It's day 17 of Cycle #4. Our next insemination will likely take place during the next five days. Same routine - 100mg of Clomid, several follow-ups to make sure my follicle(s) are growing. I'm relieved to know that the dominant follicle this time - 17.5mm as of Friday - is in my left ovary. I was getting concerned that perhaps was something wrong with the left side. I'm looking forward to the next try, working on staying hopeful/positive about our chances. And at the same time, beginning to explore new options.
Tomorrow morning I'll be meeting with our primary doctor to talk about where we are in the process. Should we try another IUI if #4 doesn't work? How many more should we do? Should we try inseminating twice during the next cycle? Should we try a different donor? Is is time to start thinking about IVF and/or adoption? I hope she'll offer the support and hope I need right now to help me believe that one of these days, I will actually have the opportunity to be pregnant.
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Grief
I am utterly exhausted. Emotionally drained. It has been a rough two days. A roller coaster of feelings have coursed their way through my body. I am simultaneously able to understand that my irrational thoughts are normal at a time like this, and ashamed to be having the thoughts in the first place.
I've been looking at happy couples with babies and toddlers with resentment. I've been feeling bitter about how easy it is for straight people to keep trying to get pregnant with an unlimited supply of fresh eggs and sperm. I've been frustrated with the process of having to take medication that makes my boobs extra sore, my cramps extra persistent, and my mood swings even swingy-er. I've been annoyed that with every two week wait, I've been eating more greens and avoiding alcohol, as if something were actually happening. I've been irritated that I've been taking prenatal vitamins for over two years and stopped drinking caffeine for nothing. I've been hearing every announcement of a friend or acquaintance's pregnancy (or second pregnancy, or third pregnancy) as a personal attack. Every newborn I've seen on Facebook has been another moment the universe is wagging it's nasty finger at me, saying, "see, your parents are right, it isn't normal to be queer!"
In sum, this process of trying to get pregnant - and failing - is bringing forth all my horrible demons. It is feeding into my tendency to catastrophize, to try to control and plan things, to compare myself and my self worth to others, to be a perfectionist. It is bringing up my internalized homophobia. It is tickling my sense of fear and urgency about S's age and his heart condition. It is playing into my frustration with New York City, and how our quality of life is deeply affected by the cost of living here, both economic and emotional.
I've been having a hard time getting out of bed in the morning. I've been walking like a zombie throughout my days. I've been bottling things up. I've been crying.
I am tired. And angry that because of homophobia and transphobia, because of racism and classism, because I've been trying to live my life by other people's timelines and rules and expectations, we didn't try getting pregnant any sooner, even though we were ready.
I'm having a hard time trusting that this is all in the universe's grand plan for me, for us. Even though S has been diligently and patiently reminding me, every single day, that in fact, it is.
I've been looking at happy couples with babies and toddlers with resentment. I've been feeling bitter about how easy it is for straight people to keep trying to get pregnant with an unlimited supply of fresh eggs and sperm. I've been frustrated with the process of having to take medication that makes my boobs extra sore, my cramps extra persistent, and my mood swings even swingy-er. I've been annoyed that with every two week wait, I've been eating more greens and avoiding alcohol, as if something were actually happening. I've been irritated that I've been taking prenatal vitamins for over two years and stopped drinking caffeine for nothing. I've been hearing every announcement of a friend or acquaintance's pregnancy (or second pregnancy, or third pregnancy) as a personal attack. Every newborn I've seen on Facebook has been another moment the universe is wagging it's nasty finger at me, saying, "see, your parents are right, it isn't normal to be queer!"
In sum, this process of trying to get pregnant - and failing - is bringing forth all my horrible demons. It is feeding into my tendency to catastrophize, to try to control and plan things, to compare myself and my self worth to others, to be a perfectionist. It is bringing up my internalized homophobia. It is tickling my sense of fear and urgency about S's age and his heart condition. It is playing into my frustration with New York City, and how our quality of life is deeply affected by the cost of living here, both economic and emotional.
I've been having a hard time getting out of bed in the morning. I've been walking like a zombie throughout my days. I've been bottling things up. I've been crying.
I am tired. And angry that because of homophobia and transphobia, because of racism and classism, because I've been trying to live my life by other people's timelines and rules and expectations, we didn't try getting pregnant any sooner, even though we were ready.
I'm having a hard time trusting that this is all in the universe's grand plan for me, for us. Even though S has been diligently and patiently reminding me, every single day, that in fact, it is.
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
HPT #3
I woke up earlier than usual today to take a HPT (it's 12 DPO). It was negative. Again.
I'm not quite sure what to say about it at this juncture. We now know that we will not be giving birth to a baby in 2012. 3 failed IUIs means we need to make an appointment with our doctor to discuss next steps. I'm not sure if we will be able to (or want to) go through any further IUIs. We most likely will need to start thinking about whether to go through IVF or adoption. Both expensive options.
My sense of hope has been diminished. I'm feeling numb and deeply disappointed.
I'm not quite sure what to say about it at this juncture. We now know that we will not be giving birth to a baby in 2012. 3 failed IUIs means we need to make an appointment with our doctor to discuss next steps. I'm not sure if we will be able to (or want to) go through any further IUIs. We most likely will need to start thinking about whether to go through IVF or adoption. Both expensive options.
My sense of hope has been diminished. I'm feeling numb and deeply disappointed.
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Conception Day (IUI #3)
That's what we dubbed today after a really positive IUI experience. S gave me the Ovidrel injection two nights ago, and we showed up at the clinic this morning ready to inseminate. I felt hopeful and happy about the process. We worked on a crossword puzzle while we waited our turn.
We had some time alone in the examination room before the doctor arrived. S held my hands and said a little prayer. I felt deeply connected to him, grounded, at peace. Ready to trust the universe. The doctor who performed the insemination was one of my favorites at the clinic, a woman who performed my pap smear back in December and was friendly, kind, and respectful. I was relieved to see her, and with good reason. The IUI ended up being the least uncomfortable of the three. S held my hand and gave me kisses during the quick procedure. He reminded me to breathe and relax. The doctor said, "now that's a supportive partner!" I felt so blessed.
In the ten minutes we had to connect and be together after the insemination, S put his warm hand on my uterus and we kissed. It was a sweet, meaningful private moment. During which he tried to convince me we should play hooky from work and spend the sunny day in the park or at the zoo. We decided, instead, to go out for a special breakfast before work. We found a European-themed cafe nearby and celebrated our conception day with french toast, decaf coffee, an egg white omelet with asparagus and onions, and earl grey tea. I had a wide grin on my face throughout our special meal, and felt lighthearted and happy throughout the entire day. I had no cramping or discomfort.
Regardless of what happens during the next two weeks, I trust my body, I trust the process, and I am grateful to have shared such a beautiful day with S. I felt better than I had in weeks, for a variety of reasons both tangible (large follicle, non-painful IUI, good doctor) and spiritual. I am grateful for the opportunity to attempt to bring our first child into the world.
We had some time alone in the examination room before the doctor arrived. S held my hands and said a little prayer. I felt deeply connected to him, grounded, at peace. Ready to trust the universe. The doctor who performed the insemination was one of my favorites at the clinic, a woman who performed my pap smear back in December and was friendly, kind, and respectful. I was relieved to see her, and with good reason. The IUI ended up being the least uncomfortable of the three. S held my hand and gave me kisses during the quick procedure. He reminded me to breathe and relax. The doctor said, "now that's a supportive partner!" I felt so blessed.
In the ten minutes we had to connect and be together after the insemination, S put his warm hand on my uterus and we kissed. It was a sweet, meaningful private moment. During which he tried to convince me we should play hooky from work and spend the sunny day in the park or at the zoo. We decided, instead, to go out for a special breakfast before work. We found a European-themed cafe nearby and celebrated our conception day with french toast, decaf coffee, an egg white omelet with asparagus and onions, and earl grey tea. I had a wide grin on my face throughout our special meal, and felt lighthearted and happy throughout the entire day. I had no cramping or discomfort.
Regardless of what happens during the next two weeks, I trust my body, I trust the process, and I am grateful to have shared such a beautiful day with S. I felt better than I had in weeks, for a variety of reasons both tangible (large follicle, non-painful IUI, good doctor) and spiritual. I am grateful for the opportunity to attempt to bring our first child into the world.
Monday, March 26, 2012
25 Millimeters
I went to the clinic this morning for another ultrasound, and learned I have one nice large follicle in my right ovary, just about ready to release. The 100mg dose of Clomid worked! It's the largest follicle I've had out of all the cycles so far. That, in some way, made me feel better, more hopeful, than I did during Cycle 2. I also produced an abundance of "egg white" or "fertile" CM today, which again, made me feel optimistic. I think our timing is right this time around. My body feels more ready than ever to go through the process of ovulation, insemination, and conception.
I plan to focus my energy during the next few days on being grounded, holding onto hope, staying connected to S, and praying.
I plan to focus my energy during the next few days on being grounded, holding onto hope, staying connected to S, and praying.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
The future embryo
Went to the clinic this morning - Cycle 3, CD11. Met with a male doctor whom I've come to trust over the past couple months. He is very explicit and intentional about everything he does and says. He is clear about what I can expect ("now you'll feel this, now I'm going to look at the follicles on the left, do you have any questions about the process?") As he measured the thickness of my uterine lining today, he said, "this is where the future embryo will implant." It was a minor statement, in many regards, but one that struck me as very hopeful and optimistic. It made me feel good. Maybe even a little hopeful myself. I only had one large follicle so far (14mm on the right), and he told me to begin checking my ovulation kits and to come back into the office for another ultrasound on Monday. At this rate, if the one follicle continues to grow, I anticipate we'll be doing the next IUI at the end of the month.
Monday, March 12, 2012
On intimacy
The other day I was on the phone with a friend, talking about trying to get pregnant. And she mentioned to me that another friend of ours, who is currently in a heterosexual relationship, is also trying to get pregnant. "She was supposed to ovulate on the third of the month," she said, "so they made sure to have sex on the second."
The first thought that crossed my mind was, "sex?"
The process of TTC for me, at this point, has become so far removed from sex that I actually forgot that some people can get pregnant that way. By turning to their partner, getting close, and being intimate. In bed. And maybe even having fun and finding pleasure in the process.
TTC has rendered my relationship with intimacy and my body into something kind of uncomfortable and awkward. In general, TTC has actually meant not having sex. When S and I tried to get physical during the first IUI cycle, I kind of freaked out. My body had been examined and touched and poked so many times that it was hard to erase the medicalized feelings I was having about my body. Fertility drugs made me constantly feel run down and crampy and just constantly conscious of my hardworking reproductive system. And during the 2WW, a part of me was concerned that being physical might cause something to "disrupt" the process of implantation (which I knew, rationally, was not going to happen, but I couldn't help feeling it).
To hear that our friend was having the opportunity to try to get pregnant with a body that ovulates regularly, with access to fresh sperm that belongs to her partner, and in a way that involves closeness and connection and safety and privacy and fun made me feel... resentful. Bitter. Frustrated about the challenges being queer and dealing with infertility bring to our lives. Frustrated that others have it so "easy."
The first thought that crossed my mind was, "sex?"
The process of TTC for me, at this point, has become so far removed from sex that I actually forgot that some people can get pregnant that way. By turning to their partner, getting close, and being intimate. In bed. And maybe even having fun and finding pleasure in the process.
TTC has rendered my relationship with intimacy and my body into something kind of uncomfortable and awkward. In general, TTC has actually meant not having sex. When S and I tried to get physical during the first IUI cycle, I kind of freaked out. My body had been examined and touched and poked so many times that it was hard to erase the medicalized feelings I was having about my body. Fertility drugs made me constantly feel run down and crampy and just constantly conscious of my hardworking reproductive system. And during the 2WW, a part of me was concerned that being physical might cause something to "disrupt" the process of implantation (which I knew, rationally, was not going to happen, but I couldn't help feeling it).
To hear that our friend was having the opportunity to try to get pregnant with a body that ovulates regularly, with access to fresh sperm that belongs to her partner, and in a way that involves closeness and connection and safety and privacy and fun made me feel... resentful. Bitter. Frustrated about the challenges being queer and dealing with infertility bring to our lives. Frustrated that others have it so "easy."
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