Stop Hounding Me!

Moving!

Typepad has had way too much down time lately, so I've decided to make the move to wordpress.  I couldn't get the same name, but you can continue to follow me at:

http://houndmamas.wordpress.com/

I'm still working on the new blog, but so far everything seems to have moved over pretty seamlessly.

3 DPIUI

On Saturday night, my 20-something cousin fell from the 3^rd story of a parking structure at Universal Studios onto concrete.  Amazingly, she survived, but she has a long road ahead of her.  She’s already had surgery twice, with another scheduled for Thursday and more in the future. 

I’m not the praying type, but if you have some good thoughts to spare, she could sure use them.

Meanwhile, the days continue to trickle by.  Today is my third day of progesterone, and I’m trying not to slip into the same progesterone fog as last cycle.  I have way too much on my plate right now to add hormonal insanity to the mix. 

I’ve been trying my hardest to avoid gluten this cycle because I’ve read that gluten and PCOS do not play nicely together.  I totally spaced about it over the weekend and had some pita bread with lunch on Friday and Saturday, and yesterday I caved and had half of a breadstick at dinner.  I’m feeling incredibly guilty about all of it—like if this cycle fails, it will be the fault of that damn breadstick.  It’s ridiculous, because in my heart I know that if gluten was truly going to hinder our attempts at pregnancy, my RE would have given us that warning along with wit her requests that I avoid hot tubs and running.

Distraction has been my best friend, lately.  We started watching Orange is the New Black last weekend, and we’re both hooked.  We only have two episodes left, and I’m going to be totally sad when we’re done—although the new season starts on June 6^th, and we might end up re-starting our Netflix membership JUST for this ridiculous show. We’ll see.

I’m ashamed to admit that my other best distraction at the moment is video bingo on my iPad.  Really.  Because I am a 75 year old woman trapped in the body of a 32 year old.

Please let this work.

Here is Why I’m a Nervous Wreck (1 DPIUI)

Our IUIs on Friday afternoon and Saturday morning were uneventful enough.  Although I suppose it’s spectacularly crazy to describe having 47 million sperm shoved through your cervix as uneventful.  I should say instead that it was without complication.

Our thawed sperm count on Saturday morning was 34 million, which is the highest we’ve seen so far.  Our previous samples have been in the range of 14-18 million (Friday was 17), so Saturday pretty much blew them all out of the water.  

 

As Catch and I were sitting at breakfast on Saturday after the procedure, I mentioned that it’s totally surreal to think that there are 34 million little somethings floating around inside my body and that I cannot feel them at all.  I mean, I suppose straight women deal with this all the time—and in larger numbers than 34 million, but still—how do you not feel 34 million things that are moving around inside of you?  (Rhetorical question—I understand the science, I just find it bizarre nonetheless.)

 

This round of IUIs was our first with our actual doctor, and it was a very different experience.  First off, I had significant cramping for about 6-8 hours after all of our previous IUIs until this round.  This time, there was some slight cramping during the procedure, but when she was finished I felt absolutely nothing. No pain at all.  I also had MUCH less spotting afterward than I have on all of our previous attempts.

 

She did the IUIs differently than the others.  She really took her time and was very precise.  She got the catheter in so it was just through my cervix, and then she used the ultrasound wand so she could watch exactly where she was placing the sperm in my uterus.  It was amazing to be able to watch them floating around on the screen.  That was a whole new experience for us.  (Also a new experience for my poor lady parts—a speculum, a catheter AND the dildocam simultaneously. Wow.)

 

I’m assuming that the reason for the lack of cramping afterward was just how careful she was with that catheter once she was inside my uterus.  It was so reassuring to experience the difference between her level of expertise (and caution) and that of the previous nurse practitioners.

 

Anyway, I am still excited about this cycle, but the doubts have started creeping in.  I’m finding every possible reason to be paranoid.  The prime anxiety is timing.  Generally, I have some pain around ovulation time, and this time I had no pain until late yesterday afternoon—about 8 hours after our IUI.  The pain (isolated on my right side, which is where our mature follicles were) continued this morning for a while, too.  I’m just afraid that we missed our window.  I’m afraid our inseminations were too early.  I’m afraid I ovulated either too close to the end of the life of our sperm or beyond it.  

 

I promised Catch that I’d be positive this time around, so I’m really trying hard.  Every time I start to feel the anxiety settle in, I try to change up what I’m doing.  It’s why I’m sitting here writing about it.  I’m hoping that if I get it out, I can let go of it for a while.  

 

Catch likes to take pictures when we’re in the room for the inseminations, so here I am with my knees up waiting for the little sperm timer to let us know that I can put my pants back on. I printed out that little picture for us to bring into the room this time.  It’s my mantra this cycle.

 

 

Please, let this work.

 

Beginnings

In all my dreams about what marriage would be like, I never imagined that one day—after some cuddling on the couch over a couple of episodes of Orange is the New Black—I would lift up my skirt, hand my wife a syringe, and ask her to plunge a needle into my ass.

All joking aside, we are both so excited for today.  Nervous too, but I’m fighting really hard to keep the nerves at bay. 

I got a text message from my dad a while ago telling me that my nana has been diagnosed with congestive heart failure.  She’s been in the hospital since Monday, and it’s been one thing after the next since she was admitted.  I was dealing with it all pretty well until my aunt sent me a video of nana thanking me for the Mother’s Day card a little while ago.  Now I just want to cry.  Part of me wants to head straight to the hospital to see her, but the hospital is a good 45 minutes away, and I have to be at the RE in 2 hours. 

It’s a weird place to be in.  I feel like I’m caught between happiness at the thought that we could actually be starting our family today, and sadness at the thought that I could also be losing my nana.  My only remaining grandparent. 

Hang in there, Nana.  There’s another great grandbaby somewhere in your future, and I need the two of you to know each other. 

My eyes are closed tight and my fingers are crossed--please let today be a day for beginnings.  There's no room in my life for any endings right now.

The Unexpected

Hello, dildocam!  Lovely to see you this morning.

Today is CD 10, and I was back at the RE to see what the Clomid was up to.  I expected to see several 14-ish mm follicles and for her to send me on my way with instructions to either come back on Monday for another check, or to do the trigger shot on Monday night. 

Turns out, I have one follicle at 23mm, another at 18, and a couple more at 16, so she wants me to do the HCG trigger tonight at 8:45.  Then we inseminate tomorrow afternoon (18 hours post trigger) and Saturday morning (36 hours post trigger.)

I am freaking out a little bit.  Or a lot bit.  I feel like it’s too early.  Trigger on CD 10?  I wasn’t prepared for this.  I know that sounds ridiculous, and that we NEVER have any real control over this process, but I’m totally thrown off.  When I do manage to ovulate (whether on clomid or off) it’s always around CD 17, so it never occurred to me that we’d be here already.  HOWEVER, this is my first clomid cycle since losing 45 pounds, so I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that it’s a bit different this time.  (Also, have I mentioned that I’ve lost 45 POUNDS?!)

This puts a wrench in my whole plan where this 3^rd cycle spans our 33^rd birthdays (and yay, 3!), because my pregnancy test is now scheduled for May 29^th, which means that we’ll have our answer before my birthday on June 2^nd. So I will either spend my 33^rd birthday pregnant and ecstatic, or shit faced and bleeding.

On the other hand, I really didn’t think I’d have another chance to take a pregnancy test before my birthday.  I thought last cycle was my last chance to fulfill my wish to be pregnant before I turn 33.  Turns out that’s not so much the case. 

Also, tomorrow after our insemination, Catch is chaperoning her school’s prom.  I think it would be absolutely hilarious if I managed to get knocked up on prom night. 

I am so nervous right now, it’s ridiculous.  Fingers crossed.  Bring on that trigger shot.

Back at it

I had the pleasure of a visit with the dildocam yesterday morning.  Actually, I can’t even be sarcastic about that little bugger, because it was kind to me for a change—revealing a fantastic view of a cyst-free left ovary.  We are back in business.

I’m about to take my 2^nd 100 mg dose of clomid.  As I was walking away after paying for it at Target yesterday, the pharmacist called out, “Good luck!”  I hadn’t even spoken with her other than to say good morning, hand over the prescription and swipe my debit card.  It made me feel really good.

Catch and I seem to be on the same page this cycle.  We both have a good feeling.  I’m almost afraid to write that lest I jinx it, but something just feels different this time. 

You know my thing about the number three, and I can’t overlook that this will be our third cycle.  It also happens to span our 33^rd birthdays.  BOTH of them.  Catch is next week, and mine is June 2^nd.  It seems like the odds of all of those threes coinciding are pretty slim—maybe as slim as the odds of getting pregnant on any given cycle—and yet here they are.

I go back for a follow up scan on Thursday.  We’re going to do an HCG trigger again this cycle, and I imagine our inseminations will be sometime around the 21^st.

So that’s where we stand.  I’m trying to keep my chin up and stay positive.  I promised Catch that I’d mind my karma this cycle and refrain from rolling my eyes or painting imaginary targets on pregnant women. I think I can, I think I can, I think I can...

Positively Negative

My grandma had an organ in her house when I was growing up.  She couldn’t read sheet music, but she could play almost anything by ear.  Some of my fondest memories of her involve that organ.  I’d sit next to her on the bench and she’d play and sing to me.  My favorite song was Que Sera, Sera. 

Whatever will be, will be. 

This cycle was not meant to be.  My First Response test was as stark white this morning as it has been for days, and I started spotting just now.  I went for a blood test at the RE’s office this morning, but I already know what the result will be.  Negative.

I’m doing my very best to carry on today as if it’s just another Monday even though all I want to do is curl up in a ball and cry my eyes out.  I’m trying to be excited about having a couple of Cinco de Mayo margaritas tonight.  Onward and forward. 

Double Digits

Here I sit 11 DPO with a couple of BFNs in the bathroom trash.  I don’t know why I torture myself like this.  Something about the early negatives makes me feel like the ACTUAL negative will be easier to digest somehow.  Since it will likely be the middle of the work day when they call me with the results of Monday’s blood test, I feel like I have a better chance of keeping my shit together if I’m already well versed in BFNs.

I gave myself a pep talk this morning.  Actually, I was talking to one of the dogs.  (What’s worse—talking to yourself or talking to your dog?) 

The conversation went something like this:

Me: Who CARES if all those crazy women on the Fertility Friend boards are getting BFPs at 10/11 DPO.  It’s still early.  Anything can happen.

Twix: 

Enough about testing, though.  Monday will be here soon enough, and we can have a fresh start.  Let’s talk about Progesterone.

I HATE PROGESTERONE.

If you look at Web MD’s list of possible side effects, I have experienced a significant chunk of them:

Stomach Upset

Changes in Appetite

Weight Gain

Fatigue

Acne (I am breaking out like a fucking teenager)

Drowsiness or Insomnia (HOW ABOUT BOTH?! Simultaneously!)

Headaches

Depression

Fuck you, Progesterone.  We are not friends. 

I haven’t been sleeping well, and it’s having a domino effect on the rest of my life.  I also haven’t been exercising like I should be, and haven’t been eating very well.  I feel like if I could just get ONE of these issues under control, the others would fall into place.  I’m hoping the weekend will help.  Getting away from the added stress of work for a few days might do some good. 

We are planning to spend tomorrow poolside.  An umbrella, a book, and some SPF 1,000,000 (REDHEAD!) sound just about perfect.  And maybe some sparkling water with strawberries & fresh basil.   

I have my eye on you, Monday.  Please be kind.     

Desperate Times

Yesterday was a bad day.  A very bad day.  I was depressed to the point that I could barely function.  I wanted to crawl back into bed, hide in the dark and cry all day.  I was struggling not to fly off the handle at work, and barely managed to keep my anger in check on several occasions.  It reached a point where I was genuinely worried about myself. 

Fortunately, I made it home from work and gave myself the chance to lie in bed for a while before re-joining the world.  I cooked dinner, and we walked the dogs and I started to feel a bit more like myself.  Catch took me out for frozen yogurt, and something about those darn rainbow sprinkles helped even more. 

I was relieved when I woke up this morning feeling much better prepared to face the day.  I may not be 100% me, but it’s still a significant improvement over yesterday’s flat out depression.

TTC is stressful, and I’m fairly well versed in the highs and lows, but this was an exceptional low.  I think the progesterone supplements are at least partially to blame for the extreme.

I’m so looking forward to moving beyond this stage of waiting and on to whatever’s next.  Right now, everything about being 9 DPO kinda sucks. 

I’m hoping to convince my wife that we should spend the weekend poolside at whichever of her parents’ two houses they won’t inhabit this weekend.  They bought their retirement home last year and have been spending most weekends there, which leaves the LA house free, I hope.

Hope you’re all finding yourselves suitably distracted!

The Two Week Wait: Needs and Don't Needs

What the Two Week Wait Needs More of:

Vodka.

And wine.

And possibly also Margarita Mondays.

And coffee.

And RUNNING.  Fast and hard and long.

And donuts.

If mother nature is going to force me to sit here counting every second of every damn minute until I am curled up in a ball of anxiety so tight that I can’t even begin to uncurl myself, then she AT LEAST needs to let me have my freaking vices. 

“Bartender, it’s been a hell of a day.  I’ll have a hot chamomile tea with a generous splash of peppermint!”

Said no one.  EVER.

 

What the Two Week Wait Needs less of:

Statistics.  Stop with the numbers already.  You relinquished control over this cycle the minute you spread your legs for that IUI.  30% of pregnancy tests were able to detect a positive at 8 dpo? IT DOESN’T MATTER.

Pregnant women.  Please just stop.  Stop running into me in the bathroom.  Stop walking past me at the park.  Stop wandering the aisles of Target.  My happy places cannot be your happy places.  Find your own.

Baby pictures.  Your baby is 7 weeks old today?  I don’t care.  Did I ask you to email me your pictures? No? Then DON’T.  Have I said a single word to you since you gave birth?  No?  Get a clue.

Mommy blogs.  God knows I love them, just not right now.  At the moment, seeing the smiling faces on those blogs just reminds me of what I don’t have.

 

Got anything to add to the list?  I'm sure there's plenty I'm missing!