Hooked

Thanks to Nikki for the lovely compliment of this award! It is especially pertinent to me because of the tiny houses in the picture - since I am a landscape architect, I am more or less always thinking about houses (unless I am thinking about getting pregnant...)

In the tradition of passing it on to two more blogs, I can only say that I am not somebody who reads a jillion blogs - I really love all the ones that I keep in my reader. But there is a special place in my heart for the stories of my fellow 40 +ers, so I will pass this on to Sky and Egged. Along with my continued best wishes, of course.

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Anyway, today I started allowing myself to think I might actually be pregnant. Just briefly. I am not ordering any crib sheets for a long while, but I may buy another pair of stretchy pants this weekend.

Other than that, I haven't really thought about anything like when to tell and what to worry about. For me, the heartbeat has been such the focus of my anxiety that anything past that is uncharted territory. I guess I should concentrate on the normal things like eating well and getting some kind of exercise, but it seems so odd to stop worrying about death and start thinking about calcium deficiency.

Alive and Well

By which I mean myself, and one little embryo.

We saw a good heartbeat, about 149 bpm. The little blob is one centimeter long, which is exactly on target for 7w2d. I am so relieved I don't even know what else to write. I'm sure I'll have nine hundred other things to add to this later (when I'm not at work, for example), but for now I will just say that I am extremely relieved and full of gratitude and hope.

Wimp

It wasn't so much the actual stabbing or any kind of fear of needles or even the welts and bruises. But when I began waking up so many times every night in pain - whenever I rolled over, or my husband flopped his arm against me - I decided I just couldn't take it any more.

So, against my superstitious better judgment, I am switching from the PIO to progesterone suppository. I know there is a sort of hard-core IVF badge-of-honor tradition to the agony of the PIO injections. And sure, I get that after all it takes to even make it to this point, I should be willing to do whatever I have to in order to support a positive outcome. But waking up whimpering in pain six nights in a row has done me in.

It really wasn't so bad at first. Even though that needle is long, you don't feel anything past the surface nerves anyway. It's the swelling - and possibly a mild allergic reaction - that was my undoing. I could massage with a hot washcloth until I was sure there were no lumps of oil coagulating in my muscle, but there wasn't much to be done about the general swelling. I rotated sides, of course, and used different spots each time. But after a few weeks there just isn't any undamaged tissue left to puncture. The last few days I have had large pink spots on each hip, swollen tissue that is so sensitive that I have to wear soft elastic-waist pants and pretend I am just on my way to a yoga class all the time.

I know the suppositories have a bad rap - they leak, they itch, they ruin your panties. They can cause irritation that can lead to bleeding - and, thus, panic - and progesterone levels can't be reliably measured with a blood test since the effect is so localized. I was hoping to talk to my doctor about Claudia's secret sub-Q progesterone alternative, but since my appointment was canceled I decided I just couldn't go another week without a switch.

I've read a lot of studies that show no difference at all between intramuscular and intravaginal progesterone. Then there are studies showing that one is better, and studies proving that the other is better. There are even studies suggesting that no supplementation at all (past a positive beta) is just dandy. It's ultimately impossible to make the right decision based on all this vague information. Even though I used to be paranoid about changing anything or doing anything that might possibly cause some kind of disaster, I've been worn down by exhaustion and worry and the business of trying to stave off hope. So, I don't know. But I'm damn glad that I'm not icing my ass while I type this.

Waaaahh!

My ultrasound got rescheduled. Now I am feeling very bah-humbuggy about this holiday thing, and the fact that my doctor actually seems to want some time off. Hmph! And because of my own guests and then some big client meetings that can't be moved around, I will have to wait another week. Just when I thought I was almost kinda maybe going to make it until the 26th!

I know I should just be happy that so far things at least haven't taken any dramatic turn for the worse. But it also seems that, for all of us, reaching whatever milestone was the one that wasn't reached before is so emotionally fraught. A first-heartbeat ultrasound is still so early in the game, it doesn't guarantee anything, really. But my last two pregnancies more or less ended on that murky screen, so this is especially nerve-wracking for me. I'm sure that, if all goes well at this stage, I would go on to panic over the nuchal-fold test, the "big" ultrasound, reaching viability... none of us can take any of those things for granted after everything we know. But this has been my particular obstacle, and the anxiety is making me crazy.

It should be a good sign that I haven't had any cramping or bleeding, but I have never miscarried so obviously. Mine have been "missed miscarriages". Weeks without a heartbeat, and nothing ever happened. I had the D&Cs because it was just too hard to wait any more, just impossible to think about anything else at the time. When we decided to have the pathology work done it did show a chromosomal defect, and I am grateful to have that information. Some kind of explanation is better than just not knowing.

Anyway, in a convincing feat of pollyannaism, the nurse did tell me that at 7w2d the scan would be more definitive - before 7 weeks it might not be possible to see the heartbeat as easily. So, there's that - a more conclusive result. As long as the result is going strong, a tiny flicker in a grainy image.

Meanwhile

Time is so not flying that I can't believe this is only Wednesday. What happened to those crazy days that run together in a blur? I thought the only reason we all know what "tempus fugit" means is that it's been so true for so long. But - at least for me - tempus dragit is more like it (how's that for five years of Latin?) and I feel as though I will rot and mold before next week even manages to show up.

I have absolutely no symptoms, except for the sore PIO boob effect. No nausea, no dizziness. I am still bloaty and blob-waisted, and I've been exhausted by mid-afternoon for the last few days... I want so badly to take those as actual signs of continued well-being, but I definitely had those problems before my last miscarriage.

I was recently at an appointment with an educational psychologist (to discuss my daughter's ongoing misery at the idea of going to school) and she asked me if I was going to have any more children. I was so unprepared for that question at the time that I'm sure whatever I managed to say had all kinds of odd implications. I think I said something like "Well, you never know...", but honestly I can't remember.

People used to ask me that all the time, back when my daughter was still really young. Now that she's ten I guess it seems obvious that we either can't or don't want to have any others. These days I'm more likely to get comments about the hazards of raising an only child. Which is even worse than the baby questions, because someone may not know that we have infertility issues, but it's certainly clear that we can't go back in time and create siblings.

So, another week will crawl by. I know that the bottom line is that there is no way to second guess any of this. It is what it is. I just hope that it is what I want it to be, too.

Thanksgiving

Eleven days until the first ultrasound. That seems like forever, but I do have a trick for making the time go by more quickly: houseguests.

My dad and ... his wife? My stepmother? Mrs. W? I never really know what to call her. I usually just use her first name, but when referring to her I get flummoxed. They got married after I was out of college, so she never had much of a mother role in my life. But I really, really like her, so it isn't that I don't want to use any variation of the "mother" word to describe her. In fact, I have a much better relationship with her than I do with my real mother. Anyway, they are coming for the long weekend.

We are not groovy enough to abandon all tradition and just make a great dinner. We'll be having turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, brussels sprouts, some kind of potatoes, some kind of other vegetable, and some kind of pie. My husband will smoke the turkey all day, after it has soaked overnight in a cider and spice brine. I'll probably make a few different kinds of potatoes in the next week to test possible options (which is silly, since we will inevitably go back to the mashed potatoes anyway). Plus, I'll have to try out something that will result in gravy since the smoking method doesn't make pan drippings. And there's always the sweet potato conundrum - if you already have potatoes, are they really necessary?

So, I can keep busy for the next eleven days. I have to finish a project at work which involves a mini-waterpark as part of an over-the-top backyard pool renovation. The research alone should occupy me for at least a few days, and the drawings will probably take forever, so it's possible that the 26th will just creep up on me and I won't notice the time going by at all. Right?

159

Doubling time of 1.54 days.

Which could mean all kinds of things, given a x3 transfer. There could be one overachiever going strong or some combination of success and failure amongst the three. I'm just crossing my fingers for the one really good one, and since I won't have any more beta testing before the first ultrasound, there's not much else to do but sit tight and hope for the best.

The last time I was officially pregnant, the time that ended in a pathology report of trisomy 17, I couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. I felt really ambivalent about being pregnant, and I questioned everything about my decision to go through so much to have a child and then feel so lackluster about the pregnancy. Of course, I realize now that it was just a defense mechanism, that I was probably willing myself to be detached from the experience just to keep myself from completely falling apart if it didn't work out. And it didn't work out, and I fell apart anyway.

I feel much more able to accept whatever comes now. I'm not sure what the difference is - but I know that having read the stories of so many women in the IF blog world, I don't feel so alone and ashamed and unsure. It has been really meaningful to know that there are amazing women out there who are facing the same obstacles that I am - and just the fact that they can so beautifully express and clearly reflect the experiences of infertility has made me stronger and more resilient to the insecurities of the process. Thank you for sharing this with me and giving me what I never had before - a sense of understanding in the midst of what seems mostly unfair and unlikely and desperate and embarrassing.

I have managed to make at least one egg that fertilized to the point that it could implant, and it's hung on long enough to make satisfactory lab test results. That may not mean anything in the long run, but for now there isn't really any more I can do one way or the other. I'll go to acupuncture, take my vitamins, no coffee, etc. - but other than that, the die is cast. From now until the 26th (first u/s appt.) I'll try to just appreciate the fact that things have progressed to this point, to be happy for what might be.