Either/Or

Mo brought home a book the other day.  This is monumental in itself, as he is not really a book-reading kinda guy.  He knows HOW to read, and he reads newspapers and online crap all day long.  He just never got into books the way I did.  I digress.

Anyway, this book was given to him by a co-worker.  It's an older book, written in the 1990's, about a woman who lost her naturally-conceived triplets due to premature labor, then two more pregnancies the same way.  This was in the late 70's/early 80's, and she was very young (19-22) at the time.  She then went on to have three successful pregnancies and three beautiful children.  The book is all about how she maintained her faith in God throughout the tragedies of losing her five babies.

The book was, obviously, very difficult for me to read.  It wasn't that it was overly-preachy, but more that it raised the same questions I grapple with every day.  Why would a loving God allow these babies to be conceived, just to be yanked away?  Why would he give babies to undesiring or undeserving parents, and not us?  She doesn't pretend to have any answers, thank goodness, just maintains that life is full of pain and misery and that it is all part of a grander plan.

My problem, of course, is the idea that it IS all part of a grander plan.  I think it's really easy to say that when you are on the other side.  When three living, breathing, children are sleeping in their beds underneath your roof.  When the pain and frustration are no longer echoing in silent rooms and a way-too-big house.  I'm not discounting her pain, or the pain of anyone who experiences a miscarriage or still-birth.  I know firsthand how much those babies were wanted, loved, and will always be missed.  But I also think it's part of the human condition to want to create order out of chaos, and that is why we will often look back on our lives and try to make sense out of why things happen the way they do.  We turn coincidences into divine providence, and assign meaning where there is none.

It also raised another issue for me, one I've struggled with silently for months now.  At the end of the book, as she is reaching out to others and realizing that she isn't the only one who has experienced this, she writes about how "her story is not my story."  And I feel that, oh-so-acutely these days.  The more I reach out into the blogosphere, searching for others "like me," the more isolated and alone I feel.  Not only am I continuously being lapped by my closest bloggy cohorts, but more and more of the blogs I find are written by women just starting out on their journeys.  And while I understand that to them it doesn't feel like just starting out, that two years absolutely can feel like an eternity, I also long to find someone who has been at it as long as I have, who hasn't yet figured it out, who still wonders what the final family portrait is going to look like.

Please don't misunderstand me.  My pain is not greater than anyone else's.  My frustration and anger are equaled by many, I'm sure.  I just wish I could find someone who is walking this path with me, someone whose story I can relate to.

And I think that's really what it boils down to.  It seems like so many in the ALI community are either/or.  Either we can't get pregnant without medical interventions, or we can't stay pregnant without medical interventions.  Loss is horrific, but even more so when you know that you CAN'T get pregnant again, at least not without considerable effort and cost.  Virtually all of the blogs I read are either IVF or RPL -- but not one of them has both.   And it just seems so unfair that we are saddled with both of these diagnoses.  We will never be one of those couples who stops trying and is blessed with a surprise natural pregnancy.  If we decide to live childfree, my friends, that's exactly what will happen.  And even if we decide to continue to pursue a pregnancy, well -- there's no guarantee there, either.

I would give anything to be one, or the other.  To be able to get pregnant, as many times as it takes, without spending every last penny we have.  Or, to have just one of our expensive treatments result in an actual live baby.  Maybe that sounds callous -- I don't mean it to.  Some of my biggest supporters have suffered more losses than I have, and I don't want to sound like I'm belittling those.  Each and every baby was wanted, and each and every loss was incomprehensible.  I certainly don't wish for more losses.  But the ability to try again -- I admit, I'm jealous of that.  I'm jealous of those who can have sex and get pregnant, even if those pregnancies are riddled with anxiety.  I'm jealous of those who do IVF, get pregnant, and carry to term.  Hell, I'm even jealous of those who have given up on treatments and are pursuing adoption -- they are, at least, making headway on this never-ending, winding path to parenthood.

Sometimes I feel like I'm walking where few have tread.  It's a lonely path, and no matter how hard I try not to, I keep thinking that "her story is not my story."  In doing so, I know I'm isolating myself, closing off opportunities for support and encouragement.  And yet, I can't help myself -- it pops up despite my best efforts to suppress it, to keep it stifled underneath proclamations of hope, and best wishes, and promises of a brighter tomorrow.

I've spent the better part of a decade being resentful, and jealous, and even bitter.  I don't want those feelings to define me.  And yet, what does, if not how I feel 95% of the time?  How do I "keep the faith" when all signs point to a life I am not willing to lead?  How do you stay positive in the face of tragedy?

MIA

As I go back and re-read the outpouring of love on my last post, I'm wiping tears from my eyes and feeling a huge amount of guilt.  I am so sorry to disappear on you ladies (I completely missed ICLW this month), but with school starting and all the other life-altering discussions going on at home, I simply haven't had time to log on.  And, truth be told, I kind of wanted to let things sit for a while, to allow both Mo and myself to recover from the rollercoaster ride that has been the last few weeks.

I am happy to say that, two weeks after we received the news of our latest pregnancy-that-was-not-to-be, that Mo and I are still holding tight to each other. Mo definitely hit a rough patch for several days, particularly once that horribly low beta was confirmed to be falling.  I can't say I blame him -- I have played those same thoughts on an unending loop in my head for the last year and a half.  But, I am also THRILLED to be able to say that it was just venting -- or so I think.  A little over a week ago, Mo confessed to me that he has been talking to a friend of his about adoption, and that he does think that he will be willing to adopt.

I tried so hard to keep my thoughts to myself, to process what he was saying without just reacting, to let him get all of his fears, frustrations, and ideas out on the table.  And I am so, so, happy that I did.

It hasn't been all smooth sailing, don't get me wrong.  We're not just happily bouncing onto the Adoption Train -- the last decade has left scars that I fear will never completely heal.  But, just knowing that he will consider it -- and that maybe I don't have to imagine a life without children, restores my hope that someday I will have a family to call my own.

This week we also had our WTF appointment (via phone) with Dr. Down-to-Earth.  He didn't really say anything we weren't expecting: he is insisting on the chromosomal testing and the recurrent miscarriage panel before any more treatments (thankfully, insurance should cover it now).  He then advised us to go ahead and do our frozen transfer.  He thinks the blasts we have on ice are of comparable quality to our fresh, and provided nothing major comes up with the bloodwork, that we have a pretty decent chance with them.  While I'm not jumping onto that particular hope-bandwagon just yet, I do still want to go ahead and transfer them.  I think I would feel that way even if he said it was a 0% chance of success.  As I tearfully explained to Mo while we were discussing our plan, those babies are us, no matter how small, and they may very well be the only ones we ever again conceive.  If they are going to die, it's going to be inside of my uterus, and not inside of a lab.  He agreed, and so I think the plan (for now, anyway) is to go ahead with the FET in early November or December.

After that, I'm not sure that we will ever again board the Treatment Train.  I can't stomach the cost of IVF with just the chance at success -- our cycles are 100% out of pocket, and we've already thrown away close to $30,000 on three losses.  I would be willing to revert to IUI w/ donor sperm (simply because it's the cheapest option), but I don't think Mo would be game for that.  I did ask Dr. DTE what he thought the post-FET future would hold (donor eggs? donor sperm? donor embryos?) and he didn't want to focus too much on that (one step at a time, he reminded me!) but he did say that donor eggs was not going to be the answer.  I know that Mo feels a huge amount of guilt over this, but at the same time, I don't know how he would feel about a baby that had my DNA, but not his.  He just now has started to consider adoption -- at least in that case, the baby would not have either of our DNA.  Which I am fine with -- I have frequently said that someone could drop a green-haired, purple-skinned alien baby on my doorstep, and I would welcome it with open arms.  I need to do more research on embryo adoption -- but given my history, I'm not sure I'd want to risk that either.  Even if the testing reveals nothing they can pinpoint as "wrong," the bottom line is we've transferred 7 beautiful, perfect, textbook embryos into my uterus -- and every single one of them has died.  Who's to say that someone else's embryos would fare any better?

I've put a lot of thought into this the few weeks, and I don't want anyone to think that moving onto adoption is strictly a financial decision.  I truly believe that, even if money was unlimited, that I am very close to being done with treatments.  Even covered 100% by insurance, IVF is a long, time-intensive, emotionally-draining process.  Followed by an even longer, anxiety-ridden, sick-feeling, ten months.  It would totally be worth it in the end -- but at the same time, I can't say that, given a choice, I wouldn't prefer to skip all of that.  Not that adoption is any easier, its just different.  I can handle the paperwork, the waiting (I've been waiting for a decade after all), etc., if I know that, at the end, we will have an actual LIVE baby.  Pregnancy, for me, is no such guarantee.  To give all of that -- everything I have -- and still end up empty-handed?  I don't know if I can do it.

So, that's the plan.  FET in a few months, followed by more research and hopefully starting the adoption process by summer.  I'm well aware that that means it will probably still be several years before I'm holding my child in my arms -- but I'm willing to wait.  It's the idea of "never" that I just can't embrace.

Negative

Or, as Nurse Chipper so cheerfully stated this afternoon, "completely negative."

Don't you just love how blithely someone can hand over news like that?

I knew it was going to be, but still.  It stings.

What absolutely crushes my soul, however, isn't this chemical pregnancy, but the feeling like all my hopes and dreams are disappearing along with my falling betas.  I cannot see the light at the end of the tunnel anymore.  All I see are different shades of misery: childlessness, loneliness, desperation, frustration.

I don't want a life without Mo.  I don't want a life without children.  I don't want to have to choose.  I am so ready to be a mom -- we have been on this TTC rollercoaster for almost a decade now.  I have been lapped so many times I've lost count.  I don't want to spend another 3 years, or five years, or more chasing this dream.  I've already wasted ten years of my life on this shit.  But, the idea of just giving up makes me want to curl up into a little ball and just scream at the universe.

I don't want to be childfree forever, but I'm desperately afraid that I will be.

Is This The End?

Kudos to any of you who read that title in Ja.net Jacks.on's voice ala "Rhyth.m Natio.n."  She was my hero in the 90's.

Mo and I had a very heartfelt, tear-laden talk on Sunday.  He spent most of Saturday pissed at me (or so it seemed) because I went in to school and got some work done.  Today was the first day with kids, and I was so upset Friday that I just ran out of there.  Luckily, my sister came up and helped me mend things on Saturday morning.  Mo was furious, though I think he's more angry with the situation we're in, than in the fact that I went in to work (instead of resting at home).

Anyway, there was a lot said in our conversation, and I'm still trying to process it.  I'm actually really proud of us for having such an emotionally-charged talk without yelling, or saying mean things.  We actually TALKED.

I am, however, quite devastated, as we seem to be on completely different pages once again.  Mo thinks he's done, for real, this time.  I GET that, and I respect that, but the thing is -- I'm NOT.  Maybe in ten years I will be.  But right now?  Right now I still want children, and I simply cannot -- cannot-- imagine my life without them.

I really can't imagine my life without Mo, though, either.  He's been my rock, my infertile shoulder, the only person who truly understands how I feel and what I've been through, because he's been through it all, too.  When I think about him living in a different state, not seeing him every day, not hearing his voice -- my heart just shatters into a million pieces.

I don't think that it's fair.  I know infertility isn't fair, but this part is even worse.  Why should I have to choose between my husband, and a family?  Why can't I have both?

Mo is still against adoption.  He says its too expensive, the lists are too long, and he's not willing to drain the savings we have left to raise "someone else's" child.  I've done enough reading to know that his feelings are completely normal, and may change in time -- but how much time?  And what if it never does?  I can't spend my precious few fertile years left waiting for him to come around.

As for treatments, those are currently off the table as well.  We have two frozen embryos, neither of which we really think is going to result in a live baby.  Even if they survive the thaw, our batting average just sucks.  Whether its a sperm issue or a uterine issue doesn't even seem to matter at this point.  We can't do PGD because they are already blasts.  So they'll sit, for the time being, and probably be transferred at some point, though neither of us truly believes we'll have any different outcome.

Any other treatment options aren't appealing to Mo (or myself) either.  IVF w/ PGD means more shots, more planning, more money, more time.  We don't have unlimited amounts of any of that.  If it is somehow determined to be a sperm issue, Mo has already expressed reservations against donor sperm (which would mean we could "revert" to IUI, a much cheaper route).  So that's out.  Donor Egg/Surrogacy would mean up to twice the cost of traditional IVF.

I just feel like I keep running up against a brick wall.  I know that emotions are running high right now and Mo may change his mind (he has before).  But, I also know that he is thisclose to turning over to the child-free side of things.  He talked last night of wanting to move back to his hometown (where he went to high school) and wanting to buy a boat, to live on the beach, and be happy.  He doesn't want to stay here, in small-town middle-America, and continue to have happy families thrown in his face day in and day out.  And he's right -- there is nothing here except my family, and other families, and other people's kids.  And every single activity -- from church, to school, to festivals, to movie theaters -- everything is family-centered.

But I spent 10 years away from my family, and I need them.  I need their support, and their love.  I need to see my sister every week, to watch my niece grow up.  I need to hug my mom.  I looked at Mo and told him, as sincerely as I could, that if I couldn't have children, he couldn't take my family from me, too.

So that's where we are.  He wants to move, and I don't.  He wants to move ON, and I don't.  We're at an impasse, and I fucking HATE the biology that means we can't wait this out indefinitely.

Something's gotta give, one way or the other.

I just wish I had any inkling of what it would be.

I Can't Do This Anymore

This wasn't the post I had planned for today.

Beta came in at 14.5.

At that level, I shouldn't have gotten a positive on the CBE digital.

Which means they are dropping.

I will retest on Monday, but I'm not optimistic.

Two miscarriages, and now a fucking chemical.

I hate infertility, I hate IVF, and tonight -- I hate the Universe.

I can't do this anymore.

Now THAT'S More Like It

So, given Mo's pessimistic attitude towards my faint-but-positive pee sticks, I did what any gracious wife would do and totally respected his desire for me to stop peeing until beta.

NOT.

I, of course, continued my twice-a-day rituals in secret, and just didn't tell him.  :-)

Last night, curled up in bed watching TV post-progesterone shot, Mo looked at me.  "Did you pee on anything today?"  He asked.

I was tempted to lie, but I knew the line was a little darker, so I said, "Yep. Wanna see it?"

"Only if there's something to see," he warned me.

I jumped out of bed, ran to my secret hiding place in the bathroom drawer (I know, original), and brought him the most recent stick.

His eyes began watering.  "Holy shit," he said.  "You're pregnant."

I couldn't help myself.  "I told you so!" I giggled.  We then had a magical moment full of hugs, and tears, and sparkling rainbows, which lasted approximately 15 seconds until the end of the commerical break.  :-)

I am not going to lie to you, it was nice to have validation.  To know that I am NOT hallucinating imaginary second lines -- for today, at least, I am pregnant.

Thank you for all the comments and well-wishes -- I promise to stop writing about my pee-athon post-beta.  I totally get it if you are OVER me at this point (I'm a little OCD, in case you didn't notice) -- but I sure would appreciate it if you stuck around.  I am not cocky enough to assume that I won't need more hand-holding, or perhaps a shoulder to cry on, in the coming weeks.

The Husband's Reaction

Mo is as blind as a bat, let me start with that.

By yesterday afternoon, I had a clear line.  No squinting, no tilting, no finagling necessary.

He claims he still can't see it.

I think he expects it to be like on the movies -- as dark as the control line.

I tried explaining that a line is a line -- but he's not convinced.

After our losses, I'm not surprised he's waiting to get excited.  But, after the way he's been blathering on about baby for the last two weeks, I was a little disappointed in his reaction.

This is just one other thing IF, and RPL in particular, steals from us.  The ability to see two lines and think "baby."  It frustrates me, even though I know I'll have the beta numbers to back me up on Friday.

I, for one, am relieved.  This is just the first of many hurdles, but at least we've got this far.

Who Needs Coffee When You've Got FMU?

I'm a spiller.

Food, drinks, paint, glue -- you name it, I've spilled it.

Coffee is my biggest nemesis.  If I'm wearing white, you can guarantee that by 8 a.m. I'll also be wearing a nice, brown coffee stain as well.

So, it should come as no surprise, that today I spilled something a little, um, more personal.

You see, I keep a specific coffee cup on the ledge of the bathtub in my bathroom, right next to the toilet.  The tub never gets used, and it's hidden by the shower curtain most of the time.  But it's also within grabbing distance for those mornings when I think that POAS is a good idea.

I suppose that what IS surprising is how many times I have successfully managed to pee in said mug without making a mess out of myself.  Alas, today that streak was broken.  I'm not talking a little drip or dribble here, folks -- I'm talking full-fledged sloshing, all over my leg, my shorts, and the floor.

Talk about a good-morning wake-up call.

Before jumping in the shower, though, I decided to pull out the FRER and my last internet cheapie.  As I stared forcefully at the test while it processed, willing it to show two lines (don't pretend you don't do that), I thought I saw a whisper of a second line on the cheapie.  The FRER, of course, was starkly negative.

Fast-forward about half an hour.  I am now showered and wide awake, no coffee needed!  I decide to take a second look.

And though Ms. FRER would beg to disagree, there, on my beloved cheapie, unbelievably faint, was my second line.

*Edited to add: Being the pee-a-holic I am, I of course went out and bought more tests after school today.  And OF COURSE I had to try them out.  And there is a definite line, darker than this morning, though still faint -- and WELL within the testing window this time.  Mo is waiting to get too excited until he sees a "real" line (meaning you can see it across the room!) but I am confident that we'll get there in a few days time.  :-)

Expectations

So, I caved this morning.

I tested, and it was clearly, starkly, negative.

I'm not counting myself out just yet, as it was what I expected.  To be honest, what's really bringing down the hope-o-meter is my lack of symptoms.  I can't help but compare what I'm feeling now, to what I remember feeling a year and a half ago.

Yes, I'm tired.  But not as tired.  Yes, the boobies are sore.  But not as sore.  You get the idea.

The problem with having been pregnant before, is that I'm constantly comparing this cycle to those.  Even though I am well aware that every pregnancy is different.  The outcome of my previous ones wasn't good, so should I even wish for a similar beginning this time? Still, I expect to feel a certain way, and when I don't....

That's the other problem with this being our third IVF/FET cycle.  Since both of our previous ones resulted in a BFP -- I kind of have the expectation that this one will, too.  And I KNOW that Mo does.  Which scares the shit out of me, because isn't that always when the Universe decides "Uh, oh -- she thinks she knows what's gonna happen?  Ha!  We'll show her!"  I don't think Mo has even entertained the idea that this might not work.  I'm at least TRYING to prepare myself for that possibility -- as best as one can, without losing that hope.  Because, as down as I sound, I DO still have hope that maybe, just maybe, an actual baby might come out of this.

Today is officially the last day of summer vacation.  I go back to work tomorrow and, truth be told, I'll be glad for the distraction.  In the meantime, I continue to wait...and hope...and try not to expect too much.

4dp5dt -- Or, Time to Start Freaking Out

Despite my predilection to pee on sticks of all kinds, I've actually showed a modest amount of restraint and haven't "done the deed" since establishing my negative two days ago.   From everything I've managed to Google, I haven't seen a reliable positive prior to 5dp5dt.  Which begs the question -- do I really want to start testing tomorrow?

In both of our previous pregnancies, I tested positive on 12dpo (7dp5dt).  And so, I'm fairly certain I won't see anything until at least then this time, either.  But here's where the crazy comes in:

I think I felt implantation on Thursday.

Yes, I know that sounds completely ridiculous.  I've debated whether or not to even post that sentence, because I know how absolutely insane it sounds.  But.

I have, over the years, come to know my body pretty well.    Prior to my first miscarriage, when I read how other women "felt" ovulation, I thought: That's a load of crap!  I never, ever, felt a thing, despite the fact that the OPK's showed I was ovulating regularly.

Post-loss, I felt ovulation pains for the first time.  Each month, usually within 24-36 hours of my positive OPK, I'd feel a brief, stabbing pain around the ovary area.  I know, I know, it sounds far-fetched -- but I swear, it's true.  I can tell you which side I ovulated from, and it doesn't always alternate from side to side each month.  Just before we started this IVF, I ovulated on the right.  This was confirmed a week or so later during my baseline, when they saw the ruptured cyst on that side, and all was quiet on the left.  I felt slightly less crazy at that point. :-)

Post-transfer, I was pretty crampy for the first 2 days.  It was a dull ache, very different from menstrual cramps, and fairly constant.  I know this is normal, so I am not trying to read too much into it.  However, on the drive home, I felt a pain of a different sort.  Much sharper, not quite where I feel ovulation, and it only lasted a few minutes.  Afterward, the uterine cramping seemed to calm down, though it still hasn't completely disappeared.

I can't explain why I think it was implantation (other than wishful thinking).  But, if it was, then HCG could be detectable as early as tomorrow (2-3 days after implantation). Or, it could not.  Because every woman is different, and there is no way to know for sure what it was I felt.  Or didn't feel.  Or whatever.

I could just wait until Tuesday, because its not likely to be positive until then, but I am driving myself crazy over here.  I have absolutely NO symptoms (beyond those clearly caused by the progesterone), and so I'm starting to think that maybe this didn't work.  In which case, an early positive would make me feel MUCH better.  Unless my doubts are correct, in which case the next three to five days are just going to be a lesson in increasing frustration.

Gah.  The two-week wait is, by far, the hardest part of IVF, in my opinion.  No matter how hard I try to distract myself, I can't help obsessing, flipping back and forth.  Am I?  Am I not?  When will I know?  My zen from a few days ago has completely disappeared, my friends.

Any suggestions for getting it back?

Who Is This Man?

Last night, I overheard (okay, so maybe eavesdropping would be a better word) Mo having a conversation with a high-school buddy of his.  He was talking about...wait for it... INFERTILITY.   Specifically, how men often feel embarrassed and ashamed by it, and therefore don't talk about it.  And how women feel all alone in their journeys, especially because their men aren't talking about it.

I sat on the couch in the living room and listened to him explain to his friend the myriad of emotions we've experienced the last few years.  He talked about our losses openly, talked about what helped and what didn't after.  He talked about what its like to be on THIS side of things (his friend is, quite, um...fertile) and he did so without shame, without apologies.  He even talked about his role in our IF (as you know, men often equate sperm production with masculinity, so this has frequently been a sore subject for Mo).

I sat there in wonderment, simply glowing with pride.  He has come so far.

**********

It's only been about six months since I really, openly, started talking about infertility on FB.  I've always been willing to share what we're going through in person, and I posted random stuff every so often after our losses. But then something shifted inside of me, and I got sick and tired of feeling like I was alone in this (IRL, I mean.)  I started sharing more and more about our journey.  This IVF has been well-documented online, and I've got an amazing group of friends and family cheering us on every step of the way.  It has been humbling, as so many friends have come "out of the closet" and shared their struggles with me, often privately, because of what I've posted.

And, as I've become more open, so has Mo.  He started linking to the articles I shared, and sharing them with HIS friends.  He started posting his own status updates as to where we were in our treatments.  He started getting his own emails from friends he hadn't seen in twenty years, telling him about all that they had endured to bring their families into being.

And, in his own small way, Mo found himself becoming a sort of advocate.  Not in the earth-shaking way that some of you here are, but in his world, he is opening people's eyes.  He is changing how people understand things, and he's doing what so many men are afraid to do -- he's talking about what its like to be infertile, in a forum that is very personal and public at the same time.

As I sat there listening, I had the brief thought: "Who IS this man?"  I could never have imagined the Mo of two years ago doing or saying anything like what I heard last night.

And then I remembered.  THIS is the man I married, the man I've been in love with all along, the man I fought to bring back.  This is the man I am proud to have by my side, holding my hand, every single heartbreaking step of the way.

  **********

As we lay in bed last night, several hours after this conversation took place, we somehow got onto the topic of all the money we've spent in the last year or two -- leaving our jobs, moving five states away, two IVF's, and a FET cost an awful, embarrassing amount of money.  And Mo took my hand, and said quietly -- "But, you saved my life.  Don't think I don't know that."

I like to think that's true, though the reality is he saved himself as much as I did.  And in the process, he saved US, and gave us this second shot at happiness.  Had we not taken that leap, I know without a shadow of a doubt that we wouldn't be here today.

It's been a long, bumpy road -- and I still have no idea how its all going to turn out.  I've changed so much in the last ten years, and so has Mo.  We are not the same people who flung ourselves headfirst into marriage, with all those blissful ideas of what the future would hold.  I'm still figuring out who I am, and who Mo is, on a daily basis.  

But, more and more, I like the people we are becoming.  And, in a very twisted way, I have infertility to thank for that.  

Hooray! It's....Negative?

The Official Pee-A-Thon of 2011 has begun!  For those of you who are new around these parts, I'm not one of those "wait and see" types who dutifully follows doctor's instructions and waits for beta results.  I pee on things, often daily, and analyze them way more than is probably healthy.

That being said, I think I've been VERY patient in waiting to start POAS until today, approximately 2dp5dt.  This is a full 9 days after the trigger shot, ya'll!  My reasoning (as convoluted as it may be) was that I WANT to see that negative, so that I'm 100% positive that a BFP (should it decide to show itself) is for real.  However, I wasn't too keen on seeing that false positive caused by the HCG shot.  In the past, we've used Ovid.rel to trigger, and I've always tested negative by 7 days post trigger.  I, personally, think the doctors are WAY too overly-cautious when telling us to wait 14 whole days to make sure it's out of your system.  Every website I read has said that it takes about 10 days to rid your body of the 10,000 IU of HCG.  So, I figured I'd give it ten days.

I almost made it, but as soon as we got home, those internet cheapies just started calling my name.  I decided it wouldn't hurt to take just ONE (isn't that how all addictions are fed?), and was tickled pink to see that it was, indeed, starkly negative.  (Note: I will NOT have the same reaction in a week, Universe, so don't go getting any ideas).

And then I did something I shouldn't.  Fellow POAS addicts have probably been here before.  Upon visiting the bathroom again an hour or so later, I dug the stick out for another, closer, analysis.  And, lo and behold, a VERY faint evaporation line was there.

Well, shit.

I know that you should never look at a pee stick past that ten minute window, for this reason exactly. I also know that any remaining HCG in my body (no matter how faint) is from trigger, and not from any potential pregnancies a-brewin'.  So, in all actuality, this really is no big deal.  By tomorrow, that evap line should be gone and when I test again (because you know I will), my negative should be signed, sealed, and delivered.  Wham, bam, thankyouma'am.

Now my only dilemma is this: once the negative is clearly established, how long do I hold out before testing for realz?  I'm down to two internet cheapies (one, after tomorrow) and two older-than-dirt FRER's (which never, ever read positive for me before 14dpo).  It's really too late to order any more online, so if I start testing TOO early, I'll have to invest in a drugstore brand (in case you're wondering, I've always tested positive first on Equate.)  I'm thinking I'll just have to bite the bullet, because I doubt I can hold out any longer than Sunday, even though I figure that Tuesday (12dpo, 7dp5dt) will be the earliest I will see anything remotely hopeful.  (And if you're still reading this, you probably need as much counseling as I do).

What about you?  Are you a pee-aholic, or do you prefer to wait to hear the official news?  What's your reasoning for doing so?  And would you ever consider crossing over to the "other" side?

It Takes Two to Tango -- Or Something Like That

I am trying really hard not to be disappointed or to read too much into this.  Our embryologist just called with what he called "good" news this morning.  Of the 12 embryos remaining after transfer, we are able to freeze two of them.

Just two.

I already knew that 2 of the 12 were poor quality and not likely to make the cut.  Still -- I had hoped for at least 4, which, in my mind, would give us two more tries.

What bothers me even more, though, is that out of 14 embryos, only 4 made it all the way to blast in good shape.  I know it only takes one, and I know that sometimes less-than-stellar embryos make perfectly adorable babies.  But given our history (two pregnancies, two first-trimester losses), I wanted a little bit more reassurance.  A back-up, so to speak.

As if this wasn't reminder enough that things don't always turn out the way you would hope, one of my cyclesistas got a BFN today after her first IVF.  Please stop by and give her some extra TLC, as I know her heart is broken.

I know in my heart of hearts that any sort of stressing/worrying/praying is futile -- but I can't help myself.  Universe, if you could just send a break my way, I would be forever grateful.