Holy Self-Centeredness!

Mine all mine, and I feel the need to own it.

I mentioned recently on Twitter that I've been spending a lot of time wandering in Memory Lane the last week or so. Sort of a slow motion Life-Flashing-Before-My-Eyes experience. Navel-gazing, moping, reliving good times and bad. I'm not sure where this extraordinary degree of introspection is coming from, but I'm guessing it's a combination of the changing season (Fall never fails to bring out my nostalgic side) and the impending start of IVF The Do-Over and the knowledge that I probably only have the wherewithal for this one IVF cycle. I feel like I am very near my limit with this process. I am ready for things to change. I either want my baby, or I want my life back. It's time to break out of Limbo.

In the process of this little memorial road-trip, I've also spent a lot of time contemplating the various branching points in my life that led me to my current place, and wondering where I would be and what my life would be like if I had made different choices. Wondering if it is too late to make some dramatic changes. And I know that, actually it is not too late. My mother went back to school at about age 40 to get her masters and start a new career. No reason I can't do the same.

It was thinking about my mother and some of her choices that really stopped me in my tracks this week. One of the memories that bubbled to the surface was from my early childhood, and it hit me quite hard. I guess I've never mentioned this here, but when I was about four years old, my mother had a miscarriage. I'm not sure how far along she was, but it was far enough that she was showing and everyone knew she was expecting (even me). Because I was so very young when this happened, it has always just been a piece of my family history, a simple fact of life like my grandparents divorce.

Only in this last week of soaking in memories and un-actualized potential, did the reality of my mother's loss sink in for me. And I feel horrible. How is it that in my nearly three years of struggling to get pregnant and one miscarriage of my own, I never made this connection? How is it that this was always so much a background fact that it didn't even register with me? You don't need to bother telling me in the comments, I know I'm a self-centered beast.

My mother has always been a steadfast figure of calm and caring. Who took care of her? Did my father give her the emotional support she would have needed, or maybe her sister did? Did she have close friends to help her heal? I'm not sure I could tell you who my mother's best friend was when I was four years old. I know there is one photo of my mother and I, taken just before she found out the baby was gone, and she keeps this photo out where she can see it. She has mentioned on numerous occasions that it is the only existing photo of her with both of her babies. And all I can think is, "Oh god, my poor poor mother."

A to Z of TTC

This has been making the rounds and it's kinda fun, so here you go: TMI Central!

A. Age when you started TTC: 36

B. Baby Dancing or Sex: Groovin'

C. Children wanted: Two

D. Dogs/Cats/Fill in Children: Two cats

E. Essential Oils/Vitamins/Snake Oils: Prenatals & the occasional shot of wheatgrass

F. Fertility Meds I’ve taken: Clomid, GonalF, Ganirelix, Ovidrel, Crinone, First Progesterone

G. Gain: 20 pounds since ditching the BCP (have now lost 13, looking to drop another 12)

H. HSG (Hystosalpingogram): Whooo-buddy, check it out.

I. Infertile Pet Peeves: People who complain about how long it's taking to get pregnant, after trying for all of three months. SUCK IT!

J. Job title: Director of LaundryFolding (yeah, what-of-it?)

K. Kid’s names you’re afraid will be taken by the time you can use them: Seriously? If I tell you, you'll just steal them, because they're THAT cool. Nice try though.

L. Length of time TTC: Two years, four months

M. Miscarriages:  One, blighted ovum. Full story here.

N. Number of times you’ve switched OB/GYNS, REs, FSs: Assuming since TTC (not lifetime), none. Did get a second RE opinion, but went back to the first RE afterward.

O. Ovarian quality: No known problems

P. POAS or wait for AF: Varies by cycle, depends on how hopeful I am. Hope = POAS. No Hope = Why waste the money?

Q. Quote from an obnoxious fertile: Honestly, I'm very fortunate that there aren't any of these in my life. I've wracked my brain and come up with zero anecdotes. Please God let it stay that way!

R. RE, OB/Gyn or other? RE

S. Sperm: Above average in every factor

T. Time you tried naturally:  10 months to start, occasional un-medicated cycles since starting treatment

U. Uterus quality: No know problems. Once described by my RE as "beautiful".

V. Vagina: Yep. I got one of those.

W. What baby stuff do you already have? One sling.

X. X-tra X-tra Hear all about it! How many people know the ins and outs of our crazy TTC journey? Aside from us & our medical team? Maybe three or four. Oh, and thousands of people on the internet.

Y. Yearly Exam (do you still go in even though someone sees your lady parts most months?): Indeed, very compliant over here.

Z. Zits: Only with my period, and then it's worse than when I was a teenager. Which actually is still not that bad.

So now you’ve read mine. What are your IF A to Zs?

I've Got Mail!

One of my responsibilities at work is producing the "Personal Updates" section of our organizational newsletter. This involves people sending me random emails with tidbits like:

I have a new job!
I'm relocating from Barcelona to London!
I've won a national award!
I just published a new book/article!
I got married!

And... Yes.

We just had a baby!

Great task for an infertile, huh? When I see notes come in from people who are older than me announcing the birth of twins, I just know. And I wonder how they would feel knowing a still-struggling infertile has to send all of those happy shiny congratulatory replies back to them?

Secret Fears

Inspired by a recent confession by Runny Yolk, I've decided it's time to open up about one of my big IF fears. I took so much comfort from reading her post, and being smacked upside the head once again with the YOU-ARE-NOT-ALONE stick. So this is in hopes that one of you (who maybe don't follow Runny Yolk) will get that same message: You are not the only one. I know that, because I am not the only one. See how that works?

A little bit of history here: until I was, oh... say... about 34? I couldn't stand children. Didn't really know any people who had them, wouldn't accept a table near them in a restaurant, generally cringed when confronted with them. I didn't even babysit as a teenager. Kids were my Kryptonite. I certainly didn't want any of my own, and I wasn't quiet about it. To this day, I still hesitate when presented with the opportunity to hold infants.

So why am I doing this?

I couldn't give you the date, but the moment is fixed in my mind like a photograph I've seen a thousand times. As I said, I was about 34. I was driving to work one afternoon (I used to work nights) and I saw a woman pushing her 1-2 year old daughter down the sidewalk in a stroller. There was nothing special about them, they were just an ordinary Mom and baby doing an ordinary thing. It was like time stopped and someone flipped a switch. I was open to a child of my own. Of course, I'm now racing towards 39 and no closer closing the deal.

I'm sure I've mentioned this here in passing, lumped in with a range of other fears, but I've been afraid to give it too much sunlight lest it grow roots and flourish. After more than a year jam-packed with failed fertility treatments, I finally came clean to the Professor last week about one of my deep dark What IFs. Damn that was hard, but luckily for me, he responded in true Professorial fashion and made me feel better on the spot. When will I learn to open up sooner?

Lately, I've been worrying more and more that the reason we haven't seen any success in our efforts against infertility is that I'm in it for the wrong reason. Obviously, the RIGHT reason is wanting a baby. But wait! I DO want a baby! Well, maybe I don't want it enough? Maybe that girl who didn't like kids is still hiding in there and sabotaging my efforts? Because, if I'm honest... when I think about reaching the point where we've exhausted our resources and our options and still not having a baby... it no longer scares me. It doesn't sound like the end of my world. I can think of plenty of good aspects to that situation.

When I shared all of this with the Professor last week, the first thing he said was "Good."

Also obvious, is the fact that this is totally irrational. I've been having trouble pinpointing my motivations for everything I'm putting myself through. I'll tell you right now that I still don't know. I'm just less worried about not knowing since I talked to the Professor about it last week. Maybe I'm deluding myself into a better frame of mind to deal with an ultimate failure at this task?  Whatever. I'll take it.

So if the "right" reason is wanting a baby and wanting to be a parent, then as they scroll across my mind's eye, my possible "wrong reasons" are as follows:

I want make the Professor a father, to give him the gift of offspring. This is a fact. No argument, and while not ideal, still a laudable reason.

I'm afraid to disappoint our families, who I know want grandkids. This is also a fact. Though I was never one to do something just because my parents wanted me to, this is an area where I'd rather not disappoint. 

I'm just stubborn and can't handle the idea of failing at something I set out to do. This is... close. But not quite right somehow. When I truly fail at something, I usually just blow it off. I am sometimes perfectly OK with not being good at things.

Perhaps a better way to put it would be: 

I'm just stubborn and can't handle the idea of failing at something I care about. That feels right. And there's something very important there. 

I care. 

That's a good enough reason for me.

All Eyes On the Scoreboard

I'm staring down yet another CD1 and contemplating my third benched cycle in a row. We go in for our second opinion tomorrow morning and may or may not be getting some new ideas. With only two covered injectible cycles left on my insurance, it seems wise to hold them in reserve pending new information and a potential change of plan.

In ten days, on November 18, we will hit our one year anniversary in fertility treatments. Like the rest of you, I never expected it to take this long or require this much effort. It's been a busy year to say the least. As we approach the twelve month mark, our IF scoreboard reads as follows:

CD1s: 12
IUIs: 6
Clomid Cycles: 5
Injectible Cycles: 2
Benched Cycles: 5
Pregnancies: 1
Miscarriages: 1

Those last two are a real kicker, huh? Looking at those numbers, I know we've done a lot this year treatment-wise. I think if we had done any more, we would literally be done at this point, yet I've been feeling guilty for not jumping immediately back into treatment as soon as the last cyst resolved. I even felt guilty the one cycle I took off this summer to preserve my sanity from the Clomid Crazies. The first CD1 after the most recent cyst fell at an incredibly inconvenient time, but if I had been more motivated, I probably could have found a way to squeeze in a baseline appointment. And this month, it is only the voice of fiscal responsibility cautioning me to conserve my insurance coverage that is keeping me from pursuing treatment. Both months perfectly good reasons to skip a cycle, and yet I feel this guilt.

I've Been Tagged!

There's this "getting-to-know-you" game that's been making the rounds through BlogWorld in recent weeks, and I just got tagged - I'm IT! NoBabyRuth tagged me since we were Cycle of Fail Buddies last month. If you haven't checked out her story yet, you should. Her life as an expat totally fascinates me, as does her European IF Journey. The game goes like this: answer the series of questions and tag three bloggers who you'd like to see answer them as well. Pretty simple!

1) What is your dream occupation?

Archeologist. I think this is an outgrowth of my career as a potter. Ceramics is a field in which you can't help but be aware of the immense and intriguing history of the craft, of all of the people who went before you and the objects they left behind. I think it would be terribly exciting to be the one who actually gets to find, excavate and identify those artifacts, to extrapolate their histories and the stories of the people who made and used them.

2) What is the best dish that you can cook?

White Chili - check it out.

3) Have you ever been mentioned in the newspaper? What for?

Yes. A few years ago, I was featured in a short article about the non-profit art center where I was working. Nothing particularly special, they wanted a photo and I was the only one doing anything "artsy" when the photographer arrived. I was probably mentioned in high school as well, but can't remember specifics.

4) What’s the worst and/or most memorable job you’ve ever had?

Toss-up...

WORST: dishwasher or buffet waitress in Florida. The dishwasher job was just plain gross. Other people's partially eaten meals and garbage, and everything all steamy, wet and mushy. YUCK. And I'm sure you can just imagine how rewarding it would be to wait tables at an all-you-can-eat buffet in a retirement community in Florida.

MOST MEMORABLE: teaching pottery. That would be the thing I am best at, the thing I enjoy most, the thing I promise myself that I will get to do again. It is so rewarding to show/tell another person how to do something they've never done before and don't really believe they CAN do, and then see their excitement when they get it right for the first time! Nothing like it.

5) When you were a teenager, at what age did you envision yourself getting married? How old were you in reality when you got married?

When I was a teenager, I was certain without a doubt that I would be dead by age 24. I couldn't tell you why. It was just something I believed. I never dreamed I would live long enough to get married. Needless to say this strange belief evaporated after my 24th birthday. Professor and I got married when I was 36 years old (though I still feel like I'm in my early 20's).

6) What’s your most hated household chore? What’s your favorite?

I can't honestly say that I have a favorite household chore. I don't like ANY of them. I am a terrible housewife. The relative squalor in which I exist would probably appall you (it appalls me, just not enough to motivate me very often), although I suppose things aren't really dirty so much as dusty and cluttered. My most hated chore would probably be cleaning/changing the catbox. My least hated would probably be loading/unloading the dishwasher.

7) What’s your earliest memory?

My earliest memory is not really of a specific event, but more a collection images in my mind. They are from the house my grandma lived in when I was a toddler, the pallet she made up on the floor for my bed, the kitchen with an old metal highchair that I sat in to eat, the prickly holly bushes with bright red berries by the front door. I've asked my mom about these rememberings, and she says I would have been a little more than 2 years old. I know they are actual memories because we don't have any photos taken in that house.

@thisispersonal
@the2weekwait
@LiberalGranola

TAG - you're IT!

I'm So Vain (Maybe That Song Was About Me)

I don't look my age. I never have.

As an early teen, I was always assumed to be older. In my twenties, I was frequently assumed to be a teenager. Now, at the age of (nearly) thirty-eight, I am usually taken for being in my twenties. I almost never wear make-up and my beauty regime is super basic.

I am generally grateful for the genetic hand I was dealt. The women in my family tend to live active lives into their nineties. My Mom didn't hit menopause until she was fifty. All of which is to say, the women in my family all seem quite young for their age.

In retrospect, I think maybe I let this go to my head.

In my mid-thirties when I started thinking about my fertility and getting started on a baby, I comforted myself with this apparent youthfulness. My body still looks so young! My Mom was fifty before she had The Change! My insides must surely be as youthful (and thus fertile) as my outsides!

What vanity! What arrogance! What a CROCK!

Until I accepted my infertility and started to make my way into this online community, I had never really thought about even authentically young women having fertility issues. How arrogant... this has definitely been a humbling experience, to say the least.

Thou Shalt Not Covet (Except I Did)

Maybe five years ago, I saw a woman in the bookstore carrying her baby in the coolest, most beautiful sling. At that point, I had never seen anyone use a sling before. Not only did the concept seem so logical, the fabric was unbelievably lovely. I actually stopped a stranger in a store to ask where she'd bought something.

She told me it was a Hotsling, so I went online and drooled. I wanted one so badly (and we weren't even trying yet) that I went ahead and ordered one for a friend who was expecting. And of course, since I was already ordering, it only made sense that I should be fiscally responsible and order one for myself as well. To save on shipping. Right? And of course, the one I liked was in the "Discontinued - Sale" section, so it was deeply discounted and I might never see it again...

So I have this beautiful sling hidden in the back of my bottom dresser drawer. I used to run across it every now and then and look at it and dream. After a time, I pushed it further back in the drawer and piled stuff on top so I don't do that anymore, but it's still there waiting. I know I'm not alone here. I know some of you have done it too. What baby item did you see before you got your positive (or before you were even TTC), and decide you just had to have? Include a link if you can!

Quote, Un-Quote

My favorite quote since the age of about 12 is really a very short poem, by the amazing Shel Silverstein:

Listen to the mustn'ts, child. Listen to the don'ts. 
Listen to the shouldn'ts, the impossibles, the won'ts. 
Listen to the never haves, then listen close to me... 
Anything can happen, child. Anything can be.

Where Does the Time Go?

I had one of THOSE moments today at work. One of those "anniversary" moments.

Last year, the end of the two week wait in our first cycle with the RE fell just after Thanksgiving. By the end of the holiday weekend I was actually having some mild symptoms, super-sore boobs and sudden, random flashes of severe nausea. I also had some light spotting. The Tuesday after, I was working an annual special event our office puts on and I got my period. It was bad, the worst in my recent memory. As soon as the event got under way, I told my boss I needed to go home. I'm fairly certain now that I was actually having an early miscarriage. I can still remember those symptoms vividly, and while the next cycle brought us our first ever positive and more super-sore boobs, that particular variety of nausea has yet to reappear. Neither has a positive.

Today at work, I overheard a conference call regarding the initial planning for that same annual event. It was like someone drew the needle across a vinyl record (you know the noise they use in a sitcom when everything comes to a screeching halt). Heads up! Here comes an anniversary! When the annual event rolls around this year, we will have been working with our RE for one year and TTC for one month shy of two years.

Please God let me be knocked up by then...

Gurlee Made Me Cry

So after being away from blogworld for a while when my Mom was in town, I opened my email to discover that Gurlee over at Infertility Musings had bestowed on me the Versatile Blogger Award. And I cried. Like most of you, I started this blog just to have somewhere to vent, to get everything out of my own head with a hope that someone out there would say, "Me too. Doesn't this shit just suck?" 

Thank you Gurlee *sniff*sniff*

So as I understand it, this is how the award works:

1. Thank the person who gave you the award. (Thx again Gurlee!)
2. Tell 7 things about yourself that readers may not know.
3. Pay it forward by nominating 8 bloggers you’ve recently discovered.

So without further ado:

1. I have an English Garden and I hate gardening. I have to pay someone to come take care of the flower beds because otherwise things start dying and weeds take over and the next thing you know... there goes the neighborhood!

2. I was in the past (and will be in the future) an artist. I packed up my studio to take my first ever 9-5 job in order to do the baby-making thing with decent insurance and maternity pay. It's been two years and I'm only just now starting to miss it. I'll get back to it when I can have a home studio.

3. I actually like my job. I've only been there for 18 months, but I go home at the end of the day knowing that I contributed to making the world a better place.

4. Salsa is my number one comfort food. No joke. I was raised in Texas and good salsa is probably the thing I miss most.

5. I am a book addict. I collect first editions, particularly young readers and teen books. Yes I like Harry Potter, Percy Jackson and Twilight (all for different reasons). I also love Diana Wynne Jones (Chrestomanci) and Catherine Webb (Horatio Lyle).

6. I am allergic to cats. I have two.

7. I have a soft spot for aquariums (the kind you visit, not the kind you keep in the living room), but find zoos depressing. I am particularly fond of sea urchins. But not for dinner.

I would like to bestow the Versatile Blogger Award upon the following:

1. APlusB at a+b, waiting for c
2. Becca at Liberal Granola Girl's Blog
3. Hope Springs at Moving On to the Next Plan
4. Jay at The Two Week Wait

5. Jenny at Among the Blossoms
6. My So-Called (TTC) Life
7. Secret Sloper at Park Slope Purgatory 
8. This is More Personal

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

Thirty days after the miscarriage, I got my period again. Baseline ultrasound completed, non-pregnancy status confirmed and Cycle #14 was under way. Clomid/IUI with home OPK testing. This time I bought the expensive OPKs and everything went according to plan (well, mostly).

OPK +
IUI completed +
2WW =
BFN

The BFN wasn't part of the plan. Neither was the cyst they saw on my left ovary at the CD2 baseline ultrasound for Cycle #15 "the Cycle of the Cyst", which was now off the books.

BUT WAIT! That's not ALL!! Don't you want to see else you've won!?! It's an all expenses covered breast exam/mammogram/sonogram for that horrible pain and scary lump in your left breast!

(cue audience cheering)

After what my poor mother went through only months earlier, I was not fucking around with this! I took yet another half day off work, got to my midwife for a breast exam which got me an immediate call to the breast imaging clinic downstairs from the midwife. It must have been a slow day (or my midwife must have been REALLY concerned about what she felt) because they told me to just come right on downstairs and they'd see me then.

The first time I ever had a mammogram (we're very lumpy in my family, so I started early), it really didn't hurt but it was definitely uncomfortable. This was a different story. When there's something in there that's already hurting, the mammogram SUCKS! I won't lie - I cried. In the end, once again, it was worth it.

Diagnosis: cyst. Probably related to the hormonal fluctuations from the Clomid. Ten days later, the cyst and accompanying pain were gone.

None of this stopped us from continuing our quest unaided by medical science. Not surprisingly, my period showed up again. Baseline ultrasound completed, non-pregnancy status confirmed and Cycle #16 was a go. Clomid/IUI with home OPK testing. We've been here before.

OPK +
IUI completed +
2WW =
BFN

My First Time

December 2009 - Cycle #13 (Memorial)

Professor's SA? Check.
Slackie's HSG? Check.
Clomid CD5-9? Check.
Weekly acupuncture? Check.
Gettin' our groove on whenever the mood strikes? CHECK!
Positive OPK? FAIL.
IUI? Missed the window.

So, best laid plans and all... ah well. We never quite figured out what went wrong. Maybe it was the generic brand OPKs, maybe it was just a coincidence of timing and a short LH surge. Whatever it was, I never got a positive OPK and when they brought me in for an ultrasound to see where things were at - we'd missed it. Now, we did at least have the comfort of knowing that we had been grooving throughout the window of opportunity, so maybe, just maybe...

And a few days after Christmas, maybe became YES. In spite of the failure of "the Plan", my period was late for the first time ever, so we picked up a home test, and lo and behold, it was positive. I called the clinic and they ordered the standard bloodwork, which also came back positive.

Once again, not sure why, but I was strangely wary of being excited. I knew I should be all Glowing and Joyful and Hallmark Moment, but I could only manage Cautiously Pleased. It seemed too good to be true that we had succeeded on our first full cycle with the RE. Already the doubt was creeping in.

When they called with the results of my third round of bloodwork, the nurse admitted that they were "concerned" that the numbers were not going up as they should, and they wanted me to come in for an ultrasound. I've done my homework on this infertility thing, and I could think of plenty of reasons for the low numbers (some of them scarier than others).

The ultrasound showed one small sac, hunkered down in just the right spot, but it was too small. So the verdict was wait and see, bloodwork every two days and another ultrasound one week out. Fast forward one week, bloodwork not improving and second ultrasound shows very little increase in size and no other development. Diagnosis: blighted ovum.

Blighted indeed.

I was a freaking hot mess. I think I went the whole week without showering, but I'm not even sure. I was so sad and angry and scared of what this meant for the larger picture. I never once thought of it as losing a baby. It wasn't a baby to me yet. It was an empty sac, never was and never would be anything else. I was sad for me, and angry that my body still hadn't gotten it right. Angry that we were going to have to wait untold weeks for this to resolve before we could start again. Angry that it was turning out to be so much harder than we thought it would be. Angry that so many girls and women could get knocked up so easily when they didn't even want to, didn't even like the person that knocked them up. The Professor and I adore each other and we just want to create a child that would be part of each of us, a reflection of just how immense our love is.

In the midst of all this, my BFF called to tell me she was pregnant. Two weeks behind me, her due date is my birthday. They'd been trying for six months. And I felt nothing but pure joy. I cannot describe what a relief it was to feel nothing but happy for her. I've read so many blog posts and tweets and statuses and comments from infertile women who were devastated when their close friends announced pregnancies, who eventually shut themselves off from their own social circles because of this. And I was scared that I would feel the same anger, resentment or jealousy towards my friend. But I didn't, and I still don't. And I'm so grateful for that. I eventually told her about my infertility and miscarriage, and she has responded exactly the way I needed her to. She never pushes me for updates or offers assvice, she just sends me little notes to say she's thinking of me. Just like she always has. If I send her an IF update, she offers encouragement or ass-kicking as appropriate. She doesn't see me any differently than before.

I took the misoprostol first thing on the next Saturday morning. I had stockpiled my supplies of maxi-pads, heating pads, Vicodin, water and audiobooks and settled into bed to wait. The Professor kept tabs on me, keeping me fed and hydrated and generally comforted. The whole thing took about six hours, after which I relocated to the couch to watch videos and feel sorry for myself. I didn't take the Vicodin until late that night when I just wanted to sleep. It wasn't nearly as bad as I had expected.

I spent the following day on the couch, just resting and recovering. My uterus felt like it had run a marathon. I had no abdominal muscle tone, couldn't suck in my gut to save my life. To top it all off, turns out my plumbing doesn't take well to Vicodin. Monday, I went to work like nothing had happened. No one in my office knew we were TTC, and I hadn't bothered to tell anyone about the pregnancy. Before work Tuesday, I went in for the post-misoprostol ultrasound. All clear. By the time I got to the office, I had crashed. I could barely drag myself into the building, much less think straight enough to work. I walked right into my boss' office, shut the door, sat down and started crying. I told her I had had a miscarriage and needed to go home. She told me to take as much time as I needed, and I did. We haven't mentioned it since.

By the time the bleeding stopped, my heart was healed. Really. I was only impatient to get back in the game. We had a follow-up consultation with the RE, and he professed himself very pleased with my response to the treatment in spite of the outcome, and agreed that we could go again once I'd had another period.

Perhaps, if we had seen something in that sac, a heartbeat or even just a fetal pole... something... it might have felt more like a baby, it might have taken longer to heal. But we didn't see anything, and that made it so much easier to bear in the long run.

HSG - OMG!

December 2009 - Cycle #13 (cont'd)

After 21 years of close encounters with speculums (speculi? specula?), my HSG was the first time I was ever tempted to pick my foot up out of the stirrup and kick the practitioner in the teeth!

It was my misfortune that my fertility clinic isn't permitted to perform the HSG in their facility, but instead must send their patients to the hospital to which the clinic is attached. So, rather than sitting in the plush, cozy clinic waiting room with the gourmet coffee and the original artwork, the Professor and I sat in hard plastic chairs in a narrow hallway in the hospital basement. And instead of the usual middle aged, well-practiced nurse confidently wielding a pre-warmed speculum, I was confronted by a somewhat awkward 16 year old boy (OK maybe he wasn't 16, but he was WAY younger than me) who may well never have held a speculum before in his life and certainly had no idea what to do with the one he was trying to use on me.

OMG. OUCH.

He eventually called a nurse over and she gave him some pointers, but I kept wishing she would just take over for him. At any rate, speculum finally in place (if not comfortable), he then proceeded to experience the same difficulty with the cervical catheter.

OMFG. OUCH. OUCH. OUCH.

More advice from Nurse Sidelines and a call for delivery of a different type of catheter, and lo and behold! I'm curvy on the inside as well as the outside! You gotta bend that thing before it will go anywhere!

I suppose in the end it was all worth it, because Dr. Babyface did at least know how to read the images - all clear, structurally speaking. One more hurdle cleared!

13 is my Lucky Number

Cycle #13 - December 2009

OK, well, we should have known better than to think we could get lucky so quickly. No biggie. We did see an improvement in my luteal phase, so we just need bigger guns (as it were). The next step was to be Clomid/IUI and before we were cleared for that I needed an HSG, an ultrasound and some bloodwork. The Professor needed an SA. And only 5 days to get all this done if we don't want to sit this cycle out!

Deep breath.

The SA is admittedly a touchy subject for most men. And I can totally see why - both sexes have so much invested emotionally in the ability to reproduce. Fear of failure as a representative of your sex is not gender bound. Neither is the courage to face your fears. I'm sure the Professor was nervous, but he boldly went where he needed to go. My hero! Needless to say, the text he sent me when they called with his results was freaking jubilant.

Super-Sperm (cue triumphant music)!

Higher than average in every factor: quantity, motility, morphology. He aced it! He was so very brave and so very relieved... as was I. At least now we only had my issues to overcome! I even felt a little guilty over this huge advantage we'd been given. So many other couples have so much more to fight.

For my part, the ultrasound and bloodwork all came back clear. All that remained was my HSG. That's for another day.

Beginning Again

Cycle #12

After 10 months and 11 cycles TTC, my midwife sent me straight to the fertility clinic. Why didn't I talk to her sooner? Good effing question. We were just so sure that each cycle would be our last...

At this point, I accepted that we were going to need help. I started getting acupuncture before we even got to the RE. The Professor was taking all the recommended "manly" vitamins to give his boys an extra advantage. We began to discuss the possibility of one or both of us having a "problem". And we resolved to do everything in our power to overcome it.

The day we went for our first consult with the RE, I printed out my cycle spreadsheet and took it along with all of the other forms they had us fill out in advance. After 20 minutes of conversation, question and answer, and a review of my spreadsheet, we got a preliminary diagnosis. Luteal Phase Deficiency. Barring any other issues, this was imminently treatable! No problemo! Easy-peasy! As we began to discuss treatment plans, I felt it. I ovulated right there in the office. The previous day OPK had told me it was coming, and there it was.

The RE handed me a prescription for progesterone suppositories to begin that night. We were off and running. For a good twelve days, until my period showed up early.

In the Beginning

Cycle #1

The Professor and I were married in 2008 and decided that, come the New Year, we would start trying to expand our family from two to three. Three months out, I had a pre-TTC visit to the midwife and started popping prenatal vitamins and some extra vitamin D (when we discovered I was severely deficient).

In January 2009, I felt the thrill of a new adventure as I finished the last of my birth control pills and tossed the empty package into the bin. I think I may have even waved cheerfully good-bye to it. We decided that since I'd been on the pills for so many years, we shouldn't really try too hard that first month (I hear you laughing) and I am mildly obsessed with spreadsheets, so in addition to my monthly expenses sheet and my daily calories sheet, I started a cycle tracking sheet.

For the first time in 21 years, I ovulated (almost right on schedule). I will admit to being a little surprised. To my immense relief, age seemed to have mellowed the pain to the point of being bearable without medication. My period, when it arrived, was nothing to write home about.

Cycle #2-5

We were so blasé, so confident, so very naive. We were fully committed to maximizing our chances. I was carefully tracking and recording every detail of my cycle. We didn't get our groove on every day, but we came damn close! I was even feeling guilty for accepting my new job when I was sure to be taking maternity leave before the year was up.

*sigh*

Cycle #6-11

I know how old I am. In spite of the Professor's many assurances to the contrary, I was beginning to be concerned about how many months we'd been trying, given my age. I kept seeing references to the suggestion that women over 35 should see their doctor if they hadn't conceived in 6 months of diligent and purposeful intercourse.

But around cycle #6, I started to notice changes in my body. I had put on a few pounds, my hair had suddenly gotten much curlier than usual, my skin was beginning to break out and my periods were getting heavier. We decided that the birth control pills were maybe only just clearing out of my system. Maybe that was why I wasn't pregnant yet?

Because of my fanatical tracking, I knew we were nailing the timing and every month we were just certain that we'd finally done it. And every month, we were wrong.

In the midst of all this, my boss announced her pregnancy and my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer and shortly thereafter underwent a mastectomy. That's when I started having the heart palpitations.

Dad's Biggest Fear

My father's biggest fear from the time I left home home for college was that I would get knocked up before I found a husband. Funny, huh? He actually begged me once (after the Professor and I shacked up) to "please just don't get pregnant till you get married". Oh how I did laugh!

Diagnosed at the age of 15 with severe dysmenorrhea (with the expectation of eventual endometriosis), ovulation was so painful that it landed me in the ER repeatedly, and my periods were so painful, heavy and extended that I missed school each month and eventually became anemic. Treatment prescribed was good old birth control pills, and suddenly my life was changed.

I tried to go off my pills once in my twenties and landed right back in the ER. So back on the pills, and back in the game. Never a late period, never an "uh-oh" moment.

I used to joke to friends that if I ever got knocked up, they would know it was immaculate conception. Not far from the truth, and not so funny anymore.

Meet the Players

Hi! My name is Slackie O. and this is my husband, the Professor (he's wicked smart).

Nice to meet you, too!

We are two not-quite-as-young-as-we-used-to-be professionals, living our version of the high life. We met in college in 1995, shacked up in 2000 and made the whole thing official in 2008. We've seen enough of the world to know just how good we've got it.

As the side note says, we've been enjoying our glamorous and misspent youths. We were fans of dinner out, the latest gadgets and geekery, impromptu vacations and immediate gratification. Not so much fans of societal expectations, and not in much of a hurry. Two only children, determined to do things our own way, we still dig in our heels against any pressure from parents and friends. Childish perhaps, but hey, there's something to be said for self awareness.

We are that couple you see in the grocery store late at night, giggling in one aisle and then snuggling in the next. After 15 years, we're still THAT couple, that are clearly so crazy about each other, that can't quite keep their hands off each other, that kinda turn your stomach because they're just so damn cute.

Sorry. We like to think of ourselves as lucky.

The main reason we decided to make the whole thing official was that we reached a place where we felt like adding our child into the mix was finally right for us. That we love each other so much, that creating a new life together is the best way to express it. Up to that point, we hesitated to do anything that might undermine our relationship. Now, the potential benefits of expanding our family outweigh the risks to "US". We're a little less childish and a lot more confident in our relationship.

We are now coming to terms with the possibility that it might only ever be "just us", but we're still hoping for more.

And I'm sorry, but no, I will not watch my mouth!