In general, I think it would be great if more people were more open about infertility. Awareness would certainly go a long way to dispelling the mythology surrounding early losses or the inability to conceive. I wholeheartedly support and admire those who are able to be completely open and up-front about your lives. And yet...
Family prejudices are different. Some of my family is religious enough to believe that there is a Reason for everything. The rest of my family is so stoic that they just think you should take what you get and be happy that it isn't worse. The Irish side of the family is bolstered in their beliefs by one of those stories that is rare but true, and they have taken it to illustrate their point of view about family planning.
My cousin married a lovely woman and had four perfectly adorable children. After the fourth was born, he and his wife consulted with their priest and all agreed that a vasectomy would be acceptable under the circumstances. He had the procedure done, it went well and that was that. Except - he never bothered to go back for his follow-up appointment. It was almost two years later that his wife went to the doctor complaining of exhaustion and nausea. The fifth child is a miracle, of course, and a lesson to us all not to presume to know what is best for us.
The fact that my cousin then went back to the urologist, made absolutely sure that there wouldn't be any more "miracles" and hasn't had any more children isn't really a part of the story. The story only serves one purpose, and it has nothing to do with following your doctor's orders to come back in six weeks for a post-op visit. Over the years, I have heard many quiet stories of miscarriages, lost twins, and barren aunts. There are also plenty of hurried weddings and very young brides. Managing fertility is not considered a task for mere mortals to concern themselves with.
The thing is, I love these people. They are the dears of my heart. But the only way for us to all happily get along is to keep certain topics completely off limits. So, they probably think that the reason I have never had another child is because I waited too long to have the first one (silly me, with that grad school nonsense) or maybe just because I am some heathen infidel who doesn't deserve to get what I want. Either way, if they knew I was trying IVF and then it failed, it would be forever just a poor sad example of the fact that everything happens for a Reason, and why can't I learn to accept that. My cousin and I would be flip sides of the same story.
The rest of my family isn't especially religious at all, but my mother has said, on several occasions, that my cousins are ridiculous in mourning their early miscarriages - that all women experience those and it certainly doesn't deserve to be treated as a cause of grief. Needless to say, I have never spoken to my mother of either my early losses. I had pursued the issue with her when she told me about a cousin's recent second miscarriage, but the contempt and dismissiveness that she used in describing the exaggeration of my cousin's reaction was enough to clinch my silence on the matter.
Reading other blogs has made this journey so much easier than it would have been if I had always felt as alone in this as I did a few years ago. So, I will share my story on the off chance that it helps someone else. And maybe someday I'll feel brave enough to put a real photo in my profile.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Tag!
Yes, it's true - Shelby has tagged me and now I must describe seven wacky things about myself. I figured this would be easy, since I am generally a bit of an oddball... but narrowing it down turns out to be the hard part.
..............
1. I have a rather large wardrobe of hats. Being a pale frecklish redhead in sunny LA, I don't go anywhere without a hat and sunglasses. I like plain canvas bucket hats or tightly woven straw ones. Absolutley no floppy flowers, no peacock feathers, no grosgrain concoctions.
2. I am one of those people who writes to their congressperson. Not sure if it makes much difference, but I like to think it might occasionally have an effect.
3. Even the thought of pumpkin pie makes me sickish.
4. I have desperate cravings for Pellegrino Limonata. I love the tart fizziness.
5. I almost never remember my dreams. I also never remember to keep a notebook by my bed so I can write down a dream in case I do happen to wake up vaguely remembering one.
6. I don't like products that have a smell. I don't want a scented lotion, scented conditioner, scented soap, scented dryer sheet, scented hair spritz - unless somebody is going to take a very intimate sniffing tour of my various regions, it is just going to be an herbal flowery stew of various marketing ploys. I do use lemon-verbena fabric softener, but it sort of just smells clean.
7. My belly button is such an inny that I can't see the 'bottom' of it.
..............
I'll have to tag some others later, since I haven't read far enough back in any blogs to see who has already done this one. But I promise to do it soon! Meanwhile, I am working on an explanation for my need for anonymity, and a fertility story that has become an instant legend for the rest of my family...
ETA - I hereby tag Claudia, whose blog gave me hope when I really, really needed it.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
The Giant Bag
I had my calendar review yesterday and picked up my giant bag of supplies today. It feels like things are getting underway.
This giant bag had so much more in it than I am used to getting. This time I am following an aggressive protocol that requires lots of follistim with ganerelix to thwart ovulation. I do start with just a bit of lupron, and then there are a lot of subtle adjustments along the way, including some menopur as the cycle continues. I will also be taking a steroid, an antibiotic and an E2 suppository. Basically, you could put all this into a man and he would probably cough up some decent follicles.
I am still doing really well as far as maintaining my faux-blase (hmm, two French words in a row - I am practically bilingual, non?) attitude about the outcome. This is merely a scientific experiment, I tell you. Success is a possibility to be considered at a later time.
But the thing is, I know how much that's going to change. Those hormones have a devastating emotional effect on me. I become so desperate with hope that I can barely make it through a day without collapsing into my own sense of doom. I have read my journals from the times of other cycles, and it's like reading the diary of an insane person. It's not depression so much as hope, a hope that rises up because you are flooded with the very chemicals of hope.
I know that what's in that giant bag can change my life, can give me what I have wanted for seven years. But it will also crumble the buffers I've created to protect myself from seven years of disappointment and sorrow. I can tell myself that I am smart enough to know that my chances are slim, that being aware and being prepared will protect me from being disappointed. But I know it doesn't work that way.
This giant bag had so much more in it than I am used to getting. This time I am following an aggressive protocol that requires lots of follistim with ganerelix to thwart ovulation. I do start with just a bit of lupron, and then there are a lot of subtle adjustments along the way, including some menopur as the cycle continues. I will also be taking a steroid, an antibiotic and an E2 suppository. Basically, you could put all this into a man and he would probably cough up some decent follicles.
I am still doing really well as far as maintaining my faux-blase (hmm, two French words in a row - I am practically bilingual, non?) attitude about the outcome. This is merely a scientific experiment, I tell you. Success is a possibility to be considered at a later time.
But the thing is, I know how much that's going to change. Those hormones have a devastating emotional effect on me. I become so desperate with hope that I can barely make it through a day without collapsing into my own sense of doom. I have read my journals from the times of other cycles, and it's like reading the diary of an insane person. It's not depression so much as hope, a hope that rises up because you are flooded with the very chemicals of hope.
I know that what's in that giant bag can change my life, can give me what I have wanted for seven years. But it will also crumble the buffers I've created to protect myself from seven years of disappointment and sorrow. I can tell myself that I am smart enough to know that my chances are slim, that being aware and being prepared will protect me from being disappointed. But I know it doesn't work that way.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Whiling Away
Tomorrow I have a one-hour call scheduled with the clinical coordinator to discuss my plan. I got all my calendar and lab work information, so I'm sure we'll go over that - but there must be more to it. At my old RE's office I was lucky if they could even find my chart, so I'm not used to this level of attention. Of course, if things had worked out at the old office, I wouldn't have cared a bit about their disorganization.
The differences between the offices are striking for two reasons: personalities and success rates. As a first-time IVFer, I chose an RE with whom I felt a personal, intellectual connection. We had both gone to school "back east", liked similar cultural activities and had traveled to many of the same places. We had oodles to talk about and I would have loved to meet her at a cocktail party.
I think she was generally very knowledgeable, but as an "unexplained" infertile, things were murky from the start. I did get pregnant with my very first medicated cycle, on something like a half dose of the smallest stim usually used. That probably complicated all my further treatment there, because after I miscarried - actually, it was technically a "missed miscarriage", meaning that although the heartbeat slowed and then disappeared after several weeks - my body never got on with the unpleasant business of expulsion. After a D&C, she said she had every reason to believe that it was just a matter of time before I was pregnant again. Pathology had shown a trisomy 17, which is not inherited, so she upped my stim dose and sent me on my way to try again. We muddled our way through a few more cycles and then moved on to IUI. The same thing (more or less) happened again, and we then we fumbled through two IVF cycles and somehow two years had passed.
If that was the boutique fertility clinic, this new place is the major department store. The new RE seems like a perfectly nice guy. If I sat next to him at a dinner party it would probably be fine. Maybe not scintillatingly memorable, but certainly not awful in any way. The thing is, I don't care any more. He seems dedicated, research-oriented and willing to discuss all concerns and options. The clinic has one of the best labs in the country and a thoroughness that tries to account for every possible reason that might thwart success. Of course, that's no guarantee, but it's better than wondering if maybe, if only, if possibly...
I wish I had known enough three years ago to just start here. I may never have another baby, and I'm trying really hard to maintain some kind of objective reality about that, but at this point, it's just nice to think that my chart probably won't be lost this time.
The differences between the offices are striking for two reasons: personalities and success rates. As a first-time IVFer, I chose an RE with whom I felt a personal, intellectual connection. We had both gone to school "back east", liked similar cultural activities and had traveled to many of the same places. We had oodles to talk about and I would have loved to meet her at a cocktail party.
I think she was generally very knowledgeable, but as an "unexplained" infertile, things were murky from the start. I did get pregnant with my very first medicated cycle, on something like a half dose of the smallest stim usually used. That probably complicated all my further treatment there, because after I miscarried - actually, it was technically a "missed miscarriage", meaning that although the heartbeat slowed and then disappeared after several weeks - my body never got on with the unpleasant business of expulsion. After a D&C, she said she had every reason to believe that it was just a matter of time before I was pregnant again. Pathology had shown a trisomy 17, which is not inherited, so she upped my stim dose and sent me on my way to try again. We muddled our way through a few more cycles and then moved on to IUI. The same thing (more or less) happened again, and we then we fumbled through two IVF cycles and somehow two years had passed.
If that was the boutique fertility clinic, this new place is the major department store. The new RE seems like a perfectly nice guy. If I sat next to him at a dinner party it would probably be fine. Maybe not scintillatingly memorable, but certainly not awful in any way. The thing is, I don't care any more. He seems dedicated, research-oriented and willing to discuss all concerns and options. The clinic has one of the best labs in the country and a thoroughness that tries to account for every possible reason that might thwart success. Of course, that's no guarantee, but it's better than wondering if maybe, if only, if possibly...
I wish I had known enough three years ago to just start here. I may never have another baby, and I'm trying really hard to maintain some kind of objective reality about that, but at this point, it's just nice to think that my chart probably won't be lost this time.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Smoosh!
I am stuck in the Doldrums of this cycle, the ongoing nothingness of waiting. Sure, I'm trying to maximize everything by taking the appropriate supplements, going to extra yoga classes, trying to get lots of sleep. My to-do list is full of cycle-related things, but they are usually the same every day - vitamin, wheatgrass, exercise.
I did finally get my first mammogram. I've heard that "it's not so bad" compared to the mammograms of the past, but I didn't really know what to expect. I went to a semi-fancy outpatient imaging center instead of a hospital, which automatically made things better since it didn't smell like pee and antiseptic. It was more like a spa, with orchids in the dressing room.
The mammography room itself was very clinical. The machine has an adjustable platform with a motorized control - like a dentist's chair- that the technician positions just at boob level. Then a top plate - also dentisty- comes down and very gently flattens you into a nice boob paillard. It only takes a second and the tech releases the plate from her station the instant the imaging is over, so you don't even have to wait for her to come back and let you out of the contraption. After doing each side in a sort of flattened out birds-eye-view, the tech adjusts the platform to a 45 degree angle and gets a diagonal view, too. That one squishes the chest muscle, squeezing the armpit-adjacent area. But again, it's quick and the release from the remote station should be given some kind of engineering award.
Since it was digital, the technician let me see each image as soon as it came up on screen. Of course, I'm not an expert, but there weren't any areas that looked particularly different from the rest of the image, which I figure is a good thing. The tech actually said that the doctor would send me an all-clear report in a few days, which surprised me since techs usually maintain completely inscrutable attitudes and defer all questions to the doctor. I figure it's pretty safe to assume that all is well, and relief to know that at least my boobs aren't malfunctioning.
Now I can go back to cajoling my other womanly parts into forced compliance.
I did finally get my first mammogram. I've heard that "it's not so bad" compared to the mammograms of the past, but I didn't really know what to expect. I went to a semi-fancy outpatient imaging center instead of a hospital, which automatically made things better since it didn't smell like pee and antiseptic. It was more like a spa, with orchids in the dressing room.
The mammography room itself was very clinical. The machine has an adjustable platform with a motorized control - like a dentist's chair- that the technician positions just at boob level. Then a top plate - also dentisty- comes down and very gently flattens you into a nice boob paillard. It only takes a second and the tech releases the plate from her station the instant the imaging is over, so you don't even have to wait for her to come back and let you out of the contraption. After doing each side in a sort of flattened out birds-eye-view, the tech adjusts the platform to a 45 degree angle and gets a diagonal view, too. That one squishes the chest muscle, squeezing the armpit-adjacent area. But again, it's quick and the release from the remote station should be given some kind of engineering award.
Since it was digital, the technician let me see each image as soon as it came up on screen. Of course, I'm not an expert, but there weren't any areas that looked particularly different from the rest of the image, which I figure is a good thing. The tech actually said that the doctor would send me an all-clear report in a few days, which surprised me since techs usually maintain completely inscrutable attitudes and defer all questions to the doctor. I figure it's pretty safe to assume that all is well, and relief to know that at least my boobs aren't malfunctioning.
Now I can go back to cajoling my other womanly parts into forced compliance.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Stagnant & Chaotic
I am officially grumpy after a week on the pill. Grumpy and nauseous, a winning combination. I know the only thing to do is just try not to think about it, but my stomach is practically twisting itself into a nifty balloon animal - not so easy to ignore.
This month is, predictably, going very slowly. The excitement - Needles! Follicles! Fentanyl! - won't really kick in for a while. And my natural cycle coincided with the October cycle at my clinic in such a way that I have almost four weeks of this holding pattern. So, I'm doing what I can to make the most of this time, and that includes a visit with a new acupuncturist.
My former acupuncturist moved last year, and I haven't managed to bother finding a new one. It just hadn't ever really made much of a difference. Nice to relax in the middle of the day, but I never felt it was much of a remedy for anything. But I have read so much about acupuncture and fertility, and this is my go-for-broke cycle, that I figured I'd find someone who really specialized in IVF treatment support, and see what happens.
This practitioner will work directly with the RE to optimize the cycle. She did find the same general problems that my last practitioner found - apparently my liver channel is stagnant and chaotic. Seems contradictory, but here's the thing: when she put the needles in for those areas, I felt a sizzle zip through my body - I can't deny she was onto something. I have had acupuncture for pain after a car accident, for allergies, and for migraines - but I have never felt partially carbonated before.
She also told me that migraines and infertility are significant in Chinese medicine. My migraines are few and far between, but I do get partial loss of vision and severe nausea and vomiting. In some ways, it would be easier to explain my infertility in terms of blocked chi . I've always been "unexplained", and as the years went by "advanced maternal age". The idea that my stagnant liver is the problem - that stagnant liver can be fixed, more to the point - sounds just dandy to me.
Other than acupuncture, I am trying wheat-grass juice, restorative yoga, and Cheyzn - a zinc-iron-copper supplement that I get from my chiropractor. Kinda moonbeamy, right? But, after all, I am doing high-tech IVF with all the synthetic femininity modern science has been able to concoct. I figure if a shot-glass of oozy green sludge might help, why not?
This month is, predictably, going very slowly. The excitement - Needles! Follicles! Fentanyl! - won't really kick in for a while. And my natural cycle coincided with the October cycle at my clinic in such a way that I have almost four weeks of this holding pattern. So, I'm doing what I can to make the most of this time, and that includes a visit with a new acupuncturist.
My former acupuncturist moved last year, and I haven't managed to bother finding a new one. It just hadn't ever really made much of a difference. Nice to relax in the middle of the day, but I never felt it was much of a remedy for anything. But I have read so much about acupuncture and fertility, and this is my go-for-broke cycle, that I figured I'd find someone who really specialized in IVF treatment support, and see what happens.
This practitioner will work directly with the RE to optimize the cycle. She did find the same general problems that my last practitioner found - apparently my liver channel is stagnant and chaotic. Seems contradictory, but here's the thing: when she put the needles in for those areas, I felt a sizzle zip through my body - I can't deny she was onto something. I have had acupuncture for pain after a car accident, for allergies, and for migraines - but I have never felt partially carbonated before.
She also told me that migraines and infertility are significant in Chinese medicine. My migraines are few and far between, but I do get partial loss of vision and severe nausea and vomiting. In some ways, it would be easier to explain my infertility in terms of blocked chi . I've always been "unexplained", and as the years went by "advanced maternal age". The idea that my stagnant liver is the problem - that stagnant liver can be fixed, more to the point - sounds just dandy to me.
Other than acupuncture, I am trying wheat-grass juice, restorative yoga, and Cheyzn - a zinc-iron-copper supplement that I get from my chiropractor. Kinda moonbeamy, right? But, after all, I am doing high-tech IVF with all the synthetic femininity modern science has been able to concoct. I figure if a shot-glass of oozy green sludge might help, why not?
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
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