Tuesday, December 17, 2013

Rising and Yet Falling

So everything on paper is looking good. The number doubled and change from Wednesday to Friday. Then rose to 949 on Monday. If I were a normal person with a short OB/GYN history, I'd be on my merry way. I'd be picking out nursery colors.

But I'm not. This is my seventh pregnancy. I have one child. Granted, he's a pretty incredible one child, but those are some messed up numbers. So forgive me if I'm not dancing in the streets just yet. Or maybe, even if this thing goes the distance, maybe not ever, during the whole thing. Maybe it will be just like with my H, when his first cry in the operating room took me by surprise. When I said, There was really a baby in there, with a genuine sense of astonishment.

I'm terrified.

Wednesday, December 11, 2013

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.

Today's beta: 116. Am told they look for 50 at this point.

The first step of many. But for tonight, let me just say, in a quiet voice in case fate is listening: yay.

Saturday, December 7, 2013

Random Thoughts from the Wait

I thought I'd be somehow enlightened. I've been around the block on the two-week wait, the beta wait, the ultrasound wait. All the waiting. I thought I'd be above the drama. But no. I'm plugging all the search strings in: POAS after five-day transfer. Symptoms after five-day transfer. Success rates after FET. Engaging in the Dr. Google madness like some sort of newly initiated infertile.

Also, my in-laws arrive from the other coast tonight. Which means they will be here, in my house, the day of the test. Can someone please tell me how I am supposed to work this? I don't have a great history with them on these issues, what with their stone cold radio silence when we told them, on Mother's Day, that the reason we weren't doing much was that I was recovering from a D&C, from my fourth recent miscarriage. I told my husband that if it is negative, I shall be retiring to our bedroom and a tray of fettuccine alfredo, chocolate cake and a bottle of red wine shall be delivered to my bedside. But I'm not sure that really covers it. And what if it's positive?

Just to add to all the merriment, our cat was playing with a twist tie this morning, and when we turned away and looked back at her, she was licking her chops and the twist tie was MIA. We looked everywhere for it, and I called the vet. They strongly suggested we bring her in. While my husband was  waiting for her to be x-rayed -- and God knows how they got my Woody Allen of a cat to sit for an x-ray -- I came downstairs and saw the twist tie sitting right next to the couch. We paid $250 and they saw food and hairballs on the x-ray.

Meanwhile, I look about four months along. I'm going to assume this is from the massive amounts of progesterone I'm injecting into my body (based on reading of 19.5 on Wednesday -- this clinic checks two days after transfer -- they raised my dose to 1.5 cc), but if it turns out I'm not pregnant, I'm decidedly not amused.

Wednesday, December 4, 2013

Embryo in. Sanity out.

It happened. On Monday. They wheeled me in, they put my legs in the stirrups made for giants. They put the gorgeous looking embryo in me.

On the way out the door to the clinic, I checked to make sure I had everything with me. Wallet, check. Bottle of water to chug until I'm uncomfortable, check. I asked my husband if anything was missing. Got your vagina? he asked. Check.

I took the valium on the way, washed it down with the big bottle of water. I just figured, no one had told me it would hurt -- it might only help -- and I can't drink wine, so why not?

When I got into the OR and realized the embryologist was in the corner, I suddenly felt this presence in the room. It was sort of like the time I saw President Clinton speak -- when he arrived in the building, you weren't sure how but you just knew he was there, as if the electrons in the room had somehow started combining differently. He's here. That's how I felt about my embryo. It's here. Alive. In this room with me.

On the way out, they handed me a photocopied picture of the embryo along with a curious little slip of paper with my name at the top and the number of embryos thawed (1), transferred (1), and how many remaining in cryostorage (4). I showed my husband. Oh, he said. Our receipt.

Husbands are not allowed into the procedure room for the transfer at this clinic. I was really blindsided by this news upon our arrival, but luckily at that point I was already operating under the influence of Valium, so I was pretty much incapable of being ruffled by anything. Still, it's odd to think that he was not even in the room at the moment when I got pregnant. He said something about telling people we're really talented, with a wink. He's a funny guy.

I wish I could tell you it's been all fun and games since the transfer. I came home, enjoyed a Valium-induced sleep on the couch, and then, as the medication wore off, panic and despair set in. The familiar mental racquetball match of it-definitely-worked, it-definitely-did-not-work has commenced. And will continue until the test, next Wednesday. Have not decided if I will POAS before then.

The problem with the time after transfer is that it's no longer abstract. So much depends on an implanting blastocyst, on two pink lines, on doubling betas. So much.

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