We Have Embryo's...

I woke up this morning feeling only slightly better than yesterday. Which isn't saying much. My retrieval was scheduled at 11am, but Dr. 3 was running behind. They had arranged my procedure to be the last of the morning because I had the most follicles of their patients also scheduled for the day. 17-18 that they could see. They wheeled me back to the  - what is that? an OR? - Whatever the name, it was a little surreal, let's just say that. I proceeded to lay on the table in the padded stirrups for what felt like an eternity while the nurse babbled on about my husbands chosen profession. In reality it was only about 25 minutes, and I was long gone within about a minute and a half of Dr. 3 gracing us with his presence. Afterward they managed to wake me up just before transferring me from the table to a gurney and I could hear the doctor telling me it had taken less than 20 minutes and that I'd done very well. I remember asking how many eggs they got, but he said he wasn't sure yet. Still, I persisted "lots?"... "Did you get lots of eggs?" And I'm pretty sure I remember them laughing at me.


The next thing I knew I woke up crying in recovery and asking the nurse for Brian. She gave me a heating pad for my abdomen and shot of a pain killer in my IV.  I remember several people asking me why I was crying, and to tell you the truth I'm not sure I could narrow it down to one specific thing. I felt relieved that this part was over. I felt grateful to see my husband standing over me with concern. But I also felt violated by the fact that I even had to go to these lengths to achieve such a common human experience. Parenthood. And suddenly none of what I was doing there made any sense.  How do blood draws, and stabbing myself in the stomach repeatedly with fine gauge needles, and procedures that require general anesthetic, and lab technicians, and petrie dishes... how does all this lead to motherhood? It felt so unnatural. Unfair.


But maybe that was just the pain talking. Because my mood quickly elevated from there. They gave me a box of apple juice, and propped me up so that I could feel a little more normal. Shortly after that I felt decent enough to change back in to non-assless clothes, and before we knew it Dr. 3 came in to sit down with us. First he reviewed the follow up "NK Assay" blood panel they had taken earlier in the week. Great news: The Humira and Dexamethasone had done their jobs and all of my levels were normal. This meant that I wouldn't be required to do the ($700 per session) Intralipid infusion until after a positive pregnancy test. The plan they initially set for me required one at the retrieval, one after the transfer and then every few weeks after positive betas. Whew, deep breath. Then he told us they got 19 eggs. Nineteen... We were  thrilled. 


I spent the rest of the day in bed with my new best friend Mr. Heating Pad. Seriously, if you have a retrieval pending be sure to pick one of these bad boys up. Brian took great care of me, getting up and down, going back and forth with my every whim. Dr. 3 told us that we'd likely get a call by "lunch-time" today with our fertilization report, but they tortured us until a little after 1pm. Out of the 19 retrieved, 11 were mature, and 9 fertilized normally. That's an 82% fertilization rate. Which is pretty good. Which is why I feel like a total asshole for being a bit disappointed that we didn't have more mature eggs. But such is the life of a PCOS gal. We can produce quantity, but not always quality. Intellectually I know that nine embryo's is good.  And I will keep telling myself that. NINE IS GOOD. But my poor little infertile heart wanted more. More mature, more to choose from, more to freeze. I know we're lucky to have this many and to have even gotten this far, so I'm going to end it on that. Nine is good, and we're lucky.


I won't hear anymore about the status of our embies until Thursday, when we go in for our transfer.  Please keep our little ones in your thoughts until then. Thanks again for all of your support.

Livin' Large

It's official. I'm incredibly uncomfortable. I can't button my pants, my lower back is killing me. I have to pee ever thirty-eight minutes and I think I can feel my ovaries in the back of my throat. I started feeling my (other) girls the day after I started stims, which was both exciting and remarkably comforting at first. And actually even up to Monday evening. But starting Tuesday night they woke me up whenever I rolled over. You know how if you tap one balloon in a bouquet of ballons that they all ripple in turn. That's what my ovaries feel like every time I move. Bending over, sitting down, getting up, coughing. All of that makes them ripple, and it's not cute anymore.

But I can see the light. We're almost there. Even after having four shots and blood draw on Monday. Five shots on Tuesday. (Oh, I added Heparin twice a day beginning Monday night.) I calculated everything and I'm 88 shots in with a whole fucking lot more to go... I'm not a needle phob by any means, but I'm starting to get some serious bruising from all of the shots. And the Heparin is only going to make things worse according to my nurse. I want you all to understand how grateful I am to be here, period, but the physical toll of IVF just hit me like a Mack Truck, and I can feel the effects head to toe. This shit is hard.

But I know I can do it.

My appointment went well this morning despite running AN HOUR late. Follies on the left measuring  15 -16mm, Follies on the right measuring 16 - 17mm. I was instructed to "coast" tonight. No Follistim, No Menopur. Just Heparin and Lupron. I'll trigger tomorrow night (WOO HOO!!!) And my retrieval will be Saturday morning! If I don't sound more enthusiastic it's only because my rising levels of Estrogen are making me feel EXHAUSTED. And a bit weepy. I cried last night when Bethany asked Julie to be Bryn's Godmother. Okay, I might have cried over that anyway, but I'm playing my IVF meds card and there's nothing you can do about it.

While explaining my current experiences to Dr. 3 and the nurse, they both agreed that I'm at the very early stages of OHSS and have placed me on a liquid restricted diet. I can have no more than one liter of Gatorade per day. No soup, no milk - which means no cereal (balls!), and no smoothies. Like the one I had been dreaming of getting on my way back to my office, but oh well. I know there is more stuff I wanted to say, but I'm kind of out of it right now. Any questions, ask away!

Proceed Follies, Proceed.

First things first, I'm happy to report:  No crazy dreams leading up to the first monitoring appointment. My hoo-hoo wasn't displayed on a Megatron, picture window, or skype for that matter. All good things. As I type this I can only wonder if the whore-bag cyst had anything to do with that. The official report is that she's gone for good! I was super nervous going in that I'd have one giant follie the size of Rachel Zoe, and end up getting cancelled fo' shiz. But Dr. 3 was quite happy with my progress and didn't see that hooker anywhere.

So with all this excitement I have no choice but to whip out my bullet points. (oh my)

• Left Side: 8 follies, all measuring 12 - 13mm
• Right Side: 9-10 follies, all measuring 12 - 13mm
• Lining: 8.3mm
• Estrodial: 587
• Prolactin: 18

Dr. 3 was all smiles this morning, and said that my progress was on the higher side of the median he likes to see. I feel good about that. I think. I go back on Wednesday for another monitoring check, but he thinks I could trigger as early as Wednesday night, possibly Thursday. Which meeeeeans, my ER could be Friday or Saturday!!!

I really, really can't believe our time is finally here. I'm so ridiculously happy right now.  My pants are unbuttoned, and I'm smiling like an idiot - I just can't believe we'll have our very own embryo's this weekend. I love them already - is that weird?

So next up: Meds are the same tonight and tomorrow, except that I'll add in Heparin which brings me to four shots per night, oy. I know that it'll soon be two, once I'm off the stims and start the Progesterone in Oil. Which I've heard is heavenly (she says sarcastically). So again, I ask for your wisdom and experience - what are the best ways to minimize the ouchiness of the POI shots? I've heard horror stories of welts, and sore spots that last for MONTHS. I'd like to avoid that, please and thank you. So, spill it.

Me, On Stims...

Stims are going well so far, I'm happy to report that the Follistim Pen is not nearly as complicated as I imagined. I don't know why, but I was feeling very intimidated by the concept of it alone. Maybe because if you don't pay close enough attention to what you're doing you can destroy $900.00 in meds fairly easily. Thank gawd I can trust Brian not to screw it up.

I'm three days in on stims, and I have to say three shots a day is already getting old. (remember I've been on Lupron since January 16th) AND HOLY CRAP is Menopur a dirty tramp - Why the hell didn't anyone tell me how much that shit stings?!?! If you think I curse a lot here, you should have heard me when the stinging first kicked in. I can handle the shots themselves, it's a little pinch then it's over. And I think I have a pretty decent pain tolerance but good lord... So I did a little research I found that icing helps. I iced for close to ten minutes before injections last night and barely felt a thing. And quick question. How soon into stims did you start to feel anything? I'm not uncomfortable in any way, but I noticed a different type of pressure yesterday. Like, a fullness. Very subtle. Am I nuts? Anyone else notice it this early?

My first monitoring appointment is on Monday, and I'm super excited. I'll go in first thing in the morning and pray that the whorebag cyst hasn't come back to suck up all my meds. I also hope to get a decent preliminary count of follies. This is where it gets tricky because I am constantly reminding myself to not to keep any expectations. SO. HARD. NOT. TO though...

Lastly. I must thank you all for your beautiful enthusiasm when I got the green light. Every one of your comments put a huge smile on my face... Thank you so much for that.

Grow follies, GROW! 
(butnottoofast) 
(HOLY CRAP, I've been saying that for so long, I can't believe it actually applies to ME.)
WOOO!

Aspiration Cancelled

Cause the bitch is GONE.

I thought long and hard about how to write this post in a way that would melodiously lay out the details of the entire ordeal without revealing the conclusion until the very end. But when have I ever been that tactful?

So yes, the cyst is gone. HOT. DOG.

We rushed to our 1pm appointment yesterday (we got bumped) because despite the fact that I had reminded everyone and their mother that yesterday was daylight savings, I neglected to heed my own caution and forgot to set my clocks forward. And being the torrid pile of lethargy that I am, had only gotten out of the shower about ten minutes before we were actually supposed to leave. (12: 30pm) The reason that's a big deal is because it takes a beastly load of effort and dedication for me to not look like a slovenly hobo before I leave the house.

So we get there on time, only to sit in the waiting room for twenty minutes while some jackass ignores is obnoxiously loud seven year old son, who is jumping up and down in place trying to hit the top of the 6 foot high magazine rack. And as much as I wanted to poke both him and his father in the eye, if the dad had left the room for just half a second I would stuffed my sock in that kids mouth to muffle his screams while I grabbed him and took him home to be our new son. A nurse I had never seen before walked in to the waiting room and called my name. She took us back to a room that had already been prepped for my impending detonation. It was fairly terrifying to see all of the paraphernalia laid out. I don't know even know what half of the instruments were, but it made me think of a scene from Fire In The Sky where Travis Walton was... Anyway. It was scary though, believe me. 

Dr. 3 entered the room just briefly after I threw a tantrum because Brian couldn't think of anything to talk about while we waited, (Yay for Lupron doing enough to make me a raving bitch!) He shook both of our hands and didn't waste a second before grabbing the wand to "have a look at things first". 

Left side = Good. 
Lining = Good. (still at 4mm)
Femoral Artery = Working. (YEAH, I'VE SEEN IT BEFORE, MOVE ON.) 
Right side with cyst = ..... No cyst located. Ovary quiet. Antra follicle count = As expected. 

Yippe kai yay, mutha f-.

Dr. 3 said everything looked great and pending another E2 check, I'd be able to start stims asap.




Soooooooooo, I just got the call back from my nurse and my E2 was 26!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I START STIMS TOMORROW!!!

Too Close For Missiles, Switching To Guns

While I haven't exactly hung my hat on the idea that aspirating my cyst will be the answer to my prayers,  the concept of it getting me to the point of finally being able to start stims and actually finish this cycle has at the very least, appeased the impatient foot stomping 12 year old in me.


This week began promising when I noticed spotting first thing Monday morning. Though it was pretty light, it seemed promising enough. By yesterday morning however, it was gone. Since my lining was at 4mm last Thursday, part of me wonders if that was a period... Dr.3 said nothing of spotting, he specifically told me to look for a period, so who knows. I sent my nurse an email to let her know about the spotting and to ask if there's anything I need to know or do for prep. I'll go in Sunday around 11:30am, and pray that this will be the nail in that whorebag's 27mm coffin. 


In the mean time, Brian and I have taken our first tiny step towards Foster Adoption. The county we live in holds orientations twice per month, so we agreed to go to the first one in April and I emailed an RSVP for that date as well as requesting an information packet. I don't know how close we are to moving forward, or if I/we are even 100% ready to move in that direction yet. Part me thinks it's my way of giving this cycle a hardy Johnny Cash-esque, middle finger coping with the monumental disaster that is our first attempt at IVF. And a small part of me sees our four year ttc anniversary steadily approaching and can't imagine drinking my way through one more of them without having something solid in the pipeline. It's just fucking time for us to be parents. I can't take this limbo shit anymore. 


Anyway. Wish me luck on Sunday. And if you've been through it before I'd be grateful for any tips or warnings. Thank you all again for your unwavering support. I'm just so grateful for all of you. 

Hey Progesterone: You Suck.

Sorry for the delay, yesterday was super chaotic at work and by the time I got home I just didn’t have it in me to post. My morning began with another peculiar dream. Dr.3 was running late, so a nurse came in to instruct me on how to complete my own u/s. I checked my lining, it looked like… my uterus, I guess so that was good. But before I could move on to check for my whore-bag of a constant companion I was interrupted by another nurse who wanted to administer a rather unorthodox remedy for my situation. This part however, is truly too humiliating to describe. Even to you. But while I lay there on the table waiting for their remedy to cure my cyst, I noticed that Dr.3 was in the room working with another patient. This is where it got weirder. He was hunched over talking to the patient and his scrubs were just low enough on his backside that I could see he was wearing… a thong. The nurse cackled loudly while bringing it to his attention and they both ended up having a good chuckle about it. But I was, and am profoundly mortified by it even as we speak.. I was seriously still so disturbed by the image, that I could barely look him in the eye at my appointment. Oh, but there were no picture windows this time. Bonus.

In reality Dr. 3 was right on time and started the u/s without me having to lift a finger. But not before he complimented my polka-dot socks. Which he’s done more than once and I have to say I’m a little weirded out by it. Not because his mentioning my socks is in anyway inappropriate. I actually think it’s his way of breaking the ice – by being nice and offering a compliment. But I only recently started keeping my socks on during my stints in the stirrups, so I’m a little self-conscience about it. Honestly, up until last month I always removed my socks before an exam but one day before one of my other monitoring appointments while waiting for Dr. 3 to show, I had in internal debate over whether or not to take them off. But before I could make up my mind, Dr. 3 came in and effectively made the decision for me. Do you leave ‘em on, or take ‘em off? I digress.   So. My lining.  Down to 4mm, from 5mm last week. A very good sign. Left ovary – still politely behaving as expected. Righty, whom I’ve named Satan’s whore, still showed a large cyst. But it’s smaller it’s at 27.5 x 27.5, from 25.5 x 35.5. This is when I made my move. But instead of spewing my infertile rage at him I sheepishly confessed that I was extraordinarily frustrated with the now six week delay, and was hoping he’d be open to taking a more aggressive approach.  He then of course made me sorry for the desperately written rant filled with misguided anger that I published yesterday. He told me he had been baffled by this delay and truly felt that the cyst should have resolved itself considering the amount of Lupron I was on. He said in any other situation a person on my dosage of Lupron would have seen menopausal E2 levels a few weeks ago…

He explained further: Because my E2 levels dropped so significantly at my last appointment and based on the fact that my cyst measured smaller today, he had a feeling that my levels would show another substantial drop. The Estrogen was what was feeding the cyst – so that number going down would be a great indicator. He genuinely believes that my period will come in the next week. (I know, check’s in the mail, right?) But if it doesn’t he wants me to come back in so that he can aspirate it. He booked me for the appointment for next weekend to do so, still believing that AF will finally show before then.

Later in the afternoon the nurse called me with my E2 number. It’s 45. A very, very good thing- and exactly what Dr. 3 said would happen. However my Progesterone is at 1.7 (should be under 1.0), so at this point it’s the only thing that is holding up my period. The nurse explained that once my body realizes my Estrogen is so low, it will recognize get this: I’m not pregnant; my progesterone will drop and I’ll get my period… And at that point, I will be able to start stims right away. Or we aspirate the little fucker, my estrogen and progesterone drops – I get my period – then start stims.

None of those things are happening as quickly as I'd like but Dr. 3 prefers not to interfere if possible, and I was grateful for the time he spent with me yesterday to explain all that. A big thank you to all of you, who've been so supportive and put up with my schizo posting. You're thoughful comments have meant the world to me, I'm sorry I haven't been giving back as much as I'd like to in that department.

Coming Undone

I’m losing faith in this cycle.  And more than that, I’m losing faith in the concept of IVF ever making us a family to begin with… Nothing with Infertility ever seems to work out to be cut and dry. Nothing Textbook. Nothing as planned. At least for me, anyway.

I’m overwhelmed with the feeling that my journey here isn’t remotely close to coming to a conclusion. Intellectually I can comprehend the fact that three and a half years compared to a lifetime is relatively small stretch of time. But it is so fucking hard to keep any conviction in the fact that this awful period will be someday be a distant memory when you’re chest deep in the shittiest parts of it.

I'm just exhausted from all of this. Exhausted from not fitting in with my friends. From shots and pills, that aren’t making the slightest fucking difference. I’m forty five shots in and have nothing to show for it. Still. No. Period. I’m exhausted from pining and aching for this person I’ve never met. From dreaming about babies that will never be mine…

Since my period STILL hasn’t shown, I’ll be going in for another u/s and E2 check tomorrow as planned . I want to scream at Dr.3, and tell him whatever fucking method he was going by clearly isn’t working and he needs to figure this shit out. Quick. That I didn’t just hand him my life savings, but every ounce of faith, every dream and every part of me that aches to become a mother. And he needs to start treating me and this cycle as such. Like every bit of my happiness is resting on his shoulders. Because it is.  I’m tired of watching our future hanging in the balance. And wondering when or if it might fall.

But I won’t because I’m chicken shit, and as soon as my pants come off and that paper dress goes on my mind goes blank and all I can manage are simple phrases and sentence fragments. I sincerely hope this is the Lupron talking and not really my entire belief system crumbling before me. Because it sure fucking feels like it.