So, yeah, not pregnant. And now out of embryos. You’d think I’d feel worse.
I mean, I did. I did feel worse. I started to cry on the phone with the nurse. I sat on the couch and cried while alerting the media that this trip was motherfucking over, man. I felt sad and lost and alone (wow, the alone part…. yeesh) and disappointed and weepy and then stuffy from crying and sad and really sad and really, really sad and shocked and a whole host of other things that I can’t come up with names for.
And then I got in bed. To hide, briefly.
And then the troops began to descend. A friend showed up and put me in her car and we got treaty coffees and then walked and took pictures and talked and I said lots of things I was feeling and she said lots of things that were very wise and then we got drenched in a summer storm and the sun came back out in the rain and it was like we were in some tropical-rainforest-paradise made up by a theme park only it was real life, y’all. Real fucking life. Better than you knew, right?
And then I went for fancy cocktails with another friend, and we didn’t talk about my infertility shit at all. By design or no, I have no idea, but it was pretty great.
And then a whole mess of my girls came over, which had been scheduled for a while, so it didn’t feel, thank you baby Jesus, like a pity party, but was really just great. Popcorn and whiskey for everyone! Well, they had wine.
Meanwhile, the internets kept checking in, which really does help. It does, internets. So thanks.
For the moment, I really think I am ok. No idea what happens now and I am certain the sad/alone/lost/etc will come and go according to no schedule at all. But, right now, I think I’m ok.
Now with bonus picture:
I’m not pregnant. Really, this is the norm, so why stray from it?
Lest you worry overmuch, I am doing ok. It sucks but I am ok. Either that or the steroid euphoria hasn’t worn off yet.
I am currently waiting for tomorrow’s beta. And fake-uphostering/slipcovering a chair.
I am taking, in no particular order:
- baby asprin
- otc folic acid
- prescription folate
- crazy Chinese herbs in tea form
I am feeling a little crampy
I am sleeping for shit and waking a million times a night to pee. (One of the wonders of infertility is that the various meds one can take do all the things that various hormones would do if one were in the early stages of a “regular” pregnancy, thus producing pregnancy symptoms, regardless if one is knocked up or no. Fun!)
I am pretty chill, re this cycle working, for no good reason. Or maybe it is the “steroid euphoria”? Whatever it is, I’ll take it.
I am doing restorative yoga with props brought over by T of Tuesday Fame. Props are fun!
I am also doing some little qi gong, as per my acu told me to. First and second brocades, if you care about such things. I sort of love it. Or maybe that’s the steroid euphoria speaking.
I am getting a prog check with tomorrow’s beta, because if that shit is low, I want to bump it right away.
I am a little tired of my blog template. Maybe I will fuck with it tomorrow.
Beta in the morning, y’all. Beta in the motherfucking morning.
I am still officially infertile.
Today’s beta was “less than 1.2″ – how’s that for consistant! It’s the same as every beta I had this summer! Even cost the same! The woman who I love at the lab rolled her eyes when I told her how much it was. ”It’s not a fancy test” she snorted. At least the lab people love me.
Oh, well. Oh fucking well.
See, I should have been writing all this weekend, since I am on bed rest and all. But nooooo. There have been Issues. So I am just writing now, and well, since it has been an age since I wrote two posts within a decade of each other, I will assume y’all are not surprised. But! Let’s get back on the horse, yes? Yes.
Commitment. It’s what’s for breakfast, as Bionic would tell you, if she were writing Caved, which clearly she is not, or else there would be things to read on here.
What would you like to hear about first? The bed rest or the Issues? I know! Let’s do a list! Other, better bloggers are a little touchy about lists, but I love them with a fierce and devoted love that is akin to my love for popcorn.
Here we go!
- I am on bedrest post an embryo transfer on Friday. Yes, I can’t seem to quit you, fertility procedures…. Do not ask about the state of my bank account; I don’t. This was and was not the aforementioned last ditch effort, which I mentioned afore. However, the wonder of the links in that post still stands.
- While I was busy receiving Friday’s embryos, which are certainly loving and giving, one of my cats was, I assume, hit by a car. Now, this is sad. It is. However, I’ll be honest and say that it is not nearly as sad as when other cats of mine have died. This cat, sweet pretty boy that he was, was only sort of mine. I’d taken him in to save him from a life in Manhattan, which his former owner thought would be horrible for him, and to judge by his love running about outside, I think she was right. So he lived here, although he quit coming in the house when the kittens arrived (WTF?! Kittens?). He ate on the front porch and was as friendly as you could want in a cat, galloping in from wherever he went across the street, rubbing his head against my leg. He was huge and black and gorgeous with shoulders like a football player. He would not keep a collar on. He would disappear for a day or so at a time, and loved to hunt. The bird population will not miss him. But my neighbor will. She loved him with a devotion people usually reserve for their own pets, and she has many, mind you. She is the one who found him and I might be the most sad about that. He is buried on the north side of my house, along with Bailey and Walter, Jr.
- Not to go from that to something else entirely, but Saturday morning, the toilet in my brand-new-fab-re-done downstairs bathroom started over flowing. All over my gorgeous new floor. And under the wall, into and across the hallway. Fun times! So I said “fuck bedrest” and started bailing the toilet because it was too full to plunge, and also mopping up the toilet water with every single rag I have and some throw rugs for good measure. It was horrid. And then the water level went up some more and I bailed the bucket into the sink and then bailed the toilet into the bucket some more, because the bucket was so heavy I was pretty sure I shouldn’t lift it. And the water I was bailing was *warm*. Which made me fear a huge systemic clog, since the washer was running. And then I cried and called my dad. Who came over and valiantly plunged and snaked and plunged some more, but in vain. So then I called a rooter. And called him again. And again and again. Also in vain. By 6:30, I gave up and called somebody else and he showed up and cleared the clog and talked my ear off. And then he left and I could pee. Whew.
So this has been the lest restful bed rest so far, although I have high hopes for today.
What else shall I tell y’all about? The new kittens? The down and dirty tale of exactly how my infertility goes these day with sub-topics like the draw of genetics and What Bitterness Means To Me? The roundabout of roommates? Links to some great blogs of families incorporating Montessori ideas into the spaces they make for their babies? The slippery slope that is me and tv via netflix?
You can always log your lunch while you think it over.
Three failed FETs this summer. One last ditch effort this fall sometime. Work is kicking my proverbial ass. Hold on to your hats, my friends.
Oh, well, hello there!
Are you even still here? Did you think I’d given up on having a baby? Yeah, me, too. But no! I didn’t! Why give up when I can torture myself more? Woo and hoo!
So a week or so ago, after a big, long break, I had a “counseling” session with my re, who was his usual great self. He wanted to recheck my thyroid* and was cool with my plan to put off the mega-pricey battery of auto-immune tests. If I hit the magic number of three miscarriages, my insurance will shell out mega-bucks. As I’m just one blood-bath short, I think I’ll wait. If this next try works, score! No need for testing! If it fails, well, at least I get the million mega-pricey battery of tests for free. See? Win, win.
Anyway. My thyroid checked out just fine, thank you very much. (Now, let us sing the praises of the lab people. Who not only remembered my name after all this time, but also remembered that I like a bit of gauze and a piece of tape rather than the big, stupid colored wrap that is the norm these days.) And so I was cleared for take off. Note the metaphor. It’s a Journey, y’all.
Here’s how it’s all going to shake out: oral estrogen starting on CD 2 (Have I missed counting cycle days? No, I have not.) and then prog (By vagina! Because that’s how we roll.) and some wandings and one blood draw and then off I toddle to Richmond to get one of my ten – yes, that’s 10 – embryos popped back up in there. There being my uterus.
So let’s beat this motherfucker into the ground this time. Hand me my stick.
*What? You didn’t know there’d been thyroid trouble? Well, that’s a story….from the Fall When Everything Fell Apart And Then My Cat Died. But we are living in the now, y’all. The. Now.