Relaxing in the Parlor

Here is a note the Mr. e-mailed to our friends who are writing reference letters.  He is just so damn sweet.  Try not to puke as you read ahead.  (I changed our names in case you are wondering)….

K…, K…., and K…. (and the significant others that are helping in the process),

As you all know “Jitters” and I are a bit overwhelmed recently with baby issues, which results in us being a bit scattered in our thoughts and probably lacking in the appreciation department. So, I want to at least say thank you via email for your friendship, kindness, and help in moving us forward in the adoption process. Also, thank you so very much for agreeing to write reference letters on our behalf. The exciting news is that we got into the September round of adoption training, a two day training for potential adoptive parents which we have to take. The original date was not until the end of October, so moving to the September dates, decreases our wait time between the different phases of the process. We will of course keep you posted as we move through the adoption process, most likely not through email, but in person.

Love to all of you,

Mr. Jitters

As I was rummaging through the bathroom closet this morning frantically looking for my travel size shampoo, I pulled out a OV predictor test.  I pleasantly chuckled to myself and then chucked that bad boy in the trash.

No, it was not used.  Ahhh…. a fresh foil package.

No, I will never need it again.  Ever.  Seriously.  We are done trying to get pg that way.

Then, someone tell me why I dug through the snotty tissues, drain hair, and waxy q-tips to rescue it so it could again safely reside in the closet till I find it again and repeat this sick act.

Why do we not throw these things away?  We are done trying to birth children and I should have a ceremony to purge my house of needles, 1/2 filled vials of progesterone, unused tests, and, well, the occassional positive pregnancy test that dear Mr. Jitters got sick of looking at on the dining room buffet but realized would crush me if he threw it away so he stuck it in my sunglasses drawer.  It has been sitting there for 2 weeks and will most likely stay there till that piece of furniture goes bye-bye. Yup, seriously, just ask DD who so graciously touched it and confirmed that it was positive when she came up to visit from NE.  Come to think of it, did she wash her hands after touching my pee stained stick?  I guess she felt she owed me for tasting her as* flavored BC pill.

It has been a serious shame that I have been so incredibly sick that I have not been able to post about DD’s visit and our lunch with Alexa.  Those two fabu-ladies beat me to the punch and told their sides of the story, but they left out a huge detail.

They were both there for me when I needed them most.  Yes, we all have our own IF problems to deal with, but both of them were willing to put their stuff aside and support me.  A year ago, before I was even part of this online family, I felt so alone.  I have friends, very loving and dear friends, but no one I knew was having the same heartache we were experiencing.  These two ladies, and many more of you, have helped me in a way no others could.  For that huge feat, I am grateful.

I am lucky enough that the wicked smart Alexa lives under 10 miles from me and she has been a huge support.  I can see her for random IF visits, but also for cocktails, med swaps, knitting events, and now book club! Plus, as DD posted, she is really WICKED SMART.  I have never met anyone who can whip out a reference, creative or factual, faster than I can even send a signal to my brain to start to think of something somewhat related.  Plus, she is just so kind.  Witty, kind, smart – a lethal combination perhaps?  Oh, no, it is the supertalented Alexa!  I need to make up some elaborate story about how we met, becasue when I tell people online they cock their head and judge me.  Sad, but true.  Story plots welcome….

An then there is the hottest girl outta Nebraska – the temperature in that state must have dropped 20 degrees when she crossed the state line.  Will was not buying drinks for me, but for her – I saw him oogling her at the bar.  She is absolutely Fabulous in every way possible and incredibly non-Nebraska like (that is a compliment….).  Don’t be putting any small town midwest stereotypes on this lady, cause she will blow them all away.    I am still in awe that she endured constipation and drove across states of corn fields to see me.  Granted, she did come to see a new baby also, but also ME.  I am so grateful that she actually came to visit me – it was DD who “invited” me into the blogging world at a time when I needed a ton of support and she then proved to be a very dear and selfless friend again by coming to see me in a time of complete dispair.  Not only is she the hottest gal outta NE, but she is the uber-Blogger, and for that matter, the uber-friend.

I am ending the era of IVF not with a baby, but with new friends.  It was not the new relationship I expected to take out of this whole ordeal, but at least I do not have change their diapers!

Here in MN the State Fair is huge.  Yes, the people are also huge, but the fair is bigger.  Tomorrow morning I will rise at 5 am and get my 11 mile training run in before I embark to deep fried goodness.

I will eat these……..

and these…….

and a few of these…….

and these…….

and these……..

and at least one of these….

and then I will be lucky enough to spend time with my favorite person from a few states south/west of here and my favorite person from across the river.  We are going to beat the shit out of infertility and laugh & point at random pregnant people.

Tomorrow is going to be a grand day!

I have been a bit of a cave-woman lately.  Don’t be offended if you have not heard from me.  Up until a little while ago I was not even taking calls.  I didn’t want to talk about “it”.  I still don’t.  I don’t want anyone to make me sad (I can handle that myself).  People tell me they are sorry and then I cry and then I am sad all over again after I just got out of that place.  Plus, I have nothing to say. It is kind of funny how I could so quickly recess into social oblivion.  I know my old self will return, it is already starting to this evening, but it will take a while to be back to normal.   If normal even exists after 4 years of dedicating yourself to a failed cause.

Seriously though, this last failure hit me pretty hard.  I have been crying on and off for the past few days.  It is like my eyes have the tears on call and ready for service. I need to get away from the point where just thinking about something sad makes me cry. Up until this point I have been too sad to even post.  The nights are the worst since I have been waking up with mini panic attacks and I feel like I cannot breathe and then I start thinking.  Last night I took some perc0set so I could sleep through the night and go figure, I woke up at midnight with massive itching – if it is not one thing it seems to be another.  The thinking is the worst. I cannot turn off my thoughts.  They seem to be sabotaging me.  It all seems so final.  We are done.  It is over.  I am finding myself yearning for more, even though it will never work and I know that.  I miss the hope that comes along with each cycle.  The knowing that pricking myself with 3 needles a day in the belly and having a wand shoved up my hoo-ha may actually make me suffer enough that some baby will take pity on me and choose to reside in my uterus.  I miss my doctors and clinic staff.  The thought of not seeing these people that I have come to appreciate over the past few years saddens me. I feel like they really care about me as a person.  They have given me so much support and since we just failed they are now gone.  I am not ready to leave them yet. I don’t get to leave their clinic as a success story, but rather as a file that eventually gets filed away in the FAILED category.  Don’t worry. I am not taking the failure personally, with a feeling that we did something wrong or that we are imperfect, but I just wanted to leave there with a baby.

It just feels so weird to be done.  I am not ready to mourn the loss of being pregnant and giving birth.  I am not certain that desire will ever go away.  The Mister keeps telling me it will take time.  I know he is right, but it just is so overwhelming right now.  I am tinkering with the thought of actually seeing “someone” to talk this all through with.  I know it will pass, but right now I just feel so claustrophobic and these sudden intense feelings of sadness just come out of no where when I am doing so well.  I have never really been to a counselor consistently before and I don’t know where to start.  I guess I could call the nurses at our clinic and get some suggestions, but I have never been someone to get my support in that way.  I would have to establish rapport with them and then I hate the fact they are using some form of  psychology on me so I would try to outsmart them.  I know this defeats the purpose and it is kind of strange, but it is just who I am.  Throughout this whole process I have gotten my support from my doctors and the nurses. Remember the conversation I had with that kind embryologist I spoke of on Monday, I need that right now.  I want to sit down with them and work through this. They know me and my situation. They have given me the kind of counseling I have needed.  The kind that works for me.  Now, since we are not pursuing anymore treatment, they are out of my life and so is my medical support / counseling.  It is just so scary to do this alone and the thought of bringing someone else into the mix now just seems useless.

Now, since I am starting to get myself down again, I am going to drastically change directions and write about something happy. I cannot get myself all worked up before I go to bed. I just changed itunes to a more upbeat song.  I need to end on a high note.

The Mister and I have been making strides with our adoption paperwork.  In fact we turned it in yesterday.  It was kind of surreal.  He is so incredibly excited and he keeps reading me passages from ancient Greek literature regarding references to the Ethiopian people, their customs, and their beauty.  Today he told me if we get a boy referral he is going to buy the boy a Poseidon token for his neck because of the historical references between Poseidon and the Ethiopian people.  I suppose that story would make more sense if I told you The Mister wears an old coin with Athena on his neck that he got when he lived in Greece. When he bikes he puts his wedding band on the chain. I have always loved it in a mushy, girly kind of way, although mentioning it to him would ruin it and he may stop wearing it altogether – he is funny that way.  Later, he was picking out girl names based on ancient Greek mythology.  It was weird for me to hear him say that Cassiopeia or Andromeda would be good girl names.  I can’t say I agree with him exactly, but he is just so giddy and excited that I would not want to disagree at this moment. I have never seen him have this much of himself emotionally vested in the process of having a child.  He already loves this baby that we do not yet have.  It is quite sweet and it makes me know it will all work out.  For once I feel like we are really in this together.  We set up an adoption blog already. – together.  He is planning out posts and researched a bunch of historical and cultural information for links.

I guess it will be alright after all, I just need to get through the next little while.

Some valium would help a bit, is that so bad?

The nice things about rainy days, is that they give you an excuse for smudged mascara.

The tears started on Saturday evening and continued up until a little while ago. They may return, but I need to rehydrate first. Last night, after fighting with my dear husband all day, he came into the bathroom where I was hunched over in bathwater lukewarm and half filled with tears. He decided to be the bigger person and told me how hard it is to see me suffer, wanting to pick me up and hold me as I cry, but was just so angry for attacking him with words all day. He was right. I was entirely out of line. I was ruthless. I said many things I never should have. Things that I want to erase. I was upset to say the least, but he is with me, not against me. He was the bigger person and for that I am grateful. I can not get through this without him.

The call came in at 1:34. It was just 34 minutes into my afternoon presentation. My phone buzzed. I glanced down and saw the call was from UNKNOWN and I knew. I took a deep breath and continued. It buzzed again to let me know I had a new VM. I apologized to the audience and used humor to bring them back. They did not know it was graveyard humor, that was my secret.

I didn’t need to answer the call. I didn’t need to call back the clinic. I already knew. I stopped my PIO shots earlier this weekend and drank alcohol at a friends house at dinner last night. There are just some things you know about your body and I know that I will never give birth to a biological child. My body is fighting it. I tried to fight back. It won.

After I left work, I called the clinic. They were empathetic and caring. The nurse was surprised that I was so matter of fact and she kept telling me it was OK to cry. I had to reassure her that I had been and will. but now I need information. She obviously must not have talked to our clinics embryologist, who approached me while my blood was being draw and asked how I was holding up. Poor guy, he sits in the lab all day and had a patient crying in the hallway…not exactly his domain. He was caring and sincere and helped me more than he may know. I guess when you are normally a bubbly and happy person turn beaten down and sad it is noticeable. I am sure that person will come back before my appointment with the doctor on the 17th (of freakin September that is).

After I got off the phone with the nurse and started on my way home I decided to do something absolutely crazy. I stopped at the natural baby boutique. I had been there once before and was driven crazy by new parents picking out cloth diapers and rationalizing with their newborns. Asking the baby why they are crying is stupid. You don’t have many options and a little common sense tells you the difference between hunger, diaper change, sick, tired. They cannot talk so why would they answer??? Stop asking and start doing something so we do not have to listen them. Needless to say, my last visit left me agitated. So why would I go there, especially at a moment like this?

I needed to conquer those new parents and pregnant people. I was not going to hide and bash them inside. I parked outside the store and sat in the car for a few minutes before I got the courage to go in. As soon as I touched the door handle, I heard it. Babies crying, excited parents, annoying & fretting pregnant people. I heard it. I accepted it. I swallowed. I found my internal strength. The past 4 years have beaten me to the ground. I have been surrounded with people living my dream. I have been excited, crushed, hopeful and devastated. Standing in the doorway I felt all those emotions rush back at once. I fought back the tears and they obeyed. My mind came to peace with what my body will not perform.

The organic cotton baby clothes called me until a pregnant mom approached and held up outfits to her belly. I sought refuge in the children’s books and picked one up titled Mama & Papa and read it as I batted my eyes and refused to cry. “You cry it, you buy it” I told myself and chuckled at how clever I can be, even in moments of extreme distress. When I got it together I tried to approach the cloth diapers, but it was full of THEM, so I looked at the wooden flapper toys. Nothing very special. Nothing worth the 50 buck price tag. So I started to leave. At least I looked at baby stuff without crying I told myself. I was proud. As I made my way toward the door I noticed the CD’s. One in particular caught my attention because of the replicated African fabric on the cover. African Dreams: Lullabies and Cradle Songs from the Motherland was the title. I picked it up and hugged it. There was something for me at the baby store after all. I flipped it over and noticed that #13 is a traditional african lullaby titled “Es.hu.ru.ru”, which I believe (don’t quote me) translates into “my child”.

I went into the store with a purpose, even though I did not know it. I am ready to move on. I have losses to mourn. I will never forget the pain I have suffered these past 4 years, but if I am going to be a mom to a beautiful adopted baby from Ethiopia I need to manage my pain and make room for love.

I love rainy summer Saturdays. LOVE THEM.  I can wear my pj’s all day, don’t need to shower, drink coffee all day, read, bake, knit, listen to music, putz on the computer with no guilt that I should be outside because it will soon be winter.

Today I have already pulled out a few knitting projects, bought the relatively new Feist album (which rocks), made a rub for the chicken I am roasting for dinner and drank 4 cups of coffee.

Perhaps I should get to that book for book club next week.  I can’t seem to get into it and may have to fake it or read the first few pages of every chapter.

I think we will get to adoption application stuff instead….

So I was inspired by the darling Beagle to get knitting again. Knowing that our child will be adopted an anywhere between the ages of 3 months – 1 year, I am perplexed by what to make for them.  I have plenty of projects waiting to be finished – I seemed to think I would be pg and then have an incredibly urge to finish all of them because they would be for a baby, my baby.  Mostly, I just lost interest or gave them away.  I don’t think it is suitable to just pick up one of those projects when we are starting a new route.  I want to make something new, for my baby that I know is coming this spring/summer.

Perhaps I will start with a blanket – it is pretty age neutral.  Or, I have an absolutely adorable hooded cableknit sweater pattern that fits a child at 1 year of age.  Any thoughts?

My first beta is tomorrow and even though my veins have not yet been pierced, I already know the outcome.  My clinic does not tell you the results until after the second beta, so I will have to wait until Monday for medical confirmation.

I don’t need it though, I already know the results.  C’mon on gals (and any random infertile men other than my husband who I am guessing occasionaly looks at my blog) this is something you just know.  The other times I have been pregnant, even though they ended in miscarriage, I knew I was pg prior to the positive pee stick.  I am not playing any “I know it’s negative and then I’ll be surprised” games with myself this time. 

Really, I am certain it is negative.

I will be grateful to end the PIO or better known as PIA shots because my poor bottom is so lumpy, bruised, and pricked that sleeping, sitting, standing all hurt.  Since I have not yet figured out levitation, I am pretty much gonna have to deal with the pain until I can end the shots.  They cannot end soon enough.

When they do end, what will we be doing to acquire a child has been the million dollar question at our house.  There has been debate, tears, yelling, arguing, pleading, and basically the plot for a Lifetime movie happening unfolding.  How will the overly dramatic made for TV movie end? 

Drum roll please……

We will be proceeding with infant adoption from Ethiopia. 

Our application will be ready to go in the mail as soon as the negative beta call comes in.  Ahhhh, it feels good to know that my next route to a child will be needle free.  Unless, of course, I need any shots for the travel part, but I can handle a tetnus booster because it is not delivered to my arse in sesame oil.

At about the same time we will be putting together our dossier for the Ethiopia, we will be making additional copies for Embryo Adoption.  For those of you not too familiar with the Embryo Adoption option, it is similar to domestic adoption and you go in a book (well kind of)  and wait to be selected or matched.  Since we have no idea about the time frame for this second option and a better idea about the first adoption we decided to proceed in that order, knowing we would end up doing both anyway.

More about the method behind our madness will unfold later this week, but for now, I am just tired of explaining it and ready to get going with the process.  I won’t yell at you though, if you decide to hit me with questions or “have you thought of’s”, but we are looking forward to traveling to pick up our child (hopefully) this spring or next summer – right around when this last IVF child would be born.

Hmm….just think, our baby could be in utero somewhere right now, or even in an orphanage. 

I awoke this morning eager to get out of bed.  It is interesting how playing the POAS game will do that to do.  Most mornings I hit snooze repeatedly till the dog even gets annoyed.

When I woke up it took me a few moments to realize that the dream I just had was unfortunately NOT reality.  Normally that is a good thing  when I have my recurrent dream about starting the first day of school and not having my class schedule or books or anything.  For some reason I am in a panic and rather than just rationalizing that no one does any work on the first day of school anyway I freak.  I usually wake up with an eye twitch and a sweat from this one.

Last nights dream was about this morning.  I got up and went to the bathroom and POAS and it was positive.   I woke up Mr. Jitters and we lived happily ever after.

This morning I got up and POAS and it was negative.   And, now I have to shower and go to work and be not pregnant.

Arghhh.  I want my dream life instead, I wish going back to sleep would bring it back.

The funny thing is that I am not even sad.  Honestly.  I am just annoyed.  The waiting is killing me because I want to know the “now” next step that will hopefully bring me closer to a baby.  Just because I have not been posting about it, doesn’t mean it isn’t being discussed.  In fact, at our household, it seems to be the ONLY thing being discussed and debated.

I work at a hospital.  Babies are born at hospitals.   Conclusion: I see many pregnant people and occasionally new babies.

At first this was really annoying, but now it is just work.  Even the baby chime that plays for each child’s birth annoys me only on bad days.  Most of the time I can tune it out successfully.

The thing I can not tune out is the stupidity of pregnant people and their mates.  I use the term mates intentionally because some of these folks are two opposable digits and some brain space away from animals.

For example, while walking through the lobby today a gentleman approached me.  He informed me his wife was in labor.  I asked if his wife was able to make and he said yes, so I told him he needs to go to Birthplace.  I showed him that way and even pushed the button on the elevator for him.  He then said, “so is the birthplace where the babies are born?”

Ah, that would be why it is called the birthplace, sir.  I am sorry, I should make that clearer…BIRTH PLACE.

Or last week, while walking through one of  the attached clinic buildings a man approached me to ask where the girl clinic was.  I asked him to clarify what he meant by “girl clinic” and he said, you know where they check out the babies.  Just to make sure I asked if it was babies before or after birth.  And he said “before, you know in the bellies”.  I directed him to where he needed to go and told him that if he gets lost again to ask for so and so Gynecology.  Repeating the directions to me to make sure he got it right, well most of it right, he said:”and if I get lost again, just ask at the desk for so and so va-gyn-o-cology.

It was so hard not to laugh.

I planned on writing a post today about the suprisingly wonderful day I spent with my parents yesterday, despite the fact that it became very apparent that my father is aging.  I was kind of freaked, made some observations, and came to some conclusions.  All in all it was a very solid post that has a twinge of sadness, some sliver of happiness, small town humor, and demonstration of growth…blah, blah, blah, etc.

But, then, I did something really stupid.

Really, really stupid.

Even more stupid than writing this in short lines separated by annoying white space.

I…..

Are you ready?

I bet you can guess what I did…..

I…..

POAS’ed

and it was faintly positive.

And then I got excited. And then I calculated that it has only been 1 week since my retrieval (August 6th) and 4 -5 days since my transfer (August 9th).  Technically, I am only 4dp3dt.  Seven days past fertilization. Note, seven days past pathetic fertilization, so you need to throw in at least a day to for them to play catch up and it has not even been a week.  My HcG shot is most likely not even out of my system since it was just on August 4th at 7pm – no 10 days, just 9 or 9 1/2 depending on  when you start counting.  I have broken it down into hours people.  I am crazy, I know.

Why did I voluntarily elect this torture? I should have stopped holding my pee and not run to the other room to grab a stupid, inconclusive test.  I should have just let it flow and got that good first pee of the day relief.

Instead, I choose purgatory.

Now I will waste countless dollars testing repeatedly and be sad when the little faint line goes away.  I liked seeing it, but at the same time time am very sad knowthing this may be the last (and close to the first mind you) positive I ever see.  Regardless of the outcome, I think I am going to save it, or at least till it turns nasty yellow and gets full of lint and old hair.  Do they make frames for pee sticks?  Perhaps that will be the next marketing trick from these nasty price gouging manufactuers….an early, reliable test with a complentary oak frame that will accent all the photos on your mantle – product available in light or dark finish, with a line enhancing backlight option.

 Once thing is certain.  The day will not end without me trying again.  Regardless if the outcome – I am enjoying my faux moment.

Just for an added bit of craziness, when I emerged from the bathroom with pee stick in hand and bolted to the natural light if the kitchen to verify what the dim bathroom light showed me, I shouted to Mr. Jitters that I had a positive.  He responded:  “That’s great, honey, Carl Rove announced his plans to step down today.”

More proof that he does not always listen to what I say.

Confession:  I love white bread.

Clarification: Not wonder bread and all it’s preservatives, but homemade, freshly baked white bread.

For a while I was consistently making the no-knead bread chronicled by Jim Leahy of Sullivan Street Bakery in this NY Times article. The recipe got a lot of babble in the blogosphere when it came out and there are tricks and suggestions on practically every cooking blog.  I have my own suggestions.  I will not be preachy, but I am willing to share.  The bread is fabulously moist inside with a consistent Francofile quality crust that gives off a satisfying and resounding thud when you tap it.  I have made many variations of this bread  – some have worked and others have not.  Adding a few tablespoons of cinnamon and some raisins is divine, but substituting whole grain flour results in a thick, dense brick that even my fancy bread knife refused to slice.

I also have a wonderful whole grain (kneading required) breakfast bread recipe that I “created”, well, actually, modified many times over till I got it right.  My husband begs for it during the summer, but it is too hot, and we don’t have AC, and I am lazy, and I have no time with the marathon training schedule I have been upholding, and the list could go on to explain why I have been neglecting his homemade bread cravings.  Summer is summer – for us in a cold winter climate, summer is when we live.  In the winter we are just waiting to live again and baking bread occupies some of that waiting time.

After reading DD’s post yesterday about summer veggies I got hungry and motivated.   I have a counter full of homegrown, heirloom tomatoes… big, meaty tomatoes that slice up into thick and sturdy circles that substantially keep their form in a sandwich even though their juices are pooling on your plate, if you are lucky, but in my case they drip down my arm till they escape from my form at my bent elbow.  I already had a few packs of thick slice bacon* in the fridge but I needed a bread that was worthy of these tomatoes and thick slices of nitrites.

Nothing store bought would do for this craving.  I had a loaf of semolina and sesame bread in the freezer, but I wanted real, freshly baked white* bread.  The no-knead recipe takes too much time and my craving was immediate, so I browsed the King Arthur Flour site till I found a match: Classic Sandwich Bread.  Despite the 95 degree heat and our lack of AC – we had the best BLT sandwiches for dinner last night.  The recipe was incredibly easy (you can do it you non-bakers…) and the bread will be enjoyed equally as French toast this morning or topped with a fried egg or toasted and topped with some fresh strawberry preserves.  I made 2 loaves – separately since doubling the recipe doesn’t always work – and the second loaf may be combined again with tomatoes, fresh feta, olives, basil and a lemon dressing for some greek panzenella.

Summer is truly grand.  I often wonder if I would appreciate it so if it was summer all year long or if the ephemeral nature of summer leaves us longing for the taste of a fresh tomato in January.

——————————————————————————————————-

* I have yet to find a nitrite free bacon I like and have consequently determined that sometimes you need to screw the nitrites – if somehow I am ever buried alive, at least I will have my own glowing body to light the space around me, plus, as my 85 year old grandma says…everything in moderation.
* Although I call it white bread, I did substitute half of the flour as King Arthur 100% White Whole Wheat Flour.  I exclusively use King Arthur Flour for all my baking and there is a difference – the texture is milled finer and consequently the dough is easier to work with.  Also, the protein content is closer to European flours so naturally the breads just taste better for some scientific reason I will let someone else explain…..

Is the queef a commonly understood phenomenon among women?  I will explain graphically if I need to, but come on ladies, no need to be prude.  We all do it…..don’t we?  Nonetheless I can hardly say the word without laughing and I really don’t even know the true medical term for this little wisp of air that bubbles from our nether regions.   If anyone does,  let me know – I will hold off on googling it.

On a side-note – in one of my college Latin classes there was a girl named Keefa.  I renamed her Queefa for no reason other than every time that our Professor said her name I would have something to giggle about.  When she continued to take Latin through our Senior year with me I had to work with her pretty closely later on.  I only slipped once, but it was worth it and I still think she had the best nickname of all time.  You really cannot blame her parents, did they even call them queefs 30 years ago??

I guess I have been thinking about queefing a lot lately.  After my last less than ideal IVF transfer I distinctly remember queefing and was certain that I blew out the embryos.  I am trying to hold my queefs this time, but it is not as easy as holding, say, a fart which eventually just dissipates and fizzles out slowly spreading out the stink.

Do you think I should call the clinic and let them know I have a queefing problem? I am only kind of serious, but has anyone else thought of this or had it happen?? My queef holding is exasperated by that fact that the progesterone makes me constipated and I am already afraid to poop since that too may push out the embryos.   Really, I am full of problems.  I could go on and on about how the stupid IKEA mattress we bought for our downstairs bedroom (cooler, summer bedroom) is too hard and hurts my progesterone injection spots or how I have gained 10 pounds with this cycle or even the shitty quality of our embryos, but right now my focus is on holding the queef.

My new mantra: hold the queef.

I used to think I really wanted twins and would be happy with a singleton just the same, but the thought of triplets freaked me out. Triplets = minivan = more babies than I have hands – not to mention the dramatic increase of health risks. I guess a few things have since changed becasue when the not-my-regular-dr. who did my transfer today asked if I was OK with their decision to transfer the only 3 remaining embryos the words ” I trust you fully” rolled off my tongue with such ease that I wondered what else I would agree to while on valium.

I am not getting my hopes up, and actually, I have been planning the next steps with every spare moment of thought that I have now until my blood draws on the 17th & 20th. Before you judge me for moving on too quickly, realize that the embryos they transferred had the following less than ideal stats:

6 cells grade 4 (1 is best)
4 cells grade 3/4
4 cells grade 2

The good news in this process is that although we have no dinfinitive answers, we do at least have a reason that we cannot get pregnant on our own. This seems to make it easier to move on, knowing that this option will not work. Moving on to what next is the ultimate question though. Right now I do believe that it will be Ethiopian Adoption and then donor or embryo adoption, depending on if we have any money left.

The other bit of good news is that my blood draws were sooner than I have planned, so I just have to get through next week before I can put this behind me and put the adoption paperwork in the mail and continue with the marathon training I have had to stop.

As I was sitting at my desk being utterly miserable I decided that one thing I could do to make myself feel a little better was perhaps write a post.  I never e-mailed any of my readers to let them know about my blog change so I am pretty much doing this for my own personal benefit.

First off, I hate being infertile.  I hate that this involves two people’s emotions and choices and that I am not in control of anything.  I hate being in huge debt for something I want so badly that others take for granted.  I hate that this is my life, my reality, my here and now.  I hate pregnant people and co-workers with new baby girls.  I hate the baby chime at work that already announce that a set of twins was born just an hour ago.  I hate what this has done to my marriage, that my husband feels he is no longer my dream.  I hate that this has utterly taken over my life. I hate that work is piling up on my desk because I cannot think about anything else.  I guess I am just full of hate today.

I am at a miserable loss for words right now and for a non-cryer I cannot seem to turn off the spigot that is flowing from my eyes.  I kind-of removed myself from the blogging community in an attempt to “move on” – although I do still check a few blogs somewhat regularily….but, I felt the whole obsession and comparison was just stopping me from, well, from being happy.  When I first came into blogging I was distraught and it was such a relief to have access to a community that could really empathize with me since I felt surrounded by fertile people who never, ever could.  I stuck with it for a while, but then we had to put off our final IVF becasue of a DHEA study and then a cyst and then a vacation, so here I am right now in the middle of our fast failing third IVF with the same misery that I had a year ago when I got into this.

The call came in this morning at 7:12.  Of the 19 eggs retrieved, 15 were mature and only 4 fertilized normally. I should be happy, I know, to have at least some fertilization.  But the last attempt we were in the same boat but with 5 normal fertilized eggs. None made it to 8 cell for for the 3 day transfer. My fertility is rapidly decreasing before my eyes and I am not yet 30.  It just hit me that I may never have a biological child.  I may never get to be pregnant.  I may never get to enjoy that precious moment of seeing your new child after labor and realize that this was all worth it.  I may never get to nurse my baby or buy maternity clothes.  I will never be part of the new mother club that every girl so desperately desire to hold a membership card to. 

Before today I was 100% content with adopting.  I still am, but I want both options and secretly that is where I was hoping this would end up.  Is that really too much to ask for?  Geez, I already connot get knocked up on my own and have to PAY for SOMETHING that many have for FREE but now I have to start to make choices on my next steps that are purely financial?  This just seems wrong.  I want to adopt and I love the idea of it and I will love my child the same no matter where they come from or how they get to me, but does the process have to be so full of sacrifice and misery?  I guess I always thought that part came after the child was born?!?!?

I am having a hard time evening pulling it together to make it till Thursday for the transfer, if there is anything even to transfer at that time.  I want to move on and start our next steps, which will most likely be adoption, soon…now…today…this moment.  I am sick and tired of waiting and doing this for the past 4 years.  It has turned me into someone i am not.  Someone I spent the past few months while not in treatment trying to get rid of.  Someone I do not like very much at all.  At what point does this temporary me become the new me?  If we do adopt, will I ever loose that strong feminine urge to bear a child or will I, a non-regretful person, regret that I did not pursue it more when I had the chance.  OR do I have the chance, we cannot take on any more infertility debt. 

I guess I am just lost and upset and I wish it was 2 week from now so I could do something about it rather than just sit and wait.