Now You See Her...; or, A Little Beethoven While We Wait

I'm going to have to disappear for a while. I start teaching again next Tuesday and in the next eight days, I need to plan a syllabus for a course I've never taught before, finish my last remaining incomplete paper, read for my orals, and maybe even work on the novel a bit (though that's going on the backburner until February), in addition to living my life.

I'll be back, I'm sure, to let everyone know after I get my period. In the meantime, some lovely music!

How Do You Know; or, Instincts and Intuitions

We all know couples who describe their first meeting as a moment of absolute confidence and assurance. Maybe you're even part of one of those couples. My sister-in-law insists that by the end of her first date she knew she was going to marry my brother-in-law (though I wonder how she knew he was going to marry her). She's only one of many friends and family members with similar stories: I met him/her and I just knew.

I didn't have that. I met Lawyer Guy when I was twenty years old and a sophomore in college. He was twenty-six and an actual lawyer with an actual job who had actually graduated from an actual graduate school. I liked him right away (I mean, I went home with him that first night, so I hope I liked him!), but my brain told me there was no real future for the two of us. We were at different points in our lives. It just wasn't going to work out.

Except: I couldn't picture us breaking up. I knew we would, of course, but I couldn't imagine it happening, and as the weeks went on and we spent more time together, that imaginary break-up became less and less conceivable. A few months later, we both confessed that we loved each other and by the end of our first year dating, we were convinced we'd wind up married. But it wasn't like that at the beginning.

So what does this have to do with IF and fertility treatments?

I think of the conception stories of the parents and pregnant people I know as similar to "How we met" stories. Every reader of the New York Times Sunday Styles section knows that couple stories fall into a few recognizable categories (starting as friends; instant attraction; missed opportunities before the final clinch). From what I've seen over the last two years, conception stories do too. There's the "Nailed it on the first try" story (totally our favorites to hear people squealing over, amirite?). There's the "Miracle BFP after IF" story. There's the "We were on a break" story. There's the "Right before we started IVF" story. And on, and on, and on.

None of these stories feels right to me. I don't believe I'm going to get a Miracle BFP. I don't believe I'm going to get a While We Were On A Break baby. I don't think I'll tell the Right Before IVF tale.

It's the same feeling I had when I first met LG: a gap in imagination when I attempt to envision something I feel certain must happen. A break-up. A baby. Both equally inconceivable.

Maybe this means nothing. Maybe this is my subconscious awareness that I will never have a biological child. Maybe this means that the story of our path to baby hasn't occurred to me yet--that there are options and avenues I haven't considered.

I'm pretty sure it means I'm not pregnant right now. I'm pretty sure I'll be calling Dr. W's office in a week or so to set up the What Next? appointment. Maybe that's why I can't picture this. I don't know the next steps of the dance yet.

Waiting; or, X dpIUI

This will be a quick post. Not much to report here. The waiting continues, but fortunately, the writing continues, too. The studying doesn't continue quite as swimmingly, but I aim to change that today.

Lawyer Guy and I kept busy this weekend. On Friday, I had dinner and drinks at Eataly (Mario Batali's awesome new food hall near the Flatiron Building) with a friend. A few too many drinks, if I'm being honest, but we all have our little lapses. On Saturday LG and I saw The King's Speech, which we loved. On Sunday we met the BIL and SIL and their kids for brunch in New Jersey and then came home and cooked dinner together and watched the Golden Globes.

And throughout, I've been peeing on sticks, which is definitely not how I usually spend the two-week-wait. But the four (now two) hpts remaining from the stash I ordered back in March '09 are set to expire next month. I hate wastefulness. I also hate seeing BFNs. Testing the trigger out seemed like the perfect solution to this problem. I've been taking a test every two days and the line is fading steadily. I've got two tests left and I imagine it will have disappeared by the time I take the last one. Conversely, LG might take the last test for us to use as a control in the future.

Perhaps some of my more experienced pee-sticking friends can offer some advice. In the past, I have always PIAC before testing, as that seemed to allow for the highest level of control and accuracy. But now that the results really don't matter, I've just been holding the stick directly in the urine stream for a count of three. And it is getting SOAKED. The entire testing window is suffused with liquid, though when it dries the test looks normal. Am I doing this wrong? Holding it too long? At the wrong angle? I'll go back to P-ing IAC if I ever take another test with a legitimate shot at being a BFP, but I'd still like to know what I'm doing wrong here.

I'm not tracking how many days post-IUI we are. I haven't tried to calculate an EDD. Sometimes I feel certain that I'm pregnant (that I just have to be pregnant), and most of the time I'm certain that I'm not. I feel content when I consider either possibility until the thought of moving on to injects or IVF intrudes. I'm not sure that I'm ready for next steps yet. I've just gotten used to this one. But I'm also sure that whatever happens this month, I'm equipped to deal with it.

Tea and Sympathy; or, the Next Two Weeks

Lawyer Guy and I had breakfast this morning at Le Pain Quotidien, in what is becoming a while-they-mix-the-magic-sauce-up tradition. He's always very relieved when his contribution is over, so it's a nice time to check in with each other and decompress a little. We talked today about what might come next and about how we've both been coping with it all. Then as we were finishing, he said, "This is going to work. This is going to be the one that works."

As he said the words, I realized how much I wanted to hear them. This is strange because I never say those words, not even to myself, not even in the quiet spaces of my head or while I'm walking alone through the snowy city streets. I try even to avoid "If this works" constructions and focus instead on everything we will try next month or the month after when this avenue fails for us, too.

But perhaps I'm not afraid of hope so much as I'm afraid of being hopeful. And if someone else is willing to carry that burden of hopefulness for me, I'm willing to partake of some vicarious optimism.

The procedure went well. The nurse was super fast, which made it all much more bearable. LG's sample was again quite good: 77 million and 87% motility post-wash. I didn't have another ultrasound after my disappointing one on Tuesday so I don't know how things were going ute-wise at insemination time, but I've been chugging red raspberry leaf tea by the barrel-full the last few days. I'm hoping that the lining has plumped up closer to 10mm. I'm hoping that the 13mmer follie took some steroids and swelled up like Barry Bonds before it popped. I hope I have two potentials this month, but I'm trying to be okay with only one.

I'm drinking a two-bag cup of tea right now, since it's the last day I'll let myself drink any before giving it up in the two-week wait. My yogi brand tea bags inform me that "Whatever character you give your children shall be their future" and "Happiness comes when you overcome the most impossible challenge." My impossible challenge for the next two weeks is to center my mind on writing and studying and all the dreams that are at least partially in my control. I'm sure that happiness will come when we overcome the most impossible of our challenges and that perfect happiness (or the closest thing to it) isn't achievable until that challenge is met. Still, I'm going to give this not-perfect happiness thing a try in the meantime.

Inside/Outside; or, Let It Snow

We returned home last night from our ad hoc Jersey shore Christmas with my family, beating the worst of the storm by a few hours. Now we have two days until we leave for our Bahamas New Year's trip and lots to fit into that time (brief writing for Lawyer Guy and grading and lots of errands for me).

I'm glad that these weeks have been so packed. I haven't had much time to worry over the unlikelihood of this month's natural cycle yielding anything or begin stressing about the final Clomid IUI. I've had too much to do with holiday parties, cookie baking, presents buying and wrapping, and travel planning. On our drive back to Brooklyn yesterday, Lawyer Guy actually solicited information from me on how I'm feeling about our chances this cycle. "You haven't talked about babies and pregnancy much in the past few days," he noted, "which is unlike you."

(And, for the record, I am 10 dpo and don't have any strong symptoms either way. As usual.)

If I wasn't talking about babies, it's because I was trying to (and mostly succeeding at) not think about babies. When we're with my family, that's always easier to do. None of my sisters are married or have children yet or think much about children or talk much about children. And while I know my parents would love grandkids, they don't put any pressure on us or talk about it, either.

It was a strange Christmas, nonetheless. Our first since my parents sold the house we all grew up in. It felt very on-the-fly and we missed many of our traditions. While that was hard, it was also helpful, I suppose, because the Christmases I imagined with baby--when we thought about being pregnant or found out I was--were not Christmases spent at my best friend's family's home on the Jersey Shore. So as a consequence, I didn't think at all about "what might have been," though I couldn't stop myself from imagining what might be in the future (these days, it's twin boys named Simon and George).

And similarly, as we approach New Year's I'm trying equally to avoid thoughts like "This will be our year" and "Last year was such a disappointment." As I've written before, I have faith deep in my heart that one day something will work and LG and I will have a biological child. And as I've also written before, I have no confidence that it will happen soon or easily or without much medical intervention. I'm trying to tune out the distractions and fears and external signs of time passing and dwell inside and live with this little bundle of hope and pain I've been carrying around.

The snow has stopped falling and the sun is bright, but the wind is still howling. It's cozy and comfy inside the apartment. I'm going to stay here as long as I can today, but I know that eventually I'll have to leave and brave the chill again. I guess that's what makes the lazy, warm mornings spent inside even nicer.

Christmas Packages; or, What's in the Fridge?

Do you know what this is?

That's 2,400 iu of Gonal-F that's currently sitting in my fridge just asking one of my sisters or parents or in-laws to visit and get all confused and concerned about it. And I am freaking excited!

I mentioned a few weeks ago the upcoming conversation that Lawyer Guy and I will need to have with Dr. Wonderful about whether to go for an injects+IUI cycle or straight to IVF. I think I also mentioned that a lovely friend of mine from my loss/IF message board is now pregnant and was looking to unload some unused Gonal-f. In the beautiful manner of todays' interconnected world, these eight 300-iu Gonal-f pens made their way from one end of New York State to the other. I can't thank her enough for sending them. Our insurance doesn't cover injectible meds, so a stash this big would have cost us quite a lot.

You know, as sad as this may sound, I think this package of meds and needles may be my favorite Christmas present this year. As long as Dr. W. agrees, we can now afford to go ahead with one (and possibly more than one) injects+IUI in the spring at no cost. We've got some real options other than IVF, and options are what makes IF most bearable.

I'd be tempted to ascribe my jolly mood to the meds in the fridge, but truthfully, I've been feeling optimistic and happy and hopeful for several days now. This is unusual: I'm in a two-week wait. I'm set to get my period on New Year's Eve. This will be our 11th failed month of TTC since last year's miscarriage. And I've been a massive Grinch up until now, as has probably been clear from this blog.

But I ovulated! And we had sex! And even if that doesn't (and there's a 97% chance it won't, according to our docs) make a baby, it still means we're starting a new treatment cycle in less than two weeks. And that really might make a baby! And once we're done with the Clomid route in February, we've got the wherewithal to try something new! And we'll save all we can in the intervening month to lessen the financial blow of IVF, if it comes to that! This is really going to work for us!

I've finally caught a bit of the Christmas spirit. Thanks to a ziploc bag of needle pens I pray I'll never have to inject into my stomach fat.

Thank You Loss and Infertility

...for showing me that my husband and the immense love we have for each other means more than anything, even having a baby.

...for helping me see that a family of two is as strong and intimate and important as one of three or four or five or more.

...for making my marriage into a partnership and a true team.

...for revealing to me the incredible sympathy, compassion, and kindness in the hearts of "strangers" all over the country.

...for encouraging me to reach out to people I see suffering around me.

...for convincing me that I am strong enough, brave enough, and determined enough to not only be a mother, but to be a great mother.

....for curing me (almost) of my materialistic fantasies and focusing my dreams where they should be: on the baby I want to love and care for, not the clothes to dress it in or the crib to put it in or the stroller to wheel it around in.

...for forcing me to smile through tears, search for rainbows in storm clouds, and write lists like this one on the off-chance that they might be true.

Post-Thanksgiving Premonitions; or, 11 dpiui

This may be one of those post-every-day kind of weeks. I've just got a lot on my mind, I guess. Right now I could use some bloggie advice.

As the title says, I'm 11 dpiui. And I'm quite sure it didn't work. My boobs don't feel pregnant, which are the only indicators I ever have. My skin is also very, "Ha ha, your period is coming." Everything else is perfectly consistent with getting my period, and after going through this 17 times now, I've gotten pretty good at figuring out when that's going to happen.

Since I would rather whittle my peestick into a shank and plunge it directly into my heart than see one line on a pregnancy test, I won't be testing until AF misses her train. Which usually means not testing at all.

So here's my dilemma. Normally, I start spotting about 14 days after my LH surge and get full flow the following day (I was never positive whether I ovulated the day after or two days after my LH surge, so I counted from the first peak day, which seemed less equivocal). Because of the chemical pregnancy last month, I don't know if being on Clomid will change my luteal phase at all, but as I'm not taking progesterone or any other suppositories, I have to assume it won't. Thus I project that I'll begin spotting on Friday, the day after Thanksgiving.

Now, thanks to Lawyer Guy's parents' divorce, we spend every day-after Thanksgiving at his father's house having a second Thanksgiving dinner (this year, if you count Fakesgiving, it will be the third) with LG's father and stepmother and the infamous BIL/SIL clan. Long-time readers may recall that at this event last year (only about a week after my d&c) I broke down crying and ran from the table, which action was greeted with rather deafening silence. Not the best communicators, that side of the family.

Anyway, this year the event is not going to be at FIL's house. I'll give you three guesses where it was moved. Are you thinking? Thinking really hard? If you guessed BIL's house you are right on the money! Apparently having two small children makes it extremely difficult to take a half-hour trip across the Tappan Zee Bridge on a holiday weekend, and everything has to revolve around making their schedule easier (Sorry, my bitter is showing. Excuse me while I pull down my skirt a little).

LG and I were anxious and upset when we find out the event was moving there. As he puts it, "It automatically goes from a family event on neutral territory to one that is about them and their kids." We thought about telling his father how uncomfortable we are and asking him to switch it back. We thought about doing a lot of things. But we couldn't think of a way to address this issue that didn't sound petty and like we just didn't want to go to their house. Or a way that wasn't basically forcing his father to choose between the desires of his two sons, a position in which he is not very comfortable. We also thought about not going and then decided it would cause too much fuss not to go.

Compounding all this, we learned on Sunday at our lunch in the suburbs that the family has chosen this event as their Channukah gift exchange day, because everyone's schedules are so full in December.

Yes, we found this out on Sunday. Five days before we're supposed to exchange gifts on Friday. And no one would have told us if I hadn't innocently wondered when we'd all be getting together for the gift-giving. Scrambling ensued, and I picked up a bunch of gifts and ordered others online. We now have gifts for all the adults, but the nieces' gifts won't arrive until next week at the earliest.

So to sum up: a post-Thanksgiving dinner at the home of our least supportive relatives where we will be exchanging gifts we didn't have time to procure on the day I'm due to confirm that this most recent IUI failed.

I don't know what to do. I don't want to start spotting in the middle of dinner. How will I possibly handle the devastation around everyone? We'll have to leave and it will cause such a scene. I suspect that if I start spotting earlier in the day, I'll just want to hunker down and be alone to lick my wounds and start the moving-on process. Lawyer Guy said he'd go to the dinner by himself, but I hate when he has to do that. I hate being the sad, fragile basket-case who can't handle ordinary human interactions. And I hate being left alone at home when everyone else is together.

I just wish I didn't have to think about any of this. I wish I were stronger and better able to push forward through uncomfortable situations. I wish LG didn't feel like he had no choice in whether to go or not and I wish that I felt confident everyone would understand our situation--yet I don't want to tell people exactly what is going on. I don't even want BIL and SIL to know we're seeing an RE!

I've got a few days to figure this out, and I'll be tp-scanning (and smelling, which is usually my earliest sign of impending-AF, as disgusting as that may sound) like mad. I'm giving myself permission not to decide what to do until Friday and to just say screw it to everyone's reactions. But a strong part of me still feels like the right thing to do is go and if I stay home I'll be weak and giving in to bad, selfish impulses.

Such a long post to say essentially so little. If you managed to slog through the tedium, I'd love to hear your advice or thoughts.

Hamster Brain; or, 7 dpiui

I know from past experience that there's no way to know the State of the Uterus at only 7 dpo/iui. I know that having negative, down hunches about a cycle isn't a good predictor of whether or not it succeeded. Nothing is a good predictor of that, which predictably sucks.

But still-- I'm a little constie, so maybe that means something! Except, I've been that way in plenty of failed 2wws. I'm not very hungry at all, so clearly nothing is going on. But I wasn't all that hungry last cycle either. (And I was barely pregnancy last cycle, so again, not such a good sign).

I don't think I'm pregnant. I wish I were so, so, so much, but I just don't feel like I am. However, I know that things can change quickly and I can't really be sure until 13dpo. If my boobs start hurting then, it worked. If I start spotting, it didn't.

Despite the squeaky little hamster wheel spinning and spinning, I have been able to distract myself from dwelling on this fairly well so far. I had a movie date with some friends last night that was a lot of fun and a great way to occupy my mind. I've got shittons of student papers to grade this weekend, more dinner plans with LG and friends tonight, and Thanksgiving and all its preparations to focus on next week.

And then, right after Thanksgiving, I'll know. And it will hurt a lot, I can already tell. If we can't get pregnant with a perfect IUI, I'll pretty much give up on anything short of IVF working for us at all. But Christmas is right around the corner and long nights in front of our fireplace with hot cocoa and a twinkling tree will go far toward restoring my joyfulness, even if there's no baby in the manger yet.

I hope you are all having weekends that make you happy and sane.

Time Keeps on Ticking: or, 4 dpiui

This going to be a bit of a random hodgepodge post, since nothing much is going on other than my slow, steady descent into irreparable madness. Every three seconds, I think to myself, "I have to be pregnant. I can't be pregnant. I must be pregnant. It's impossible that I'm pregnant."

And on and on and on.

In the meantime, Lawyer Guy accompanied me to the opera last night (more like, was dragged by me, but who's counting). It was the Met's recent production of Carmen, and I loved it. I spent most of the rest of my non-teaching time googling every bit of news that came out about William and Kate's engagement. A fun distraction from testing out my ute goggles.

* * *

Based on the two data points I now have to go on, I know that I won't have much of an idea if AF is coming or if something else is until 13 dpiui. Both positive test cycles I was positive I was going to get my period right up until that day. I keep trying to remind myself that there's just no way to know yet and that I should try to enjoy myself right now, because the tension only increases the closer to D-Day I get.

Oh, right, and I should start spotting the day after Thanksgiving, which I'm spending with LG's family this year. Awesome.

* * *

What else is there to say as I try to kill time? I'm leaning toward skipping treatments in December, but not because of my sister's wedding. After last month's chemical pregnancy I was determined to plow forward no matter what, and felt really good about that decision. But then LG received that most dreaded (to wives) of husbandly invitations: A Vegas Bachelor Party. And it's scheduled for the exactly the weekend we'd have to be on call for an IUI.

If I begged and pleaded and insisted, Lawyer Guy would refuse the invite. But I know how much he wants to go. Many of his friends have moved from the NY metro area and now have kids, so he doesn't see much of them. He confessed recently that he's been feeling kind of lonely--he's one of the only non-dads left in his circle and everyone's too busy to do the kind of socializing they used to. I know it will mean so much to him to be able to have some relaxed time with them all. And I think he would appreciate a break from having to jizz in a cup, too.

There's still the option to freeze the sperm and do the insemination while he's gone, but that doesn't appeal to me for a lot of reasons. So it's likely that December will consist of fruitless (but fun?) au natural attempts and we'll be back on the treatment horse in January.

* * *

Tick, tock, tick, tock. For now we just keep waiting. Though not as long as Kate Middleton waited for her proposal. I'll take her as my inspiration and dub myself Waity Slopie, invest in a series of figure-hugging colorful frocks, and head to a polo match. That should help pass the time.

Crazy Comes Early; or, How to Survive a Two-Week Wait

I think I am good at many things: writing, reading while walking along crowded sidewalks, singing, knitting, cooking, taking standardized tests, picking outfits for my dog, correctly punctuating compound-complex sentences, listening to people, hugging, and wearing short skirts. But there is also a long list of things I am terrible at: calculus, chemistry, running, athletics of all sorts, spelling, showing up places on time, planning and timing a meal, housekeeping, putting on a poker face, losing belly fat.

To this latter list, you can add meditation and relaxing.

I have never been able to relax on command. At the end of a yoga class, when I feel stretched out like a noodle, I still have to clench my fists in corpse pose because otherwise the palms of my hands and my fingers literally begin to itch, so strong is my compulsion to move them. In health classes as a kid I was never able to relax my mind enough to feel the crazy effects of the self-hypnosis videos we would occasionally watch.

Just now, in an effort to mitigate against the extreme anxiety of the two week wait, I listened to one of the Circle+Bloom relaxation CDs that a friend sent me when I started working with an RE. I couldn't even concentrate on the woman's voice. I lay here in an extremely comfortable chair with my eyes closed and as she told me to let my body sink deeper into a metaphorical hot bath, the soles of my feet started twitching and I had to press them together. My stomach rumbled. My eyes fluttered under my eye lids. My mind spun like a top.

I suck at this.

I am pretty much a ball of tightly wound twine at the best of times, and waiting for the results of a cycle only exacerbates it. This cycle is doubly hard because everything (with the exception of my minimal egg production) is going so damn well. Not only did Lawyer Guy produce a rock star sample for the IUI, but we had sex TWICE afterward that day. (I'm not at liberty to share what helped make this cycle so much better in that regard. Let's just say it was awesome). Last cycle we had fertilization for the first time in a year, which has raised the expectations for IUI way high. And some googling turned up various studies that all agree the greatest predictors of success in an IUI cycle are total motile sperm counts and timing, both of which were great for us.

And yet mentally, I add all this up together and it equals: BFN.

Over the past 20 months, I have had more "perfect" cycles than I can count-- or as close to perfect as my body can get. Well-timed sex, and lots of it, with clear ovulation. Over and over again, I would think, "This is it! This time is the time! Everything's going so great, it just *has* to work."

And over and over again, reality would sledgehammer me over the head at the end of my wait.

Strangely, I do believe Dr. Wonderful when she tells me that I will get pregnant and I won't be her patient for long. I do believe that a healthy pregnancy is in the cards for my future. Just not yet. Just never right now. Not this cycle, not this time.

I would really like to put down this emotional armor, this chain-mail of doubt and negativity and fear and refusal that I've been carrying around for over a year to deflect the blows of IF. It's tiring and weighs a ton.

Next cycle's the one when I'll start to feel positive. It's always next cycle.

A Weekend Away; or, AF Right Around the Corner

Some bloggers can disappear for four days without feeling like they've abandoned their legions (hear me? LEGIONS) of fans, but not me. I have been terribly worried that you're all wondering: Where's Sloper? Did she finally lose it from yet another BFN and has been committed to Shady Brook by Lawyer Guy for threatening to stab pregnant women in the park? Never fear, the pregnant park-trawlers are safe from my wrath for now, because I never test early (hello, have you met me before?) so the BFNs are at least a day or so away. But I have been too busy to blog for the following reasons:

1) Sickness. On Thursday afternoon I suddenly came down with sharp, AWFUL stomach pains right above my belly button. I was gripping the side of my desk to keep from doubling over while my students worked on their peer review of each other's essays. It was awful. Every time I ate for the next two days the pain came back. On the drive home, I also started to feel like a flu was coming on--muscle and joint aches, chills, tiredness, the works. I spent the night on the couch watching Jane Eyre for the 80-thousandth time and eating chicken soup and drinking Gatorade and went to bed super early that night in the hopes I'd kick it.

2) My stellar immune system did its usual awesome work (this was the first time I'd felt sick in about 4 years!) and I was much better the next day, with the exception of my stomach aches, as I mentioned. This was great because it meant I felt up for my trip to Atlanta with Lawyer Guy for a friend's wedding. We flew out of NYC that afternoon and had a great time not only dancing up a storm at the wedding--which had one of the best wedding bands I'd ever heard--and hobnobing with publishing types (to whom LG kept pitching my one finished novel, the sweetheart) and drinking vodka gimlets, but also spending some time with my second-youngest sister, who just started her first year of law school down there. We ate bbq and grits and biscuits and I'm glad I don't live in Atlanta, because I would be fat(ter) than I am already. Small blessings, right?

It was a really fun, happy weekend and even though I still feel super pessimistic about this cycle and was facing some dark, sad, hopeless emotions before we went, the fun times out-of-town did a lot to pick my spirits up. I'm ready to get my period tomorrow and not jump out the window afterward.

I've also been thinking a lot about the conference I'm supposed to attend later this week. More and more, I just don't feel I have it in me to go, for a lot of reasons. I think I've mentioned that I'm afraid of flying, and pretty much the only thing that gets me through it is holding on to Lawyer Guy (and Xanax). I'm seriously stressing over a cross-country flight without him when I've been in such a funk.

I also don't want to be so far away when I need to talk to Dr. Wonderful about the failed cycle and get started on treatments for next cycle. I don't think I want to be thousands of miles from my doctor and my husband when the nail is pounded into the coffin of this first IUI cycle. And I've lacked any drive or motivation to work on my presentation over the last few days.

I feel like a crappy student and a total failure to even consider backing out of this (and for the record, I'd just let them know that I'm ill and can't fly--which is sort of true if you take neurosis as an illness). But when I think of not going, I feel immense relief. I feel excited to start studying for my oral exams and to start preparing some articles to submit for publication. When I think about going I feel dread and nausea.

I'm going to think about it over night and then call Jet Blue in the morning and find out the penalty for switching the flight. My gut is telling me to cancel. My gut is also a total wimp.

Maybe Next Time; or, Revisiting the Past

I'm sad today.

I wasn't a few hours ago. Then I was busy, writing a few articles for my freelance job, thinking about starting to work on the paper I'm delivering at the conference next week (I'm so anxious about it I'm procrastinating something awful), and checking out some favorite sites online.

And it's not like I didn't know what date today was: October 20th, right? It's not like I didn't know what date yesterday was: I was staring at the big October 19th on my lesson plan all day as I taught. But I managed to forget that last year on October 19th I saw this and wrote this.

Until suddenly I remembered. Who knows what shook that thought loose? But now it's all I can think of: how happy--ecstatic--I was this day last year, how exhilarated and content and certain I had found my happy ending.

Right now, I miss the lost hope and joy of those days as much as I miss the baby I thought we were going to have. Those weeks of happy hopefulness feel like a story I read or a movie I sat through--perhaps they happened to me, but I'm not convinced of it. I'm so sorry for that joyful girl, knowing that she will soon suffer so cruelly. I'm sorry for myself, that the intervening year has ground me down inside to sand, with nothing left to give but endurance.

I don't have that kind of hope any longer. The hope I have is objective and detached. My doctor says I'll get pregnant soon, so I choose to believe she's right. Statistically, I know that I'm likely to have another pregnancy, one day or other. Pragmatically, I know that this situation will resolve itself eventually. I won't always be waiting, however the waiting may end.

But speaking of hope emotionally, those butterflies of excitement and certainty and trust that This is the Time! and Now is the Day! are gone. I know that this month didn't work. My body is telling me so. Maybe my heart is, too.

And I'm sad as well that I have to know this. That I know what it was like to be pregnant and what it is like to not be pregnant and that I can tell the difference. Or if I can't tell the difference, then I'm sad that my self-protective pessimism was so often on-target it ceased to be protective and just became true.

The time I was pregnant passed so slowly and I lived through a lifetime's worth of emotional highs and lows in it. But in reality, it was brief--3 short weeks of knowing I was pregnant and then it was over. I expect those weeks will shock me with their quickness on this side of the continuum. Which is okay. Fast or short, they don't change anything.

These days, three weeks just gets me closer to flipping another calendar page and making a different month the focus of my "Maybe next time" mantras.

Okay, Except When I'm Not; or, 6dpiui

In my mind, I have already started the next cycle. I know I'm only 6 dpiui and I couldn't reasonably expect to have a clear sense one way or the other as to whether this worked or not, but sometimes you just know, right? I'm not sure how I would expect to feel if I were pregnant right now, but it's not like this. So I don't think I am.

And I would be okay with that--not thrilled, but okay, able to cling to Dr. Wonderful's confidence in our future chances and determination to get us to Destination Baby without any further delay--if not for...well, if not for any number of "not fors."

If not for the fact that I am leaving for a conference in Portland the day my period is due, meaning I have to decide whether to test the day before (in order to let my doctor know what's up before I leave) and see one of those BFNs I swore many, many, many months ago I would never let myself see again or wait and get the definitive proof that IUI #1 failed while alone and thousands of miles from home.

If not for the fact that I visited Clueless Preggo over the weekend, who is now Clueless Mommy, and sat there cuddling her sweet baby girl and wishing so heartily that things could be different.

If not for the fact that my best friend, Doctor Lady, is planning on starting to try for Baby #2, like, tomorrow, and I both want her to have an easy time of it and know I will resent her, just a little, for getting so quickly what has been such a struggle for us.

If not for the fact that Safely Married Friend--the one who insisted over and over that children were a long way off in her future--just took the infamous Last Big Trip with her husband and confided that they will start trying in January.

Is it so wrong that I want, desperately and with a jealous fervor that I thought I'd left behind in junior high, to get pregnant before ONE of my friends? To beat ONE person to the punch? To not be lapped by EVERYONE I know? To get to announce my own pregnancy to ONE person who won't be able to look at me with a been-there-done-that-got-the-nursing-bra-to-prove-it smile?

It is. It's stupid. It's meaningless, and I know that. I just hate watching the time slip away, whether measured in calendar months (2.5 left in 2010, that year I had such high hopes for) or in the size of my friend's bellies or in the numbers of children smiling from the Christmas cards that are due to start rolling in any day now.

Dr. Wonderful said these treatments will work, but we have to be a little patient. And I'm good with patience when it's just me in my house with my dog and Lawyer Guy, a stack of nineteenth-century novels to read and some trashy television to watch. But even after all these months (nearly twenty of them) of practice, I find patience in short supply when I step outside my door.

Survivial Techniques; or, 2dpiui

There have been a lot of ups and downs already and I'm only 2 dpiui, which does not bode well for my sanity during this two-week wait. The HCG trigger is still working it's way out of my body, and I've got the same kind of boob pain and a slighter version of the hunger pangs of my pregnancy. Strangely, that doesn't bother me. It's like meeting an old acquaintance and realizing they haven't changed. I know it means nothing about what's going on in my body and I take it for exactly what it's worth.

But my equanimous response to the shot does not mean that I'm handling everything with aplomb. Yesterday, I decided that there's no way the IUI worked because we weren't able to follow doctors' orders and have back-up sex later that night. I spent some time hanging out with Dr. Google (stupid stupid stupid) and learned that post-wash sperm only lives 6-12 hours, so if my ovulation was even a little off, we're screwed. And then I was in quite a funk for the rest of the day.

Truthfully, though, I never really thought it would work even from the beginning. When we made the decision to rush straight into an IUI during our testing cycle, it wasn't because I thought it would actually bring us a baby. It was to get one under our belt before our necessary break in December (and at the time I thought we would also have a November break, though I've changed my thinking on that recently).

There are so many reasons I don't think this worked, aside from my fears about poor timing: the need for self-preservation; my inability to feel hope about this subject; the fact that I got pregnant this time last year; the fact that I want it so much; the fact that everyone who reads my blog wants it for me. Yes, all your encouraging posts and crossed fingers and hopeful wishes are signs to me that this won't happen. That doesn't mean I don't appreciate them-- I really do. I suppose the mind-frame I'm in is capable of turning anything and everything into evidence of its foregone conclusions.

To survive these next weeks, Lawyer Guy and I have come up with a little game. We're going to give each other some kind of nice surprise every day until I get my period or pee on a stick. Yesterday, I vacuumed the rug when he got home, which he had been asking me to do for a while (yes, I'm a terrible housekeeper). He gave me an extra-long kiss (since the bakery a few blocks down was closed). I have to figure out what today's surprise will be. I'm thinking a red velvet twinkie from that same bakery.

I wish I could give myself temporary amnesia and forgot I'm even trying to get pregnant until my period shows. But I guess this will have to do.

Please comment and let me know how you survive a 2ww after treatment or when you're anticipating betas. I'm ready for any tips you can dish out!

On Pause; or, Once Again Waiting.

After last week's frenzy of appointments and decisions and activity, I feel again as though I'm suspended in liquid waiting to be allowed to move. The HSG appointment with NY.U is canceled, and we're waiting.

Waiting for me to get my period, so I can call Cor.nell and set up a different HSG appointment. Waiting for Lawyer Guy to return home from his business trip so he can call and schedule his semen analysis (he was making vague noises about getting it done "next week," which honestly is not what I want, but he's so anxious about it that I don't have the heart to push anything). Waiting to find out what our treatment options are and if we can try anything this upcoming cycle. Back to waiting, and I'm not any better at it than I was 18 months ago, despite the excellent practice I've now had.

I'm fat and broken out and lethargic and depressed and disgusting, so it's obvious my period is coming (set to arrive this upcoming weekend). I've accepted that and given up much hope of conceiving without assistance, though LG was deeply upset when I mentioned how crampy I was feeling over the weekend. He'd thought we might get out of all this at the last minute. No such luck.

Right now, I really just want to get started. I want to do something--anything!--that will improve our chances. I want to take a shot in the dark just for the satisfaction of no longer sitting on my ass praying the fertility gods will bless me.

I read the blogs of women undergoing treatment, and they often seem tired. Tired of the blood draws and the injections and the pills and the ultrasounds and the doctors' appointments and the failures. I'm sure I'll get to a point, too, where the charm of reproductive intervention ceases to be charming. But at this point, I'm so tired of doing nothing and leaving it all to fickle chance. I just want my shot. I want to feel like I've started something new.

Watch me eat this words about four months from now. But this is where I am today.

A Long Two Weeks To Go; or, No News Is Not Always Good News

I'm back from Shelter Island, a little battered and bruised emotionally. I can only say this: the timing this month wasn't good. Getting pregnant based on our recent "schedule" isn't impossible, of course, at least not according to TCOYF. But I'm a realist here. Yay! I Can't Believe It Happened Like This! bfps aren't in the cards for us. We had one month of excellently timed sex that led to a pregnancy. We've had months and months of excellently timed sex that led to a big fat nothing. And we've had months and months of not-so-well timed sex that yielded nothing as well.

I'm probably about 1 dpo and I already know I'm not pregnant. I can't tell you how much that hurts, to feel like we've given up before we've even begun. To feel hopeless right off the bat. I'm now positive that we will be going to our RE appointment next month. And I'm now worrying overtime about my sister's wedding next summer and whether to delay treatments because of it. I'm fretting. I'm crying. I'm grieving the baby-without-assistance that I don't think we'll get to make.

But Lawyer Guy and I are closer than ever right now, and we've had some amazing moments of communication in the last 24 hours. If we ever do get the baby that we want so much, that kid will so lucky to have two parents as unconditionally crazy about each other as they are about him or her.

Vow of Silence; or, No More Symptomology

I'm back to reality after a nice weekend away at my father-in-law and his wife's beach house. This is the first 4th of July we've spent out there--it was always claimed in the past by brother-in-law and sister-in-law before we had a chance to go. But now they don't want to travel while the new baby isn't sleeping through the night, so we get all the weekends. Ha ha! Suck on that, breeders!

I've struggled with blogging a bit this past week. I'm really tired of the blog devolving into SymptomWatch! during every two week wait. It just feeds my intense focus on my imaginary signs and my intense sadness when AF comes at the end of it. This month, I've taken a vow of silence: I will not post about any symptoms nor will I google any combination of "xdpo" and "tiredness"/"sore boobs"/ "excessive farting"/"scratchy throat"/"night terrors"/"thumbnail fungus" / etc.

Though, as a bone to those of you who have expressed interest or optimism for this cycle, I just want to put this out there: I don't think this is the month. I wish it were, and I'll obviously convince myself it is at some points in the next few days, and you can certainly never know until AF shows, but still. I'm thinking no.

'Sokay, though. I've got German homework to do. A Mets game to check out with Lawyer Guy tonight. A puppy to walk. The Bachelorette to watch. Vampire Weekend tickets to buy. Surely that's enough to sustain a blog for a week, right?

Two Roads; or, Confusing the 8 Ball

I'm living parallel lives right now.

One version of myself gets a BFP in two weeks. She is then very busy. She needs to schedule new appointments with her doctor. She needs to cancel her dentist appointment next month (because she refuses to tell her dentist about another pregnancy in the first trimester and have to be reminded of the loss every time she goes back). She needs to start researching OBs. She needs to figure out exactly when and how to tell her family and friends the good news. She needs to come up with all sorts of crafty ways to pretend to be drinking in the meantime. She needs to go to yoga and/or therapy four times a week to keep from jumping out of her skin with anxiety. She needs to figure out how to handle not teaching Spring semester. She needs to prep for her oral exams on the double to get them out of the way by February.

The other version of myself gets her period in two weeks. Right now, it seems like she'll be okay with that. Disappointed, certainly, but not shocked. She's got six months of CBEFM pee sticks all ready to go and a four month supply of red raspberry tea, but she does need to order more vitex. She'll tell herself that she won't ovulate until CD 21 at the earliest, but she'll hope to have another early o. She'll visit her doctor for her annual check-up and schedule some fertility testing. She'll bring both kinds of peesticks on her trip to Scandinavia, just to cover all bases. She'll be one month closer to seeing an RE.

The Online Magic 8 Ball tells me I will "Definitely!" get a BFP this cycle. It also thinks I will "Definitely!" get my period. The Online Magic 8 Ball is confused.

Join the club, pal.

Flunking out of Statistics Class; or, Signs Are Unclear

I'm no scientist, but even I know a data set of one is hardly the most reliable indicator of trends. But we work with what we've got, and I've got one: one pregnancy; one successful two week wait; one list of symptoms.

I assume that my next pregnancy--whenever and however it is--will resemble my last. I assume it will resemble that two week wait more than the 9+ others that didn't lead to an embryo in my ute. And thankfully (or more likely, unfortunately), I kept relatively detailed notes of my symptoms during successful cycle 7, notes against which I now compare every twinge and cramp and stomach burble in every subsequent two week wait.

"Let's see, I'm 6 dpo and feeling hungry but have no backache. And on 11 dpo my boobs are tender, but only on the sides and the cramps are dull and higher in my ute and my skin is oily. Let's turn to the symptoms bible and see how it compares."

Of course, the biggest mind fuck of it all is that I felt like my period was coming for much of that 2ww, too. And while my notes were frequent, they were also a little vague. I didn't give the intermittent cramps a ranking on the 1-10 pain scale. I didn't specifically note where in my abdomen they were located or perfectly time their frequency. I didn't jot down exactly how tender my boobs were, or which part of them was most sensitive. And seven months later, I somehow can't quite remember how I felt during that last week.

Clearly, these results would not fly in any scientific journal of repute, but that won't stop me from performing my calculations. I'm 9 dpo or so right now and things are not stacking up great. Rereading my posts from October, I see that I felt very much like my period was coming at this point (as I do now), so that's a wash. My boobs are a bit more tender than usual, but they're most tender on the sides (pre-period) rather than in the center or near the nipple (pregnancy). My boobs are also huge, as when I was pregnant. But the huge pregnancy boobs came after I took the test--my notes show that prior to that they were actually a little on the smaller side. I have one tiny baby zit near my right temple and my skin feels a bit oily, which is all very period and so much pregnancy.

Okay, I got that out of the way, and I promise I won't subject you to this sort of ridiculousness again. The only thing worse than running through these mental contortions is reading someone else's. Both lead to extreme grumpiness, which I am definitely feeling these days.

Not helping with my grumpiness: the skinny jeans arrived. Murphy apparently has it in for me. I couldn't even zip them up. Either AC.NE sizes their jeans way smaller than all the other brands I wear or I am having some outrageously intense period bloat. The third option--that I've gone up a size thanks to frequent "I'm not pregnant so I deserve this ice-cream/cake/jumbo bag of potato chips" binges--is not something I can consider right now. If the last 16 months have made me both fat and barren, the universe is going to get a crotch kick like it wouldn't believe.