And The Award Goes To...

ME! And you and you and you and you and you and you! A very kind soul has nominated me for a Liebster Award, and I am happy and grateful to accept it. I have been gifted by Rice Cakes and Redemption, a thoughtful, fellow run-on-sentence blogger struggling with endometriosis, repeat IVF failure, and pursuing foster adoption to add to her family built through foster adoption. Whew! Please check her out.

With honor comes responsibility, so the rules are:

 1. Recognize the blogger who gave you the reward
 2. Nominate at least 5 (or however many you can come up with, less or more) bloggers with less than 200 followers (leave a comment letting them know they've been honored)
 3. Answer 10 questions given to you by the blogger who nominated you
 4. Give 10 questions to the bloggers you yourself nominate.

You don't have to play along, I won't be offended if you decide not to, but it can be fun and it's a great way to find new people to connect with! Viva la networking... And who doesn't like to be recognized for awesomeness?

My nominees are (and forgive me if I'm cheating, because followers aren't clearly visible on some, and pageviews aren't the same as followers so I'm not sure how to do this but whatever, enjoy your recognition...) in no particular order:

          1. A Boy, A Girl, & A Cat
          2. The Unexpected Trip
          3. Just A Little Off Kilter
          4. And The Vial Makes Three
          5. Teach Me To Braid
          6. Operation Baby Gage

These ladies are funny, they are inspiring, they touch me with their candor. Just in case you need a heads up, #5 and #6 are pregnant. So much love in this little group. So many chuckles in the middle of the crap soup that is infertility, no matter what part of the journey you're on or what methods you need to get to that family that, let's face it, should really be free.

Ok, question time! Here are mine that I got from Ms. Rice Cakes: 

1.     What is your #1 pet peeve?

Hmmmm. I have many, but #1 is probably not saying "thank you." When someone holds the door for you, take the nanosecond it takes to say "thank you." When someone lets you cut in when there's traffic, wave a little. When you drop something and someone picks it up for you, say "thank you." I don't think you can be too busy to show a little gratitude. And it so irks me when that seems to be the case. (I may possibly occasionally add in a little sarcastic "YOU'RE WELCOME!" when this does not happen.)

2.     Why did you start blogging?

I started blogging when I entered into the IVF phase of infertility, had just failed my first IVF, and felt strongly that I should speak out about it. I wanted to educate people on the realities of infertility, make the emotional crap more visible, be a resource on all things infertility for other people (I am an obsessive researcher), and just vent my feelings. I process through writing, and this blog has helped me in more ways than I can count. The fact that I've gotten proof that it's helped others makes me feel incredibly lucky to be a part of this community (which is kind of sick), but in the way that if I have to eat this shit sandwich, then at least I can make it as tasty as possible and share my tips with others. (Sorry for the analogy. Gross.)

3.     Biggest blogging related fear?

That I am misunderstood. I have been misunderstood before and it hurts. Also that sometimes nobody reads it, and while I do this primarily for me and if no one reads it I shouldn't be sad, who am I kidding? You put this out there to have people read it and have some kind of reinforcement for baring your soul so publicly. Sometimes you wonder if you wrote something weird, or if you're the only one who felt a certain way about a certain situation. 

4.     Best advice you ever got?

You cannot control the things that happen to you, or things that other people say or do. You can only control the way that you choose to deal with them. Attitude is everything. It's not easy, but you can let go of the choices that other people make. Your own choices are hard enough. (I have had a wonderful therapist for some time.)

5.     First job?

Ha! First illegal job was working as a "model" at Macy's spraying passersby with perfume at the tender age of 12 or 13. Made me feel bad for the perfume sprayers for the rest of my life. First actual job with a pay stub and taxes taken out was when I was 14. I was a crewmember of the YCC (Youth Conservation Corps), working for the county Parks department to blaze trails, build boardwalks, maintain county parks. Oh, and I was the only girl on my crew. That was AWESOME. (I did it a second summer, was NOT the only girl, and now knew how to draw male genitalia on fogged up windows from the gems in my previous experience.) I am a master of character-building experiences.

6.     Secret dream job?

Well, it wouldn't be a secret then, would it? :) Honestly, I love teaching and if all the bureaucracy stuff could magically go away and I could just focus on helping students learn and love learning, it would be even more swell. Also I would love to be a stay at home mom for a longer period of time than I fear I will actually be able to, and without the danger of losing my hard-won and impossible-to-regain teaching job in this climate. 

7.     Favorite household chore? Least favorite household chore? (that’s a two-fer)

I actually love vacuuming. No joke. I HATE scrubbing out the tub/shower. So awkward and unrewarding.

8.     Biggest risk you ever took & would you do it again?

Even though it led to the best things in my life ever, leaving my ex-husband was an incredibly big risk. I was kissing 30, finishing my master's in education and about to be student teaching (aka paying to work), and had spent nearly 10 years convinced I did NOT deserve better. I had no money, was scared I'd be alone forever, and uncertain of my job prospects. But I did it, even though everyone who was hoping I'd do it was unsure I'd actually do it, and I realized that I WAS worthy of so much more and I WOULD be ok and WOW could my life be a zillion times better. Hell yes I'd do it again. I would have put proposing to my husband, which I did via letter, but I was pretty sure he'd say yes so it wasn't a huge risk (although still scary). And if I hadn't taken that other risk I would never have met my wonderful husband to propose to him in the first place. So there it is! 

9.     Best vacation EVER (one you have already taken)?

Hmmmmm. I have to say going to a camp on a pond in Maine, near Bar Harbor. It is the most complete relaxation we have ever experienced. A week of hiking, kayaking, reading, coloring, cooking, eating out, drinking wine on the deck, climbing the pink granite coastline... it's just heaven. And lots of lobster in butter. Mmmmmm. (Sadly, infertility has interfered with this vacation the past few years, which makes us very depressed. Hopefully this year we get to go again.)

10. All-time favorite movie?

Ooooh, tough one. I love, love, love When Harry Met Sally. It's funny, it's heartwarming, it's real, it has THE BEST LINES EVER, and is timeless despite the horribly late-80s clothing and hair. I also love Bridget Jones' Diary, because it is also funny and real and has THE BEST LINES EVER (they tie). 

Ok, nominees, here are your questions to answer--have fun!: 

1. If you could go back in time to relive any memory, what would it be?

2. What is the food or beverage that you absolutely cannot live without?

3. When did you decide to start your blog?

4. What is your favorite room in your home and why?

5. What's your favorite quote (or one of your favorite quotes)?

6. All-time favorite book? 

7. What has been your favorite job over the years? 

8. If you could go back to school for anything other than what you went for, what would it be?

9. What is the weirdest advice that anyone has ever given you?

10. What song lifts you up when you're feeling down?

There it is, ladies. Congratulations and have at it! I can't wait to learn a bit more about you. And thanks again, Redemption and Rice Cakes!

PS -- I apologize for the weird formatting, cut-and-paste is apparently not very blog-to-blog friendly. :( Thanks to my much more tech-savvy husband for fixing the weird white blocks this appeared before it was 8 different fonts and sizes... 

Being a Teacher is Hard. Being An Infertile Teacher is Harder.

I love teaching, but there is no way that you can say that it isn't hard. It is, as my 95 year old grandmother (a retired middle school English teacher), would say, "a jealous mistress." You do it because you love it, certainly not for money or recognition or advancement opportunities. I love teaching Resource Room, self-contained Reading and English, and pushing into a general education English class, all at the 8th grade level. I love 8th graders, because they are in this funny middle place between childhood and adolescence (although lately it seems like it is entirely adolescence and I feel like 8th graders didn't look like THIS years ago...). They are testing out their personalities and testing out limits and discovering who they are. They are brutally honest. They have a goofy sense of humor. They need a lot of wrangling.

None of my 8th graders know that I have been trying, unsuccessfully and with much heartbreak, and over a long period of time, to have a baby. I have been told I look young for my age, and most of my students guess I'm between 28-30. (Thank you, completely blind students, possibly who have issues with math.) So maybe it's not weird to them that I don't have kids of my own yet. And it hasn't explicitly come up, so I don't really talk about it. Boundaries and all. Last year, in one of my 9th grade classes, I had a student flat out ask me how come I don't have any kids. Verbatim, "How come you don't have kids, Mrs. T? Do you not want kids?" I didn't know what to do other than to tell the (very general) truth. I said, "Well, I'd actually love to have kids. But sometimes you just don't get want you want. I hope to have kids, it just hasn't worked out yet." It was dead silent in the class, the student who asked said, "oh," and another student said, "That's SO SAD." And I said "yes, it is so sad" and then tried to steer the conversation back to Earth Science or ancient river civilizations or multiplying radicals or Great Expectations so that I didn't cry all over my lovely students.

That hasn't happened this year, which is just fine by me. However, sometimes class discussions end up in directions that just turn out to be heartwrenching and I have a hard time keeping Infertile Jess out of School Jess. I do a pretty good job compartmentalizing. I can be School Jess most of the time and tamp Infertile Jess down with very few (but spectacular) exceptions. Today was hard. Today I had to employ every strategy in my arsenal to not get sarcastic and/or burst into tears and/or have a complete meltdown and/or give 5th period English a detailed education in infertility.

You see, we are reading The Giver. Every year I read this book at least once, sometimes twice, because I teach it in Special Class English and I support it in Resource Room and this year I teach (or support) it in the gen ed English class. That's a lot of dystopia. The thing about The Giver, which I've actually written about before, is that it brings up all sorts of questions that are, uh, interesting for discussion in general but particularly if you have experience with infertility treatment. In this novel, a boy named Jonas lives in a Community that is carefully controlled so that everything is perfect, there is no conflict, hunger, unemployment, obesity, divorce, etc. -- because there is no choice. Families are made by successful adults applying for a child, and when that application is approved by the Elders they receive their new baby at the Ceremony of One, which takes place every year at the same time. New babies are cared for at the Nurturing Center, where all the pesky fresh baby stuff is handled -- learning to sleep at night, controlling crying, making babies as convenient as possible. Spouses (who had to apply for that privilege as well and are matched according to optimal compatibility) can have a maximum of two children, one boy and one girl. There is no sex and no romantic love because as soon as you become an adolescent, and you get the Stirrings, you must report it so that you can start taking a daily pill that will suppress those feelings and hormones and will make life so, so much simpler and free of strife.

So, where do these children come from, you might ask? (Unless you've read the book, which I really recommend, because it's a fabulous story despite the pain it causes me ALL THE TIME.) The new babies that enter the Nurturing Center are grown by Birthmothers. These are women carefully selected for the job, usually not the brightest bulbs in the pack but they have optimal fertility (at 12-13, which when the kids realize how this works they go EWWWWWW). They are perfect for the job. They are Birthmothers for a maximum of three years, where they live in relative luxury, eating delicious food, doing gentle exercises, and having minimal responsibility. Just brewing those fresh little babies. After their job is done they work mundane hard labor jobs for the rest of their lives until they enter The House of the Old. In this community, being a Birthmother has very little honor.

There are some benefits to this situation--if I lived in this Community, I would not qualify as a Birthmother, but my infertility would be a moot point since I'd apply for children and they'd be given to me. Sometimes students equate this with adoption, not realizing that with adoption you don't "apply" and then just get handed a baby at a yearly ceremony. But that's not what upset me. Neither is the usually somewhat awkward conversation about how Birthmothers get pregnant, since there's no talk of Birthfathers, and sex is not a part of this society. I usually explain in fairly deep detail how you can medically impregnate someone without any sex at all--just a woman, a catheter, and some sperm. I explain (appropriately) insemination and how even in our society, there are people who have difficulty getting pregnant the "regular" way and need medical technology to help. I say all this with a straight face, without at all revealing that I know all this from personal experience. I don't cry, I don't turn red, I don't start spurting all about my close relationship with that process. Sometimes students think it's weird. This year they were much more weirded out by the Stirrings conversation (awkward) and not by the insemination conversation.  So nope, that's not what put me over the edge this year.

This year, today, in fact, the discussion turned to how come there's no bullying in this Community. The role of parents. How parents are very responsible and there are a lot of rules and everyone does a good job instilling politeness and relying on each other and responsibility. How one reason why you know these parents will do a good job is that they must apply for children, that they must prove they are responsible, that they aren't just GIVEN children. And then started the comparison to our society. The English teacher I work with is in his forties and has three children which I assume were conceived without much effort and carried no issue. Because what followed was this:

English Teacher: What does it take to have children in our society?
My head: TENS OF THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS AND A STRONG STOMACH FOR INJECTIONS
ET: Do you have to pass a test?
Student: Yeah, a pregnancy test!
CLASS LAUGHS HYSTERICALLY
MH: Yeah, plus a clomid challenge test, an HSG, a hysteroscopy, a saline sonohistogram, an FSH and AmH draw, a laparoscopy, an autoimmune panel, a karyotype...etc etc etc. And I keep failing my pregnancy test.
ET: You're RIGHT! There's no TEST. There's no REQUIREMENTS. All you have to do is GET BUSY. ANYONE can have a baby! ANYONE! You don't have to do much at all.
MH: OH HOLY JEEZUM ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW. NOT ANYONE, actually. (my cheeks start getting hot)
ET: Think about it--what test to people have to do to have a baby? Do you need a license? Think of all the people who have babies without thinking about it. Who don't think about the responsibility. Who can't take care of them, but did they have to APPLY? NO. In our world, all you need to do to have a baby is, what did we call it the other day? SETTLE DOWN. (Settle down is a euphemism for have sex, as in "You get married and then you settle down" -- a reference to the fabulous conversation about the Stirrings.)
MH: I think I might cry. All I can think about now is all the idiots out there who should have a license to conceive, but they don't and they can and I CAN'T. Why can't he say MOST people? I wonder how many students in here will find out they are infertile later. 1 in 8, people, 1 in 8. Oh, and I needed a psychological evaluation to do a donor egg cycle that we may not have even needed to do and we will need to fill out a short novel in paperwork if we decide on infant adoption and basically get a license through a homestudy and the more you WANT a baby and can't have one, the more HOOPS you have to go through and STILL there are no guarantees. Think about something else. Think about something else. DO NOT CRY IN FIFTH PERIOD ENGLISH. YOU ARE NOT TO CRY!

Awesome, no? That discussion went on for TEN WHOLE MINUTES and I consider myself ACCOMPLISHED because I did not walk out or cry and I tried my best to not look visibly upset. I'm pretty sure I looked visibly upset, but not enough for anyone to really notice unless they were looking hard. And they weren't, which is a good thing. Except this teacher KNOWS I am infertile. And either he didn't think about it or he forgot or this is a good spiel he's used before and he didn't want to change it for my benefit, because it was full of absolutes and I don't think it even occurred to him that it might be HIGHLY UPSETTING to me. I don't really feel like I can say anything, because I don't expect conversations to change because I'm in the room and it's upsetting to me given my situation. However, it would really be swell if the words MOST PEOPLE were in there, because there are a lot of infertile people who do not just have sex and get a baby, POOF. I am not alone. I'm sure there are students whose parents struggled or who have siblings many years apart or are adopted or have adopted siblings. I can't be the only one who would feel upset about the assumption that SEX=BABY, easy. And it's not like I want to tell a bunch of adolescents that some of them could have sex and it wouldn't result in a baby, I feel very much cheated by my own middle-and-high-school health classes that told me that sex and even heavy petting could result in a pregnancy and there was NO MENTION that I could carefully avoid sex and then protect the sex for years and years and it wouldn't have mattered, because there would not have been a pregnancy without massive medical intervention. I'm not sure it's worth it to mention that it upset me, except that other conversations like this are sure to happen again and maybe I need to be able to have the out to leave the room. I'M NOT EVEN ON MEDS YET. Thank goodness we'll be onto something else by the time my hormones are a mess and it's not just the PTSD of my experiences so far that send me into tears in English.

Being a teacher is hard, but rewarding. Being a teacher with infertility is a mine field. You just never know when one is going to blow, destroying your carefully constructed facade of normalcy from 7:15-4:30.

We Are Hard To Classify

Life is strange. This journey is stranger. We keep thinking that we've figured out our bugaboo, that we finally have the answer to our issue with conceiving, and then things get turned around. Let's start with the IVF part of our journey, which is the last 3 years or so.

IVF is determined to be the best option for us as we have significant male factor in terms of counts, motility, morphology, etc. and I have proven to be less than stellar at IUI-appropriate follicle production. Our first two IVF cycles focus on my PCOS since we are doing ICSI and we have apparently compensated for the sperm issues thusly. Our first two IVF cycles are horrible failures, with low mature egg retrieval rates, low fertilization rates, and poor embryo development. No frozens.

We switch things up and move to a different doctor in the clinic. He takes the approach that maybe PCOS isn't so much the issue as egg quality. Changes the protocol to reflect this, and our mature egg retrieval rates improve significantly, fertilization rates are still low but we have more to work with, and we have frozens for the first time. ICSI continues to be the fix for the sperm, and we have our first pregnancy (ectopic freakshow, surgery, lost tube) and then a frozen, fresh, and frozen later our first uterine pregnancy (results in miscarriage). At this point 16 embryos have come and gone and we need to take a long hard look at where we are.

We switch back to our first doctor when our doctor leaves the practice for another one in a different area of the state. We decide we will do donor eggs, because obviously we have an embryo issue with 14 embryos not implanting at all and an early miscarriage, and not the best embryo development. Must be chromosomal abnormalities. We prepare for a year for a donor cycle and are devastated when it does not work. 30 eggs retrieved, 21 fertilized, 6 frozen at the 2PN stage (Day One), the remaining 15 left to culture, only 4 make it to blastocysts and 2 are frozen. Disappointing and disconcerting, but no one seems to think this is a big fat red flag. (By the way, the donor was a massively proven one, with a large number of first-cycle successes with EVERYONE ELSE. Which makes me feel just STELLAR.)

Try a new protocol for the DE FET, add Medrol and extra PIO, decide to do single embryo transfer. Find out days before thaw that this is not possible as the two blasts were frozen together. Blasts thaw, one is great quality and the other is deemed, "You can choose not to transfer that one." We transfer both because who knows, but get a negative anyway. Twice a day PIO shots after 7 previous cycles of PIO shots results in a weird nerve damage issue that plagues me still today (that was September). We are beyond frustrated.

Seek second opinions. All second opinions so far point to the failed Donor Egg cycles as evidence that the chromosomal abnormality is likely not having anything to do with the eggs. Which leaves us with the sperm. Which leaves us contemplating Donor Sperm as an option.

So now, four years into our journey with three years of IVF under our belt, different protocols and different genetic materials, we find ourselves pursuing an IVF cycle with MY EGGS again and DONOR SPERM. WHAAA? Beyond strange. We have spent time mourning my genetic contribution, soothing ourselves with the research in epigenetics. I have done a LOT of rationalizing about why it's not a terrible thing to not use my eggs. And now... we are back to my eggs. It is a lot to process. But, not nearly as much as it is to process the loss of B's sperm. There IS NO epigenetics with sperm. Biologically, that cupful is the only contribution. I should say genetically, as biologically I think can encompass the nurture aspect. The father-sticking-around aspect. The reason we're not like other mammals where the male takes off after the perfunctory penetration and the lady mammals are left to do all the raising themselves, if they even stick around too long after the cubs/pups/kittens/whatever are born. But it is a huge loss, and not one that we take lightly. We are sad. It is a lot to take in. And to add to it the weirdness of thinking I would never stim again to facing the daily shot monster and the sore ovaries and the egg retrieval (yay anesthesia I guess) and the hard toll on my body, and we are dealing with a lot right now. I am not complaining, because I know that I am getting my eggs back and that is something not a lot of people experience. Plus it seems somehow rude to talk about my difficulty wrapping my brain around the return of my genetic material when my husband is losing his outright.

It makes trying to classify this blog a little awkward, too. I used to be an IVF blog. Then I was a donor egg IVF blog. Now I'm a donor sperm blog with a history of donor egg, still IVF. It is more than a little strange (although the least of our worries). I have found it a little difficult to find other donor sperm blogs out there, particularly people who are not yet successful to commiserate with. Or to assuage B with, as he is feeling pretty low on this whole subject (but not low enough not to look under this rock and see if this is our root cause of no babies). I used to post this blog on Facebook, which had its pluses and minuses, but that ship has sailed. If I want to write about my infertility, OUR infertility (as I too often forget to include), I have to keep it semi-anonymous because of this sperm donor piece. I completely respect this wish, as I know how hard it is to grapple with the loss of genetic material. But I don't know what it's like to do that WITHOUT the epigenetics piece. And while I know what it's like to go through the emotions of loss and feelings of failure and questions of worth and worries of bonding, I now have turned around and received all that back. So while I can say "I know how this feels" to some extent, really, I don't. It's different for guys. I think it's harder both because of the contribution thing and because of how, typically, guys process things (or don't). It's tricky business.

Consider this my foray into now chronicling our Donor Sperm IVF journey... a completely new leg of what I never ever thought would be this complicated. EVER. I will share the feelings, I will share the realities, I will share the worries. I will share the process, because it is a little daunting. And not a little bit different from our Donor Egg process. Selecting a male donor versus a female donor is worlds apart, at least for us. I will share my new approach to using my eggs and what it's like to stim after you thought all that was behind you. I will do my best to be sensitive to B's needs for privacy while processing this the best way I know how, by writing. If you are a Facebook person who found this, I ask you to be just as sensitive. We are in new and tenuous waters that we haven't figured out how to tread yet. We have added another layer of complexity and strangeness to our already pretty strange and complex path so far.

Thank you for your continued support, thank you for your information, thank you for your patience as we figure this new thing out.

How Do You Say Goodbye? Looking for Advice

I am facing a bit of an awkward situation, and I need your help figuring out the best way to go forward. You see, my husband and I have been with the same clinic for four years and change, and we have done 7 IUI attempts and 8 transfers (4 fresh and 2 frozen my eggs, 1 fresh and 1 frozen donor eggs) with the same clinic. I cringe a little bit when I say that, because it goes against so much good sense with managing your medical care, but we did change things up a lot and we did actually have two different doctors with the same clinic.

However, it is time to move on, and I'm not sure how to do this. In the time we've been with our clinic, they have grown to feel like our friends--everyone has been super invested in helping us to create our family. We have received personal calls from nurses offering condolences when things didn't work out. We have exchanged bottles of wine in appreciation. We send crazy Christmas cards with cats on them and beg to have a baby on the next card (oh well). When we walk into the clinic, we are met with "Heyyyyy! It's Jess and Bryce!" and it feels so warm and caring. However. I cannot continue to make medical decisions based on how nice people are. I cannot continue to go a path where there are more "No we don't do that"s and when the answer is "yes we will try your crazy idea" then I am the one who brings it all to the table and I am the one who catches protocol errors and I am the one who feels like I am managing my care and I am decidedly NOT an RE. I need a little innovation. Scratch that. I need A LOT of innovation. The way it always works for everyone else is definitely NOT the way it works for us. 

We almost went for a second opinion before the donor egg cycle. It was scheduled and on the books, but then I had to fill out all new paperwork and that was very overwhelming and then we made the decision to pursue donor egg definitively and I liked my clinic's program a lot more than the other clinic's program. I really wish we had consulted with somewhere like CCRM at that point, because we could have afforded it at that space in time. Now, having finally taken the leap and done a few consults elsewhere and having been a little more than a little stunned at some of the revelations thrown out there, that hindsight is kicking me in the butt. WHY didn't we move on earlier? Now, although I have heard such wonderful things about CCRM and I do believe that they are miracle workers, we just can't afford it and have adoption still on the table. And adoption needs to be on our table, because while maybe it will just take someone else with a different approach to solve our medical pieces, it feels like we are just made to be on the other side of the statistics. I would agree with the "You have to think positive!" people and say that isn't constructive to think that way, but it's just true. It doesn't mean it has to continue to be true, but for self-preservation, I have to go with the assumption that while the miracle COULD happen, it just as easily COULD NOT. If we thought it truly was not possible we would not be going into this final round of medical treatment. But we would be fools not to realize that it's a very good thing we have been opening our hearts to domestic infant adoption, as scary as that has seemed to us. And, since according to our last calculations domestic infant adoption will cost in the ballpark of $33,000 for us, and even if we take into account the supposedly $13,000 Adoption Tax Credit (that, while it was made permanent as part of the Fiscal Cliff legislation, was not made permanent in the way it was originally conceived when we go to pursue this option of creating our family -- please go to RESOLVE to learn more and continue supporting this bill!!!), it will mean a bill of at least $20,000. Which in itself is a lot to swallow but especially when you've spent so much on medical treatment that seemed promising but left you empty-handed. So, unfortunately, we cannot justify spending that much money and more on going to CCRM and traveling to Colorado multiple times in the hopes that we do not have to spend the money on adoption because our family will come to us from medical treatment. Even CCRM isn't 100%. 

We do have other options locally and have been working with a doctor that we knew previously who is with another clinic that has an amazing embryology lab. And who is open to a lot of newer things without needing convincing. And who has brought a lot of ideas and research to the table already and we haven't officially even started on as patients. Pretty impressive. We have another second opinion, our last, at a clinic nearby in about a week and a half. And while our clinic offered that if we worked with CCRM or another clinic we'd have to travel to that they would be happy to implement whatever they recommended, or do our monitoring locally, I just don't think I can do it. 

I just don't think that I want to continue on at a place that I've been to so frequently for so long with nothing to show for it but a drawer full of pictures of embryos long gone, surgical pictures of a tube swollen with a freak ectopic pregnancy from an IVF cycle, and my one and only ultrasound picture of a sac in my uterus. I can't do it. I feel almost like I have PTSD going to that clinic. I hyperventilate. And, as I wrote earlier in November, I had a massive meltdown in their office the last time I was there for something remotely treatment-related. I want this "last hurrah" to be free from all of the past losses and frustrations that are enclosed in those walls. I want this last try to be truly new in as many ways as possible. And I feel horribly guilty about it. 

But that guilt and sense of loyalty has, in a sense, held us back. Maybe. I mean, we would have had NO ISSUE seeking a second opinion earlier if we didn't just so badly want our current clinic to seal the deal. And we knew they wanted to. There have been many tears and touching moments in the transfer room. But all that aside, it's just not the best idea to stay with the same clinic for 8 cycles. Other places have fresh eyes on things. Other places have different lab procedures and different drug procedures and different tests they are more willing to do and do with more frequency. And it's time to move on. 

So, how to do that? I don't want to just slink off into the ether. I don't want to disappear after 4 years and 3 months. If I was loyal enough to stay despite limited success, it would be pretty crappy to just POOF disappear. But, at the same time, do I want to do a consult in person to say goodbye? That might prove to be pretty freaking awkward. And I don't want to feel like I have to defend my stance. I don't want to feel pressured to give it ONE MORE SHOT. Especially since in all of our second opinions so far the consensus has NOT been that we need to continue with donor eggs and that we have "age related egg quality issues." How can that be when my FSH and AMH are stellar? No, everyone else has said, "it looks like the sperm could be your issue." I felt a little like my clinic was doing a lot of lady-finger-pointing without looking at HALF the genetic material. So I do feel some frustration, but at the same time I want to be able to say goodbye and have some closure and, in some way, let them know that when (if) we are successful medically, that they will have definitely played a role in that. We wouldn't have the data to say that we are dealing with a sperm issue if we hadn't done the egg donor cycle to see that our blast development was pretty darn poor, and that occurred before the embryos even had anything to do with me. It's not a blame thing, my body/his body, but it is interesting how many times it's just assumed to be a female issue and that ICSI can overcome anything. Grrr.

So what would you do? Write a letter? Steel yourself and set up a last consult? Send an email? Make a phone call? Or fade away into the ether? 

It's awkward no matter what, but I just can't let it go completely when there's such a history. I so wish we were leaving because we were being released to our OB/GYN. That's how I dreamed it. That's what I'd hoped for. But it didn't happen, and I truly feel that it won't happen unless we let this chapter end and start up elsewhere. It seems like everything in this process is a letting go. 

Thanks for your help--I appreciate it!

Another Year Comes and Goes

How on earth can it be New Year's Eve? How can I be staring down 2014, another year gone and another year scampering out of the gate? I feel like each year I write a tribute to the year, a tribute to the suckiness and a few things to be happy about. Usually it says something like, "2011, You Were a Stinker" or whatnot. Given that every year does not improve much in the family building department, I think I'll give that a rest this year. There's plenty of good stuff that happened in 2013, but, yet again, NO FREAKING BABY. No baby in my belly, no baby in my Little Room, nada. Two efforts to make said baby appear and...nothing.

It's strangely appropriate that I had my annual exam at the gynecologist today. End the year with the appointment I dread and hope that next year brings a different experience in that office. I still do not understand why you cannot just get your PAP smear in the RE's office. Why, when there is so much detailed exploration of my lady bits in that office, why can't they just swipe the cervy? Why must I go into the office that is filled with the experience I desperately want and cannot as of yet have to have that one little swipe? Argh. I did switch practices last year, because a) my old gynecologist was not exactly sensitive about the infertility and b) her office was a godawful cesspool of administrative hell (you had to come 20 minutes before your appointment or you would be "rescheduled" -- I came from school one day and was 5 minutes before my appointment and was made to wait AN ENTIRE HOUR to be "fit in," while hugely pregnant women and fresh babies surrounded me in the waiting room). The new practice is very Zen, with nary a harried office tech to be seen and, so far, very few hugely pregnant women. Plus there's a private waiting area, where I think you can hide if there are hugely pregnant women lurking about. Today the office staff were lovely but the nurse was perhaps cranky due to working on New Year's Eve. Or maybe she just didn't like me for some reason, as through the door I could hear her being perfectly pleasant to everyone else. She took my height and weight, and I could see the weight (ugh) but not the height. Until she input everything in and I saw it said 67.5 inches. WHAT THE WHAT? I am just shy of five foot six. I don't know how you gain an extra inch or two other than the speediest height stick maneuvering ever, but since it made my BMI a little more palatable I didn't say anything. Once I was at the doctor's a year or two ago and they put my weight in at 121 pounds. I just couldn't let them do it, because it was about 50 pounds off. I mean, for this year it's great (although I was a little concerned no one was like WHOAH NELLY, THIS LADY LOST A CRAPLOAD OF WEIGHT! and was concerned about, you know, cancer or something...), but the next time I go in I sure as hell am not going to weigh any 121 pounds. So I had them change it. This time vanity won out, because being 5 foot 7 1/2 sure helped my BMI, and no one will believe I have shrunk down next year. They will realize they just don't know how to wield the measuring stick thing and not suspect sudden onset osteoporosis. So anyway, I get ushered into my room and am told to put on the "gown," front open. Except the "gown" is more like a vest. How do you get off calling something a gown that doesn't come close to even grazing your ass? There was a paper blanket that was more like a doily, because that left my butt pretty open air as well. Oh well. The annual exam itself was perfunctory and not a big deal. It was what happened while I waited that was tough. I could hear the people in the room to my right. I could hear that they were being congratulated on being so pregnant, almost there (thank GOD according to the disembodied voice of the pregnant lady). AND THEN I HEARD A HEARTBEAT. That swishy sound I know from TV and movies and not my own experience, because I never get to hear one of those. Amplified and beautiful, and punctuated by laughter and the statement, "I never grow tired of hearing that!" Which made me feel a little better, because at least she appreciated the miracle that was happening. For her. While I sat mostly naked and barely covered in paper and struck by the thought that it's possible I may never hear that sound myself. Just through the walls of my gynecologists' office while I wait to get a PAP smear because fertility clinics don't do them. Sigh.

So here we are, one more New Year's Eve, one more year behind us and one more year ahead of us. I feel like I'm on a loop, saying, "I hope 201- is OUR YEAR!" 2010, 2011, 2012, 2013... and now 2014. So instead of feeling too terribly sorry for myself today, I mustered up excitement. Because while 2014 does not have a chance of being The Year of the Baby, it could be The Year of the Gestation or The Year We Do Our Homestudy. It's a year of possibility. (Just in case you're wondering why it's not the Year of the Baby, we can't do our last cycle until spring, because I need the chance to do Egg Boot Camp. More on that later.) I feel a bit at peace. If things work out medically with our new plan, then great! If things don't, hello and welcome world of adoption. I don't feel like I have a dead end in front of me. I feel like I have a world of possibility and our baby will be coming to us, I'm just not sure how.

In closing, I will share with you my rituals for New Year's Eve. Because I have rituals for everything, including fertility crap, you'd better believe I don't leave the crazy at the door on New Year's. Therefore, I spent the day deep cleaning. Mopping. Dusting. Vacuuming a second time. Taking out all the garbage after vacuuming. Get all the dirt of 2013 out of the house, chase out all that bad dirt. Welcome the new year with a fresh, clean house. Then, a bowl of oranges on the table. 14 oranges for 2014 (not sure if that means anything but I thought I'd respect the new year number). We will be opening the front door for 2014 and then running to let the old year out the back door. We will bang pots and pans with wooden spoons to scare away any evil spirits trying to get in on the goodness of the new year. And of course toast with champagne and cocktails, since I'm not in Egg Boot Camp yet. We are having neighbors over for cheese and deviled eggs (ha, lots of eggs) and butternut squash bisque and those cocktails. It will be a lovely way to end another fruitless year. A lovely way to usher in a new year and a new chance for family happiness.

Welcome, 2014. We welcome all good things that you may bring.

Happy New Year, folks! May 2014 be a fabulous year.

(Mostly) Fertility-Free Holidays (or, my attempts at surviving yet another holiday while infertile...)

Ah, Christmas. The most wonderful time of the year. No really, I am not entirely sarcastic here--I love Christmastime. I love decorating for Christmas, I love Christmas music, I love shopping for fun surprises for my loved ones. But holy cannoli, Christmas is a rough time for people struggling with infertility.

I have written about this before, but it doesn't make it any less true. Christmas, while a wonderful time of cheer and love and togetherness, is also a time of feeling alone and left out and incredibly sad.

Why?

So much of Christmas is about children. The joy of children writing to Santa, the joy of children picking out their Christmas tree, the joy of children decorating wonky cookies. There are so many facebook posts about how amazing Christmas is when you see it through your child's eyes. There are songs about childlike wonder. There are songs about an amazing baby (yes, I realize the whole holiday is actually about celebrating an amazing miracle baby). Facebook is a veritable visual bombing of babies in their cute outfits, staring at the tree, decorating the tree, dressed up like a tree. Don't get me wrong--I don't have a problem with this. It just makes a body feel really left out when this is not what's happening in your house. And I know you don't have to have kids to enjoy Christmas, that's just silly. But imagine if all that joy and happiness and laughter and magic was something you desperately wanted and you could not at this point in time have it, and every Christmas reminded you that time keeps marching on and your house is exactly the same.

Well, not exactly the same.

Last year we shook things up a bit. We ditched everyone and took off to Vermont for Christmas. We felt naughty. We felt a tad selfish. And then we got there and experienced a Christmas where there's no tree with no toys for good little girls and boys beneath it, and no sense of old traditions that are empty. Just new traditions that are being forged. Christmas away is actually a lovely thing, once you get used to not having a Christmas tree of your own to come down the stairs to. It helps us to have a romantic couple vacation, to celebrate the season with our love for each other, and to not surround ourselves with our empty, silent house. (Bryce is probably snickering somewhere at the thought that our house is "empty" since he is continually on a decluttering mission, but it's devoid of the joyful chaos of babies and children. Totally full of stuff despite his best efforts to make it look like a sparse Scandinavian house.) We make memories together that don't make us sad, and save the traditions for when we can share them with little people of our own, however they end up coming to us.

And they won't be coming to us quite yet, because...

We do not do fertility treatments over the holidays. We have done that before, and it is a horrible disaster. I'm sure for some people it could mean a personal Christmas miracle, but for us it just compounded heartache and increased stress and made the holidays unenjoyable.  Even now, as our "last hurrah" is upon us, and time is ticking away, this holiday time is sacred. No treatments. No testing. It is worth waiting a month more. It is worth missing a few months of opportunity to keep that sanity and good cheer intact.

Good cheer is often spread through the annual Holiday Card. We have done a photo card every single year since we were married. I love those things. But the past few cards have been upsetting, because they are babyless. Bumpless, even. Every year chronicles a year of fun together, but still no wee one. Going along with the whole Bryce-loves-to-declutter thing, I would love to have shared pictures of each card with you in this post, but unfortunately they were misplaced. In an effort to declutter. A closet. Yup, the cards were in a little shutterfly box in a closet but they needed to be put away even further. Can you sense my frustration? So, you will just have to imagine the cards as I describe them:

Year One, 2009: Fun wedding photos. Celebratory card. All is good with the world.
Year Two, 2010: Pictures of Maine vacation. Fun photos, a little bitterness over no baby to be seen, but not unreasonable after one year, so we add the dog and cats to the card.
Year Three, 2011: Frustration mounting. No Maine vacation this year due to infertility, hearts broken by ectopic debacle, and so we stage a "glamour shot" attempt with the digital camera and the kindness of strangers. I realize there is quite a bit of boob on the card, but don't care because there's still no baby.
Year Four, 2012: Frustration is palpable. WHY IS THERE NO BABY ON THIS EFFING CARD??? Reeling from miscarriage this year and realization that genetic material is now up for grabs. Cheeky mistletoe shot in 1950s dress and Bryce in 50s-ish collared shirt and sweater. Cats in bowties, not just named but featured. Copy of card sent to fertility clinic with actual message, "I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT HAPPENS IF THERE'S NO BABY ON THIS CARD NEXT YEAR. PLEASE PUT A BABY ON THIS CARD!!!"
Year Five, 2013: I did not want to send a Christmas card this year. I had decided last year was the LAST YEAR for a babyless card at Christmas. I had all kinds of insane ideas (including pictures of embryos around the card, Merry Christmas spelled out in needles, etc.) but none I'd actually do in earnest. So I decided we'd do a New Year's card. A card about hope for the next year, not the disappointment of what didn't happen this past year. Not that there's not a lot to be grateful for and happy about this past year, but it was another year where the summer Maine vacation did not happen (and was actually cancelled last minute thanks to the donor cycle timing that we could not control whatsoever), another year where despite our best efforts we did not expand our family, another year of heartache and stagnancy and watching the cards roll in with SCHOOL AGE children on them, not babies anymore. (NOTE: I do want your Christmas cards! Keep 'em coming! Time marches on for you, and not for me, which makes me sad, but shared photos of your families and pets do not make me sad.)

And so... New Year's Card. Like the Vermont trip, it is a departure from the normal tradition to preserve that for our futurefamily, and a creation of a new tradition to soothe our ravaged souls. I was originally going to send it out after Christmas, but guilt over all the cards coming in and obsessive-compulsiveness won out. I put the card together this weekend. A message of Cheer All Year! With 10 photos from this past year around it. I did not include the cats (mostly because they refuse to be photographed together and they typically are only photographed when doing weird things), but did sign their names. It is a card of remembering the good stuff that happened this past year. And on the back we wish for a fabulous 2014 to come. Where dreams come true. And the photo is my "Never Never Never Give Up" magnet. Because I cannot let this card go without in some way intimating the truth--it is highly upsetting that there are no babies on this card in any way shape or form. It is not by choice. We have traveled the path that was supposed to treat our medical disease of infertility, and it took us on a bit of a wonky side tour. This year we are pursuing one more medical treatment, one last hurrah, before we put the medical side of things to bed and pursue adoption. The NEVER GIVE UP means that we don't give up on being parents. We will make this happen, somehow. It may not be medical. We may need to let go of some dreams to achieve the ultimate dream. It is not easy. None of this has been easy. But you can only travel your own path, and go where your hearts take you. And so we nod to infertility on our New Year's card.

We started a new tradition this year. Our neighborhood sponsors families in need each year, and each year in the hustle and bustle of things we forget and miss the deadline and feel like horrible people. I mean, I always donate books to the Ronald McDonald House at Barnes&Noble, and I put dollars in the red kettle, and I contribute to other things, but we have never actively shopped for a child in need. This year, we participated. We bought things for two little girls. You would think it would be sad to go shopping for children that aren't ours, and for a brief moment where I held adorable baby dresses in my hands it was, but it was an incredible joy to shop for these children. I mean, I shop for children every year because of friends who have kids. But in this case, we were shopping for children we didn't really know, and it was to give them a fabulous Christmas in tough times. We could take our good fortune and spread it about and give joy and imagine (as it would be creepy to track down the families and peer in their windows on Christmas morning) the sheer happiness that these girls will have when they open their presents straight from their wish lists. We got to play Santa, and it was immensely fun.

There you have it. Let old traditions go for a while so that we can forge new ones and save our sanity in these difficult times. Save magic for the future. Preserve as much as we can so that we can be the best parents to our FutureBaby(ies). Feed our love and keep the demons of doubt and despair at bay. Try not to throw things when commercials and/or facebook posts tout that you don't know what Christmas is until you've experienced it through the eyes of your child or you've had a baby or whatever. Enjoy celebrating with friends and family before and after the holiday, and over the phone or skype or facetime. Honor our families but stoke the fire of our little family of two. Get away from it all and try to have as fertility-free a holiday as we can when infertility has infiltrated the very essence of who we are. Somehow though, when you are away for the holiday and the stress of the house and responsibility and all that is gone...you can almost pretend that all is right with the world. Because in that moment, that beautiful, romantic, peaceful moment away from it all, it truly is.

Happy holidays to you and yours. May 2014 be the year that dreams come true and hearts are healed.

So Much to be Thankful For (except that one incredibly important thing...)

Thanksgiving is over, and now I can officially begin the Christmas Music Onslaught that Bryce enjoys so much. I even gave him a present--I did not begin until today, a full day later than I am technically "legally" allowed to fa-la-la-la-la. Probably because yesterday was Family Thanksgiving, and it was very confusing to my Christmas circadian clock to eat turkey and ham and yams and pumpkin pie and listen to Christmas music at the same time.

We were supposed to go to Maine this year for Thanksgiving with Bryce's mom and stepfather, but that stupid storm-naming thing scared us off. Between the snow here (mostly Tuesday night) and the torrential rain there (two storms collide!), we all decided it would be better to visit in February, when we can stay longer than 2 full days and not have to wrassle with evil holiday traffic on a very, very long drive. I felt badly, but we used FaceTime to connect face to face and while it wasn't quite the same, it was nice.

Yesterday was Thanksgiving with my mom and stepfather and my sister, her husband, and her stepsons. It was lovely. We had crackers (normally a Christmas thing but my Mom found Thanksgiving ones and it was actually quite fun:

Here we are being all dramatic in our paper crowns...
Please excuse the upward camera angle and how unflattering it is! 

On Thanksgiving proper, Bryce and I had an incredibly low-key day. Just the two of us for most of the day, in sweatpants for the duration. We made the Thanksgiving Cow--a delicious red-wine-based French country beef stew that takes most of the day to cook. So yummy over mashed potatoes. We had wine. We had relaxation. We had the neighbors over for champagne and pie later in the evening. And then we ended the night sitting in our TV room, listening to music through Bryce's speakers that he built himself (and are incredibly impressive if I do say so myself--both in design with their beautiful walnut tops and sides and the acoustic science that went into the sound). We sat on the couch and listened to cd after cd, picking out individual instruments now audible thanks to Bryce's audio wizardry. And all of a sudden I started to cry.

All I could think was, "I have so, so much to be thankful for. We have this wonderful life--we have each other, we have good food and good wine pretty much all the time, we have good friends and good family, we have a cozy home with comforts galore, we can have a great time just sitting here and enjoying music on speakers that Bryce made himself and be content. IF NOT FOR THIS GINORMOUS BABY-SHAPED HOLE IN OUR LIVES, we could be truly content."

The tears rolled down my face and I couldn't put this sentiment into words, so all of a sudden Bryce was worried that he had said something or NOT said something that had put me in a bit of a funk. He told me I looked sad all day. In actuality, I was pretty happy all day, but it is really, really hard to try to shove that one missing thing to the background and enjoy a holiday that is supposed to be all about family (and food and wine). I did not realize that Thanksgiving is such a baby-centered holiday--that going on Facebook would result in an onslaught of babies in turkey outfits and "Baby's First Thanksgiving" captions and onesies and homemade memes. It also reminds me of the Christmas card situation, which I am working on but still puts little needles in my soul for not having a baby or even a babyling anywhere near it. AGAIN.

I am thankful for so much, but this gaping nothingness where OUR family ought to be is like a black hole that sucks light and joy right into it. I can hang on with my fingernails and try not to get sucked in, but man the holidays are hard. I am grateful for my extended family, I am grateful for my wonderful husband, I am grateful for our home, I am grateful for our jobs, I am grateful for our health...the list goes on and on. I am grateful that my father had a physical last Friday and he was able to catch the severe anemia that put him in the hospital for days with multiple blood transfusions and no answers for why this is happening to him. Anemia is what got his Celiac diagnosed, but now he's been gluten free for years and years, so why? Why was it so severe that he was told had it not been caught when it was he would have likely dropped of a cardiac arrest or a stroke? So scary. So frustrating that despite all of the wonders of medical technology there seems to be an awful lot that doctor's can't figure out. I am grateful that my dad is ok. I am scared that that may not always be the case. And, like a horrible, selfish person, anytime someone in my family falls ill I mourn the fact that there is a real possibility that they may not see me become a mom. Somewhat melodramatic when it comes to my dad, but then again, not really. There are no guarantees in life. It's so frustrating.

We are in this strange limbo, where we know we are going to do ONE LAST TRY. We know that we are giving medical treatment a last go of it, and I am going to try to not be nauseous about giving myself injections again, as we are likely going back to my eggs. Which I hope is not a mistake. I am going to try not to dread turning my kitchen counter into a nurse's station, with sharps containers and many different size needles and medications. I am going to be grateful that I am pretty much never doing PIO again. My hips and thighs are STILL numb, and at times downright painful with stabby-ness that comes and goes. Maybe that's a good sign? Maybe that means feeling is returning? All I can say is it makes exercising mighty challenging. Any jolt to my legs ranges from very uncomfortable to painful. My husband can playfully smack my ass in the kitchen and have it result in tears from the pain jolting down my leg. Fun times. We have one more second opinion to go, and are waiting on a report from our second second opinion. We have hope, which seems more and more to be less of a friend and more of a friendly neighborhood crack dealer, but whatever.

We are not trying anything until after January. Which means that this is a fertility-free holiday--as much as I can keep that swirling black hole of babylessness at bay. We are free to eat and drink whatever, because we will not be doing a cycle any earlier than March. Because I need three months to get my ovaries in shape, since they've been out of the equation for so long. After the holidays, that means a whole lot of deprivation for me. A whole lot of acupuncture appointments. Three months of this monklike existence to hopefully end in the joy we seek. I am grateful that we have this opportunity. I am grateful that we can give this one last try. I will try not to read too much into it. I will just do everything possible to stack our deck, and try so hard not to lose my marbles in the process. I will try next year to be the recipient of a group post on FaceBook for ladies from yoga past, one mentioning "Don't Stop Believing," and NOT be the only one on that list who is not finally a mommy. It was meant well, but realizing that everyone on that list had been successful EXCEPT me was incredibly painful. Again, I feel like the Little Match Girl, with my frozen nose pressed against the frosted glass, peering in on a warm family life while slowly freezing to death. Conversely, I felt very lucky twice in the past week and a half to have my friends who, unfortunately, are pressing up on that cold glass with me. One who sent me a beautiful flower arrangement for "being in her brain" through my blog posts (something that made me feel good that I could accurately depict this hideous space of being, and also sad that my heartbreak and hope and souring relationship with fertility treatments echoed so closely for her). One who I had a 3+ hour coffee date with to talk and sufficiently horrify any other patrons at the coffee shop who weren't prepared to eavesdrop on a conversation regarding uteruses and sex after infertility and fear of failure and how identity is so mixed up in this process and blood clotting disorders and sperm. Sorry, patrons of Starry Nights Cafe. It was worth it to share that space with my friend, despite what a sad and hopeful and furious space it is. In a weird way it is very comforting to have people who still share this space with me. (God I feel guilty putting that out there!) We are a tattered band of Match Girls. Instead of dying with a spent match in hand, we will ninja kick our way through that glass one day. Much better end to the fairy tale.

There it is, all my Thanksgiving thoughts for this year. I am thankful for so much, and yet still yearning for so much that shouldn't be so hard to grasp onto. I am grateful for my marriage and my home and my family. I yearn for the family that we create, in whatever way that ends up being.  I honestly have no idea but am exceedingly grateful for the options and opportunities out there. I am thankful for the capacity to still find space in my heart for thankfulness and gratitude, when at times it feels like, at this point in loss and pain and disappointment, my heart should be withered and atrophied. But nope, still have space for love and gratitude in there. Still have space for hope. Still have space for that special, tardy little soul who is meant to be placed in our keeping. We're ready, we're waiting, we've left a whole lot of love set aside just for you, FutureBaby.

Our Thanksgiving picture, hazed out from searing beef cubes and
Bryce looking puffy-eyed from the sliced shallots.
Come on, FutureBaby. You know you want in on this wonderful life!