Haha, Cleavage.

Apparently that is the stage our embryos were in yesterday when we got our status update from the embryologist.  The Cleavage Stage.  Haha.  It’s the little things I tell ya.  In my head this stage is called the cleavage stage because under a microscope our tinny miracles look like a giant set of ta-tas.  I could be right.  You don’t know, do you?

Let’s back up a bit.  Saturday was our egg retrieval.  We arrived at the hospital at 7:30am and J was rushed off immediately to do his thing.  Talk about phenomenally bad planning.  Who’s bright idea was it to get women hoped up on a whole crap ton of estrogen, have them report in for surgery, and then, just as you finish telling them about all the scary poking and prodding they will soon experience, take their husbands away?  How on earth was I NOT supposed to lose my shit?!?  I was a little cranky about it.

I wasn’t afraid to tell the nurse what I thought about these logistics as I was escorted to my pre and post op room.  She handed me a fashionable gown that left my ass hanging in the wind.   You know the kind.   I climbed under the covers and braced myself as people breezed in and out briefing me on different aspects of the procedure.  I got an IV, had my blood pressure taken, and was given a variety of drug cocktails.  After all the bases were covered I was wheeled to the operating room.  That’s when it got a little weird.

 

I was asked to leave my glasses behind so I was basically blind.  Once we were outside of the operating room I was asked to scoot off the bed and walk through the door into the room.  Inside were the bright operating lights you’d expect, five to ten people dressed in scrubs, and what looked like a torture chair.  Not only am I asked to walk over to this chair without knock over everything in my path but they also wanted me to “hop” into it.  I’m a pretty tall gal but this weirdo contortion device might as well have been in the sky!  The nurse pointed to this small metal stool I was supposed to step on to help me up but I was BLIND.  And there were bright lights everywhere!!  I managed to knock down three trays of instruments and totally eat shit.  It must have been quite a show, the highlight being my white ass hanging out for all the world to see.  Once I got in the chair they strapped me in.  Yeah, you read that right.  STRAPPED.  ME.  IN.  Finally, before I could do any more damage, they knocked me out.

When I woke up I was a little woozy and sore.  All I wanted was to see J.  After much a moaned and groaned for awhile they went and got him.  After he got there I was able to relax a little.  I was told I couldn't leave the hospital until I peed so I started chugging sprite like it was coming out of a beer bong.  I would have shotgunned that second one but J took my keys.  I just wanted to go home.  The nurse told us that they had successfully retrieved 30 eggs!  We were floored!  They sent us on our way and told us that my pain would be manageable with Tylenol.

BITCH WAS A LIAR!!!  A LIAR I TELL YOU!!  By 5:30 that night my life was flashing before my eyes.  J called the RE’s office and left a voice mail.  The other doctor in the clinic was on call and called back quickly.  She asked me a bunch of questions including how many eggs were retrieved.  I told her thirty and she immediately prescribed me some heavy duty pain killers.  God bless her!!  Sunday morning we got a call from the RE’s office and were told that 22 of my eggs were mature enough to fertilize and 20 of them fertilized successfully.  Yay!!  The pain has gotten better but I’m still really swollen.  I look about four months pregnant.  

Flash Forward to the Cleavage.  Yesterday we found out all 20 of our embryos are moving right along and all 20 were given a level 1 rating (that’s the highest).  We are very excited.  Assuming everything continues to move along as planned, tomorrow morning we go in for the transfer.  Two will be put into my uterus with the hopes of implantation and the rest will be frozen!  Cross your fingers!

Ooh, we also get to see pictures of our embryos tomorrow.  How cool! 

The Highs and Lows

I learned yesterday that a woman’s estrogen level during a normal cycle peaks somewhere in the 300’s.  As of yesterday my estrogen level was at 1,079 and climbing.  Fucking with me right now could cause decapitation or dismemberment.  I’m a tad fussy.  Did I mention I also resemble the Goodyear blimp?  Well I do.  I've decided its no-longer necessary to wear pants.  Also, an entire pizza is an acceptable sized meal.  What?  You don’t agree with me?  Clearly you did not read the earlier part of this paragraph close enough.

We are on day eleven of our stims and I’m pretty miserable.  On the bright side though, my body is actually cooperating with my treatment plan and everything is looking good!  I had an appointment yesterday and along with my high estrogen, I also had a low progesterone level and a low LH level.  Basically all of my hormones are where you want them to be.  This whole IVF business is a hormonal juggling act.  At any given time during my cycle certain ones are supposed to high and others are supposed to be low.  It can get overwhelming quickly.

 

Another thing that was nice and high like my estrogen was my follicle count.  I had 12 follies in one ovary and 7 in the other.  Captain said we should have enough embryos for this cycle and some to freeze!  I’m trying my best not to count chicken before they hatch though.  We won’t know how many of those follies hold a mature pretty looking egg until they are retrieved.  And we won’t know how many will fertilize until the day after that.  And we won’t know how many of those will be viable embryos until four days after that.  So I’m cautiously optimistic.  I was told to stay on the same dose of folistim and to start the ganirelix tomorrow.  Ganirelix is the drug that suppresses my LH level to keep me from ovulating.  My LH level is fine as of yesterday but in the past it has tried to creep up early so we are being cautious.  I go back to the doctor on Thursday.  Captain estimates that my retrieval will be on Saturday.  I won’t even have to take off work!

Wednesday we go to the Acupuncturist.  I talked to J about my second thoughts and since he is the best husband ever, he said if it would make me feel better than we should just do it.  At this point I figure if it doesn't give us any extra baby mojo maybe it will at least help with my headaches!  I’m nervous but mostly excited.  OK, maybe 50/50.  Well it’s probably 60% nervous, 40% excited….thank god J is going with me.  Have I mentioned I say really inappropriate things when I get nervous?  I’m guaranteed to make a complete ass out of myself at least twice.  I’ll be sure to share.

Also this week, we have our annual Halloween party!!  We've been throwing a party on Halloween for a few years now.  Our families come over and MB’s Mom and her kids and some of her family.  We have dinner and spooky snacks and then go trick or treating!  J and his buddies put together a haunted house in the garage for all the neighborhood kids and the other adults fight over who gets to stay back and hand out candy.  It’s a lot of fun.  Halloween is a pretty big deal in our house.  It’s probably our favorite holiday.  MB and I usually start decorating around the middle of September.  I’ll take lots of picture and post them.  We get pretty creative.  Now I just have to figure out how to host a party without wearing pants….  

Needles. What’s a few more?

I’m considering Acupuncture.  I guess, I should say, WE are considering acupuncture.

 

During my cycles of IUI I unintentionally cut my husband out of most of the process.  I even had the nerve to be irritated when he didn't seem to have enough opinions about decisions that needed to be made.  I don’t know why it took me so long to realize that it’s awfully difficult for someone to have an opinion about something they have no information on.  I basically treated him like a walking breathing sperm bank.  Seriously, the only appointments I asked him to go to were the ones where I needed his “contributions”.  If I’m remembering correctly he even missed one of the inseminations.  I tried to CONCIEVE A BABY without him even IN THE ROOM.  I’m an idiot.  To be fair he was never prohibited from going with me.  I just didn’t tell him I wanted him there.  I told him he could come if he wanted.  Way to minimize a person Larri.  Again, I’m an idiot.  I was focusing so much on what I was going through and what I needed I completely lost that the fact that he was going through this too.

I have seen the error of my ways.  I’m striving to be better.  I’m consulting him as often as I can.  He has gone to all of my appointments this cycle.  He has been there for all my questions and the answers and has had opportunities to ask any questions of his own.  This new approach has shed light on a fact that blew my mind.  Men really know almost nothing about the female body.  I mean, other than that they really dig it.

I was pretty oblivious to the fact that most men’s education about a women's lady business takes place in a sixth grade health class.  Usually there is a biology class or two sprinkled in there between high school and college but the reproductive system is covered in a chapter, maybe two.  Heaven forbid your man missed that day or perhaps fell asleep.  I think it's safe to just assume he knows almost nothing.  

I have a bit of advice for you ladies.  If you ever find yourself in a situation like ours, where your entire lives revolve around your reproductive system, educate your man.  I promise it makes the entire process easier.  I’m not suggesting busting out diagrams and worksheets after dinner by any means, but just being aware of his ignorance can help you better prep your guy with information BEFORE you try and make decisions about your treatment plan.

I promise this post is about acupuncture.   I got a little off topic.  I do that.  We are considering acupuncture.  I promise my SIL I would at LEAST look into it.  Remember she’s a bit of a hippie.  Alternative medicine is right up her ally.  I looked into it and found a lot of conflicting information

Disclaimer:  My research methods rely heavily on google searches.

I read that studies prove it can increase blood flow to the uterus.  “Hm” I thought, “blood to the uterus, that’s probably good, right?”  Here’s the thing though, I couldn't find anything that suggested that increased blood flow did anything for fertility other than thicken the uterine lining.  So does an increase in blood flow improve egg quality?  I couldn't find anything that suggested it did.  So since my lining is all good do I even need to mess with all these extra needles?  Some studies suggest that acupuncture does decrease stress levels.  “Less stress is good, right?  That has to increase your odds of success.”  Oddly enough, most articles I read said that studies found stress does NOT negatively impact odds of successful IVF.  Counter intuitive, I know. 

I decided to look into Acupuncturists in our area and see what they had to say.  I was expecting old Chinese guys.  This IS supposed to be ancient Chinese medicine right?  For a minute there I must have forgotten we live in the Midwest.  The two Acupuncturists I found that had any information available online about fertility were middle-aged white women.  They both had masters degrees is Chinese Medicine.  Sounds legit.  But seriously?  What on earth is that?  Where does one get such a masters degree?  I assure you a masters in Chinese Medicine was not offered at the large university I went to.  I did some research and without diving in too far, it does appear that a Masters in Chinese Medicine is a four year graduate degree.  So that offered some assurance.  But still, could these women possibly be at the level they would need to be at for this to be worth the expense?

After all that I still wasn't sure what side of the fence I was on.  I mean, it could help and probably wouldn't hurt.  But, was it throwing money out the window?  I decided to run it by Captain, and because of my new enlightened approach, J was there for the question and the answer.  Her answer actually surprised me.  She said that they do send patients for acupuncture if they are having trouble with their lining but that she didn't think it was necessary for me.  I asked if she thought it was useful for other parts of the process.  “Listen” she said.  “I've seen surgery performed using only acupuncture as anesthesia.  It works.  But those were highly trained specialist.  They dedicate their life to it.  It’s not something you can learn in a weekend.  So I tell patience, if they want to do it, feel free.  It won’t hurt, could help.  Do I think it will dramatically improve your chances?  No.”

J and I talked it over.  He thinks it would be a waste of money.  I think it probably would be too.  But what if it isn't?  Up until about 15 minutes ago I didn't have a strong opinion either way and was happy to let J have this one, no acupuncture.  I don’t know if some hormones kicked in or what, but now I’m second guessing our decision (I also cried when I was looking at old pictures of MB today, so….yeah.  There are definitely some hormones going on).  I just can’t help but think, “What’s a couple hundred bucks more at this point?”  I want to respect J’s opinion on this.  It is, after all, as much about him as it is about me.  But I also want to do EVERYTHING possible to increase our odds.  This whole “we” business is a lot easier when we agree…

Day 1 (Again)

Welp, the summer is over and so is our baby makin sabbatical.  I’m not going to lie, it was a pretty dope summer.  I honestly meant to blog all about it.  I guess I was just too busy kicking ass at being awesome.  

But alas, the air is cool, the leaves are turning, and I just got my lovely box of potions from the specialty pharmacy.  You know how usually getting packages in the mail is exciting and fun?  Yeah this isn't that.  Because some of the medication have to be kept cold and because they cost thousands of dollars I have them delivered to my office.  I work at a corporate headquarters that is attached to one of our manufacturing plants.  Deliveries are made to the dock of the plant so there is always a little anxiety for me while I wait for my special box to make its journey from the dock, to the mail room, and then finally to the safety of my desk.  Because of the nature of theses meds the contents need to be inspected and inventoried immediately and any problems reported asap.  Standing in my cubicle, I opened the box and found something unexpected.

WHAT.

THE.

FUCK.

I know what those are, but why are there so many??  Those syringes are used for intramuscular injections – read: butt shot.  The entire length of the needle is stabbed into your ass.  It hurts.  A LOT.  The HCG shots I have taken before and will have to take again are done this way.  It’s the shot that makes you ovulate.  But there is only one.  What on earth then, is all of those needles for, you ask?  Apparently, I found out upon further inspection, they are for progesterone shots.  To be given DAILY.  For NINE WEEKS.

I’ll admit that before this adventure began I was kinda a wienie when it came to needles.  But you don’t head down this path for long before you get over it.  Between blood draws and injections, sticking needles into your body becomes a routine.  But these are different.  Butt shots don’t just hurt temporarily.  They aren’t just a little sting until it’s over.  These are needles into your muscle.  They hurt for days.  I’m not going to lie, I looked at that giant bag of syringes and started to cry.  At work.  Right there in my cubicle.  “Why didn’t anyone warn me??” I kept thinking as I tried to muffle my sobs.  I put my head between my knees and took a deep breath.  Then I remembered…..

The nurse had mentioned that I wouldn't be needing any of the vagina beads I has previously complained about.  I remembered thinking, “Woo hoo!  No more sticking beads up my vag that inevitably dissolve and stain my favorite undies!!” I also remembered the nurse saying something about an oil instead.  I guess I was just so pumped about the beads being off the table that I glossed over the part about the oil being injected.  I don’t know what I thought I was going to have to do with it but shots in my ass never even crossed my mind.  I would commit murder right now for some vagina beads

Oh, and I haven’t even mentioned the best part!  The side effects.  Here are my faves:

1. Moodiness.  Well that’s great because usually during all of this I’m just a peach!
2. Fatigue.  Well at least I’ll be too tired to go anywhere so the number of people who will have to deal with side effect #1 will be less.  Maybe I’ll still have friends when this is over.
3. Weight gain.  Yeah, because I need more of that.  Have I mentioned the 20lbs I've gained since we started this?
4. Facial Hair.  For fuck sakes.  My husband and I already fight over the blow dryer.  Now the beard trimmer too?

How does your garden grow?

I’m just going to say it people, I am DOMINATING gardening.  

Remember these:

 Well, now they look like this:

I told you.  Killing it.

I’ll do my best to carefully guide you through the intricate and well thought-out process that is responsible for this bountiful future harvest.  Haha, what I meant was, I’ll bullet point some of the steps I can still remember.  Basically, I totally winged it.

I’ve already walked you through the building of the planters.  After they were built we filled them with a mix of fill dirt, peat moss, and compost.  Then we mixed it all up with a hoe.  No fancy tiller thing-a-ma-jig, just a regular ole garden hoe I found in the garage – I’m not even sure where it came from. 

Then we waited for what felt like FOREVER.  We had to wait until the mid-west weather was ready to cooperate.  Finally, around the middle of June I went to Wal-Mart and picked out a bunch of vegetables – based solely on what my family likes to eat of course.  Then MB and I planted them.  Most of them.  It started to hail so we had to take a break.  As soon as the hail had stopped I planted the rest of it.  In the rain.  See, I told you, totally planned out.  The next morning I took a few pictures.

In the red and yellow cages are two different types of tomato plants.  In the middle is a cucumber plant.  The row in front is of sweet potatoes.  On the left side and around the back we planted onions.

This planter has a strawberry plant on the left, cauliflower in the middle and green bean seeds on the right.

Other than water, only two things have been added to the garden, grass clippings and red pepper flakes.  My mom told me that if you cover the soil around your plants with grass clippings it will help water stay in and weeds stay out.  So we did that.

We did have a bit of a snafu.  I asked J to dump the clippings into the beds with the promise that I would then spread them out.  Not thinking, he put them right on top of the green beans.  Oops!  I guess he forgot about the whole plants need sun to grow thing.  So I just brushed them off that side.

The red pepper flakes were added in an effort to keep the dog out!  Apparently our husky, we’ll call her Butface, just can’t resist strawberries.  What a weirdo.  She also dug up a few of my cauliflower plants, probably just for fun.  So far, it’s worked.  Fingers crossed!  I really don’t want to have to put up one of those tacky chicken wire fence contraptions to keep her out.

As for keeping the garden watered, I’ve been doing that by hand with my trusty watering can!

This might seem ridiculous to some.  My Mom thinks I’m insane.  But we don’t have a sprinkler system and I’m the type who would forget to turn off the hose.  So, every day I walk to the end of my yard with my trusty 2 gallon watering can.  Each bed gets a full can.  I water it every morning and If it’s been a hot day I water it in the evening too.  I know it sounds like a pain but I kind of like it.  It’s fun watching everything get taller and fuller.  The fresh Caprese salads are right around the corner.  I can feel it!

Who has two thumbs that are turning green? THIS GIRL!!

So, apparently it’s been over a month since I have posted anything.  Clearly I am terrible at this whole blogging bit.  At least I didn't go TWO months this time….that’s improvement.  Right?  Look people, I've been busy creating life. 

Remember this?

Well now it looks like this:

That is growth people!!  Nothing is dead!  Or on fire!  That’s what I like to call progress. 

Since I have managed to keep my little herb garden alive for the first time, I've had to do some research on what to do with it next.  I learned that to make your basil and rosemary plants fuller you can do this thing they call “pinching off”.  Basically you use your fingers to pinch off the tops of the plants just above a cross section.  It looks like this:

And this:

In theory, the two shoots left at the cross section become branches.  Honestly, as long as I keep everything alive I’ll be pretty happy.  I also learned that you can put your basil clippings in the freezer and collect them all summer.  I don’t want to get ahead of myself but the ultimate goal is to grow enough to make a decent sized batch of pesto.

As for the chive, you can just chop that stuff off!  Then you dry it out or freeze it.  The interwebs tell me it grows right back.  Cross your fingers….

After J picked through all of the shoots and got rid of the dead ones, I cut them up and into the freezer they went!  The next crop though (cross your fingers it grows back) I’m going to dry.  I guess this is something you can do in your oven?..?..We’ll see how it goes.

You know what’s REALLY awesome?  That’s just my little herb garden!  We also got the planters planted with cauliflower, green beans, tomatoes, cucumbers, onions, sweet potatoes, and a strawberry plant.  I also planted a few pots on out deck with wild flowers!  Look for more post coming soon on those.  Oh, and on our Basement project. Oh, and on my whole weight watchers thing.  Oh, and don’t let me forget to post about our family vacation.  See, I told you I’m terrible at this…..

Larri, Larri, quite contrary….

I’ve always been jealous of other people’s gardens.  Fresh grown tomatoes, cucumbers, onions, and green beans?  Yes please, I’ll take six.  Yummy!  My mouth would water with envy every summer at the thought of fresh caprese salads, sautéed green beans and gallons of homemade tomato sauce canned and stored for winter.  Well that longing ends now!

I am determined to claim a little piece of this heaven.  Homegrown salads WILL be on my dinner menu this summer!  I WILL make home-made pesto and it WILL be delicious!  Ladies and gents Larri’s gonna plant herself a garden.  Hold on to you chonies because things are going to get interesting!

All that determination aside, I have made a few small attempts in the past at gardening and they’ve all turned out miserably.  There was the spring I decided I was going to grow all the flowers for our wedding.  This Super Bride was going to save us hundreds by growing a bunch of random flowers in random sized pots I had picked up for pennies at a garage sale.  Thank god someone was smart enough to budget some “just in case” funds or we would have been stuck with one half dead calla lily.  I tried growing tomatoes in one of those topsy-turvy things.  People, children are supposed to be able to make those things produce tomatoes.  My plants never even got big enough to turn the dam contraption over.  Oh and I can’t forget the strawberries I tried to grow, also in pots on the deck.  I got one strawberry to grow.  The dog ate it.

There have also been several fresh herb gardens I have managed to slowly kill.  I plant one every year in a co-co nut husk lined window box hanging on our deck.  I have this fantasy of stepping out of my kitchen onto the deck for fresh herbs that I will eloquently toss into a gourmet meal I am effortlessly preparing.  I mentioned this is a fantasy right?  It’s usually dead before the summer is even half over and when I am cooking I can barely even remember what I have growing out there.  One year it got so dried out it caught fire and burned a hole through our deck.  You read that right.  My gardening skills are so bad I have STARTED THINGS ON FIRE!

After some thoughtful reflection I figured out what my problem was.  All of my gardening attempts have been in some sort of pot somewhere on our back deck.  Clearly that is the root of the problem.  If we are going to get serious results here we need some real estate to plant this garden.  I mentioned this to my Mom who, by the way, has a fabulous over producing garden every year, and she sent me some plans for DIY cedar planters.  Now all I had to do was convince J.  Considering the above mentioned fire it would be no small task to convince him that, not only would I be able to grow anything, but that we should dedicate an entire Saturday to building these planters.  I must have looked really good that day because somehow a few Saturday mornings ago we found ourselves at Home Depot (I like to call it THE De-Pot).

I had my DIY plans in hand and after some further guidance from the big harry guy at The De-pot we headed home to jerry-rig these bad boys together.

Those boards are actually cedar fence planks.  I read on the internets that cedar is weather resistant and to save money you can buy fence planks instead of cut lumber, so we did!  The big guy at The De-Pot suggested using grade steaks to hold everything together and steak the planters into the ground.  We pretty much winged it from there.  First we laid out all of the boards with a buddy.  We decided we were going to build them two planks high.

Then we used the grade steaks to stick them together like so:

Here is picture of J doing all the work while I stand around and “look for another drill”

We did fudge up and buy screws that were too long but one call to my Dad and he told us we could probably just knock off the excess with a hammer.  Sounds crazy right?  Wouldn’t you know it though, it totally worked:

Then J had to go to work.  I MIGHT have spent too much time wandering around the garden center at The De-pot fantasizing about my future garden.  Or I MIGHT have spent more time fake looking for tools and talking to my Dad on the phone than actually helping to build these things.  Either way we were out of time.  We packed it in and J headed to work.

Then I got a wild hair up my butt and decided it would be fabulous if I got them all finished before J got home from work.  It would be a, “surprise, aren’t you glad you don’t have to spend part of your Sunday finishing this crazy project” present.  So I called my little sister for help, we’ll call her Glitter.

She loves shit that sparkles.  But she has not always been this way.  When were kids she was quite the tomboy.  I have a vivid memory of an after-school program teacher asking what our favorite colors were and I sweetly replied “pink!” while she practically belched out “BLACK!”.  She was also always an athlete.  While she is my little sister in almost every sense of the word she could probably kick my ass.  I take that back, could definitely can kick my ass.  She is four years younger than me, at least 6 inches shorter, and probably a good 50lbs lighter.  She can also bench press a truck.  Even when she was in high school I used to call her She-Ra (remember her?  He-man’s sister).  I on the other hand have arms that resemble wet noodles.  Even in my brief athletic stent when I was “weight training” I had to use the light bar and never got more than ten pounds on it.  It was pretty pathetic.  It still is. 

Back to my point I needed someone with some guns to help me hammer these things into the ground.  She graciously agreed to help do all the work.  Honestly between the two of us and MB screwing them together and hammering them into the ground I bet we were done in less than hour.  J was pretty floored when he got home.  Probably mostly because we didn’t wreck anything. 

In all of their glory:

I know what you’re thinking, “what about your little herb garden you plant every year?”  Don’t you worry, I still made that happen.  Cross your fingers I don’t catch anything on fire!

Summer Fun: I might have been putting this off….

**Warning:  This post got LOOONG.  If you don’t have time to read it, skip down to the last paragraph.  That’s pretty much all you need to know.

A few post ago I mentioned that we were on our two week wait for the third time.  Then I kinda left ya’ll hanging.  Sorry about that.  I just really wanted to wait to write this post until after we had our new game plan.  Here it goes.

I actually got a visit from Aunt Flo the day before I was supposed to test and as much as I tried to be in denial she was intent on making her presence KNOWN.  I’m not sure if it’s just me or if there is actually science behind it but after these “assisted” cycles it feels like she’s angry at me or something.  In my head she’s all,“You tried to keep me away for nine months but you have failed (evil laugh).  I will now strike down upon thee with GREAT VENGEANCE and FURIOUS ANGER!”.   Is it just me or does that bitch sound a lot like Samuel L. Jackson?

To put it mildly there was no mistaking this for ANYTHING other than what it was.  Our third IUI attempt had failed, but being the good little soldier I am I waited a day and took my pregnancy test.  I called the RE’s office and a nurse called me back.  She explained to me that Captain had written in my chart that the next battle plan was IVF.  I don’t want to leave the wrong impression here.  That was not the first time I’d heard that.  Captain told me before and during our round of IUI that if it was unsuccessful that her recommendation would be IVF.  But I still didn't want to hear it.  It’s a game changer.

I know I've written a lot about the financial burden of all of this several times.  I know all of you reading this that have children probably think I’m being shallow.  You are probably all thinking, “There is no amount of money that I wouldn't pay for my Angel!  He/she is perfect in every way and worth every penny ever spent on anything in the history of the universe!” and I don’t doubt that at all.  But try to remember that we are not paying for a baby.  We are paying for the possibility of one.  My husband summed it up best.  If I told you I was going to go to Vegas and put 10 G’s on red you would slap me in the face, dump a bucket of water on my head, and try to shake the stupid out of me.   Well our odds of this working are less and our investment is more.  Does that mean we aren't going to go through with it?  Not yet.  But for many couples the financial burden of fertility treatments does prevent them from pursuing their dreams of becoming parents.  I pray we don’t get there.

Now while the financial aspect of the process is not going to stop us at this point, it is still a major stressor.  Luckily we have not had to take out any loans thus far.  But we will.  IVF is about ten times as expensive as IUI so we are probably not going to be able to bankroll this shindig without some assistance.  Usually with large purchases we try to save our money ahead of time and pay cash.  We've been pretty successful at this since we got married.  However we don’t have time to save up for this.  I turned 31 on Friday.  Every year after you turn 30 your egg quality decreases.  Due to the endometriomas that my eggs call roommates, mine are already on the crap side of the quality scale, best to not do anything to make them move further down that slippery slope.  Luckily we have good credit so we should be able to take out a loan with a relatively low interest rate.  But seriously?  Who takes out a fatty loan right before having a baby? 

Also, let’s not forget I do have a better half to think about and this puts a lot of added pressure on me.  Let me be clear, he does not actually DO anything to make me feel this pressure.  However, my husband runs our finances and when I say runs I mean he holds himself solely responsible for making sure we can do whatever we want while keeping our checking account out of the red.  He’s amazing like that.  Even though he doesn't come out and say it I know the constant draining of our savings account stresses him out.  I in turn, take that on as well.  I think if I can somehow MAKE (as if I even have that ability) this all work then we can stop writing these checks every other day and he will be less stressed out and his quality of life will be better.  As his wife, I’m always challenging myself to do everything I can to make his life better.

That is the tip of the iceberg that is all the emotional stress.  The pressure comes from practically everywhere.  You don’t realize how many people other than you and your husband feel like they have a dog in this fight.  It’s almost like fans rooting for their favorite sports team.  They really want to see you succeed but they have no REAL way of affecting the outcome.  The only way they know how to assist you is to scream “helpful suggestions” at the TV screen.  I feel selfish for even bringing this up.  We are lucky to have so many people in our lives that give a shit.  BUT, I am not a TV screen and I am tired of being yelled at.  It’s my business if I want to go for two or kick for the extra point!!!  And when you lose the game?  Their face falls like they were the ones who fumbled in the red zone.  That is pretty heart breaking to see.  While I realize how fortunate we are to have so many friends and family who are rooting for us, much like the big fat babies we call professional athletes, at times I have to fight back the urge to stomp my feet at a post-game press conference and tell everyone to back the eff up and leave me the eff alone.  For the record I think I only mildly succeeded at this sports metaphor – and that’s probably generous.  But were going with it, it’s my party and I’ll use crappy metaphors if I want to.

OK now that I’ve word vomited all over the internets with very little direction, let’s get down to the meat of this meal.  We are taking a break.  When I spoke to the nurse I set up a consultation appointment with Captain.  Since we ended up in the world of infertility in sort of a backassword kind of way we never had an initial consultation.  I needed that consultation.  I wanted a chance to sit down with Captain and ask all my questions.  I wanted to know more about how my endometriosis was affecting my fertility, why she thought the IUI was ineffective and why she thought IVF would be more effective.  Part of me maybe just needed to vent a little and have someone tell me all of my feelings were normal.

Let’s back-up a little.  Before our consultation we had already decided that unless captain told us something to change our mind we were taking a six month break.  We needed it.  We hoped to save up some cashola, J hoped to become a little more stable at work (he’s finishing out a 90 day contract now and hopes to be offered a permanent gig soon) and I really wanted to get the ole bod back into shape.  For a gamut of different reasons I have been forbidden to work out for the past year.  I wouldn't say I was a gym rat before then but I was pretty decent at getting in some cardio at least a few days a week.  Full disclaimer: some weeks I may have counted doing laundry as cardio.  Between being forbidden from anything more than a brisk walk, emotional eating, and all these dam hormones wreaking havoc on my metabolism and my appetite I have managed to become a little fluffy.  Other words I've used are puffy and soft.  Amazing how one can use words that remind you of freshly fallen snow or hot out of the dryer blankets to describe boarder line obesity.   I guess I’m cleaver like that (I might be exaggerating a little with the whole obesity bit).  Dramatic prose aside, I was pretty psyched at the idea of being able to hit the treadmill and work up a decent sweat.

Fast forward to the consult.  I’d say it went medium.  Captain was extremely patient with me.  I asked for permission to take a six month break and she said that would be fine.  As long as I stay on birth control my endometriosis should stay about the same.  I asked a million questions about why she thought the IUI wasn't working and why she thought IVF would.  How my endometriosis factored into the whole thing and if there was anything aside from taking the BC pills that would help minimize its invasion into my abdomen.   I even asked for just one more cycle of IUI.  She said no.  She explained everything and anything to me and it all made sense.  She is the Captain and all.  She even said our chances of success were higher than most couples due largely to my husband’s phenomenal swimmers (I cannot begin to tell you how tired I am of hearing that!  I get it.  You admire his “stuff”.  Can we please MOVE ON?!)

 

Then it happened.  All of my hopes of new gym clothes and dreams of exercise induced adrenalin rushes were crushed.  She told me I would still be unable to exercise.  Specifically she told me to avoid working up a sweat and that I should not let my heart rate exceed 110 BPMs.  To put it mildly, I had a shit fit.  She went on about studies and statistics and crap.  Something about evolution and running from danger.  I don’t know I just kept arguing with her.  I explained that it made no sense.  Doctors ALWAYS tell you to exercise.  Clearly she missed that day of med school.  She HAD to be wrong.  What kind of baby would prefer to set up shop in an out of shape uterus?  A mistake MUST have been made.  Finally she lost her patience.  She threw a photo copy of a medical study at me and told me that every time I longed for sweat to read it.  She told me to ask myself, “what would Caption do?”.  She went on to tell me that this little break in physical activity at my age would not do any damage to my heart.  She explained that my BMI was still well within the healthy range and that I was basically just being vain.  She told me if I’m really concerned about it my only option is to cut back my calorie intake.  She suggested Weight Watchers.  That Bitch.

My husband and I talked it over and even though I’m convinced that six months is just giving me more time to get fat we are still going to wait a while.  I’m going to look into the whole Weight Watchers deal though.  I think my Mom and I are going to do it together.  It can’t hurt right?  We still have the funding piece to figure out too and it would sure be nice for J to feel a little more stable and thus a little less stressed.  Plus, and this is a big plus, we are hoping that maybe when J gets a permanent job offer it will include insurance that covers some of this stuff.  Wouldn't that be nice?

In the mean time I have several projects around the house I’d like to work on.  Some of them I’ve started and even remembered to take pictures of so I could share them on here.  The one I’m most excited about is our garden!  BUT, I have a black thumb.  I've killed everything I've ever tried to grow.  I’m only mildly optimistic but the temptation of FREE fresh veggies is just too strong for me to ignore.  I’ll be sure to post about our progress.

To sum up the summer and the longest blog post ever:  No baby makin, maybe some Weight Watchers, gardening for dummies, hopefully canning for idiots, at least one family vay-cay, and other random projects I convince my husband need to be done round the house.  

You’re Welcome. (drops microphone and walks off stage)

Class Field Trip: The Most Embarrassing Parent Moment Ever

Last week MB asked me if I would go on his upcoming class field trip to the museum.  He informed me that I would get to ride the bus with him and everything.  Instantly I agreed.

As a step parent it’s pretty apparent that I am the third favorite.  I don’t mind.  It’s supposed to be that way.  However, because of my third place status I get pretty geeked when MB asks me specifically to do things with him.  I’d compare it to the clumsy kid on the playground getting picked first to play kickball.  You’re surprised but you don’t dare question it and before the team captain can change his mind you are running up to your place by his side as fast as you can (trying not to trip of course).

I emailed the teacher to ask if there was still room and sent in my five dollars.  We even made a special trip to the grocery store to buy what would go in our sack lunch.  I’m not sure who was more excited about this field trip.  Yes I do.  It was me.

Finally the day had come.  We get to the museum, paint an imaginary animal with a real artist, and are about to go on a tour of the museum.  Aside from the sweaty bus ride everything is going great.  The kids are all well behaved and respectful and MB hardly leaves my side. 

We gather around our tour guide and she introduces herself.  As I’m sure you might have guessed she is a sweet tinny woman who just celebrated her one millionth birthday.  She has been giving tours at the museum since her kids were all grown up – probably just after WW2.  Her name is Betty.

She guides us around the museum and shows the kids several of the paintings.  She tells them the stories behind them and asks the kids to pick out their favorite details.  She even has a few costumes and props that we use as a group to recreate the scenes on the canvas.  The toughest part of my job is making sure none of the kids touch any of the art.  No problem, I can do this all day.

The fourth or fifth painting we gather around in called The Grief of a Pasha.  It’s a painting of a Turkish ruler mourning the death of his tiger.

Betty:  OK, kids this painting is called The Grief of a Pasha.  What do you see?

Random Kids:  A tiger!  A guy!  Flowers!  Candles!

Betty:  That’s right.  Now what about the tiger, do you think he’s alive or dead?

Random Kids:  Alive!  Sleeping!  Dead!

Betty:  Well, this tiger is dead and that man was his owner.  That’s why he looks sad.  What about the man?  Look at his clothes, what kind of man if he?

……silience……until……

MB:  Ooh, Ooh, I know!  He’s a TERRORIST!!!

THIS Is Why We Need More Kids

Conversation between me and MB as we pull into the garage after baseball practice.

Me:  OK MB, when we get inside I need you to let the dogs out and then get out your homework while I make dinner.

MB:  OK Mom, but first I need to take care of business.

Me:  Buisiness?  You're seven.  What on earth are you talking about??

MB:  (Whispers) Mom it's a nice way of saying I have to poop.

Of course it is.....

You People Should Have Seen This Shit

It’s a Sunday evening around 7:30pm and the sun is beginning to set.  There’s a quiet wind chilling the air as the neighborhood starts to settle in for the night.  Well most of the neighborhood.

On our deck are two seven year olds.  One is dancing around in nothing but his Star Wars undies and socks wile waving his shirt around like a victory flag.  The other child is jumping up and down with his fingers in his ears screaming about bugs getting into is brain.  A frazzled but beautiful (smoking hot even) woman appears on the deck carrying a comb and a tissue.  

As she begins to comb through the terrified child’s copper hair she tries to calm him by informing him that a tick could not possibly get through his skull to his brain.  He seems to process this thought.  The model woman continues to try and root out the nasty blood suckers but she is having trouble as the child continues to jump up and down.  He then comes to the conclusion that while the top of his head is safe (thanks to his skull) and his ears are covered (as long as he keeps his fingers securely in them) he is still vulnerable.  Clearly the ticks will now choose to infiltrate his brain through is nostrils. 

Meanwhile, the half-naked child has now decided he is a cowboy of some sort (probably intergalactic) and is straddling the railing of the deck “ridding” it, chasing down a villain that’s probably from another planet and named something that sounds like Boha, Jongi, or Dildo.  His shirt?  That of course is now a lasso.

A Chat with the Man Upstairs

I have a few questions for the big guy.  None of them are about the meaning of life or how to solve world hunger.  I’m not that evolved.  I wanna know why being a chick sucks.  I’m shallow like that. Seriously though, what’s the worst thing a man has to deal with solely because of his gender?  Ear hair?  Wet dreams?  The accidental kick in the balls from time to time?  I WILL TRADE.  I just want to know why God didn’t divide all this crapola up more equaly.  For example:

They take menstral cramps and we’ll keep sore boobs.  We’ll even keep periods and being pregnant for the better part of a year but child birth is all them.  Oh and high heels, they can take that too.  We’ll keep boobs and they can keep balls but the boobs will stay high and tight and the balls will hang to their knees the day after their 30^th birthday.   We’ll take wet dreams off their plate because that actually sounds fun, but they will be expected to remove all body hair including the ear hair that they might was well keep.  Deal?  They would never go for it.  You know why?  Because they know exactly how good they've got it!  That and because they are wimps.

Did I mention I’m a little hormonal crazy right now?  We are a few days into our two week wait.  Maybe it’s the hormones talking but sometimes instead of it being OUR two week wait it feels like MY two week wait.  It’s pretty much all I think about and I’m fairly confident if you asked J what day our two week wait was over he’d struggle to come up with the right answer.  I get it.  I’m the one who regularly wants to stab someone.  I’m the one who’s so bloated she’s about to burst.  I’m the one who feels like she got kicked in the gut.  I’m the one who has to stick beads up my vajayjay twice a day.  It makes total sense that I can’t distract myself for longer than 2.5 seconds while he can’t tell you what day we are on.  It makes sense.  BUT IT’S NOT FAIR!  <<throws head back and stomps feet>>  All he has to do is jiz in a cup.  You think I can get him to trade?  Yeah, I doubt it.

A Quick Update on a Welcomed Respite

OK, so last I posted we had just found out that our last attempt at IUI had failed.  Although it was expected it was pretty hard to take.  I had five mature follies for the love of pete!  FIVE.  I thought we were golden for sure!  I remember thinking to myself that if it doesn’t work with five swimming around in there than we were hosed for sure (let’s hope I’m wrong).

Anyway, so after our second failed attempt I did some quick math for our next cycle and figured out I would be in Orlando for a trade show around the time I would ovulate.  I called my RE’s office and she suggested we take a month off.  She told me I could go on birth control if I wanted or try naturally to conceive this month.  I thought it was a no-brainer.  Of course I’ll try the natural way to get knocked up.  IT’S FREE.  AND FUN.  THER ARE NO NEEDLES!  Did I mention that it’s free?  I was also excited to get to go a whole month without someone shoving a plastic wand up my hoo-ha.  Coat it in all the jelly you want, it still SUCKS.  I was floored.  And relieved.  It was practically nirvana people.  I think I might have done an actual cartwheel.  Unfortunately my math was right on and I ovulated in Florida.  So no dice in Febuary.  No biggie, on to March!

Remember when I thought not going on birth control and trying on our own was a no-brainer?  I’m an idiot.  I went back to the RE in March to find out that in the absence of controlled hormonal balance my endometriosis had made my ovaries its playground.  That bastard!  So the birth control was prescribed and I was told to hang tight for March and hope that the drugs did their thing and some of these darn endometriomas would beat cheeks outa there!  Or at least shrink enough to grow some eggs in there.

So here we are.  April, and for once the endometriosis did what it was supposed to do!  We are back Jack! (Just ignore that little Duck Dynasty reference.  I might be more than a little obsessed.)  I’m back on the fancy egg cooking drugs (Follistim) again and Captain added a new drug (Ganirelix) to stop my body from premature ovulation – different from premature ejaculation.  Kinda similar I guess…  I’m not sure if it’s the new drug or if my body has gone into a full out revolt, but this round of IUI has been different than my other two, and in none of the good ways.  I’m puffier, and crampier.  My eggs don’t seem to be cooking as fast either.  Also, my thighs are killing me from all these dam injections.

This is about the point in my whining where most people cut me off and say “Oh it will all be worth it in the end”.  I usually grit my teeth and nod my head in agreement.  What I’m screaming in my head is IT WILL ONLY BE WORTH IT IF I ACTUALY GET A BABY OUT OF ALL THIS BULLSHIT!  Because let’s be honest, it’s far from guaranteed.  It’s quite possible that I could be doing all of this to myself for nothing.  NOTHING.   OK, pity party over.

I did ask the nurse if there was somewhere else I could stick these needles because I was running out of spots on my legs and she showed me how to give them to myself in my belly.  I tried that.  For a half second!  It hurt like a BITCH.  I’ll stick with my legs thank you very much!  I go back to the doctor tomorrow morning for another ultra-sound to see if my eggs are done.  We could be fertilizing as early as Sunday y’all!

Baby update done.  I’m out! 

Didya Miss Me?

Holy Cow!  Has it really been two months?!?!  I assure you I have good reasons excuses.  First being that we took a little respite from the RE’s office and second being all the freaking traveling I've been doing for work!  I promise I’ll try to do better. 

I believe I owe you some masquerade mask shenanigans.   And I am a woman of my word!  But I forgot to take picture as I went so here is a picture of my mess:

And a Picture of the final product:

I was really happy with how they came out.  For mine I just bought a white mask and attacked it with Elmer’s glue and glitter.  After it dried I went to town with the glue gun and some feathers.  I decided to leave the blue feathers off because they didn't match the blue glitter EXACTLY and I have a touch of the OCD.  J’s was more of a project.  I bought a plain white mask to use as a base and a sheet of black craft foam.  I had to widen the eye holes of the base mask because I’m quite certain it was made for a child.  Then I drew the design I stole from the internets on the foam and cut it out. 

Disclaimer:  I have a confession, I’m only medium crafty.  I can replicate almost anything.  I just don’t have any ideas of my own.  Pretty much everything I've ever made has come from replicating something else in one form or another.  You will find very few original ideas here.

OK, back to the mask.  After I had my foam cut out I glued it to the mask.  Sounds simple enough right?  Ha.  Ha.  Ha.  Here’s the thing I forgot about.  Foam is flat.  My mask was not.  Luckily for me foam can be pretty pliable.  It took a bit of stretching and sticking but I got it on there looking pretty decent.  The foam was a little wrecked after I got done with it and you could see some of the white from the base mask around the eyes, but  it was nothing a little flat black spray paint couldn't fix.  I then added a touch of glitter to jazz it up a bit and so we could be matchers.  I had to be careful with matching though because if there is one thing J hates it’s matching me.  Serious knock down drag outs have gone down in our house because I refused to change and we were wearing the same shade of gray.  No I am not kidding.  It’s a very serious matter (to him).

Bonus crappy cell phone picture of us wearing them:

OK, so that was the first installment of getting us all caught up.  Tomorrow I’ll bring you up to speed on all the baby makin business.  I PROMISE.