Bon Voyage, 2009!

Last January, Mo and I came off of an almost-year-long break and resumed treatments. I was hopeful that our injectable IUI cycle would lead to a successful pregnancy. Instead, we saw two failures and finally had to face the facts that pregnancy without IVF really wasn't going to happen for us. This was a terrifying realization -- after all, IVF is THE treatment. If it didn't work, then what?

In April, we made the decision to pursue IVF. We also decided to put it off until June, when we were both out of school, and wouldn't have to take time off of work.

June arrived, and Mo's bullshit came out in full force. I was furious when he insisted we wait until August to begin, despite his (sound) logic that it was better to avoid the fees associated with withdrawing from our IRA early. Summer passed, with lots of marital stress and some very close make-or-break moments. I took my blog private as I dealt with some really difficult emotions associated with our marriage and our quest to make a baby.

In August, Mo again put me off. Claiming new-job stress and the inability (unwillingness?) to take time off of work early in the year, he again refused to start IVF. I was livid, and it took me several weeks to begin to forgive him. I also started a new job, the thrill of which wore off early on.

Finally, in November, Mo was ready. Really ready. He promised. So we made appointments, we missed appointments, we rescheduled appointments. Finally, finally, I began injections over Thanksgiving. We were officially on our way -- despite the rocky, rocky road that led us here.

Mo's depression and mood improved throughout the process. By the time retrieval and transfer arrived, he was back to his old self, the self I loved and missed so dearly. We waited with anxiety for the results of IVF #1. I tried to prepare myself for disappointment, but hope crept in.

And then, the negative pee sticks.

And more negative pee sticks.

And, finally, a faint, faint positive. That slowly grew darker. A positive beta? Holy shit. Can this really be happening? After all this time, all this heartache? Really?

As I stand on the cusp of 2010, I want to be happy. I want to be ecstatic and hopeful and planning for baby. But I'm still scared. I know all too well what can go wrong. Perfect pregnancies can be blindsided by a sudden loss. I don't know if I can handle that. I don't know if Mo can handle it, and I certainly don't think our marriage can.

And so I pray. I dig deep into the tiny, tiny fragments of faith that remain, and I beg for the health, the life, of this child. Please, let him or her grow. Please, let him or her be born, healthy and alive. Please. let this miracle remain our miracle throughout the long, long months ahead.

Please, 2010, be kinder and gentler than 2009.

Beta #2

Just came in at 460. That's a doubling time of 42.17 hours. Nurse says everything is "fine" and no need to worry at this point. I now have an "official" due date (Sept. 2, 2010) and a 6w4d ultrasound scheduled for January 11th.

I was starting to panic today, as I started spotting (light brown, only when wiping). Even though I know this is PERFECTLY NORMAL, well, you know.

I got reassurance again from the RE and was told as long as it's not bright red, I should be fine.

Breathing a huge sigh of relief, at least for today.

New Worries

I used to be so envious of women who posted their anxiety over beta numbers and ultrasounds. To even get to the place where those were my worries seemed so far-fetched and hard to imagine. A positive pregnancy test? A confirmation beta? Oh, how I longed to be there!

Well, I'm here now and no less anxious than I was before. How is this possible? Will I ever "relax" and enjoy this whole being pregnant thing?

Beta came in today at 209.

While that's a solid number for a first beta, at 18dpo I was expecting something higher. Betabase records a median beta at this stage as 400+. I know that's just a middle number, and that successful pregnancies fall on either side of that number. But a part of me was really hoping to hit at least 400 today for a little reassurance that, yes, everything is fine. The RE himself called me with the numbers, and seemed okay with them. He said we're likely looking at a singleton, which of course I interpreted as "you're numbers are low." What's important, of course, is whether or not they double by Wednesday.

Two more anxiety-filled days, with no work to distract me and help pass the time. (Hold back, ladies, I know how whiny that sounded and I want to slap myself.)

Some reassurance from my bloggy friends would be greatly appreciated.

The No-Beta Bummer

Although I relish the timing of this pregnancy and being able to find out in time for Christmas, getting a blood draw has proven more difficult than I could imagine. Had I been at home, the RE would have worked me in on Thursday. Being out of town, however, I had to rely on the local LabCorp. Which was closed on Christmas Eve. No problem, I'd get one Saturday. Only, they're closed. Again. Which means I won't get any numbers until Monday.

By then, I should easily be in the triple digits. I hope. I'm still wrapping my head around the idea that I'm actually knocked up, let alone that there might be a real live baby at the end of this. Numbers are something I can wrap my head around, something concrete to prove that I'm not just imagining this whole thing.

Monday just can't come soon enough.

A Christmas Fortune

One of Mo's family traditions involves a Christmas Eve dinner at the Chinese buffet (ala "A Christmas Story). We've done it every year, but it's gained in significance since his dad passed.

Being out of town this year, we included my family in the tradition and went out last night looking for the best Chinese we could find in our small town.

By the time I left the restaurant, I was in tears.

You see, we didn't mention to the waitress that we were expecting. And yet, after she delivered the ticket and fortune cookies, we had one extra. We all giggled, claimed it for the "baby" and decided to see what the next year had in store.

Are you ready for this? The adult fortunes read:

"Traveling to the south will bring you unexpected happiness." (This was mine! Did I mention we're visiting the south? Hee hee!)

"Admire those who succeed, and learn from their success." (Mo's -- some parenting tips, perhaps?)

"You will have much to be thankful for in the coming year." (Momma MoJo's)

"This year your highest priority will be your family." (Poppa MoJo's)

As if this wasn't eerie enough, I finally opened the last cookie.

Wait for it!

It had TWO fortunes.

They read:

"Your efforts are budding -- results will appear soon."

AND

"Your path may be difficult, but will be rewarding."



I swear to you, you just can't make this shit up.

The One in Which I Pee On Sticks

Lots and lots of sticks.

Yesterday, I scored 3 out of 5. Despite Internet claims of superiority, the FRER and the Dollar store refused to give me a positive. CBE digital and Equate both said "pregnant" and that was enough for me.

Only, not really.

When you've never, ever, in seven long years, seen a second line on those damn things, you kinda wanna keep doing it.

And so I did.

Three more times yesterday.

Four times this morning.

And I am pleased (oh, who am I kidding? ECSTATIC) to report that by this morning my batting average increased to 100%.

FRER digital: YES+
CBE digital: Pregnant
Equate: Two solid lines (no squinting needed!)
Dollar store: Faint, faint second line

I think I can confidently say that, after seven years, I am pregnant.

Oh my god.



(I called my RE and scheduled an early beta for this morning, even though I am out of town. They warned me it may be low, but I am anxious to see the numbers. Not, as my sister pointed out, that it will change anything -- but it will give me something else to obsess over. Merry Christmas, ya'll!)

10dp3dt

Yes, I gave in.

Because I have news.

BIG news.

I've been peeing on sticks all week.

Nothing.

Not a hint, not a shadow of a line.

Until this morning.

I didn't believe my eyes, so I pulled out the big guns.

The CBE digital, which for me has always read this:




This morning, for the first time in seven long years, she changed her mind and told me this:




Holy shit.

Expectations

I waver between intense hope that this cycle will work, and the devastating expectation that it won't. It's a seesaw of emotions that is so much more intense than any of our IUI's before. I am trying so hard to stay positive, but worry that I'm just setting myself up for extreme disappointment.

My mom, our friends, even my husband seem to subscribe to the "if we say it enough times, it will be true" theory. I get that. Confess good things and they will come to pass, etc. But I worry, too, that Mo isn't being realistic and I worry how he will react if we get that negative result.

Yesterday, Mo bought me a car. It's gorgeous, perfect for a growing family. We traded in my high-mileage-not-old-but-grandma-style-sedan and our summertime-two-seater-top-down-Jeep for a spacious SUV. I love, love, love it. It's the newest, nicest, car I've ever had -- and the first time anyone, ever, has bought me something like that.

But.

At the showroom, when Mo was explaining what we were looking for and why we were looking to trade in, he told the salesguy that we were "expecting."

I didn't know how to handle the congratulations, the follow-up questions. It was so awkward, and I felt like such a fraud. We're NOT expecting, not yet. Or, maybe we are, but certainly not enough to tell anyone about it! I stammered a "thank you" and mentioned a vague "summer" due date, all while shooting Mo the evilest of eyes.

I know he's just trying to be positive, to BELIEVE that this is going to work. To reassure me.

But, this tiny voice keeps harping at me.

What if it doesn't?

I Simply Refuse. . .

. . to title my blog post "Xdpo". But that's what this is. One of those annoying, grating countdowns of someone hopelessly obsessing about what might be happening, and how soon I might find out what might be happening.

This morning is 8dpo, or 5dp3dt. I used up my last remaining FRER when I got up today, just to make sure the trigger was out of my system. The stark white negative was both reassuring (it's gone), and disappointing (though I am realistic enough to know that it is WAY TOO FUCKING EARLY. And that I really should stop peeing on things.)

I don't think I'll test again until next week. Thursday, Christmas Eve, will be 14dpo, or 11dp3dt. We will be out of town, so I'm not sure I'll be able to get a beta, though the RE offered to arrange one for me. I'm not sure I want one. Part of me wants to cling onto the hope that this just might work for as long as possible. That way, a negative HPT on Christmas won't be a total blow, the death knell of our very first IVF cycle.

Can you sense the pessimism creeping in? There's reason for it. Mo and I are still fighting, though not about the same thing as yesterday. Ok, I guess it is the same thing as yesterday, but not the same thing as the day before. It doesn't matter. What matters is that I'm frustrated and pissed off and resigned all at the same time. Is this EVER going to stop? Is life with him always going to be a rollercoaster of ups and downs?

I told him last night that I can't go through all of this again. He wanted to know what part. The fighting, the Issues, the IVF?

The funny thing is, I'm not really sure. In the midst of Hormone Hell, I thought to myself that this HAD to work, because I couldn't go through another IVF cycle. I read about women who do it three, four, five times and I would think NO. FUCKING. WAY. I simply can't do it. But, with Mo stepping up and the stims finally leaving my body, I began to think that maybe, MAYBE, I could do one more. Because it will all be worth it. And to get this far and to give up after just one shot? Also unthinkable.

And then he blows it. And my Superman of a husband becomes a mere human being, one with frailties and flaws, once again. And I think, can I do this? Can I keep going when it seems as though everything, every single thing, stands in our way?

Let's hope that I don't have to find out.

For Every Action. . . .

We had our first post-IVF fight last night, and boy, was it a doozy! In a nutshell: Mo went to eat dinner with some coworkers/friends after work (after bringing me a yummy eggplant Parmesan that one of his fellow teachers had made for me). This is a perfectly acceptable activity, and he came home at a perfectly reasonable hour. I, having spent the entire day BY MYSELF and IN BED and DOING NOTHING for the FOURTH FUCKING DAY IN A ROW, however, decided to throw an itsty-bitsy, teensy-tiny temper tantrum. (Don't be shocked. I said I wasn't perfect).

And Mo, being Mo, overreacted.

Ugly things were said.

Tears were shed.

In the end, nothing was really resolved, other than I think we both spewed forth some of the negative thoughts we have swirling in our heads about the IVF, our marriage, and whether or not things are really improving.

I came to an interesting realization, though.

Hold onto your hats, because this one is earth-shattering: Mo and I look at things differently.

I mean, WAY differently.

Sometimes, I wonder how in the world anyone's brain can be as fucked up as his.

And then I remember where he comes from.

And it makes sense, sort of. He's never had a role model for how to effectively deal with any sort of negative emotions. His father stuffed everything inside and ignored it. His mother, the drama queen, blew everything up out of proportion. And Mo learned how to run away.

He did say something interesting in our argument last night, something he's said before. For some reason, though, it finally clicked. He asked me what I expected from him. All actions have a reaction, he said.

Now, before you simply assume this is just a typical avoidance of responsibility (which it IS), think about it. It really DOES explain Mo's actions and mindset with a lot of things. Things don't happen because of him, they happen TO him, and he simply reacts as best as he can. In his mind, anyway.

I, however, am the opposite. I am a planner, a fixer, someone who makes things happen. Yes, I react to some of the shit that happens TO me, but I don't see my life (outside of IF, that is) as anything other than what I've made of it. I am where I am because of what I have done, not because of what was done to me. For Mo, it's the opposite.

Like I said, earth-shattering, right? Ok, maybe not, but I do feel lately as though I am beginning to understand my husband a little bit better. Perhaps because we are not currently in the middle of dealing with any of his Issues, or perhaps because the holidays allow for a lot of familial reflection, but I feel as though I am seeing him more clearly. Instead of being caught up in the "why the fuck is this happening" angst of months past, I finally feel that I'm removed enough from all that happened to gain a little perspective.

And what I'm realizing is that the lines I've been spouting here for months really ARE true: Mo is a good man, who sometimes makes bad choices. He and I still want the same things -- Mo just has no idea how to get them. He has been wallowing in all the Bad Shit that has happened the last few years, and in the process almost checked out completely. But, somehow, he fought his way out and came back to me. He re-joined the living, albeit in a world vastly different from the one he always dreamed of. He found a way to move forward, one step at a time, instead of becoming locked inside what might have been.

Hmm. Maybe we're not so different after all.

Hope

Its such an intangible, fragile thing: hope. One moment it's crystal-clear, so sharp you're afraid to touch it for fear you'll cut yourself on its glittering edges. The next, it fades gently into a mist that is impossible to grasp.

Each report from the RE strengthened my hope that THIS will be the thing that works. THIS treatment, THIS time. We've waited so long, been hoping and trying and begging God for so many years. THIS will work, because it has to.

Perhaps, in my hope, I set up unrealistic expectations. 9 out of 10 eggs fertilized -- on Day 3, all 9 were where they should be, give or take a few that were moving along a little quickly. I thought it wouldn't be unreasonable that we'd end up with 4 or 5 blasts on Day 5 to freeze.

We've got one.

Just one.

What intangibles made my perfect Day 3 embryos stop dividing? What chromosomal abnormalities, what genetic things that we were unable to see prevented my babies from continuing to develop?

And even more scary: how do I know that the ones inside of me are doing any better?

The hope -- the hot, pressing, happiness that flooded my chest on Sunday has been replaced by a feeling much, much more familiar. A feeling of hollow emptiness, of desperation, of knotted fear.

My hope, along with my embryos, has ceased dividing -- and now, what remains, is frozen in time, waiting for the moment when I can once again allow my heart to thaw, to allow plans and possibilities to take root once again.

Seven Years

Seven years ago, just one day after I officially graduated from college, I married Mo.

I'd like to tell you that its been perfect bliss ever since, but. . . .well, quite simply, it hasn't. Not even close. In fact, there have been times when it has been downright miserable. Those of you who are regular readers know how very close we came to the end not so many months ago. We've been through a lot of shit, not all of it IF-related. And I don't want to gloss over all of that now, now that things are seemingly on-track, now that we are so-close to achieving our baby-dreams.

At the same time, I don't want to harp on the negative. At some point, you have to close the door and move on. You have to let go of the resentment and bitterness and acknowledge that the same person you married is NOT the same person standing before you today.

And that is ok.

We had a good talk last night, Mo and I, which will provide plenty of fodder for future posts. Today, though, on our anniversary, I'd like to focus more on what is right, than on what has gone wrong.

And so I present the Top 7 Reasons I'm Glad I Married Mo:

1. He makes me laugh. Every single day. Granted on some days the laughs come easier than on others, but only Mo has a way of looking at me, and doing a little shimmy, that can make me grin even when I don't feel like it.

2. He loves kids. He has never once suggested that perhaps we just weren't meant to be parents. He has always, always, insisted that we would, one day, have the family we've been dreaming of.

3. He loves his family. Even though his childhood will never be deemed ideal (or even stable, for that matter), Mo has time and time again forgiven them their multitude of trespasses and welcomed them into our home with open arms. For that matter, he has accepted my family as his own and welcomed them without any hesitation, ever.

4. He loves our puppies. I mean LOVES them. They are his children, as they are mine. He spoils and pampers them in a very un-macho way. There is no place he'd rather be than on the couch (or in bed) snuggling with one or both of them. He is so gentle and softspoken with them, even when I'm not. His patience is unending. For all of these reasons, and many more, I know that when his time comes he will be an amazing father. In a way, he already is.

5. He forgives. Because this is my blog, he is often painted as the one needing forgiveness, but trust me when I say it goes two ways. I'm in no way the perfect wife, and I've said my fair share of hurtful and humiliating things over the last seven years. And Mo always forgives me, perhaps because he is in such need of absolution himself. No matter -- forgiveness, I think, is one thing that is essential if a marriage is going to survive. And I'm grateful that my husband has it in spades.

6. He is determined. Or stubborn. Whatever. The point is, when he makes up his mind to do something, he does it. When he decided (finally) to move forward with this IVF, he embraced the challenge whole-heartedly: eating well, drinking tomato juice by the gallon, taking vitamins. Since retrieval and transfer, he has outdone himself taking care of every need I have, from comfy new pajamas to reading material to breakfast in bed. When Mo believes in something, and WANTS to do it, he is a force to be reckoned with.

7. He loves me. I know this to be true to the very bottom of my soul. Whatever other issues he struggles with, whatever problems we have yet to encounter together, I know that he loves me. He loves me enough to spend obscene amounts of money on a 50/50 chance at giving me my biggest wish. He loves me enough to tell me, as he leaves to bury his grandfather, that if anything happens to him, he wants me to go through with the transfer. He loves me enough to sell our house, to leave behind the town he's grown up in, to move 600 miles away, so that I can be happy. He loves me, though he cannot always articulate it, in a way that I don't think he's ever loved anyone. And that feels good.

My husband isn't perfect. Neither is my marriage. But today, on our anniversary, I am oh-so-grateful that I have both to lean on, to hold me up, to give me hope.

Happy Anniversary, Mo. I love you.

I Can't Stop Smiling...UPDATED

The lab had good news again for us yesterday.

Out of 9 fertilized eggs, ALL 9 were still dividing on Day 2. We had 3 3-cells, 3 4-cells, and 3 6-cells. When I asked about the 6-cells, he said it was a little fast, but we'd know more in the morning. As long as they stayed in the 10-12 cell range by Day 3, they should be fine.

Even better, when I asked about fragmentation, he told me that all 9 embryos were either grade 4 or 5 (with 5 being the best). The only ones that were grade 4 were knocked down by some slight un-evenness in dividing, which is fairly common and not something to worry about. The exact words he used were, "great quality." *grin*

We'll know more when we get there for transfer this morning, of course. We are hoping to pick the two best -looking ones from yesterday's 3 or 4 cell batch, and take the rest to day 5 to see if we can get some blasts to freeze.

Finally, finally, some good news from the RE. I've waited so long for this, and now I know that we CAN make healthy embies! Now all we have to do is get them to stick around for a while. I don't want to jinx anything (I don't believe in jinxes, after all), but I told my mom yesterday that I really think this might work.

Wow.

Like I said, I can't stop smiling.

-----------------------------

Transfer this morning went as smoothly as could be. Dr. Optimistic called us "overachievers" and seemed so positive! We transferred two 8-cell embryos: one grade 5, one grade 4+ (marked down for a slight un-evenness in one cell division). As of that time, all 7 others were still dividing; two were between 6-9 cells and a few were already at the 10-12 range. Although Dr. Sarcastic (the embryologist) reminded us that some of the faster ones may still "fizzle" out, they were both thinking its likely we'll have at least a few make it to freeze.

As for right now, I'm officially PUPO and couldn't be happier. This is the closest we have ever been -- for all we know, it's the first time we have ever even conceived together. Mo is terribly excited -- he got to be there with me during transfer. He held my hand the entire time, and got misty-eyed as he watched the procedure via ultrasound. He's already sent pics of the embies to all his friends. :-) He's been great about taking care of me, even going to the store and stocking up on Gatorade and all my favorite (healthy) treats while I napped this afternoon. I woke up a little while ago to find the newest copies of both "FitPregnancy" and "Parenting" magazine on my coffee table. While I know he may be jumping the gun just a little, I find his optimism and sincerity to be very endearing.

Though I'm unsure to whom exactly I'm pleading, I'll still put it out there: please, please let this work.

Ok, now I can breathe.

I finally heard back from the RE. First, the doctor himself called to check on me and how I was feeling, following Mo's semi-frantic call last night. He offered again to call in some pain medication, but I declined. That stuff tends to make me very sick, and with Mo out of town tonight and tomorrow, I think I'll stick with what I can find around the house.

As we were hanging up, he asked me if I'd heard anything from the lab this morning. I said no, and admitted to being rather anxious (I neglected to tell him that I had spent the past 8 hours nervously pacing and practically pulling my hair out). He promised he'd check and call me right back.

Not two minutes later, the embryologist called (we'll call her Dr. Sarcastic, because she is, although in a funny I-could-be-friends-with-her kind of way). She got right to the point: 9 out of 10 fertilized! The relief I felt was practically physical. All the tension in my muscles literally drained and I took a deep breath. I think that the later they went without calling, the more I had convinced myself that something was wrong. I wouldn't have been surprised if they told me that NONE of them had fertilized. She apologized for being an absent-minded professor, and gave me her email address in case I had questions tomorrow. She also assured me that the lab would call me tomorrow morning with an update on how our embies are developing.

We're still likely on for a Day 3 transfer on Sunday morning. I just can't get over the fact that this is actually happening. This is the closest we've ever been to actually being pregnant-- for all we know, it's the very first time any of my eggs have ever given any of Mo's little swimmers anything more than a passing glance. :-)

Grow, little embies, grow. Momma loves you already.

In Limbo

I was going to wait to post until I had something substantial, but it seems as though they are going to drag their asses in calling me with my fertilization report.

We got 10 eggs yesterday.

I don't know how to feel about that.

My RE assures us 10 is plenty. Ten is average. Ten is great!

I feel, unscientifically, but based on bloggy experience, that 10 is low. Ten means probably only 5-6 fertilized. Which means only 2-3 will make it all the way until transfer, if we are lucky.

It doesn't bode well for quality, either, especially since we are dealing with pretty severe MFI.

I am hoping that I get a good phone call today, one that will allay some of my fears. But I just don't know.

In other news, the retrieval itself went smoothly. All the nurses were aware of my medical issues and the anesthesia used was different from my lap. Recovery went quickly at the hospital -- the cramping didn't begin until we got home. I slept almost all day, but woke up around dinner time. I was cramping bad enough that it brought tears to my eyes and Mo was worried enough to call the good doc. He advised me to take some Tylenol PM and lay down with a heating pad, which I did. I'm feeling slightly better today, but only if I don't move around too much.

Oh, and I got up no less than five times last night to pee. Once is normal for me -- but every two hours? Sheesh!

So there you have it. My barrage of complaints following our first IVF egg retrieval. The only good news is that I am done with work until at least Thursday, possibly until after Christmas break. All the more time to obsess about the possible outcome of all this mess.

Retrieval

I can hardly believe that it's time. I've anticipated this day for so long, and a part of me never really believed it would ever come. I spent the night waking nearly every hour, terrified I'd oversleep. Mo is getting dressed right now as we prepare to make the hour-long drive to the clinic.

I don't know why I'm so nervous, but I am. Perhaps because of the bad reaction I had to the anesthesia during my lap, or perhaps just because so much more is riding on this. Either way, I've got a knot in my stomach the size of a tennis ball this morning.

Wish me luck, my IF cohorts. I really, really, really need things to go our way for a change.