Month: October 2008

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laugh till you cry… or is it cry till you laugh?

As we were wrapping up dinner at the neighbor’s house, the host tossed an empty ceramic egg holder onto the counter and asked if we wanted it.

Irrespective of the obvious associations, it really isn’t my style, but I didn’t know what to say.  I had just been overwhelmed by the task of selecting a tea bag, so I deferred to my husband.  I can’t remember the exact quotes but it went down something like this:

Husband, “that’s okay,  Clare doesn’t have enough eggs to fill that”

I feel my eye brows move. I sense the other couple moving towards me protectively

Host, “really? It only holds a few.”

I feel the other couple’s hands on my shoulder as my hands squeeze the sides of my face.

Husband, “no really,  we don’t have that many eggs on hand.”

I start to lose the plot and say, “truly, it’s confirmed and everything.”

Host, “Can’t she just put the extra eggs in the refrigerator…”

“uh” as the room fills with awkward laughter, and my hands completely cover my face.

“…you know to keep ’em until you are ready for ’em”

I start to shake.  The girl taps my shoulder and says, ‘I’m in the same boat.”   She is only 18.  Then I really start to cry, her boyfriend is one onside, she’s on the other, my head’s in my hands and then I burst out laughing.  Really it was too absurdly funny.

The poor host had no idea what hit him.

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Day three

Well I am at work. I am slow.  I am making mistakes.  I just want to sob.   But that sounds like it would take more energy and initiate than I am up for. 

 

I’ve crossed everything easy off my list.  I am left with 4 huge projects all due Monday.  I have tomorrow off. Must finish them today.  Won’t happen though.

 

At least I conveniently strolled into work around 10 which meant my pregnant friend at work was sitting down, belly hidden.  She’s lovely, but this is going to be long and hard.

 

I feel a bit scared and overwhelmed.

 

Okay back to the to do list. Print out map for co-worker so she can drop off a Tango (Blick Twice) for a client.  Your comments help so much. Thank you.

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Day 2 – survived!

Today I made it into work for a whopping 5 hours, part of which was spent lunching with my boss and trying not to cry on my salad.  I then knocked off and went shopping.  Tricky thing was I nearly ran into the prime minister – LITERALLY.  I am a bit distracted. I didn’t even notice the small police presence or the cameras until I nearly walked into her.  I guess I just thought the mall was slighly crowded.  I would have been a bit embarrassed if I made the evening news and had to explain to the workmates who don’t know what is going on why I was at the mall at 3 pm!

I also had to write an apology email to someone I stood up yesterday.  I completely forgot I had this important phone meeting scheduled when I decided not to go in yesterday. I have a really good relationship with the women, but don’t really want to broadcast the whole story.  I quickly wrote an email and was surprised that this is what came out:

Hi Sarah,

I had a bit of a personal tragedy this weekend.  A distant family member didn’t make it. I never really new them and don’t honestly know if we are all that related, but they were the type of person you just really wanted to get to know better.    It hit me harder than I expected.

So that is why I completely forgot about our phone meeting.  I was home and didn’t check my work calendar all that well when I decided to needed to take the day off.

Can we reschedule for next week or the following?

Sorry! Clare

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Day 2

Just reporting that shock of all shocks, it hurts just as much as yesterday.  I more frequently have moments where I can breath without my throat catching, however there are more intense moments than yesterday.

The fact that it took 10 months from having a donor volunteer to now is killing me, not only because of how much time I invested (more than the length of a pregnancy), but also because it represents the shortest possible amount of time before next time.

I think I’d be ready to try again in 3-4 months, but realistically it would be at least 6 if not 12 months before everything could be lined up – and that is assuming that a friend volunteers to donate.  Not having a back up plan makes this so much harder.

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the waves of sadness

I was so scared the night before the beta.

Then the day came. I drove in to the clinic on the wide open public holiday roads.  Easy peesy.  Blood draw was quick and efficient.  I joked with and then thanked the blood tech for working on a public holiday.

I asked the receptionist what I needed to do to pick up my results (instead of getting it over the phone).  She just checks a box on the computer.  Excellent.

I then asked her about picking up my unused embryos. I never would have thought to ask for this, but when it was an option on the consent forms I absent mindedly checked ‘yes.’  I must have known that this is what I needed.

I opened up the brown paper bag to find this:

The test tub containing the remaining 8 embryos is tucked inside.  I’ll put them in the sea sometime soon.  The bag will be added to my strange collection of souvenirs of dreams and people I have grieved, including the bracelet my best friend’s mother cut off him at the morgue.  I couldn’t believe she did it and then gave it to me, but I couldn’t thank her enough.  I grieve best when I have things to touch and music to sway to as I let the emotions boil up.

I didn’t realize how much I need a physical sign that this cycle happened.  This perfect cycle in all but the result.   I now realize that my sadness is only partially about the negative. It is also that I have no plan for next steps.

But I really weep that it didn’t work with this donor, this month… everything just seemed so perfect.  The donor was perfect. Her children are so much like me in personality, something I’ve never ever thought about someone else’s children.  I love all the memories I was compiling that was going to be the pre-story for my child… the call from the donor offering her eggs. The late night chatting on a friend’s porch that night with my husband regarding what we want to do.  The night the donor and her husband came over for tea to discuss all the implications of a cycle.  The start of the cycle on a gorgeous day looking over the harbour (today was a similar day).  Picnicking with friends the day before the retrieval (the same friends I picnicked with today).  Driving with my donor to the clinic together.  Wearing the same knickers on transfer day as I wore on my wedding day.  The goat TV out my living room window (I just loved thinking about how the neighbor’s goats were such a part of the waiting for and waiting during the cycle). This was going to be THE cycle.

It all was so perfect. And now its over.  And my donor is too old to try again with. I am left with nothing but a little woven bag.

As my donor said, “the world is just as it was, and so much emptier than I had dared imagine.”

There is nothing more to say as I click the DE cycle 1 tag box one last time.

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day one of the rest of my life – again

I am staying home today.  I woke feeling pretty good, but its all creeping back.  Maybe I’ll clean and do some heavy lifting and then perhaps a drink or two.  I suspect my husband will make me eat.

Niobe’s photo she posted today perfectly captures how I am feeling with my husband and I being forced to look forward through the tears as the dreams we carried on the two embryos we transfer fadeinto the background.  There still is colour and hope I try to remind myself.

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Results

It was an amazing moment to get this far, but alas we opened the letter as two and walked away a husband and wife united in love but no closer to proving the odds wrong.

At least the moment of truth is here and not associated with my home or workplace.  Labour Day may never be quite right for me again though…

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Contrasts

Earlier this week I went to lunch with a local who also has POF. We got the same diagnosis in the same month from the same doctor. I love Dr Maybe; She tolerates him. I gave up on using my own eggs before I ever tried with them. She is the queen of persistence and optimism. I am trying to just relax and go with the flow and am taking a sabbatical from researching everything and questioning doctors. She hounds the message boards, reading heaps of medical articles, and gets lots of second opinions. She is full steam ahead trying everything and anything with her own eggs. I chose to wait for a publicly funded cycle with donor eggs… and now am waiting to see if it worked. While I was waiting, she was doing back to back cycles.

As different as we are, we are in it together. We always do lunch when one of us is in the middle of a cycle. We text each other on the super hard days. We compare notes on the clinic staff. I am so very glad to know her.

At our last lunch date another difference in our approaches came up. She couldn’t believe I wouldn’t POAS. I just knew I wouldn’t. I really wanted to wait to take my blood test and then go pick up the results in person later that afternoon. Ever since I read in the clinic’s information packet that you had the option picking up the results in an envelope, I knew that is what I wanted.

For all these months of waiting I’ve been imagining picking up the envelope, driving to the beach, and opening it. I want that place to be separate from my home, work and everyday life. I want no association with my cell phone, car, desk, or kitchen. It will be a moment of great celebration or dashed hope, and I need it to be separate. I need to have the control to hold my fate in my hands and choose exactly what second I will know it. To wait another 3 or 4 seconds, and then to know. I feel like so much control has been taken from me that I have seized onto this one little detail and placed all my hopes and fears into the anticipation of opening that envelope tomorrow.

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Show and Tell – hopeful delusions

I only have two more days until my beta. I also have two dear friends whose expanding bellies make it increasingly likely that baby shower gifts are in order soon. These are dear friends on the level of sister-by-choice and I don’t want to let them down.

So these facts, coupled with my delusion that I know how to use a needle, led me to think that making baby gifts would be an excellent way to keep my mind off things.

The hopeful side said, if I ended up pregnant I can steal one of these for myself and make another. The pessimist side said, slave away to create, wrap, and address packages now before you are a blob whose identifying feature is the cascading stream of tears that shifts course with each heaving sob.

Now before you see the ‘creations’ you might want to see the video that inspired my design.

I use the word design rather loosely here. Half way through the rainbow fern, I sighed and said, “please, if I’m pregnant, please let my gestating skills be a bit more exacting then my handiwork.” My husband smiled and said, “I’d put a kid in it.” “Really?” to which he replied,  “hell yeah! We’ll just say the kid made it himself.”

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In the middle of an upswing

Yesterday was my day of fighting tears and I ripping lettuce after a day of pretending to work at the office.

This morning I woke to your wonderful your comments.  They meant so much to me although I was still a bit down when I walked into work today. Just before I arrived, my boss sent me a text to see how I was doing, I replied that honestly I was struggling. 10 minutes later she was holding me as I sobbed in the tea room.

I don’t know how I managed it, but flash forward 7 hours and I was laughing with my colleagues. I maintained this happy version of myself and went out for Mexican. I was blissful as I toasted my friend (who’s 5 month pregnant) with my yummy virgin pina cola. I was joyful and felt part of the non-drinking, cerviche-avoiding crowd.

I am so lucky to work in the office I do. The women there have been nothing but supportive. Plus when I can convince myself that I might actually shock of all shocks be pregnant, I can be part of that happy crowd of pregnant people. But when my doubts creep in, the office’s women who know the other side welcome me into open arms with their stories of miscarriages, embryos not making it, and worries. They also are mothers. They know the joy and loss from all angles and hold me hand when I need it, pulling me into their ranks.

I guess I am finally realizing the truth in the saying about parents wearing their your hearts on their sleeve. In my case, each little step towards conceiving is raw and scary. But as my boss, who’s son is in school now, points out, even if Monday’s test is positive, the worry won’t stop there. Hopefully the joy won’t either.

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They did say it was a ‘loss-ey’ endeavor

But golly I am ill prepared. Now I fully understood that this whole IVF thing is about leaping over hurdles and beating some more stats each time. I got that you start with the number of eggs at retrieval and then the numbers fall until you get your beta, in which case you really hope other numbers start going up.

I also had this idea that the two week wait was long and hard because it is fairly uneventful. Um WHAT WAS I THINKING?

Now I have a sample size of one donor cycle, but so far these are the number times that a phone call made my heart clench tight so far:

  • Retrieval day – donor was fine, 19 eggs
  • Fertilization report – 15 mature eggs, 10 fertilized
  • Next day call – all 10 fertilized have divided
  • Transfer – only 2 eight-cell embryos to transfer
  • Day 5 – panic because a ‘restricted’ phone number (code for the clinic) called 3 times before 8 am on a Sunday
  • Day 5 – bravely ask clinic if we should be avoiding intercourse, because I see hints of that online, bu the clinic says no reason we’d need to
  • Day 6 – hear from clinic, no embryos could be frozen

My goodness it has only been 7 days. Now I guess I should consider myself lucky that of the seven calls, only 1 was actually relaying bad news. The two more fretful hurdles were retrieval day and transfer day, and we managed to clear them, though the transfer day was a near miss and didn’t exactly feel like good news.

No matter how much I rationalize and urge myself to keep the faith, I still feel a huge sadness that we weren’t able to freeze any of the remaining 8 embryos. Honestly there is a bit of fear too as now we have no back up plan. For f*ck sake we are starting with donor eggs which for some people is the back up plan.

Everyone around me is so hopeful and positive. My assistant had a dream that I was having twins. I had the strangest floating feeling yesterday like I was being filled with energy from within. I am trying so hard to spin this so that I remain calm and happy. I mean really I should just pretend I am pregnant until proven otherwise, because if the test comes back positive I will always think of these two weeks as part of the pregnancy and if it comes back negative, at least I had these two weeks.

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Show and Tell – half way through

This week I thought I’d share a little Kiwianna. I celebrated making it halfway through my first two week wait by shopping for a classic New Zealand dessert, Pavlova.

While at the supermarket I noticed a few prices that to my American eyes seemed strange. Now its been nearly 2 years since I lived in the US, who knows maybe prices are just shifting along with the other crazy financial changes, but my gut says that the prices of these items should be approximately $3.50, $20, and $15.00.

In fact all these things cost 10 NZ dollars. I can get enough hamburger to feed a small army for the same price as a handful of almonds, but as expensive as the almonds are to me, the flowers seem really cheap. Don’t get me started on the fact that a brick of cheese is more than all that meat. I find myself buying more and more meat just because its so much cheaper than nuts and dairy. Yet I can afford to surround myself with flowers which feels luxurious.

What makes life seem a bit more luxurious to you?

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Another day down

I felt much better today.   Everyone’s comments meant so much to me. Thank you.  One of the gifts of this process is how much love is poured into every beginning.

I took that love and tried to create goodness today.  In addition to all the healthy food eating and hard core visualizing, I knew I needed to do something tangible now.  I choose to write to my mother.  I told her the name of our donor and the scope of people she is allowed to share that information with.  I emailed her the photo of our two embryos with directions that she isn’t allowed to go all crazy grandma and share them with the world just yet!  I made sure she knew that I had already told my brother the donor’s name because it was my way of honoring him with being so mature and kind about listening to your big sister share – really what twenty-year old single guy wants to think much about his sister’s reproduction adventures, but he was a super star about it.  He will make some woman very very happy some day.

Writing to my mother was hard, but it made me feel like I carved out some extra goodness from today.  What goodness have you created or seen this week?

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and the wait begins

Well today was the second minor bump… the first was last Saturday when my donor was nervous that the doctors thought she was over responding to the drugs.

Today it was the phrase “Dr Maybe says he is happy to transfer 2 embryos.”  I am on a publicly funded cycle with strong SET (single embryo transfer) rules.   When I texted my donor with what the doctor had said, she immediately understood what I was hinting at.. “so they were a bit grotty?”  yeah I think that is what the clinic was hinting at.

I had told myself I would only transfer one.. but with only 2 eight cell ones appropriate to transfer, neither all that perfect nor suitable for freezing, I went with the doctor’s recommendation.  Plus of the other 8 eggs that fertilized, none could be frozen today. There are four that might progress and be frozen, but no guarantees.  Everyone was so upbeat and cheerful this morning . My lining was great. The placement was judged to be very good, but behind everyone’s words I had this sense that yesterday things were looking much better than today. When they wished me luck, I just smiled, raced to the loo to relieve my bladder and cried.  I hugged that soft fuzzy sheet like it was going to ooze comfort if I just squeezed a bit more.

That said, I am very very happy that two scraps of possibilities were put in me for a ride home. I hope they don’t mind a little TV watching as I enjoy a luxurious day in bed.  Your comments mean the world as I bide my time.

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T day

I lay here waiting for sleep which will lead to tomorrow.  My instruction are very straight forward for the transfer.

I am trying to sort out my personal ‘rules’ for the time after the transfer.  I will try to stay mellow and relaxed this weekend.  Who cares if it has any impact on implantation, I feel that I’ve earned a relaxing, chill weekend.  A friend has offered to lend me season 2 of Brothers & Sisters which isn’t on down here yet – that is a great start.  I also won’t be rowing.  I have stocked my fridge with yummy, healthy food.  As for the rest of my personal guidelines, I have no idea. I’ll invent them as I go.

We had 10 eggs fertilize yesterday.  All 10 divided properly. I spent all day in a daze trying to get my head around it.

I just can’t believe that tomorrow is the day. I’ve picked out funny things I really want to have with me.  A pair of earnings my husband gave me as part of a grand scavenger hunt on the shores of Lake Michigan.  A bracelet I bought to commemorate when my grandma died in her nineties.  The boots I finally bought this summer after years of saying I wasn’t the type to wear knee high boots. Clothes are laid out. I guess my ability to cope to the evening-before-nerves was forged as a young child preparing for her first day at school.  All I know is to pack my bag and lay out some clothes I’ll feel great in.

What do you do the night before a big day?

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Tomorrow

Tomorrow has arrived and with with good news.  15 eggs were mature.  10 fertilized normally. Looks like my hubby’s contribution worked.

On Thursday it will be my turn to step up to the plate and see what my body is up to.

Thank you again for all your comments yesterday.  I have posted the photo now.

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Show and Tell – Retrieval

There is nothing at the moment that rivals the events on the past 48 hours and I am dying to share.  Hope you don’t mind a cycle tale for my show and tell this week.

It starts with the last sunset before the retrieval:

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –  — – –  – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –  – – –

Last night my donor called. She was feeling grotty and wanted company. Her husband was off picking up their children from the grandparents, a 3 hour drive away. We were welcome to spend the night to make it easier to get to the clinic in the morning. I packed a cooler of food laughing about how we weren’t exactly going camping.

Once I filled her fridge, we sat at the edge of her bed and talked. We talked about how weird it would be if we didn’t know each other. If we were each counting the hours to retrieval separately. We jointly sorted out logistics for the next day. Kids to her sister’s house in her husband’s cars. Us to clinic in my car. Her husband to follow. I to organize dinner for Monday night. Four adults and 2 cars seemed the minimal amount of resources to make it all happen.  Again, we were relieved we all knew each other.

When her husband arrived home, I helped carry their youngest upstairs. I was struck by how glad I was to be staying the night at their house. I had company to pass the time, more time to sleep, but most importantly I had a chance to see the everyday moments I was dreaming off… Kids at the breakfast table. The weight of sleepy children as you carry them to bed. The tricky questions 6 year olds raise.

All night I tossed and turned… the only thing that helped me sleep was writing this post into my head. There were so many details of this weekend I didn’t want to forget.

I want to remember the pink sunset dancing on the still glassy habour waters as I drove to my donors house. The cold waters that lapped my feet when I went wading after a lunch picnic with friends. The joy of rowing all the way around the island in the middle of the harbour (photo to come once I retrieve my camera from my donor-friend’s house). How my arms felt as I helped pull the boat through the waters and how they felt later that night carrying my friend’s daughter upstairs. How my husband was scared and nervous this morning. How comfortable I felt telling friends and acquittance about what we were up to.

This morning’s events were strange and less memorable. I took my first progesterone suppository that I gather is lieu of PIO shots. I drove the donor and my husband to the clinic. We were all ushered to a small windowless room to wait which I suspect it is more typically used to maintain the anonymity of the donor and recipient.

The hardest part was once my friend had been called for the retrieval and my husband was sequestered into his own room. I was left to sit alone in the way back waiting room. I felt irrelevant.

I sent the donor a text. I cried a bit. I said hello to the chipper woman who was waiting for her husband to pay a bill at the front desk before they were swept away toward the back rooms. I said a prayer that things worked for them then tossed one up for myself. Then my husband reappeared. It was time to go.

An hour later a text arrived — 19 eggs!

Tomorrow morning we learn how my husband’s contribution pans out.

I impatiently I wait for Thursday Transfer Day when I hopefully get a slightly bigger job than playing bus driver to my husband and donor.

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Reporting

As I started writing today’s post, I paused to flick through my google reader list and came across a powerful post by The Angry Canadian Nurse. My heart just lurched.

It is so hard to write about good news when you are feeling for someone else — when I remember that humans are capable of doing such shitty things to others and that my little pocket of joy this week, while precious and wonderful, does not extend infinitely across time nor space.

So I’ll keep my news simple. I dropped my donor off at the clinic this morning for her scan.

I later checked my voice mail.  Message from the clinic: “Donor on track. Continue with the 2 mg of ___ 3x daily. Further instructions to be delivered Saturday.” I felt like I was receiving a secret spy message and  should immediately destroy all evidence of it.

Later I had a leisurely late afternoon tea as my friend told me her version of the story in non-spy form. Our typically overly prepared doctor had to leave her ‘indisposed’ so he could grab a paper and pen so that she could write down all the follicle measurements. We take this to mean that he was very surprised she is responding so well to the drugs that she had more follicles than numbers he could hold in his head. She said she wrote down at least 12 numbers, maybe 18. All of them were between 13-18 mm. At this point in the story telling, she glanced at her bloated stomach and said, “I think I might have an entire brood here for ya.”

When I retold this to my husband, he got this goofy grin on his face.  When I said, “WHAT?” he just replied, “you’re so goofy… or maybe you’re just a normal girl.”