No. 175 - Confabulous 2: The Drinkening (More Fab Than Drink)

For over a week, you have caught snippets about the great Confab that was hosted most graciously by Alexa for the second time in a row last Sunday. I was so damn excited I almost got over the fear of meeting someone I really didn't know. Communications though emails, phone calls and blog posts just cannot prepare one for that. Especially me, as I knew I would finally be exposed as the wallflower I really am. I'm an observer not an instigator.

Considering how this past week as far as weather has gone in the Midwest (rainy and cold), we got incredibly lucky: Sunday shaped up to be one of the prettiest and warmest days of Spring we have had so far. I got a little lost on my way to Alexa's Mother's house, and only did so because I didn't read the directions Alexa had sent me. I pulled up to the house, called Mr. DD to let him know I had arrived safely, took a deep breath and rang the doorbell.

Erin had given me a heads up on what to expect from Alexa so I wasn't surprised when this cute, girl with natural blonde hair, cut into a short, stylish pixi cut opened the door. I felt so stupid when I introduced myself as if I was entering an interview, realizing after the words were out of my mouth I would be no one else as Alexa had already met the other expected guests. I was the first to arrive so I didn't have a chance to blend into the woodwork to be the observer I had hoped.

Within a few minutes, Alexa's IRL friend Jennifer arrived, and while Alexa busied herself with some last minute kitchen prep, we stood on the enclosed porch overlooking a wooded backyard. I decided to uncharacteristically jump in with both feet and said to Jennifer, "You know, when I drive by big patches of overgrown woods or large deserted fields, I think to myself, 'That would be a good place to hide a body.'"

Brief pause...faint chirping of crickets.

"I do, too!" She exclaimed back. Thank god!

I liked her immediately. Jennifer has dark hair, cut into a shoulder length bob and wearing the type of stylish glasses that if I could find in Small Town, I would never have to wear contacts. Later I found out that she was gearing up for her second IVF in early summer, but as Alexa had mentioned in her own post, was a blogging virgin. I hope that she soon is up and posting before her IVF cycle so we ALL can share our own version of assvice and support with her.

As we were standing out on the porch, a beautiful petite, red-headed whirlwind came in and gave me a hug before I could even blink. It was Molly. I felt like an ogre standing next to her.

Even though Alexa had set and prepped the table in the dining room, we decided to enjoy the weather and planted ourselves in the eclectic group of chairs on the porch. Just as we had all settled in, the neighbors came home and caught Alexa's attention and asked her to see if she could keep her Mom's dog's barking down as their baby was sleeping. Now the thing is that the dog had initially barked her "hellos" when we each made our arrival, but by that time had settled down. The irony of four infertiles being told to keep it down because the baby was sleeping was not lost on us.

And when Alexa mentioned how sometimes the same neighbors partake in home-nudity and the nature of their relationship, we would instantly hush each time one of them would come out of the house to take out the garbage or walk their own dogs. I think we were picturing in our mind how they would look naked...and to be honest, it wasn't pretty.

We ate, we drank, we talked and laughed. Poor Jennifer would sit silently bemused each time we mentioned a blogger and we would try give her the condensed version of said blogger's status. And there were moments of comfortable silence as we transitioned from one topic to the other. I had one occassion where I realized I was "showing" my age when I voiced my opinion about how I thought Harrison Ford was attractive. The relationship Calista has with him doesn't seem so weird when one is close to her age (read: born in the '60's) unlike my younger counterparts. Whippersnappers.

We made a few attempts to reach Erin on her cell phone since by 2:00 she had not made an appearance. Our worry was turned to disappointment when we got the email that her family had turned up sick at the last minute. We "regrettably" had to split up her share of the food and drink between us. We did this until about 6:00 when we collectively agreed it was probably time to go.

True to her word, Alexa handed out goody-bags each with an aromatic candle, a facial and a tiny acorn charm, which symbolizes wisdom, truth, strength, birth and fruitfulness. I had taken the Lush soap that Oro had sent to me with her copy of Taking Control of Your Fertility book and divvied it up for everyone to enjoy. Erin, I was assured that Alexa would send you your bag. If you don't get it, I'm sure it's because of the USPS. Really.

Even though the subsequent days ended up being a heart-breaking time for me, I am ever so grateful that I had that weekend, which makes me smile whenever I think of it. The Confab weekend with fabulously beautiful and strong women. I hope that there are many more and that those times are part of celebrations and congratulations for what we each have been struggling for.

If too much time passes, I may throw out my own invite for a Nebraska Confab. Any of you who can make it are most certainly welcome.

No. 174 - What Has Sucked in the Past 24 Hours

1.) Mr. DD finally accepts the fact that the IVF did not work and breaks down in tears when he picked me up for lunch yesterday.

2.) The picture of the 4 embryos fell off the fridge where I had it hidden from company the other day. It fell face up. I don't know what to do with the picture.

3.) I picked a few things out of the spare closet to give to a coworker who is 13 weeks pregnant. It was maternity clothes I've been holding onto for the past 4 years. I have loaned them out once before. This time I am giving them away for good.

4.) One of my favorite episodes of Seinfeld was on (the one where George pretends to be a marine biologist and pulls a golf ball out of a whale's blowhole), and my few moments of happiness were ruined when the episode from Friends comes on and it's where Chandler and Monica find out that they either need to go with a surrogate or sperm donor (which makes no fucking sense if the doctor is telling her she has a "hostile uterus") or adoption.

5.) I was in the flow of optimism exactly a week ago as I looked forward to a weekend away. I am now in the ebb of pessimism: my period started. CD1 use to give me an odd sense of relief as it usually meant we were advancing to our next cycle, our next chance. Now it's just the beginning of a period; the end of our ART.

Please tell me that someone has had something GOOD happen to them in the past 24 hours. What was it?

No. 173 - What Stage of Grief Would You Call It When One Completes a Meme?

This post is going to have more links than a pitbull’s kennel. You have only yourselves to blame, though, as I am quite overwhelmed with the outpouring of compassion from so many people, most who may never stop by this way again but did because of their support for Mary Scarlet, Alexa, Thalia, Suzanne, Leggy or Pamplemousse (if I missed someone, please give me a shout).

But to those who routinely bear with my incoherent rants or low-brow viewpoints on life, I thank you. If I think about it too long, I get all verklempt and have to attempt typing with one hand while the other wipes the snot from my nose with a thoroughly used tissue. A special thank you to those you who said if I needed anything I just needed to let you know. I’ll just address those offers right now with the following list:

Ø Any used, but in good condition, follicles/egg/embryos that you have lying around.
Ø Any used, but in good condition, sperm that you have lying around. ...Oh, ewww. On second thought, scratch that.
Ø Any baby that you happen to find on the back shelf or attic can be sent to me. I’ll pay the postage. Will accept “As Is”.
Ø Cash and/or gift cards are always welcome.

Now what are the odds that I would be tagged by two different people, for the same dang meme? So I will dispose of the meme issue and I will in turn tag six people who I either know will (probably) not participate as they don’t know me from the man on the moon; or because they are relatively new and need to go through a meme-hazing.

Six Weird Things About Me

1.) I am fascinated with feet. My feet. My son’s feet. My husband’s feet. Everyone’s feet. If I was to select a subject for a photo project, I would pick feet and I would photograph them in black and white.
2.) I am a staunch defender of the noon meal being called “Dinner” and the evening meal, “Supper”. If you are the type who says “Lunch” and “Dinner” respectively, then I automatically assume you are an urbanite snob (which of course makes me a backwoods country bumpkin).
3.) I love cracking my knuckles, but I can only crack the joints on the first two fingers of each hand. It drives Mr. DD IN-sane.
4.) I don’t “do” oral sex.
5.) Those perfect eyebrows everyone seems to think I have? Weekly waxing leaves too much opportunity for the two to merge, so I pluck. Everyday.
6.) The song “You are My Sunshine” makes me cry. It always has. It’s especially true now. Sing the song to yourself and you’ll understand why and probably find your bottom lip quivers.

OK. Not so much weird but puzzling at the most.

Tagging the following six:

Suzanne at Palatial Squalor
Well-Heeled Mom at Stiletto
The Queen Mama at The Queen Mama
LaLa at LaLa Land
Schmutzie at Milk Money or Not
Susan at In A Holding Pattern

In my next highly anticipated post, I will dish on Confabulous II: The Drinkening.

And I expect each and every one of you to make sure you continue the generous displays of support for Nina who was brought down HARD by what happened with her first IVF. The slump continues in the Craptastic World of Infertility.


Personal factoid: See above numbered list.

No. 172 - When I Feel Like Crying, I Think of This:

Today, as most of you know, was Not-the-Beta Day from IVF #2: the Finale. I had mentioned more than once in the past few posts that if the HPTs were negative, I was not going to torture myself by getting the beta done.

"Yep, DD. We have confirmed for you that indeed, you are not pregnant, but your beta looks like it might have reached as high as 7! Isn't that encouraging?"

So, I didn't go to the clinic. But imagine my surprise when one of the nurses called and left a message for me letting me know that they were expecting me for the beta. Awwww. They missed me. Warm fuzzy feelings abound.

I called them back and told Nurse Keri that I was not going in for my beta. It was a waste of my time. You know what she said? "You HAVE to come in for the beta. We have to have a blood test confirmation of the results. You do know that those urine tests are not a 100% accurate, don't you?"

No shit? Really? Let me take a lookeesee here on this box of HPTs: "up to 99% accurate". Hmmm. I would say the HPTs percentages look a whole lot better than my clinic's who ran me through two IUIs, two IVFs and 1/2 of a FET with a maximum beta of 68 to show amongst the 4 1/2 cycles I gave those bastards.

OK. So back to the phone call: "I don't think I need to do all the bloodwork. It's ridiculous that you even think I 'have' to!" I tell Keri. She pacifies me with, "We just need to get a beta. If the numbers are something you should know, we will call you back. Otherwise, if you don't hear from us, you'll know you were right."

Fine. My day was already pretty shitty. What's another $70 to let someone jab me for some blood after the kind of money we have pissed away already. Off I go to the Small Town hospital; wait in line in the lab; and then get the most incompetent phlebo they employ who not only fails to hit a vein, but then proceeds to D.I.G. for it. Over. And. Over. Again. My arm still hurts and that was 8 hours ago.

But when she finally removes the vial of blood, she taps me with a second. What the fuck? "I thought this was just for the HcG?"

"Oh, no. The orders are for the HcG, Estradial and Progesterone levels."

That fucking liar, Keri.

As soon as I leave the hospital I'm on my cell calling the clinic and talking to Keri. "You told me I just needed to do the beta!"

"Yeah. Well. Dr. Blinksalot wanted the complete work-up."

I'm crying (again) and furious. "Do you realize that's another $300 out of our pocket for a goddamn waste of time? It's insult to injury. Don't you think I would be the first to want to believe that maybe, just maybe, I might be pregnant?!"

"I'm really sorry, DD. I know this is very painful (insert snort from me here), but we also need you to call with Cycle Day 1."

"I'm not coming back to the clinic for another cycle. We are done."

"Either way, we will still need you to call on the first day of your period."

They can take their protocols; their stats; the CDC reporting requirements and shove them up their collective cooters. If they want to know when Cycle Day 1 shows up then they'll have to send someone up to check my trashcans because the last thing I'm going to do is call my clinic, who has sucked the last drop of hope from me, and tell them when the most expensive and painful period of my life shows up.

Fuckers.

Oh, by the way, the clinic has not called back. Guess I was right, eh?

No. 171 - When Is It REALLY Over?

I had every expectation that this IVF would work. All the "signs and symptoms" of success were layed out before us from the moment we decided to go for it. If the first IVF led to, at the minimum, a chemical pregnancy, then the second IVF should get us through a viable pregnancy. For some stupid reason I looked at IVF #1 as a practice run, and anything subsequent should have a better result.

My cycle before IVF #2 was textbook and I felt my body had come back to me from the first IVF debacle.

We evenly spaced the repronex: 1/2 in the a.m.; 1/2 in the p.m.

Even though the number of eggs retrieved were marginal, I felt it was because my body was contributing to the quality, not the quantity. As you said, as I even said, it only takes one.

The transfer was smooth. The two 8-celled embryos looked "really good."

I had the acupuncture appointments, including the pre- and post-transfer treatments.

I had implantation cramps a day earlier than I did on my first IVF.

This was our last A.R.T. attempt, and everyone knows that when someone moves to their Last, they always get pregnant, right? Ha.

So when Saturday morning rolled around, even at only 7dp3dt, I had some expectation of what I would see on the EPT. When it wasn't there, I knew it would be there Sunday morning, and I would feel guilty showing up to the Confab in a newly pregnant status. I would be scared, but overjoyed.

But Sunday a.m. the test was negative...again. I cried the whole time I was in the shower at the realization that something bad was happening - or actually something good did not happen.

I managed to keep cool about the negative in front of the group and we all in some silent, wordless agreement, steered away from the topic.

When I got back to my hotel that evening, I tried to wash the worry from my brain by watching more TV in one sitting than I have seen in weeks, but by the time I knew I needed to get ready for bed, which included doing my PIO shot, my nerves were frayed and it all felt so fruitless. I almost did not do the shot, but did...just.in.case. I found it strangely ironic that there was only one prenatal vitamin left, and somehow I knew I would never have to refill it.

I called Mr. DD and told him how much I really missed him right then. My head was encased in doom and gloom and by the time I fell asleep, it ached from crying.

Monday morning around 5:00, I woke and shuffled into the bathroom thinking that if I finally get a 2nd line, it would not be a good indicator of a viable pregnancy as my initial beta had been so low on the first IVF and I had tested positive 12 hours earlier. Again, the test was negative. I called Alexa and left a message that I was going to go home as she had graciously extended her hospitality if I had needed it.

As I was getting ready to check out of my hotel, for some sick reason I decided to pull out the EPT from the trash and I was met with the evap line and I stupidly got a little bit hopeful again. On my way home, I stopped at a Target to pick up another 2-pack and became so impatient that at a gas station just outside of Small Town, I took one test in with me to the bathroom.

Negative.

When I got home, I was thwarted from posting when blogger ended up being down for maintenance and it was killing me to have what seemed like this stupid secret that I needed to get off my chest so I could begin to heal.

For those of you who remember my poll about SIF and how I could relate to any one of those answers? Well, right now there's only one answer: Infertility is Infertility and it fucking hurts no matter what and is capable of sucking your life and your soul into a vacuum.

The reproductive door has been shut to us for the last time. I will give the unused drugs I had left over to Suzanne, who I was supposed to meet today for lunch, which I postponed. I am in no shape to talk to anyone right now. Every recent comment and email has made me cry anew.

I will be closing some doors of my own over the next few weeks. Once we move, I will no longer have to look at X's room in it's baby decor. I am contributing some of X's best baby clothes to a fellow blogger. And finally, I will do what I have been putting off for almost 18 months: I will call my OB and find out the sex of Baby May and finally give my baby a real name, which will be one of the names we had been holding in our hearts since we tried getting pregnant again: "Mr. DD, IV" or "Vivienne Elise". I guess it doesn't matter anymore if someone "steals" the names for themselves.

No. 170 - Weekend Highlights & Lowlights

This is just a brief post to give you a sampling of some things to come:

Confab was wonderful and Alexa ordered in the most delightful weather; but Erin and EJW were missed.

Peestick tally from the weekend:

Peestick = 4

DD = 0

I will not go take the beta. The bucket is empty and my heart is broken.

Sorry it took so long to post. Blogger was down.

It's time for me to move onto a new direction. Any suggestions?

No. 169 - Running Tally of Pee Sticks

Pee stick = 1

DD = 0

Yes, I know. It's still early.

No. 168 - When Does a Positive Equal a Negative?

As the days pass on my calendar bringing me closer to beta-day, my ultimate concern is really not what you think it would be, which would be a negative beta. Instead, my anxiety centers around the possibility that a 2nd line does in fact show on the HPT.

A negative means The End. No more shots; no more doctor visits; no more stressing through cycles and two week waits; no more hormonal rages. The outcome will be in stone and I will have some sense of relief that it is over. The baby’s room can be transitioned into the guest room and all of the baby furniture and clothing can be sold at the first opportunity and we will not have to bear the heartache of moving it with us to the new house, as a positive beta is obviously no guarantee that our worries will magically vaporize.

A positive will extend my concerns into Pregnancy Purgatory: Will my beta double in 48 hours? Will there be a heartbeat at 6 weeks? Will I make it past the 15 week mark at which point I lost Baby May? Can I really take another 8 months of “what ifs” even though that is what I have been fighting for during these last 15 months?

And my god, do you really want to listen to me moan and groan about DBTs for that long? That’s even if everyone sticks around as I know for some it has become their survival technique when a blogger announces a pregnancy to remove them from their bloglines post-haste. Even I have developed my own system: I move the blogs into a new category so I can safely read the pregnancy posts when I’m feeling particularly buoyed with hope and optimism.

So, I sit here on pins and needles with two possibilities in front of me: a) BFN and I continue to sustain the life I already have; or b) BFP and I try to continue to sustain a life that may never be, but could be everything I've have times two.

As hard as the second possibility may be to let myself wish for, it really is the one I want with all my heart.

I will begin with the HPT tomorrow morning before I leave for Minnesota. I’m not expecting much this early, but obviously I am trying to be optimistic. I will be 7dp3dt (7 days post 3 day transfer).


Personal factoid: I shamelessly plugged my blog on Tertia’s website today.

No. 167 - Pre-Confabulous 2: The Drinkening

Some (many) days, I forget how really lucky I am. I mean for being a former super-model and being married to such a sexy guy, how could I just bemoan life’s curve balls that have been thrown my way? It’s easy to forget how wonderfully supportive I have found this community when for the majority of the day I am cocooned in my own thoughts, perpetuated by the prevailing doom and gloom that has rum amok lately.

I mean, where the fuck is everyone going? It’s like being at a great party and suddenly your friends start telling you one-by-one they are getting tired and want to go home. By no means am I calling what many of us have in common – infertility – a great party, but you know what I mean?

Speaking of great parties, I have a smokin’ weekend planned: Saturday I will be seeing my wonderful friend, Mel. She was the one who came to see me without a second thought when IVF #1 hit the crapper. I don’t know what we will do exactly, but our favorite pastime together is going to the mall and making snarky remarks about people who really should permanently wear the “Don’t” black bar across their eyes. Hopefully, we’ll have time to actually shop as well.

Sunday I will be basking in the Lights of Greatness at the Confabulous, which apparently isn’t scheduled annually, bi-annually or even semi-annually but based on when Alexa can get her mother out of town so she can have a party. Other guests of honor include Molly, Erin and possibly EJW (who will have to bring Julie's Infamous Quilt so we can all arm wrestle for it) and a friend of Alexa’s. There will be spirits, goodies and games. Oh, you didn’t know about the games, ladies? I’m thinking a round of Russian-HPT-Roulette where we all pee on a stick, quickly throw them in a bag and see if any of them get a 2nd line (I am selfishly hoping it’ll be me) as it appears Alexa has a penchant for pee-sticks and I will be less than 48 hours from beta.

I’m rather nervous and am frantically searching my closet for just the perfect evening gown for the soiree; plus I had a haircut recently and still haven’t figured out how to get it styled without it looking a lot like this.

I took Monday off as well since I don’t know if we will party until the wee hours (we start at noon) so I wasn’t going to head back to Nebraska until then. Plus, it will be one of the very rare opportunities I will have to sleep in, by myself, and not have to be anywhere by any time in particular. Bliss.

Then Tuesday, Beta Day. I still don’t think I will have the beta drawn if no 2nd line. It would just hurt too much to get that call that is was 15, or 8, or even 5. I will, however, still go to The Metro and have lunch with another blogger who couldn’t make it to the Confab. Some nonsense about a meeting Monday morning she can't get out of…yeah, yeah, whatever. She just didn’t want to get stuck doing my PIO over the weekend.

This brings me to my weekend dilemma. I have never done my own PIO. I honestly don’t know if I can. I will try really hard to do it tonight. If I just can’t do it, I may have one of my very dear friends do it for me instead. I leave it up to you on who should pick up that hint.


Personal factoid: I pierced my own ears.

No. 166 - The Bucket

It started seemingly a million years ago, our journey down the road trying to conceive again. We carried with us a big metal pail which was filled to the brim with Hope. It would slosh around as we walked, sometimes splashing out of the bucket to drop to the dust below. We had one child already; there was another pregnancy – though lost – we knew that WE could get pregnant and this relationship with our RE’s clinic would be over before it barely had a chance to begin.

My husband and I had a spring to our step back in August when we did our first IUI. We fully expected it to work, chalking up the past months of failure to poor timing. Those bouncy, confident steps resulted in our bucket carelessly jostled and a great deal of our Hope was absorbed into the ground when the HPT was negative.

The second IUI, we still had high expectations. We followed the clinic’s instructions to the letter, we treaded more slowly, but still confident that we would now certainly get pregnant. Again, more Hope was lost out of our bucket, plus I noticed that in our carelessness, tiny cracks were appearing, it had a couple dents, and the rim was starting to rust. It wasn’t the shiny container we had started with.

I tried to patch the bucket with the thought that once we did IVF, we would address directly the problems that appeared to have plagued our attempts, specifically fertilization of the egg through ICSI, and whatever Hope that was left would see us through a positive test as well as a healthy pregnancy. The patch proved to be temporary and the cracks and rusted seams seeped like wounds. Our bucket of Hope was nearly empty.

In six days, my beta is scheduled. I have purchased, in a moment of masochism and insanity, two 2-pack HPTs. If there is no second line, I will not bother getting the beta. I do not want to hear from my doctor again that I was on the wrong side of the numbers; or what our next options are. If this IVF fails, not only will we have reached the end of the road my husband and I started back in July, but the last of our Hope will have leaked or evaporated. Our bucket will be dry. There is no FET to fall back on. There will be no adoption papers to complete. There will only be an empty bucket. And for a long time after, my heart will feel just as tarnished, cracked and empty as that bucket.

No. 165 - Keyword Analysis

I just have no idea what to even think about my stats regarding keyword analysis, but check this out:

1) ivf 8 follicles

2) my cat is skiddish outside of the bathroom

3) day 5 embryo pictures ivf icsi good quality

4) how to plumb boob in golf

5) my eyes have the glory of the

6) tears in her eyes and an hpt lyrics

7) lost my marriage to

8) cysts with follistim

9) stirrups pregnant funnel

10) discontinued clinique eye shadow

No. 4 and No. 9 have me simultaneously scratching my head in confusion and laughing out loud at the complete idiocy. However, today is one of the very few days that "dd boobs" was NOT one of the keywords searched.

BTW: if you haven't yet, please make sure you go stop by Suzanne's (see post No. 164), who I am sure appreciates your support.

No. 164 - When It Shits, It Pours **UPDATED**

Guess what news I got today from a friend of a friend of my Nutbag SIL, Ella? Her other Golden Child is 15 weeks pregnant. She announced it at the Easter lunch. You know? The one WE didn't go to because it is indeed a proven fact that Mr. DD's sister is a heartless bitch and could not, even to her brother, apologize or swallow her pride long enough to announce to him that his niece was now expecting.

** This news did NOT come from a "friend of a friend". Nutbag was actually on the phone with my friend/fellow co-worker, when Nutbag said so coyly, "Did you hear I'm going to be a grandma again?" She went out of her way to tell someone she hardly knows, but knew was a friend of mine and an office-mate before she even told her brother. I've already used the most derogatory word I can think of to describe the Nutbag after that news. Right now I despise her beyond words for her manipulative attempt to raise her brother's ire. All together now: What a C*nt! I do not hold the niece innocent of this as she has not made any attempts at this point either. My in-laws have reached a whole new level of psychotic. **

I am so repulsed by this news, I can barely keep myself from screaming. Actually, all I can think about is what will happen when X someday announces to us that he and his wife of 3 years are expecting their first child? I may be 65 when that happens, but I wonder, will I will cringe in horror and pain at the news? Will I enviously stare at her belly as she grows with the pregnancy? Or will I disown them on the spot?

That's how angry and unfair I feel about everyone and everything around me right now. Is it possible I will still remain this bitterly disappointed when my own child announces his own good fortune years into the future when I'm an old woman? God, I'm sick, I really am.

Then to top it off, Suzanne received a negative beta on her second IVF today. But damn, if that woman isn't a pillar of strength and fortitude! I wish she was my sister-in-law instead, I really do. So please make sure to drop in with some support as she already prepares herself for the next step.

Slip on your rubbers; it's getting knee deep around here and I don't see the clouds breaking anytime soon.


Personal factoid: Did I mention my SIL can be a real bitch?

No. 163 - A Nutbag Full of Bitch

It’s official: my SIL, Ella* is a Nutbag. Of course, I think for many of us, “SIL” is synonymous with "Nutbag", but in my case it has been proven. The story that follows is rather convoluted and not only potentially, but probably, very boring. Feel free to move on at any time.

It was a year ago, just a week or so before Mother’s Day that Mr. DD and I were jumping through the paper hoops that the county and city call “building permits” for the new house. It was a Thursday night when the city was holding the conditional use permit hearing and we had asked Ella earlier in the week if she would watch X for a couple hours while we attended the hearing. She agreed without a second thought. Thursday night arrived and we were literally preparing to walk out the door to take X to her house when she called.

Ella: “I won’t be able to watch X tonight. I’m going to the bar with my friends to watch Survivor. Mr. Ella will be home, but don’t bring any of X’s movies because Mr. Ella wants to watch his own shows. OK? See ya.”

Mr. DD was livid! X was an active three year old and wasn’t going to take lightly to watching whatever shows Mr. Ella had set his sites on so I agreed to stay home with him while Mr. DD went to the hearing.

About 15 min later, Mr. Ella called wanting to know if X was coming and I just told him that I had decided to stay home with him so he wouldn’t have to worry about it. End of conversation. And ironically, Mr. DD came home shortly after as the hearing had been postponed as one of the members was ill. All before Survivor had even started.

The next day, Ella called Mr. DD and started in on him about how rude it was to not call and let Mr. Ella know as he had got out a “bunch” of toys for him to play with. I have no idea what qualifies as a “bunch” as their children are both grown, married and living in their own homes. Mr. DD explained that he thought it was rude of her to call us at the last minute because she wanted to go watch Survivor at a bar. She grew even more pissy and said, “Well! Don’t ever ask me to watch X again!” and hung up on Mr. DD.

Mr. DD was asked by his mother a few days later to apologize to Ella to which he basically responded with “Fuck that!” We were both insulted that somehow she had turned herself into the victim when the real victim was X himself who was very upset when I had to tell him that night that he wasn’t going to be able to go see Ella after all.

Things remained rather tense for weeks afterwards. Even on Mother’s Day when we went out for supper (which unfortunately happened to be my due date with Baby May, so I was in no mood), X was acting up at the table. Ella had the gall to hiss under her breath, “Maybe you should put him in the car,” to which I quite clearly shot back, “Maybe YOU should go sit in the car.” Only Mr. Ella kept me from leaping across the table and gouging her eyes out by speaking up for me and telling his wife to shut up.

Mr. DD had already profusely apologized to Mr. Ella by saying he should have known better in thinking that Mr. Ella would not have ignored X and that he was sure everything would have been fine. Our whole issue with the matter was her fucked-up priorities.

Fast forward a year. The relationship that we have had with Ella has remained strained but at least everyone was talking again, but we no longer dropped by; called them to see if they wanted to go to dinner; and certainly NEVER have asked her to watch X. So when this past Friday nite when she called Mr. DD as he headed up to my parent’s farm to drop off X so we could get an early start for our trip to The Metro, she had the audacity to ask why we never ask her to watch X.

Mr. DD was stunned into silence and enough time passed that she thought the call had been dropped. He asked her if she was serious about her question, and when she continued innocently unaware of the fury building in Mr. DD he recalled to her the exact words she had told him a year ago. And do you know what she did? “Fine. Be that way. Whatever (WHATEVER???!!!). Goodbye.” and once again, she hung up on him.

Mr. DD has been in a furor since. He hardly slept Friday night and in those hours before he finally was able to doze off before our alarm again went off at 4:00 a.m. he sent Ella an email that vented his frustration, his pain, and his sadness for losing the close relationship he once had with his sister from all this; but at the same time he was sick of her playing the victim and he was done making nice and it was time for her to apologize for letting him/us down, and he wanted the apology to be to his face.

Her final response? “What is your mission? Get over it.”

Needless to say, we were absent from Easter dinner at her house on Sunday. Someone from the house called, but we did not answer the phone and no other contact has been made since.

His family’s answer to any confrontation is Avoidance, and right now neither of us need the stress of a family feud. Mr. DD was so affronted by this whole incident that he refused to attend Easter Mass even when I begged him that right now we need any and all help we can get to induce the embryo(s) to stick around, whether that help is spiritual or mystical as we’ve already used up our scientific card. But he was not to be swayed and our Easter Sunday consisted of feeling forlorn; leftovers for lunch; and Big Kid Meals from BK for supper. Basically, the weekend proved to be the antithesis of a holiday.

Do you think Mr. DD is justified in his anger and disappointment in his sister? Am I missing something? Does anyone have a Nutbag in their family that is so manipulative that they become their own victims? My heart is broken knowing how sad Mr. DD is from all this. It sucks.


Personal factoid: There is 8 years difference between Mr. DD and Ella (*not her real name), and she is the closest in age to him.

No. 154-162 - Top 10 Reasons Where Valium is Better Than Drinking

1. Valium won't give you a hangover.

2. Valium has no calories or carbs.

3. Valium is easier to sneak into your in-laws house.

4. Valium won't be detectable on your breath.

5. You'll never be accused of being a "mean drunk" on valium.

6. Valium gives one pretty erotic dreams (or maybe it's just me).

7. You only need one valium to catch a buzz.

8. Valium is recommended by the health community.

9. Valium doesn't take up a bunch of room in your liquor cabinet or fridge.

10. Valium won't get "skunky" six months after it's "Born On" date.


Personal factoid: I've decided to make my post counts equal what's in Blogger. That's why the weird title.

No. 153 - Goodbyes

No, not from me, not just yet. I'll explain in a little bit. But first...

Transfer BlahBlah:

We had to get up again at 4:15 a.m. so I would have enough time for my acupuncture pre-transfer appt. I didn't sleep well last night as my asthma is preventing me from breathing comfortable without the rasping of air in and out of my lungs. Plus, Mr. DD had a confrontation with both my mother and his sister last night that left him (as well as myself) a little wound up with emotions. Sleep did not come easy for either of us. More on that in a separate post.

I didn't have enough time between the acu appt and the actual transfer to have a very full bladder. However, nothing that Dr. Samelastnameasme couldn't solve by pushing REALLY HARD on my bladder during the transabdominal ultrasound while Dr. Blinksalot transferred the four embryos. Two were 8-celled, grade 3. Two others were transferred that were still at the 4-cell stage (slackers!). Dr. Blinksalot thought the two 8-celled looked "great" and it just makes me wonder how come they were only a grade 3. That's why I mentioned the grading being such an arbitrary system.

The transfer was definitely not as painful as the one in December, which left me cramping for hours. I'm also trying to be more compliant about the bedrest, but still felt it was completely unnecessary for me to be taken to my car - not in a wheelchair - but laying on a gurney. I told the young man who trollied me to the exit that a good practical joke would be to cover me with a sheet like a corpse. He thought that would be funny, too, but not necessarily a good "career" move. Even the phlebo found me to be in such good attitude that he really wished for this IVF to work for me. It was odd to have a stranger, a man, telling me that he hoped I would get pregnant, but I figure it happens all the time in blogging and he was so sincere so I ate some more chocolate in his honor as well.

After my post transfer acu appt, we headed home. I slept through the valium until about 4:30 this afternoon. Since then I've been having to keep Mr. DD motivated about playing with X and not falling asleep next to me as I'm sure if he did I would find myself taking care of X, whether that was fixing him supper or going outside to play: neither conducive to my goal of staying in bed for 24 hours.

My beta is schedule for the 25th. If this doesn't work, I will have to seek resolution to this whole 2nd baby thing and move on. Which brings me to the Goodbyes.

I don't think I will necessarily stop blogging as my family angst around here will certainly provide another 6 months of fodder. But some very special bloggers made announcements in their recent posts that they are going to stop writing. One in particular is bittersweet: Suz over at Within the Woods is finding the joys of two wonderful pooping babies pleasantly occupying. She is why I am here; an inspiration and a powerful example of spirit and determination. Also, Chris at Barefoot And... is obviously hurting and has announced her need for a break. I can completely relate to her frustrations and pain of SIF, and I will miss her wonderfully snarky takes on the events around her.

I hope it's not "goodbye", but "see you later" for these two.


Personal factoid: I have a mole on my cheek that now looks like a beauty mark that I worry will someday sprout that one scary long hair.

No. 152 - Nomes, Nats and Pilgrims

I’ve got the focus of a gnat right now. Or maybe a gnome. What is with that silent “g”? It’s these examples that I love giving to people who bitch about immigrants not learning the English language. It’s because it lacks consistency and it’s stupid. This coming from someone who is most certainly Unilingual.

Gnat
Gnome
Gname? Nope, Name. Drunken, witch-burning, illiterate Pilgrims (hey, I want to make sure to blame it on someone who isn’t going to threaten to kick my ass).

Speaking of drunk, witch-burners: I just got a call from the clinic. Miraculously the transfer is still on for tomorrow morning. All four embryos are currently at Grade 1, which is so totally arbitrary, but I can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief anyway. If all four decide to hold out another 24 hours, we will transfer all. No chance for an IVF Lite (aka FET - frozen embryo transfer) if this doesn’t work, which it better, dammit, or I’m going to have to take up drinking and I hate hangovers.

I called Annod to let her know what time the transfer is so she will open her office early to do a pre-transfer acupuncture treatment. Later I will go back for a post-transfer treatment.

I brought a half-full (see: half-full, not half-empty!) bag of Dove chocolate eggs to work with me just in case the news wasn’t good. However, I think I will celebrate this surprisingly good news by eating one or two (dozen); or at least one for every wish of good luck and hope you all sent me from yesterday’s post as a tribute to a beautiful group of people. Especially those who take the time to wish the embryos well even when you are feeling your own pressures. I really wish I could take it all away for each of you.


Personal factoid: One of my favorite albums is Metallica's Black Album.

No. 151 - Fertilization Report

7 Eggs retrieved.

6 qualified for ICSI.

5 fertilized.

4 look normal.

After only 1 day.

Fuck.


Personal factoid: My day has officially turned to shit.

No. 150 - . . . Or Is It No. 158?

WTF? My blogger account tells me today I have 157 posts. That's not what it said when I posted No. 149. I either need to stop bitching about a free blog or get something that I can bitch about AND pay for...

~*~*~*~*

I had my retrieval today. My alarm didn't go off (oops, set for 4:00 PM) so when in a daze, I turned to see my clock said 4:35 a.m. I nearly fell on my face getting up so quickly. Do any of you get those headaches that come on from getting up too fast? They suck, but I was able to wash my face, brush my teeth and put on some clean underwear before we headed out the door 15 minutes later. I could go on and on about having to drive two hours to see our RE, but I believe I already have...

Once we got to the hospital and maneuvered our way through all the stupid construction, we caught an elevator to the L&D department with a couple who was obviously there to be induced (her, not him). I couldn't help but stare at them. They were young. He had his baseball cap turned backwards and pulled down past his eyebrows. I so badly wanted to knock the hat off his head and tell him it's time to grow the fuck up. Luckily, Mr. DD was holding my hand in a death grip that silently warned me to MYOB. The girl was Goth Nouveau: no heavy makeup but had more rivets in her eyebrows, cheek, nose and chin than the Golden Gate Bridge. Then there were the earrings and finger/toe rings. "Psst, honey, you really should have left all your precious metal at home. If you have to go in for a c-section, the baby could walk out with how long it would probably take to remove all your piercings. I'm just saying..." Again, more squeezing of my hand from Mr. DD.

Once we made it to the procedure room, Dr. Blinksalot was trying to get my legs situated in the stirrups and asked me if I was comfortable. I answered that I was so comfortable I may have to get a table like it in my own home. Nothing like having your bits splayed for the world while your legs are velcroed into stirrups. At least I could watch TV framed by my feet and not worry about falling out if I dozed off.

Mr. DD said things were not too easy for him, either. While in his room performing, two professionals were outside his door discussing an unrelated case rather loudly. I told him he should have opened the door, asked for a little privacy, and then inquired if either of them have ever heard of HIPAA. He thought that might be even more of a mood killer. He eventually got the deed done.

Dr. Samelastnameasme did not perform the aspiration. Whether or not she could have made any more follicles appear out of mid-air, like she did in December, will never be known. I was told 7 on Monday and 7 is what they got today by Dr. Blinksalot.

Remember No. 147 where I asked you to tell me funny stories? BTW, thanks everyone. I did smirk, smile and laugh out loud. One of the commenters I replied to; thanked her personally; and she replied back with this: "I always think of Nebraska as a fertile place, because it's where I was finally able to have my kids with assisted reproduction. And since we've moved from there, Nebraska's magic has stayed in Nebraska." I can't tell you how much I am holding on to that thought right now in this stage of the game.

Transfer, if all goes well, will be Saturday.


Personal factoid: I have been buying my pants one size too big for me for the past two years in anticipation I will be pregnant.

No. 149 - Guilt

Until recently, I had been harboring these strange guilty feelings about having a blog that reaches into the depths of Infertility Hell, but at the same time shares snippets of my connection with my son, X. Someone asked me recently to explain why I feel guilty about this Secondary Infertility crap and I effectively side-stepped the question because I didn’t know why I felt guilty.

Per Wikipedia: “In psychology and ordinary language, guilt is an affective state in which one experiences conflict at having done something one believes one should not have done.” In the Thesaurus, these words are associated with Guilt: fault, blame, culpability, remorse, shame and self-reproach.

Now, let me say here for the records I have not for one moment ever felt my pregnancy and subsequent birth, not to mention these past 4+ years ever led me to believe that I had done something wrong by being fertile and having a child, so I firmly believe Guilt is a shitty word for my scenario.

If I was to dig a little further, I realized that this “guilt” didn’t really become a concern until I started blogging. I discovered that there were so many who were still waiting for the one child and here I was greedily seeking a second. Worse, I had my first without one OPK, thermometer or clomid within sight. I was a FREAK in Infertile Blogtopia. I think I still am as far as how my fertility issues have spanned the gamut: Fertility, Pregnancy, Miscarriages, and now Infertility.

So in an effort to not offend so many who are still seeking that first Baby, or first pregnancy, or hell – even that first positive HPT, I would keep my Motherhood low-keyed. I think that’s wherein the guilt stems. I don’t feel guilty I have one child. I feel guilty that I don’t feel comfortable sharing more about him since I don’t consider this a Mommy Blog and I’m trying to be a lurker-pleaser. So now the description of Guilt fits: I have affectively downplayed a very real and important part of my life when in fact I shouldn’t be ashamed. I’m a Mom, dammit, and I am quite proud of the fact.

Hence, the poll. If I had to make a selection, I could easily select all of them given the particular day I may have had. When I feel that this IVF is going to the crapper (or when X is being a real PITA) I try to convince myself No. 1 is true; however when I read about someone else’s struggle with SIF and feel deeply their pain and loss, I totally agree with No. 4. Depending on my mood du jour, any one of the statements is true to me.

I don’t know how much longer I’ll leave the poll up. I am fascinated with how it changes and would like to get a total of 100 votes before I take it down, but I’ve also got other fish to fry (ie: Do you think Fig is a totally fucked-up name to give to a baby, even if his sister is named Apple?), and I want to move on.

Also, I will try not to censure the amount or type of posts I have about X. You can tell me if you think that sucks, which I guess I will know when you stop showing up in my stats or you don’t comment or you tell me in an email or comment. You better make sure you make your opinions clear ‘cause quite frankly, if this IVF fails, I don’t foresee this site developing into a true Mommy Blog. It would be too depressing. Who knows, though? I might continue to find it therapeutic and go on and on about how X is going around the house singing Blondie’s, One Way or Another over and over again.

Now, if he could just get past the first two lyrics…


Personal factoid: I'm a very agressive driver.

No. 148 - Whatever

Scene: Courtroom

Cast: Judge, prosecutor, Defense Attorney, Defendant, Assorted Characters

prosecutor: ...so in closing, I ask that the jury consider the physical evidence that places Defendant at the scene of the crime; the eye witnesses' accounts; and the written confession of Defendant and deliver a verdict of guilty. Thank you.

Judge: Defense Attorney, please deliver your closing argument.

Defense Attorney: ...uh, ...whatever.

Ridiculous, right? Well, that's me as the prosecutor in a "discussion" with the Defense Attorney, aka: Mr. DD this morning. What the hell? Did he just turn 12 or 42? That word should be banned from the English language as all I hear when someone says that in response to something I've said is, "Fuck you and I'm too stupid to come up with something intelligent in response."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

We have been fighting an infestation of drugstore beetles. For several weeks now I have been militant in cleaning the counter, the toaster, and storing the bread in the fridge. The number of beetles did not decrease. Today I was in the tiny kitchen cabinet above the TV (you know, the one you throw all your kitchen crap into) as I was packing stuff into boxes for our eventual move. For some odd reason, behind the koozies, the insulated coffee mugs, and Play-Doh (don't ask), there was a bag of flour. When I climbed up a chair to really get a good luck I nearly gagged. Let's just say I could have used the flour to make poppy seed muffins but wouldn't have had to add the poppy seeds to obtain the look...*shudder*

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

My appointment with the RE did not go as well as I had hoped. The number of potentially mature follicles is only 6. Of course, they may get more during the retrieval, but since it was Dr. Samelastnameasme, the RE who actually performs the procedure, I will defer to her expertise.

I haven't told Mr. DD yet as I may again change my mind, but if this doesn't work, I don't think I have the heart to go for No. 3. I just don't respond well to the stims. Sure, I know it's quality thing, and all my other numbers (estrogen, progesterone and lining thickness) look good, but it's hard not to correlate higher quantity of eggs with increased chances in a pregnancy. Especially when everyone is constantly pushing It's A Number Game statement on us.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Thanks everyone for the smiles and telling me to suck it up. It's just what I needed. YOU are what keeps my head above water. *smooch, smooch*

Personal factoid: I feel down the stairs when I was around 12 and ended up with amnesia, a concussion and pneumonia. The anmesia which affected my memory of that day never resolved.

No. 147 - Cry Me A River

I am a frazzled cluster-f*ck of nerves. I’m just now working myself up about this IVF, which I had been so proud of for not getting emotional about a several days ago. In the past week, I have cried to nearly every ballad on the radio. I can’t watch TV as it seems some asshole in marketing somewhere thought putting kids (especially baby-toddler combos) in commercials was a grand idea.

I’m having a harder time than “normal” with pregnancy blogs. It seems those who actually did get a pregnancy to stick around from November/December are now feeling their baby’s kicks. All I can feel is my heart clench up and I pretend the butterflies in my stomach to be those initial first movements of a 20 wk pregnancy. Even sitting down and playing with X makes me weepy.

Tomorrow I have another appointment which will probably result in getting my instructions for triggering and a schedule for the retrieval. Then again, maybe not. Uncertainty is certainly the worst aspect of all of this.

I am also stressing about the house. My goal was to have ours listed for sale by the end of March. It still has not happened. My husband has two areas of the house that until they have been cleared, makes it pointless to even have a realtor go through. In his efforts to move things out, he has created bigger messes in his wake.

A vacation seems like a fantasy. We were supposed to go to Las Vegas two weekends ago, but the seminar that was going to take place earlier in the week had been cancelled. We were going to piggyback our vacation on top of the business trip. We just didn’t see the point of shelling out a couple grand from our own pockets when this IVF and house are eating up our mental, physical and financial resources.

Please don’t tell me things will be OK. I don’t want to cry anymore as I know I’m just feeling sorry for myself. Instead, tell me to suck it up and that I will get through this IVF (a.k.a. HELL). Tell me something funny. You could even wish Mr. DD a Happy Birthday, which is April 8th. I do not have anything to give for his birthday and he insists he doesn’t want anything. If I push, he tells me that I gave him X four years ago and that is the best present he’s had. I only wish that I will be able to give him another.


Personal factoid: There were 40 people in my graduating class of 1985.

No. 146 - Poked and Prodded

I can't believe how easily ya'all are amused! Wanting to know what job(s) I've been fired from? Now I have to start thinking about what they all were and why. I'm not sure how much detail I feel comfortable giving out as I'm sure you will lose some, if not all, respect (I use the word loosely) for me. I will have to give some deep thoughts to that under a separate post as it's time to move on to...

IVF #2 BlahBlah!

Today was CD7 and I had an early RE appt that included not one, but two gougings of my arm for blood. The one on my right is especially beautiful and reminds me of a desert sunset (insert "ooh" or "aah" here). The Wandwitch was in her full gory, er...excuse me, glory. I made it quite clear to her that my cervix has never, and will never, have a 45 degree angle in it. Therefore, an attempt to view my left ovary by digging into my nether regions with the cootercam only succeeded in me exclaiming, "That hurts!" Of course, there was no apology, just an excuse that she needed to see what was going on. I told her that I understand why she is doing it, but "I'm still entitled to bitch about it." Point made.

Lefty is being rather slovenly at this point: just two smallish follicles. Righty has been a little more productive and there's 3 notable follicles at 12mm and under, plus another 3 lollygagging around. Hardly remarkable, but considering where I was last time I consider this a slight improvement. Even my E2 (estrogen) levels are better. I'm sure I won't have the retrieval success Ms. Suzanne had (she's apparently been sandbagging), but I at least know we'll make it to that stage.

After seeing the RE, I went for a third acupuncture appointment. I got the needle between the eyes and on top of my head again, and I'm thinking I don't like those two very much. The next time I see her will be the day of the transfer. She better make an embryo stick or I'm coming back to put a needle between HER eyes. You'll be able to read about it in the paper.

I start the antagon Friday nite and return to the RE on Saturday a.m. (bright and early between 7 and 7:30. You try that with a 2 hour drive first!) for another US and bruising. I'm guessing our retrieval (and hopefully a subsequent transfer) will be early next week. So for those of you who are going to the Confab (details later...as soon as I get any...hint, hint, Alexa), you can experience the tail-end of my 2WW with me. At least I can go with the assurance I will be PUPO (see "How to Win Friends..." in my sidebar for acronym meanings).


Personal factoid: I would save tadpoles out of the nearby mudholes that were drying up by filling my plastic swimming pool with hundreds of them during the summer when I was a kid.

No. 145 - Rolling In Doh!

Thanks, DinoD for letting me know about the pop-up ads that reveal themselves to those of you who access this blog directly. If you are reading this via Bloglines, you have the dubious honor of not having to click through Bravenet’s generous offer to allow pop-ups since I have pasted a MiniPoll to my site unless you decide to come in for a comment. They informed me that if I “upgrade” I will be able to shut off their pop-ups…because I’m sure that the amount of money I would be rolling in after my paltry take will certainly cover the upgrade. Pricks. So, no, I am not using the ad money to help pay for this upcoming IVF.

Mr. DD was having a momentary panic attack when he realized that not only were our monthly bills stacking up, but invoices in the 5 figures were showing up from all of the people who have completed their areas of expertise on the house. Do you know how hard it is to squeeze a written five-figure amount onto that little line of a blank check? I cannot write any smaller and my flourishes look a bit ridiculous in miniature. Instead of writing “twenty-five thousand, seven-hundred fifty-two”, I could write “you cock-sucker, roll-over shit and die” and no one could tell the difference. It would certainly give me more satisfaction.

In a week, we will need to come up with the cash for the retrieval and transfer, which was increased in 2006 by $400. There goes my dream for my fancy microwave. It’s all good, I suppose. Being around that kind of technology may turn any embryos into a mini Cerberus, and that can’t be good. I know I wanted to have another child, but one with that many mouths just means more lip I have to take when IT reaches preschooler age.


Personal factoid: The first time I got fired from a job, I was 18. The last time I was 25.

No. 144 - Apparently, I Suck

Remember the niece who recently announced her pregnancy? Well, she (Mary*) and her husband (Joe*) decided to make a trip from their home on the East Coast to visit us here. Plus, the other niece who delivered her baby was coming up as well to Small Town. I was absolutely dreading this weekend. I envisioned sitting down for dinner with New Mommy to my right and Pregnant Woman to my left and silently willing for a stray bullet to take me out quickly and cleanly.

As much as I was dreading the encounter, I was looking forward to seeing Mary. She's a sweet gal who can be quite catty and snarky (you know, in a good way) and you would never know it when she delivers a zinger in her soft, southern draw. By Saturday afternoon, they still hadn't arrived in Small Town even though their flight came in Friday nite. I asked Mr. DD if he had heard from them yet or if his sister had decided to hoard them the entire weekend, as she is wont to do. That's when he told me that Mary miscarried her baby on the flight at 10 weeks exactly.

I feel like an asshole. I remember when we talked to Mary a few weeks ago on the phone and she excitedly told me she was 6 weeks pregnant, and I evilly thought, "don't go out and buy any baby furniture yet".

Bitter Cynic, table of one...

Saturday nite, when I finally got to talk to her alone, she later told me that she had been spotting and cramping for a while and just a week ago had an ultrasound where everything looked normal: growth - check, movement - check, heartrate normal - check. Her doctor gave her the OK to fly. On the flight she said the cramping was horrible, and she even timed the "contractions" to 5 minutes apart. They landed, she went into the airport bathroom soaking from the waist down in blood and passed the placenta/baby in whole. She had no way or means to salvage the "products of conception" and therefore had no choice but to flush it all away. She will never really know what had happened to her baby but has already taken the stand that it was genetically imperfect.

She is surprisingly calm. She and her husband held the new baby and not one tear slipped passed their cheeks. I don't know if she is in shock waiting to get back home before breaking; or if she's just that strong. She even told me she is "fine" as she had been "prepared" for this to happen.

How does one "prepare" for a miscarriage? I want to know that secret, please.



Personal factoid: I have to taken motion sickness medicine before I fly.