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.

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.

Outward Bound; or, Thank God for 24-Hour Pharmacies

In January, right before Lawyer Guy and I left for our cruise I came down with a yeast infection. (I have since learned that this is incredibly common right before the first AF after a natural miscarriage or d&c.) Tomorrow we fly across the sea to Scandinavia. And guess what? A huge glob of something thick, creamy, and white literally fell out of me into the toilet last night! Now, I have no itching or irritation yet, but I didn't have that at first last time either. Thankfully, my doctor was able to call in the prescription to my pharmacy today, so I at least don't have to worry about running through the aisles of a drugstore in a country where I don't speak the language and mistaking hemroid cream for monistat.

When this happened in January, I immediately began googling "yeast infection early pregnancy" etc. etc. ad nauseum. And of course, yeast infections are a sign of early pregnancy! Wanna know what else they're signs of? You guessed it, PMS! And sometimes a yeast infection's just a yeast infection.

As long as mine goes away before I set foot in Copenhagen, I'll be okay with it. I'll admit I'm tempted, but I'm not going to google and I'm not going to speculate. This month more than ever, it's just a waste of energy. Thank goodness I get to spend the entirety of the 1ww in Europe, exploring and drinking and eating and sightseeing and (I desperately hope!) not having any time to over analyze each cramp/twinge/itch. I don't need to bring peesticks of any variety. I don't need to bring stack of pads and tampons. I'm going to treat this as a real vacation--from everything.

And on that note, I'm off! I'm not going to check in with you lovelies while I'm away, because I really want this time to decompress and forget as much as possible about TTC. But I will certainly catch up when I get home in 8 days.

Don't miss me too much! I know it will be hard to get by without knowing every detail of my yeasty discharge, but you'll just have to try.

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.

Sloper Sings the Blues; or, 10 DPO

I'm sad today. Not super-duper, cry-into-my-pillow, refuse-to-get-dressed-all-day sad. More gaze-wistfully-out-the-window-while-heaving-large-sighs sad.

The summer is slipping away and I feel like I've accomplished nothing. Everyone's moving forward--mothering their babies, nurturing their pregnancies, deciding to start their families--and I'm here on this treadmill I mistook for a sidewalk, seeing them pass me by. Failing at reproduction. Failing at academia. Failing.

In three months it will be the anniversary of when we conceived the m&m. And in four months, the anniversary of the miscarriage. That sounds so soon, doesn't it? Three months pass so quickly.

I can tell my period is coming. Which is crappy, though I've gotten okay at muddling through that dissatisfaction. But Lawyer Guy's taking it really hard this month, and that hurts more than I ever imagined. We had a fight the other night and I apologized for being a crank, blaming it on my PMS. He cried, which sliced my heart into ribbons. "You hadn't said anything lately about your period so I thought it meant you were pregnant," he said. "I really thought this was our month."

Why am I still here? I remember last July so clearly: taking off for London, convinced we'd conceive our first child in the UK. Beginning to blog with a little embarrassment, positive that I'd have to shut it down after a few entries because of course I'd get pregnant right after I started writing. Explaining to my friends all about basal body thermometers and Taking Charge of Your Fertility (friends who have since gone on to conceive without plotting a single temperature on a single graph). Drinking beer at outdoor bars, determined to take advantage of my last summer without kids. Trying to stay optimistic by assuring myself that This time next year... What? I'd have a kid? I'd at least be pregnant? Starting treatments? Doing something--anything--different than the previous five months?

Still, it's no big deal. I know these feelings will pass. Just another case of the blues.

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.

I Swore I Wouldn't Do This; or, Letter to My Future Self

Dear Secret Sloper,

Hi, girl. Sorry you're not pregnant yet. It sucks.

We'd both agree I know you pretty well, right? We've been hanging out for almost 30 years now (maybe even over 30 years, depending on when you're reading this). And in that time, I've learned some things about you. You can't leave the house without forgetting your wallet, keys, or phone. Every time you swear you have a fever your temperature is a solid 97.8 (you never get sick). And without fail you forget what pms feels like every. single. month.

I even know what you're doing right now. You're probably 9, 10, 11 dpo and you're thinking, "Maybe this is it! Maybe this is the month!" And you're checking the didn't-know-I-was-pregnant-yet posts from October and feeling like maybe kinda that's sorta what you're feeling. So this is a public service announcement, from me to you:

YOU ARE NOT PREGNANT!

I know, you've got cramps. THAT IS PMS!

And they sort of come and go and are really low in your pubic bone and your cervix sometimes cramps a little too. THAT IS ALSO PMS!

And okay, you're skin is relatively clear. But it's oily. YOU HAVE PMS.

And man, you're really hungry. You just ate two pieces of cheesecake. SO WHAT!? P.M.S.

And you're bloated. OKAY, THAT'S DEFINITELY PMS

And your boobs sort of hurt in the middle and not so much on the sides like usual and when you pinch the nipples or lie on them in this certain-- JUST STOP! YOUR BOOBS HURT BECAUSE YOU ARE POKING THEM NONSTOP. AND ALSO BECAUSE OF PMS.

And you've got this twingy, comes-and-goes backache just like your BFP month. AND ALSO JUST LIKE YOUR POST-M/C CYCLE. IT'S CALLED PMS!

Did I get them all? Just in case, I'll throw a few more out there: Did you have an "implantation dip"? Is your nose kind of dry? Are you taking a lot of midday naps? Do you cry at bizarre and unaccountable things, like Candide's "Glitter and Be Gay" ("I just *sob* love that song!") or The Daily Show ("Jon Stewart really *sob* loves his family").

ALL OF THIS IS PMS.

Let me make myself perfectly plain: YOU ARE NOT PREGNANT!

It's tough to hear, I know. But let's try to take that long road back to sanity together.

Yours Always,
Me