Inconceivable

I am still stunned to near disbelief. I gave in and peed on that stick and got the first second line I have ever seen in my life. It was faint, but there it was. Two days after I had my beta. My Dr. called that afternoon with the most wonderful news! I am pregnant. I did a second blood test, still pregnant and then a third, status quo with an ever increasing beta! Last Friday, I had an ultrasound and not only was I still pregnant, but I saw the sac. It was a square-ish blob on the screen. I think it looks like Matt. It is a little hard to accept that this actually worked. I was really preparing myself for IVF round 2 and the big bad news. I almost feel like I got off relatively easy. Isn't that twisted? I only had to inject myself 30 times and have surgery twice to get pregant. I am still proceeding with cautious optimism. I started telling friends and dreaming of names. I suppose I have to call it Cornell.

I said I would be strong and wait until my beta to get confirmation, but the suspense is killing me. I have a box of home tests just begging to be urinated on. They call my name in the morning and dare me at night. I keep opening the closet and looking at them. The entire experience toys with your emotions and then they throw in the industrial strength dose of progesterone to top off the mindfuck. I honestly can't decide what would be better. Get the negative and to not have so much pressure at the blood draw? Do I really want to find out this didn't work from a phone call? During my work day? I am going to go talk to some food about this!

A while back, after a trying week, my very sweet and very selfless friend gave me a gift card for a facial. She insisted I treat myself to a relaxing afternoon. (Because nothing says serenity like having an ex Russian gymnast squeeze blackheads on your nose.) When I arrived at the spa, I was greeted by a cheerful lady who enthusiastically showed me to the locker room to change. (It still seems wrong on some level that you have to get naked for a facial. But call it whatever you want. I am more than happy to strip down if my "facial" will include a mini-massage.) I was then directed into the ladies' lounge and instructed to fill out a treatment questionnaire. It was all pretty standard: name, date of birth, allergies, health conditions. Then I got towards the bottom. "Are you pregnant? " Jeez! What's with the hard questions??? Am I pregnant? A myriad of responses popped in my head: Maybe? How should I know? Probably not. I hope so. Outlook hazy; try again. An...

It is no secret that progesterone induces the symptoms of pregnancy. Knocked-up or not, the hormone will have you checking out Park Slope preschools before the 2 week wait is over. Is there no justice for the infertile?

When used correctly the internet can be a force of good. Because of the endless information available with a well placed boolean operator, I have supplemented what I learned from my doctors and prepared myself for each step down this barren path. But it is also a treasure trove of half-truths, dangerous advice and mindless information. Anyone with web access can say what they want (case in point: this blog), and it is our job to shift through the pyrite. Because I have a one track mind, the vast majority of my searches have been related to infertility. (And you thought I spent all that time google-imaging Viggo Mortensen!) I admit that I first took some comfort in the boards and TTC websites, but soon I was choking on all that baby dust. I was never much of a joiner, and it felt a tad insincere to be cyber-sending emoticons to total strangers who are going through a traumatic time - "sorry your beta isn't doubling! ;P". Thus I have mostly stuck to informational sites and ...

I spent the remainder of last night trying not to sneeze out the embryo. I have also become defensive at any perceived slights to the little package of cells: "it not an egg; it's an embryo !" I am relieved that the major cycle highlights are over, with, of course, the exception of the denouement: the beta test - let's hope this one isn't a show stopper. All I have to do now is drive a 25 gauge needle filled with viscous oil into an uncooperative muscle daily for the next couple of weeks and wait. The infertility message boards are filled with warnings of how terrible these injections are, but they are also filled with a lot of acronyms that make me cringe more than a syringe to the ass, so I have learned to make my own judgements. I figured it would sting a bit and the muscle would be sore, but the sub-Q shots weren't too bad, and I didn't have the awful, prolonged side effects that many complained of. So I thought I was certain I could handle this. The f...

On Sunday afternoon, we gathered back in the M8 waiting room for part II of the deranged slumber party only this time we didn't get pants. As I was coming out of the Robert and Gloria Randell Patient Changing Room (no, I don't remember the exact name of it, but yes, even the changing room is named after a benefactor), I heard very faint, familiar music. Then the lyrics became clear: "You would cry too if it happened to you." Not the soundtrack I would choose for an IVF waiting room. It reminded me of time at my other clinic's office when I walked in to George Michael singing: "Now you tell me that you're having my baby." Can I recommend that we stick with classical music? Even musak might be a better option. I am fragile and narcissistic (well at least narcissistic) and adept at making every song seem as though it was written about/or to taunt me, so how about piping down with the pop torment? The transfer was more or less a glorified or big-budget I...

With retrieval behind us, I was able to shift my obsessive laser focus attention on the embryo transfer. Over the last couple days, Matt and I have discussed (or really agonized) at length how many embryos we wanted to transfer. We vacillated back and forth, pro'ed and con'ed it to death. It's Sophie's Choice over here. At my initial consultation, my dr. indicated that with my age and health, he would consider transferring two maybe even just one. That was part of what sealed the deal between us (and the fact the the bathroom felt like a spa). When we started down the rabbit hole of infertility treatment, we decided that we wanted to minimize our chances of multiples. It seemed like the sane thing to do. Now don't get me wrong, I love twins. I mean really, really love them. Afterall, I am a twin, and it has been one of the greatest joys of my life. But I am also a very selfish and self-preserving twin and cannot foresee raising two babies in New York City without th...

So far it has all the makings of a successful cycle. The retrieval yielded an impressive 17 eggs - enough for several generously-portioned omelets- and enough to jump start fantasies of the bounty we would be able to freeze. On Friday the news wasn't as great. Only 5 had fertilized. Usually there is something like a 75% fertilization rate, so my visions of a chilly carton of grade A's started to evaporate. But 5 was still workable, and if male factor was indeed the main cause of our childless state, than we had cleared a major hurdle with fertilization. The retrieval itself was somewhat of a non-event. For having had a massive needle shoved up my delicates, I didn't experience any pain and walked-out feeling, well, 17 eggs lighter. I guess I was expecting it to be more, I don't know, epic, maybe with plot twists and a stirring soundtrack. My kind sister-in-law took me home in what we tagged the Sambulance. It's really just a mini-van with her hanging out giving a si...

Sitting in the IVF waiting room preparing to undergo my very first and hopefully only egg retrieval, I looked around the tasteful room to the other infertile couples and thought "why us?" At that point, it wasn't really the pitying "why me?" that I am usually all too quick to proclaim, but more of a scientific why. What went wrong? I wanted to go around the room and ask "so what are you in for?" Male factor? High FSH? Most of us appeared young and healthy, so why were we on the unfortunate side of the odds? For me, I like to think it is a karma kick back for all those times I wore empire-waisted dresses and tried to look pregnant so that I could get a seat on the N train. When we arrived the receptionist gave the ladies the gear to change into then we were to return to the waiting room until it was our turn to have our ovaries aspirated by a large needle. With all the women in gowns and robes, the waiting room looked like a deranged slumberparty. I cou...

The blood test confirms that I am ripe for the plucking, but for some reason, the clinic waited until the very last minute to call me with this vital information. I understand that they do a thousand of these and they are very busy and such, but I feel like if I am going to have game changing instructions (needle kick in the ass included), I would like a bit of notice. In preparation for the shot I had enlisted the support of my dear friend to administer the all important trigger shot which in case I haven't been clear is completed with a "dart-like motion" straight into the upper quadrant of the rear. Now needles and I have come to terms with each other. We aren't friends, but we have a mutual respect. I have learned how to handle them with minimal pain, but putting one in my backside isn ’t high on my list of challenges to tackle right at this moment. So J, an ER doctor, graciously agreed to a literal bootie call when the deed needed to be done. We were going to m...

Today I went in for my daily bloodletting/date with a transvaginal ultrasound device. I had a different dr . One of my main concerns about switching clinics was the lack of personal attention I would be receiving. I wasn't keen on getting intimate with a rotating cadre of white coats. While this whole process has stripped me of any of my remaining modesty, I do like to do whatever George Michael tells me. But in actuality, I have been far less promiscuous than I expected. My dr has done the majority of my exams and another dr has done the honors in his absence. So I was a little disappointed to see yet another stranger, but when he lowered that exam table all the way down so that I didn't have to leap off of it (I am quite short and that table is always unreasonably high for someone trying to nurture a womb full of rapidly expanding follicles), I officially felt like a clinic slut - I love them all, and they can all have a go at me. In addition to losing my modesty, I have ...