Change

Mel's recently wrote a brilliant post about spare change really hit home for me.  (If you haven't read it, please take a moment to do so. It's absolutely one of the most thought-provoking posts I've read in a while).

If you've been 'round these parts for a significant chunk of time, you know that Mo and I have had lots of issues. We've dealt with our share of sorrow and setbacks and marital grief.  We are FAR from the perfect couple, though in real life our scars are much less obvious than they are here.  It's not that we put on a "show" for others, it's more like our private life remains more or less private in the real world, whereas here I kind of let everything hang out.  I blog as a personal kind of therapy, hence the pseudonyms and anonymity over here.  I am not ashamed of my infertility; but I have to admit, sometimes I'm ashamed of how I've handled it.  How WE'VE handled it.

Because, I will be honest here, Mo is taking this latest negative much harder than I am.  He is much more discouraged, and much more frustrated.  And I find myself unable to help him, to lift the fog of depression that has enveloped him.  He is lashing out -- at me, at the world.  He is pushing me away, blaming himself for our situation, telling me that I'd be better off with someone else.  He is angry and bitter, as I often am.  The difference is that this is not his usual modus operandi, and so I am less certain of the best way to handle it.  I look at him sometimes and wonder, "Who the hell IS this person?"  (God only knows what he thinks when he looks at me).

I tell you all of this for a reason: because of Mo responds to grief in his own way (which is nothing like how I respond to it), I've found myself thinking of all the ways in which he doesn't do everything the way I want him to.  Lately, it seems that when I want to cuddle, he wants his space.  When I am tired and want to sleep, he wants to vent.  Neither one of us seems very capable of giving the other what they want without our own feelings being injured.  There's been a lot of silence, followed by showers of angry words and tearful outbursts at our house lately.  I find myself thinking, "I'm not asking all that much.  Why can't he give me what I need?"

And then I read this:

"But there is not a marriage or partnership in the world where the person doesn’t ask an enormous amount from the other person.  Is loyalty a small thing to ask for?  Constant support?  A promise to make decisions together?  To love each other?  To never break your vows?


I don’t ask that from many people.  In fact, I don’t ask that from anyone other than Josh because they’re all enormous things to ask for.  When this husband said that he didn’t ask for a lot from this woman, I’m not sure he was seeing just how much he was asking of her; that we all ask of our partner if we have one.  Making meals?  Doing stuff with the baby?  Those are small things.  It would be like asking someone for $20,000.32 and focusing on the 32 cents.  She gives him the $20,000 daily by being a loyal partner.  By loving him.  By not breaking her vows (yes, I am making a lot of assumptions about their marriage).  All that he can claim he’s not getting is the 32 cents."

And despite what I sometimes post here, I have to admit that I get that $20,000.  Mo loves me with every fiber of his being -- I don't doubt that.  He is affectionate and compassionate and kind (most of the time).  Does he have his flaws?  Of course.  But so do I -- and I get so upset when HE focuses on the minor things I don't do -- and yet I do the exact same thing to him.   When it boils down to it, Mo gives me so much.  Financial and emotional support, love, companionship, shared goals.  He gives me loyalty and fidelity.  And what do I focus on?  I focus on the one hug I wanted at an inconvenient time, or the sigh when I interrupted (for the fifth time) the movie he was watching.  I focus on the dishes that he leaves in the sink or the laundry that isn't done.  I focus on the fact that he needs to get away to clear his head instead of hunkering down and hiding from the world like I do.  I focus on the small change, instead of the (much) larger, and much more valuable, whole dollar amount.

I want that to change.  No, I need that to change.  I'm not saying that I want to overlook important differences that we have -- but I need to focus more what is right with us than what is wrong.  God knows there's plenty of things we don't agree on -- but in the bigger scheme of things?  Those are minor.  In fact, those differences are what make us interesting.  So what if he prefers reality TV shows and despises my geeky comedies and tragic melodramas?  Who cares if he enjoys swimming at ungodly hours of the morning as opposed to running mid-afternoon, like I do?  We have distinctly different personalities -- but we balance each other out.  My bitterness is often countered by his optimism, my shyness by his outgoing nature.  I bring the stability, he brings the spontaneity. Together, we can work -- but not if I keep my laser-sharp eye on the things he doesn't do, instead of the things he does.

It's a small change, perspective.  It's the difference between creating a life -- or a marriage -- and destroying one.

That's my two cents, anyway.

I Think I Just Got Fired

From my RE, that is.

WTF appointment was held via phone conference this morning with Dr. Down-to-Earth.  I definitely did not expect to hear what I heard.  I had typed up a list of questions and was raring to go.  He disarmed me early by asking how I was (better today, thank you) and then how Mo was holding up.  That's always what gets me -- I am fine, but when I have to talk about how sad or disappointed my husband is, I lose it.

So, after pulling myself together, we started talking about the Next Steps.  He said that there's really nothing to do besides another fresh transfer, but that he didn't really feel comfortable moving forward at this point.

Huh?

He had me Google Dr. Expert at a fertility clinic in a nearby Big City.  Dr. Expert is supposedly very adept at handling RPL and repeated IVF failures -- Dr. Down to Earth referred to him as one of the top 3 in the country.  His website is not much to look at, but I started poking around and found some interesting articles to show Mo.  Basically, Dr. D. wants me to have a consult with Dr. E. before moving forward.  Usually this is a phone consult, but since Dr. E. is close to me (2 hours vs 6 for our clinic now), he thinks I should go ahead and book a new patient appointment next month.  Then, Dr. E. can go ahead and knock out any further testing he might recommend while we're there.  He will send a summary of the results to Dr. D, and then Mo and I can decide whether or not to move forward.  Or, not.

It's the "or not" that's getting me.  Dr. D. said that everything looks great on paper.  Excellent stimming results, Mo's counts were decent, embryos looked great.  Sure, we could do PGD next time if we decide to go that route.  Yes, I should definitely have a saline sonogram to check for scar tissue before our next transfer.  But beyond that?  Dr. D. didn't have any suggestions.
-
So why the "or not?"  Does he really think we're wasting our time here?  Is he dropping me because he doesn't think he can help us -- and doesn't want to drop his stats?  I really hope not -- but looking at the difference in statistics between Dr. D. and Dr. E. was sobering.  Their pregnancy rates per cycle differ by nearly 20% (60.9% vs 39.7%), and their live birth rates by 15%( 60.3% of transfers result in live births at my current clinic, just 43.5% do at Dr. Expert's.)

What confuses me the most is (according to the SART reports online), this new clinic's success rates have dropped considerably in the last few years.  In 2008, they were close to that of my current clinic's.  Now, they are much lower.  Is it because they are taking on more difficult cases?  Or are they just not as good as Dr. D.?
 
I hate not having answers.  Talking to Dr. D. made me feel like this new guy could help us find some answers -- but then, as I research them more, I just find myself getting more and more discouraged.

I'm so tired of running this race, especially when the finish line keeps getting moved on me.  I want to keep charging forward, but I've lost sight of where I'm headed.  I want to be a mom more than anything -- but I'm really starting to lose hope that this will ever be the case.

When It Rains, It Pours

So that zen feeling from a few days ago?  Completely gone.  Call it a delayed reaction, or perhaps I've just reached my limit for shit sandwiches being handed to me wrapped in pretty packaging.

Monday was the official beta.  Negative, of course.  No surprises there.  What was surprising (shocking, even?) was that after inviting my sister to breakfast that morning (the morning when I officially get the news that genetic children of mine and my husband likely will never be, mind you, the morning when I know FOR SURE that we have wasted close to $40,000 on NOTHING BUT HEARTBREAK) -- well, this is the morning she chooses to tell me that she is pregnant.

She found out Friday, so it's not like she couldn't wait a few DAYS (or weeks, even) to tell me. She is 5 weeks, 1 day. It's not like I even NEEDED to know yet.  I mean, WHO THE FUCK DOES THAT?  Who says, in a nutshell, well, I'm so sorry it didn't work for you.  You seem to be handling it so well.  Oh, by the way, I know YOU can't get pregnant, but guess what?  I am!  Aren't you happy for me?

She should know better.  Not only has she witnessed my journey (including our three first-trimester losses) from a very close proximity, but she herself has experienced infertility.  It took her two years to conceive her daughter (via Clom.id), and they've been trying for over a year for #2.  They wrapped up three Clom.id cycles just prior to us starting our FET.  She told me she was done.  Which really doesn't matter -- she is entitled to keep trying.  I know I would.  I don't even think I'm angry that she's pregnant -- I love my niece to death and look forward to having another little one to spoil.  But, really?  Did she have to tell me THAT DAY?  Where is the compassion?  Where is the self-control?  She claims she couldn't keep a secret -- but apparently she can, as she didn't even tell me they were cycling.  And each day when she checked in on my POAS addiction, she never said a word.  So, really, could she not have held it in a few more days?  Or hell -- even past the first ultrasound (which isn't for another month, because that's how "normal" pregnant people do it).

I didn't need to hear that yesterday.  (You would have been proud, though.  Not only did I hold it together and make smiley happy chit chat for the rest of the day, but I didn't even blog about it until she had time to tell Momma MoJo.  Aren't I good?)

As if that wasn't enough, Mo bailed on me on Sunday.  He's handling this even worse than I am.  He left town to go gamble and drink a few hours away, promising to be back Tuesday morning for a dentist appoint.ment. Of course he stayed longer than expected, lied to me last night and said he was coming home, and then texted me this morning to confess he still hasn't left.  He's sorry, he's drunk, he's going to sleep it off.  Which is all well and good and great for him.

But where does it leave me?

I will tell you exactly where it leaves me.  It leaves me home alone, crying in bed, blogging about how shitty things are in my life right now.  It leaves me empty and aching, while everyone around me takes care of their needs first.  The people I turn to and lean on for support -- the ones who are supposed to GET IT -- have left me high and dry.

I'm so close to being done, with all of it, and yet I. CAN'T. QUIT.  Because the next one, that one might be the one that brings me what I've been looking for for so damn long.  I've been pushed to my breaking point so many times before, and somehow I just keep pushing that line a little further.  I excuse other people's bad behavior, because I understand what it's like to be in their shoes.  I know how much my sister wanted another baby, and I know how exciting it is when a hard-fought for pregnancy is achieved.  I know how much Mo is hurting, and I know he's coping the only way he knows how.

But, honest to god (or the universe or whatthefuckever), I'm sending out this notice: NO MORE. I have reached my limit.   I just can't take any more, okay?

Better Today

9dp5dt -- still negative.  Not even a ghost of a whisper of an indentation of a line.

But, I'm doing better.  Don't get me wrong -- its definitely not all sunshine and roses and happy, happy, joy, joy. But Mo and I both had a good cry yesterday (okay, I had SEVERAL), and we apologized to one another over and over again, and then reassured each other over and over again that it's not the other's fault.

It just is.

Do we wish it ended differently?  Hells yeah.

But it is what it is.

And we will keep trying to build our family.  We really aren't ready to talk about how just yet -- DS/IUI, DE/FET, IVF w/ PGD, adoption.  There are so many ways this could go, and we really just need some time to think it over and decide how to proceed.  The thing is, we have options.  And that helps, I think, in easing some of my pain.

This is not the end.

The other thing that helps is the unending support from my bloggy friends.  You guys are awesome, and your comments, no matter how brief, help me to feel less alone.  I know how hard it is to know what to say -- really, what IS there to say, besides "I'm sorry, this sucks."?  And yet, somehow, that's enough.  So, in case I don't say it to you enough, THANK YOU.  I've certainly not been the most supportive commenter / friend, and I've certainly done enough to drive many of you away.  And yet you stay, and hold my hand, and comfort me, and give advice, and smother me in bloggy love.

I don't deserve it, but I sure am grateful.

Wishful Thinking

This morning's tests were clearly, starkly, negative.  Again.  At 8dp5dt, it's time for me to face up to the fact that this cycle, our "last chance fet", likely didn't work.

I compared last night's ghost line with a new E.quate test this morning.  You can still see the faint, faint line from yesterday, but there is nothing today.  So maybe the other test was more sensitive and picked up a trace amount, maybe whatever was there yesterday is gone today, maybe yesterday was nothing more than an evaporation line and an overactive imagination.  Lots of maybes -- but the bottom line is the same.

No dice.

And I'm kind of in a weird place about it.  On the one hand, I've talked openly about getting this one "out of the way" so that we could move on.  On the other hand, I really, honestly, in my gut was SURE (after transfer) that this one had worked, and we weren't going to need to move on.

I feel like a failure.  The numbers are abysmal: four cycles, 28 eggs retrieved, 26 embryos created, 10 embryos made it to blast, 9 were transferred, 3 implanted, and 0 stuck around after 8 weeks.  Virtually ALL of the blasts we transferred were good quality -- our fresh cycles were both deemed "perfect" by two different RE's.  We did have 2 not-so-great embryos in the mix -- but out of 7 good/great embies, not ONE has resulted in an actual baby.  I know that the MFI has an effect on conception rates -- but ICSI is supposed to eliminate that.  Clearly there is something wrong with ME, something that none of the tests have been able to discover.  Why can't I grow a baby? I want answers -- and no one seems able to give them to me.  Genetically, we're both fine.  My immune tests came back normal.  Physically, I have no issues, and the RE didn't seem concerned about egg quality.  So WHAT the HELL is WRONG?!?

I am frustrated, and sad, and feeling quite hopeless today.  I'm not ready to really think about where to go next -- I know we have options, but right now none of them appeal to me whatsoever.  I'm grateful to be out on Spring Break -- I have nine days to get my mojo back before returning to work.  I plan on indulging my self-pity for a while longer, then distracting myself as best as I can.  Maybe by summer we can come up with another game plan.

What an incredible let-down.

Refusing to Take No For An Answer

I'm a stubborn girl.  I always have been.  (Ask my mother...or my husband.)  :-)  I, like a lot of IF-er's, am a go-getter who is used to fixing my mind on a goal, working hard, and achieving it.

Which is why IVF is such a mind-fuck for someone like me.  Because there is no rhyme or reason to it.  Perfect blasts fail to implant, sub-par embryos turn into beautiful babies, women experience loss after loss with no real explanation as to why.

But I am stubborn, and I'm used to getting my way.  Which is why I find myself returning to the bathroom, over and over again, and digging the wretched pee-sticks out of the trash.  As though staring at them hard enough, or long enough, is going to make them change their answer.

I googled enough stories of "7dp5dt bfn" to find hope that maybe -- maybe -- I might get a different result tomorrow.  But I feel like I know my body, and I know what has happened the THREE previous times I've been pregnant.  Yes, every pregnancy is different -- but I've never implanted "late."  And if I actually do start producing HCG before Monday -- is there really much hope for such a late starter?  Or are we destined to go down the road we went down last August once again?

No one knows the answers of course, and there's nothing I can do to change what will be.  The days will slowly crawl by until Monday, when we will hopefully get some sort of answer.  (Beta Hell, I'm not interested in visiting this time.  Please keep that in mind when you solicit guests, okay?)

But I am stubborn.  And I keep peeing, and I keep staring.

I went and bought the Equ.ate Early Resp.onse after work.  It's the one that's always shown first for me.  And I held my pee, I dipped, I waited.  All negative (I, of course, threw another FRER and two internet cheapies into the equation, just for shits and giggles).

But then I went back -- say, ten minutes later?  And I know not to read it after the time limit.  But I always do, because I AM STUBBORN LIKE THAT.

And there is the tiniest whisper of a line, so faint I might very well be imagining it. Do any of you know what an evap line looks like?  Is that what it is, maybe?  I don't know.  It's definitely not something any non-IF-major-pee-er would ever call a line.  It's a shadow, just enough of an indentation to make me wonder.

Can any of this end well?  I obviously don't know.

All I do know is that I'll keep going, and keep hoping dammit, even when I shouldn't -- until they tell me for sure that I'm out of the game.

Because when the stakes are this high, it's hard as hell to take "no" for an answer.  

FET #2

So. This FET.  Despite my earlier proclamations that it would never work, I have to admit I was very hopeful earlier this week.  I had severe cramping about 3dp5dt (8 dpo), which I figured was implantation.  Sore boobs, night sweats, highly emotional (I cried three times last night), even waking up in the middle of the night to pee the past few nights.  I felt like maybe this was really going to work.

And so I started testing (come on, are you really surprised?  Do you know me at all?)  I started at 5dp5dt with the Wond.fo internet strips.  Negative.  Same thing the next day, and that night.  Not a hint or shadow of a line.  My symptoms started lessening, and I started doubting.  Now, 7dp5dt, I am sure it didn't work.  And I'm wondering how to tell Mo, who thinks we're waiting to Saturday to test, that I am wrong, once again.

I've done some research online, and the Wond.fo's have mixed reviews.  So, this morning, I pulled out the big guns.  The FRER, the CBE digital, my earlypregnancy.com strips, and the Wondf.o are all sitting on my bathroom counter.

I have ALWAYS gotten a positive on this day.

And this morning, I am too terrified to look.

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

Negative all around.  Fuck.  

(Snow)Babies On Board

Transfer today went as smoothly as we could possibly have hoped.  We arrived on time, bladder full but not bursting (after four cycles, I've finally got this part down) and were quickly called back.  The embryo report wasn't as good as I had hoped.  Both survived, but only one was expanding.  The other was still "dehydrated" and showed some improvement before transfer, but still.

Dr. Down-to-Earth was encouraging, but not overly effusive. I am probably reading too much into it.  I am considering this a transfer of a single embryo at this point, as I have little hope our second embryo will do much.  I'm resting and taking care of myself and remaining hopeful and positive.  It's out of my hands, anyway.

Do I sound conflicted?  I am.  I want to be all sunshine and roses, but I am all too aware that things might not go the way I want them to.  Still -- it only takes one, and shitty embryos have been known to produce beautiful babies before.

If it isn't too much to ask, Universe, could you send a few unicorn sprinkles my way?  

Oh, The Places You'll Go!

For those of you whose jobs are not entirely kid-focused, you may not be aware that the infamous Dr. Seu.ss has a birthday coming up.  In my classroom, we've been practicing reading some of our favorite Dr. Seu.ss books to share with the younger students later this week.

To launch this unit, I read one of my favorite Dr.Seu.ss books, "Oh, The Places You'll Go!"  I read it because I had a copy that I picked up for five bucks at Ko.hls a few years ago.  It's the same copy I read to Bebe #2 during a shamefully optimistic period (you know, after a reassuring ultrasound and before the rug was pulled from underneath my feet).  I remember it being sweet, and uplifting.

And then I read it aloud to a room full of fifth-graders.  And, somehow, didn't lose my shit completely.  I'm still not quite sure how I managed this feat, especially with lines like this:

Wherever you go, you will top all the rest.

Except when you don't. 

Because, sometimes, you won't.

I'm sorry to say so,

But sadly, it's true.

That Bang-ups 

and Hang-ups

can happen to you.  

You can get all hung up

In a prickle-ey perch.

And your gang will fly on.

You'll be left in a Lurch. 

You'll come down from the Lurch

with an unpleasant bump.

And the chances are: then,

that you'll be in a Slump. 

And when you're in a Slimp,

you're not in for much fun.

Un-slumping yourself 

is not easily done.  

Sound familiar yet?  Keep reading:

You will come to a place where the streets are not marked.

Some windows are lighted.  But mostly they're darked.

A place you could sprain both your elbow and chin!

Do you dare to stay out?  Do you dare to go in?

How much can you lose?  How much can you win?

If that's not a perfect description of this gamble we're all taking, then I don't know what is.  But, believe it or not, it gets even better:

And IF you go in, should you turn left or right....

or right-and-three-quarters?  Or, maybe, not quite?

Or go around back and sneak in from behind? 

Simple it's not, I'm afraid you will find 

for a mind-maker-upper to make up his mind.  

You can get so confused that you'll start in to race

down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace

and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space,

headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.

The Waiting Place. 

Ah, we know that place all too well, don't we?  It's....

...for people just waiting.

Waiting for a train to go

or a bus to come, or a plane to go

or the mail to come, or the rain to go

or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow

or the waiting around for a Yes or No

or waiting for their hair to grow.

Everyone is just waiting.   

Waiting for the fish to bite

or waiting for the wind to fly a kite

or waiting around for Friday night

or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake

or a pot to boil, or a Better Break

or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants,

or a wig with curls, or Another Chance. 

Everyone is just waiting.  

Now, it wouldn't be Sue.ss if he didn't encourage you to pick up your feet and DO something about it.  And he does.  But then he follows a bit uncharacteristically with this gem about things going your way:

Except when they don't. 

Because, sometimes they won't.

I'm afraid that some times

you'll play lonely games too. 

Games you can't win, 

'cause you'll only play against you. 

Seriously, Se.uss?  Are you just fucking with me now? 

All Alone!

Whether you like it or not.

Alone will be something 

you'll be quite a lot.

And when you're alone, there's a very good chance

you'll meet things that scare you right out of your pants.

There are some, down the road between hither and yon,

that can scare you so much you won't want to go on.  

Somehow I manged to keep those crocodile tears contained within my chest in front of my kiddos.  They've seen me tear up at stories before, but how could I explain the emotions that cut me so deeply -- from Dr. Seu.ss, for crying out loud?!? It made me curious, though, how a man could be so adept at putting into words all the crazy emotions on this particular rollercoaster.  And so I turned to my trusty Wiki.pedia (shhh!  don't tell my students!) and learned that, despite being married twice, dear Theodore Geisel remained childless his entire life.  

Yes, you read that right.  Dr. Seus.s was an infertile.  So take heart, my friends!  I know I will.  As silly and superstitious as it sounds,  I will be thinking of Seu.ss and his words as I make my six-hour trek to see Dr. Down-to-Earth on (coincidentally? ) what would have been Teddy's 108th birthday.  Not the downers that he describes, above, of course, but the more heartwarming words with which he ends this story:

But on you will go, though the weather be foul. 

On you will go though your enemies prowl.

On you will go though the Hakken-Kraks howl. 

Onward up many a frightening creek.

Though your arms may get sore and your sneakers may leak. 

On and on you will hike, 

And I know you'll hike far

and face up to your problems

whatever they are.  

You'll get mixed up, of course,

as you already know.

You'll get mixed up with many

strange birds as you go.

So be sure when you step, 

step with care and great tact.

And remember that Life's 

a Great Balancing Act.  

Just never forget to be dexterous and deft. 

And never mix up your right foot with your left.  

And will you succeed?

Yes!  You will, indeed!

(98 and 3/4 percent guaranteed.)

Though my odds may be slightly less optimistic, I will take what I can get.  And I'll try to keep my eyes on the bigger picture, and the wisdom of a children's book author who walked this path long before I did.  

Happy birthday, Teddy.  And thank you.   

Reassurance

Thank you, ladies, for your support and advice regarding the HSG.  I am going to voice my concerns at our appointment next week and see what he says.  Perhaps we can at least try a saline ultrasound, since Dr. Google thinks that most fibroids can be visualized via ultrasound, but scar tissue cannot.  Even if it means a delay in cycling -- so far I am only out a few bucks spent on Estra.ce, so it's not too much of a waste.  I think that having some reassurance (whether its his opinion that we need further testing or not) is worth at least mentioning.

I got a little more reassurance last night, though on another (related) subject.  I've become so bitter and angry as an infertile (despite my best intentions), that there are days when I wonder if I will even make a decent parent.  Will I resent the intrusion on my well-established routines and alone time?  Maybe we have waited too long -- and maybe I am too angry -- to ever really be happy again.  Sometimes I fear that my heart, out of pure necessity, has simply iced over.

I am pleased to say that is not the case.  I spent last night with a good friend whose cousin is staying with her temporarily.  The cousin has two young daughters (18 months and almost 3) and she went out for the evening.  She hired a sitter, but since Good Friend and I were not going anywhere, we let her go home.  An hour or so after putting the babies to bed, I heard crying from downstairs.  I didn't have to, but I went to the littlest one, scooped her up, and returned with her to her room.  I held her and rocked her until she fell back asleep.  As I swayed there in the darkness, her small head buried on my shoulder and her tiny fingers grasping my arms, I smiled.  I am, it would seem, NOT as cold-hearted as I would have all of you (and myself) believe.  Maybe, just maybe, I'm still able to do this after all.