was on my hands and knees. Being in that vulnerable position, with that box, and everything it represented instantly flooded my mind with images of the person I used to be.

First the good memories; what it felt like the first time I took a pregnancy test out of that cabinet. The excitement, the realization that I was a grown woman, married, and ready to start my own family. The positive OPK's, and how fun it was to make love because we thought we were creating our family. Then slowly the bad memories crept in; the countless tests with single lines. The disdain I felt for the Dixie cups I used to collect my first morning's urine. The frustration of deciphering how dark the line was on the Internet cheapie OPK. The tears that flowed as I slammed that box back in to the cabinet after yet another BFN. And let us not forget the thousands of calories that I consumed to try to ease the pain. Followed by the deepest depression I've ever known.

I could feel my breath quicken, and I suddenly wanted nothing to do with that box. I haven't looked at it in eight long months. No hpt's not opk's, for the better half of 2010. I was different person last time I saw that box - if I opened it again what would that make me? Is this the beginning of the end of the peace that I've found from our eight month respite? When we move forward with IVF in January, will I lose sight of the strength and balance I've worked so hard to regain?

I read so many of the ALI community's blogs, and I ache as I see some of you in that place where I spent so much of 2008, and 2009. Knee deep in the trenches, overwhelmed with frustration and desperation. But still without the slightest waiver of determination in the quest to become a mother.

In the same distinctive way that some feel lucky to have been dealt the challenge of infertility, myself included, I feel lucky that we didn't have the money to jump right into IVF. Because I wouldn't have had that time to heal so many of the battle wounds, to free myself from the reigns of depression, to loose the 30lbs I gained from eating my feelings. To see how unhealthy I was, and how toxic my addiction to TTC had become to my marriage.

At the end of this month I will attend a seminar given by the man who will most likely become our new RE. And four days after that we'll have phone meeting to get us started on our path to IVF early next year. I feel nothing but bliss with the thought of me possibly being pregnant this time next year, but I'm terrified of losing myself again in the mix of all of it. It's just too damn easy to get swallowed up in the whole process. Expectations vs Results, Realism vs Negativity; I'm four months away from all of it, and already I feel like my strategy's are bullshit.

How did you cope? Did you have plans in place to help manage stress?