It's rare I have the opportunity to write about a moment in this experience while I'm still going through it. But I'm currently in Florida for work and happen to have a brief opportunity to process this moment "live."
Before I left for Florida on Saturday morning, I did some counting and planning in my head. I needed to go in to the clinic on days 2-5 of my next period. And I would be in Florida for exactly five days. That would mean as long as I didn't get my period on Saturday, I would be able to visit the clinic within the correct time frame.
So of course, I got my period on Saturday, which became Day. 1. I wouldn't be returning home until Day 6.
I called the nursing staff at the clinic this morning to get some advice about how to navigate the situation. Could I come in on Day 6? Could they just give me a prescription for Clomid? The answer to both questions was a resounding "no." Come in between days 2-5, or wait until the next cycle. My options were clear. Either change my flight, or wait, given that I am living with PCOS, up to 60 days to begin the next cycle. I hung up the phone and started crying. And then I called S.
"I don't understand what the signals mean," I said. "Are we getting a sign that we should just wait? That the timing isn't right? That I should learn to be more patient? Or is this a sign that I should go ahead and ask my boss if I can change my flight? What if I do, and I cost the organization a lot of money? Do I rearrange my work and life around this process, or do I rearrange my expectations around our timeline?"
S walked me through a quick exercise. "What would it feel like to wait up to two months to start trying again? Would you be okay with that?" he asked.
"Of course," I said. And then I started crying harder. "But I don't WANT to wait. I've been waiting years and years to do this. I don't want to keep on postponing our plans. I want to move forward now."
"Then the choice is clear," he replied. "You know what you want. Maybe the lesson you're supposed to learn is actually that you need to confront your discomfort around asking for what you need and deserve. Your bosses know how hard you work. Will they say no?"
"No," I admitted. "But it's a lot of money to change the flight."
"So it's just your own ethics and discomfort the in the way of you getting what you need. To you, it's a lot of money. In the context of your organization, it's not. Can you talk to them?"
"Yes, I said. The tears stopped flowing. He was right. I feel an enormous weight and pressure around being "perfect" and "good" and not asking for anything and making sure I am not causing a burden to anyone or costing anyone anything. All the time, in nearly every context in which I exist. Perhaps, this was a lesson in learning how to balance and navigate my professional and family life, in how to speak up and take care of myself.
I cleaned up my face, went back to work, and talked to one of my bosses. She agreed without blinking and in fact, told me she was grateful for my work, and had no problem with me changing the flight.
So I did. I'll be back home tomorrow, and visiting the clinic for morning monitoring on Wednesday. Day 5.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Friday, January 27, 2012
2WW Symptoms, Part II
- 6 DPO: Uterus feeling very full. Mild cramps. Creamy CM.
- 7 DPO: Very irritable, not feeling like myself at the end of the day. Crampy. Creamy CM.
- 8 DPO: Woke up with incredibly sore breasts. Creamy CM.
- 9 DPO: Cramping.
- 10 DPO: Cramping.
- 11 DPO: Cramping. Feeling bloated.
- 12 DPO: Really painful, sporatic cramps. HPT#1 = BFN
- 13 DPO: More cramps. HPT #2 = BFN
- 14 DPO: Nothing. Blood pregnancy test at clinic confirms... BFN.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
HPT #1
I am really, really not in the mood to write right now. In fact, I woke up early enough this morning to write, but decided to avoid it. Instead, I checked Facebook, and caught up on all the local blogs. I found out that the owner of Qathra is trying to buy the old Whisk space on Newkirk. And I found out that there's some guy running "artisinal pencil sharpening classes" in Williamsburg. That's right. Or maybe it's services. In any case, you bring him your pencils, and for a fee, he'll put on some goggles and sharpen them for you with some inordinate degree of precision that makes it an art. And thus, worth the price. I did all this in an attempt to spend some more time in bed, avoiding the day, avoiding thinking about the fact that I woke up early this morning to take a pregnancy test. And it came out negative.
I had tried to tell myself that I was ready to accept whatever the outcome of this process, to trust the universe around timing, to trust my body. And I do feel all those things. I do feel trust and readiness and compassion for my body. And at the same time, I felt - and still feel - overwhelming sadness. Like, really, really sad. I was so certain that the signals I was feeling in my body were signs of an implanted, growing cellular being in my womb. Perhaps, all it was was some cramping as a result of a whole cycle fertility meds. Perhaps all it was was a sign that my period (Aunt Flo, or AF) is on it's way.
I'm supposed to go into the clinic on Friday if I haven't gotten my period by then for a blood pregnancy test. Because sometimes these home pregnancy tests aren't entirely accurate. So there is still some hope. And it may still be early to be testing. I am on 12 DPO. Some folks say they took HPTs during their actual pregnancies, and even then, they didn't come out positive. So I'm trying to hold onto hope. And trust that even if I'm not pregnant this cycle, I may become pregnant during the next.
I guess I just didn't anticipate how exhausting and emotional all this planning and waiting and anticipating and wondering would be. Throughout most of the process so far I have been feeling ok, but I don't think until today I really thought about how much it could all build up. And it has. To end up at the end of eight weeks with a possible negative... feels frustrating. It feels like grief.
I had tried to tell myself that I was ready to accept whatever the outcome of this process, to trust the universe around timing, to trust my body. And I do feel all those things. I do feel trust and readiness and compassion for my body. And at the same time, I felt - and still feel - overwhelming sadness. Like, really, really sad. I was so certain that the signals I was feeling in my body were signs of an implanted, growing cellular being in my womb. Perhaps, all it was was some cramping as a result of a whole cycle fertility meds. Perhaps all it was was a sign that my period (Aunt Flo, or AF) is on it's way.
I'm supposed to go into the clinic on Friday if I haven't gotten my period by then for a blood pregnancy test. Because sometimes these home pregnancy tests aren't entirely accurate. So there is still some hope. And it may still be early to be testing. I am on 12 DPO. Some folks say they took HPTs during their actual pregnancies, and even then, they didn't come out positive. So I'm trying to hold onto hope. And trust that even if I'm not pregnant this cycle, I may become pregnant during the next.
I guess I just didn't anticipate how exhausting and emotional all this planning and waiting and anticipating and wondering would be. Throughout most of the process so far I have been feeling ok, but I don't think until today I really thought about how much it could all build up. And it has. To end up at the end of eight weeks with a possible negative... feels frustrating. It feels like grief.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
2WW Symptoms
It has been a short five days since we did the IUI, and I have been waiting patiently to see what happens. I feel surprisingly calm about the whole thing. While I am, of course, curious and interested to know whether or not I am pregnant, I am not feeling the kind of desperation, urgency or anxiety I thought I might. I am merely enjoying my day-to-day life, trying to breathe and be healthy, and observing. Here's what I have experienced in my body so far (DPO = Days Past Ovulation):
- 1 DPO: General "awareness" about my uterus. Feeling pretty alert, sensitive, tender.
- 2 DPO: Continued tenderness and awareness. Some mild cramps on both the left and right side.
- 3 DPO: Mild crampiness, still aware of how much I can feel my uterus in general throughout the day.
- 4 DPO: A sudden shift. I don't feel anything at all. I suddenly realize how much I've grown accustomed to being present with my reproductive system. All goes quiet. I think, "maybe I'm not pregnant."
- 5 DPO: Wake with continued silence. Then, in the middle of the day, I'm sitting at my computer at work and suddenly "winded." Some movement catches me my surprise, and I have to take a deep breath. Awareness returns. I rediscover hope.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Pregnancy Dreams
My BFF sent me a text message this morning:
"I dreamed that you had a baby bump and were eating spoonfuls of peanut butter straight from the jar," she wrote. "In the dream it was me, you, S, and your mom. We were in your kitchen and were saying in a sing-song voice, "ss has a baby bump, ss has a baby bump!" and you just kept eating a ton of the peanut butter."
Perhaps she is a witch.
I, on the other hand, dreamt that I went to the clinic five days in a row to be inseminated. In the dream, I understood that it was a part of the process of getting pregnant. On the fourth day, a doctor turned to me suspiciously and asked why I was there again when I had already been there the previous three days. She told me to hold a syringe full of the donor sperm while she retrieved my record. I laid back with my legs up, covered with a blanket, waiting for her to return. Doctors and nurses scurried by with the urgency of being in an ER. She finally returned and said she thought I was there because I was "addicted to pharmaceuticals." I felt shock, confusion, and self-doubt. Why didn't I understand how this clinic worked?
S said he thought the dream was pretty literal. I have, indeed, been feeling some anxiety about the unknowns in the process of working with the clinic. While all the staff there have been kind and efficient, the services have been so automated and robotic that sometimes I think they are assuming I know more than I do. Several of the visits during the past few weeks involved me just showing up because they told me to, all the while not at all knowing what to expect during the visit. Would I have an ultrasound, get blood drawn, have to wait five minutes or forty? I don't think I have been processing how these little anxieties have been stored in my body.
Clearly, pregnancy is on our minds. We are now in the midst of the two week wait (2WW). In less than 14 days, we will know whether or not we are pregnant.
"I dreamed that you had a baby bump and were eating spoonfuls of peanut butter straight from the jar," she wrote. "In the dream it was me, you, S, and your mom. We were in your kitchen and were saying in a sing-song voice, "ss has a baby bump, ss has a baby bump!" and you just kept eating a ton of the peanut butter."
Perhaps she is a witch.
I, on the other hand, dreamt that I went to the clinic five days in a row to be inseminated. In the dream, I understood that it was a part of the process of getting pregnant. On the fourth day, a doctor turned to me suspiciously and asked why I was there again when I had already been there the previous three days. She told me to hold a syringe full of the donor sperm while she retrieved my record. I laid back with my legs up, covered with a blanket, waiting for her to return. Doctors and nurses scurried by with the urgency of being in an ER. She finally returned and said she thought I was there because I was "addicted to pharmaceuticals." I felt shock, confusion, and self-doubt. Why didn't I understand how this clinic worked?
S said he thought the dream was pretty literal. I have, indeed, been feeling some anxiety about the unknowns in the process of working with the clinic. While all the staff there have been kind and efficient, the services have been so automated and robotic that sometimes I think they are assuming I know more than I do. Several of the visits during the past few weeks involved me just showing up because they told me to, all the while not at all knowing what to expect during the visit. Would I have an ultrasound, get blood drawn, have to wait five minutes or forty? I don't think I have been processing how these little anxieties have been stored in my body.
Clearly, pregnancy is on our minds. We are now in the midst of the two week wait (2WW). In less than 14 days, we will know whether or not we are pregnant.
Friday, January 13, 2012
The IUI
S and I woke up at 5:30am today, a lucky Friday the thirteenth. We took quick showers, got dressed, packed our bags, and left our apartment. We arrived at the clinic at 7:25am and were quickly ushered in to speak with a doctor.
"You used the Ovidrel on Wednesday night?" she asked. I reported that we had. She said were were ready for the IUI. She asked me to confirm the donor number, and then explained it would take up to 30 minutes for the lab to thaw the sperm. She asked us to sit in the waiting room until they were ready for us.
S and I parked ourselves in a couple chairs near the big flat-screen TV in the waiting room which was tuned to a hilarious local news channel. Like we do when we watch Fox News or read the Sky Mall catalog on an airplane, we giggled through the next forty minutes at the outlandish reporting. It helped calm the anxiety in my belly. I took some acetaminophen in anticipation of the fact that the IUI might hurt. As we waited, I noticed our primary doctor, the one from our alma mater, talking with another client. I hissed as S, "she's here!" We looked at each other, smiling. During our last consultation, she had told us she would fight to do our IUI if she happened to be working the morning of our visit. I felt reassured.
They called us at 8:30am. A nurse escorted us to a small, dimly lit examination room with a small chair and examination table. The nurse asked, "what is then name of your donor?" I looked at her with wide eyes. "Number, I mean," she scrambled. "What is the number of your donor?" I reported the number and she showed me the vial to confirm. She asked me to undress from the waist down. I sat primly on the examination table, my legs covered with a small sheet.
"What do you want me to do?" S asked. "Do you want me to hold your hand? Look into your eyes? Not look at you?"
"I don't know!" I replied. "Just be chill and supportive. Don't overdo it like you did in the elevator." We laughed as we both thought back to the moment we arrived at the building just an hour before. As we entered the elevator with two women and a straight couple going to the same floor, S stared at me intently with a big, knowing, obvious, loving grin. He sprinkled my cheek with kisses and jumped up and down a bit. I was mortified, thinking, "everyone knows we're about to do the deed!"
The door opened and a tall, white man in his 50's walked into the room. I was taken aback. My body filled with dread. In all of my visits to the clinic, never had I had an interaction with a male staffer. Now on the big day, the one that mattered most, it was going to be a dude injecting sperm into my body?
The next five minutes went by so quickly I didn't really have time to worry. The doctor turned out to be as kind and gentle as any of the women doctors with whom I had worked, and he explained every step of the process. "It's going to feel like a pap smear," he said as he inserted the speculum. "Now I'm going to use some antiseptic on your cervix. This is the catheter I'm going to put into your cervix, it's very small. Now I'm going to insert the sperm." I held my breath and then tried to breathe. In, out, in, out, relaxing my pelvis. I clutched S's forearm as he sat on the chair next to me. Meanwhile, the nurse handed him the vial of sperm inside a test tube, saying, "you can keep this." He looked at it with confusion. "But it's empty!" he said, thinking he had been tasked with "warming" the sperm. In fact, the empty vial had been given to him to keep as a souvenir.
And just like that it was over. The doctor instructed me to remain lying down for five minutes, during which time S held my hand, looked in my eyes, and gave me hugs and kisses. I stared at him in disbelief. "I can't believe we just did it!" I said. It didn't feel like anything. No pain, no cramping, no rush of sperm entering my body, no awkwardness. It felt totally fine. Good, even.
As I was getting dressed a few minutes later, I heard a knock on the door. Our primary doctor stuck her head into the room and said, "I just wanted to wish you good luck! Fingers crossed!" She gave me a wide, genuine smile, and I felt a rush of relief in my body. It felt so good to have her blessings. S and I smiled at each other again, giving thanks to the universe for our good fortune and capacity to go through this process together.
"You used the Ovidrel on Wednesday night?" she asked. I reported that we had. She said were were ready for the IUI. She asked me to confirm the donor number, and then explained it would take up to 30 minutes for the lab to thaw the sperm. She asked us to sit in the waiting room until they were ready for us.
S and I parked ourselves in a couple chairs near the big flat-screen TV in the waiting room which was tuned to a hilarious local news channel. Like we do when we watch Fox News or read the Sky Mall catalog on an airplane, we giggled through the next forty minutes at the outlandish reporting. It helped calm the anxiety in my belly. I took some acetaminophen in anticipation of the fact that the IUI might hurt. As we waited, I noticed our primary doctor, the one from our alma mater, talking with another client. I hissed as S, "she's here!" We looked at each other, smiling. During our last consultation, she had told us she would fight to do our IUI if she happened to be working the morning of our visit. I felt reassured.
They called us at 8:30am. A nurse escorted us to a small, dimly lit examination room with a small chair and examination table. The nurse asked, "what is then name of your donor?" I looked at her with wide eyes. "Number, I mean," she scrambled. "What is the number of your donor?" I reported the number and she showed me the vial to confirm. She asked me to undress from the waist down. I sat primly on the examination table, my legs covered with a small sheet.
"What do you want me to do?" S asked. "Do you want me to hold your hand? Look into your eyes? Not look at you?"
"I don't know!" I replied. "Just be chill and supportive. Don't overdo it like you did in the elevator." We laughed as we both thought back to the moment we arrived at the building just an hour before. As we entered the elevator with two women and a straight couple going to the same floor, S stared at me intently with a big, knowing, obvious, loving grin. He sprinkled my cheek with kisses and jumped up and down a bit. I was mortified, thinking, "everyone knows we're about to do the deed!"
The door opened and a tall, white man in his 50's walked into the room. I was taken aback. My body filled with dread. In all of my visits to the clinic, never had I had an interaction with a male staffer. Now on the big day, the one that mattered most, it was going to be a dude injecting sperm into my body?
The next five minutes went by so quickly I didn't really have time to worry. The doctor turned out to be as kind and gentle as any of the women doctors with whom I had worked, and he explained every step of the process. "It's going to feel like a pap smear," he said as he inserted the speculum. "Now I'm going to use some antiseptic on your cervix. This is the catheter I'm going to put into your cervix, it's very small. Now I'm going to insert the sperm." I held my breath and then tried to breathe. In, out, in, out, relaxing my pelvis. I clutched S's forearm as he sat on the chair next to me. Meanwhile, the nurse handed him the vial of sperm inside a test tube, saying, "you can keep this." He looked at it with confusion. "But it's empty!" he said, thinking he had been tasked with "warming" the sperm. In fact, the empty vial had been given to him to keep as a souvenir.
And just like that it was over. The doctor instructed me to remain lying down for five minutes, during which time S held my hand, looked in my eyes, and gave me hugs and kisses. I stared at him in disbelief. "I can't believe we just did it!" I said. It didn't feel like anything. No pain, no cramping, no rush of sperm entering my body, no awkwardness. It felt totally fine. Good, even.
As I was getting dressed a few minutes later, I heard a knock on the door. Our primary doctor stuck her head into the room and said, "I just wanted to wish you good luck! Fingers crossed!" She gave me a wide, genuine smile, and I felt a rush of relief in my body. It felt so good to have her blessings. S and I smiled at each other again, giving thanks to the universe for our good fortune and capacity to go through this process together.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
The night before
'Twas the night before insemination, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, except for the uterus. And ovaries.
Yep, my reproductive organs are operating in full effect right now. My ovulation test tonight was positive. The Ovidrel worked. All evening long I've been churning and cramping as my ovaries prepare to release an egg to meet the sperm that will join it tomorrow morning. I am ready to get pregnant. I am ready to receive our child. I am waiting with open arms. And organs.
Yep, my reproductive organs are operating in full effect right now. My ovulation test tonight was positive. The Ovidrel worked. All evening long I've been churning and cramping as my ovaries prepare to release an egg to meet the sperm that will join it tomorrow morning. I am ready to get pregnant. I am ready to receive our child. I am waiting with open arms. And organs.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Ovidrel
It has been a long week of using ovulation tests twice a day, staring at the control line and the test line and trying to will the latter to be darker than the former. I've been feeling some cramping in my ovaries and yet, still, no positive. So as per the clinic's instructions, tonight we used an Ovidrel injection to help get the process of ovulation started.
Before that, I had a bit of a meltdown. I think it was inevitable that I would cry from stress at some point. While I've been feeling relatively calm and confident throughout this process, the monitoring and anticipation of the past week has been a lot of pressure. I've been feeling a huge responsibility to do things "right" so we don't miss my LH surge - hold the stick right, drink or not drink the right amount of liquid, interpret the results correctly. It has been a lot to manage.
My tears were triggered by a phone call from the pharmacy saying my insurance company wouldn't cover the medication. I freaked out and spent a chunk of my afternoon on hold trying to get through to the clinic to grant pre-authorization to the insurance company so they would cover it. When I arrived at the pharmacy after work, it turned out the systems had failed me: the insurance still hadn't gone through. I called S from the street, crying. Always one to manage crises well, S helped me calm down and came up with a plan. The end result? We paid for it out of pocket.
Once I got the prescription filled, there was the small issue of the fact that I had to give myself an injection. With a needle. I really, really don't like needles. And again, S totally came through by volunteering to administer it for me. He gives himself testosterone injections every two weeks, and he kind of has a fascination for needles. So he cleaned my thigh with alcohol and did the deed; I just turned my head away and tried to breathe.
In less than 30 seconds, it was over. And now we'll report to the clinic on Friday for the IUI.
Before that, I had a bit of a meltdown. I think it was inevitable that I would cry from stress at some point. While I've been feeling relatively calm and confident throughout this process, the monitoring and anticipation of the past week has been a lot of pressure. I've been feeling a huge responsibility to do things "right" so we don't miss my LH surge - hold the stick right, drink or not drink the right amount of liquid, interpret the results correctly. It has been a lot to manage.
My tears were triggered by a phone call from the pharmacy saying my insurance company wouldn't cover the medication. I freaked out and spent a chunk of my afternoon on hold trying to get through to the clinic to grant pre-authorization to the insurance company so they would cover it. When I arrived at the pharmacy after work, it turned out the systems had failed me: the insurance still hadn't gone through. I called S from the street, crying. Always one to manage crises well, S helped me calm down and came up with a plan. The end result? We paid for it out of pocket.
Once I got the prescription filled, there was the small issue of the fact that I had to give myself an injection. With a needle. I really, really don't like needles. And again, S totally came through by volunteering to administer it for me. He gives himself testosterone injections every two weeks, and he kind of has a fascination for needles. So he cleaned my thigh with alcohol and did the deed; I just turned my head away and tried to breathe.
In less than 30 seconds, it was over. And now we'll report to the clinic on Friday for the IUI.
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Signs of Ovulation?
It is day 11 of my cycle and I used an ovulation test twice today. Both tests came out negative. But I'm pretty sure I'm almost there; I had some very possible signs of possibly soon ovulation today. I started out the day with a burst of energy and felt on top of the world until lunchtime. Immediately following lunch, I had a raging headache and drastic mood shift. It was like a light switch; all of a sudden, I was feeling the most grumpy, irritable, and overwhelmed I had in weeks. Sitting at work, all I could think about was wanting to be home and under the covers. I finally got home and was snippy with S all evening. I kept having to remind myself that I was likely feeling so bad because of the hormonal shift, not because there was anything bad or stressful happening in my life. But it was incredibly hard to keep that in perspective when I was feeling pressure in my chest, tension in my head, and anxiety about whether or not I was peeing on the ovulation test stick correctly. I hope a positive test will soon help to put this day in perspective.
Friday, January 6, 2012
Dueling Fiddles
I started out Cycle Day 10 with a visit to the clinic during morning monitoring hours. Because it was again a Thursday morning, I had the luck of having the same doctor as last week meet with me to conduct an ultrasound. She first took a look at my uterus, which she reported looked "very good," and then my right and left ovaries. She took a moment to examine the various developing follicles in each ovary, commenting that she wouldn't use a higher dose of Clomid with me because it was clear it had been very effective. My right ovary had a follicle that had "taken the lead" at the size of 14mm, one at 12mm, and several at 10mm and smaller. My left ovary had a follicle at 13mm, and the rest were 10mm and smaller. She instructed me to begin using ovulation predictor tests for the next four days, and if I got a positive, to come in the next day with S for our IUI. She said if I didn't get a positive by Monday, that I should come in and she'd let me know what to do next. I left the clinic grinning with excitement. Our IUI will happen soon.
And all day long, I felt my follicles growing. I felt cramping on the left, then cramping on the right, then cramping at the same time. I felt the activity more strongly than I ever have before, and all day long. Left, right, left, right. I grinned as my ovaries battled like dueling fiddles. I heard the music in my mind. I grinned as I tried to assess which ovary will eventually win out - which one will eventually produce the egg that will become our baby?
And all day long, I felt my follicles growing. I felt cramping on the left, then cramping on the right, then cramping at the same time. I felt the activity more strongly than I ever have before, and all day long. Left, right, left, right. I grinned as my ovaries battled like dueling fiddles. I heard the music in my mind. I grinned as I tried to assess which ovary will eventually win out - which one will eventually produce the egg that will become our baby?
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