Signs, Signs, No Where are Signs

OK, so it’s early. In fact it’s only 5 days since the IUI and I’m already trying to read, or least find some early signs of success. Hey! This is something. My boobs hurt. Just a little. Oh wait. That’s because I’ve been poking at them every 5 minutes like I was checking the wellness of a filet mignon!

I’ve been much better about the lovely suppositories this time. I had to leave work to quick drive home both yesterday and today because I had forgotten the morning dose. One of my dear friends suggested I keep a stash at my desk. That’s when I informed her that I’d have to keep them in the community fridge and hope that someone wouldn’t sneak one thinking it was some yummy little treat. Poor friend. I’m sure she daily tells herself, “More than I need to know.”

I’m just counting down from here. Not supposed to test until 10/8. I asked Jerry, in one of my moods of impending doom, what would be our next step if this one failed. I gave him one of three options based on the realization that the Male Factor is playing a bigger part than we initially realized: 1) try a third IUI as “normal”; 2) look into a donor; 3) take the rest of the year off and wait for IVF in January.

Why wait till January, why not now? Right now we are dipping into our new house-furnishing funds to pay for the IUI’s. I was blithely unaware that one of the major differences between the two health insurance plans my employer carries (besides higher deductibles/coinsurance and premiums) was the coverage of infertility treatments and related drugs. I’ve been keeping a log of the expenses so anyone curious to know how much such treatment runs within the Midwest, excluding petrol, feel free to ask.

Disclaimer

I had to make some changes to my blog. It seems that I have unwittingly offended some persons near-and-dear to my heart, BUT who were unable to vocalize this to me directly, and told Mr. DD instead. I would understand this if they were wanting to feel me out on how I would respond if they took me aside and frankly informed me that some of my comments had made them feel "uncomfortable." This appears to not be the case. Instead, Mr. DD instructed me to "smooth things over" so that everyone could be friends again. Unfortunately for him and the parties involved, I have taken the defense. This is MY blog. The comments, observations, feelings expressed are purely MINE. If I had to edit myself because I was afraid I would offend someone, I would never post anything outside of, "Today the sun rose and later it will set." If they feel they are not comfortable with me, then we are not as close as I had hoped we were.

I'm ashamed that I had to change the URL address of my site based on someone else's feelings instead of my own. But, be warned from here on out: If you are of such a delicate nature that brutally honest observations; swearing; incorrect use of grammar and lack of a spell check make you cringe...move one, nothing to see here. This is the chalk outline of my soul. Lurk all you like, but any motion sickness you experience on MY roller-coaster is at your own risk.

Mr. DD said if I wanted to express my feelings, write it down in a journal. Not doing it. I chose this medium for a couple of reasons:
1. I have found a great deal of comfort in other blogs detailing their struggles with infertility. The feeling of kinship is indescribable. Their experience and emotions mirror mine except in style. Mine pretty much sucks. I would only hope that maybe my blog helps someone else thru what is an emotionally and physically trying time.
2. I wanted a way for my friends and family to check in on our progress (and lack thereof) without having to tell the same story a dozen times.
3. There's the anonymous aspect of the journal. I don't necessarily know you and you may not know me, but I welcome your comments.

So, I will continue to post minus the guilt-trip. I have enough issues as it is.

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Originally published September 2005

Nutshell

Due to computer glitches; Max's inability to humor himself for longer than 5 minutes; and complete exhaustion, I have let the past few days go without comment as if they were uneventful. They were not.

Wednesday p.m.: Max's caregiver confessed that Max's inability to get potty-trained is wearing her down. She suggested a change in scenery may do him so good. Also, she delivered an unpleasant surpise by announcing that if we did get pregnant, she would not have room for a baby. The news is a blow.

Thursday a.m.: My RE appt was "productive." I have one 22mm on my left and five 15-18mm on my right. I was given a gentle reminder that with the number of follicles in waiting, there is an increased risk for multiples, and I need to be aware that selective reduction may be a probability. I responded that yes, in my head, I know that more than 3 babies can be very sick babies, but in my heart I would find such a decision very difficult. Let's worry about getting a positive first.

Thursday p.m.: Jerry and I struggle to remember how to do the trigger shot. I resort to the web. What was life like before the computer became as common as having milk in the fridge!

I skip to Saturday a.m.: Jerry and I spent the night in the big city as he had to be at the RE's clinic by 7:15a.m. Max stayed at Grandma's this time. The hotel Jerry picked, though conveniently close to the clinic, was rather suspect. I have a hard enough time with hotels, with all the black-light surprises the news gives us. I'm glad I didn't bring mine. I counted 4 pubes on the bathroom floor and the tub, though probably as clean as it could get, was stained from years (decades) of hard water. I had another moment of where I was thankful I had showered Friday before we had left in an effort to cut back on the amount of crap packed into a suitcase.

Jerry got up first and walked to the clinic and returned within the hour. I got myself ready (makeup/hair) and also walked to the clinic. After a short wait, Dr. D, who is Dr. M's partner arrived for the IUI. She gave the bad news that Jerry's count/motility were still down and that we may want to look seriously at moving onto IVF if this does not work. Her announcement again reminds me of how the planets must be aligned just right for any couple to get pregnant, including those couples considered "fertile."

The IUI itself was more uncomfortable than the first and as I clenched up, Dr. D. apologized explaining that she had to "get them up as far as possible." As a result of the procedure I was unable to enjoy the little bit of furniture/appliance shopping we did afterwards. If you know me, then you would know that has to be alot of pain to keep me from shopping for ANYTHING.

My RE also believes in the "little" plug for post-procedure. If you have not heard of this, it is a surgical sponge incased in one of those condom-type protectors used for the ultrasound wands, and tied off with a string. The sponge is approximately the size of a golf-ball going in and a basketball coming out. Not really, but you try it and see what you think. Either way, it sucks!

I start the progesterone supps on Tuesday. They have scheduled the pg test for 10/8. I will have a few things to keep me busy until then. Our builder has completed the walls and floors of the basement and the floor of the garage. The next step in building looks to be the framing. We still do not have electricity or a well but we finally have been assigned an address.

Also, Jerry wants me to get things "smoothed over" with Max's caregiver. She claimed to him that she had no intention for us to find Max someplace else to go. Even if she and I came to be on common ground, it does not change the fact that Max cries almost every morning when he has to go. Let me clarify that his unhappiness is not due to any neglect or mistreatment. He just doesn't function well under stress, and the stress he has been getting from her is the constant drill of going to the bathroom. He's just not ready and everyone, including us, needs to back down.

And there it is, the past few days in a nutshell. Whoda thunk that what was real drama at the moment could come down to just a few paragraphs in a single blog-post?

Time Keeps on Ticking

I found out Friday at my Dr’s appt that I didn’t goof up like I thought I had but goofed up in another way. I was supposed to only take 150mg of the Follistim, not 175. The mistake came up when at my appt, Dr. M. told me she was probably going to bump my inj up as my ovaries were still sleeping from the month before: only two little follicles and both on the right side. I had told her that I had only did 150mg on day 3 and that’s when she told me that’s what I was supposed to be at. It now appears that the extra 50mg over 2 days wasn’t harming anything, much less helping as since Friday I am at 225mg.

It was also on Friday that I had to give Jerry a lesson in the difference between “bitchy” and “tired.” I was awake at 5:30a.m, a half hour before the alarm was set and I figured, what the heck, and got ready to make the looonnggg boring drive to my RE’s office. I was taking my FIL’s truck as the Men had decided that a spray-in bed-liner would be perfect for a truck-bed that would NEVER see more than a leaf or two that would haphazardly fall inside, much less anything that could potentially scratch the new paint. Here’s how my day broke down:

* 2 ½ hours drive time down. Perk: listen to favorite morning radio talk-show w/o static!
* 20 minutes in the RE’s office. Perk: free package of 600mg Follistim.
* 2 hours driving around the city looking for Open Model Homes (never found anything other than duplexes). Perk: None.
* 30 minutes looking for the place that Jerry had scheduled the bed-liner to be done at. Perk: None…again.
* 3 hours sitting at the bed-liner place reading Motor Trend, Men’s Fitness, and Outdoor Life magazines. Perk: read the 5 steps in how to make your girlfriend moan in bed and the new 2006 car models and how they rated.
* 1 hour of well-deserved shopping at one of my favorite clothing stores. Perk: 1 sweater, 2 tank tops and a scarf.
* 20 minutes waiting for one of the best pizza’s in the state. Perk: PIZZA!
* 5 minutes on the phone before Jerry said I didn’t need to be so bitchy before I hung up on him. Perk: A moment of angry satisfaction.
* 2 ½ hours drive time home. Perk: You’ve got to be kidding?

I then had all weekend to look forward to another Monday a.m. drive. I made arrangements to stay at our niece’s and her husband’s home a little closer to the clinic. This is the niece that I just found out was expecting. I’m not sure if she hasn’t got too excited about her future addition or if she felt uncomfortable talking to me about it because she certainly wasn’t too forthcoming with any info. Definitely no tidbits given voluntary.

Monday’s appt showed I had now one 1.5cm, two 1.2cm on the right and one 1.1 cm on the left. I’m supposed to come back again Thursday. I’m thinking I’ll be doing the trigger shot Thursday nite as I’m already showing early ovu signs. I’m just praying I don’t “shoot my wad” before then!

Moving Forward

This past weekend was bitter-sweet. On 9/11 last year, Jerry and I announced our new arrival to his family through an anniversary card to his parents. We had signed it, "Jerry, Dawn, Max and Baby." I remember my MIL got it; my FIL did not. I never would have thought in my worst dreams that a year later I would not be holding a 4 month old, much less struggling mentally and physically to hold a pregnancy.

I probably wouldn't have remembered the details of a year ago except my SIL called to let me know she was going to be a first-time grandma. Her daughter, my niece, and her husband, who are also Max's Godparents, had been talking about getting pregnant this year so I shouldn't had taken it so hard. However, it felt like a blow to the chest: the reminder of how NOT pregnant we were; and the guilt of feeling sorry for myself instead of the excitement and joy I should feel for my family sharing great news. I actually ended up not going out for the in-laws anniversary dinner because I felt so crappy.

Jerry went and when he got back I felt torn between getting any details of her pregnancy and not wanting to hear anything about it. It was gut-wrenching. Now since a few days have passed, I know that I need to get a hold of them. The longer I wait, the more uncomfortable things will get. Plus, I'm sure they are not getting enough first-baby advice and my two cents will insure a stress-free pregnancy (read: sarcasm!).

I also finally started my period over the weekend. I went to see my RE, Dr. M. on Monday a.m. to see what my baseline US would show, hoping the cysts had resolved. It was the first time Dr. M. had not done my US and I was a little concerned as I had some questions for her. She was there, but a tech did the US instead. She never told me her name and I took an instant dislike to her, but was glad when she announced I was all clear and would see Dr. M. for my program instructions. Dr. M. is starting me on 175mg of the Follistim, which is a considerable increase from our first cycle of 75mg. I'm scheduled for a follow-up on Friday. And, as you could probably already tell, I've decided not to go to the local OB and go with my gut instincts.

So, here we are...today is day 4. I started the FSH last night, which I screwed up by only taking 150mg as I couldn't remember what I had written down. I'm not going to let that 25mg get to me. I want to stay positive. I need to remember that things could be worse, much worse. I have a supportive husband, an incredible soon-to-be 4 year old son, and a foundation on our new house. It's time for me to start looking up and assume the best.

Who's Freaking Out?

I am one stressed out woman! I feel like I'm on the edge, but of what, I am not sure. It could be due to one of many recent factors, and unfortunately, I am not known for my tolerance, diplomacy or ability to stay calm.

It could be due to the fact my job allows me to interact almost daily with people who amaze me with the ability to make what should be a very simple task into rocket science.

Maybe it's due to the realization we are building a house. A hole has been dug and the contract has been signed. It's too late to look back now. Instead I'm going through worst-case scenerios: what if they can't find water? what if the water isn't potable? what if they put the power transformer right in the middle of the future lane? what if the dairy farm 1/2 mi. away decides to become corporate? what if the fricken' sky falls!? Snap out of it!

However, my stress may all be building from trying to figure out what I'm going to do on our next IUI cycle. Dr. V., the local OB, is NOT giving me the warm fuzzy I was getting from Dr. M, our RE. IUI is not his specialty, delivering the outcome is. He's much closer: 10 minutes compared to 2 1/2 hours. As far as our pocketbook goes, it's iffy. Overall the US, labwork, and actual procedure are higher priced than Dr. M. BUT, I'm not forking out the big $$ for gas if I stay local; OR losing a half-day of work 2x a week...aaak!

I have to work this out in my mind and soon. I think my stress maybe a little exacerbated by a little PMS (finally!). Who da' thunk anyone who is trying to get pg would be so pumped to get their period! I'm just praying no little cysty blobs on the ole' ovaries! You know on an US, the image of an ovary with a cyst looks like an egg, sunny-side up? I think I'm ranting. If you have ever been a fan of the Seinfeld show, you would remember the episode where Jerry's character is having to deal with his agent who tells Jerry as he's going on stage to do his stand-up routine that the pilot of his next flight is in the audience. He doesn't understand why she has just told him this, and she says that she didn't want him "freaking out." Later in the episode, he screams, "I'm freaking out! I'm freaking out!" THAT phrase goes through my head ALL day!

You know what? With that big new hole dug where our house is going to sit overlooks an old river valley 100' below and I'm going to tell Jerry that I want to go up there with Max tonight with some fast food and have a picnic. A little diversion is called for and I think that might be the ticket.

Ingorance = Fertile

Friday’s visit to Dr. V., a local OB, to discuss the follow thru of our next cycle’s IUI, was uneventful to say the least. The most notable experience was when Max and another little boy discovered my unattended hot coffee and purse while I was at the receptionist desk explaining something about my insurance. Max comes up to me holding a wrapped tampon and asked, “What is this?” Of course, the other waiting patients, receptionist, and anyone else within hearing distance all found it funny enough to giggle, but with respect to my embarrassment, no out-and-out guffaws.

The only thing I could think of to tell Max was that it was Mommy’s and someday, I would tell him. I’m hoping I didn’t take the wimpy way out. However, that’s when I realized that not only had Max been in my purse, but so too a little tot of about 18 months who managed to get my $4 coffee spilled all over his socks. His mother dashed over immediately (where the hell was she a minute ago!) and ripped off his socks when I mentioned that the coffee was probably hot. It really wasn’t, but I thought she needed a good scare.

By the time we got into the room, 40 minutes had passed and with a busy 3 ½ year old, it might as well have been 4 days as he went from being tired, hungry, thirsty, bored, to tired, thirsty, hungry, bored, etc., every 5 minutes. All this to hear Dr. V. say that he would go ahead and follow Dr. M’s (my RE) “protocol” for the next IUI cycle. Yeah, I should’ve asked what exactly did he mean because I got the impression that they do not do the lab work which can tell if the drugs are messing with my estrogen or not, but instead they use the ovulation predictor kits (OPK). I guess I’ll take a wait-and-see attitude from here.

Saturday night I had the onset on the most horrific headache I have EVER had in my life! I took some Advil and went to bed. I woke up nearly every hour with my head pounding and feeling pretty sick. At 4:30 a.m. I had to have Jerry get me two more Advils as I couldn’t get out of bed. I stayed in bed all of Sunday morning taking an Aleve at 9:30 a.m. By noon I had had enough and Jerry drove me to the local urgent care. It wasn’t busy so I was quickly seen by a very sweet doctor who was completely empathetic to my plight as of course I had to give her my recent medical history down to starting the Pill 2 weeks ago. She diagnosed me with “hormonal headache” and suggested I quit the Pill. After she said it I’m sure she had wished she hadn’t as I was bawling like a baby. How could I stop the Pill if I wanted the cysts to go away? Why did my hormones have to rebel against me in such a malicious manner? I did, however, get 2 very painful shots in the hip that left me with quite a pleasant buzz for the rest of the day. Ah…the power of narcotics!

I’m so sick of the reminders of infertility I could scream and scream. The evening my headache came on I was over at a friend’s house who had a bunch of people over for a college game. One of the girls there, who doesn’t know me or the problems we are having with conceiving, told this story about one of her friends who had sex with her husband 7 times in one night so they could get pregnant. It took every ounce of will power not to bitch-slap her. It wasn’t her fault, she was just telling the story. But come on! Are people, adults for that matter, that seriously ignorant?!

Unfortunately, it appears that being stupid and ignorant is a sign of fertility. Of course, that’s coming from someone who thinks she’s fairly bright and informed and INfertile!

Ch-ch-ch-changes

There are going to be some major changes around here. Yesterday, Jerry and I took a huge leap of faith and signed a contract with a general contractor to build our new home. We had purchased an acreage just outside of town back in Spring 2004 and had been working with this builder for a year now. In fact, it was important to us that we made sure that Max's and the baby's room be on the other side of the house. Even though we still don't have the baby or know if we ever will, we still refer to that 3rd bedroom as the Baby's Room. I think I had been intentionally dragging my feet even though I desperately wanted to build a new home. Even now it's hard to think about what will happen to that room if there never is a baby. If we decided at some point to turn it into a den, it would break my heart every time I would go in and see the computer, treadmill and bookshelves in the places a crib, changing table and dresser were supposed to go.

M.P., our builder, told us they will probably break ground this weekend and get the basement in by the end of September. I have a little meloncholy already starting for the house we are currently in, which was the house Max came home to from the hospital and the place of so many little boy giggles and firsts. I have to remind myself that it's 4 years of memory here compared to what I hope is the rest of our lives in the new house.

Another change I've decided to make is to go to a local OB, Dr. V. in town who does IUI in his office. I didn't realize when my own OB had referred me to the big city, that this doctor was available. I wasn't referred by my own OB due to him being the competition as far as OBGYN services. Taking into consideration the ridiculous gas prices, our gas-loving Soccer-Mom-SUV, and insufficient health insurance, it would be prudent for Jerry and I to consider whatever alternatives we can find. Building a new house and going through infertility treatments is not real conducive to maintaining a healthy checkbook, much less my sanity. Making the drive that would take 10 minutes to the clinic leaves a lot less time to dwell on how bloated I'll get on the injections and more time for me to design the kitchen.

In fact, tomorrow at 9:30 is my first appt with Dr. V. Maybe he'll tell me he can't help and recommend we not burn any bridges with Dr. M. in the big city...who knows? It wouldn't matter anyway, as we have decided that if IUI doesn't work by the end of the year, we'll move onto IVF, which would require me to drive 2 1/2 hrs one way. We may only be delaying the inevitable, but we're praying we're not.

Oh! I almost forgot: today I had been pretty wired with the signing of our contract and scheduling a doctor's appt that I really didn't need any more drama. However, at 1:30 I received a call from one of the preschool's office personnel. I was told Max had "soiled himself" and that I had to come pick him up. I was off in a flash. I get to his classroom door and his teacher escorts him out the room. Max knows what has happened because he asks me to change him there so he can go back to school. I took his hand and calmly but firmly dragged him out the door and into the Soccer-Mom-SUV and explained that he was not going to be able to go back to school today because he had pooped his pants. With the realization of what had happened coming over the poor kid like a storm-cloud, he sobbed all the way to our day care giver's home. Feeling like I owed the care-giver more than to just drop Max off at her house in poopy pants, I took him to the bathroom with a change of pants.

I carefully pulled down his shorts, being cautious not to make a mess, and I was absolutely flabbergasted with what I saw: he was clean AND dry! I was on the phone to the school outraged! Why didn't they check him?! Why hadn't I checked him?! His teacher, bless her heart, told me this: they had been outside on the playground and Max had come up to her and said that he had had an accident. At first she thought he had fallen down, and when she asked what kind of accident, Max said he had pooped his pants. They came inside and Max even laid on the floor as if to be changed out of a dirty diaper. She said that since Max was such a smart boy that she figured he knew what he was talking about and it wasn't that terribly unusual for 3 yr olds to have accidents. It appears that Max had probably "tooted" and guessed that he had pooped as well. The teacher said he was welcome to come back and finish the period with the class and away back across town to school I went.

His teacher said she would sneak a peak next time. I think I better do the same.