A daily jounal since last week's transfer:
Tues, June 12 - Transfer Day: First day of bed rest. Sneezed and panicked. After reading that a PVEDer still got pregnant after puking the entire day after transfer, I felt better. Then N got excited that my stomach already looked to have a baby bump. Declined a fourth piece of lasagna.
Weds, June 13: Second day of bed rest. Boredom plus the Internet equaled panic that my 6.3mm uterine lining was going to fail me. Wrote a worried email to my nurse at 9:58pm. By 10:26, I was pissed that she hadn't yet written me back. At 11:02, I sent myself to bed for having a bad attitude.
Thurs, June 14: Bed rest officially over. My joy at being vertical was offset by my grief that this cycle is going to be a failure. And no, this wasn't negativity; it was pragmatism. Also, global climate change is going to destroy the world, so whatever.
Fri, June 15: Reread an email from my nurse who stressed that a lining above 6mm is all they need, especially when my other numbers were good. Decided that I could be pregnant after all. Then I took a long walk, which I'm sure caused a miscarriage.
Sat, June 16: My boobs hurt, I have cramps, and I'm exhausted, which obviously means means I'm getting my period. Or that I'm obviously pregnant. Rinse. Repeat.
Sun, June 17: Spent the last 6 months promising myself that I wouldn't obsessively take home pregnancy tests before my beta on Thursday. Went out this morning and bought 3 home pregnancy tests. My new promise is that I won't test until Wednesday. No, Tuesday. Or maybe Monday. No, Tuesday. Yes, Tuesday. Or maybe Monday.
Yup. This is going well.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Quotable Quotes: Sunday Morning Pillow Talk
Sometime between dawn and bagels...
Me: I know we aren't supposed to, but I think we should have sex.This is the least fun way to make a baby. Ever.
N: Don't write checks your pussy can't cash.
Me: Fair enough. Want to do a crossword?
N: Sure.
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Gesundheit
One embryo has been transferred, and bed rest has begun.
So far so good. Except that I sneezed.
I keep wondering if the way I sneezed caused so much impact on my mid-section that my uterus seized and caused the embryo to purge out of me. Or maybe the embryo got decimated by the violent crush of my uterine wall like some torture device from the Middle Ages. Or perhaps it met with some other sneeze-related demise too gruesome for me to even imagine.
Well, just in case my little guy did survive the Darwinian sneeze test, I'll keep best resting until Thursday morning, as prescribed, and then I'll go in next Thursday for my beta.
In the meantime, fingers crossed that I don't sneeze again. And also that I get pregnant.
So far so good. Except that I sneezed.
I keep wondering if the way I sneezed caused so much impact on my mid-section that my uterus seized and caused the embryo to purge out of me. Or maybe the embryo got decimated by the violent crush of my uterine wall like some torture device from the Middle Ages. Or perhaps it met with some other sneeze-related demise too gruesome for me to even imagine.
Well, just in case my little guy did survive the Darwinian sneeze test, I'll keep best resting until Thursday morning, as prescribed, and then I'll go in next Thursday for my beta.
In the meantime, fingers crossed that I don't sneeze again. And also that I get pregnant.
Saturday, June 9, 2012
My Biological Clock Has One Hand Clapping. Sometimes.
So, I got caught in an undertow of grief the other day. I could try to defend myself by saying that I freaked out because my estrogen level is 2500 instead of the normal 150, but I'd rather just accept the fact that I freaked out because I freaked out.
Today is a good day, though, due mostly to my trying to keep in mind the following four things:
One. All donors are going to present themselves in a "buy me" kind of light, and this is something I should have anticipated. Instead I took my donor's profile at its word and developed expectations about her that later turned out to be untrue, and I realize now that this is one reason why intended parents (my husband included) don't want to meet their donors. But it's always been important to me that my future children have the choice of knowing their genetic parent, and despite the fact that I don't love my donor, I still think that meeting her was the brave and right thing to do. I have no regrets on that count.
Two. All breeding is a crapshoot, and there's no reason for me to think that my eggs would have produced better children than my donor's eggs will. So what if my donor is heavier than she said she was, that she's more photogenic than she is beautiful, and that she isn't brilliant. Women are born with 1 million eggs. Men produce over 400 billion sperm over their lifetimes. This means that N and my donor can breed a possible 400,000,000,000,000,000 different types of people. Right now thirteen of these four hundred quadrillion exist in the form of zygotes that are developing at my clinic's embryology lab. All I can do is hope that they're relatively good ones.
Three. Nurture over nature is a mantra that floats around on PVED quite a lot. That and epigenetics, which is the study that looks at the extent to which people's brain, body, and character are formed by elements other than genetic code. The other day, I posted my emotional crisis on PVED, and a dozen lovely PVEDers rallied around me saying things like, "My child is exactly like me in ways that I can't begin to explain. Don't worry too much about the donor. Your child will be yours." OK, PVED. I believe you. And I love you.
Four. When I first got into this infertility thing, I adopted a mantra:
This philosophy was meant to serve as an inspiration and reminder that this is first and foremost a process of self-reflection. Moreover, my success at the end of this experience wouldn't be a child but rather an awareness of who I am in the context of this challenge. This meant releasing expectations, accepting outcomes, and embracing my world as it was.
Over the past 5 years, I've failed to live up to my mantra more than I've succeeded. I still have hopes and expectations, and I don't always do the amount of reflective work that I should. My biological clock just isn't as Zen as I wish it was.
But in the wake of being bowled over by grief at the start of the week, I've tried my best to re-remember this philosophy. I've seen my brilliant therapist twice, I've let myself feel vulnerable around my friends and e-quaintances (yes, you!), and I've had such rich and sweet conversations with N that I've managed to fall in love with him all over again - yet again.
So, yes, I had a freak-out a few days ago because despite my best efforts, sometimes my biological clock goes cuckoo. But sometimes my biological clock actually does have one hand clapping, and today is a good day.
Today is a good day, though, due mostly to my trying to keep in mind the following four things:
One. All donors are going to present themselves in a "buy me" kind of light, and this is something I should have anticipated. Instead I took my donor's profile at its word and developed expectations about her that later turned out to be untrue, and I realize now that this is one reason why intended parents (my husband included) don't want to meet their donors. But it's always been important to me that my future children have the choice of knowing their genetic parent, and despite the fact that I don't love my donor, I still think that meeting her was the brave and right thing to do. I have no regrets on that count.
Two. All breeding is a crapshoot, and there's no reason for me to think that my eggs would have produced better children than my donor's eggs will. So what if my donor is heavier than she said she was, that she's more photogenic than she is beautiful, and that she isn't brilliant. Women are born with 1 million eggs. Men produce over 400 billion sperm over their lifetimes. This means that N and my donor can breed a possible 400,000,000,000,000,000 different types of people. Right now thirteen of these four hundred quadrillion exist in the form of zygotes that are developing at my clinic's embryology lab. All I can do is hope that they're relatively good ones.
Three. Nurture over nature is a mantra that floats around on PVED quite a lot. That and epigenetics, which is the study that looks at the extent to which people's brain, body, and character are formed by elements other than genetic code. The other day, I posted my emotional crisis on PVED, and a dozen lovely PVEDers rallied around me saying things like, "My child is exactly like me in ways that I can't begin to explain. Don't worry too much about the donor. Your child will be yours." OK, PVED. I believe you. And I love you.
Four. When I first got into this infertility thing, I adopted a mantra:
My biological clock has one hand clapping.
This philosophy was meant to serve as an inspiration and reminder that this is first and foremost a process of self-reflection. Moreover, my success at the end of this experience wouldn't be a child but rather an awareness of who I am in the context of this challenge. This meant releasing expectations, accepting outcomes, and embracing my world as it was.
Over the past 5 years, I've failed to live up to my mantra more than I've succeeded. I still have hopes and expectations, and I don't always do the amount of reflective work that I should. My biological clock just isn't as Zen as I wish it was.
But in the wake of being bowled over by grief at the start of the week, I've tried my best to re-remember this philosophy. I've seen my brilliant therapist twice, I've let myself feel vulnerable around my friends and e-quaintances (yes, you!), and I've had such rich and sweet conversations with N that I've managed to fall in love with him all over again - yet again.
So, yes, I had a freak-out a few days ago because despite my best efforts, sometimes my biological clock goes cuckoo. But sometimes my biological clock actually does have one hand clapping, and today is a good day.
The Fert Report
Here are the results from the June 7th retrieval:
20 eggs were retrieved
15 were mature
13 fertilized
By Tuesday, June 12 - the morning of my transfer - the number should go down a little, but there'll probably still be at least 8 or so, which is considered very good.
Who needs more than 8 children anyhow?
20 eggs were retrieved
15 were mature
13 fertilized
By Tuesday, June 12 - the morning of my transfer - the number should go down a little, but there'll probably still be at least 8 or so, which is considered very good.
Who needs more than 8 children anyhow?
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Buyer's Remorse: Egg Edition
I met my donor for lunch yesterday. The following are excerpts from our conversation.
My Donor: "I'm really good at a lot of things. Like flower arranging. I'm great at succulents. Look at these pictures.
Me: "They're beautiful."
My Head: "I hope she doesn't google search my house and see how bad my yard looks."
My Donor: "I'm also great at make-up. I want to do make-up for the movies. Like for Johnny Depp."
Me: "It's wonderful that you know what you want to do."
My Head: "But your eyebrows are drawn about an inch too thick, and they're kind of scaring me."
My Donor: "And I'm a great writer."
Me: "..."
My Head: "Your emails and texts suggest otherwise."
My Donor: "So, what else should I tell you? Oh, yeah! I have a son! He's 10."
Me: "That's right. I remember that from your profile."
My Donor: "He lives with my mom. I was too young and crazy when he was born."
Me: "Do you have a picture?"
My Donor: "Yes, you should see him. He looks exactly like me."
Me: "How cute. He seems very happy."
My Head: "Oh, god, he's fat. My kids are going to be fat."
My Donor: "I was a really funny-looking kid. I had a big head. And then I grew up, and I got skinny and pretty."
Me: "..."
My Head: "You're not that skinny. Or that pretty."
My Donor: "I'm really glad you're pretty. I was hoping the recipient was going to be pretty. I don't know why. I just was."
Me: "..."
My Head: "How I look doesn't matter at all because my genes die with me. Yours, on the other hand, will live on in this arrangement. Lucky me."
My Donor: "From my last cycle, the lady's having twins. I love the idea that there are all these kids from me all over the country because I know I'm a really great person."
Me: "..."
My Head: "Holy shit. I'm breeding a narcissist."
My Donor: "I might get a glass of wine when our food comes. I know they said not to, but I don't think it matters. I drank wine throughout my whole cycle last time, and they still got, like, 26 eggs."
Me: "..."
My Head: "What?
"Also, WHAT?
"Also, they may have retrieved 25 eggs (not 26), but only 18 fertilized, and only 5 made it to transfer. That's the number that really matters. Five.
"Also, who knows how alcohol affects the eggs with all this medication?
"Also, how much have you had to drink during this cycle?
"Also, if you're drinking, what else are you doing that you aren't supposed to?
"Also, do you know this is costing me $40,000 that I don't really have?
"Also, WHAT THE FUCK?!"
~~~
On the bright side, I finally have a distraction from the panic that embryos won't implant because my uterine lining is only 6.3 mm thick when it should be over 7. I'm not even sure if I want them to implant.
I should have chosen another donor.
I should have tried IVF sooner rather than wasting all that time with inseminations.
I should have tried to get pregnant when I was younger.
I should have planned my life better.
Why did I do this donor egg thing again? Maybe being childless wouldn't have been that bad. Better than having overweight, not-too-bright, narcissistic children. Better than raising kids that aren't my own.
And all the while, egg retrieval day is tomorrow.
Ugh.
My Donor: "I'm really good at a lot of things. Like flower arranging. I'm great at succulents. Look at these pictures.
Me: "They're beautiful."
My Head: "I hope she doesn't google search my house and see how bad my yard looks."
My Donor: "I'm also great at make-up. I want to do make-up for the movies. Like for Johnny Depp."
Me: "It's wonderful that you know what you want to do."
My Head: "But your eyebrows are drawn about an inch too thick, and they're kind of scaring me."
My Donor: "And I'm a great writer."
Me: "..."
My Head: "Your emails and texts suggest otherwise."
My Donor: "So, what else should I tell you? Oh, yeah! I have a son! He's 10."
Me: "That's right. I remember that from your profile."
My Donor: "He lives with my mom. I was too young and crazy when he was born."
Me: "Do you have a picture?"
My Donor: "Yes, you should see him. He looks exactly like me."
Me: "How cute. He seems very happy."
My Head: "Oh, god, he's fat. My kids are going to be fat."
My Donor: "I was a really funny-looking kid. I had a big head. And then I grew up, and I got skinny and pretty."
Me: "..."
My Head: "You're not that skinny. Or that pretty."
My Donor: "I'm really glad you're pretty. I was hoping the recipient was going to be pretty. I don't know why. I just was."
Me: "..."
My Head: "How I look doesn't matter at all because my genes die with me. Yours, on the other hand, will live on in this arrangement. Lucky me."
My Donor: "From my last cycle, the lady's having twins. I love the idea that there are all these kids from me all over the country because I know I'm a really great person."
Me: "..."
My Head: "Holy shit. I'm breeding a narcissist."
My Donor: "I might get a glass of wine when our food comes. I know they said not to, but I don't think it matters. I drank wine throughout my whole cycle last time, and they still got, like, 26 eggs."
Me: "..."
My Head: "What?
"Also, WHAT?
"Also, they may have retrieved 25 eggs (not 26), but only 18 fertilized, and only 5 made it to transfer. That's the number that really matters. Five.
"Also, who knows how alcohol affects the eggs with all this medication?
"Also, how much have you had to drink during this cycle?
"Also, if you're drinking, what else are you doing that you aren't supposed to?
"Also, do you know this is costing me $40,000 that I don't really have?
"Also, WHAT THE FUCK?!"
~~~
On the bright side, I finally have a distraction from the panic that embryos won't implant because my uterine lining is only 6.3 mm thick when it should be over 7. I'm not even sure if I want them to implant.
I should have chosen another donor.
I should have tried IVF sooner rather than wasting all that time with inseminations.
I should have tried to get pregnant when I was younger.
I should have planned my life better.
Why did I do this donor egg thing again? Maybe being childless wouldn't have been that bad. Better than having overweight, not-too-bright, narcissistic children. Better than raising kids that aren't my own.
And all the while, egg retrieval day is tomorrow.
Ugh.
Friday, May 25, 2012
Positive Thinking
To be honest, I'm loaded with
My donor's egg retrieval is tentatively scheduled for June 7, which - in IVF terms - is considered Day 14 of a pregnancy. By those same calculations, 13 days before retrieval is Day 1 of a pregnancy, which - incidentally - is today.
Yes, I know it's a twisted logic, and not at all based in reality, but by a certain fantasy yardstick, today I'm one day pregnant.
I guess what I'm saying is that I'm
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)