And Now, a Public Service Announcement From a Man Who Has Been There

The following is a public service announcement…

There’s nothing funny about a woman pumped full of hormones, or “Stim” as they are called. While Stim attacks are rare in the wild, they do occur, so I feel it’s important to share some safety tips that will minimize the risk and just may save your life.

When encountering a Stim outside of their natural habitat, it’s important to try and remain calm and avoid sudden movements. Don’t make direct eye contact. It may be perceived as a threat. If you hear a low growl or hissing sound, back away quickly but don’t turn your back. You’re not dealing with a mountain lion, so don’t try and make yourself look bigger. In fact, do just the opposite and shrink yourself down…there’s a chance she’ll show mercy in your weakened state. If you’ve decided to actually converse with a Stim, keep the topics as innocuous as possible. Never bring up anything that might trigger a Stim attack. Since studies show that virtually any topic can bring on a Stim attack (see: tarp, weed), it’s probably best just to exchange pleasantries and move on. Remember, Stim’s can smell fear. If a Stim bears their teeth, you’ve said something inconceivably stupid and it’s time to leave. Don’t bother trying to get your coat or anything else you may have arrived with it’s just not worth it and those items are replaceable.

If you have decided to venture into the Stim’s habitat, God help you, but here are some more safety tips. First, make mental notes of all possible escape routes in case of a Stim attack. If you can, invite someone older and/or slower than you to accompany you into Stim Country; that way, if there is an attack, they may provide you with the extra precious seconds you need to escape.

Understand the kill zone of a Stim. This is the circumference of her reach. If in your infinite wisdom you feel that this is the exact moment that you should share your opinion on what young actress is very attractive, realize where you are standing in relation to the Stim. Too close and you will easily lose an eye before you have even finished your ill-timed (and most assuredly wrong) opinion.

Speaking of opinions, it’s important to remember that you don’t have any opinions when speaking with a Stim. They might inquire as to your opinion, but it is a ruse and they are essentially playing dead in order to set you up for an attack. This might mean that at some point you will find yourself watching an episode of Grey’s Anatomy (a singing version no less) but understand one thing: estrogen…beats…testosterone.

Finally, don’t try and be a hero; Tom Hanks isn’t building a monument in D.C. for men struck down by Stim attacks.

Thank you for your time.   

Signed, 

A Concerned Citizen

and also Local Dignitary

How To Get Email Updates

Hello again!  A few friends and family have been wondering how to get email updates that I have written a new post.  I did a little research and added the application you see to the right.  Just enter your email address into that and you're good to go!

Just Look at the Picture, You'll Get the Point

Stimulation Meds Day 8

The picture says it all folks.  I just hope the good people at Google Images either 1) don't catch up to me for my blatant and unapologetic unauthorized use of their photos or 2) are merciful when they do. 

I woke up this morning feeling pretty good.  I was excited about staking out the boundary for our new chain link dog yard, a much needed expansion of play area for my fur babies.  Their current fencing situation is about 12' x 12'. Those of you who are dog owners know, that is woefully undersized for a growing lab puppy and his two schnauzer sidekicks.  John and I went to Lowe's, which is to me as Nordstrom's is to most women.  We got some supplies and materials for some great weekend projects.  Generally, I live for home improvement and gardening projects during the spring and summer.  Unfortunately, when we got home I was faced with the task of staking out the boundaries of the fence.  This may seem simple but it is not...I did it last summer and by the time exact measurements were taken and angles perfected, four hours had passed me by.  Consequently, faced with a project that was going to involve a lot of measuring and a lot of math I began to feel quite overwhelmed.  This isn't surprising when you consider the following data:

The average estrogen level in women is generally below 30.  On day 4 of my stimulants, it was 159.  Yesterday, day 7 of "stimming", it was 790.  These numbers thrill my doctors and indicate that we are right where we need to be, but they make me feel like a big grumpypants, to put it delicately. That much estrogen makes me feel like every hair on my head is standing on end.  I can't get comfortable laying down, sitting up, or even stretching.  I guess it's good practice for actually being pregnant, no?

Good news though!  Due to my feeling absolutely miserable, I was able to parlay my pitifulness into getting John to agree to watch "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" with me tonight.  He even attempted a half smile after he managed to get his mouth open to utter the words, "Yes dear," through clenched teeth.  It's all about the small victories.  I have to get three injections a day into my tummy and he has to watch one measly chick flick.  He's a smart man, my John.  He's no pushover but he knows how to pick his battles. 

More good news!  Tomorrow morning we have ultrasound number 80 billion and one with our doc up at OHSU, and he indicated on Friday that we are nearing the end of stimulants, and will be moving on to the trigger shot soon.  The trigger shot is basically the hormones that tell a woman it is time to ovulate. The egg retrieval will take place exactly 36 hours after the trigger shot, and three days after that is the embryo transfer!  This is an extremely exciting and nerve wracking time for us, and my joy at our progress helps keep my crazy leveled out.  It's all about perspective, people.

The last time I was this excited and nervous were the days leading up to my wedding.  Heck, that's worked out pretty good so far.  I'm confident this will too!

If you are a praying person, please pray hard!  If not, send your good thoughts and positive vibes our way. I believe in the power of all three.

Will update soon about tomorrow's appointment.  Everything will go extremely fast from here on out....glad you're with us to share the journey.

All I Want For My Birthday is to Be Knocked-Up

Here I am on stimulation meds day 4: sleepyhead

Could it be that these excessive amounts of hormones are making me a better person?  Several people have stopped me this week to report that I am "glowing."  What a hoot...I'm definitely not glowing!  The side effects seem to be extreme exhaustion and feeling a little bit more spacey than my usual level of spaciness.  However, notably missing are increased irritability, edginess, and the urge to kill.  Do you know what this means?  I finally caught a break! Health-wise, I've been due for one for about 32 years.

Monday, against all odds,  I came in to work bright eyed and bushy-tailed.  I couldn't help but laugh as my incredibly caring team poked their heads in one by one, surveying the scene for safety and then cautiously asking, "How's it goin'?" I have been blessed above and beyond to get to work with four amazing people: Dan, Drew, Judy, and Meri.  I warned them last week that I could come in this Monday as an unrecognizable whirling dervish of a crazy woman who looked like someone they used to know.  I spent a lot of time issuing preemptive apologies for my inevitably irrational behavior.  No one is more surprised than me that besides serious fatigue and a higher pain level than normal, I'm doing okay.  

I went up to OHSU this morning for my eighty-billionth ultrasound, and happily it was good news!  The past two visits were a little disappointing, with the process having to be delayed while we waited for my body to catch up.  Today we could see 14 little follicles (the eggs are inside) developing and the doctor was very pleased.  My blood test revealed that all my numbers are right where they need to be and we are on track. Yay!  At the least I have four more days of shots and at the most ten. I'm really hoping that the hormones don't have a cumulative effect; for example, what if I feel good now on day four, but by day eight it becomes a Bob/Leland situation and all they can find of my husband is his golfing glove?

Note: If you were born after 1982 it is unlikely you will understand the Bob/Leland reference.

On a rare tender note, it was very special today to have my mom come to the ultrasound with me today and get to see what I have been attempting to describe up on the screen.  IVF is a pretty amazing process, miraculous really, and it helps to have a visual to go with the verbal depictions!  I can only imagine what it will look like when I actually get to see a baby on the monitor! (Or two babies...there is a 15% chance of twins with IVF).

Speaking of being dog-tired, it's time for my nap.

Don't Talk To Me About Weed Tarp

This is me on Stimulatory Meds Day 1

YouTube is great for so many things!  This evening, as both John and I began to panic about not knowing what vial to mix into what solution in what amount and with what needle, I simply typed "menopur" into the YouTube search and found exactly how to do it.  It was kind of awesome.  I do want to go on record however, stating that I think they are giving the average citizen way too much credit for being able to figure this stuff out.  For example, here are the steps to my morning shot:
1. Load medicine into pen
2. Turn dial to 125 ml
3. Stick in my tummy and quickly push the syringe
4. No problem

John was a rock star at giving this shot!  I didn't even feel it. In fact, I have already informed him that instead of getting up on another weekend morning at 6:30 AM for a shot, he can prepare it and bring it into my nice warm bed.  And there is your answer if you ever wondered just how lazy I could get.

But then came the evening shot, and this is the one where I think the doctors overestimated our collective intelligence.  Fortunately, thanks to the afore mentioned YouTube video, we feel we were successful at conquering this particular mission:

1. Flip caps off off two vials of powder and one vial of solution
2. Using a thick gauged needle draw up 1 cc of solution
3. Inject into powder vial and mix
4. Draw up ALL the mixed solution
5. Inject into second powder vial and mix
6. Screw off giant scary needle and screw on smaller less scary needle
7. Inject into my tummy

So far the side effects haven't been too ridiculous.  Unless you count the weed tarp conversation:

John: "So, sweetie, I was talking to JJ and he says that weed tarp is completely useless. He said--"
Me: "What?  What are you saying about weed tarp?  I ALREADY TOLD YOU, we had it all around the other house and it was awesome!"
John: "Sweetie, I was constantly weeding out there.  I didn't work."
Me: (Sputtering) "What, what now?  It was fantastic!  There were no weeds.  Look, I can't talk to you about this anymore.  I can't believe you're even saying this." (Exit room).

We have yet to finish the conversation about the weed tarp, but it is one of those hot button issues that we can't just let slide by.

I have also observed that John has began to hold full conversations with our Lab, Charlie.  For example, tonight when I became agitated about deciding what to have for dinner, and my voice hit that pitch that only dogs and small children can hear, I noticed that John had stopped paying attention to me at all.  He was talking to the dog.

John: "Now settle down Charlie!  You'll get your dinner.  You really need to calm down buddy, all this agitation isn't good for you."
Charlie: What is daddy talking about?  I'm just sitting here patiently at his feet with my snout in his lap like I always do.
John: "That's it boy, just take it easy."
Charlie: Take it easy?  If I was taking it any easier I wouldn't be breathing.

They were both looking at me from the corners of their eyes.  They think they're so clever.

John has asked if he could be my guest blogger and write a post about how great I am.  Of course I said yes.  Wherever John goes, hilarity ensues, so stay tuned.

And So It Begins...

I am officially cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs.  Only TWO injections into this process and my marbles have left me and rolled away. 

Sunday night my dear husband tried to keep 7:00 PM from coming, but eventually it did.  He was forced to face his fears, suck it up, and stick me in the tummy with the inaugural needle.  We talked through it first, with me reassuring him that he could do this.  Then I looked away and before I knew it, it was over.  Then I forced him to play three games of Chinese Checkers with me, which he hates.  What was he going to do, say no?  He HAD just stuck me with a needle, after all.

Monday was a lovely, uneventful day, the first day back from Spring Break.  I was particularly ebullient because I was thinking maybe I was going to be one of the lucky ones who didn't have side effects.  But I was wrong, so so wrong.  Fast forward to this morning, and it was one of those wake-ups that my hubby refers to as "Poking the Bear."  Both sides of the bed were wrong this morning.  I quickly assessed this as a harbinger of doom. 

I arrived at school and even BEFORE the kids showed up I had the patience and tolerance level of a two-year old.  Class began, and my long time friend and teaching partner joined me first period to watch the instruction since I was introducing a writing technique supporting a project in his class.  He spent most of the class walking around and shielding kids from my wrath, since my behavior was akin to that of a fire breathing dragon.  I honestly left my car in the garage this morning and flew a broom to work instead.

By 9:30 I had a raging headache and felt utterly and completely nauseous.  I ordered a sub and packed it in for the day, having done a solid one hour's work. 

I guess this is the  un-fun part of the process.  Maybe it's all un-fun...no one promised me good times with lots of laughs when I signed up for IVF!  Now I have an important decision to make...try to keep working at possible peril to myself and others, or take a leave of absence for the next two weeks as I attempt to navigate the unpredictable nature of these various drugs on my well being and psyche.  I can only assume at this point that having the baby will be the easy part.

:-)

Be Careful What You Wish For!

Holy cow!  In my last post I was rather snarky about the imminent start date of the stimulatory medications, and rather dreading the arrival of Saturday.  However, at my ultrasound appointment yesterday the doctor realized I have an eggo ready to leggo and therefore we need to continue on the meds I am currently taking for one more week.  At first I was greatly disappointed...but I quickly reminded myself that I am not in control here, and that God has a particular plan for how this is all going to go down and I need to stop trying to call the shots.  (Shots, get it?  :-) 

Interestingly enough, if we had continued on the original cycle protocol we would have had a due date of Christmas Day.  With this new protocol, we have a due date of New Year's Day, if we are successful. That's cool and all, but can't a girl wish for a little earlier to get a 2011 tax deduction? 

I have been on break this week and I am proud of how productive I have been.  The notable exception has been the hours spent watching the baby marathon on TLC this week.  I especially like the shows that feature the families who have quints or sextuplets.  Better them that me, I always say.  I started to wonder, hypothetically, if I had to choose between quints or nothing, what would I choose?  Nothing is more important to me than being a mom, so I guess I would choose the quints.  I gotta tell you though, it doesn't look like a bunch of fun.  The moms are all harried, and the husbands are resentful due to negligence.  Maybe it isn't fair to judge based on three episodes of "Too Many Babies" on TLC, but reality TV has never steered me wrong before.

It's probably best that I get a week back at school before bringing on the stimulation meds.  The first week after spring break is hard enough for teachers and students alike without the additional added distraction of the teacher's new horns and long forked tail.

Needle-a-Palooza

When I was a little girl dreaming of being a mother someday, I vividly recall those lazy summer afternoons where I would lay out in the sun and daydream about my husband jabbing a lengthy needle into my butt cheek.

FALSE.  I did not dream of that. 

Friday, John and I went up to OHSU for our "injection training" workshop.  First of all, let me just say that if I was not 100% committed to having a baby this whole process would have come to a screeching, screeching halt.  I should also like to mention that I am not in the least afraid of needles, so I imagine this next leg of the journey probably carries a whole new reign of terror for women who are.

I love my husband.  He has two favorite days of the year--the first day of March Madness and the second day of March Madness.  However, instead of spending an indulgent Friday morning watching four college basketball teams, he spent the morning in a cold, clinical, joyless room with myself and Nurse Ratched up at OHSU.  He also kept an excellent attitude through it all, and his only concern was learning how to do the injections properly so he would not cause me physical and emotional duress when he begins sticking my with various needles and syringes.

Our nurse, who was clearly inconvenienced by our presence, went through a rapid fire demonstration of how to give each of the four types of medicine. In an unprecedented victory, I picked up on the subtle nuances of needle stabbing much quicker than John.  The delicious irony of course is that it doesn't particularly matter what I learned, since he will be the one administering the shots. 

Our next stop was the hospital pharmacy.  After waiting in the "drop off" line for 30 minutes to be informed that our insurance would not be paying for even a penny (we knew that) we got to wait in the "pick up" line for another 15 minutes.  Sigh.  We left with a brown grocery bag filled to the top with a plethora of syringes, needles, and vials of medicine, and an additional little pink bag that had the additional distinction of needing to be refrigerated.

The bad news is that I had hoped to start the scary meds during spring break and get a lot of that done while I was not in the proximity of children.  Unfortunately, my body calls the shots on the timing and my body says they start on Saturday.  I can hardly wait!

FALSE.  I can wait.

Here is Your Baby...Would You Like That Receipt With You or in the Stroller?

Can you put a price tag on a human life?  Apparently you can...it's $20,000.

We met with the hospital financial counselor today.  She was much too perky to be throwing around numbers like that.  I guess she can afford to be...her kids were FREE.

John and I decided when we moved forward with IVF that we would not sweat the costs.  We made a pact that there would be a zero tolerance level on boo-hooing the astronomical price. We would simply feel grateful that such a blessing exists to let us achieve our dream of being parents.

And after this post, I will get right back to that pact.  In the meantime, I need one good night of wallowing. 

Twenty-thousand dollars.  When they put that sweet baby in my arms I will never again think of the cost. But tonight, with a horror filled month ahead, and uncertainty stretched before me, I have to dwell on it a little bit. 

Our lawnmower is older than we are and patched together with spit and duct tape.  Our dogs need a decent fenced yard where they can run and play.  We lost a handful more shingles off the roof in the last storm and it was hardly more than a light breeze.  John's car is, well, a pile 'o crap.

As I type this, I realize none of that means a good gosh darn.  I'm over it.  We have jobs in a time where many people cannot say the same.  We are better off financially than most.  We have extremely understanding bosses who say "family first" and support us as we stand on the precipice of the most important event of our lives.  We have family who are cheering us on and encouraging us at every step.  We have friends that care deeply for us and check in regularly to let us know we are in our thoughts.

I have parents who are cutting their Arizona adventure short so my mom can be here for me when I need her. (I remember the time you originally planned to return Momo...you can't fool me). :-)

There is a reason why infertility happened to us, and I suspect it will turn out to be a good one.  Truly, only God knows the reasons why and that will have to be good enough.  According to John, the reason is so every time our kid screws up or talks back he can shout, "This is what my twenty large got me?"

I'm not sure who is following me but I will continue updating and I hope you will continue reading.  I suspect the hilarity is close to ensuing, as I am already three days into the first round of meds.  John got his first taste of hormone-induced crazy tonight and I think he's a little shell shocked.  It isn't true that men get off scott-free in these situations...he has to put up with me, AND he still has to mow two acres with a broken down lawnmower with no hope of imminent replacement.  Hey, we all gotta make sacrifices.  It's like my wise hubby always says: "Deserves got nothing to do with it."

Ain't that the truth.

Beware the Ides of March

Many friends and family members are fascinated by this procedure called in vitro fertilisation (sometimes spelled with a z, but that is incorrect).  I see why...it's pretty freaking awesome when you think about it.  Those of you who know me well are aware that I research the lifeblood out of any topic that strikes my fancy.  This happens a lot.  In fact, I have a short term plan to be an expert on everything by 2017.  I am halfway there.

Clearly, IVF is a topic I have researched thoroughly.  Since I am not a doctor the explanation that follows will be rudimentary at best, so don't get your hopes up.   Also, if you don't like reading about sperm, it's probably best to stop here.

I will try to be as eloquent as possible.  Once we begin the cycle, I take two weeks worth of drugs to get all the little eggs gathered in their ovary homes.  This is a time of calm and no physical or emotional trauma.  Then, in the Third Week, which will henceforth be capitalized for emphasis, the docs go full throttle with high doses of hormones and stimulants, growing ALL the eggs rapidly and painfully.  If you need to reach me during Third Week, I suggest searching your local bell towers and post offices.  If you are forced to enter into my presence during that time, due to employment, family, or marriage, don't say you weren't given fair warning.  Or as my acupuncturist gently put it: "The Third Week will probably be a very emotional time due to the high level of hormones.  So don't plan any trips, or important meetings, or have out of town family visit...uh, don't visit them either.  Just, um, try not to come into contact with, um, anyone.  And maybe don't leave the house."

The guy has known me six years.  He knows me well.  I'm intense on my best days.  I can only imagine the visual portrait he was conjuring of me all jacked up on the juice, most likely chained to a pipe in the basement for the safety of myself and others.

Now back to the IVF.  So now I'm just chillin' with what, 20 fully grown ripened eggs weighing me down?  That brings us to the next step: The Retrieval.  It's not pleasant--it involves going in there after them with a fairly significantly sized needle.  It sounds terrible, but it won't FEEL terrible, because during this blessed event I will be at least four sheets to the wind in my state of "wakeful anesthesia."  That's where you aren't completely under but they've got you on too many drugs to care. 

Here is the really cool part: they put each of the eggs in their own little petri dishes and directly insert one carefully selected sperm into each egg. (I'll spare you the details of the sperm retrieval).  The ones that take are the resulting embryos and a couple days later they put them back in.  Well, not all of them.  I'm not looking to birth a litter here.  Finally, they cryogenically freeze the remaining embryos and you use them when you're ready for more.  :-)

It's a strange reality, but it's our reality.  I'm okay with the fact that our children will be conceived in a petri dish.  I had better be okay with it...it's one hell of an expensive petri dish.

Crimson, Clomid, and Crazy

One of the worst things about being an infertile couple is that initially, you feel like you are the only couple in the world who cannot have a kid.  Infertility, even today, tends to be an "off limits" topic, like politics or religion.  I am making it an "on limits" topic, at least for me.  I began opening up about my struggle when I realized that my family, friends, and close colleagues deserved an explanation for my sudden bursts of crazy.  That, and the weird crimson flushes that would frequently color my alabaster skin as they rose like greedy fingers up my chest, neck, and face.  Crazy and crimson are just two of the enjoyable side effects of the drugs you must take during treatments.  Some women, like my former OBGYN, have no side effects from fertility drugs.  Others can boast that they no longer fear hell, unless they have Clomid there, too.

(Speaking of my old OBGYN, we parted ways when she informed me that Clomid did not cause side effects.  Her empirical evidence?  Her Clomid use did not cause HER any ill side effects.  Isn't that just so super for her?!  Hooray!)

Whatever.

I threw a few pity parties during the Clomid days but my raging hormones eventually sought out a new, defenseless target. Poor John, so innocent and blameless. 

Me: "Why don't you make eye contact anymore?  Why are you staring at the floor?"
John:  "I saw on Discovery Channel that you should never make eye contact with a grizzly if you want to survive."

It was then that I realized there are worse side effects than mood swings and flushing.  The worst side effect of all might just be living in mortal fear of your wife.

In the beginning...

I was inspired to start this blog for so many reasons.  For one, I have long known that writing is a cathartic outlet for me during times of stress.  With IVF (in vitro fertilisation) looming in my immediate future, stress cannot be far behind.  Secondly, my mother insists I am a talented writer and I should do it more often.  Thirdly, I was inspired by a certain sister-in-law who has way more questions about IVF than I could ever dream of answering, so a blog highlighting the daily status of my uterus seemed the logical answer.

Our background: In December of 2008 my husband John and I started trying to get pregnant.  A year of disappointments and at least $300.00 in negative pregnancy tests followed.  We followed the normal protocol of seeing our local doctor and going through the normal battery of tests, during which time we were both deemed perfectly fertile.  We were then sent to a pricy but well reputed fertility clinic for further testing and treatment.  Once again we were both bestowed with the title of Perfectly Fertile, and we commenced with three cycles of IUI (intra uterine insemination, or as you may know it, turkey basting). These cycles cost about $3000.00 and much heartbreak.  It didn't work. 

By this point I was royally ticked off.  I had entered the phase of playing God, where everywhere I looked I saw women with babies and I immediately passed judgment on whether they deserved them or not.  A teenage girl rushing to class with backpack full of textbooks and a baby on her hip? That earned a reproachful thought and narrowed gaze from yours truly.  The woman driving down the road with windows rolled up, baby in a car seat and both hands busy lighting a cigarette?  That earned a 360 degree head spin a la The Exorcist. 

Fortunately that self-destructive phase didn't last too long.  John and I decided to go right to the top, to the preeminent fertility hospital in the entire Northwest.  One week later I received a phone call from our doctor.  It went something like this:

Me:"Hello?"
Doctor: "Mrs. X?  I just wanted to go over some test results with you.  Is now a good time?"
Me: (Walking out of class and leaving 25 fourteen year olds unsupervised.) "Hi!  It's an excellent time!  Fill me in."
Doctor: "Um, it's actually not great news.  You folks are subfertile, that is to say, unfertile."
Me:  "Woo-Hoo!  Yes!"

I realize that seems like an odd reaction.  However, after more than two years, we knew SOMETHING was wrong.  It was just a question of who.  And the most wondrous thing is, it doesn't matter who.  Because if one of us in infertile, than WE are infertile.  That means that we are unable to get pregnant naturally and will need to rely on IVF to conceive our baby.  IVF is an incredibly expensive and invasive process, but the terrific irony is that by the time you reach that point, you don't care.  You just want to get your gosh darn family started already.

The next month will feature the continuing exciting adventures of The Humorous Uterus.  I hope you will join us in our journey to have a baby, complete with all the Frankenstein-esque details. :-)