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.
:-)
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Thursday, March 24, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
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.
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.
Friday, March 11, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
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.
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.
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