It Feels Good to Feel Good...

I can't say that I've been real proud of myself the last few days.   I'm sure that the embryos in my uterus are pretty disappointed in me too.  I've been a little bit of a wreck-- an emotional wreck-- these days and all because I feel good.

I'm officially crazy.

I woke up Tuesday morning feeling great.  Rested.  Relaxed.  And I should have been because for the last few days all I did was sleep, lay around, lounge... but you know me.  Feeling good is a bad thing.

So I obsessed over how my pants were fitting a little loose and how I could walk around without feeling my ovaries sliding around on my insides.  I felt like such a fertility failure.  And then, even after a very relaxing acupuncture treatment, I still broke down and cried like a little girl.... all because I felt good.  You can't see me right now as I type but I'm shaking my own head at me.

But then I pulled myself together.  Today I called the doctor.  They told me that feeling good was okay.  It is good to feel good!

It really is too early to start this mess.

Continue to send happy thoughts our way.

Rolling on the Rolling Coaster...

If you were a fly on our wall, you'd think I'm sick.  I've done nothing but lay around the house for the sake of the two embryos that were implanted Sunday morning.  Doctor's orders... two days of rest.

Yesterday also marked my entry into the emotional roller coaster that is IVF.  The embryologist that performed the transfer had a heavy Asian accent and neither me nor the Husband could hardly understand her.  She told us, I think, that we had two really nice embryos to transfer, one being very good... and possibly one to freeze tomorrow.

One?  What happened to Friday's report that everything was going great?  My heart sunk... and then I started to obsess and worry that these two little guys that were being left under by supervision were not going to make it... because let's be honest, I have no idea how to be a normal person and just relax and go with the flow.

Regardless, I had to suck it up and before I knew it, the little guys were safely in my uterus.  I think the Husband has a whole new respect for what women go through with gynecological tools...

Then today, while I was laying in the bed feeling sorry for myself, worried that we'd have to go through all the medication and surgery again... the lab called.  The embryologist that I had been working with all last week called and said that they were going to freeze 5 embryos today!

Suddenly much of the pressure I had been putting on myself was lifted.... relief.  Not that this changes anything really, but for whatever reason, it makes me feel less stressed-- a little less crazy and a lot less overwhelmed.

Continue to keep us in your thoughts and prayers...  we definitely need them!

We are a Go...

We are a go for Sunday's Egg Transfer.  The lab called this morning.  The egg babies are developing safely in their little incubator.  Our numbers have fallen from 19 to 18 and there are a few that are a little behind in their development, but that doesn't mean that they can't catch up.  And because things are looking positive, we are get to go forward with the more favorable 5 day transfer.

Please keep us in your prayers and thoughts.... we sure could use them!

Egg Round Up (Surviving the Egg Retrival)...

Tuesday was a really tough morning for me.  As cool as I had been about having my eggs sucked out of my lady parts, Tuesday morning I lost all my nerve.  The last thing I wanted to have done to me Tuesday morning was to have this procedure.  I was even more less than thrilled when the cute little nurses' aid pulled me into the surgical suite bathroom so I could change into a hospital gown, booties and a hair net.

It was bad enough that I was about to be violated, but on top of it all it was going to happen in an ill fitting gown and ridiculous hat!  It was just too much...

The last time I had any sort of procedure done, my oral surgeon had been kind enough to put me on nerve pills.  But nerve pills are probably not good for ovaries or the follicles that live in them so I didn't dare ask.  But suddenly I couldn't stop my legs from shaking.  I could not speak in a normal sounding voice because I was surely going to burst out into tears at any second.  The lady on the other side of the curtain was recovering from some sort of surgery and was moaning... loudly.  I kept thinking, in a little bit, that is going to be me... miserable and in pain.

Then it was time.  They had the Husband go back to the waiting room.  The nurse had me by the hand and we were heading to the cold room where all the action was going to happen.

They had me lie down.  They hung the IV bag and started injecting the medicine that would make me sleep.  At that moment I looked down and saw the white medicine being injected and my mind went right to Michael Jackson and I started to laugh.  The nurse said, "Oh, don't cry" and I replied, "I'm not cryinging, I'm laughing." 

And then I was back in the recovery area.  The Husband was there and the nurse was asking me to drink apple juice and I felt so reliefed that it was over.  I felt surprisingly good... like I had slept for days and all of a sudden I was talking about Michael Jackson.  I completely understand why he had Dr. Murray hook him up with all those IV medications.  They are good stuff.

Sure I was a little crampy and my mouth was completely dry... but things were looking up.  I no longer had the ridiculous hair net on and I was finished with the procedure.  Woo Hoo!

According to the husband I did a lot of talking... I remember talking about Michael Jackson and possibly Whitney Houston.  But I defiantely remember asking about how many eggs we harvested.  No one could tell me at first.  The nurse I came back and told me 18.  Somewhere along the way they must have miscounted because when the lab called the number grew to 20.

But 18 or 20 I was thrilled.  Thrilled that it was over... thrilled that I lived... thrilled that I wasn't laying in a bed moaning and groaning like that other lady.

On Wednesday, when the lab called and confirmed that it was 20 eggs, not 18, they also confirmed that all 20 were mature and all but one fertilized.  In my shock, I didn't ask how they fertilized them.  I didn't ask why I was told 18 and not 20 and I certainly didn't ask what all this meant.  Of course, now I'm full of questions and of course, we are back to our waiting game.  Tomorrow is a tentative transfer.  Because things were looking positive, we may be pushed to a Sunday transfer and that is fine with me.

I'm a little overstimulated from all the medication and the super-ovulation... so I'd like a couple more days to deflate, drink the Gatorade and rest...  sounds like a plan.

And I sure to do love a good plan.

Take it easy Y'all...

Pre-Egg Retrival Pitty Party...

So maybe being hepped up on hormone shots, watching Entertainment Tonight's in-depth coverage of Whitney Houston's funneral coming home ceremony is not such a good idea the night before an egg retrival surgery.

I'm a little bit in a egg retrival funk.  I'm going to blame it on nerves... and sleep depreviation...and my friend, Stress.  Where is the at-home acupuncture kit when you really need it?  My daddy use to tell me to never marry a farmer.  Who knew he was right-- I should have married an acupuncturist.  Then I could be sitting here on the couch with tiny needles sticking out of my forehead, hepped up on hormone shots watching Whitney Houston's funneral coverage and feeling more calm about being violated tomorrow morning and not as sad that Kevin Costner isn't a close, personal friend.  He seems like the nicest guy, doesn't he?

But the Husband is much funnier than any acpuncturist I've ever met and a sense of humor is really important when you are going through all this infertility junk. 

All I know is that I'm having a little pre-egg retrival pitty party. Poor Whitney.  Poor Me.  And for good measure, poor Michael Jackson. 

I know, I'm being a little dramatic... of course having the potential to create a baby is much better than being dead... but tomorrow I'm going to have a needle injected into a very sensative area to suck out a bunch of eggs that I worked very hard to create and I don't think Whitney is... nor MJ for that matter.

The sensible side of me knows that this will all be over before I know it.  So suck it up Emily!  Soon I'll be home resting in my super comfy bed and watching re-runs of Designing Women and the Gilmore Girls.

Send some good thoughts and prayers my way this week.  I'm going to be needing them...

Do Your Ovaries Hang Low? Do They Wobble To and Fro? ...

Not that I ever thought that I was big Bertha or something or other, but I never saw myself as especially small.  The evidence states otherwise.  I'm five foot tall.  I wear a petite 00 in pants, an XS or XXS (if I can find it) in shirts, preferably petite.  The Husband has stated on numerous occasions that he will never buy me underwear because he says people will think he is a child molester.  The last time I weighed I didn't break the 100 pound mark. 

But even with all the facts staring back at me in the mirror, I have never once felt that I was remarkably small.

My ovaries have since changed my mind, and recently I might add.  Ovaries should be roughly the size of a walnut.  The uterus, by comparison is a little bit larger.  Today, on the ultrasound screen, my ovaries were double the size of my uterus and had long left the cute walnut stage, looking a lot more huge that cute.  I can feel my ovaries when I cross my legs, when I walk down the hall at work, or when I stand up or sit down. 

On a daily, normal basis I doubt many people ever notice their organs...  excepting the one 3rd grader who looked at me in the hallway yesterday and said, "My spleen hurts."  But excepting that one 3rd grader with the hurting spleen, I doubt many people walk down the hallway at work thinking, "Man, my liver sure does seem swollen and tender today."  I think I walk too hard...

I reported my feelings of feeling my ovaries to the nurse today at my monitoring visit.  I love the nurse by the way, she looks sort of like Jenelle's mom on Teen Mom 2, but much more rested and much less angry.  The nurse said because I was so tiny, I'd probably notice my enlarged ovaries more than some, stating that I just don't have as much room as others.

And to think that I used to brag about having a short torso. 

I really did.  I thought it was a bonus since I wasn't going to be tall, at least I had long legs for a shorty.

Sick. 

As for my monitoring visit:  Things are looking good.  My follicles are looking very uniform, which means, I'm assuming, that all the little guys caught up to the bigger guys.  My estrogen level has tripled in the last three days, which they assure me is wonderful.  However, we will be remaining at the larger dose of drugs.  Sigh....

We also are predicting the egg retrieval procedure sometime during the first part of the week.  I guess we will know more when I go back in two days for more monitoring.

Happy Weekend Y'all!

The Unofficial Ovarian Update...

I don't go back for monitoring until tomorrow morning, so this "report" is completely unofficial and based solely off of what I'm feeling.  Yesterday I reported feeling a little different, but only when I thought about it.  And I tried really hard not to think about it. 

Today, back at work and busy, I can assure you that I spent very little time focusing on my enlarged ovaries and more about all the tasks I had at hand.  But around lunchtime something changed and I became a little uncomfortable.  Not the painful or bloated kind of uncomfortable, but I can defiantely tell you exactly where my ovaries are living these days kind of uncomfortable... and I don't have to think about it.

Tonight marks the first time in many medicated cycles that the Husband won't be present for my shot.  I think my sister is coming over to inject me... or at least someone is because I sure am not going to inject myself.

Follicles are your Friends...

Today was my first monitoring appointment.  Currently around 22 little follicles are living in my ovaries.  Only a few were measured and of the few that were measured, the largest one is a 12.  I'm not sure of the increment, I'm assuming millimeters.  This is completely new to me... mega egg production.  Months ago when we started down this path the doctors having been trying to keep my production of follicles down to three.

The nurse complimented me, "You have wonderful ovaries."  That compliment, strange as it is, makes a girl feel real good. 

After my monitoring appointment and all the blood work I made my way down to acupuncture.  I really love acupuncture.  It is probably one of the most relaxing things I've ever done-- and this coming from a person that use to have monthly appointments at the spa.

Acupuncture is weird, but truly wonderful all at the same time and is defiantely one of the biggest bright spots in all this infertility junk.

Tonight we are upping our dose of medication, even though my estrogen levels are high-- like over 500.  I go back in two days to see what's what.

At this point I'm not really noticing too many changes internally, or externally.  If I sit and think about it, I feel little more prickly and heavy, if that makes sense, where my ovaries live.  But that is only if I sit still and think about it.  I'm trying not to sit and think about it.

I'm also not trying to stress over work... I'm missing a lot of work, which I hate.  I've got the sick leave time, I just hate to use up my time.  I'm a time hoarder from way back.

So, as my acupuncturist says, "treat your long deep breaths as a massage for the inside of your body."  I'm going to breath through my stress... hopefully improve my circulation and get fluids moving to where they need to be... and take a little rest, me and my 22 follicles friends.

Prodded? Wasn't that Pokey's Friend?...

We have started shots.  A little painful, the shots are, but then we've already decided that I'm a masochist, so don't feel too bad for me.  It is really not the shot that hurts.  At this point, I'm an old pro at needles.  Desperate as it appears and is to be injected with a sharp hollow instrument repeatedly, I think it is more of the thickness of the solution being injected into my belly fat that causes the discomfort. 

It is really desperate, don't you think?  Anyone that is willing to be injected or willing to inject themselves is in a bad way, regardless of how cool they play it.  Diabetics need the insulin to survive.  Cancer patients welcome with a more than healthy amount of dread the IV bag full of life-saving and cell-killing chemo.  Illegal drug users willingly and excitedly inject any vein they can muster just to feel different, better and to avoid the feelings withdrawal... and then there are people like me who opt to be injected and poked and prodded all with the hopes that this potion and this treatment will work...  It sure sounds desperate when I put it that way, doesn't it?

About a week ago we got our large shipment of fertility drugs from the fancy IVF pharmacy located somewhere in New Jersey.  Each night Husband mixes three vials of medicine into one CC syringe.  I swipe the area with an alcohol swab while pinching up as much stomach area as I can.  I've found that holding the area, pinched up as much as possible, makes it hurt less and also causes less bruising.  For a long while I'd only let Husband inject me if I was laying down on the couch.  Now, after several goes at injections, I stand there and take it.  Laying down doesn't take away the unpleasantness of the whole experience.  I've read blogs and message boards where other infertiles mentioned using ice to numb the area being shot up... we've never tried it, but I'm sure if you are very pain sensitive, it might help.

Through this all, I've learned that I'm not very pain sensitive.  I may look frail, but in all actuality, I'm pretty tough.  Heaven help the women with infertility problems if she is pain sensitive or at least needle phobic (having not been through the egg retrevial process, I may find it horribly uncomfortable and painful).

Two weeks ago when we first started down the IVF route we, meaning myself and Husband, had to get a large amount of blood work done.  At this point I'm used to the blood letting... and when the nurse told us that we'd get to go ahead and get it over with that day, I was happy.  Husband's leg just started shaking.... harder. 

I didn't flinch when the nurse pulled out six vials (three big, three little).  I didn't get pale when she wrapped the rubber strap around my arm.  I didn't get that hot, sweaty feeling when she told me to make a fist.  I don't watch the blood drawing from my own arm, just like I don't watch Husband when he sticks the needles into my flesh,  but I don't get panicky about the whole process either... not anymore.

My other half, on the other hand, doesn't do so well with the blood drawing.  He was pale and shaky and had to get water to drink after the letting was over.  The entire time she was drawing my blood she was asking him if he was okay.  Did he feel alright?  Did he need to lay down?  I found it quiet humorous...

We decided that I'm the man... those where his words to me after I had sailed through the whole process without much complaint:  "You're the Man, Emily." 

In his defense... he wasn't prepared for having to get blood drawn, nor did she use the arm he normally uses for this sort of procedure, and I get blood drawn all the time thanks to all the fertility medication that we've been injecting for the last 6 months or so. 

I go back to the doctor tomorrow to see if the medication is making lots of little follicles...  if we are on track, behind or ahead.  I probably will get more blood drawn tomorrow... and hopefully know more about what is in store!

And before I forget, I hope you are having a good Valentine's Day :)

Just When You Think That Leaving Work will be the Highlight of Your Day, in Walks a Girl Scout...

I had a double baby shower after work today.  Two of my co-workers are pregnant and soon will be giving birth.  I'm excited for them, but mostly I'm glad that I'm not having to be pregnant with them, together.  One has been big pregnant since the school year started. People are always telling her she must be having twins and that she looks like she is going to pop at any moment.  The other one has just started showing and finally looks pregnant.  If I had been her (the little one), I'd gone crazy already thinking something was way wrong with me... or if I were in the other girls' shoes (big prego), I'd gone crazy thinking that I'm way too big! 

Regardless, after spending about twenty minutes small talking with some co-workers, I decided it was time for me to leave.  I walked back to my office to gather my belongings and go home.  It had been a really long day and even though we are trying for a baby, baby stuff--especially other people's baby stuff--doesn't interest me much. 

Happily, a Girl Scout happened to be standing outside my office door talking to the receptionist. 

I don't know about you, but I love Girl Scout cookies... so I asked her, "Are you selling cookies?"  Of course she was and the best part was that I got to buy and get them today!  No waiting.  I ordered 4 boxes of Peanut Butter Patties, two boxes of Thin Mints, and one box of Peanut Butter Sandwiches for the Husband.  I think at $3.50 a pop, it was money well spent.  And I would like to mention, this was the most polite and well behaved Girl Scout that I've encountered in a very long time.

I really do love Girl Scout cookies.  I don't know if it is because you can only get them one time a year or if it is because they are made with real Girl Scouts.  But eithery way they are a delight... plain and simple.

I realize that tomorrow's acupuncturist may not agree with me about their nutritional value... they in fact may add inches to my waist line and slow down my digestion, but c'mon.  Girl Scout Cookies... really?  Totally worth it!

I hope that you've found the brightside to your Thursday too!

Beyond Help...

Today as I was writing another check to the fertility doctor's office for another ungodly amount and I found myself struggling with my pocketbook.  As I struggled, trying to get my wallet back into my bag I said aloud, "I hate this bag."  The check-out lady smiled at me, knowingly... who hasn't struggled with their pocketbook from time to time?
But then is occurred to me, if I really hate this bag, then why have I been carrying this bag for more than a year?  Maybe two years?  Could it have been that long?  I really do hate that bag... sometimes. 

Sure, it is pretty... Nice, metallic leather with plenty of storage space... but I swear this bag has taken years off my life.  I'm always loosing keys and money and lip balm in it's many compartments. I think at least once a day I find myself looking for something panicked that I've lost something important, only to find it hiding deep inside one of the many pockets.

But for years-- well, at least 12 months-- I've been toting this bag around, proudly.  Occasionally I'd catch a glimpse of myself carrying it and see its subtle metallic leather shimmer in the reflective surface of the automatic doors at the Target and then I'd forget how much trouble this bag really is.  It is a smart, sophisticated bag. 

But as I stood at the check-out at the fertility doctor's office, struggling with the bag, I blurted out, "You know I'm such a masochist... which is why I'm here all the time."

I think I might be beyond help.

Thinking back on it, I've always been one of those people that felt like something was working if it burned or stinged.  I'd go for chemical peels and complain to the facialist if it wasn't burning.  I wear my retainer at night, even though it hurts because the pain tells me that something is working!  What if I really am a masochist?

I'm gladly signing up for painful medical procedures and I'm barely complaining about it.  I have the Husband stab me with needles over and over... subject myself to early morning appointments and face rush hour traffic all with the end in mind.  Now we are in the big leagues of infertility and again, I'm facing it all with the end in mind... with a smile on my face.

Maybe I am a little bit of a masochist... but maybe all women are.  After all, most women subject themselves to motherhood at some point, most of which involves pregnancy and pregnancy results in misshapen bodies, weight gain, stretch marks, big bulging leg veins, and ultimately a painful birthing experience.

So maybe it's not just me... an even if I'm a masochist, I feel better knowing I'm never alone!

Blah. Blah. Blogging...

As promised here is a little IVF update, coming your way.  It is a little past due, my update, which I will explain. 

In a nut shell, two weeks ago we met with my doctor who sort of talked us through the procedure, the up's, the down's... the risks.  Then this week we got to meet with the nurse for our education class where she talked us through the medications and more of the procedure... the up's, the down's... the risks.  Sounds negative, but I really felt positive after each of these meetings.  My doctors and nurses are very supportive, funny, and compassionate individuals. 

In another two weeks, give or take, if things go as planned, in two Saturdays time we will be back to injecting medication, just as much higher doses than ever before.  It's a little scary... not so much the injections, just the higher doses.

The part that sticks out the most is that the nurse said I remind her of Sally Field.  I've never been compared to a famous person before...   You remember back when AOL was like the only way to access the Internet and people would send those chain survey emails out where you would fill in personal answers to questions?  I used to love those things... I could spend hours filling them out.  Probably because I was 14 and silly and very self-centered.

Regardless, they'd always ask some sort of questions like:  if your life was to be made into a movie, what movie star would play you?  I never knew how to answer that questions-- I never thought I looked like anyone famous... I think I look like some family members.. but you know what I mean.  Actually, I thought it was strange when someone could answer that question.  I know Newt didn't have that problem the other day with the whole Brad Pitt thing... but I just always thought it strange.  Anyway...  now, according to the nurse, I should have been putting "Sally Field" into the email. 

As for the reason for my long break in blogging... back in December my boss sent out an email (not the fun survey email wanting to know my favorite color, food, and jean brand) asking us to consider working several Saturdays in the new year to learn about a new instructional method.  We'd be compensated for our time, and being a little money starved I signed on...

I signed on thinking, how bad can it be?  Last Saturday was our first in the series of 4 Saturdays... and to my surprise, the training was good.  Very informative.  Very relavent.  And the time flew by.  Before I knew it, I was at home catching some Z's in a nice Saturday afternoon nap. 

And then Sunday flew by.  Fast.  Then it was Monday morning and I was feeling a little bit like I never left or had a break or had some down time.  Guess what?

I got to work this Saturday too!

What's that movie with the guy who talks about how all work and no play makes him go crazy?  It doesn't matter really, the point is... I'm starting to feel like him.  All work and no down time makes me a very dark and twisty individual.

I've not been a mood to write.  And the only reason it is happening now is because my poor mother listened to me vent for about an hour and thirty minutes this afternoon over supper. 

The bright side, I think I can talk the Husband into being Smokey and the Bandit for Halloween and my Very Scary 30th Birthday party this year!  What ya think about that!