It's Official...

The blood test was a positive, and for that I am so thankful.  My level was 117, which is way above the 25 my clinic requires to consider it more than a chemical pregnancy.  It was also above the number they look for to indicate a healthy pregnancy – 50.  I feel good about my 117 and am looking forward to Monday (Yeah…I have to wait four days instead of two for my second blood test because my fertility center won’t test on weekends…not crazy about that extra two days of waiting), when I can have the reassurance that the number has doubled and things are going well. 

The nurse who called me with my results and the nurse who set-up my appointment for my second round of intralipids were both squealing and congratulating me over and over.  I felt a little guilty that I wasn’t more excited.  I don’t know if this anti-climactic feeling is because I was pretty sure that I would get a positive, given all the POAS, or if I am unwittingly returning to self-preservation mode.  I thought that I had overcome my doubts and fears.  I thought I would continue to be Positive Polly and would ride the Happy Train all the way through the pregnancy.  I thought wrong.  I feel like something is “off” right now, and I hate it.  I want to be jumping up and down and yelling and celebrating.  I would be happy to even feel some butterflies in my stomach over the good news.  But instead I’m just numb...and maybe sad.

I think that part of the problem is that I have been struggling with “survivor’s guilt.”  It sucks that I am pregnant and my fertility friends are not.  I’m not saying it sucks that I’m pregnant, nor are they saying that.  But it isn’t fair that they aren’t pregnant with me…and I can’t fix it.  So the guilt I’m feeling about this is making me second guess everything I have said in this blog.  Have I been too excited and too happy?  Am I that obnoxious person who is unintentionally rubbing my good fortune in the face of those who are less fortunate?  I think about conversations I have had with my friends, and I groan at some of the statements I’ve made.  For example, I’ve talked about my symptoms…the unpleasant ones…the ones that those struggling with infertility long for.  I’ve talked about them because I’m perplexed by them and it is all so new to me.  But what if it sounds like I’m complaining?  I have a tough time with former infertiles who complain about their pregnancy symptoms to people still on their journey to motherhood.  I think it is just something you don’t do…but what if I am…or sound like I am?  Or what if I am reminding those who have experienced losses of their pregnancies...and their pain?

I thought I would feel like my pregnancy was a victory for us all.  That I would be that inspirational character who struggled for three years and then got pregnant…the one that makes people not want to give up when they hit two years of trying to conceive…or three years of trying to conceive.  But I don’t think I am that person.  I’m just another friend who got pregnant…and I hate being that.  Then, I feel guilty for “hating being that” because I feel like I’m somehow not appreciating my pregnancy enough…and that is equally unacceptable.  I feel like I need to appreciate this pregnancy enough for everyone…like there is an obligation that I suck every drop of happiness out of this situation, or I am not worthy of the gift I’ve been given.  Basically, I feel guilty about feeling guilty.

I knew infertility would be an unwanted companion during this pregnancy.  I knew infertility wasn’t going to just leave me alone because I had gotten a positive HPT.  But I underestimated infertility’s resolve and power over me.  I’m fighting to not allow infertility to steal my joy this pregnancy…but today, of all days, I’m losing the battle.  This should be a happy post and I’m sorry to all of you that it is not.  Hopefully tomorrow will be better.

(These are the views from outside my workplace yesterday....  What a beautiful day!)

I wanted to start today's post with something other than a POAS...but now, it is time to see the culmination of The Experiment.



Today's line is pretty dark...which makes me pretty happy.  I'm really looking forward to getting on with the blood test tomorrow and making all of this "official."  I think it was good to do "The Experiment," because it kept me feeling informed and sane during the last few days, but I'm also glad it is over.  Something has happened to me, having the POAS schedule to follow, and I'm not thrilled about it.  It is like the fun of seeing the positive is gone...and it is WAY to early for my elation about this pregnancy to be diminished.

Speaking of elation about the pregnancy...again I must say...my friends are awesome!  Last night, we went out, and although not everyone knew about the information I was sitting on, we had a great time.  Those that did know found ways to sneak in a congrats and they really brought back that excited, "crap I'm going to cry I'm so happy" feeling.  Their enthusiasm about this pregnancy is amazing.  I feel so much better knowing that people did not have the hurt feelings that I was afraid they would have.  I don't want to be a source of pain for anyone.

Speaking of pain (I know, I need a new tie-in), The Prince is being weird...or just rude.  I'm not freaking out about it because I think he is panicking about the reality of the pregnancy but is having the good sense to keep that to himself...but it still stinks.  I want the fairy tale prince and instead I am stuck with reality. 

Yesterday, I got on a pregnancy calendar website and discovered that it actually isn't weird for me to be so tired already, as my body is attempting to increase my blood supply by 30 to 50% right now and my heart is already starting to beat 10-15 additional beats per minute.  I also learned that the embryos don't nestle in to the lining, like sweet little beans...the implantation process is more of a hostile take-over.  The embryos excrete ("spew") an enzyme that burns a hole in the lining of the uterus and they burrow into the bleeding ulceration they created.  What is funny, is that as I read that, I laughed.  I'm betting most women would get freaked out about that visual, but I've waited so long for an embryo to burrow in, I don't care how it happens.  Bring on the Sci-Fi movie scenes in my uterus...as long as it results in a baby.  I told The Prince all of this information and he said "I know something else that the early pregnancy does...it makes the pregnant woman spew out tons of useless facts."  I was NOT PLEASED!!!  I explained that, given that The Prince hasn't read a book that isn't a chemistry text in over ten years (seriously...and I may be giving him too much credit with the ten years estimate), I don't hold out any hope that he is going to read any pregnancy books.  So, I will have to take in the information for him and "spew out" the facts that I deem relevant to him...and he will like it and appreciate my extra effort...or else.  I would blame hormones for that response, but I think that would have been my response without the hormones, too.  I know that the women carries most of the weight of the pregnancy (literally and figuratively), but I am not letting The Prince off the hook completely.  After all of the poking and prodding and medication side effects I've dealt with over the last three years, while he looked on, hoping that it worked and I produce him "an heir," he's getting in the trenches with me during this pregnancy.  I'll give him a little leeway to get over his initial shock, but soon enough, he's going to be expected to act like a big boy.  (Reading this back...I'm realizing that I should stop now...as I clearly am a little hormonal.  So, I'll "see" you all tomorrow, after my beta results).



Yes...Another Obnoxious POAS Picture...



Day Four – It is Tuesday morning, and I still have a positive.  I’m almost done with this part of “The Experiment.”  I will POAS again tomorrow and then I will have my first beta test on Thursday morning.  I freaked out and contacted the nurse yesterday, to see if I should come in for the blood test a couple of days early.  I was most disappointed when her answer was, “No.  You’ve got to wait it out so we can compare your levels to everyone (insert “all of the sane people who can wait the full two weeks”) else’s levels.” 

I think that there needs to be an end point to my POAS.  I’m not doing it for fun anymore.  I’m not enjoying every time it comes up positive.  I’m doing it with shaking hands and a tight chest, irritated to be peeing on my hands at 3:00 a.m. and terrified that the line is going to disappear on me.  That was never what POAS was supposed to be about, and I refuse to let my pregnancy be dictated by fear.  I am determined not to lose out on this experience just because infertility has stolen my naivety and has made me aware of all that could go wrong.  I want my blissful ignorance back and if I can’t have it…I’m going to fake it.  I will still probably buy an “emergency” Clearblue Easy Digital kit…a “break open in case of emergency” kind of thing…for the mornings I wake up in a panic and only the comfort of seeing the words “Pregnant” will squelch the fear and let me fall back asleep.  But no more staring at and analyzing pink lines at 3:00 a.m. each morning.  After tomorrow, that part of this experiment… of this journey… is done.

In other news, I have the most amazing fertility friends EVER!  (I have the most amazing blog buddies, too…but that’s another whole post).  Since Mother’s Day, support has been pouring in from my “real life” fertility friends who read my blog.  Some of them are still in the midst of their struggles, some are pregnant, and some have “graduated” to motherhood.  All of them have been amazing.  No one has told me that they are happy for me but sad for themselves, even though I know that is how some must feel.  No one has yet asked that I give them some distance, even though I’ve been expecting for that request to come.  My biggest fear about getting pregnant, even bigger than losing the pregnancy, has been losing all of my friends.  I’ve been so blessed to have friends who are stronger than I am…friends who are putting a positive spin on my pregnancy, even though I haven’t always been able to do the same in the face of my friends’ announcements in the past.  I know that feelings will ebb and flow, and I will ride out every wave of emotions with each of my friends…giving space when needed and being there through the rest of their journeys whenever I am allowed.  But I just had to share that I am so happy that I haven’t been faced with the loss of friendships yet…and that I recognize and am grateful for my friends’ strength and support.

On a less fun note, a couple of weeks ago, before I was sure of the timing of this cycle, I had set up a dinner/support group for tonight with my other fertility friends.  The support group that is usually held on the second Tuesday of each month is being dedicated to making vision boards this month…and some of us already have a whole gallery of them.  So, we planned our own get-together…a non-vision board carb-fest if you will.  The timing ended up being terrible.  I have fretted the last two days over whether I should contact the people who are coming, to tell them about my positive HPT’s, even though I think it is too early to be “spreading the news.”  I don’t want them to find out through the grapevine later on, or worse…at dinner tonight… and feel like they were deceived.  On the other hand, most of my friends who are going tonight already know because they read my blog, and I’m glad they found out through the blog…because I’m really not ready to write “the email.”  So, for now, for better or worse, I am in a situation where most of the people at dinner tonight are going to know that I am a little bit pregnant, they know that not everyone at the dinner knows, and they know that it will be best if the status of my cycle does not become a topic of conversation at dinner.  I can honestly say, if asked, that I am waiting for my beta on Thursday.  It’s not a lie…just an omission…and an omission that I think a lot of people would make if they didn’t even have their first beta under their belt, yet.  But I am scared…scared that I’m going about this the wrong way and that the couple of people who do not know will feel hurt later on, if they find out that I knew but didn’t’ say anything to them.  What do you feel is the best way to handle this…keeping in mind that I am only about twelve hours out from the dinner, so I don’t have time to implement any change of plans that is too elaborate?  Thank you as always for your input.

Are You Sure

First things first...it is Day 3 of The Experiment…11dpo.  And at 3:00 a.m. this morning (stupid tiny bladder), The Experiment took a rough turn.  Here's what this morning's POAS looked like...

 

The second line is still there and is slightly (I stress the word "slightly") darker than yesterday morning's POAS.  And therein lies the problem.  I was sure that this morning's POAS was going to be twice as dark.  Hcg is supposed to be doubling every day or two, so why didn't the line get significantly darker?  At 3:00 a.m., these thoughts can quickly become a BIG DEAL.  By the time I was taking this picture, I felt sick and shakey, terrified that I'd jumped the gun in front of the whole world by declaring my confidence in this cycle.  I started wondering what I did wrong yesterday - was it the sweeping?  I even talked myself into thinking that maybe the tests weren't showing a positive at all...that my urine just makes the "test line" show better than it is supposed to.  So...I took a Clearblue Easy Digital because it is less sensitive and there is no interpretation involved.  You are "Pregnant" or "Not Pregnant."

And for now, I am "Pregnant."  I am trying to just tell myself that over and over, because the fear has crept back in and if I am not careful, I know it will take over again.  I am pregnant, and I am going back to work today, and it is okay.  Where's the chanting doctor when I need him?
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Next order of business...how did the "announcement" to The Prince go?  Well...I think that is part of where my fear is coming from.

  

Yesterday, I waited until after The Prince came home, at around 5:00 p.m., to make the announcement to him that we finally are (at least a little bit) pregnant.  I wore a sweatshirt over “The Situation” t-shirt, and waited while he came in, got settled and talked about his day.  Then, when there was a lull in the conversation, I said “Oh yeah…I forgot to tell you, we’ve got a situation.”  Concerned, he asked me what was wrong.  I unzipped my sweatshirt and pointed at the belly of the t-shirt.  With a blank expression on his face, he looked up from the belly of the shirt and said “Did something happen with the house?”

Really?!?  It was written on the belly of the t-shirt!!!  But realizing that I was dealing with someone of the male persuasion, I decided to dump the “hint” and go for the more direct approach.  So, I pointed at the shirt, started crying and said “We’re pregnant!”  His response…again with the blank expression… “Are you sure?”

I said “I’m sure!  I’m a little bit pregnant, want to see the lines on the test sticks?”

He said “Okay.” 

In retrospect, that response should have been my first clue that The Prince was in shock and anything I did would be an exercise in futility until he came out of shock.  No man wants to examine the plastic sticks his wife peed all over…and yet, there The Prince was, holding them, flipping them, turning them around in natural and artificial light. 

After what seemed like FOREVER, he said “Are you sure?  The second line isn’t dark like the first line is.”  UGH!!!  So I pulled out the insert in the HPT box and showed him that ANY second line, no matter how light, indicated a positive.  I also read from the insert to allay his fear that it was too early for an HPT to possibly show a positive.

Even after all of that, I must have heard “Are you sure?” at least another 50 times.  I was starting to lose my patience about the lack of excitement and abundance of skepticism on his part when he said something that gave away what was really going on in his mind, and melted away any frustration I was experiencing.  The Prince said “Are you sure, because I don’t want to get my hopes up only to find out it’s not true.”

Welcome to my world, Sweetie.  I hate to say it, but it was a relief to hear him “admit” that he was afraid of disappointment, because that’s not really The Prince’s way.  I realized that things I had been struggling with for weeks, months and years was now hitting my husband for the first time.  What if we test and the pregnancy goes away?  Is it better to have known or not to have known?  Is it going to hurt more after having seen that second line?  These are scary questions that you have all watched me struggle through, but they were new to The Prince.  So, I explained to The Prince that I’ve wrestled with all of these questions and decided that, for me, knowing I'm a little pregnant even for a little while is better than thinking that I have never been pregnant at all.  I explained that there is still a decent risk of this baby (babies) not making it to the heartbeat stage, but we can’t think in terms of the negatives that could happen…we just need to believe that the good things will happen.  I asked if he was sorry that I had told him, and The Prince came over and put his arms around me. 

He then (sarcastically) told me that I should call the doctor and let him know that he was right - the chanting worked and apparently all you need to do is hold hands and “believe” to get pregnant.  Then The Prince began his campaign for the name “Hamish” in earnest, and I knew that the “announcement” was complete. 

It wasn’t the smooth, perfectly scripted announcement I had envisioned, but nothing in life follows the scripts we write…no matter how great the scripts are.  And in the end, The Prince got onboard the Happy Train with me for awhile, which is all I really wanted.  He is still hesitant, asking me this morning why today's POAS isn't darker...didn't I say it would get darker?  Thanks, Hun and welcome back panic attack.  But we are on the same page, happy about the same thing and scared about the same thing.  And as long as I can be the strong one in the face of his fears, a slight role reversal for us, I think we will get through this.

P.S.  “The Situation” was largely lost on The Prince.  He asked me where I got the awful t-shirt, and I explained that I bought it in anticipation of this day.  He told me I couldn’t wear it when the baby starts to grow because he doesn’t want his kid to be a moron.  I said that I was pretty sure our baby wouldn’t be able to read the t-shirt from inside my belly or to decide to aspire to become the reality television character the slogan referred to, but I would err on the side of caution and leave the t-shirt in the closet as a memento if it would make The Prince feel better.  MEN!!!    

So Here's the Mother's Day Situation...



I know that this is Mother’s Day (or at least American Mother’s Day) and that today is one of the suckiest days of the entire year for a lot of women dealing with infertility.  I don’t want to make anyone’s day any worse, and I’ve really struggled about whether I should save this post for tomorrow to avoid the possibility of hurting anyone.  But in the end, my selfish needs have to come first on this blog.  So if you are getting the feeling that this post might make your day worse, I won’t be upset if you stop reading and I hope that today is gentle on you.

For three years, I’ve waited to be pregnant…even a little bit pregnant.  I have never had the joy of getting a positive pregnancy test…not even a chemical pregnancy…nothing.  So, imagine my joy when on Day 2 of “my experiment”…on Mother’s Day…I FINALLY GOT MY POSITIVE!!!



In all fairness, it isn’t yet a “strong” positive (I don't know that it has yet risen to the level of "BFP," perhaps just "P"), so I’ve given you a comparison picture between yesterday’s late morning test (top) and this morning’s test (bottom)…in case the second line was hard for you to see in the first picture.  After 23 pictures of these pregnancy tests, and about 100 examinations, I can assure you, there is a “positive” line and my mind is not playing tricks on me.  (I just checked again…just to make sure).  I’ve even tried the different light sources and there is no light in which I don’t see the line, faint as it may be.

After I got the positive (while The Prince was still sleeping), I put on my “Situation” t-shirt, brushed my teeth, did my hair, and decided to wait for him to wake-up on his own.  But then…before he could wake-up…the t-shirt came off and I jumped back into bed.  I’m not ready to tell him.  I’m shaking and excited and am not sure what will come out of my mouth when I open it, but I don’t WANT to tell him right now.  I know that if I tell him this morning, he will still have to leave to spend the entire day at his parents’ restaurant.  I know it will be almost impossible for him not to tell them if he is there alone with them (I am the self-restraint in the relationship, if you can believe that), and I will be really hurt and upset if he tells them before we get to the first ultrasound.  That was our deal…if we make it to a heartbeat, we get to make the announcement (or should I say…I get to make the announcement for us).  Plus, I’m not delusional.  I know that I am only a teensy bit pregnant, and I can’t “take it to the bank” just yet.  I don’t want to have to “un-announce” a pregnancy days after we (The Prince) announced it.

So, until The Prince gets home tonight, I will keep the t-shirt locked away.  I will swallow the huge, excited lump in my throat, and I will wait…wait until he comes home and has a chance to relax.  I will wait until we can really enjoy the news together…on Mother’s Day…because after three years on this horrible quest, we deserve a little happiness together.

Baby Steps...

I know I already wrote a post today, but then I did something amazing, and I can’t wait until tomorrow to post about it.  So please forgive my over-posting.

I was in Target today, shopping for the most sensitive HPT available, in preparation for Experiment Day 2, when it hit me – I’m ready!!!   

As those of you who have followed my blog for awhile already know, I have been resolute about not buying anything for my baby until I am pregnant.  I am not, nor have I ever been a superstitious person, but when it comes to this one thing…I’ve just been so certain that the Universe would smack me down if I was so brazen as to buy something for a baby I hadn’t yet conceived, I couldn’t do it.  I convinced myself that a negative pregnancy test would surely result if I dared make such a presumptuous purchase.

But today, as I stood staring at HPT’s, something changed.  I walked into the baby section of the store and started looking for the first gift from me to my new baby (babies).  I was smiling and enjoying myself for about 2 minutes, and then the familiar choking feeling started in my chest and throat.  Before I knew it, tears were falling down my cheeks and I had no choice but to make a quick exit to the check-out, which was (of course) manned by an eight-month pregnant cashier who smiled politely as I bought six HPT’s with tears in my eyes.    

As I walked to the car, I was so disappointed with myself.  I really felt like today was the day…like I had a breakthrough and was ready to face my fear of never having a baby.  Because let’s be honest, that is what this stupid “superstition” is about…fear that I will be left with a baby item but no baby to give it to.  Fear that there will be a tangible reminder, sitting somewhere in my house, of every negative pregnancy test I’ve ever suffered through.

Admitting what was really behind my fear as I walked to my car gave me the strength to try again.  So, I marched from my car to the baby store (a store that sells baby items…not a store that sells babies…just in case that wasn’t clear), adjacent to Target.  As I walked in, a saleswoman asked me if I would like to start a registry.  “Not yet” I said as I strolled by, unaffected by a question I would normally find insulting at best.  I walked into the Infant Section and…well…see for yourself…

(Baby Turtle Washclothes, to remind me that "Slow and Steady Wins the Race")

-and-

(With the theme of this blog...how could I pass up the Frog Princess jammies?)

So it is done.  I have my first gifts for my baby (babies).  No voice from heaven chastised me on my way out of the store.  No bolt of lightning struck me down on my way to the car.  And, regardless of how this cycle turns out, I will not believe that this purchase had anything to do with the outcome.  This purchase was just another step in my journey…a step out of the shadow of fear that has been paralyzing me for three years and into the light of hope.  Because if I didn’t have hope that I was going to have a baby someday, I never would have bought these things.  They’re my reminder to myself that I am not defeated. 

The Experiment Begins

After yesterday's post, I got lots of great advice about how to deal with my desire to POAS very early...specifically on Mother's Day (10 dpo).  I thought a lot about what everyone had to say and came up with the following plan. 

Part One of the Plan - Test This Morning.

Today was 9dpo, impossibly early to get a positive result and, as you can see from the horrid picture above, the HPT was, predictably, negative.  I decided that it would be prudent to test this morning because it would give me an opportunity to see how it would feel to see a negative result.  That way, if it was too devastating, I would avoid that pain on Mother’s Day, because I would know to avoid testing that day. 

Here is what I learned this morning:

1.                  I am not pregnant yet.

2.                  It hurts a little bit to see that negative, even when you know, logically, that it is virtually impossible for the test to be positive.  I kept staring at the test, willing it to become positive, my stomach tightening into a knot as I realized it wasn’t going to happen.

3.                  I can see the “positive” line if I look at the test long enough, even though it disappears if I look away for a second.  In other words, my mind is clearly more than happy to make crap up to soothe me, when it can.  If I have to look at the test for more than 20 seconds straight to see that line, then I cannot believe that it actually exists.

4.                  My camera on my phone SUCKS!

5.                  I am not above rummaging through the garbage in the bathroom to check, and double check, and triple check that nothing changed with the test after I throw it away.

6.                  I am going to have to start forcing myself to wake-up enough during my daily 4:00 a.m. pee break (apparently my bladder is too little to make it the whole night) to catch the first morning pee, because I barely had anything to use at 6:00 a.m., when I tested this morning.

7.                  I’m going to need more home pregnancy tests.

8.                  I am okay with the idea that it is just too early to be positive and I am okay to test tomorrow.  The negative result didn’t diminish my hope for this cycle in any way.  Sure, it took a couple of minutes to clear my head and shake off the disappointment, but the disappointment left a lot faster than I anticipated.  I’m looking forward to everything I have to do today and, now that the testing is done, I’m done with it….which brings me to Part 2 of the Experiment….

PART Two of the Plan- Test Every Single Morning and Blog About the Results, Then Move On With My Day

I think it is better to get this stuff out of the way first thing in the morning, each morning, from now through Thursday, so that I am not spending my entire day at work wondering what the test might have said if I had taken it that morning.  Plus, blogging helps me work through my feelings about things.  By adding a schedule component – POAS, blog about it, move along -  I will get the knowledge I need and feel like I’ve already shared my feelings about the results with trusted friends.  Hopefully that will help me to set negative results aside until the next morning, when we all engage in my experiment together again.  That’s the plan, at least.  And, when the test starts showing up positive, we can all decide together how I am going to fit my announcement plans around whatever day it happens on…or if I need to wait for a darker line before getting The Prince involved, etc.  As a “reward” for your participation in my experiment, you will get the joy of looking at the horrible, blurry pictures of sticks I have peed on each morning (just like Oprah’s favorite things, right?).

As with any experiment, this one might fall apart at any time…and, as per usual…I will absolutely blame the progesterone, rather than my mental stability (or lack thereof) if that happens.  But I think this is a good plan.

Alright…well I’m off to acupuncture and lunch with a fertility friend.  Thanks to all of you again for helping me through the madness that is the two week wait.     



This Is A Test...It Is Only A Test...

(FAIR WARNING:  Your Input Will Be Requested At The End Of This Post)

To test or not to test, that is the question.  That is always the question during the two week wait.

Today is 8 dpo (8 days post-ovulation).  As I’m sure we all know, days 6-10 after ovulation are the implantation days.  Then, Hcg gets released and, at a certain level, the HPT (home pregnancy test), a.k.a. POAS (pee on a stick), can pick-up the pregnancy. 

Mother’s Day is falling on my 10 dpo or, in HPT language, four days before the expected start date of my next period.  If your ears perk up like mine do whenever a pregnancy test commercial comes on TV, you know that most tests "can detect pregnancy up to 4 days before the first day of your missed period."  Specifically, according to the charts made by the HPT manufacturers, if I test on Mother’s Day and I AM pregnant, I have a 57% chance of the test showing a positive.

Of course, I have exhaustively searched online and found many stories of women who got their BFP’s (big fat positives) 5 days after a day 5 transfer (10 dpo).  I have also read a lot of stories of women who got negatives at 10 dpo and then BFP’s at 12 dpo.  And, of course, there are many women in the “wait until the beta test” camp.  Those women listen to their doctors and spare themselves the agony of deciding when to POAS, by choosing not to POAS at all.  I envy you women…but I will never be one of you.  Even if I were to wait for the beta test, I would agonize…oh how I would agonize!

So, the question for me, I guess, is not even really “to test or not to test.”  Rather, the question is- “to test on Mother’s Day or to wait until later.”  But the latter doesn’t really have the same ring to it.

Quick update for those of you who are new to this blog, my announcement to The Prince has been in the works for some time.  He is a Jersey Shore fan (I don’t know how that happened to a chemistry professor), and is particularly fond of walking around and saying “We have a Situation,” while pointing at his non-existent six pack.  So…I have a maternity shirt that says “The Situation” on the belly.  The plan is to yell out from the bathroom “Uh oh, Honey!  We’ve got a situation!”  He will come to the door, likely thinking that the shower broke, light fell out of the ceiling, etc.  I will then walk out in my “Situation” t-shirt, holding the positive pregnancy test and announce "the situation."  TA DA!!!!  This announcement scenario is admittedly corny, but non-negotiable.  I’ve waited three years for this moment, and like any good director, I feel I've perfected the announcement to match our quirky senses of humor.  So, although I adore you all, please don't trash my announcement plan because it isn't changing. 

Now that everyone is up to speed, you should know that The Prince and I have EXTREMELY tight schedules, and that is complicating my testing scenarios.  The Prince is working at his parent’s restaurant on Saturday and on Sunday, during the day.  We both will work during the day Monday through Friday, at our regular jobs.  On Monday, that's it...when we get home, we're home.  But on Tuesday through Thursday, The Prince works a second job, so on those days we will be home together from 4:30 - 5:00, and then The Prince won't be home again until 8:00 p.m.  Also, I am having dinner ou with friends on Tuesday night and won't be back until very late. 

So, based on the schedules, I believe I have worked out all of the possible testing scenarios, and they are as follows:

1)      Test on Sunday morning, find out I’m pregnant, make the announcement to the Prince on Sunday evening, when he gets home, for the best Mother’s Day ever!

2)      Test on Sunday morning, get a negative, work at convincing myself that I am in the 43% of pregnant women who wouldn’t test positive that early, and don’t mention any of it to The Prince who, at least, won’t be home most of the day.

3)      Test on Monday morning, find out I’m pregnant, sit with that knowledge the whole damn day at work…and announce the news to The Prince when I get home.

4)      Test on Monday morning, get a negative, and try not to fall apart at work that day.

5)      Test on Wednesday and…(see #’s 3 and 4 above)

6)      Wait until Thursday morning’s beta test, get the results at work, then don’t answer the phone when The Prince calls for the results, so I can rush home and make my announcement in between his two jobs.  (Unfortunately, The Prince has gone through IVF cycles with me enough times to know when my beta’s get scheduled and I’ve lied to him about when the blood test was in the past, to give myself time to process the news before facing him, so I can’t just lie and say it is on Friday in order to surprise him on Thursday.  He’s too crafty for that.).

I think it is likely clear which choice I like the best, but I am putting it out there for “my people” to weigh-in on.  I’m not promising anything (and if I don't follow advice I'm totally blaming it on the hormones), but bring on the comments and advice, being kind to my fragile ego and cognizant of my need for this to be a big deal.  I’m dying to know what other people have to say about all of this…and I know there are lots of other Type A’s out there reading this.  So please don’t be shy about letting me know if I missed a fabulous timing/testing/announcing scenario.  Can't wait to hear your opinions!    

I'm Coming Home...

My 24 year-old sister is terminating her pregnancy today.  That is the news I woke up to.  Apparently her doctor called her last evening with her blood work results, and she is not four to six weeks pregnant as they had thought but, rather, is MUCH further along.  Because of our state’s laws regarding abortion, this creates a situation where my sister basically can terminate the pregnancy today or cannot terminate it at all.  I can’t really get into all of my thoughts and feelings about my sister’s predicament and her choice.  When I start to think about it, I start sobbing and I don’t think that’s good for me right now.  My sister left me multiple hysterical voicemails last night, but somehow I was sleeping so soundly (and I am normally a VERY light sleeper), I missed the calls.  I’m taking that as a sign. 

Yesterday, I was in no place mentally to try to support her through her predicament.  But this morning, although it was not easy, I called her and listened to her, let her cry and gave her as much support as I could from afar, and under the circumstances.  I asked if she wanted me to come be with her or to help with my niece, but she does not want me there…she is embarrassed about her living conditions and this situation, and my presence will only make that worse.  I get it, and I can’t say that I am completely sorry that she feels that way.  I really didn’t want to have to drive six and a half hours over the next couple of days, stay in yet another hotel, and try to remain strong during her ordeal…hoping that the extra travel and stress wasn’t affecting my own chances of getting pregnant (but of course secretly obsessing that it was).  If it was something else…a car accident or an emergency with my niece…nothing could keep me away.  But this is different…this is about her terminating a pregnancy that I would quite literally give one of my smaller appendages to have…and I am selfishly relieved that my role as her supporter through this is being limited.  I love her dearly, but I cannot save her…and that is what I would want to do if I was there.

I am also so relieved to be going home today.  By last evening, I had settled into “resting,” and quite enjoyed my evening of TV and Angry Birds.  But I want my smuffin muffins (I have a list of stupid nicknames for my dogs that is a mile long) to snuggle with and my own bed to sleep in.  I want to put my arms around The Prince and have him make jokes about Baby Hamish 1 and Baby Hamish 2.  I am supposed to go to dinner with a couple of my fertility friends tonight, and it will be so nice to have some company after being isolated the last day and a half.  It will just be so nice to be home.  I might even call off work tomorrow…even though I probably should save that day off…to just continue the relaxation and “nesting” right through the weekend.  I feel better today.  More at ease…more calm…and back to “cautiously optimistic” that the embryos are burrowing in as I type this.  Perhaps Princess Positive Polly is coming back after all.

Cloud Nine Just Got Stormy

Today has been really emotionally rough on me…and for some reason…that has come as a surprise.  I guess that I just felt like the oddles of good news we’ve been getting and the wave of positivity I’ve been riding would only get better once we had two little blasts tucked safely inside my uterus.  But that hasn’t been the case.

Maybe it is because I am stuck alone, 2 ½ hours from my home, husband and dogs, with only the room service attendants and my thoughts to keep me company.  Maybe it is the damn progesterone and estrogen supplements.  Maybe it is sheer boredom.  Or maybe, these awful thoughts I am about to share is just a dose of reality coming and slapping me square across the face.

Today I realized that it is now up to me…up to my body…to take this cycle the rest of the way…to pregnancy.  Up to this point, things have been going so well for us but I forgot that I hadn’t been contributing to any of that.  I felt so connected to the embies and so excited, I forgot that maybe things have gone well so far because I had nothing to do with the egg production, or the fertilization, or the quality of the embryos.  Now my broken body is getting involved again.  What if everyone else (The Prince, the donor, the embryologist) all did such an amazing job, and my body is going to screw it up for us, again?  I hate feeling this way.  I hate these thoughts.  But the reality is that the only things that were different this time around were: (1) the retrieval, fertilization, embryo outcome being awesome; and (2) me not being a factor in any of it.  How could I have missed that these last couple of weeks?  I guess I was so busy walking on clouds or biting my nails in anticipation, I ignored the obvious.

Out of the remaining 10 blasts from yesterday, 8 of them made it through the night and were frozen today.  I should be able to take comfort in that.  As The Prince has said, if it doesn’t work this time we get lots more tries…something we never dreamed we would have.  But I am not taking comfort in it.  I am feeling cramps and aching in my uterus, which is not normal for me after a retrieval…and I’m essentially on self-imposed modified bed rest, so I can’t even blame the sensations on “over doing it.”  I want to be Postive Polly again.  I want to think that these sensations are new and different because the embryos are starting to implant.  But I can’t.  Instead, I feel like something is wrong and it is wrong with me and my body.  And if this cycle doesn’t work, there will be no way to deny that it’s my fault we aren’t pregnant.  I don’t know how I would pick myself up from that.  I don’t know why my bubble has burst.  I feel like I don’t know anything right now except that I want to turn back the clock to yesterday and feel good again. 

Not So Quick Post-Transfer Update



Well, the transfer is over and now the two week wait begins.  Things are very different at the offices up here than they are where I usually go.  It is the same fertility center, but a different branch and I like my branch sooooooo much better.  People are not quite as friendly and the attention is not as personal up here, but it doesn’t matter…so long as I get pregnant.

I started out with pre-transfer acupuncture, and slept like a baby through the whole thing (always a good sign).  The acupuncturist was awesome, although The Prince was quite convinced that the man smokes copious amounts of pot.  If not, he is just the most mellow man in the world.  I don’t care either way…he was great. 

Then it was on to transfer.  They weren’t concerned about The Prince’s eye, as he was up by my head and was in his usual scrubs, hair net, goggles outfit.  The doctor came in and said that we had 12 amazing blasts, the most beautiful batch he had ever seen.  Seriously!!!  All 12 of the fertilized eggs made it to 5 day blastocytes.  Go donor and go super swimmers.  The picture above is the picture of our little litter.

After showing us the picture, the doctor asked if we wanted to put only 10 or all 12 back in and then laughed.  He agreed with our assessment that two was the best number for us.  He left for awhile, came back in with a nurse and a resident (who observed only) and asked me to skootch down on the table.  Here’s where it started to suck…without any warning he put a cold speculum in, scraping the top of ..well…you know…as he went.  My doctor at home warms the speculum, lubes everything up really well, gives you lots of warning, asks if the pressure is okay, and apologizes the whole way through.  This doctor…not such a romancer.  I yelped and he said “Did that hurt?  Okay, I want you to close your eyes and say ‘I am relaxed, this is easy.’”  I was trying to breath through the pain, but he kept insisting that I “say the mantra,” so I said it to appease him.  I wanted to say “Let me stick that speculum somewhere on you while you say ‘I am relaxed and this is easy,’” but I refrained.

Then, the doctor said “I’ll be right back” and actually left the room with me laying there with the speculum in.  That was new experience for me…and not a pleasant one I must say.  A minute went by, then 5…I was ready to send The Prince out to see what was going on when the crew came back in with our embies in the catheter.  I deep breathed, as instructed, during the actual transfer…and then the best part….

The doctor (who is a bit of a hippy if I haven’t mentioned that before…seriously…like he’s a guru and doctor) took my hand and The Prince’s hands and asked us to form a “hand circle” for “the most important part of the whole process.”  The doctor then asked us to close our eyes (like we were saying Grace) and he said “I want you to see these two most beautiful, amazing, awesome embryos settling into your uterus, as your uterus holds and squeezes them…filling them with love.  Now I want you to picture them growing into babies and you holding those babies in your arms on the day they are born.  If you believe, you can manifest anything.  Believe in these babies.  Say it with me, ‘I believe’….”

At that point, The Prince, a devout atheist and hater of all things hokey, was squeezing my hand so hard, I thought it was going to break off.  I finally conceded and chanted “I believe” with the guru…uh hm…doctor, and he left the room, instructing us to continue manifesting our desired outcome over the next couple of weeks.  It was sweet, really, but hilarious, too.  I started laughing as soon as the door shut behind the doctor, even though I was trying not to because I didn’t want to push out the embryos.  The Prince said I owe him big time because he refrained from laughing while the guy was in there…and he let the doctor hold his hand.  (On a strange side note, The Prince then told me that the doctor must work out because he has the hand muscles that only people who lift heavy weights get…strange how much attention he was paying to that doctor’s hand…but whatever).  I stayed on the table for half an hour, not sure what we were waiting for (manifesting time, maybe?) because no one was big on giving us much information while we were there. 

Finally, a nurse came in and gave us a picture of the two embryos we put in…the best of the best!  (See below)

I went back for another session of acupuncture, and fell asleep so hard, that the acupuncturist had my husband come in to wake me up.  When I awoke and The Prince explained what had happened.  I said, “Well go get the guy so he can take the needles out of me.”  The Prince explained that the poor guy already had removed all the needles and had gently shaken me…but then literally couldn’t wake me up.  And I hadn’t even taken a Valuum this time, as they forgot to give me one before the procedure.  The Prince apparently gave me a light punch in the arm, which did the trick.  Nice.

I’m back at the hotel now.  The Prince is gone and I am on my own for the next couple of days.  I’ve already sampled the room service and I really lucked out in picking this hotel…the room service was delicious!  I think I’m going to sleep now and dream happy dreams of two little babies growing in my belly.  I’ll write more tomorrow.  Have a Happy Hamish Day, everyone. 

Quick Pre-Transfer Update

This is NOT the update I had assumed I would be giving you.  Well…this first part is.  We made it to the city where we are having our transfer.  We got checked into the hotel that our fertility center has a rate deal with.  It’s charming and quaint, but the pillows are little and the bed is hard.  Oh well.  Not the most important things.  The Prince and I had a nice dinner last night and I ran my ANJI IVF Meditation CD on continuous loop all night.  The morning, The Prince said that his uterus is good to go, too…so we’re ready.  Except…

First, The Prince woke up with his eye all pink and swollen shut this morning.  He wears contacts and, even though he is diligent about cleaning them and not wearing them for too long, he gets eye infections fairly frequently.  Unfortunately, his medicine is at home, so it is a swollen and red eye for him today.  I’ve never caught an eye infection from him (mainly because I am super diligent about him washing his hands incessantly while he has it), but we’re a little worried that they might not let him into the transfer room with me because of it.  We completely understand why they would be concerned and we would never want to jeopardize the status of a “clean room” for ourselves or others.  However, we are hoping that they can give him so gloves and a pair of goggles (like the ones they made him wear during my prior retrievals, so he can be there with me.  There isn’t a lot of “togetherness” in this process.  I would hate to lose what little we can have.

Second, (and here’s the bigger pre-transfer surprise), my sister (yes…24 year-old, gave away two year-old with husband who was being deported to Belize, can’t take care of her kids and allegedly had a miscarriage when I last visited her sister) called me yesterday in tears.  She had gone to the doctor because she was having terrible pains in her uterus and thought something had gone wrong with the miscarriage.  Well (I bet you can guess what is coming), the miscarriage was not a miscarriage because she is 4 to 6 weeks pregnant.  She asked for an abortion on the spot (and she has always said she could never have an abortion, so that’s a big deal for her) and the doctor told her she has to wait a couple of weeks, until she sees a heartbeat on an ultrasound before they can discuss that.  I won’t get into the ethical issues surrounding abortion, but I think that everyone can agree that, when a free clinic doctor has a 24 year-old who has been begging for a tubal for two years and admittedly cannot take care of her two kids she has the way she wants to, to say that the 24 year-old cannot have a tubal (after 6 pregnancies, now) and has to let her baby grow to the point of seeing a heartbeat before she can terminate the pregnancy is INSANE!  My sister begged me on the phone yesterday to adopt the baby, which I explained is a problem given that, in the US, the father’s parental rights don’t terminate just because he is in another country…so “if she is sure he is the father…despite the fact that the pregnancy would have occurred right on the bubble of when he was leaving”…I don’t think she has a lot of options.  Anyways, I’m not going to get into this more than that right now.  I have to stop.

When I got the call yesterday, it felt like God/the Universe had kicked me right in the gut…quite literally.  I had a tough time breathing and it took my stomach hours to unclench.  The two and a half hour drive was therapeutic and, by the time we got to this city last night, I was okay with the thought that this is a test…a seriously screwed up test…but only a test.  I am not good at setting stressful things aside to focus on the task at hand, but that is exactly what I am going to do today.  I have at least a couple of weeks and likely months to figure out how to help my sister and her child as best I can.  But right now, there is nothing I can do for her so I am going to set her situation aside, in a little box, in the attic of my mind…and I am remaining Positive Polly…soon to be Pregnant Positive Polly.

So with that, I thank you all for your support and kindness.  I’m taking it all in with me today and just basking in it.  Not pink eye, nor sister’s pregnancy, can bring me down today.  Today is Little Hamish Day…and my uterus has a job to do.

P.S.  The Prince is currently singing a “I feel like someone just peed all over my face….uh oh…nothing rhymes with ‘face’” song.  Apparently the shower pressure sucks!  And apparently my husband needs those “rhyming word” flash cards.  LOL.

Why I Shouldn't Blog At 3:00 a.m....

I can’t sleep.  In 30 hours I will be looking at pictures of my beautiful little embryos with the doctor, and staring at my toes while I take the next step towards becoming a Mommy.  I know I need rest right now, my glands are even a little swollen, which happens if I start getting worn out.  But I just can’t calm the butterflies in my stomach enough to get back to sleep.  So, I’m sitting here, sipping my orange juice and Emergencee, performing internet research on everything from “sensitivity of home pregnancy tests” to “first time donor egg success stories.”  What’s amusing (disturbing?), is that most of the websites come-up a different color on my search results, meaning I’ve already visited the sites at least once in the past.  I actually chuckled while reviewing a list, in order of sensitivity, of home pregnancy tests, because I was basically quizzing myself on a list I had already memorized…plus I already have three boxes of three different brands of HPT’s in my bathroom, as we speak.  There’s no way I’m making it to the beta without POAS…so I may as well be prepared.

Yesterday was a good day.  The Prince and I got along well.  I apologized for being hard on him lately (I can’t express how much I hate to be the one to apologize, especially when I think I deserve an apology too, but know I’m not getting one), and I promised to try to do better.  He said “Good”…but then smirked.  Things seemed to have clicked for him (finally).  Yesterday, he would just randomly smile at times and when I said “What?,” he would say, “Oh, I just am excited that there is going to be a little Hamish in your belly soon.” 

I don’t know if I’ve ever explained before, but my husband is obsessed with the name “Hamish.”  His mother came from Scotland when she was a girl, and he feels very strong ties with his Scottish roots, even though he only met his Scottish relatives once, as a boy (he almost wore a kilt at our wedding, but his legs are way hotter than mine, and that we simply could not have-lol).  So, he thinks Hamish is a good Scottish name, while I think it will likely get our child beat up by the Tyler's, Kayden's, and Ashton's of this world, every day of his pre-pubescent life.  Hamish is a good Scottish name...but it is not a good American name.   Even The Prince’s Mom has vetoed the name Hamish.  I think in his heart he knows we are NOT naming our child that, but he likes to give me crap about it at every turn and it has become our long-running joke.  So I know he’s in a good place mentally right now, as I spent lots of time yesterday hearing about how, boy or girl, Hamish would be our baby’s name…how the embryos would be more likely to implant if we call them Hamish because the awesomeness of the name alone would make them want to come into the world…and how he can’t wait to see the pictures of Hamish 1 and Hamish 2 on Tuesday, even if they do just look like blobs to him.

In addition to having a great day with The Prince, I also treated myself to a pedicure and manicure.  It was DIVINE!!!  I always forget how amazing pedicures are…until I get them, and then I don’t know why I don’t splurge on them more often…even in upstate NY, where your feet only get to come out to play a few months each year. 

I let the man doing my nails talk me out of my usual muted-mauve color, and into a cute (but VERY bright) pink.  I’m glad I did.  When he was done with my toes, I asked the man if he could paint one little white heart, on each of my big toes, to symbolize something special I had coming up.  There was apparently a language barrier because he said “Yes.  I do very pretty flowers for you.”  I said, “No.  No flowers.  Just two little hearts.”  He looked at me quizzically and brought me a pen and paper.  “Show me.”  So, I drew a heart.  “Ahhhhh” he said, and he went to work.  It was really hard not to laugh as he tried to figure out how to paint a heart on my toes.  I wanted to ask him if I could do it for him, but I didn’t want him to take any offense.  He asked two of the other women to come over to help, and they discussed my request in Vietnamese, pointing at my big toes and the drawing.  Who knew hearts weren’t popular toe designs?  I have taken a picture of what resulted.  I somehow ended-up with white heart’ish-shaped blobs with silver glitter in the middle, taking up a good portion of the nails on each big toe.  I know it looks horrible (and I also know that none of you probably want to be seeing a picture of my pudgy little feet right now…but a picture is worth a thousand words…so here’s the picture)

…but he was so proud of himself that I just smiled and went with it.  I am taking the whole amusing ordeal as a sign that things have been less than perfect on this journey, but I know what is important now and I can choose to be happy with “less than perfection.”

I’m probably going to wake up tomorrow (assuming I get back to sleep before I need to wake up for yoga and work in two hours), and kick myself for putting photos of my feet on the internet.  Mine aren’t exactly the kind of feet that are probably in “high demand” in certain shady circles, but still.  What would my Grandmother say?  Anyways, I will try to sneak in another post between now and when I go in for my transfer.  Thanks for listening to my wee-hour ramblings.