Things get IF'fy

Like a bee

2012-01-15T22:03:00.001+01:00

In brief: 2012 is going to be busy, busy ... but in a good way (I hope).

O dear, 15 Jan already. Royally late for a Happy New Years post.
Still, I do wish you all a very happy 2012.

I'm now (... fetches calendar to look it up ...) 34 weeks PG. I'm
counting down the days till I can quit working, mostly because I have
so many other things going on.

People tell me I'm really showing now (and they're always surprised at
how soon the due date turns out to be). In other words, she's going to
be a small baby.

As far as I can tell, the baby is still lying in breech, which is fine
by me. Alive and well is what I care about. Right now that means
relief at feeling kicks ... in a few weeks it will probably mean I
regularly check she's still breathing.

We're still looking for a name. The baby stuff is still in storage,
but my mom volunteered to take care of it. The traditional birth
announcement cards haven't been prepared.

The thing is, we've bought a new house. We won't actually move there
any time soon, but it's already proving to be quite a project. The new
place needs some renovations, our current place needs to be prepared
for being put on the market ... and I reckon I will be out of it for a
good 6 weeks after delivery. Right now, it's a good distraction.

I can guarantee that I won't turn into a home remodeling blogger ...
blogging has already proved to be the first victim. I wanted to read
the crème de la crème list, but it isn't happening. Then I wanted to
read my feeds, but that isn't happening either. I'm feeling a bit
guilty about that.

So, busy, but a good kind of busy.

Heads or tails

2011-12-19T23:17:00.001+01:00

In brief: all is well, midwife appointment was informative, ob/gyn
appointment went very well. Am so busy with house-related projects,
will have to catch up on blogs later...

Last week I had an appointment with the midwife and then only days
later with my ob/gyn.
Both went very well.

The midwife gave me the time and space to talk about my fears of
delivery going wrong. She explained how things usually go down in the
maternity ward (sounds like they like to let nature do its thing -
under monitored conditions).
In the upcoming appointments, I can expect lots of information about
the process of childbirth, and what I can expect from the midwife
during labour and delivery.

I felt better after that appointment, able to cope (for the next 24h at least).

Anxiety was back to normal by the time I had my ob/gyn appointment.
The midwife had encouraged me to talk to my doctor about my fears - so
I did. And I'm very glad I did.

What a world of difference with our previous ob/gyn! This doctor
listened to me, he got the point and he reassured me. I don't have to
do a VBAC if I really feel I can't handle it.
A VBAC (at the hospital) is safe, so the statistics say and so his
experience confirms, but he can understand where I'm coming from.

So after quite a palaver, he did an U/S and ... we saw a baby in
breech position.
I had to smile. All that worry for nothing.

She can still turn, he said, but that's what they said about Linnea too.
We'll see.

To sum up, now I prepare for delivery doubly as if - as if this baby
will decide to turn and as if I'll attempt a VBAC.
Or, more realistically, I move the expected due date up (at least) one
week in my head.

Preparing well in advance: part II

2011-12-11T23:29:00.001+01:00

In brief: all is well, appointment with midwife was postponed (now
scheduled for this week), this post is also about childbirth and
continues the last one.

Thanks all of you for your input! I wanted to respond to each of you
individually, but after several false starts, I give up. To start,
replying to noreply-comment@blogger.com is pointless.

My appointment with the midwife was postponed until next week ...

I am indeed preparing myself 'as if' a VBAC is a sure thing, to be
precise a VBAC in hospital accompanied by a midwife and in the final
stage an ob/gyn.

I'm not ruling out an epidural, but would want to try without (because
it can negatively affect BF, which I want to have a stab at again).

Not giving birth naturally to Linnea didn't cause me to grieve missing
that experience. Safe and sound to the other side was what counted. It
still is.
If it turns out to be another c-section, I still don't expect to feel
grief over missing out.

@Tragicoptimist: I've shied away from doing research on the risks of
VBAV versus c-section on the net - so hearing what your ob/gyn had to
say is interesting. I'll ask mine what he thinks.

@ Anon & Hopeful Mother: labouring first, then undergoing a C-section
is pretty tough, a friend of mine went through that. She doesn't
recommend it.

@ Esperanza: unfounded in fact is probably right. Emotionally real
though, but will I be able to explain that to my ob/gyn?

@ It is what it is: to me personally, delivery is a means to an end.
I'm weighing up pro's and cons.
I suppose where women are routinely pushed (cornered?) into having
C-sections, a 'natural birth movement' is bound to spring up.

@ Rachel: a birthing suite sounds great! They don't give tours of the
maternity ward any more at my hospital, in order not to disturb the
labouring women. Fair enough. But I'll have to ask the midwife whether
they have a tub.

@Anna: 1 in 100 doesn't sound so rare to me, but I suppose this
statistic is for complications occurring witn a VBAC ... not fatal
outcome.
I must say, being a medical illustrator must be a tough job at times.
I think it would trigger my hypochondriac tendencies...
I appreciate the jaundice warning (I have never heard of kernicterus).
I won't be going home straight after birth and I do remember the
midwives checking for jaundice repeatedly last time.

@Sara: 27 hours?! Where do I sign for the C-section ;-)

@Jjiraffe: I hear you on the "'natural' childbirth has been getting
this right for thousands of years". The mortality rate amongst mothers
and babies in poor and developing nations is sky-high.

@Statia: I'll admit that I had to look up what vestibulitis is. Sounds
absolutely awful! If understand correctly, you surgery worked - thank
goodness.

Did I miss anyone? I hope not!

Preparing well in advance

2011-11-30T22:06:00.001+01:00

In brief: This is a post about pregnancy, or rather childbirth, and
the shadow cast over it by IF baggage. I could use some input (if
you're comfortable giving it).

But first - I'm 27 weeks now and all is going well. Another 3 weeks to
go before my next appointment with the ob/gyn.

A while back, I was talking to a friend of mine, about parenting,
pregnancy and childbirth. Our conversation made me realize something I
had been trying not to think about.

Childbirth. I'm terrified of it.

It's not so much the pain (which I'm sure is awful), but is
essentially temporary. I'm terrified something might go horribly
wrong.

Let me rewind a bit. You may - or may not - remember that Linnea was
born by planned C-section. No way was I attempting a breech delivery.
Secretly, I was relieved at getting a C-section. Emotionally, it felt
like the least risky method of giving birth. Natural delivery seems so
... unpredictable.

So why don't I just get another planned C-section?
My doc informed me that a VBAC (vaginal birth after c-section) is more
or less the standard course of action. (I gather this is not so in the
U.S. and Canada?)

Perhaps I could switch ob/gyn again, because some doctors agree with a
C-section after a C-section more easily. But I don't see it as my best
and first move.
A VBAC has its charms. I wouldn't have to recover from abdominal
surgery. Perhaps, just perhaps, it might jolt my body into making
some milk this time (if I can do without the epidural, so I'm told).

Which brings me back to my terror of (natural) childbirth.

The word 'natural' in connection with anything to do with
'reproduction' puts me ill at ease. Nature hasn't been all that
cooperative, though admittedly the pregnancy phase has gone smoothly
so far.

Another sign of post-traumatic stress, I think, and not so surprising
either. Or am I clinging to my IF history unnecessarily?

I've made an appointment with a midwife to talk about my fears, and to
ask her how I might deal with it.
Lots of information is what I need, no? What to expect. Who will be
there, what will they do. Will I be allowed to walk around or stuck on
the bed ... What will they monitor? How fast can they get me into an
operating theater if needed?

If it does go wrong, will I ever forgive myself for not having
insisted on a c-section?

Any suggestions on how to face my fears?

Persistence Luck Joy - happy 4th birthday

2011-10-18T23:03:00.001+02:00

Linnea celebrated her 4th birthday today!
She has been longing for this day for months - hoping to be taller,
wiser, more skilled, ... all in one go.

I'm amazed that another year has rolled past. We've managed to keep
her safe and happy (mostly) and thanking our lucky stars for it.

This weekend, we took Linnea to a Sesame Street show (live on stage).
She was spellbound from start to finish.
Watching her enjoying the show so much was wonderful. At one point, my
emotions got the better of me, tears welled up (surreal, with Ernie
and Bert doing a happy song on stage).
This is what we fought so long for, and this is what we came close to
missing out on.

Persistence Luck Joy.

We haven't started discussing names yet - but if it weren't so very
unsuitable - this would be perfect.

20 weeks - halfway

2011-10-09T20:46:00.001+02:00

In brief: 20 weeks - anatomical scan went well

We've reached the halfway point, well statistically at least. I've had
the anatomical scan last week and all seems to be going very well. The
doctor was satisfied with what he saw.

Later, I told Linnea the doc thinks she'll be getting a little sister.
She replied: I think it will be a little brother.
I couldn't help but laugh - she's constantly contradicting whatever we say.

Part of the scan was in 3D (first time for me!) and I was awestruck.
Look - a baby!
Can I keep it? Please!

Speaking of keeping, Linnea ran a high fever for a stretch of days
last week. She wouldn't eat, would hardly drink anything, couldn't do
anything except lie on the couch and watch tv - or sleep. I seriously
considered driving to emergency a few times, but she remained alert
and didn't have a stiff neck or vomit. After two days and three nights
we went to the doctor (the official advice here is to get medical
attention if a fever lasts for 5 days).
With the right medication (antibiotics) she improved dramatically within 24h.
I found myself thanking modern medicine again. I shudder to think what
might have happened to her without. I can't imagine what it was like
in the past, or what mothers in less fortunate parts of the world go
through.

Losing my cool

2011-09-29T23:20:00.001+02:00

In brief: getting simple reassurance can prove quite an adventure.

Calmly waiting - that's how I feel most days about this PG. Happy
about where we are right now, not thinking too much about tomorrow.

Yesterday, I lost my cool though. After feeling movement for a week (a
couple of times a day), things felt a bit too quiet over the weekend.
It was a very busy weekend, so I told myself I couldn't feel those
subtle flutterings.

Back in the office, I tried the trick with the orange juice, but
wasn't reassured it made a difference. There's nothing anyone can do,
I told myself. Just wait.

On Wednesday I caved and decided to go to the maternity ward at my new
hospital.
Why not give them a trial run?

On arrival at the information desk, I asked them where the maternity ward was.
I shouldn't have done that.

The friendly receptionist asked if I was coming to visit.
Me: No - I'm 18 weeks and worried.
FR: you can only see someone with an appointment, shall I make you one?
Me: uhm.
FR: if you want immediate attention, you ought to go to emergency.
Me: ?!

Emergency? That's odd.

Go back home? See my GP? I should have begged my RE to see me.

As I headed to emergency, my worry turned into an anxiety attack.
Emergency, that's were serious stuff goes on.

The triage nurse was very kind, as I explained (in tears by then) that
I was surprised to have been sent there, and that I was simply very
anxious without any concrete indication of something being amiss. I
had hoped to go to the maternity ward for some reassurance, a doppler,
a fetal monitor, an U/S perhaps?
The nurse confirmed they couldn't do anything for me there, but
encouraged me to assume all was well, since there were no apparent
reasons to think otherwise. (Anxiety is immune to logic, no?)

I felt all the more like a fool as the (not visibly PG) lady who
entered emergency just behind me said she was miscarrying. Poor woman.

Now what?

I headed to the gynaecology department hoping for better luck there. I
was still upset and tried to calm down first.
The secretary - obviously an old hand at dealing with unhinged PG
women - gave me two options immediately: take a vacant appointment
slot with a midwife in an hour - or see the ob/gyn that afternoon.

Big sigh of relief. The midwife whipped out a doppler and set my mind at ease.

5 weeks between appointments is clearly too long for me to handle.
I've learned my lesson, I'll make sure to see a midwife in between
ob/gyn appointments.

Fortunately, I've been feeling more movement again which is helping me
regain my cool.

An update in between appointments

2011-09-21T23:01:00.001+02:00

In brief: 17.5 weeks and doing well!

First off, a 'targeted' ad I didn't expect to see:
"Company X: swaddles, baskets and children's coffins - specialized
funeral services".

Uhm, targeted, seriously? I was browsing a site with second hand
items, checking out bikes, clothes, ... items generally associated
with alive and kicking children.

Secondly - what is going through their minds? Parents will stumble
upon their ad and save the link for future reference?
I know there's a need for such services. My heart goes out to parents
who need to make use of them. My worst nightmare ...

Let's just say I could have done without the reminder. Especially as
the DBT had just quieted down a bit.

Venting done.

All of last week, I was wondering whether I might be feeling some
movement in there.
Since 2 days I'm sure I feel a gentle prod now and then. Delightful!
I've been smiling at my desk, on my way to work, in bed.
(I do need to remind myself that it's ok that I don't feel anything
for long stretches. It doesn't mean anything is wrong, not at this
point anyway.)

I still find myself reluctant to talk about my PG, especially to
people who don't know the story of how we got here. I feel compelled
to add 'if all goes well, we'll see' to any conversation, and I know
from experience that makes people uncomfortable.
I was chatting with a couple of moms I know from Linnea's school
recently, and they somehow got talking about the births of their
child(en) - a perfect intro - still I couldn't bring myself to tell
them. At some point, the news should announce itself ... if all goes
well.

A sign of post-traumatic stress I think to myself. Not adding
'disorder' mind you, I think what I'm feeling is quite normal and 'in
order', if slightly discomforting. I'll take it any day over the tough
times of IF treatments.

Next appointment in 2 weeks.

Can you picture it?

2011-09-04T23:14:00.001+02:00

In brief: the answer is not really, but that's ok. All is well, my
apologies for the unintended hiatus.

A friend asked me a couple of weeks ago whether I can picture it -
having a second child.
My answer then was - uhm, not really. It still is.
I know she wishes I could say 'yes!' wholeheartedly - to her a sign
that I was healing/healed, I suppose.

Personally, I think it doesn't matter much how clearly or how vaguely
I can picture a happy outcome right now. Whichever helps me best
during the wait is best - and for now that is vagueness.

Healing? Can we come back to that later, say six months from now?
Sure, every week that goes by now is a step in the right direction,
but it still feels very precarious to me.

Thinking back, way back to before we even started TTC, I never had a
very detailed picture of 'my family' in mind. I knew I wanted kids -
plural - but that was about it.
Boy or girl? Uhm ... Ideal age gap? No such thing. A list of favourite
names? Only one.

My dream was (and still is) to be a parent, watch my children grow up
and thrive as independent adults. Very common as aspirations go, but
still asking a lot from life.

My feminine intuition is silent on the gender of this baby. I don't
have a gender preference, I honestly can't detect one. Finding a boy
name we like is more of a challenge then a girl's name (just
slightly), but that's not the same as having a preference.
Perhaps that makes me the odd on out, but I'm not bothered.

Meanwhile, we've met another 'new' ob/gyn, and we think we'll stick
with this one.
He attempted to get a glimpse of this baby's privates, at our request,
but not a chance. Legs were firmly crossed - privates means just that!
So like big sis, we couldn't help but laugh.
The relief that the baby was alive and kicking made me a bit giddy
(picture the poor man attempting an abdominal u/s on a chuckling
patient).

Don't you worry, 'bout a thing ...

2011-08-11T23:45:00.001+02:00

In brief: all is well at 11w4d, to my enormous relief.

The 2.5 weeks since the last U/S seemed to last forever.
At first I fretted about the health of the fetus, but then DBTs simply
took over.
I was very anxious by the time I arrived at the (new) ob gyn's
practice, only just in time for my appointment.
As I spent over an hour in the waiting room, I came very near to
breaking into tears. Deep breaths, deep breaths ... and then my name
was finally called.

Fortunately, doing the U/S was the first order of business. To my
enormous relief, all looked well. The fetus is measuring right on
track, it was wiggling nicely. The nuchal fold was measured and
pronounced 'excellent'. 2 arms, 2 legs and 2 brain hemispheres were
counted.

Amazing, simply amazing.

The ob/gyn pronounced all was well and said I should no longer worry
about miscarriage.
I blinked and thought 'hahahaha, nice try'. There's plenty left to
worry about - though I do try not to overdo it.

Perhaps I ought to add some Bob Marley on my MP3 player? Any other
'don't worry' song tips?

I didn't write about it here yet, but I've decided not to go back to
my previous ob/gyn (Dr. Sunshine) for various reasons. For one, I
don't want to go back to the previous hospital either.
I've met one new ob/gyn and will probably meet another one next time.
After that, I'll see.

Sigh of relief

2011-07-19T22:46:00.001+02:00

I've been restless the past few days, and the closer my u/s
appointment got, the worse it became. I slept uneasily last night.
Time dragged on in the waiting room ... but finally it was my turn.

To my great relief, one embryo is still right on track. Exhale.
Arm and leg buds were visible and I got to hear a lovely heartbeat.
Absolutely amazing.

The other has definitely arrested. It's sad, but I was prepared for the news.

Back to waiting for the next appointment. And to distract me, some
vacation time to spend with Linnea!

Working in halves (continued)

2011-07-12T22:41:00.001+02:00

This is an odd place to be.

For one week, I've been thinking about twins. Adjusting to the idea.
I checked out a book about multiples from the library. I pondered
logistics (is our car suitable? we'll never fit a double stroller in
our elevator! where will we find room for two cots?!) to take my mind
off my really fundamental fears.

I can't say I feel devastated right now. Though I do feel a sense of
loss - we could have had an unexpected third child!

Perhaps I am still numb.

The thing is, my original dream of giving Linnea a sibling could still
very well come true. A singleton pregnancy has better odds of success
than a twin pregnancy.

I know, many twin pregnancies turn out just fine. But I've read too
many heartbreaking stories over the years to be appeased. Pre-term
labor, loss to pre-eclampsia, loss in NICU, ... it happens. And
standing at the beginning of a twin pregnancy, not knowing what's in
store, is mighty scary.

I realize that if we did have twins, I wouldn't for the world have had
it any other way.

But standing where I stand now, I feel that this is far from the worst
that could happen.
And I cling to the dream that is still there, a child to take home in
hopefully 30+ weeks.

Working in halves

2011-07-12T09:42:00.001+02:00

Very briefly before I dash off to work:

U/S showed one embryo measuring right on track. Doing fine!

The other is a different story. Much too small for its age and
heartbeat very weak.
Dr. thinks this one will vanish without a trace. There shouldn't be a
risk to the first embryo.

A brutal reminder of how fragile an early pregnancy is. Very disturbing.

Dizzying heights

2011-07-04T22:18:00.001+02:00

In brief: plenty to see, nothing to hear.

The u/s appointment went well this morning - except for the mad dash
to get there, caused by my forgetting to turn the alarm clock on after
setting it extra early.

Straight away a black blob appeared on the monitor, right where it was
supposed to be. Lovely, and look, there was a pulsating motion to be
seen there.

Before I had time to respond, the doc swiveled the monitor towards me,
saying - and here's a second one. Also with a pulsating motion, though
a tad slower than the other (which doesn't mean much at this point).

My goodness.

Simply incredible.

This is going to take a while to sink in.

A few months back, in a group of moms conversation turned to a mom who
added twins to a family of two still young kids. Isn't that a tough
break - one mom said. I remember thinking, having twins must be tough
yes, but a kind of tough I can't help but feel a stab of envy of.
If all goes well, I will be eating those words (thoughts), many times over.

I'm shocked. I'm excited. I'm frightened.

All of the sudden, this is a high risk pregnancy. I've seen quite a
few bloggers live through those risks becoming true.

As always it's wait and see.

More bounce ...

2011-06-27T22:01:00.001+02:00

In brief: levels declared 'first rate', u/s in two weeks?!

The sense of calm made way for nerves. I tossed in my bed last night
and had a hard time concentrating during the day.
The clinic called early - no hitches with the lab results this time -
with good news. The blood results are 'first rate' (no number
specified). Relief! Again, I'm stunned.

The clinic advised a first u/s in two weeks. That would be 5 weeks
after retrieval, which is then week 7. Why not a week earlier (as I
had planned)? According to them, 6 weeks is too early to see a
heartbeat for certain (or to draw final conclusions from not seeing
one).

Oh well, I've made an appointment for next week and I'm keeping it.
I've just checked back in my archives, and back in 2007 we saw a
heartbeat at 6 weeks.

While I was browsing my archives, it struck me how some things I wrote
then, reflect how I feel now.

For instance, now feels like as good a time as any to thank all of you
for your support over the last days, weeks and months. I don't know
where I would have been without this blog, and I don't think I want to
know.
Know that each and every comment is much appreciated.

In 2007 I added "Why am I thanking you now, so insanely early? PG
after IF is an awkward time in an IF blogger's life. I realize that I
will be silently waving goodbye to some of you in the near or not so
near future, depending on how this goes. Though it makes me sad, it's
perfectly ok, because that's just the way it is."

Breezing

2011-06-23T22:04:00.001+02:00

In brief: a benign sense of calm.

I'm hungry all the time, I feel some hint of heaviness in my abdomen,
and the duck walk can't be far off. All between my ears? Who knows.

The last two days I've been mostly stunned. I feel calm - unexpectedly so.
Sure, I can sense the shadow of fear, uncertainty and doubt creeping
in at the edges.
But, there's either going to be a baby to take home at the end of this
rainbow or there isn't. There's little I can do to make it happen.

Don't get me wrong - I'm not calm because I decided to be. No, no. I
just am, and that's fine by me. Right now I'm happy to be here, in the
running.

I've made an appointment with my RE for an u/s in 10 days time. Seems
like a perfectly absurd thing to do.

Otherwise I haven't done much, except brush up on what you're not
supposed to eat. My book on p... pr... preg... pregnancy (there, I've
said it) is in storage. Together with our stroller, the bouncer, all
the baby clothes and items that have been returned from lending out.
The book I'd like to retrieve soon, the rest I'll just finger
longingly.

Bounce

2011-06-20T20:36:00.000+02:00

In brief: two lines & good first beta number!!!!

For the past three days I've been convinced that this cycle was a
bust. I felt nothing going on (except what I always feel on the meds).

This morning I decided not to break out my stash of 'good' early
response HPTs, but used a supermarket branded one (past its shelf life
by a couple of months too).
I saw the test line go whiter (again, must be the brand) and was
almost ready to chuck it. But the manual did say wait 3 minutes ...
and lo and behold, a second line had appeared - though it was a bit
faint for my liking. I had breakfast, glanced at the test, got
dressed, glanced at the test, brushed my teeth, glanced at the test
and the line had become much clearer. Well, a good start.

Early in the afternoon, a call from the clinic - the beta number was
missing from the results the lab had sent over. Argh! Not again!!! I
chased the lab, had them resend the results (which they won't disclose
to patients) and then waited for the clinic to call back. And waited.
And finally caved and called myself.

The beta number is good, very convincing. Next bloodtest ... in a
week! Seriously? And first u/s in a month? They haven't an mentioned
u/s yet.

How do I feel? Surreal.
Will there be a take-home baby? We'll see, one day at a time. But
we're in the running and that is great. More than great.

Free falling

2011-06-16T21:59:00.001+02:00

In brief: also known as the 2WW. Beta test on Monday.

I'm free falling. Have been since transfer.

It was all right the first few days. I've been looking up, at the
stars, the patterns in the clouds. The ground is still a long way
down.

I try not to think about it. Hard with the air rushing past, whistling
in my ears. And the ground is getting closer. I should look away, but
I'm transfixed.

Will I bounce back or will I make a grueling smack, like last time,
and so many times before that? A smack, surely.

I panic - grasp for something to hold on to. That weather balloon over
there? A bird? Anything? There's no point.

Prepare for impact.

Now without the woolly language: I've been wishfully thinking that
perhaps, just perhaps I feel something, though now I'm again convinced
it's all down to the meds. I'm not even tired. And that on and off
full feeling? Bladder stuck under ovaries.

AAAAAAAAaaaaaaaarrrrrgggggggghhhhhhh!

2011-06-08T21:24:00.001+02:00

Warning: frustration ahead.

Did you hear that? That was my inner banshee letting out a wail as -
through choice snippets of conversation - I gathered that another
colleague is expecting. Lapped again, naturally.

PG announcements still sting whenever they arrive (though less than
before Linnea was born), but I always feel extra sensitive while I'm
near or in a cycle.

I wonder if the banshee will ever tone it down to a croak or a sighing moan.

I can see myself at 60 - who knows lucky enough to be a grandmother
myself - trying hard to tune out the other grannies boasting about
their scores of grandkids. As if their conception, gestation and
successful delivery is their personal reward for hard work and right
choices. The innocent question "do you have grandkids?" will be met
by a dark look and gritting teeth. I'll be popular, I'm sure.

I can see myself at 90 - as my mind has set adrift - sitting in a
nursing home yelling at any of the poor nurses who appears a bit round
under the midriff. "You lucky b****!" To my roommate, a sweet old
thing, into mindfulness and such all over again, I'll bark "don't give
me that look, this is the gazillionth time I've been lapped since we
started TTC again. Back in 2009." The nursing home doc I'll greet with
"Finally! Now pull out your magic wand!".
When they finally cotton on to what I'm raving about all the time,
they give me a nose spray (saline solution) and keep telling me I'll
get to start stimming next week. It keeps me quiet, if not quite
satisfied.

I feel better having let that out.

Resignation? Just a taste ...

2011-06-06T21:52:00.001+02:00

In brief: 2 embryos were transferred. Now comes the hard part, waiting.

Resigned? I didn't feel resigned at all while I was sitting by the
phone, willing it to ring - with good news. The calm I felt the past
two days was gone. What if there was nothing to transfer? Failure
without a fighting change ... shudder.

Delusional maybe, but then I believe acceptance won't simply arrive on
my doorstep one day. Some days will be better than others.

Then the phone rang, with good news. Transfer time! Two nice embryos
were transferred.
The fert report was all right (though I always hope for more). 4
embryos developed in total, the lab will get in touch to say if any
made it to the freezer.

Meanwhile, I have plenty of stuff to keep me occupied. We're figuring
out whether to put in an offer on a house (same neighborhood). Work is
sending me on a business trip.

Speaking of work, my PG co-worker (the one I share an office with) is
leaving on maternity leave this week. The past months haven't been as
difficult as I had feared - I generally managed to engage in civil
conversation, without too much eye-rolling or sobs. Only occasionally
did I remember that if things had gone differently, we could have been
comparing notes almost to the week. I had expected this to haunt me
constantly.
Still I'm sure a weight will lift from my shoulders once she leaves.
Until she starts sending baby pics of course.

9 bottles ...

2011-06-03T22:15:00.001+02:00

... of beer on the wall, 9 bottles of BEER - take one down, pass it around ...
... 8 bottles of beer on the wall!

(I'm sure those of you living in North-America know this song).

9 eggs were retrieved today. It was painful, more so than I remember
last times being.
I felt woozy and nauseous afterwards, my blood pressure was clearly too low.

My roommate had double that number (I reckon she was about 7 years
younger than me). Hearing it made me feel vaguely wistful - what one
could do with 18 eggs!

But there's the catch - numbers don't guarantee much. Linnea was born
out of a batch of 6 eggs, that yielded only 2 embryos.

If the details have lost much of their meaning to me, I see that as a
sign of resignation.
Soon I will be ready to quit*. A little voice in my head says "give
up, time to give up". I'm trying to change it's tune to "you've done
your best, your very best". A positive spin on the same message.

* Quit and move on to DE or adoption, when I'm sure every detail will
interest me again.

There will be no news until transfer day, when they call me to either
come over or not.

About the previous post, it feels good to compare notes. It is indeed
a grieving process, that takes whatever time it takes. I do see a
spillover effect into work, at times I compensate, at times I'm too
blue to care. I will be reading that book on reducing stress in the
workplace, because that spills over into my personal life too - and
that I can try to get a handle on.

Read a book, who don't you

2011-06-02T00:15:00.001+02:00

In brief: navelgazing, and - ooh - a trigger shot a bit to the left.

On two occasions (one recent, one a few months back) I got the
suggestion to read a book. A self-help book. Both times, the
suggestion was made by someone genuinely concerned with my wellbeing.

Perhaps you should read a book about detachment, one that will help
you put everything in perspective. - I was telling someone how hard I
found it to cope with personal difficulties (a closet version of IF)
on top of stress at work.
The suggestion rubbed me the wrong way, yet I couldn't dismiss it out of hand.

Perhaps you should read a book about detachment, one that will help
you put everything in perspective. - I was talking about the stress
I'm experiencing at work (adjusting to the new manager isn't going
smoothly - for none of us underlings - and I'm a tad overburdened).
The suggestion struck me as entirely reasonable, but ...

But how can learning detachment be sensible for work stress and not so
for IF stress?

Am I nursing my IF pain? Is that why the suggestion to learn
detachment rankles me?
Somehow I feel like I'm being blamed - if only you worked on it harder
you would get over it. The worst of it is - the implied blaming - I'm
sure it's me projecting my own thoughts on others.

And there is a difference of course. IF causes a grief process.
Remember what Momma said: you can't hurry grief, no you just have to
wait ... it's a game of give and take...

A bit reluctantly, I've looked up some titles of self-help books about
detachment at work.
I'm told grieving is a skill as well, perhaps I should look into books
on that too.

Any suggestions?

Meanwhile - I've triggered and am scheduled for retrieval in 36 hours.
Don't ask me for the number or size of follicles - there are some on
both sides, various sizes - I no longer keep track of the details
(see, I'm detached, somewhat). I hope we make it to transfer. A couple
to freeze would be fabulous. Beyond that ... how I could use some
maternity leave! :o)

Taking flight

2011-05-28T21:22:00.001+02:00

The aspiration was successful. It was also uncomfortable - I'm not
even sure anesthetic was used at all. And one ovary was hard to reach.
Ouch.

But it worked, and with a mere 4 days delay I was allowed to start stimming.
First u/s revealed things are moving along ok.

I'm trying to predict when retrieval might be, at the end of the
upcoming week I think.

Unless I can wiggle out from under it (unlikely), I'm going to be sent
on a business trip in June. Though it will be a welcome distraction
during the 2WW, I'm a bit concerned. Is it wise to fly? Is it safe to
go through security checkpoints etc? I'd rather not do a search on the
net, because the scaremongerers outnumber the serious sources 10 to 1.

I know 'normal' women fly without qualms, but I left 'normal' behind ages ago.

Have you flown in the 2WW?

Bubbles ... troubles

2011-05-17T21:33:00.001+02:00

In brief: next attempt delayed, not yet canceled.

Somehow I forgot to post that we decided to do another cycle,
preferably before the summer.
Two weeks of suppressants duly done, so I estimated I'd start stims
right about now.

Suprise, surprise - u/s shows big round things on my ovaries.
Follicles? No - cysts, bloodwork confirms. The total lack of a period
should have been a clue.

Turns out, this a known (possible) side effect of taking suppressants
too early in a cycle.
Fab. Remind me why I had blood drawn before even starting them?

There are two options, one involves a needle, local anesthetic and
'some discomfort', the other involves more medication and at least a
month delay. Delay, ugh. Discomfort it is!

I'm feeling worn out and a bit blue, when I think about our attempt.
My mind wanders, but on failure only. And on what to do next.

Myth: Secondary* IF? You have no reason to complain!

2011-04-27T21:40:00.003+02:00

Busted!

The second round with IF is a tough place to be.
It has taken me quite some time to accept that, even though I should have know better.

That said, I am in a much better place now than I was before Linnea was born.
Those dark days of the first round were such a mess.

Does the second round hurt more because I know what I'm missing?
'More' is not how I would put it. How then? I've been mulling this
over for a while, and my conclusion is this:

The second round hurts in ways I couldn't imagine when I was still in
the first round.
(And mercifully so, because it would have been too much to bear).

Remember the movie 'a Space Oddyssey'? A mysterious black monolith
appears and it changes human life.

During the first round, my longing for a child was like that
mysterious black monolith.
A child I wanted, that much I knew. It meant being pregnant. I would
get to push a stroller and gaze lovingly down at the infant inside.
But beyond that, I drew a blank, mostly.

Making it to parenthood was marvelous. Open Sesame, I was finally let
into the treasure cave. I walk around inside with a basket, collecting
pearls, gems, and jewelry of intricate craftsmanship.

Other people wander through the cave, the fill a first basket, pick up
a second, third, ... and continue filling all of them.

I search high and low to find another basket, I move piles of rocks,
wade through pools, nothing. "Be grateful for what you have" - the
other couples pipe.

Finally, I spy a small basket and grab hold of it - only for it to
crumble to dust. "At least you have one" - the others chime.

Think of your friends still stuck in the shadow of that black monolith
- my conscience says.

Why not simply be happy with the basket I have - I keep asking,
urging, berating myself. Because no matter what I decide, the longing
remains.

The cave goes on and on, and with every step there are new delights
(but watch your step - there are pitfalls and debris to trip you up -
sheer terror!). Yet as the light sparkles in each finely cut
gem-stone, I can't help but think of what isn't.

So, for me personally, the second round hurts in ways I couldn't
imagine when I was still in the first round.

* Secondary IF: A couple/person who has had a child (or several)
without trouble but who experiences IF when TTC a second (third,
fourth, ...) child.
I'm going through primary IF a second time around.

This post is an international contribution to Resolve's U.S. National
Infertility Awareness Week®.
Some background on infertility: http://www.resolve.org/infertility101
About National Infertility Awareness Week® (NIAW):
http://www.resolve.org/takecharge.

Multiple choice

2011-04-12T21:47:00.001+02:00

Choose one of the following
- Do another IVF cycle.
- Move on to donor egg.
- Move on to donor embryo.
- Give up on ART.

There is no right answer, and no wrong answer.

That summarizes our latest consult at Bigger Clinic rather neatly.
Again, I put the donor route on the table.

Compared with my talk with my local doc, it's a 'glass half full or
half empty' story.
The dr at Bigger Clinic is inclined towards optimism (the M/C is an
encouraging sign - implantation can happen), where my local doc was
more inclined towards pessimism (the M/C is a sign of an egg quality
problem).
Both doctors admitted they can't know which of the two it is for sure.

Emotionally, it's tough. I'm no closer to knowing whether the time has
come to call it quits. How many more times do I have put myself
through this to accept it's a lost cause?

Despair serves a purpose. How would I ever be ready to give up if I
felt exactly as hopeful now as when we first started? Given that we're
re-unexplained, should I go on until our money runs out? Surely not.

I have just about enough meds left to do one more fresh attempt. I'm
pretty sure we'll do that.

After that, who knows. I think I'll be more than ready to think about
setting in motion our alternative plans. Or not.

The meaning of life ...

2011-04-08T22:51:00.001+02:00

... and other questions I don't know the answer to.

"How are you?" is one that leaves me stumped (and has for a while now).

'Good' is true, but far from the whole truth.
'Bad', yes, in part.

Bipolar? An answer with a punch, but shock value is not what I'm
after. Besides, I don't think those genuinely suffering from this
condition would appreciate it. Let's not forget I haven't the faintest
idea what this condition actually feels like for real.

Schizophrenic is out too.

Sweet & Bitter? Fits, but I can already imagine the puzzled look on
the faces of those asking.

I've been meaning to get back in touch with some people IRL, but
knowing I'll have to answer this question - in some detail - is
holding me back. Sharing sad news isn't something to look forward to,
not to mention that I fully expect to get the 'well, you have Linnea
reply'.

'Have' is not the right word, not in my mind. Yesterday, Linnea
slipped on some wet tiles and smacked onto her back, banging her head
(it seemed). I froze as I saw it happen, yet I was right over to pick
her up. She wailed, but other than a fright seems to have suffered no
injury (incredibly). If she had fallen a bit earlier on, she might
have landed very badly hitting her head or neck on a slight ridge ...
if, if, if ... and there's nothing I could have done. I can't bear to
think about it.

And cue tears

2011-03-31T20:39:00.001+02:00

Indeed, another BFN.

Not unexpected, but no matter how many times I've been here, the pain
it causes is just as sharp.

I managed to make it to the ladies' before breaking down at the office.
I even managed to plow through the rest of the day dry-eyed.
Tomorrow I've taken the day off. Small mercies.

To the news, DH replied how lucky we are to have Linnea. So did a friend.
I feel slapped on the wrist for not being grateful enough. I'm not
allowed to feel pain at yet another failure?

I know, I know, gracefully accept support as it is intended. But
between you and me, I think there should be a 24h waiting period
before uttering 'count your blessings' in any shape or form. Perhaps
even 48h.

Of course I'm grateful that I have Linnea. Each BFN freaks me out even
more that something will happen to her. A belated dropping of the
other shoe so to speak. Insisting on gratefulness alone feeds my
anxiety, and that can't be good either for me or for her.

If anything, I've earned the right to feel grief next to that gratefulness.

No news is no news

2011-03-30T21:30:00.001+02:00

So, I've kept my head stuck in the sand. No HPT, no call to the
clinic, cell phone turned off.

I'm much more fed up with ART than I realized.

Also, the situation at work has taken a serious turn for the worse.
Stress levels have gone up.
New management, new rules, yadda yadda ....

Work stress + ART stress = me on the verge of breaking.
Knock on wood - but I hope no new major stress factors come rolling in.

Perspective, perspective, I can't seem to find it.

Bloodwork? What bloodwork!

2011-03-29T21:55:00.001+02:00

Oh yes, somewhere between the lab and the clinic (different entities),
the results of my bloodwork got lost. Again.

By the time I got on the phone to sort it out, it was past clinic
opening hours. So no results today.
And the lab doesn't give out results on the phone - except to
registered physicians. Sensible policy, but at a time like this
annoying.

What can I say? Ignorence is bliss.

I didn't POAS. I still haven't, and probably won't tomorrow.
Will switch off my cell phone again too at work. I know my limits, I
can't take that call at work.

In any case, the clinic's instructions would have been the same
regardless of the results. Continue with meds, test again in two days.

It could have been worse, they could have switched my results. It
happens, sometimes with dramatic results.

Deeper in hiding

2011-03-28T20:57:00.002+02:00

More proof of dwindling hope...

leaving for work without my meds, noticing and having to turn back (hadn't gotten far fortunately).

receiving leftover early test HPTs from a friend, but deciding against using them (can't face their whiteness).

planning to switch of my cell phone tomorrow until I leave from work (can't face the call).

Roccie hits the nail on the head. I know that drinking moderate
amounts of coffee won't make the difference, (thanks to Thalia who
wrote a post on just this a good while back). Still, I tried to go
without during the 2WW, but not any more.

First blood test tomorrow. The results should reach me eventually,
though I'm not sure I'll chase them.

In hiding

2011-03-26T21:41:00.001+01:00

Feeling low on hope is ...

... running out of folic acid twice, in one cycle.
... drinking coffee in the 2 WW.
... stocking more sanitary supplies.
... not buying HPTs - why pay good money for bad news that will be
delivered for free?

Hope is hiding, and to be honest I prefer it that way.

After the jump

2011-03-22T22:55:00.001+01:00

A post about parenting, a short one.

I'm not much of a mommy blogger, that much I've proven. Sometimes, I
do want to post about parenting after IF, but I always feel a bit
apprehensive for reasons I don't have to spell out.
To overcome that, I'll label the posts 'after the jump' in the title.

Linnea - like any 3yo - is curious about the human body. Yesterday,
whilst getting ready for bed, she pointed to her chest and asked what
'those' were.

Deflect or truth? I decided on the latter. "Those are called nipples.
When you grow to be a woman, like your mom, you might have a baby and
then milk comes out to feed the baby with". A look of wonder.
Curiosity satisfied, for now.

I said 'you might have a baby', on purpose. I didn't make a big deal
out of it, and I don't think it registered with her, and that's ok.
One day she will, and that's ok too. When she asks, I will explain.

Since Linnea was born, I've been wondering whether she'll have to go
through IF too.
Because we don't want to spring the message on her when she's a teen
or a young adult, we've decided to start telling her at a young age.
Now.

To start with, we've explained to her our struggle to give her a
sibling. Not in detail, just the broad lines. She's met the RE that
helped us have her and we explained he was helping us give her a
sibling. When we were out the door - she demanded to know where he had
hidden her little brother (me too, kiddo!).

So far, we feel this approach is working for us. I don't look forward
to the day she'll inevitably share her story with her pre-school
teacher and classmates. But it's a price we're willing to pay.

I'd like to hear your thoughts on telling early or not telling early -
whether or not this comes from experience or is still hypothetical.

Today no tears

2011-03-20T20:45:00.001+01:00

No indeed, because we did make it to transfer. Our last two embryos
survived thaw and were both transferred today. Hurray for
vitrification!

The hoped for, but unexpected, good news left me feeling a bit giddy.
I breezed into the clinic like a tourist going back to a much-visited
destination. Look, there's my favorite ice-cream parlor... I even
chatted with the woman sharing my room, something I usually don't do
(fortunately she was ok with that).

Apart from the odd feeling of nostalgia (because the end - with my/our
genes - is near?), I don't feel much hope for this FET. Sure, hope
will creep in as the testing day draws near, but in a way it seems too
laughable a notion to even entertain. Good thing I have you to hope
for me (optionally with clown's nose on).

First beta in a mere 9 days (actually to check I'm taking my meds
properly). Unfortunately I'm out of high-end HPTs, I only have one
single cheaper brand left. I'm reluctant to waste money on new ones.

Hack. Wheeze.

2011-03-15T21:37:00.002+01:00

I sound like a long-time chain smoker and am just as short of breath.
Only the copious amounts of snot betray that I in fact have a nasty
cold.
So nasty that I spent the better part of last week moving from the
couch to my bed or vice versa. I've improved just enough to have to go
back to work.

The fog in my head made me forget my meds repeatedly, despite the
reminders in my phone. It doesn't seem to have mattered much, because
the clinic said I'm ready for transfer this weekend. They've brazenly
'scheduled' a transfer, I prefer to think of it as unscheduling all my
other plans. I do hope the thaw will leave something to transfer, but
I'm not counting on it. And that's about as far as my hope reaches at
this point.

I'm following the news of the disastrous events in Japan with a mixture of horror, disbelief and sadness. I can't begin to imagine the loss some people there are facing.
As for the nuclear disaster, I'm reluctant to think about it too much. Inevitably, I start questioning the wisdom of bringing more children into this world.

Back to back

2011-03-03T21:05:00.001+01:00

I thought back to back FETs meant 'in quick succession'. That's not
how it feels.

Once my period showed, they'd let me start taking the meds to build up
a new lining. Right?
Wrong! Continue with the suppressants for a week, then blood draw.

All right, but then surely I'll get to start. Right?
Wrong. The suppressants are working, continue for another week, then
blood draw and u/s.

What?! I've been on suppressants since January! Why wouldn't they be
working all of the sudden?
The nurse patiently explained that even after a completely medicated
cycle they have to recheck down-regulation.

So, cue blood draw and u/s this morning ... showing one or two
follicles misbehaving developing.
Oh no - they'll cancel now, surely.
Wrong! My hormone levels are low enough, so we keep moving.

At least that's something. Though after my last conversation with my
doctor it feels very much like an exercise in futility.

I'm doing ok as long as I keep busy. When I'm with Linnea, I'm
generally* very happy. But whenever there's a lull, I start thinking
about IF, and I feel miserable.

*I'll be honest, not all parts of the parenting experience are equally
fulfilling. A quick dash to the corner store turning into a long
expedition with a child determined to drag it as long as possible -
part and parcel of parenthood - but not my favourite part.

Educated guesses

2011-02-22T22:22:00.001+01:00

Today I went to see my RE (Local Clinic, the doc I've been seeing for years).
I wanted to talk about what comes next - a bit too soon, given we're
still mid-FET - but I like to plan ahead.

In brief, this is the gist:
- I'm thinking of pulling the plug, and I'm right to do so.
- doing one or two more fresh cycles is reasonable, but beyond that ...
- considering alternatives is a good idea (donor, adoption).

You could say I got the donor-talk, but more accurate is that I invited it.
I admitted I'm losing hope and constantly wondering whether the time
to quit has come - though I don't feel ready to throw in the towel
completely.
We've taken the first steps on the long, long path to adoption (3+
years to go - at least). I told him I was considering embryo donation
as an option.

We talked about the previous cycles, the numbers and the outlook for
the near future. Not stellar - he brought it more gently - but that
was the message.
Not impossible either, because there's no clear-cut cause for our
failures either. We're unexplained all over again.

The RE suspects that most likely, there's an egg problem. The early
m/c could be an indication of that - or not. The good day 3 embryos
turning into mediocre day 5 embryos might support this - or not.
There's just no way of knowing for sure.
What is for certain is that with a young (preferably proven) donor's
eggs, the odds of success would be much better.

Lots to think about.

Is the longing still that strong - he asked at some point.
Yes. (Close to tears there, but this time it passed.)

Hearing someone else say there's little reason for optimism was hard -
even though it's how I feel myself. I wouldn't have believed him, if
he'd have told me it would all work out - no problem, how could I?

Check. And Check.

2011-02-16T22:49:00.001+01:00

Crying at work. Check!
Period shows up. Check!
Baseline blood draw. Check!

Finally, my period decided to make an appearance today. In honor of
the occasion, I've had my blood drawn for a baseline check. Further
instructions to follow tomorrow.

And I have indeed cried at work, though luckily there was almost no
one to witness it. Only the PG lady in my office.
Really, she's very nice, and apart from the baby on board top, I can't
*reasonably* hold anything against her.
It would have been great to have been PG together, because we're on
the same wavelength about many things.
As taste in maternity wear goes, I remember having one of those belly
bands with baby feet on them (in my defense, they were a gift).

Unreasonably though, she symbolizes what I long for most at the moment
and that is hard to be around.

What sparked the tears, is this question: "Is there really no hope left?"
An excellent question, but one that I found impossible to answer out of hand.

Can I absolutely guarantee that continued treatment will not work?
No, I can't. This is precisely why I'm inclined to continue.

But does that mean I have hope left? No, I don't. Not right now in any case.

Some people, even IF people, seem to think you have to hope in order
for ART to work. Maybe they're right, and I'm wrong. But frankly, the
suggestion makes me angry. It implies that our failures are really my
own fault.

Feeling hopeful isn't something I control. Either I do, or I don't.

I believe that you have to make it to transfer. And then nature has it's way.

Linnea is her adorable 3yo self. Each night I sneak into her room to
look at her and give her a kiss. It's an indulgence, since I risk
disturbing her sleep, but it gives me a much-needed boost.

The thought popped into my head that giving her a sibling is only the
second-most thing I want in the world.
What I want most is for Linnea to live long - and prosper. What alarms
me most is the realization of how little control I have to make this
happen.

Coping, but without grace

2011-02-14T22:21:00.001+01:00

It's been 5 days since I stopped the progesteron supplements. I'm
still waiting for my period to come through so we can start with the
next attempt. There's something very sad about waiting for a period I
hoped wouldn't need to show up in the first place.

I'm not coping so well at work. Sharing an office with the current PG
lady is depressing me. I was doing ok up to a week ago, but I suppose
a BFN is enough to explain the change of heart.

I cringe at the cutesy top with 'baby on board' print. When the
conversation inevitably moves to mommy talk over lunch, I fight the
urge to melt onto the floor in a puddle of tears. I make excuses and I
leave. By now, everyone must think I'm nuts.

Any day now, I'm going to crack and burst into tears at work. I hate
it when that happens.

Here we are: starting year 3

2011-02-09T22:23:00.001+01:00

Perhaps not to the day, but it was about two years ago that we started
round number 2 with ART.
A most unwelcome anniversary.

More and more, I think about letting the dream go. No, that sounds too serene.
I think of prying the dream from the death grip of my clenched fists.
It's going to take a while.

And while I work on it, I'll go on with some more ART. But I know I
can't go on forever.

The second blood draw confirmed the negative result. The clinic does
back-to-back FETs, so on CD1 we start again.

Bloodwork confirms

2011-02-07T11:28:00.001+01:00

Another BFN. Moving from astonished waiting, straight back to despair.

The clinic wants me to continue all medication and retest in 2 days. Oh joy.
What on earth for? Resurrection embryo?

I don't know how much more of this I can take.

Not a hint

2011-02-07T07:58:00.001+01:00

At 8dp3dt not a hint of a second line on the hpt (the early testing variety).

The sticks have never lied to me before, so as far as I'm concerned
this cycle is toast.
(I will be taking my medications as ordered, until I'm given the ok to stop.)

Bloodwork later today should confirm.

Sigh.

The ache of old fractures

2011-02-01T21:03:00.001+01:00

I was up in the clouds for a few days - happy about the unexpected transfer.

Today I was bumped back down onto the ground.
Why? Office gossip. Another co-worker is PG, says a reliable source.
Due in October.
Quick calculation tells me the P-stick can hardly be dry. 4 weeks along?

Good for her, of course. But I can't help the sinking feeling. She
must be the 8th (or 9th) since we started TTC again.

It knocks the wind out of me. I have to fight the irrational idea
that a PG announcement around me (IRL), means failure for us.
We're at the end of the line and keep getting pushed back by people
cutting in before us.

An outsider might expect that the hurts of IF are all healed once you
make it to the other side.
Part of me even hoped it would be so. Well once upon a time I did.

Obviously, it isn't as bad now as before we had Linnea. I remember
being shattered, hiding out in the bathrooms crying because of a PG
announcement (lapped once).

I think the ache of IF will never go away completely. It no longer
consumes me all of the time, but when the weather changes I feel it.

A first!

2011-01-29T21:08:00.001+01:00

I was still lounging in my bed this morning, when the Clinic called
several hours before I expected them to.
Could I come in straight away for a transfer?

You could have knocked me over with a feather - except I was too busy
- I had to rush out and jump into the car.

2 embryos were thawed, and both were transferred. Amazing. Simply amazing.

So, after all this time, I have my first FET under my belt (pun intended).

Oddly, they cut the 2WW a bit short, they want me in for a beta test
in 9 days and a repeat 2 days later.
If I calculate correctly that would be the equivalent of 12dpo and
14dpo. I'm guessing I could use a HPT that early and trust the result.
Sort of.

Thanks for all your messages of support, it means so much.

Implantation scheduled

2011-01-24T21:53:00.001+01:00

Haha, just kidding.

Today I received confirmation, the RE has scheduled our transfer for
next Saturday. Very optimistic of him. Lets schedule implantation
while we're at it!

I've been taking medication for this FET for 4 weeks now. It's almost
as much work as a fresh cycle, except there are no injections and much
less bloodwork and U/S.
There is also no sense of steady progress towards a goal - being transfer.

With a FET, transfer will either happen or it won't, regardless of the
effort I put in now. Given our lousy thaw track record (0 out of 4
embryos survived, over 3 cycles), I can't muster optimism.
So much so, that I've already booked a consult at the Bigger Clinic to
discuss further steps. I may veto FETs for the future.

But you can be optimistic for me all you want.

Carousel

2011-01-01T19:03:00.001+01:00

I'm hopping on the Crème de la Crème carousel as soon as it opens. But
first, best wishes for 2011 to everyone who happens to pass by here.

Those arriving from the CdlC list may find my blurb useful:
"Parenting thanks to ART, after what seemed forever. Now with more ART
in the hopes of a sibling for Linnea."
'More ART' being nearly two years spent, doing 4 IVF cycles, with only
1 lousy chemical PG to show for it.

As resolutions go, I don't have a long list. To name only one item, I
want to work on getting over it. It being the second round with IF. I
think one year won't be enough, not by a long shot. Small steps ...
Secretly, I hope a stroke of enormous luck will put the second round
behind us for good.

Borrowing the words of another blogger* - Linnea is enough, all I
could hope for, but yet I long for more.

*Hold my Hope.

Finally an excuse ... (IF rating: high)

2010-12-23T21:17:00.007+01:00

... for having a tree that looks like a 3-year old put the decorations in.

Linnea flung herself on the box of decorations, spread everything around her on the floor, and then - very earnestly - started to put up the ornaments.
I was allowed to lend a hand, only barely. It was lovely.

I have no excuse for keeping quiet here. Do I need one?
Nothing has changed. Happy to the bursting with Linnea, in the pits about the unfruitful second round. A F(ailed)E(mbie)T(haw) in the works soon, yawn. I will be back, next year, after I finish reading the crème de la crème list.

Meanwhile, season's greetings to you all. May 2011 bring you much happiness.

A splitting headache

2010-10-27T22:58:00.002+02:00

In brief: Conflicting emotions, sadness and frustration over IF -
celebrations and joy over our daughter

I want to bang my head against a wall, repeatedly, in frustration.

I'm ashamed, but I'm envious of a friend who - in as many cycles as me
- is now PG for a third time (yes, 2 lovely kids at home).
How low can I sink?

ETA: It's my wish to be superhuman talking again. Clearly I'm not, and that's ok.

At work, I'm dreading the day my colleague will announce her happy
news. I can't trust myself to congratulate her without breaking down
in tears, which would be rather awful.
Also, I have two new prime suspects at work. Their question being when, not if.

But it isn't all bad. When I have Linnea in sight, I feel good (with
the occasional pang).

Last week Linnea turned 3! So big, and yet still our little girl.
She basked in the celebrations, at home, at pre-school (yes, she
started recently) and at her grandparents.
Gleefully snatching presents from the hands offering them, then
briskly unwrapping without an upwards glance!
The honesty of young children ...

We've managed to keep her safe and mostly happy for another year. I've
felt the same sense of relief at her second and first birthday -
there's a link with my overprotectiveness, I'm sure.

Driving it home

2010-10-13T22:38:00.001+02:00

For the past couple of weeks, I've felt a slight sense of dread in
going to work.
I need dread no more.

Indeed, another co-worker is PG. And not just any co-worker, but the
one who sits at the desk across from me.
Not quite a drive-by, because I guessed from various shards of
information. Reliable shards though.
I don't expect her to officially share the news with me for some time
(I kept my guess to myself), so at least I can get used to the idea.

Believe it or not, but I had managed not to calculate my projected due
date. Now, it will be done for me (give or take a week or three), not
only that but I will have the privilege of a front row seat, watching
how the PG progresses.

Of course I'm pleased for her. I hope it goes very well (the less to
complain about the better!), because another person's misery doesn't
undo any of my own. But I had hoped for a little more respite, not to
be shown quite so close up what might have been.

I don't know how I'll manage to keep it together. Perhaps I'll be
forced out of the closet, though I'd prefer to stay in.
Moving to another desk is simply not something I can ask, as far as I
can tell. Nor something I necessarily want.

Meanwhile, this morning I had my last check-up. Just a trace of hCG
left. The u/s showed a nice juicy follicle (such a futile exercise),
proof that my body is over it.

I'm certainly not over it. I can't remember what the stages of grief
were, but I know anger is one of them. I'm angry, and am giving myself
permission to stay angry for the time being - until the new year
perhaps even.

You can run ...

2010-10-05T11:34:00.001+02:00

... but you can't hide from IF and all its shenanigans.

I need to write, but can't seem to form a coherent post. So here's a jumble.

The blob is out. On Saturday, I got the tell-tale heavy feeling in my
abdomen, followed by (mild) cramps and bleeding on Sunday.
The worst seems to be over, physically.

We went away for the weekend, to enjoy some late summer weather in the
outdoors with Linnea.
She loved it, inspecting rocks, picking up sticks, pointing out this and that.
4 years ago, I could hardly believe we would ever get to this point.

I'm having a hard time allowing myself to grieve this loss.
The nasty monkey on my back is telling me I'm a wuss for not going
back to work straight away- yet I know it's the right decision.
It whispers that such an early loss is hardly worth all the heartache
- yet I know very well that the longing more than justifies the
heartache. Cruelly it adds that a NORMAL woman would barely have even
realized being PG - how I wish I could be one of those.
Finally it pulls out the pain olympics, at least you have a child, at
least it was an early loss, ... True, but not helpful.

The odd thing is, I've accepted grief over early loss as a given where
other women are concerned. OF COURSE it hurts to do treatments, get a
positive (of some sort) only to fail.
I'll admit that with fertile myrtles, there was always the unspoken
thought that they would surely go on to give birth before me
regardless. Given how unhelpful THAT thought is, I've done my best not
to let it slip. So far, I've been right too.

I've reread my book 'conquering infertility'. I stumbled upon an
article about early PG loss in a women's magazine. I need to kick the
monkey's butt.

To the woman in the street walking behind a double stroller (toddler +
baby) with an obvious bump, I want to scream "IT'S NOT FAIR!!!".

The odds of us ever having a second child seem to have become so small
all of the sudden. Maybe this is what's hurting the most right now.

One day, I will get over it, but not any time soon.

One blob accounted for

2010-09-29T13:40:00.001+02:00

Bigger clinic did have other instructions. So, this morning's U/S
showed a tidy little blob, right were it is supposed to be. Too bad it
isn't doing what it's supposed to. Still, a relief under the
circumstances. Most likely, the other embryo skipped town ages ago.
To make sure, I'll need more follow-up.

Bloodwork showed my hcg level has risen very slightly over the past
few days. The floodgates aren't set to open yet.
Possibly, I'll be offered medication next week, to evict the blob.
Pills of some sort.

Meanwhile, I've come to the the conclusion that a day in the office is
not compatible with PG failure. It doesn't matter how early the stage.
Really, I should have known better. But no, I went to work, cracked
before I even got there, and was practically packed home by lunch (by
a sympathetic co-worker).
I did manage to snatch some files with me to work on from home.
Somehow, the mere thought of facing people with a brave face is just
the thing to get the tears to well up. And then all is lost.

Bitter certitude

2010-09-27T10:31:00.002+02:00

It's over. The U/S this morning showed nothing at all.
I wanted out of limbo, well I'm out. Not happy - rather tearful
actually - but out.

Immediate next step is ruling out an ectopic. If there's nothing to
see, where is the hcg coming from?
If bloodwork shows hcg is still above a certain level, follow-up will
be necessary.

I'm very, very disappointed. Even more so than with the clear-cut negatives.
I'm not utterly devastated (yet?), as I know I would have been before Linnea.
Linnea, my hero. I ought to write a post about that some day (is it
healthy to cast her in that role?).

My weekend was busy, distracting and pleasant. Before Linnea, it would
have been a hellish weekend, with at it's heart the celebration of
other people's fertility (celebrating a first birthday). But now it
was a nice family gathering.
I admit, if the final bad news had come Friday, it would have been
very tough to attend.

Edited to add:
Just got the call from my (local) RE. Hcg is not high
enough to be sure there's an ectopic. Nor is it low enough to rule out
ectopic. Another U/S on Monday at the latest. Sooner, if I feel any pain left
or right.

Bigger clinic may give other instructions, eventually. But I'm not going to chase
them this time.

Hopeless ... or hopefree?

2010-09-24T20:33:00.001+02:00

After watching my phone not ring all afternoon, and then all but
suffering a meltdown while I listen to the on-hold music as the
clinic's closing hour creeps near ... I get the following message:

Hcg still rising, but not enough to hope for a good outcome. Schedule
an U/S next week to figure out what is going on. And bloodwork too.

The teensy bit of hope that had crept back in, evaporated instantly.
There's just no way this is going to have a happy ending. And if
that's true, I just want it over and done with.

Technically I don't have an appointment, but I'll head on to my RE on
Monday anyway.

Unless I'm mistaken, I would be 6w2d along on Monday (4 weeks and 2
days after retrieval). Remind me, would you expect to see a heart
beating then in a viable PG? I'd look it up, but I'm too peeved.

Starting week 4 of the 2WW ...

2010-09-21T22:15:00.001+02:00

No new beta number - Bigger Clinic prefers not to tell - but the level
was higher.
A little higher? Double higher? No idea. I didn't ask.

Instructions are to continue the meds and come back for testing on Friday.
Depending on the results, they'll consider scheduling an U/S to figure
out what is going on.

For a few hours, that message made me feel a slight euphoria. Perhaps
the words the nurse used triggered it: "a good sign".
Different nurse, different style?

Feet back on the ground, it's still limbo.

Self-pity

2010-09-20T12:59:00.001+02:00

What if the me of 4 years ago would meet the me of today?

Today me has lots of sympathy for the -4y me, struggling with primary
IF for 3 years already, after a devastating first round of IVF (zero
fertilisation) fearing that the next round will be the end of the road
towards biological parenthood. That was a painful place to be. I
remember it was painful, without - fortunately - being able to recall
the exact depth of my desperation then.

Would -4y me have much sympathy for today me though? I've made it to
parenthood, not only that, but Linnea is a delightful and easygoing
little girl. My top anxiety is that something will happen to take it
all away again, but at least I'm there now.
-4y me couldn't imagine that trying, and failing, for a second would
still cause quite so much frustration, hurt, jealousy, ... despite the
joys (and daily hustle and bustle) of parenting.
-4y me could imagine the desire for a second still being strong, but
would secretly think it's a luxury problem, compared with the first
time around.
-4y me couldn't foresee that being a parent would offer lots of
opportunities for salt in the wounds. As a parent you come across
other parents, who evidently don't struggle to have as many children
as they want, or worse, end up with more than they wanted.

Today me couldn't hold it against -4y me, having less than full
sympathy. I do believe that being the parent of one will be easier to
get used to, than being the parent of none would have been. And
parenting does make for great distractions from TTC.

The pain olympics solitaire? A good thing my former self isn't likely
to be coming around for coffee anytime soon.

Camp Limbo

2010-09-17T17:48:00.001+02:00

I'm making myself comfortable for an extended weekend in Camp Limbo.
Hcg level today was 90.
Close to doubling in 48 hours (3 days have passed since the last test,
so I reckon the level should be 2.5 times higher than last time).

Higher, but not convincing - the words of the nurse who phoned me.
Well, they don't peddle in false hope - something I appreciate.

So, nothing conclusive, but I know I'm not continuing the meds for no
reason whatsoever. That's worth something, though it still feels like
clutching at straws.

Next blood draw on Tuesday. Unless I go on Monday, as the disobedient
patient I was today.

Full speed

2010-09-16T19:27:00.000+02:00

First a confession: I'm assuming the worst. I can't be sure this is a
chemical PG yet. What's more, I'm basing my assumption purely on the
words used by the doctor.

I'm still sticking my head in the sand regarding appropriate hcg
levels on day 17 after retrieval (being 14dp3dt, right?). Seeing the
odds won't make me feel better.
So, in all honesty, I don't know exactly how bad 40 is.

Meanwhile, I have the impression that the bloating is all but gone. I
can walk at full speed again. But maybe it's between my ears - and the
truth is that I'm letting myself walk at full speed again.

On an impulse, I called my RE's office and asked if I could come in
for a blood draw tomorrow. I don't want to take medication for another
3 days, if I don't have to. And I'd like to know where this is going.
If the test is inconclusive, I won't be worse off than today.

Thanks for all your words of comfort.

And one phone call ...

2010-09-14T20:55:00.001+02:00

... can be enough to make it all come crashing down. Or 5 phone calls,
if you have to chase down those lab results first. Now, I almost wish
I hadn't.

The hcg value is less than 40. The words "only slightly positive" and
"no reason for optimism" were spoken. Abysmal, in other words.
I could look up the statistics on the net, but I won't. Statistics
offer no comfort when you fall on the wrong side of them.

It seems we have caught a chemical PG in the act. Instructions are to
continue with the supplements and test again on Monday.

What can I say - I got 7 hours of joy out of this HPT. That's more
than from the last 3.

Faint, but there

2010-09-14T13:36:00.001+02:00

In brief: 2 lines on the HPT!!! I'm stunned.

This morning, I lost my nerve. I woke up just before my alarm clock,
thanks to staying up late last night. Instead of rushing to test, I
decided to wait. Lets not do the day care run in tears, facing the
wealth of offspring is hard enough on days like these. Then I decided
to go and have the blood draw done first. Why go to the lab in tears?
So I went, the nice lady punctured my arm 3 times without succes, and
sent me to another lab, where luckily another lady hit the vein
straight away.
I still didn't have the nerve when I got home, but curiosity won out
over waiting by the phone all afternoon. I dipped the stick, went out
to make tea, and came back - seeing only the control line on first
glance. Then my eye fell on the faint, yet distinct, second line. I'm
stunned, honestly.

And now I'm waiting for the phone call which will hopefully confirm ...

11dp3dt: Hope perched precariously

2010-09-11T22:57:00.001+02:00

In brief: don't look down. Still waiting.

Despite my not wanting to attach any significance to my bodies
signals, I have been listening.
I am still tired, though sharing Linnea's bedtime was a one-off.
I am still feeling bloated, about as much as before retrieval.
Interesting. Different from last 3 attempts, but I'm also taking 2
kinds of supplements this time.

Without in any way expecting a good result, there is a tiny ledge upon
which hope has taken perch. Good, it's helping me make it through the
wait. Hoping now won't change how I feel about the results - good or
bad. In other words, don't look down.

I could do a HPT now, but I won't fret any less until a beta gives the verdict.

Three sleeps left until beta day.

6dp3dt - Where's a spare candle

2010-09-06T09:31:00.001+02:00

In brief: doom and gloom are lurking in the shadows

I find myself composing 'BFN' posts in my head. I think about when we
might do another fresh cycle. Need I say more?

I know better then to look for signals from my body. Everything is a
side-effect of the hormone supplements.
Even then, great fatigue is the only one that I can put on my list.
Going to bed at the same time as Linnea two nights in a row solved
that.

How deep will I fall this time, that's what I'm worried about. If I
can't deal with the 2WW and the aftermath anymore, the only solution
is to quit.

I try very hard to halt the negative thought spirals, but I don't
always succeed.

Sometimes, just sometimes, an image of twins pops into my head. For a
fleeting moment it will linger, until I'm forced to shake my head at
the improbability. Getting one - let alone two - live take-home babies
out of this? Unfathomable.

And now we wait

2010-08-31T20:39:00.001+02:00

In brief: 2 transferred. Good numbers - on paper.

This afternoon 2 embryos were transferred, the word 'gems' was used to
describe them.
Amazingly, another 4 embryos were of high enough quality to freeze.
Wonderful - as long as I ignore our zero thaw survival rate so far.

This has been a great cycle so far, nice crop, good maturity rate,
excellent fert rate, quality embryos.
On paper, it looks good. After last time, I was thinking the end was
near - for medical reasons. After this time, I think we could go on
for a little longer - finances permitting. A two-edged sword, because
perhaps I'll only turn out to be wasting my energy so much longer. But
I'm trying not to think that far ahead.

I felt relaxed for the whole hour they made my lie down after the
transfer. After that, I got behind the wheel of my car, and any
pretense of calm flew out the window as I negotiated early rush hour
traffic. Surely, that amount of stress is toxic. Hardly even matters
what the science says. Let the fretting begin!

A whole two weeks to go before I'm invited for a beta test.

Retrieved

2010-08-29T11:31:00.001+02:00

Retrieval was yesterday. A total of 11 eggs were retrieved from 15
follicles. I'm pleased, though I realize the numbers don't guarantee
much. It means today is not 'game over' day.

It was a blessing to have the procedure in Bigger Clinic, an entire
ward dedicated to A.R.T. The contrast with Tiny Clinic could not be
greater.

I won't be getting a fert report. First news will be on day 3, telling
me whether or not I should come in for transfer.
Until then, no news is good news.

Meanwhile I'm happily reunited with Linnea. It struck me again how big
she's grown already. She'll be going to pre-school soon! Yet, in my
mind I still think of her as my 'baby'. When I'm at work, or commuting
back home, I long to be home with my 'baby'.

Design flaw

2010-08-26T19:18:00.001+02:00

In brief: The cycle is chugging along. (Un)suitable surroundings for a
fertility clinic.

So, have I managed to push this cycle to the back of my mind? Yes and no.
I've certainly been fretting over the details of this attempt less
than previous times. Not because I'm hopeful, more because I feel I'm
engaged in an exercise in futility. Why even try to drum up any form
of enthusiasm for it?

At the same time, I am preoccupied by the whole thing. I can't
concentrate much on anything else, because I'm waiting. I'm waiting
for the final verdict on this attempt.
Dread is closer to the truth, then expectation though.

I'd give Linnea some extra cuddles, but she's off vacationing with her
grandparents. I'm counting the days till she's back.

The adoption people gave me a welcome boost though. They notified us
we've moved up on the waiting list a bit (still measuring in years
though). For some reason, that letter makes me smile each time I think
of it.

Now for some anecdote.

For Monday's u/s and blood draw, I had to go to another clinic then
the one I usually go to because I was out of town. The experience was
noteworthy (read: blogging fodder).

You know your fertility clinic is a small operation when:
- it is located smack in the middle of the maternity ward.
- the waiting room for the fertility clinic is also the designated
room for BF moms.
- the OR for retrieval is located across the hall from the delivery rooms.

Salt in the wounds? Why not some sulphuric acid!

I can just see how this came to be. The hospital administrators get
into a meeting room and plan the layout of their various departments.
Well they're all gynaecologists aren't they, and they all use u/s
machines and have stirrups on the beds right? Lets stick 'em all
together.

I could all but hear the soon-to-be moms labouring in childbirth down
the hall, as I watched the soon-to-be dads pace the hall outside the
double doors.

Before Linnea, going there for treatments would have shattered me
utterly. I can imagine myself going to pieces during a retrieval,
being within earshot of the first wails of the newborns. Now, it left
me a bit disheveled, and bewildered at the thoughtlessness of the
setup.

I can think of some other insensitive locations for a fertility clinic:

- an orphanage (with kids not up for adoption) or foster home.
- a family planning centre
- I.KE.A

Any other suggestions?

Camouflage

2010-08-16T23:03:00.001+02:00

Can you do a cycle barely giving it a thought? Make it blend into the
background of everyday bustle? My guess is no, but I'm trying anyway.

I've been sniffing dutifully for two weeks and have permission to
start stimming. Good!
By the way, the results of my biopsy came in: all tests clear.

A friend of mine accompanied me to the pharmacy to pick up my meds for
this cycle, all of them. The pharmacist loaded everything into a bag
and I took it with a certain amount of glee - all set to go! Then I
caught my friend's eye - a touch of astonishment there. Seeing it
through her eyes, I remembered what a big heap of medicines actually
go into one attempt.

What I'd prefer not to remember right now is what the odds of success are.

Have you considered ...

2010-07-21T22:12:00.001+02:00

In brief: a post in which I scratch the surface of embryo donation.

DinoD asked whether I would consider trying with donated embryos
(thanks for that question by the way, I had almost forgotten about
that option). So would I? Yes and no.

The law here* dictates that embryo donation has to be absolutely
anonymous (I double checked). Personally, I'm strongly
in favor of a measure of openness. At least, I would want my child to
be able to find out something about it's biological parentage at 18
(or younger even).

Besides that, I doubt we would even be allowed on the waiting list. I
assume donated embryos are reserved for those couples who can't make
their own. Likewise, I presume that having a bio child rules us out.
Even if the law doesn't say so, the clinics' own rules might. I can't
find this info online, oddly.

What about abroad?
When I heard about the 'snowflake programs' in the U.S., I toyed with
the idea. A holiday with an extra special souvenir, wouldn't that be
great.
Thing is, I heard about it in the context of - how to put this - the
ideological tug-of-war about ART. Think the 'every-sperm-is-sacred'
sketch by Monty Python, only without the slightest humorous
intention.

I can't see us getting through the screening of any religiously
inspired program. What can I say, non-practicing is rather the norm
here. I suppose there are secular donation programs too, but I would
have to investigate.

Very briefly, I researched possibilities for embryo donation in
Europe. In a number of countries embryo donation is banned outright,
in others the law allows anonymous donation, and in one or two the law
allows open** embryo adoption.
Interesting to know, however, I noticed lots of talk of very long
waiting lists on the local forums there ... and of trips abroad. In
some countries, clinics advertise embryo donation - no waiting list -
from professional (anonymous) donors! Tempting, I admit. No prices
listed online though.

Didn't the Genius bank have a embryo bank spinoff? No, too bad.

* Not specified where, for the sake of anonymity.
**'Open' meaning that the child has a right of access to information
about his biological parents at 18.

Where were we?

2010-07-16T22:50:00.002+02:00

In brief: next attempt in August, same protocol but with placebo sauce.

Oh yes, of course, chalking up PG colleagues (another, indeed) and not
thinking about quitting ART. Quite the opposite, I've gone so far as
to plan another attempt this August.

We had a consult with Bigger Clinic in June (and then promptly went on
vacation). We chatted a bit about the previous cycle. Odd, the doctor
remarked, only 5 of your 10 follicles were harvested. I remember
finding that odd as well at the time, but the doctor that had
performed the procedures said the other were too small, the eggs in
them wouldn't be mature.

Then we moved on to talking about next time. In terms of trying
something new, there's little on offer. The doctor suggested changing
the protocol to a short one with different medication (Folli.stim).
I recounted the tale of our second IVF attempt, the only time with
Gona1-F, where we had 6 follicles in stead of the 10 to 12 with
Meno.pur, and asked whether this was the same. Not exactly, but
almost.

So we decided to stick with what we know (and have stashed away in the
fridge). Once we left, I felt a niggling doubt though. Should we have
tried a different protocol? Sure, the doctor SAID he only suggested
the short protocol because it's easier on the patient. But, what if
...

Meanwhile, I saw my RE at the Local Clinic, who reassured me that one
protocol or the other wouldn't make that much of a difference. He
agreed with Bigger Clinic's assessment, the choice we have is to keep
trying the same or quit (that was the gist of it).
He could only come up with one other thing for me to try, being an
endometrial biopsy. Not quite scientifically validated (insufficient
data), but based on more than anecdote (a few papers in Pubmed, that I
found). Supposedly, the slight injury caused by the biopsy causes a
response that is beneficial to implantation in cycles soon after.

On the scale of placebo*, it rates moderate. It's intrusive, but not
more so than a pap smear, not painful, not very costly and too quick
for much theatrics. Extra points if the test results are positive for
infection, then pills are involved.
So, I'll just hope its for real, cause naturally I agreed to trying it.

*
Fun studies have shown that different methods of delivering placebo
have an impact on their perceived effectiveness, depending on these
criteria. Saline injections 'work' better then sugar pills, ...

Don't pine, be happy

2010-06-16T21:35:00.001+02:00

In brief: so lucky, and still not content!

Guess what! It's time to chalk up another one, a PG colleague at work.
If I were keeping points, this would be a great one. She announced her
last PG just when we started TTC again and delivered not so long ago
(to my mind, but it must be MONTHS ago). Just last week she announced
she's expecting again. An oops PG, naturally.

Firing off my inner mad cackling laughter (the one they use in B
movies) - a way to quickly discharge some of the emotions - hasn't
worked. I can't get more than a little chuckle going in my head. Very
unsatisfying.

It leaves me to continue watching my prime suspects for the next
announcement AND wondering who else is going to surprise me at work.
Life goes on, get over it - I know.

-- added to the draft a few days later

Pathetic. It's pathetic to still feel consumed by envy like this.
It's like owning a slick Mercedes, but still pining for the
Lamborghini I can't have.

No matter how many times I tell myself to stop pining and just be
happy with the great fortune I have, I can't help it. Today, I'm
pining.

-- back to the original

Lately, I've been tossing the idea of quitting ART around in my head.
Not now, but soon-ish.
I hate the idea. Sure, I could do without the treatments and the
disappointments. But it would mean ending on a question mark. Would it
have worked if we had given it another shot? If it worked once, why
not again ... eventually.
Quitting ART is also rather final. Basically, it means defining
ourselves as a single-child family*. That will take some processing.
Eventually, I'm sure I'll make my peace with it.

The prospect of giving up is what's making me so sensitive to PG
announcements right now. I do hope the belly-envy isn't going to stay
around for good, at least not this intense.

What I need to do is push it out of my mind for now. Toss the thought
back into a corner of my mind, wait and see what next time brings.
Easier said then done.

*The adoption is a long, long, long shot.

Taking for granted ...

2010-06-08T23:50:00.001+02:00

... is seriously underrated. How is peace of mind possible if you're
constantly considering that all may be lost tomorrow?

In brief: this one is squarely about parenting, and the fear of losing
it all again ...

Even without our rocky road to parenthood, I have always had it in me
to become an anxious and overprotective parent. Our history of IF has
pushed all my buttons hard.

Yesterday, Linnea's daycare had planned an outing to a petting zoo.
The more I thought about it, the more uncomfortable I felt at the
plan.

Two grown-ups watching 10 bouncy kids? Really? I'm sure they manage
somehow when they're at the daycare, after all the kids can't go
anywhere ... but out in the wild?

Going there and back in a sort of carts? And the kids won't jump out?
Will they make it through traffic?

What to do? Keep her home, to miss out on all the fun? Follow along?
Actually parents were invited, so that's exactly what I did (though it
was some trouble to get off from work). Only to see the trip was
excellently prepared - more responsible grown-ups were there than
usual and the carts were equipped with stay-put harnasses. The kids
were safe and had a good time.

It was nice to see Linnea enjoying herself in the daycare group. But
at the same time I felt a bit foolish at having been led by my fear.

If I would let my fear reign free, I'd be stifling my lively little girl.
I wouldn't let her
- play on the jungle jim
- dig in the sandbox in the park
- slide down the big slide
- walk besides me in town (strapped in the buggy is safer)
- jump on a trampoline
- ...

Looking ahead, judging risks and taking precautions is an essential
part of good parenting. But were does good become over the top?

I want to not take Linnea for granted, I want to consciously enjoy
spending time with her, playing, caring, parenting. I do however want
to take for granted - to a degree - that there will be many tomorrows
in which I can do so.

A number

2010-05-17T21:42:00.001+02:00

The postman brought some good news today. We have a number on the
domestic adoption waiting list!
It made me smile, reading our number. We made it through the first
loops of red tape! (We posted 2 letters, followed up on their arrival
and attended one meeting - hardly impressive, but it got done).

I smile, though I don't expect to hear any more from the adoption
agency this year or next year.

I smile, though I don't count on DH actually agreeing to go for
adoption in the end.

I smile, though I realize the odds of our ever being matched are not so good.

I smile, because there is a possibility.

I'm in need of possibility.

Third time's the charm?

2010-05-04T22:14:00.001+02:00

Persistence wins - a well-meaning friend suggested. We all know this
simply isn't true. Overcoming isn't a question of just persistence,
but also a lot of luck.

Three failed fresh transfers feels like a significant number.
Significant in the sense that there is a lesson to learn: admit
defeat.
I feel like our luck - with ART - has run out a long time ago, but I'm
only now realizing it.

Not that I'm ready to actually stop at this point. Given the waiting
times at Bigger Clinic, we'll probably have to wait until autumn. But
I have made an appointment to set the wheels in motion.

I don't remember where I read it, but - if memory serves - the
statistics say that the odds of success with IVF take a serious dive
after 6 fresh transfers. If that's true, it makes sense to try at
least once more.

My mind is going in circles. Is it just bad luck? Is there a new
problem - scar tissue, infection, bad egg quality, ...? Are there
things we can test for? All things to ask at the consult.

How am I coping emotionally? Work is keeping me very busy this week,
first a day of training, then a big presentation and in two days a big
meeting. But whenever my mind wanders I feel sad and defeated.

As of today, I'm back on preggo-watch at work. I got a friendly
warning that a colleague has recently started TTC for her first (at 35
not a minute too soon either), and I presume another will start trying
for her second soon. Of course I wouldn't wish our struggle on either
of them, yet it hurts to watch from the sidelines.

Right now it hurts a lot.

Failure. Foolish. Falling.

2010-05-01T07:58:00.001+02:00

The HPT was decidedly negative this morning.
What more is there to say?

I'm off for the blood draw in a little while.

One more sleep ...

2010-04-30T21:49:00.001+02:00

There's a heavy feeling at the bottom of my abdomen, physically I
mean. Perhaps it's more a hint of a feeling.
Emotionally, there's a small ember of hope glowing in my lap. Enough
hope to get me through these last days of waiting.

Perhaps I'm imagining things. Perhaps all the chocolate I've eaten the
past days is collecting there. Perhaps it's a side effect of the
suppositories. But, perhaps ...

I haven't dared put the thought into words, not here, not to my
husband, as if doing so would make it go away again.
But since tomorrow is testing day, I thought I'd risk it.

So fragile is my hope, that I've avoided looking back in my archives,
to see whether I felt like this before. What I remember of the last
two cycles is that I felt absolutely nothing. What I remember of being
pregnant with Linnea is that I didn't feel much until later.

Will hoping now make a negative hurt more tomorrow? I doubt it.
Probably I'll just feel foolish for having let myself get carried
away. So be it. At least I've spent the difficult days of waiting
daydreaming slightly more than despairing.

Fingers crossed!

P.S. I guess yesterday's post was very recognizable, judging from the
replies. True enough, it's a recurring theme on my blog and on many
blogs. Which is one of the reasons I almost didn't post yesterday. Is
it really necessary to repeat again?
The second reason I almost didn't post, is because I prefer not to
draw outside attention to myself. Then again, I presume Mel's target
audience is genuinely interested in learning more about infertility.

What if?

2010-04-29T22:48:00.002+02:00

What if infertility ruins my relationship with my husband, my
siblings, my in-laws, my friends, my colleagues?

Infertility makes me grumpy, depressed, jealous, ... all sorts of
traits I don't prize in others nor in myself.
The birth of my daughter, after years of treatment, lifted my spirits
enormously ... until we decided to start trying again. It all came
rushing back.

Depression makes me withdraw from people. The same with jealousy.

No, I don't want to go to another baptism - another baby conceived AND born while we were trying.
No, I don't want to attend another nephew's or niece's birthday part - we could have had a child that age, or that age, or that age, if only.
No, I don't want to discuss pregnancy discomforts with pregnant colleague 1, 2, 3, 4 or 5.

Jealousy eclipses empathy, at least as a first knee-jerk reaction.

Sure, it's a pity she's on bedrest from the second trimester, at least she has a reason to be on bedrest.
So you're worried you may be pregnant again, but you would have wanted a little more space between your kids. Well boohoo.

Grumpiness casts a shadow over my relationship with my husband.

No, I'm not in the mood tonight, nor was I last night, or the night before that. I can't remember when I last was in the mood, nor can I imagine ever being in the mood again.
Don't you dare complain about the inconvenience ART causes you, you only have to sacrifice one single day for an entire cycle of treatment.
If your not asking how I'm doing under the treatment, I'm sure not going to tell you on my own.

Being confronted with my own weaknesses in the face of adversity has - I believe - given me more understanding for those of others in facing their adversity. What if infertility has been an intensive course in empathy? Both giving and receiving empathy, with all it's imperfections. What I've learned is that the effort you put into truly trying to understand the other's position goes a long way into being truly supportive, even if the words that come out aren't perfect.

Now all I have to do is put this in practice, to rebuild the relationships damaged by depression, grumpiness and jealousy.

This week Resolve (U.S. infertility association) organizes National
Infertility Awareness Week, see http://www.resolve.org/takecharge
For basic information about infertility, see
http://www.resolve.org/infertility101

Mel enlisted the blogging community to give an insight in the various
ways infertility impacts people's lives, expressed so aptly by the two
words "what if?".
http://www.stirrup-queens.com/2010/04/bloggers-unite-project-if/
http://www.stirrup-queens.com/2010/04/bloggers-unite-project-if-part-two/

6 sleeps until testing day

2010-04-25T12:32:00.001+02:00

In brief: daydreaming, yet despairing

The glow of having made it to transfer lasted about 2 days. After
that, my heart started sinking.
"It'll all work out, you'll see" a friend tries to cheer me up, but I
just cringed (invisibly at the other end of the phone).

Thinking positive is all fine and dandy, but I've been confirmed in my
despair many, many times and have been wrong only once. It's hard to
fight the logic in that.

I do catch myself daydreaming, what if we get to pick a name again (or
names!), when would I tell people at work, would I battle the BF demon
again, etc. but I feel somehow guilty over doing so. As if daydreaming
is asking for bad news.

The last few days, I've been staking my hope on how bloated I still
feel. A shaky basis at best, but I needed something, anything. It's a
mind game though, is the bloat going down or am I getting used to it?
Perhaps it's just the suppositories' fault ...
Maybe I should pin it on tiredness instead. Yesterday, I went to bed
at seven thirty - before Linnea even! The last time I felt that tired
(without being ill) was when I was expecting Linnea. Coincidence?
Wishful sleeping?

Bigger Clinic wants me to test at 17 days past retrieval, 1st of May.
(I should rename them Bigger Suspense Clinic) Another week of slow
torture. I'm toying with the idea to POAS now, but I won't. It
wouldn't put my mind at ease either way, so I'll wait for beta day.

About my neighbors, interesting comments. The vibe I got from them was
that they saw the cycle as a lottery ticket, one that gave them
another shot at fulfilling a dream. I'm sure they knew about the
possibility of it not working, but emotionally all that mattered was
the fact that they were giving it a shot.
I didn't feel the need to rain on their parade. Either they'll find
out on their own or they'll be one of the very lucky ones.

A mile in their shoes

2010-04-20T22:08:00.001+02:00

Today, I still felt a bit giddy from yesterday's events. We made it to
transfer! Transfer of two blasts! Wow!

Thanks for all your well wishes! It's still very liberating to share
with people who get it (and forgive the mixed feelings).

Speaking of which ...

The last two times I was enjoying the clinic's hospitality, I happened
to share a room with couples who got bad news about their cycle.
Though it would be nice to offer these strangers some sympathy, I
think offering them the pretense of privacy is more important at that
time. In other words, I'm too shy to say anything.

Yesterday my neighbors surprised me first by saying hi when they
entered. Privacy was not a concern, they didn't draw the curtain
between the beds, which didn't bother me. All the more to satisfy my
curiosity with, and I wasn't keen to manouver out of the bed in my
flimsy gown.

The woman dutifully changed into the hospital gown, only to be snapped
by her adoring husband with his camera, a gesture that made her smile.
Excuse me? My husband would know not to try that, if it would even
occur to him. But different people handle stress in different ways.

The couple was acting all lovey dovey in general, which is also not
how we interact under the stress of cycling. First-timers perhaps?

The women struck up a conversation, and confirmed that it was their
first time. But they weren't trying for a first child. They had grown
sons together and had recently decided they wanted to try again for a
girl (IVF to circumvent tied tubes). I was dumbstruck, to be honest. I
found it very, very hard to imagine being in their shoes.

Part of me - the bad part - went straight into snark mode. Yep,
tourists in the land of IVF, seeing the sights, getting the t-shirts,
tasting the quaint life style of the poor natives.
Instantly, I felt a pang of jealousy for the fertility they once had.

Part of me - the not so bad part - thought it was a romantic thing to
do together as a couple, more so than booking a world cruise or buying
a flashy car.

I plucked up the courage to ask about the 50% chance of having another
son. It had worked for others, they said, and hoped it would work out
for them, but a son would of course be welcome.

The couple wished me good luck and I wished them the same - and I
meant it - though I was still puzzled by their shoes.

All aboard!

2010-04-19T21:37:00.001+02:00

This morning was a flurry of activity, packing Linnea's things and
driving her over to her grandparents to stay for a few days.
Good thing, because the call I was waiting for all morning came after
11 o'clock. Big relief, instructions to come to the clinic this
afternoon for transfer.

Bigger Clinic has perfected the art of keeping the suspense alive. On
the phone, all they told me was there would be a transfer. Once I
arrived (an hour early), they showed me my room, let me get into the
fun hospital attire, made me wonder whether they'd forgotten about me
as my appointed time for transfer came and went (by only 15 minutes, I
admit), then wheeled me to the OR waiting area, parked me for another
10 minutes and finally moved me to the transfer room. Then, and only
then, did we get some details about what had gone on in the 5 days
since retrieval.

There were 5 eggs, out of which 4 fertilized. On day three all of them
were of good to very good quality, which is why they decided to wait
until day 5. In that time, 2 embryos arrested and 2 kept on
developing. Both of these were transferred today.
The embryologist pointed out that the embryo's were not of top
quality, unfortunately. He emphasized the fact even, which rather
alarmed me. Not of top quality, is that mediocre, rubbish? Perhaps it
showed on my face, because he went on to say the were viable,
"pregnancies have been reported with this grade of embryos". Still
not quite reassuring, reported as in "regular occurance" or as in
"holy cow, what a miracle'!". Given that I was facing a doctor, and
not a journalist, I want to believe he meant mediocre. Finally, he
told me to remain hopeful, because there was reason enough for hope.

If only happy thoughts and hope came in pills!

I must admit I suffered less under the lack of information the past 5
days than I feared. I have Linnea to thank for this, she's the best
form of distraction imaginable. When I got home from the clinic, she
wanted me to read to her and then spontaneously gave me a big hug - a
rare treat.

Cliffhanger

2010-04-17T12:47:00.001+02:00

I woke up at six this morning - nerves I suppose - though I then half
slept until 8.
Waiting, waiting, waiting for the phone to ring. By 11 I thought they
must have forgotten about me. I caved and phoned the clinic myself.

Imagine my surprise when the nurse told me they're holding out for a
day 5 transfer. Really?
But we had so few eggs, I protested, how can this be? To which the
nurse replied that this is good news, this means the embryos look
good.
So dumbfounded was I that I forgot to ask for the number (I don't dare
call back).

We've never ever done a day 5 transfer, too few embryos to risk it -
according to Local Clinic. 'Too few' is subject to debate, I suppose.
All kinds of thoughts are milling in my mind. It's a high stakes
gamble, and I can only hang on to the assumption that Bigger Clinic
knows what they're doing.

It collides with plans I had at work on Monday, but while annoying,
it's really just too bad.

Tiny update: no news

2010-04-16T18:30:00.001+02:00

It's past office hours, I haven't heard any news. I'll cautiously take
that as a good sign.

The phone, of course, has rung quite a few times, though I normally as
good as never get called. Each time my heart skipped a beat.

I won't be able to update until later tomorrow. DH is enjoying a rare
night out with the guys and I'm off to a friends house.

Thanks for the good vibes!

High five, low five

2010-04-15T00:14:00.001+02:00

In brief: is the glass half empty or half full?

The retrieval went well in terms of discomfort. 6 follicles were
punctured yielding 5 eggs. A few smaller follicles were left alone.
5 is definitely something to work with, but not a number that gives a
lot of margin for error. I feel a bit cheated. Is this a sign that I'm
getting old - or at least my ovaries are? The glass is half empty.

The glass is half full. It's too early to despair. The couple in the
curtain next to us got worst news than us (deja-vue from last time),
no eggs of good enough quality to continue the attempt.

About the fert report, it's true that the numbers mean little at this
stage. Except the number zero that is, but the nurse reassured me that
in such an - unlikely - event they would call as soon as they find
out. Unlikely, don't get me started. Until Saturday, my mantra will be
'no news is good news'.

Linnea meanwhile is enjoying the last of the Easter sweets. She has no
qualms whatsoever about eating the chocolate bunny's ears. Won't it
hurt the bunny - I ask her? No, no. - she replies calmly, and points
out that she also likes the bear-shaped cookies we keep in the
cupboard. She has her priorities straight, that's for sure.

Trigger!

2010-04-12T23:01:00.001+02:00

In brief: that time again.

The echo this morning showed some nice size follicles on each side,
bloodwork confirmed it's time to trigger - tonight in the middle of
the night. Wednesday is retrieval time.

So far, the switch to Bigger Clinic has been much like staying with
Local Clinic. The protocol is almost the same.
There is one very important difference. Bigger Clinic has a policy of
strict silence. Meaning that you don't get a fert report the day after
retrieval. Calling to ask is pointless, they won't tell.

Why? It's for your own good.
If the fert report is good, it may lead to undue euphoria. Things can
still go awry later.*
If the fert report is bad, it may lead to undue distress. One is all it takes.*

* That was the gist, though I'm formulating it more sharply than they
did. I knew this going in, but that doesn't make me any happier.

I'm unconvinced that it is for *my* good. I know from experience what
the fert report does and doesn't tell me. It tells me whether we're
still in the game or not. That's pretty essential. Not telling is
cruel and inhumane punishment if you ask me, I thought that was
outlawed. Only for criminals?

Already, I have that sinking feeling about this cycle. How on earth am
I going to make my meager hope stretch all the way to transfer (if
there'll be one) without a fert report?

Now I'm off to bed - until trigger time.

Hidden treasure

2010-04-08T21:24:00.001+02:00

In brief: cycle is going well. Linnea is a big girl with a diaper habit.

Last Friday, I went for my baseline scan. Finally, after 3 weeks of
just sniffing.
The U/S shows 7 small follicles on the right and just one on the left.
I don't remember ever getting numbers before at the baseline scan, so
I can't compare. But it's something to work with.

Saturday, I started the injections. Linnea caught me preparing my
injection the other day, and yelled "me stick mommy!". Perhaps she
remembers needles from her vaccinations (and wants revenge) because I
have no idea where else she would have seen a syringe. I grumbled and
left the room mid-preparation.

Yesterday, I had a small mishap with one of the bottles with powder,
as I held the bottle upsidedown to pull every last drop into the
syringe, I noticed it was leaking!
Luckily, this happened with the first one of the three I have to use.
So I fetched an extra bottle and restarted the mixing process. The
leaky bottle still had a bit left - I couldn't bear to just throw it
away - so I added the rest to my prescribed dose.
My good resolution to stick to the protocol I ignored for a second.

Today I had my first check-up U/S appointment. The follicles on the
right side had grown, on the left some new ones had appeared.

About the cycle as a whole, I'm not feeling too excited yet. It feels
like I'm doing this out of stubbornness. Experiments have shown that
nothing is so persistent as behavior that is rewarded only once in a
while.

Linnea is 2,5 years old. She's a girl's girl much more than I was/am.
She loves putting on lip balm, sorting out the stuff in her handbag
and twirling around in a skirt.
She's no longer a toddler, but more and more acts and talks like a
kindergartener. She won't actually be attending kindergarten until
after summer though. First we have to figure out how to potty train
her. We suspect she simply doesn't want to take the time to drop
whatever she's doing and go to the toilet. What else is her diaper
for? The few times I've let her run around bare tushed she did ask for
the potty. Now that summer is approaching, we may just have to try
that strategy more often.

Mrs. Sniff-a-lot-agus

2010-03-17T21:35:00.001+01:00

(Who? A distant cousin of Mr. Snuffleupagus, of Sesame Street fame)

A bit to my surprise, I find myself sniffing again 6 times per day.
I'm jotting down dates for blood draws and U/S appointments. There are
meds in the fridge and I have a protocol. So much for the break. Oh
well, it was getting old.

Last week we went to Bigger Clinic's injection (+ paper signing)
class. After that, we'd decide whether or not to switch, thinking we'd
have to wait another cycle or two anyhow.

Only, they told us we could start straight away, based on where I was
in my cycle. Day 21 blood draw two days later, go ahead to start
supressants the day after that. Whoosh!
Sign me up, I said, and DH - to my surprise - agreed straight away.

Ironically - given all the thought I put into it - we don't qualify
for the I.M.S.I. study. So, as rational reasons to switch go, mine are
flimsy. Because except for logistics, basically everything will be the
same.

Speaking of logistics, the fun started right away the day after. I had
to guestimate my latest CD1 for the coordinator - the only piece of
information I hadn't brought with me to the clinic. Of course, coming
home I checked and saw I had guessed wrong.
Next day, on arriving at work I phone the coordinator to tell her,
expecting her to simply reschedule me for a month later. "No, why
don't you come over here, so we can do bloodwork today - in stead of
tomorrow".
What? Now! But that's across town!
I phone the lab down the street from my office whether they could the
necessary blood work, and fax the results to the clinic on time ...
"Um, I dunno - I'll ask the tecnician - please hold ... please hold
... please hold ... still occupied, wait I'll give you the direct
number". Phone technician directly, "Um, I dunno". Grrrrr. Phone cab,
rush across town, hop skip to clinic and gasp at full waiting room.
Bigger clinic? Ginormous clinic! Luckily, not everyone is waiting for
the same thing as I am and I don't have to wait too long - still I
don't arrive back at work before lunch.

Slapstick - part of ART is pure slapstick.

Wavering heights

2010-02-16T23:04:00.001+01:00

In brief: more wavering about treatment.

I briefly ran the second opinion by my regular RE (does that count as a third opinion?). Basically, I picked his brain about I.M.S.I. - and I'm grateful he let me.

First, I.M.S.I. is still an experimental treatment. The handful of studies that have been published in the past may be promising, they're not enough to conclude that it's truly efficient.
In particular, it isn't cut and dried for which group of patients it is suited. Part of the ongoing research is precisely to find out who might benefit.

Prime candidates are couples who have had discouraging results with ICSI. The hope is that I.M.S.I. will help some of these couples to get better results. The working hypothesis is that well-formed spermatozoa will also contain sound DNA, therefor making higher quality embryo's, ...

The thing to remember when reading the study results, is that they show improvements in a group of patients, not individual couples. If the overall figures show improvements with the new treatment, this is because of the success it brings for a subgroup of patients (who were previously perhaps left emptyhanded), not because all the patients have a little better results.

All good to know, but I'm still not sure whether or not to try it. We have had good results with ICSI, good quality embryos every cycle so far (knock on wood), and we've become parents even. There's no reason to assume adding I.M.S.I. to the mix would do anything more for us. That seems to be my RE's viewpoint.

It's a gamble.

My gut feeling is to give it a try, on the assumption that if it doesn't help it won't hurt (note: higher risk of birth defects than with ICSI is unknown).
DH isn't keen, mostly because of the inconvenience of changing clinic. I sympathize only slightly, since he only has to go once in an entire attempt.

I lie, he'd have to go twice. Bigger Clinic demands we go to injection class (where incidentally all paperwork is signed and you get booked in the schedule). Oh yes, and IVF is explained. I'd be amused, if it wasn't during regular office hours, requiring taking time off from work for both of us.

The good news is that my RE has agreed to do preparatory scans and blood draws locally, just like before. That takes away most of the inconvenience of switching.

Same difference?

2010-02-09T21:58:00.001+01:00

We had our consult at Bigger Clinic.

Basically, they agreed that we're getting the right treatment at Local Clinic. At least, they said they would stick to basically the same protocol. They see no compelling reason to transfer to them.

Would anything be different if we did? Yes, but just a few small things.

They use a different freezing technique, which may or may not work better for us.
Interesting, but there's no telling if we would even have something to freeze next time. I'll be glad if we have something to transfer (knock on wood).

A new abbreviation caught my attention though. I.M.S.I. One I hadn't heard of either (yes! another addition for my IF card collection). Basically it's ICSI with a bonus: a spermatozoa beauty pageant.

No, really. They magnify the candidates under a powerful microscope, about 20(?) times higher resolution than with regular ICSI and then select the best looking ones. Supposedly, the good-looking ones also have less problems in the DNA load they carry (less breaks, missing pieces ...), resulting in better cycle outcomes overall.

A quick search on the net revealed that the technique holds promise (in one study at least) but that there is not enough data to conclude whether it is worth it, considering the cost.

So this is now the question for us to answer: do we transfer to Bigger Clinic just to give I.M.S.I. a shot, at the price of lots of hassle added to cycling. Or do we stay at Local Clinic, which is convenient and familiar.

Adoption, she wrote

2010-01-30T13:45:00.001+01:00

Remember how we registered for adoption a mere two weeks ago? I thought a confirmation letter would be the last we'd hear of it for 2010, and much of 2011.
Not so. We were invited to attend a (compulsory) introductory meeting. This week, past Tuesday!

I was very excited to go, nervous too. They're handing out babies, and I might get one!* What's not to be enthusiastic about?

Odd, to feel so elated, because I expected a speech covering "10 Reasons Why You Shouldn't Start the Adoption Procedure". It wasn't quite that bad.

I was pleased to learn that the agency accepts that people continue ART while they're in the first phase of the adoption procedure (the educational phase). This will take a year - waiting for the course - and then attending the course over a period of time.
Once you put yourself on the list to be matched, they insist you don't combine with ART, which makes sense to me. I grumbled though, when the agency rep joked that of course that's when couples suddenly fall PG. After all, this IF stuff is partly between the ears, surely.

What everyone in the room really wanted to know is how long will it take? It depends on the birth moms of course, but statistics say they prefer young married couples, no (bio) kids, with a nice house plus garden. Such couples wait 3 years on average (from registering).
Of that list we can tick of married and that's about it. Young? Certainly no longer by the time our profile would be up for viewing. And I have no regrets about not fulfilling the other criteria, except the house with garden perhaps.

If the tables were reversed, I think that profile would be top of my list too. Probably I would sympathize more with childless couples. Also, there's that worry about the adoptive child taking second place. If you're making that heart-wrenching decision to place your child, you'd want it to be placed in the - in your eyes - ideal family. No?

One couple asked about their odds. Her - 2 children from a previous marriage - and him - 0 children so far - with an understandable desire to have a child together. The agency rep answered honestly, but bluntly, that their odds are pretty much zero. His advice was to try international adoption.

I didn't dare ask about ours odds, but I reckon they're not much better. The thing is, there are about 10 times as many candidate adoptive parents registering every year then there are children up for placement in a year.
Frankly, the odds don't matter right now. All that matters is that the possibility is there.

Besides, once you go for adoption, you get PG, right? RIGHT?

* I'll just go ahead and offend the enlightened adoption crowd from the get go, get it over and done with. I realize very well that I'm not ready to adopt, right here, right now. Good thing then that I have years to prepare.

Living in the now / daydreaming

2010-01-13T22:54:00.001+01:00

In brief: a rambling post.

Today, just as I was winding down at the end of the work day, a tidbit of office gossip reached me. I only report one kind here, so yes, another co-worker is PG. When I heard, I felt that familiar little pang in the pit of my stomach. Another one, not me. That's the 5th one at work since we started trying again, and I'm sure there will be more. At least I'm forewarned this time.

I feel I should be over it already. We have Linnea, why can't that be enough? But I'm not over it and I long for another child.
The word depression comes to mind even, but I'll stick to blue for the moment. Then again, only managing to send out 1 Christmas card (under duress too) points toward depressed. No libid0 to speak of also hints in that direction. I'm not excited about doing another IVF cycle, they did little good last year.

Don't get me wrong, it isn't nearly as bad as before Linnea. I don't wish I could stay in bed all day, or do my work on auto-pilot, I only wish for more free* time to spend with Linnea. *Free as in no work, no household chores to do, just play.

Whenever my mind is left to wander (waiting for the bus, walking to work), I've been prone to moping.

However remote the prospect, starting the adoption process has lifted my spirits a bit. I've had to restrain myself from telling my friends and family (they're not ready). This week a letter arrived from the adoption agency inviting us for an information session at the end of January (just a meeting to tell us just how long the process will take), and I felt excited. It's something I can daydream about innocently.

Daydreaming and TTC just don't go together anymore for me. Those days are long gone.

I thought "living in the now" was the best strategy to deal with the emotional stress caused by infertility, both before and after Linnea was born. Apparantly, (for me) it needs to be balanced by something more forward-looking, maybe daydreaming.

One thing I've realized is that I don't (dare?) daydream about the future. I have no thoughts on what my life will be like in 10 years. I don't dream of what Linnea's life will be like when she's all grown up. I don't picture grandkids. I haven't even given a thought to our next vacation.

So, instead of moping at the busstop, I'm going to try to dream a little. Not too ambitious, let's start with dreaming about next weekend or next summer. We'll see if it helps.

Or maybe I just need more sleep. I always go to bed too late at night.

Opening doors

2010-01-04T23:04:00.001+01:00

First of all, I want to wish everyone a happy new year. May dreams come true.

2009 was a year marked by ART failures for us. 2010 starts with a short break from ART (interrupted only by a second opinion) ... and an application form to register a spot on a domestic adoption waiting list.
This form was filled in and posted today!

Does this mean we're going to adopt? Probably not, actually. But a door that was shut is now ajar. DH isn't keen to adopt, but he agreed - in the end - to sign the form because he knows the decision is only made much later. All it means is that in a year from now - maybe two - we should get an invitation to attend the obligatory seminar for candidate adoptive parents. And the wait after that - to being matched - is also counted in years.

A year or two is a long time. I'm speculating that by then, our ART journey will have run it's course, whatever the outcome. Putting ourselves on the waiting list now is a pragmatic decision to put adoption on the table when the time comes.

Back to the more immediate future, I've requested my records from the clinic and alerted my RE that I will be going to Bigger Clinic for a consult. Unlike the dream I had recently in which he furiously demanded who I thought I was to second-guess his approach, he simply noted the news.

I've enjoyed my time off from work and spending it with Linnea. She's a talkative little girl. One morning she gave a running commentary of me dressing. Pants on! Pants on! There socks, there socks! Now t-shirt, now t-shirt! Put clothes on!
She loves Christmas time, especially all the lights and decorations. Tacky is not in her dictionary (oh, the innocence!). She helped decorate our tree, which was an absolute treat for her.

And now I'm back off to read the Crème de la crème list.

Break time

2009-12-18T21:13:00.001+01:00

Well, there was no meltdown in public thanks to the miracle of voice-mail, but the thaw did fail as expected.
It doesn't need saying that I'm disappointed. I'm also annoyed with the utter waste of time, but that's how this game works.

To answer some of your responses on getting a second opinion, there are a number of reasons why I want to inform my RE of this myself.
He'll probably be notified by the clinic staff when I request my records. I have to get my records before going to Bigger Clinic, because they want to see them at the appointment.

Also I want to keep my RE in the loop, because I hope he would be willing to do preparatory bloodwork and U/S even if I were to cycle with Bigger Clinic. Given that he already cooperates with several clinics, this is conceivable (no pun intended).

But first, I'm taking a small break. I may - gasp - even take a break from blog reading. We'll see.

Save the date

2009-12-14T22:19:00.001+01:00

Just a brief note to say I have a hypothetical transfer date, this Saturday. More importantly, I have a real thaw date the day before.
As it happens, Friday is a sort of team building day at work. I can tell you, I really look forward to a meltdown in public.

I still haven't managed to scrape together the courage to tell my RE that I've made an appointment at the Bigger Clinic. I don't exactly expect a bad reaction, but still it's a hurdle.

The little cycle that wouldn't

2009-12-05T23:00:00.001+01:00

So, here we are, trying to do a FET. Three times I've been to the RE for an U/S and bloodwork, over a span of 2 weeks, but we aren't any closer to a transfer date.
Something is going on in there, my lining is developing slowly, very slowly. Each ovary showed a lovely amount of small follicles, but none is taking the lead. My E2 levels refuse to rise.

It crossed my mind to ask my RE if I couldn't convert to an IVF, seeing all those follicles going to waste. Unfortunately, there's no point in asking. The clinic is closing for a week after Christmas, which would be about the time for a retrieval in such a scenario.

I shouldn't be surprised about the sluggish cycle. The exact same thing happened with the FET we tried straight after our first fresh cycle of this year. That time, I had to pull the plug because we were leaving on holiday. This time, there's still some time to wait and see, and take some estrogen pills.

Juggling the appointments with work keeps me well occupied, so much that I almost forget that I'm just expecting another thaw fail phone call at the end of this.

Speaking of failures, I've made an appointment with Bigger Clinic, to do just that. We have to wait until February, but that's still sooner than I expected. In any case I'm taking some time off from A.R.T. after this FET attempt. I'm sick of it and it is making me blue.

Fortunately, I've taken some time off around Christmas to spend lots and lots of time with Linnea. Sing songs, splash in puddles, make drawings, ... She's been asking us "what's that" all the time. Soon it'll be "why? why? why?".

S is for sigh

2009-11-16T15:32:00.001+01:00

Four days and one christening later and I don't feel much better about our last IVF failure.

Thanks for all your kind words and support. I'm more than happy to let you guys hope for a miracle outcome for our upcoming FET.
Our thaw survival rate so far is 0 (granted, that's with a grand total of 3 embryos), which leaves me less than optimistic. To me, doing a FET is like airing the cupboards, or defrosting the freezer. A chore that must be done, but with little tangible results to show for the effort.

There's a fight going on between my mind and my emotions. My mind tells me to keep a level head. A regular fresh IVF cycle gives you a 1 in 3 chance, so we're still within normal parameters.
My emotions could care less about what the statistics say. I feel almost as panicked and bewildered as I did after our first failed IVF (total fertilization fiasco). My mind protests that the situation is entirely different, of course it is, but to little avail. I lie awake at night fretting over what to do next. Should I change clinic? How many more attempts should we do? Should I start talking about adoption with DH? Should I look into becoming a foster parent?

In reality, changing clinic is the only one of these options that I might actually explore in the near future. When we decide we're done, I want to know that I tried every available option. But in practice changing clinic will be a pain. I like my RE, and he's conveniently located. I don't have reason to expect much improvement from another clinic. Is a tiny bit more peace of mind worth all the effort? Because honestly, is it any more comforting to fail in two clinics in stead of one?

All of this does reinforce how much of a miracle (of medical science) Linnea is. So much, that I'm at a loss for words to describe it.
She's a willful little two-year old, she has a lot of attention for detail and constantly surprises us with all the things she can say.
My decision to temporarily cut back from work and spend more time with her was the best I made.

Stark white

2009-11-12T21:09:00.001+01:00

In brief: No good.

I slept uneasy last night. Twice I dreamed of bright second pink lines, once of a negative.

This morning I did a HPT. From the angle I was sitting, I first thought it turned positive. Alas, just a trick of the light. I swear the space where I was wishing a line would appear went whiter than the rest of the stick. That's how much of a failure this cycle is.

Blood results confirmed, I am not in the least bit pregnant. (I admit a clear negative result is better than an ambiguous negative result).

I'm very disappointed. I'm angry, I'm bitter, I'm sad, I'm at a loss. I'm filled with doubt.

No one can tell me if cycling again will work. Who knows, Linnea's cycle may have been a fluke, an enormously lucky anomaly.
I can't help but wonder if I'm doing something wrong. Or is there a new medical problem that we haven't picked up on? Was my lining too thin (I asked, it was thick).
The explanation is probably just bad luck. Simple. But bad luck is not fixable, it has to be endured.

Part of me wants to turn my back on ART in frustrated disgust. Then again, I know perfectly well that I'm not ready to throw in the towel.
The next step is to do a FET (well, to clear the freezer at least), hopefully straight away.

Now I feel a downpour of pregnancy announcements coming on in my bones. Whatever. There better be one from my SIL, who has been TTC for 3 years without any luck.

Halfway

2009-11-06T22:27:00.001+01:00

In brief: Halfway the 2WW. No symptoms, as expected. Hope? Don't ask.

Retrieval and transfer seem like they happened ages ago. Testing day, November 12th, seems far off.
There are large parts of the day when I don't think about it. But whenever I'm not occupied, I wonder.

I'm not waiting for symptoms, I didn't have any the last times. All I can say is that I feel less bloated before and just after retrieval. But I guess that's normal.

Hope is still as tricky as ever. I'm wishing this cycle would work, but I'm not exactly hopeful that it actually will. Does that make sense?

I need to go out and buy some P-sticks, cheap ones. 15 euro (about 22 US dollars) for one (ONE!) brand-name P-stick is a bit steep, if you ask me.

My flu-like symptoms are gone, except for a nasty cough. Linnea caught the same symptoms over the weekend. She's been snotty and listless all week. She has just discovered the wonders of TV and now wants to do so all the time. I can't fool her by sticking in an age-appropriate DVD either, she insists that no, actually it's television she wants. I'm planning to record some of the better TV shows, in the hopes of keeping her away from the less appealing ones. Is two too young for Sesame Street?

Much better

2009-10-31T15:54:00.001+01:00

In brief: 1 top quality embryo transferred. Exhale.

I slept fitfully last night and woke up early. The trip to the clinic - on my own - was a nervous one. I kept expecting the call to tell me there was no need for me to come in after all.
When it didn't come, I thought they might have forgotten to call me.

One step in the door, so to speak, I asked a kind nurse to check for me. What a relief when she told there would be a transfer!

The transfer procedure was uneventful, if a bit uncomfortable (me there early, them behind schedule makes for a longer time with full bladder) and slightly embarrassing (are lab assistants bound by medical secrecy, because my privates feel rather unprivate right now).

Of the three embryos, two were of top quality and 1 of not-good quality. 1 top quality embryo was transferred, the other is now in the freezer (hopefully with the ambition of being The One that Survives the Thaw). I called my RE yesterday to discuss transferring one or two. He advised us to stick with the plan, and decide based upon quality. The somewhat low maturity rate of this batch, nor my flu-like symptoms (with no fever to speak of) shouldn't make us change our mind, he felt. So, DH and I decided to stick to the plan.

I must say, 2 good embryos out of a total of 3 is astonishing to me. I hadn't dared hope. Then again, not daring to hope has been my motto in all things reproductive since 2005.

I just hope that I didn't promptly eject the defenseless little embryo in the coughing fit I had just ten minutes after transfer. I believe I read somewhere that that isn't possible, but then why do they make you lie down afterwards for half an hour when all you want is to go to the bathroom?

Now back to what I've been practicing so much, crossing my fingers and twiddlng my thumbs. Care to join me?

Meanwhile, thanks for all your kind words of support, I needed those.

A little low

2009-10-29T10:52:00.002+01:00

I just got the phone call from the clinic, earlier than expected. Only 5 eggs were mature out of 11, which isn't fabulous. Of those 5, only 3 fertilized with ICSI.
3 out of 5 isn't bad, but 3 out of 11 isn't good either. I'm a little disappointed.

There's no obvious explanation for the low maturity rate. The lab was surprised because the eggs let go of the follicles easily during retrieval, which suggests maturity.

At least 3 isn't 0. We still have a chance. In the cycle that led to Linnea's birth, we only had 2 embryo's at this stage (out of 6 eggs retrieved in total).

Still, I can't help but seeing it as a bad sign. Fingers crossed we have something to transfer on Saturday. And if (big if, knock on wood, sprinkle salt, etc.) there is more than one left, perhaps we should rethink our decision on how many to transfer.

Now, I'm back off to bed, because the flu-like symptoms are still here.

Bakers dozen

2009-10-28T21:25:00.001+01:00

There were 13 follicles which yielded 11 good eggs and two unusable eggs. That's about the same as the last times on this protocol.

Retrieval went ok. The hardest part was getting stuck a whole 4 times to get the IV in. I came very close to fainting, but managed to hang on.
Once the twilight sedation kicked in, I was completely out of it. The next thing I remember is being wheeled back to the ward. Last times, I remained somewhat conscious during the procedure.
Perhaps it's the flu, or perhaps they were a bit too generous with the anesthetic.

Tomorrow, I'll get a fertilization report. I'm a bit anxious, but that's to be expected.

I asked my RE about the impact of having the flu. He said it might knock a few percent off our chances, but didn't warrant cancellation. In our case, freezing everything isn't an alternative, considering our thawing problems.

Nothing is a given. The couple in the 'room' next to us were very unlucky. The woman had only 3 follicles, two of which had ovulated on their own and the third egg was of bad quality. Not having a chance to transfer is bad enough, not having anything to fertilize is even worse. Now they don't even know if that's where the problem lies. Very sad.

All I can do is keep my fingers crossed.

Auntie Flu

2009-10-27T18:32:00.000+01:00

Yesterday I felt fine, today I feel like I'm on the brink of a nice flu. Just what I needed, an objective reason to undermine my hope for a good outcome.
The clinic didn't advise me to cancel though, just to take some anti-flu medications. And in any case, better me with the flu, than DH again. Knock on wood.

Right about ... now

2009-10-26T20:54:00.001+01:00

In brief: retrieval on Wednesday, wow, already!

This weekend I compared notes from my first IVF cycles to figure out when retrieval might be, I concluded it would be on Friday, most likely.
Today's bloodwork says otherwise apparently, my retrieval is on Wednesday (early morning).

It caught me by surprise a bit, though I'm glad it's sooner rather than later. The stimulation phase went well, much like it did last times, and I can't say I've been overly preoccupied by it. With retrieval starts a much more stressful phase for me. Will there be any embryos? Will there be one good one? And most importantly will it stick? There is reason to hope, but no certainty of any sort.

The logistics have been taken care of. Linnea will be staying over at her grandparents. I won't take her to the clinic (as someone suggested I might, and yes an IF vet!) unless there absolutely is no other alternative available.

All that's left for me to do is take my trigger shot at the right time. And not forget to mix the powder in the solvent ... otherwise this attempt is down the drain.
(I've heard of this happening, though it hasn't yet happened to me, knock on wood).

Well, glad that's sorted!

2009-10-23T20:23:00.001+02:00

In brief: 2 PG announcements this week! I'm envious, very much so. Forgive the rant.

A good while ago I visited a good friend of mine, a fertile myrtle but I don't hold it against her.
She had just had an early miscarriage and was understandably sad about that. And truly, I was and am sorry for her loss.
At the same time, a little voice in me said she'd still be having a baby before me.

Last week, I decided I really ought to get in touch with her again, after all I know what reproductive setbacks feel like.
She'd always supported me to the best of her ability.

Of course, she's PG. OF COURSE! Sure, I'm very happy for her, but a part of me wishes I didn't know.

I had almost convinced myself that I'm being silly, thinking that our cycle is now doomed for certain.
Too bad I opened my FB account today, because I was slapped in the face by ultrasound pics from another friend of mine.

So glad that's sorted, I have found the friend-who-gets-PG-for-free-while-I-go-through-great-lenghts-to-achieve-the-same. Wait, I have two FWGPFFWIGTGLTATS (doesn't that pack much more punch than ARGH?). And I was feeling so calm before this news arrived.

I know, I know, it's not rational to think this way. This isn't logic speaking, this is looming panic. Sure it worked once, but that doesn't guarantee anything. And there's an end to the amount of cycles we'll do.
Maybe tomorrow I'll find my calm again.

The good news is that so far things are progressing well. Next check-up on Monday.