Everydaystranger

27 February 2007
Seriously, If You Want Math Get a Calculator
So by checking on dates from my last cycle (aka The Cycle That Did Not End Well), I calculated that 8 days after my positive pregnancy test the spotting started. The spotting turned into bleeding. The bleeding turned into clots. The clots turned into a 3 month drinking binge.
I try to put it all behind me.
According to my blog last August, at Day 8 after testing I said I was 6 weeks 2 days pregnant. But on this cycle (and the four websites I checked) 8 days after my positive test last week I will be 5 weeks 3 days pregnant. Somewhere in my FET cycle, I think my math was wrong, which doesn’t really surprise me because although I can add and subtract sums in my head fast enough to impress Rain Man, in general I am complete shit at math, and I don’t mean that in a stereotypical “girls are bad at math, ooooh, let me braid your hair!” kind of way. I mean “I barely passed statistics in college” bad at math. Not all of us can be Pythagorus, a few of us have to be the ones who roll their eyes at their chicken scratching and wonder what we can spread some Nutella on.
Regardless, the 8 days after testing number is in my head like a worry sign. I know it’s ridiculous-in the new Parker Brothers home game of Pregnancy or Miscarriage? the 8 days means nothing. But still-despite me laughing off superstition like some “throw caution to the wind” maniac, I am superstitious. I have a lucky bracelet I’ve been wearing and a few days before the positive test, the clasp broke. I refused to take it in to be repaired as that takes a week, so it’s being held on with string. Aidan gave me a “lucky USB memory stick” to carry in my pocket when I passed my driving test, and he’s not getting that bad boy back for another two weeks. And I need a haircut, but both my IVF #1 (in which it was chemical) and my last FET (in which I miscarried) had bleeding start right about the time I sat my ass in the chair at the salon, so just call me Samson.
In the logical side of my brain – which is very tiny, roughly the size of a pea not a fresh one but a shriveled up bound for the compost heap size of one, but I do have a logical side – I know that none of this has any bearing on anything. In the A&E last August I remember a very kind, very caring Indian doctor saying softly to me that if the body is going to miscarry it’s going to miscarry and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. And I know in that logical part of my mind that he’s right, but the illogical hippy crunchy granola part of my mind is screaming: But I have a lucky USB stick! And lucky socks! And a lucky bracelet! Nothing bad can happen, right? Lalalalalala, I can’t hear you!
I try to avoid Google because I simply don’t want to start worrying. I have exactly two more weeks before the scan, and this period of 14 days of waiting is in my head like a neon bar light. There’s no reason to think I won’t make it to that point, only I feel my sphincter tighten at the misty memory of spotting in the bathroom before changing my name to Vanessa Chardonnay. I can’t tell you how afraid I am of that happening again, but then I think most of you know or understand yourself.
In symptom-ville, I am carrying on. I still have cramps, but they are getting less and less noticable. The puking has mostly stopped but I do have waves of nausea which I keep at bay by ensuring I eat a lot during the day (healthy food, all of it.) Strangely, I am unable to eat as much as I used to-I can be in the middle of a meal and my throat will tighten. My stomach takes on the ‘tude of a burly cafeteria lady and screams If you even THINK of taking another bite I’m going to make you regret it more than the time you mixed champagne, beer and orange juice in the same container! Don’t think I’m kidding, you little cuss!
I am continuing to lose weight, but I assure you it’s not from me trying to. I am not constipated (thanks, cyclogest!) but dear God the dizziness and exhaustion…I nap constantly. The couch is my bestest friend in the whole wide world, ever. Together we spend the odd half hour or hour curled up sleeping every day. I can fall asleep standing up. I can sleep sitting down. I can’t get enough sleep, and when I go to bed I’m out like a light. For someone who’s historically been an insomniac and spent many of her nights wondering which tablet to take just to get a few hours sleep, this is a surprise.
I have had to give up yoga for now, too. Not because it’s dangerous (I’ve been advised as to which moves are ok and which aren’t, and I’ve completely given up ashtanga yoga which I know is a no-no), but because I can’t lay face down on the mat because my breasts scream in outrage. I went on Saturday, and when I started to go into Cobra my breasts started singing soprano. I nearly whimpered. A grown woman, whimpering. So I go swimming several times a week and once I get the scan, I’ll take aqua classes. Why post-scan for the aqua classes you might ask (and even if you don’t, I’ll volunteer the answer anyway)? Because the only people in the aqua classes are old age pensioners and pregnant women, and going pre-scan will make me feel like a serious poseur.
So I’m 5 weeks 1 day pregnant today. I’ve had no spotting (else I would have been to the A&E already, I’m not one of those stoic types anymore, besides the fact that spotting can be perfectly harmless in pregnancy, it’s just the body’s way of jerking your chain and winding you up) and I try to keep my mind from wandering to the Dark Side, because the only thing on the Dark Side are empty wine calories, and I’m not ready for that yet.
Posted at 10:57 AM in IVF #3 (5) | Permalink | Comments (21) | TrackBack (0)

23 February 2007
This Thing Known as Pregnancy
Right, so…I’m pregnant.
Definitely pregnant.
The morning of the test, I woke up suddenly not because I knew it was test day (even though I knew it was and dreamt about it all night) but because I knew I had to go vomit (true, don’t roll your eyes like that!)
I’m currently battling every single symptom known to pregnant-dom-
- Breast tenderness (aka Sweet Jesus don’t touch them) – but I know that’s also progesterone-related. Although yesterday I got out of the shower to see massive veins on the top of my boobs. I’m sure boobs have veins and all, I just had never seen mine looking like someone had taken a “Windswept Water” crayola and gone to town with it before.
- Fatigue – I didn’t have this one the last time I was pregnant (all 2 weeks of it), and I laughed at the idea. I’m a long-term insomniac, fatigue just doesn’t hit me. Until now. Now, I take naps. I would take naps on top of naps. Yesterday I had to be in the office in London all day and I nearly crawled under the desk to just get some kip, I was so tired I was nearly in tears. I’m also still hideously dizzy a lot, and hopefully that’ll disappear soon.
- Nausea – Check. In fact, like Thalya, an empty stomach is a bad thing. I have to eat throughout the day in order to keep sickness at bay. I have indeed been puking. I don’t have morning sickness so much as “Surprise! I’m any time of the day!” sickness. Luckily, I can’t face junk food, chocolate, crisps, chips or anything like that. I want fruit and raw vegetables. So at least my hcg has a healthy slant to it.
- Constipation or wind – I don’t have constipation (thanks, progesterone bullets!) but I got you covered on the wind. I continue to blame it on the dog. He had it coming.
- Aversion to smell – check. Aidan likes Marmite on his toast for breakfast, and I have to get the hazmat kit out when the Marmite is broken out. The tube is something to be avoided-while not exactly Spring fresh smelling anyway, it’s almost untolerable. Yesterday on the tube a woman sat down next to me with a giant bag of fried plantain. I had to keep battling to keep the bile down, and thankfully only had to travel two stops with her, otherwise I definitely would have quietly said to her: “Uh, madame? I’m sure your fried plantain is lovely, but for the good of all the people packed into this tube car, for the love of Peter Pan, please close the fucking bag or everyone’s going to see a puking extravaganza.”
- Mood swings – oh God yes. Sometimes I’m angry. Other times, I tear up and would like to teach the world to sing (in perfect harmony.) TV makes me cry. A lot.
- Cramps and twinges – I do still have cramps and I have weird pulling sensations inside, like twinges. Also, my stomach feels like I’ve done 1,000 situps (which trust me, the thought of doing even one situp never crossed my mind).
I am actually losing weight, but maybe that’s the puking. I called the clinic on Wednesday to tell them the news and to get more cyclogest. Then I called back because I had a few questions-it was a different RE on the phone, and she wished me congratulations right away (news travels fast!) She confirmed it’s ok to start swimming now (which I have started to do). She also confirmed it was ok to start vacuuming again.
Whore.
(Just kidding, I love my clinic.)
I asked if I had to keep drinking the H20 equivalent of Niagara Falls still every day. She said yes.
Whore again.
(Just kidding again…mostly.)
We’ve booked my scan for the 13th of March. If I thought the 2ww was long (and I did), this feels like even further away. Christmas will come before that date. I’ll start drawing my pension before I get to the 13th. The 13th feels like that metaphorically hallway, the long one that keeps growing and you never get to the end of it, even though you’re running to the end. In slow motion. Knee-deep in maple syrup. While giving John Goodman a piggyback ride.
The scan will be the furthest I have gotten, if we get that far. Last time we were about 4 days away from the scan when I miscarried. The scan is some big golden ball in the sky for me, a target, a milestone. The scan – if I can keep from miscarrying – should show a heartbeat and if there are two of them it’ll be difficult, as Aidan worries the stress of twins will break us up, but I’m not going to worry about twins right now, at all. One step at a time. Please don’t have a go at me or think I’m ungrateful, I know you might think that I’m taking the whole pregnancy thing for granted by saying that, but I swear I’m not – I am absolutely, positively 100% thrilled to have gotten a positive, I’m just being mindful of Aidan’s wishes, too (but even if it’s twins, I honestly think he and I will make it through. It’ll be hard, I’ve no doubt about that, but I think we can pull it off and come out the other side just fine. I don’t want to debate it further, it’s bad karma.)
In all seriousness (hey-I can be serious), I force myself to not feel fear about miscarrying, even though it’s foremost in my mind. I continue to see a therapist, partly because I want to break patterns in the parenting style in my background, and he tells me to trust in Life-Life has been doing its gig a long time, and Life knows what to do (why yes, he’s a hippie, how did you guess?)
So I’m trying to trust. Last time I got knocked up at the same time as a load of other bloggers, and I was one of two who miscarried. This time I got knocked up at the same time as a load of other bloggers, and I tell myself that since my symptoms are so much bigger this time than last time, I’ll be ok. Because I feel so positive and am focusing on actually staying pregnant, I tell myself it’ll all be all right. I have to feel positive, I have to trust this time it’s going to work.
The truth is, on the pregnancy test on Wednesday, the positive came up bright and shiny. It came up before the control line even came up. I took one yesterday and the test line was twice as bright as the test line, and unless I start bleeding, it’ll be the last test I take (because the little plastic fuckers are looking at me and saying “Bitch, please-will you quit throwing away your money now?”)
If I bleed, I think I’ll just have to hang in there and trust in life…
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.
I crack myself up, if I start to bleed I’m racing to the local A&E, which has an Early Pregnancy Unit, and will be stuffing up my hooch anything remotely resembling an ultrasound wand, so those kidney-shaped bedpans better lube up.
March 13. I have to get to March 13. And it sounds all Love Child and weird, but I’m going to try to trust in Life and in my body, and buckle myself in. In the meantime, I’m just glad to have gotten as far as I have.
Posted at 08:56 AM in IVF #3 (5) | Permalink | Comments (25) | TrackBack (0)

21 February 2007
Cabin Announcement
Hello and welcome on board!
Let’s take a moment to familiarize yourself with this cabin-there is one emergency exit located at the bottom of the plane. In the event of an emergency, please ensure you’ve removed your high heels before jumping on the big pink emergency exit slide as you could puncture or tear it. Our aircraft is secured with safety belts, we ask that you remain firmly strapped in for the entirety of the flight. Our flight duration is estimated at 35 weeks and upon arrival, the local time will be some time in October. I will be coming around to serve refreshments but please don’t ask for meat as that will cause a moral dilemma.
We know you have a choice of airlines, so on behalf of the captain and co-pilot, we hope you have a wonderful and successful journey and we’d like to thank you for flying Air Pregnant.
Continue reading “Cabin Announcement” »
Posted at 07:06 AM in IVF #3 (5) | Permalink | Comments (83) | TrackBack (0)

20 February 2007
13dp2dt
Tomorrow is the day.
The big test day.
Must find number 2 pencil…
As usual, I don’t have a beta-in general they don’t do betas here. We get a super-sensitive medical pregnancy test that requires us to pee in a cup and use a little stopper to deposit the wee on a tiny spot of the test. It’s impossible to hit it exactly, so of course my germ-phobia goes overtime and I get out the Hazmat gear to clean up a few drops of urine. So I’ll be doing my super-sensitive test first thing in the morning and see what happens.
I remember watching that BBC series, that Child Against All Odds one, and seeing the episode about egg sharing. Two couples went through it- one couple up north and one Welsh couple. The northern couple didn’t produce enough eggs to share, so she kept them all but didn’t get pregnant. The Welsh couple had 8 eggs, so they kept 4, and transferred 2.
On test day there she was with the same test we have. She had her plastic cup and test with her as she joined her husband in the living room. Placing the kit on the coffee table, she took her stopper and sucked up the nice yellow stuff and held it fucking miles over the test. Urine went on the coffee table.
ON THE COFFEE TABLE.
I couldn’t stop staring at it.
“Clean it up!” I shrieked. “Oh my God, there’s urine on the coffee table! Infection! Danger! Massive grossness! Clean it up! Clean it the fuck up!”
My priorities are definitely in order.
Anyway, her test came up positive, and the first thing she did? Oh my god. The first thing she did was ring what seemed like her entire village to tell everyone within a 3 mile radius that she was pregnant. I couldn’t tear my eyes away, it was like watching a two headed zebra. I felt like I could have stopped her, I felt like if I screamed loud enough she could hear me and put the phone down. You don’t tell people in real life this early! my mind roared. Danger Will Robinson, danger! But ring she did, and she went on to have a beautiful little girl.
In my own cycle, I’m actually doing ok-I feel pretty positive and chipper, this isn’t consuming every waking minute of my thoughts, and in fact I’m going to seduce the boy as soon as he gets back from the gym this morning. See? I can think about other things.
If my test is positive, then we won’t be telling anyone in real life until the second trimester. If it’s positive I’ll be over the moon, but also really, really terrified-I don’t want to miscarry again. I can’t face it, I think if a miscarriage is in the cards it may be the end of my spectacular IVF career at the tender age of 32 (ok, I’m almost 33, but let’s not split hairs.)
It’s naive, but if it’s positive I think I’ll be ok from the heartbeat on. I know things can still go wrong and I’m sure I’ll be a bit worried, but the heartbeat is what I’m focussing on.
Stupidly, I feel like 2007 is my year. IT’S MY YEAR. I got engaged, passed my driving test, and have gotten out of a horrible project at work already. All that and it’s not even the end of February yet. It’s also the Year of the Golden Boar, which happens in the Chinese calendar only once every 60 years. The Chinese New Year kicked off on the 18th, and the Year of the Golden Boar is a symbol of fertility and prosperity. Children born during this year are said to be honest, loyal and hard-working. I’m being stupid I’m sure, but if 2007 is my year, the Year of the Golden Boar could also be my year. Why not? I’ve never really eaten pork, isn’t it some kind of synchronicity (can you say “straws” and “clutching at”?)
All this makes me feel like I’ve been counting my blastocysts before they’ve hatched (oh come on, like you’ve never thought that!)
I’ve thought a lot about if it’s negative, too. If it’s negative we’re going on a nice long holiday in either April or June with Aidan’s kids (we usually go away in February, but this cycle got in the way.) No IVF will be considered until after we return, so it’ll be a very long gap. It’ll also be out of our own pocket, as you’re only allowed to donate twice in the UK and we’ve just done that.
It will also be the last IVF cycle.
So we’ll see tomorrow. In terms of symptoms, I have a lot of indigestion and some feelings of nausea, particularly if my stomach is empty, but that could be down to the medication. My breasts are white hot molten mounds of pain but I know for a fact the progesterone causes that. I get headaches and am extremely tired, but then I’m not sleeping so well, either. I’ve had no spotting and my knickers generally look like they’re a new home to a snail trailer park. I do have loads and loads of cramps, but that could be either wind (yup, still have it) or my period about to arrive (I refuse to call it AF-I’m not twelve, I don’t need to butter it up into something cute and cheerful reminiscent of Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle or anything like that. It’s a fucking period, and it’ll remain so).
In short, I just don’t know.
But in less than 24 hours, I will.
Posted at 09:18 AM in IVF #3 (5) | Permalink | Comments (21) | TrackBack (0)

16 February 2007
Reaching Out To Whomever
Dear Oprah,
I’m inches away from taking a home pregnancy test, and as I’m only nearing 10dp2dt, this is a bad thing. Please help me Oprah. Maybe if I reach under my chair you can have hidden a whole unopened pack of hpts. I’d prefer First Response Early Results, as they’re supposed to be the bestest and the Waitrose near us has the crap ones. I don’t think it’s too much to ask-if you can give away cars, you can surely give away some plastic I can pee on.
Thanks O.
Love,
Vanessa

Dear God,
Hi. How’s things? OK, so, I know in the global scheme of things I’m small potatoes (plus there’s that nagging fact that I haven’t been to church in, oh, 20 years, but let’s not split hairs, m’kay?) but I could use some help. See, I’m almost 10dp2dt and I really want to take a home pregnancy test. I know I’m not supposed to do anything like that for 4 more days, but I tell ya’, Big Guy-this is whipping me. I feel my bladder start to let loose if I even see something resembling an hpt. I saw a wrapped plastic Marks and Spencers fork earlier and I think I spent a penny just in anticipation of peeing on that bad boy. Can you help an insignificant little nobody out, God? Can you either throw an hpt down the stairs as a sign that yes, you agree I should test, or else make my bladder shrivel up and turn to dust so that I won’t be able to (but let’s keep that condition temporary, yes?)
Love,
Vanessa
PS-I’m very sorry I lied that one time. I’m all about the penance, really. Now, about that hpt?
PPS-And, um, if you could make the hpt positive, that’d be perfect, too. I’m not trying to bother you or ask for too much, but, um, FIVE ROUNDS OF IVF, God. FIVE ROUNDS. Help a girl out? Please?
Posted at 10:35 PM in IVF #3 (5) | Permalink | Comments (16) | TrackBack (0)

15 February 2007
Passing Time (and Gas) at 8dp2dt
I woke up this morning feeling a little less positive and giving in a bit to the dark side – what if it’s not working? The nausea has abated a lot, is that a bad sign? Blah, blah, blah.
No idea if it’s working or not, and 6 more days to go until I test, and I can tell you-the urge to take a home pregnancy test is stronger than it’s ever been on any cycle before.
So anyway, while I sit out the 2ww I give you a true tale that heretofore only Statia and her dear husband Dink knew about. Brace yourself-it’s TMI, but I figure you’ve probably read worse here.
Last cycle the cyclogest suppositores (also called pessaries) were really acting up with me. I suffer from IBS, so as you can imagine shoving a waxy vegetable-oil based bullet up the backside tends to complicate things. I had asked the RE if I could, um, switch holes, and she said yes I could after a week of testing out my colon.
On the last day of testing out my colon, I was really gassy. It was so humiliating, and they were the horrible kind of farts that make you think Christ, I hope she didn’t follow through with that one, because dear God, the SMELL. (I never followed through, I swear.) That morning I did the usual-got up, peed, dropped trou, and then put a little water on the top of the pessary to insert (what? My ass is not a welcoming committee, it needs a bit of motion lotion to get the pessary party started.) This was done in conjunction of the company of my cat Maggie, who likes to sit on the edge of the bathtub and keep us company in our morning ablutions.
I bent over.
I pushed the pessary in.
And-oh God, I can’t believe I have so little to tell you that I’m bring this story out-it apparently hit a gas pocket, as that little fucker shot right out of me like a hormonal cannon ball act and rolled onto the bathroom floor.

To add insult to injury, Maggie jumped off the tub and started playing with it, which commenced with me shrieking “Maggie no! Musn’t touch! Dirty! DIRTY!”
My humiliation was massive. I plucked the pessary from its feline tormentor, sighed, threw it away, and tried again with a fresh one.
Yeah. So I can give those Thai acts with their ping pong ball acts a run for their money now.
Trying to keep sane, and trying to stay positive here
Posted at 11:52 AM in IVF #3 (5) | Permalink | Comments (24) | TrackBack (0)

13 February 2007
Heading Towards 7dp2dt
Right, so it’s maybe nothing. Nothing at all. I could have the flu (I’ve had the sniffles, big time, this past weekend.) It could be a virus. Maybe I have bird flu. It’s totally bird flu. It could be psychosomatic, because I’ve been down this road before, and because I want a positive very much.
I still have sore breasts, but again I know that’s the cyclogest ass bullets talking. My knickers look like someone blew their nose in them (that’s so hot, I know.) I’m very tired but I know that’s also the cyclogest, it does that to me.
I have had period-like cramps that were stronger than the average bear period cramp. I had a bad one last night, then one on the escalator at Leicester Square tube station today. At the tube station I was also hit by waves of nausea. Then I nearly passed clean out (and not in an elegant “I have the vapors” kind of way, more in a “Jesus she’s going to go!” kind of way.) I didn’t faint, the world just got a bit black before my eyes and not because I saw naked pictures of Delia Smith or anything, but I was ok after that.
I have been feeling very pukey all evening.
I’m going to err on the side of “it’s probably bird flu” as I really, really don’t want to feel like a dick in a week’s time.
Posted at 07:31 PM in IVF #3 (5) | Permalink | Comments (13) | TrackBack (0)

11 February 2007
4dp2dt, Otherwise Known As I’m Bringing the Caftan Back
So…
Yeah…
Um, I’m here. Hanging out. Trying to relax. It’s a bit hard when there are two teenagers in the house (Aidan’s visiting daughter and her best friend) who somehow ALWAYS manage to find the 24-hour “All Beyonce” channel, which has to be played at volumes that people in Belgium can hear. This, and I can’t. Fucking. Stand. Beyonce (and that whole Destiny’s Child thing, I hate them too, I’m not picky.)
I’m also going to disable my iDeck soon, too, because if they keep slapping their iPod nanos on there and playing Guns and Roses I’m going to have to check in to a mental facility. That’s right-GUNS AND ROSES. Fucking Sweet Child of Mine has played 1,000 times. I didn’t like that song when I was in puberty, I sure don’t like it now (and how embarrasing that was- the song came on while I was cooking dinner. “Oh,” says ignorant I, “I remember this song from when I was a teen.” “Yeah,” comes the teenage reply. “It’s totally an old song.” I just kept stirring and internally remonstrated myself for wanting to retort with “Bite me.”)
You might be able to tell the progesterone is really affecting my mood.
If you can’t tell, well…lemme’ just say this-GODDAMN IT I’M ANGRY ALOT.
That and annoyed with the waxy bullets in general-they’re not fun to put in (now why do you think the instructions feel they need to mention to wash one’s hands after insertion? Huh? Why? I’m supposed to stick these things one inch up my rectal passage and they think the idea of washing my hands hasn’t occurred to me? Really? Just the fact alone that my finger has been up my ass makes me want to take a flame thrower to my digits, let alone wash them off. My hands are now so chapped from washing I could use them to loofah the soles of my feet.) The pessaries leak a bit which is ultimately humiliating. They also give me wind that gives the dog a run for his money, and when I let one go he and I both look confused as to where that sound came from…and then we hurriedly leave the room.
Things are ongoing. As far as how I’m doing, I can tell you my breasts are so sore I’m thinking of resorting to wearing a caftan. I’m bringing the caftan back. The caftan will absolutely make my girls feel better. I know the boobs is a symptom of the progesterone, I had them before the transfer even, but it makes wearing a bra practically unbearable (so whip ‘em off ladies! Screw the establishment!)
I have a lot of uterine cramps and twinges, but that could be just because a whole lot of activity has been going on in the party known as my reproductive organs. I threw out half of my smoked salmon this morning because I thought it tasted funny, but then maybe it did taste funny (although Aidan says his was fine.) I have heatburn, but I’m stressed about a lot of things and my ulcer went off anyway. In short, I have no idea how I’m doing.
I can tell you I pathologically hate Beyonce’s music, does that help?
Posted at 11:05 AM in IVF #3 (5) | Permalink | Comments (17) | TrackBack (0)

7 February 2007
Air Force One
We went to acupuncture first, as I’m following the German protocol, which means acupuncture directly before and directly after transfer. I was feeling slightly nervous and very stressed-we had a huge row in our household last night (think slamming doors and hurled insults and you’d be about right) and our moods weren’t the best ever. He worked on his laptop while I got needled (not because he was angry with me, but because he doesn’t do needles.)
Then we went to the clinic.
The clinic was oddly silent-not many couples around, not a lot of action. We get called in to the transfer room by the Australian nurse and I get ready. I really like the Australian nurse-she’s no nonsense, friendly, and easygoing. Plus? The day that they took 5 tries to get blood from my measly veins? The mild-mannered nurse looked at me and said “I’m going to go get Mary. She’s Australian. She used to work in an Australian A&E. She can get blood from anything.” I remember feeling slightly faint at the prospect, they made it sound like she could kick some Crocodile Dundee ass while hungover and PMS-ing, but sure enough Mary did get blood and her draw was the only one that didn’t leave a bruise.
Mary asked me to undress from the waist down, wear ths nice blue sheet, and hop on the table. I did so, and she asked me if I was ok.
“Are you kidding?” I crack, just as the door opens and the RE, another nurse and the head consultant walk in. “I’m so used to undressing these days that I drop my pants if you so much as shine a flashlight at me.”
I realized with horror that several people heard that.
At least they laughed.
We went through the details, and the consultant told me that I had two embryos ready to go, both of them at the 3-cell level and both grade 2.
I was shocked at how short bus my embryos were.
“No no no,” he replied. “Actually they’re right on target. We’re happy with them. We’d recommend that you transfer both-” this is huge as they’re big on advising patients to transfer only one – “but we see lots of babies from embryos just like these. Your chances are great.”
Then they brought the embryos on screen, and up came the sound of happy voices. It turns out one of the embyros had just divided, and as we watched the other one divided as well. It was a familiar scenario. I take heart in the dividing happening while we watch.
So in they went, I didn’t feel a single thing (my cervix is like a Hefty bag-you can puncture it but it can still hold all of your Autumn leaf refuse) and I got acupuncture once more, and now I’m home.
And positive.
And I’ve called in sick for the rest of the week because I hate my fucking job so much I think that the stress is just not needed. Also, Aidan’s teenage daughter and her friend arrive tomorrow for a long weekend, and I just feel my priorities should be my family, not the office stewpot I know of as my job.
Liberty Two-Four is now changing call signs; Liberty Two-Four is now Air Force One!
(I know it’s lame, I just thought that when they transferred them earlier. It’s not a great film and I don’t expect the president to ride in my uterus, although my mind is RIFE with jokes about that, I tell you.)
Am going to the couch now, for an afternoon and evening of taking it easy.
PS-we finally remembered to bring the camera. I give you the passengers of my jumbo jet:

Posted at 03:37 PM in IVF #3 (5) | Permalink | Comments (33) | TrackBack (0)
06 February 2007
Report Card
Of the four embryos I got in the Great Embryo Draw of 2007, only two fertilized.
As they’ve only fertilized and further cell division won’t happen before this afternoon or this evening, we don’t have a quality grade on them for now.
We’re set for transfer tomorrow at 1:15, provided that the two survive (and they have a 95% chance of continuing to grow so I’m going to think and hope that they make it.) We will be transferring both, which is the legal maximum for how many embryos a 32 year-old is allowed to transfer in England, but is also the maximum we’d transfer anyway. I know “it only takes one”, as Aidan has been saying, and it’s true, but I’ve had better cycles than this with poor outcomes, cycles where I had enough embryos to inseminate whole prides of pachyderms. I just have to hope that my first (and hopefully only) crappy cycle changes the pattern for us, that the outcome is different, and I’m going to try to stay positive today anyway. It can’t hurt, right?
Truthfully, it does save us from some potentially painful choices. While we hoped that they would all fertilize so that we could have some choices (like testing the ripe apples at the local Sainsbury’s and rejecting the one with the slightest bruise), we figured that only 3 out of 4 would fertilize. We’d put back the best two, and then the third? Well, we weren’t actually planning on freezing the one that we didn’t put back-it costs us about £1600 to have a frozen cycle, whereas a fresh cycle is £2500 and has much better odds. It was a sort-of painful choice (how do you walk away from the possibility of one working?) but we just didn’t think it made financial sense to freeze one lone embryo at £1600 as well as pay £2500 for a fresh cycle (because we would go ahead with the fresh cycle and lump the frozens together like one big stereotype party). I guess just having two means we get out of playing the embryonic version of Sophie’s Choice.
Here’s to hoping that the two continue to divide and grow and kick some quality ass.
We couldn’t be cutting this any closer if we tried.
Posted at 09:11 AM in IVF #3 (5) | Permalink | Comments (21) | TrackBack (0)

05 February 2007
Retrieval
Retrieval went better than last time-less pain, no pethidine needed. I was home by 1 pm, but have been really dozy from the anesthetic today, so combined with the downstairs PC committing suicide, I haven’t been able to update (and am going back to bed once this post is uploaded).
Things are a little bit concerning-while the clinic is optimistic that we will have something to transfer on Wednesday, I not only had record low numbers of eggs, but the quality varied-2 were mature, the majority were borderline, and 2 looked “faint, but still a possibility”, whatever the hell that means. They said not to get too hung up on egg quality, as it’s fertilization and quality of the embryos that counts, so I’m remaining calm.
I am also remaining optimistic, despite being a veteran at this IVF business, despite the odds, despiet the danger of being so positive.
We should get a phone call first thing tomorrow updating the time for transfer and how well the embryos are doing.
For those who said “Please please please” with me, I thank you. If you have a god, an idol, a mantra, a prayer, if you want to keep saying that, it would mean a lot to me. We are not out of the woods yet-there’s still the hope that as the clinic sleeps my little guys keep dividing, and then hope for transfer, hope for implantation, hope for sticking around 8.5 months and, well, you know the drill.
I could use all the help I can get.
Because something out there helped me (and if it’s you, I thank you and I love you).
This morning, they retrieved exactly 8 eggs.
Posted at 07:09 PM in IVF #3 (5) | Permalink | Comments (18) | TrackBack (0)

02 February 2007
FUCK
The rules have changed:
1) If we get 8 eggs, the donee gets 4 and I get 4.
2) If we get 7 eggs, the donee decides if she wants to take 3 and give us the other 4. If she chooses not to take the 3 (which I don’t imagine why she wouldn’t) I get the 7 eggs free of charge.
3) If I get less than 7, I can choose to either give her all of the eggs or keep them myself-if I keep them, it’s no cost to me, and if I give her the lot, then my next cycle at the clinic is free of charge.
The scan today revealed 5 follicles looking the right size for retrieval. There are 6 that are on the small side, ranging 8-12mm-this is smaller than they hope for at this stage. My lining is over-the-moon perfect at 16.5mm, which the RE called “fat”, and which is the first time I am ok with being called fat.
They want to go ahead with embryo retrieval on Monday-if we wait until Wednesday, we will likely lose the bigger follicles.
I need to take two more massive stim doses in hopes of getting the smaller ones larger. I take the trigger shot of Pregnyl on Saturday night. Retrieval is set for first thing Monday morning.
I am abject over the whole thing. I am struggling to stay as positive as I was. My acupuncturist kindly put it to me last night that the truth is, I simply wasn’t stimulated enough, I just needed higher doses than last time. He says that I need to think of myself and not the other woman for now. But even if we get 8 eggs, it means that this cycle will be just a fresh one-I sincerely doubt there will by anything left to freeze.
If I get less than 7 we agreed that we would give the lot to the other woman. Mostly we’d be doing so because we feel that she’s been waiting 18 months and placing as many dreams as I have on this-if she doesn’t get my lot she goes to the back of the queue again, and if she’s an older woman, that will mean party over for the IVF chances, something that we are agreed is not ok.
I keep crying. Aidan is in a ferocious mood-the clinic didn’t give us enough medication and so I have to go back to the clinic, which is over an hour in total travel time. We are already in an argument (you know it’s bad when you ask for a hug and some support and they come up to you, hug you, and say “There. You happy now?” in a really-I-don’t-care-if-you’re-happy-or-not tone of voice. It’s also bad when I’m spinning like a top and can’t quit stressing, I know I’m not easy to live with then).
I need to get more than 8 eggs for this egg share stress to stop but the problem is even if there’s 8, my 4 eggs for me is not a bumper crop by any stretch, especially comparted to my last cycle where I had 19. I know there’s nothing I can do one way or another, and at some point I hope I stop stressing about it, but I’m not there yet.
I need 8.
Please let the little ones catch up. Please. Please please please.
I have nothing funny for today, not in the slightest.
Posted at 12:09 PM in IVF #3 (5) | Permalink | Comments (27) | TrackBack (0)