Posts Tagged ‘HPT’

10dp3dt – #3

Negative HPT.  Again.  As decisively negative as any terrified 16-year-old should ever hope to see.  

Nothing took.  Three picture-perfect embryos & not one of them managed to hang on for a week.  Which means they were probably not, actually picture-perfect, but rather of such poor quality that the ones we were able to freeze probably won’t survive the thaw, let alone have a decent chance at implanting.  Another few dead embryos, another few thousand dollars that won’t go to a college fund, another few buckets of tears & other secretions and goddamnit I am sick of this game.  

Bad enough to have to go through the fucking cock-up of my life that is IVF.  Bad enough that I don’t even get to have a nice memory of when my child was conceived (I, personally, am the result of a late-night viewing of El Cid, according to family legend).  But even after submitting to this past year of shit, I don’t get to walk away with anything other than a few miscarriages, a few failures, and the perplexing experience of having my doctor say, “There’s really no reason you shouldn’t be able to stay/get pregnant.  I’m sorry.”  

Yeah, well, not as sorry as I am.  Not as fucking sorry as that.

I don’t like this life.  I don’t like the idea of living the rest of my life without a child.  I’ve lived through some pretty major disappointments in my life, but nothing like this.  I’m running out of grace here.  I’m feeling so pessimistic about the future that it’s all I can do to not just crawl right back into bed and stay there until the house falls down around my ears.  I’m pretty sure that the reason crazy cat-ladies have so many cats is that with a ton of critters around, they at least have a host of reasons they have to get out of bed in the morning.  Nellie, unfortunately for my purposes, would just as soon stay in bed with me all day.  

This is not a good day for having houseguests.

Out to face the day.  Maybe do some sightseeing.  Take in a museum, if there are any open.  Eat a hot dog.  Rah rah rah, New York.  Yay.


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Nope.  Nothing good to report.  Negative HPT.  Wish I could just have the damned beta test tomorrow to get it done with, because, yes, I’ll still test each morning, and I’ll keep stabbing myself with the needles of pain each night, and I’ll ingest the fucking prednisone (which prescription I’ll need to renew on Monday so I’ll have enough to safely wean myself off the shit this time.)  *sigh*  Now I’m waiting for my period to show up, because today’s just not been fun enough, yet.  

Ice storm when we woke up, so we headed home a bit earlier than we might have otherwise, which was a relief to me.  I was getting a bit weary of trying to be sunshine-y.  I can’t tell you all what a relief it is to be back online – and thank you for your comments.  It helps knowing that there are people out there who know – from experience in most cases – what I’m going through, and who still manage to say something kind even in the midst of their own shitty days.  Thank you.

Let’s see…sunshine…on the happy side of things, the youngest step-daughter’s party doesn’t seem to have caused any irreparable damage to house or house-parts.  Which is something of a relief.  We had some drama on Friday night when a partygoer accidentally hit the “panic button” on the alarm system & the cops called the boy’s cellphone to find out what was up.  Long-distance hijinks ensued at midnight trying to get other family members over to see what was really happening.  Lots of fun.  Of course, it does look like the party made it all the way downstairs into the master-bath, which is where my meds are laid out on the counter.  Wonder what she and her friends made of the gigantic sharps container on the counter?  Can’t bring myself to care too much, somehow.

See how I managed to bring it back to me and my grief?  I’m good at that.  Ah well.  My blog, my whingeing.  

I spent the trip back to Brooklyn trying to figure out what comes next.  Trying to second-guess what my doctor’s going to say.  Wondering if he’s going to recommend that we give up altogether & move straight to take-out, or if he’ll think that donor eggs might have a better chance of surviving the womb of death than my own crappy eggs.  Tried to talk to the boy about the whole thing yesterday, but he’s spooky about saying such things out loud, plus he’s still in denial-land.  Hell, he still thinks we’re going to get lucky inbetween IVFs one of these times.  Silly boy.  Anyway, I finally got him to tell me what he’s been thinking about a few things – essentially, he thinks that using donor eggs would be “unfair” to me.  You know, related to him genetically, but not to me.  Um, yeah.  I gently explained that I could give a rat’s ass at this point about passing on my immortal Cyrano-esque nose or duck feet.  Human baby is what I’m after here, that turns into a human kid and eventually (and in good time) a human adult.  And if it has a cute little space between its front teeth just like him, hey! Bonus!  

I’m worried that this failure is going to indicate that using a donor egg isn’t even a good option for us.  He’s too old (54) to qualify for a lot of overseas adoption agencies.  Plus, one of his friends adopted a pair of Russian siblings who have had unbelievable problems with FAS & now an autism diagnosis, and that’s spooked us both.  As unsuited as my body apparently is for reproduction, I can’t help but feel that I’d take better care of developing sprog than some young thing who knows she’s not ready to be a mother (even though I suppose someone responsible enough to put an infant up for adoption is probably plenty responsible enough not to be drinking during the pregnancy).  But the thought of adopting and having there be any custody issues ever terrifies me.  The thought of adopting and having a child with some condition that could have been prevented by proper prenatal care just horrifies me.  

And, of course, the thought of never having a child scares me to the edge of bloody screaming death.  

This was a tough weekend.  His family is very close, and very inclusive – they’ve been nothing but sweet to me, and welcoming.  But in a way, it was harder being there in the midst of their family circle, feeling like an outsider both because I haven’t been a member of their family forever, but also because they’ve all got their family around them.  I’m not saying it very well, but it made me feel so vulnerable, like a barnacle clinging to the hull of their boat.  Part of them, but not really.  My husband is 16 years older than I am.  Not a huge difference in some ways and enormous in others.  I will admit that the thought of living the last 20 years of my life alone, with no family at all is a scary one to me, and at holidays like this, that are all about family traditions and the passing-down of family things, it’s even scarier.  

Anyway, a rant of a post, but that’s probably where I’ll be for the next while.  Pondering, waiting for our follow up consultation, waiting to see what happens next.  

And lucky you, since I tend to write while thinking, you’ll be the first to know more than you ever wanted to about the inner workings of sprogblogger’s brain.  

Which should make a nice change from knowing about the inner workings of her womb of death.  

Time to make soup.

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I have a very faint positive on the HPT test I took this morning.

Oh god oh god oh god oh god.

Standard disclaimer here: I went out and bought expensive pregnancy tests because I’ve been leery about how fast the HCG shot appeared to leave my system using the internet-cheapies I’ve been obsessively peeing on. So I went out looking for a very sensitive test, and, having said that, there’s still a chance it’s reading leftover HCG from the trigger shot nearly 2 weeks ago.

But there’s a chance that it’s not. A decent chance, even, I’ll go so far as to say. It’s faint, (as it should be at 10dp2dt), but it’s really there. I was sure it wasn’t. I was staring at that bastard test and willing it to turn positive – to the point that when it did, I didn’t believe what I was seeing. But I was. Seeing it. A faint positive.

I have a faintly positive HPT test in my possession.

Oh my god, I’m feeling hopeful.

For just about the first time since transfer, to be honest. Hearing that they were willing to transfer all four of my surviving embryos seemed to mean to me that they felt there wasn’t a chance in hell that any/all of them were keepers. Seemed like a waste of time even assuming the position. Not to mention a waste of my tender flesh every night when I had my obligatory stab and wince procedure. Boobs have been sore – yeah, like someone’s gnawing on them – check. Crampiness for the last week or so, at least once a day, but no bleeding – check. But really nothing else of note. My skin looks good. Better than usual, despite the stress & weird hormones. I’ve been on a relatively even-keel, emotion-wise, weirdly enough.

Oh my god. There’s a chance this could work.

And yes, I know, no chicken-counting before hatching. I know, I know. There’s still plenty of time for this to be a false-positive. Or a blighted ovum. Or a first trimester miscarriage. Or any number of bad, scary things that might not be avoidable. But there’s a chance this could work.

At the moment, I’m considering myself p.r.e.g.n.a.n.t. until proven otherwise.

Oh my god.

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And I’m still obsessing. About anything/everything. Took an HPT test today, knowing it’s too early by any standards, but still unable to help myself. So another snowy white test strip is lined up next to its compare-to buddies in the meds. cupboard. And I’m trying to remind myself that a negative test right now is ok – is expected – and is not anything to even bother thinking about, actually. And then I remind myself that these cheap internet HPTs barely even registered the fairly massive dose of HCG in my system only a few days after my trigger shot. So no way in hell they’d pick up anything that a teeny-tiny blob could possibly be excreting at this point. So it’s silly to even test.

And still, I’m thinking about doing one tomorrow. Because I am a dope, and because somehow it’s better to think ahead to tomorrow’s futile test that might possibly still have a chance, instead of thinking further ahead to the actual test on Monday, next when I’ll get a definite answer. About which I’m already terrified.

Still getting a bit crampy off & on, and I’m still waking up all night long – to pee, and just to lie there, staring up into the dark. I think that’s a progesterone side-effect, or maybe a prednisone one. It’s not too bad, and it doesn’t seem to affect me too much upon waking in the morning, but it’s noticeable. The PIO shots are getting a bit more painful, mostly because the bruising is getting bad on my poor butt.

Trying to decide between the beach and a day of writing at home. Which, since I know myself well enough to know it would turn into a day of obsessing over google-searching, is probably a bad idea. Beach just might be the best use of the day, despite my current photo-sensitivity. And it would be a nice treat for the boyfriend, so worth something right there.

I won’t obsess about tomorrow’s test. I won’t obsess about tomorrow’s test…


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…and trying desperately to make it be from implantation, rather than, say, gas.

Because gas would be, um, anti-climatic.

And so in pursuit of this lofty goal, I spent much of today – when I should have been working – googling things like “4dp2dt cramps implantation” And, sure enough. Lots of women in my position feel crampiness on this, as well as many other post-transfer days. And, sure enough. Sometimes it’s the earliest sign of pregnancy. Sometimes it’s not. And sometimes, it’s gas.

*rolls eyes at self-induced craziness*

I honestly don’t know how I’m going to make it until June 10. I’ll certainly start testing before then. Because I’m a glutton for punishment, mostly.

Waiting, waiting, waiting…

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Besides being a day in which the windows are still being replaced. It’s rather like living in an Alice-in-Wonderland set, actually. Much busy-ness, no progress. Or so it seems. Realistically, I know they must be accomplishing something, but three weeks without being able to sleep in is taking a toll on me. Not to mention the fact that I’m probably the only person in the world who didn’t actually mind taking prednisone. I felt peppy all the time, without that nasty caffeine buzz. Woke in the morning ready to wake up, and didn’t feel like napping all afternoon. Ah well. It’s leaving my system now, for sure. I could have slept another three hours this morning, if there hadn’t been workmen tromping through the house. *sigh*

Ok, IVF related stuff:

My hand is not as discolored today, which is good news. Looks like my flesh will not slough off after all.

Which is a relief.

Bad news is that my much-abused butt is starting to make known its displeasure at all the PIO injections. Bruised and lumpy, as promised. Poor boyfriend winces more than I do, when he has to stab me. Even so, even sore and lumpy, it’s easier than I’d thought it would be. Uncomfortable on the same level as a paper-cut. Truly no big deal.

The ambiguous news is that I was crampy all last night, and into this morning. I’m trying very hard not to read too much into this, but the timing would be just about right for implantation cramps, yes? Down, Susan. Down! I took an HPT & the HCG seems to have left my system, so in another few days, I’ll start testing in earnest. June 10 seems like a very very long way away.

To make a long, rambling, post short, I’m waiting. Waiting waiting waiting. Waiting to see if anything took. Waiting waiting waiting…

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