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Archive for September, 2008

Hey hey hey…

…and it looks like my cycle is back on track, which is a relief.  I’m planning on (listen up, Universe, and have yourself a good laugh) going to the World Fantasy Convention at the end of October, but I still wanted to start a new IVF cycle at the beginning of my next menstrual cycle.  So the timing, what with being out of the country for four days near the beginning of my cycle, would have been tricky.  

Still might be, but I tend to be pretty regular, even with all the weirdness in my innards lately.  Hell, even my miscarriage happened on a day my period would have started if I hadn’t been, um, pregnant.  I have a consultation appointment with the good doctor tomorrow, to get going on cycle #2, and I’m hoping he is pleased with my recovery & gives me the go-ahead for a new cycle.  Have to admit, I’m also eager to be done with the DHEA.  Hair loss is noticeable in the shower but, (I hope) not noticeable on my scalp.  Bad skin is definitely noticeable, though seriously aggressive cleaning (we’re talking rubdowns with rubbing alcohol) is keeping the worst of it in check.  My mood’s been good – yay for testosterone? – and my energy level’s been great.  I like that bit.  But if this cycle doesn’t work out, I’ll be going the DE route next time, so won’t need the egg-drugs next time.  Personally though, I’m hoping for a DHEA spontaneous this month.  

Though that might just be an excuse to have lots & lots of newlywed sex.

Like I need that excuse.

So we’re back home, and husband (!) is watching the market situation; I’m trying to avoid watching the market situation.  We’re both getting some writing done.  Dog is catching up on some much-needed sleep.  (Hah.  She’s not a dog, she’s an amoeba.  A sleepy amoeba.)  And I might make enchiladas for the youngest child.  And clean my desk.  Maybe do a bit of cross-stitch and/or looking for fabric for the new quilt that will be husband’s belated wedding gift.  It’s a day filled with possibilities.

Seriously.

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I’m a Missus..

…which is pretty damned weird when you think about it.  

Wedding was a hoot – truly a perfect ceremony for us, a blend of sheer goofiness and unadulterated sentiment – sort of like our relationship, actually.  Our J of the P wasn’t actually certain that his certification – or whatever – was still valid.  Fortunately, his wife is also a J of the P, so we were married – jointly – by one or the other of the J of the Ps in the room at the time.  It rained the entire time we were in New Hampshire.  Boy’s BFF bought us a wedding cake (as did the owner of the B&B where we stayed).  We were serenaded by a teen-aged boy right before the wedding, and photographed by a pre-teen boy who pronounced us incredibly un-photogenic (which we knew.  This was not a surprise.)  The dog slept through it all on the sofa.  Our bed at the B&B turned out to be the creakiest bed – on the creakiest wooden floor – in the world, so the marriage remained unconsummated much longer than anyone who knows us well would believe.   Dog got to run full-out through a field of wet grass, which, given that she’s a whippet, was actually quite impressive.  Middle daughter was cordial, and we ate sushi and ice cream in Cambridge with her and one of her friends.  Meanwhile, the dog ate a screen at the B&B.  The stock market crashed, and we got to hear it all on the radio, as it happened.  We came home early, not feeling much like frolicking on the beach while Rome burned.

We got married.

We laughed, we cried…

No, really.

It was sweet and sincere, and as simple as pledging to love someone forever – in front of witnesses – can be.  It was perfect.  

I’m in love with a wonderful man, and he’s in love with me.  And I get to live with him forever.  Yes, this is one of those happily-ever-after stories.  

You got a problem with that?

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Except, as I write that, I realize that it’s not entirely true.  The actual reason for the hurry-up wedding is in case we end up striking out a couple more times with the IVF, in which case we’ll be looking to adopt some parentless sprog out there ASAP, in which case we’ll need to look as stable and non-flighty as possible, for as long as possible, all of which means that getting married sooner rather than later would be a good thing.

We’re doing it as a part of the wild, wild honeymoon tour of Centralia, PA (site of the ever-burning coal mine – research for one of the boy’s books); Binghamton, NY (home base for a handful of friends we don’t see nearly often enough); Manchester, NH (from whence comes the boy’s BFF, AKA the J of the P who’s going to marry us in his kitchen); Cambridge, MA (to visit the middle child who threatens to call any child I bear “it”, but still wants us to come see her new apartment); and finally a relaxing day or two in Maine walking along rocky beaches with dog, encouraging said dog to attack seagulls and generally amuse us.  

I’m actually looking forward to the vacation part of it, and also to having finished the wedding part of my life (neverneverneverwanttogothroughthisagain!) and to getting on with the fun stuff of being married.  I get a shiny new ring out of the deal – though it will not, due to my own stellar lack of planning, be ready in time for the kitchen-ceremony.  And I get to start calling the boy “my husband”, which, to be honest, I do about half the time already, because, really, at our age, having a boyfriend (and being a girlfriend) is just too silly.  Especially when it gets all complicated with the whole ‘trying to have a baby with my boyfriend’ thing.  A few times at my clinic, when I explained that my ‘partner’ would be by later, they were obviously surprised to see a man show up and not a woman…  

Unlike the first time I endured this whole marriage thing, this time around I’m actually considering the possibility of a name-change.  Mostly because much of the reason for formalizing our relationship is because of our intent to create a family, and because I feel strongly that a family should all have the same name – or at least all have similar names.  Boy’s BFF and his wife split the difference with one kid being Eli M-R & the other being Zeke R-M.  A tidy solution, but not practical in our case – namely because if we were to hyphenate our names, we’d sound way too much like a certain character out of Gone with the Wind.  

Besides, I like my name.  

So I’ll likely keep mine professionally, but if (when!) we have a family, I will introduce myself socially with the family name.  A weird balance, but probably the most honest compromise I can come up with at this late date in my life.  

In other exciting news, an agent has requested a partial manuscript for my fantasy novel, and so I’m keeping my fingers crossed about that.  It’d be nice to have another area of my life open up & not totally suck.  

Going to go wrap the boy’s wedding present now.  And maybe wrestle with the dog.  And then I’m going to sit back in bed and count all my goddamn blessings because, really, I know that I’m awfully fucking lucky, even though I whine too much.

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It’s over.

This is the first day since July 28 that I haven’t bled.  Mere words cannot express how wonderful this is.  

It feels like fall outside, Nellie’s first vet appointment went great – her new vet has owned whippets in the past, said she was looking great, and seems like he’ll be fantastic to deal with.

And I don’t feel like death.  And I’m not being reminded of this summer’s crappy events every time I take a piss.  Which is really something to be pleased about.  Thanks, doc!

Now, hoping my cycle gets back on track so I can subject myself to this all over again.

Woohoo!

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And today I underwent the procedure I was trying to avoid two months ago when I forewent the D&C for a natural, astonishingly scary & painful miscarriage at home.  

Today’s hysteroscopy/D&C was certainly unnatural, but really not scary or painful at all, thanks to the joys of a general anesthetic, which I’m pretty sure he used to spare me the emotional pain of dealing with the fact that it was probably the remains of my poor baby that wouldn’t come out.  All things considered, if I ever have to go through this again – I’m choosing what’s behind curtain number two right away.  

At least as long as curtain number two is actually a privacy shield in a very clean and professionally run surgical center.

The center itself was a hoot.  Just off Park Avenue, so catering to the, uh, rich and catered-to, the waiting room looked like a boudoir that had seen better days.  Brocade.  Tassels on the lamps.  Framed antique maps and prints from obscure children’s books.  A fireplace.  A samovar.  Truly, all it needed was a woman in the corner,  wearing negligee and smoking a ciggie with a long filter to complete the picture of weird decadence.  I expected to see a hookah in there somewhere, but did not.  Obviously I just didn’t look hard enough.  

Past the waiting room, though, it was all business.  The pre-op/recovery room was just a long maze of gurneys divided by privacy curtains.  Very professional and antiseptic looking, except since most of their early-morning patients were post-colonoscopies being urged to pass all the air from their bowels, it was noisy and awfully surreal in a goofy sort of way.  

The woman in the next gurney-slot over from me was an old dear in for a carpal tunnel excavation, “72 years young”, as she kept explaining to anyone who stood still long enough.  Then she’d praise her doctor to the skies – “He’s a mensch, one of the good guys!  I wouldn’t be alive today if it weren’t for Dr. H.”  Then she tried to hit on the anesthesiologist – which was understandable, because he was a cutie, but it was still sort of weird to be privy to her bizaare bed-top manner.  

The center itself had all the bells & whistles – weird for someone like me who is used to bare-bones medical care, if any at all.  But this was top-notch, and pretty cushy besides.  My hospital gown had an attachment for what – for all intents and purposes – was a hairdryer.  To keep me warm.  Sounds goofy, but oh my, when I woke up shivering from the damned general anesthesia, I fell in love.  I’d’ve stayed there all day if they’d left that thing running.  I want one at home.  As soon as those suckers are commercially available, I’m all over that…

The staff also kept up a running commentary of stupid jokes of the sort I tend to appreciate, though the nurse who insisted on probing for the complete story of my infertility was sort of annoying.  I think she thought she was keeping my mind off the upcoming procedure, but really, what my mind needs to be taken off these days is the infertility – not the various treatments surrounding same.  But everyone was kind.  It would have been all right going there for a D&C.  Next time I’ll know.

(I can’t believe I just wrote that.  Scratch previous negative thought, please.)

And it looks like it wasn’t a polyp or a fibroid or some weird nasty tumorous growth.  Just a remnant from the pregnancy that didn’t want to leave.  When I asked my doctor how it went, he laughed and said, “You do know that this is the fourth time you’ve asked that.”  Er, sorry.  Anesthesia is weird.  But he was kind and explained it all over again for me, and then a few minutes later popped back in to ask if I remembered what he’d said this time.  I do like this man.  I’m glad I lucked into him for my RE, but I sort of wish that he was a “regular” doctor simply because he’s the sort of doctor I could see remaining loyal to for just about ever.  I trust this man more than I’ve ever trusted a doctor before, which makes this easier than it would be otherwise, I think.  So anyway, he got everything out that should have come out, and let everything be that should be let be.  And I’m on Estrace again – it felt funny opening up the pill bottle, recognizing the little lozenges, and then verifying that –Yes!- this time I get to take them Orally!  Who would have thought the day would come when I would be thrilled to take a pill twice a day – down my THROAT!  

Boy was a dear and came to pick me up.  He also managed to get hold of his parents in Italy to tell them about the wedding next week.  *sigh*  Bad enough that it’s an “elopement”, which was really a practicalconsideration so that:

A) My parents won’t have to fly out.

B) His daughters won’t have to choose between being there & being pissy, or not being there & being branded bitches.

C) I won’t have to have a fuss made over me, or endure a wedding where lots of his friends show up, and none of mine can jet across the country to be there.  The fact that his BFF agreed to (and is qualified to) do this just solved an awful lot of problems.  This way it’ll be special, but not stupid.  Because, you know?  I’ve done this before.  I really don’t need the party.

But I still suspect they’ll suspect I put him up to this, when truly, it’s just his scatterbrainedness.  The market’s heaving and pitching this week has him mightily distracted, but still, I hope they’re not too weirded out by this – their eldest boy getting married without them…

But back to the IVF part of the blog.  So anyway, I’m home, it’s over, I am bleeding a bit of bright red blood though really, less cramping and bleeding than I’d feared.  And, according to my doctor, that should clear up quickly (at which point, the Estrace will probably trigger a period.  At which point I need to schedule a new consultation with him to figure out what comes next.)  And, at this point, I can finally (finally, finally, finally) consider my miscarriage complete.

This summer sucked.  But it’s almost over.  Here’s to new beginnings.

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And I’m still trying to figure out how to transfer the old LJ posts.

There.  Got it, I think.

So I wasted my morning on a “physical” that consisted of my doctor basically checking my reflexes, and me teaching his new nurse how to use the scale & the height-measuring thingy.

Seriously.

She recorded my weight as 112#, and while I was flattered, (I mean, hell, I haven’t weighed that since middle school) I felt that since they were using this number to anesthetize me on Thursday, I should maybe tell her that she was wrong.  Then she got my height wrong.  Seriously.  I felt like taking her aside and asking if she wanted me to do her job for her, since she was so seriously incompetent.

But I didn’t.  Points for me.

And surgery for me on Thursday.  Expensive surgery, which, since the stock market is tanking, is coming out of my (and not fiance’s) pocket.

And oh yeah, we’re getting married next week.  In between surgery and a convention, because really, this is my life on fertility drugs.

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This has gotten so fucking old.

So, I had the MRI. Good news is that my various problems do not include adenomyosis. Thank god for small favors.

Bad news is, there is an unexplained, er, thingy still in my uterus. Despite the heavy period. Despite my doctor’s poking around in there with the HSG catheter trying to “break it up”. Ouch. Didn’t work, either.

So the really bad news is that I’m getting a hysteroscope/D&C. Should have just goddamn well done this two months ago at the beginning of the miscarriage saga. And October’s cycle is a no-go while my poor abused innards heal. And I’ll be on an estrogen to try to prevent scarring. And we’re hoping it’s just a particularly tenacious blood clot, or even the poor dead fetus, and not a bit of cancerous polyp.

Have I mentioned recently how tired I am of this?

On the bright side, my doctor thinks I’m quite the trooper, since I didn’t even wince while he was wrenching my cervix all over the place, trying to get an angle on the whatever-it-is. Quite honestly, my definitions of pain & discomfort have been radically rewritten since July.

I guess I’m looking forward to an end in sight with this bleeding. Looking forward to not being anemic anymore. Not looking forward to another round of anesthesia, or to the bill I’ll be getting for this service. Not looking forward to having to wait another 2 months (best case scenario, which – Hey! -I have to confess that I’m not counting on!) to begin a new IVF cycle. But at least I am pleased that this bleeding isn’t some new chronic condition, and at least I’m pleased that I’m not yet out of the running for another pregnancy – which I would have been with an adenomyosis diagnosis.

Trying to think positive here, but really, I’m just mourning the loss of one more sick day used up in a laboratory. Not to mention the prospect of more cramping & bleeding, because you know what? Pretty much ready to be done with this already.

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