Growing a Baby

It’s been more like a thought, really, than reality. How could I have a life inside of me? It’s too much to process. Things changed yesterday though when we saw the little one on an ultrasound and watched it’s teeny heart go pitter patter–then things got real.

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My heart swelled and I gasped. “Hi baby,” I said.

The RE said that I’ve graduated, and there was little fanfare. A handshake and congrats. I feel like I owe this man so much more, and if weren’t for the fact that my bottom half was only covered with a sheet, I would have hugged him.

Symptoms include sore boobs, tiring out quickly, insomnia, feeling yucky if I don’t eat regularly, and extreme nesting. We’ve decided to look for a new rental, and finding the perfect spot for our growing family has consumed me.

But we’re so happy. We keep thinking we’ll tell people, but then we pull back, protective of this very awesome secret we have right now. Just us, my dentist, the guy at the gym, my husband’s best friend, and you all-the internet, know. I like it that way.

 

 

Where’d You Go, Sans?

Where’d I go? I know it’s been quiet around here.

Well, I went to a magical place called BFP land.

Behold . . .

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I think that stick is from Sunday. I have a modest collection–two from Thursday, May 15th, one from Sunday, and one from today.

There are so many emotions, and truthfully, not all of them have been positive. It’s the curse of knowing too much. But for now, I’m focusing on the good, and praying for others in the thick of it all.

I guess I can’t really call myself Sansfertility anymore, but I think I’ll stick around here for a little longer. I want to share how we found out, what has happened in that short time, beta tests, progesterone, and more!

 

This and That

  • Today is our two year anniversary. Time really has flown by. I bought an anniversary book that we’ll fill out tonight. It’s a bit cheesy, but in a good way! There’s a space to place a picture and lines to record how you celebrated and what happened that year in your marriage.
  • We will celebrate by eating really good food somewhere tonight. My husband mentioned our favorite sushi spot, but since I could be pregnant, I don’t know if this is a good idea. If we go to our tapas place, I will drink a glass of wine. In my totally made-up medical explanation, wine is not as bad as sushi.
  • Speaking of being pregnant . . . I’m 10 dpo today and don’t feel pregnant. My boobs are sore, but progesterone does that to me. I did lift up my shirt and stare at my boobs in the mirror this morning to see if they looked different.  J walked by, let out a “whoo-hoo” and flashed me.
  • We went camping over the weekend at a state park. We took our two-year old German Shepherd with us for the first time; I’m happy to report that she was a perfect camping doggy. It rained some on Saturday, giving us the guilt-free excuse to lounge in our gigantic tent and read books.
  • Mother’s Day was not bad for me, not at all! I thought Facebook might be the trickiest part, seeing all these moms being doted on, but I felt pretty much unfazed. I did see one of my sisters sent our mom two very thoughtful gifts, while I just sent a funny card. Drat! I’ll have to step it up somehow.

Here’s some love for you all today–

So much love
So much love

 

 

Out Into Orbit

On Saturday,  I let my emotions just spin out of control. I went wayyyy out there, folks. J was out of town, so I was left all alone with my infertile thoughts, hormones, and the internet–a deadly combination.

It started with Pinterest. I was looking around and saw that my little sister (the one who got pregnant without even trying) had pinned an eCard bitching about how pregnancy makes you so tired. She also pinned a list of books that help your child adjust to being an older sibling.  Ohmygoodness, my sister must be pregnant again. This led me to scrutinize recent Facebook pictures of her and staring at her stomach. One of my sisters was visiting her, so I sent a text message saying, “What are you guys doing, getting drunk?” in an effort to see if they were, by chance, drinking at 3:00 in the afternoon, proving that she was not pregnant. I became desperate to know if my sister had lapped me and stewed in how awful that would feel.

Then I thought about my other friend who’s baby is about to turn 1. She’s the one who is trying for baby #2 and after three months of no luck, told me, “It’s soooo disappointing, you know?”  Ummm, yes, I do know, in fact. And you know that I know. Why are you saying these words to me? So my despair grew as I thought about how I just don’t want to be pregnant with her at the same time. I don’t want to swap pregnancy symptoms with her or have her give me advice or talk to me like I’m a newbie and she’s the expert. I DON’T WANNA!!!!!! I guess I want my moment in the sun. And it would be awful if she got pregnant before me, so it feels like pressure to get pregnant already.

Those things sound juvenile, I know. But when I started this blog, I decided I would be very honest with everything. That’s how I felt. One of the hardest parts of infertility for me has been dealing with negative emotions, especially those towards others, and my relationships with pregnant friends and new mothers.

I tried to find my infertility self-help book so I could quickly self-help myself back to (somewhat) normal state, but it was nowhere to be found. I felt like an addict in desperate need of a fix.

When J finally arrived home, I greeted him with a hug and a kiss, and then released all of my worries and anxieties and angry thoughts at him. I realized that not having friends I talk to you in person means he is my only outlet, and that can’t be easy. My mood was improved when we went and ate amazing Mexican food. Give me an awesome taco, and I can remember that things are going to be okay.

So now I’m here at 6 dpo with nothing to else to report! Just trying to stay emotionally stable. Where are you all right now–in the TWW? Infertility treatments? Just hanging out?

And because I can’t say “addict” without thinking of Whitney Houston, I’ll share one of my favorite songs with you all. I used to sing this as a kid and paid no attention to the fact she was singing about being a floozy. Whitney, I will always love you.

 

1 dpo

This morning, my boobs are sore, I have a heightened sense of smell, and my dog nosed my stomach. I think these are all positive signs.

Just kidding! All I feel is a little crampy from the IUI and tired from going to bed too late.

A real, and very important, update is that the Mountain Buggy Nano has now been replaced with the Mamas and the Papas Armadillo as my top favorite stroller.

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Have a good weekend, everyone!

 

 

Mission Accomplished–Sort of!

IUI cycle #2, injectable cycle #4, medicated cycle #8 is now complete. Throw your infertile hands in the air, oh yeah!

I tried that empathy thing out today. I was banished to wait outside while my beloved worked to provide his sample for our morning IUI appointment. He was so grumpy when he climbed in the car, and told me that the awkwardness of it all meant there was not a good sample in the bio hazard cup. Lots of scowls from that man.

My initial reaction is to tell him to buck up, buckaroo, and remind him of the hell I’ve been through this week. If anyone should be scowly owly, it should be me! Instead, I mentally took a deep breath and held out my hand. “I know it is an awkward thing to do, and that going to a lab to hand over something so personal is a weird, no-good feeling. I’m sorry. I love you and I’m glad we’re in this together.”

You guys, aren’t I such a good person? (I kid, I kid.) I can’t say it turned his mood around right away, but it did help. Try a little tenderness, everyone.

When the IUI moment arrived, the RE read out the sample stats: 49 million of his little soldiers with 14% morphology. I swear I could see J visibly puff up. We got down to IUI business, and once the RE left the room, I swiveled around so I could rest with my hips elevated for 15 minutes.

I once heard about a guy who brought in a guitar and serenaded his wife after her IUI. Isn’t that sweet? In my world, J came over and started spitting rhymes, waving his hands over my womb and dancing around. He said he was trying to get the sperm pumped up. Whatever works, homeboy. Whatever works.

So our mission is complete–sort of! I’ll count it a true success if it results in a BFP.

I’m trying to encourage J’s sperm and my egg to have a party and mingle. I keep putting my hands where I estimate the action should be taking place and saying things like “You can do it. You want to do it. Everybody’s doing it!” Do you think it will work? Oh my gosh, I want it to work.

Go forth and fertilize!
Go forth and fertilize!

I think this might feel like the longest TWW ever. I’m going to now walk my dog and hope moving and breathing deeply encourages things to take place.

Do you have good TWW distractions? How do you cope? Share your TWW ways with me!

 

Estro in the House and the Power of Empathy

Estro (short for estrogen) has become both a noun and a verb in our house.

Me: Mother F@#$er! Stop it!

J: Jaw drops.

Me: I’m so sorry. I’m so, so, sorry. I’m sorrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrry.

J: (Doubles over and laughs.) Awww, it’s ok, little Estro. (Carefully pats me on the shoulder.)

or

J: Look, I can see that you want to go all estro on me. Hold back the rage, please.

I’ll be honest–I am doing pretty much all the heavy lifting with this infertility stuff. But J deserves some kind of badge of honor for dealing with my estro mood swings and fits. This cycle, when the estro soared upwards, I know I was not the best company.

The other day, we had a conversation that went like this:

Me: Thank you for being patient with me. I know estro has made things challenging.

J: It’s all good.

Me: Really? Estro makes my lip quiver and I fight back tears.

J: Yeah. I mean, if I took hormones that made my balls swell up to double their size, and a doctor probed me in the butt with a dildo every day, and I had constant blood draws, I would be cranky, too. I get it.

Ahhh, and that, my friends, is the beautiful power of empathy.

I’ll leave you with a picture of one of my most favorite places in the world–California, oh how I love thee.

California
California

 

One is the Loneliest Number

The goal was three-four follicles. It looks like I’m going to have just one, lonely, little egg.

F-word. All that medicine and doctor’s visits and estrogen for one little egg.

I trigger tonight and go in for my IUI on Friday. I know it only takes one, but I feel like that applies to fertile ones. I mean, we’ve had an egg every month, that’s not the issue. For whatever reason, J’s sperm and my eggs just haven’t met up to mingle.

There is hope, I know, but I’m already thinking about next cycle. And then I feel guilty for not being more zen about it all. Shouldn’t I be doing fertility yoga and meditating about my egg traveling to meet up with the perfect sperm?

Instead, I’m going to be honest and say that the rainy, gray day here totally matches my mood.

If you’ve triggered at home before, how many of you freaked out when you saw the gigantic needle and thought that thing was going in your body? Raise your hands!

 

 

 

Not a lot of Wind in These Sails

I’m on injectable cycle #4. I responded well to a “low and slow” approach, although I think I only produced 1 follicle each time. The doctor said it was time to buckle down and get aggressive, and I was right there fist pumping the air with him. I would call this cycle a “high-low” approach, and it has not been ideal. Let me break it down for you.

  • I started at 100 plus two clicks of Follistim plus a low dose of hCG. (Sorry, I can’t figure out how much those two clicks are worth. So bad at math it hurts.)
  • On Saturday, the doctor checked things out and said, “Whoah Nelly, let’s take it down a notch.” Which I did. Follistim at 75 for two nights and my wee amount of hCG.
  • On Monday, the RE nurse called and said, “I’m going to tell you a story,” and then proceeded to share that my estradiol levels are too high. There was really no story involved, just that things are getting out of hand.

So now I take no drugs and go back tomorrow morning, Wednesday morning, Thursday morning, and maybe Friday morning. I get to be visited by my friend, Mr. Wand.

Mr. Wand
Blog World, let me introduce Mr. Wand

I do appreciate that my doctor has recently tried to improve the wanding experience by adding this to the ceiling:

Helping you go to your zen place
Helping you go to your zen place

After the last three cycles being fairly easy (although not successful), I’m feeling like the wind has been taken out of my sails. I’m bracing myself to hear that this cycle is a flop. I’m afraid to google what these high estrogen levels might mean. I think I have two potential growing follicles for an IUI right now (we were hoping for 3-4).

What’s the risk of high estrogen? OHSS? Ovulating before the follicles are mature? Having a major meltdown because my husband yawns too loudly?

Has anyone out there been in this territory before? Guide me, my infertile sisters!

Secret Infertile Behavior

I tried to find a video clip of that scene from Sex and the City where they discuss secret single behavior, but all I could find was porn. What’s up with that? Anyway, secret single behavior is just what it sounds like–the things you do when no one else is around. Something that you probably wouldn’t do in front of others, but you really enjoy. Eating weird foods, going through elaborate grooming rituals . . . stuff like that.

Here’s my secret infertile behavior–looking at baby gear online. I’ve researched everything about baby gear, read numerous blogs about baby gear “must haves,” and have even created a secret baby wish list. The other day I quickly closed a screen on the computer when my husband walked into my office. You might think my suspicious behavior would mean I was looking at porn, but really, I was looking at strollers. (I think the Mountain Buggy Nano is my favorite stroller for this month, by the way.) When I’m bored, I look at my list and carefully consider an item. Do I really want those little toys to swing around on a stroller? No, I do not. Delete. Since we’ve been trying since the fall of 2012, I can assure you that this is a highly cultivated list.

Do you have a secret infertile behavior? Don’t be shy–share!