August 2007


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.

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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.

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* 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.

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