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Posts Tagged ‘IVF #3’

Had my beta-test

And the tech not only couldn’t get any blood out of the first vein, but she left a gigantic, swollen bruise where she finally did get a bleeder.  Damnit.  

And despite my (rather calm and rational) explanation that she could leave the results on my cell phone, since I know it’s not good news (they don’t like leaving neg. results on a message machine) she insisted on being all coy and giggly “You never know!”

Um, fuck you.  Yes I do.  Best case scenario here is that nothing took.  Worst case is that something took in the wrong place like last time.  Repeated negative HPTs at 17dpo = non-viable anything.  Nothing to celebrate here, folks.  I’ve done this before, a couple of times, remember?

And I learned that FET is going to be more expensive than I’d thought.  Which throws my ideas on what comes next all up in the air.  I don’t think the FET will work, but I’m also sort of opposed to not giving those proto-sprogs at least a chance in the womb of death.  But is that just sentimental and stupid?  I honestly don’t believe that it’ll work, so why am I considering throwing cash and emotional investment at this, when I could be saving cash & sanity toward a donor egg cycle?  I am tired of making these sorts of decisions, and really fucking tired of having every decision I make be the wrong one.  I just want a family, you know?  Something that the vast majority of humanity achieves without much forethought at all.  I’m willing to put in the extra foresight, the outrageous expense and inconvenience and pain, but I still don’t get what I want?  It’s like being 4 again, and all my brain can hold onto is “It’s not fair.”  It’s really really not fair and I’m reeling under my own sense of injustice here.  

And I still don’t like any of the options I have left.  

I’m tired of showing up to the clinic of hopelessness for bloodwork.  And I’m tired of getting up early in order to go to Manhattan.  Tired of having this pretend, interim crazy-hectic, yet pointless life that might be all I ever get.  The boy is trying so hard to help, but I’m just at my limit, here.  I’m pissed that I have to be at work today instead of buried under my pillows or just drinking steadily and heavily.  I don’t want to be this sad, worn-out, tired-of-everything, making all the hard decisions to no good effect person anymore.

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I’m done.  Mentally, at least, this is my last IVF #3 post.  It’s over.  I won’t test tomorrow or Friday morning.  I’ve convinced even my own pollyanna self.  This one’s done, no use throwing perfectly good HPTs down the drain.

I’ve been making up pro/con lists of a donor egg cycle & adoption, and realize that the answers I need really have no good answers.  To feel comfortable with either, I would need to know that it will work, and, um, there are no guarantees.  No guarantee that a donor egg would find any better purchase in the womb of death; no guarantee that an adoption wouldn’t fall through – or that my old husband and I would even be selected before I’m old to raise someone else’e child. 

I think at the moment, assuming that this doesn’t turn into another cock-up like last time (for I think if I had another ectopic pregnancy, even my gung-ho RE would advise me to call it quits) we’ll probably try a donor egg.  I want to be pregnant, and I want to breastfeed, and I even want to give birth, (sick though that sounds).  I want the whole package, and even more selfishly, I don’t want to share that package with any other woman – not even for a few days.  I don’t want strangers determining my worth as a potential parent.  I don’t want to be under the care of a social worker for a year after I took my baby home.  I’ll do those thing if I have to, but first, I think I’d prefer to try with young-thang eggs and my old-thang uterus.  Assuming my doc thinks it would make sense.

Wish I could go in tomorrow and get this over with.  I have the morning off – I might just do it anyway, and it’s not like it’s going to make a difference – my clinic does 14 days just to ward off criticism, I think, but most places test from 10 days on up.  It’s a blood test, it’ll be accurate, I’m thinking.

And other than that I’m trying not to think.

Lalalalalalalalalalalalaaaaaaa!

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… this is going to be one hell of a period.

Goddamnit.

Nothing new.  I feel pregnant, even though I’m pretty definitively not pregnant.  There’s no such thing as women’s intuition where PIO is concerned.  

Going to spend my evening hunkered down with some Soap DVDs, and maybe a Star Trek episode or two.  Plus some ice cream.  Because, you know, everything’s better with ice cream.  Even goddamned life-ruining infertility.

(Ben & Jerry’s should use those two sentences as an ad campaign.  Maybe they’ll buy them for $28,000 or so.  Which would mean that ice cream can CURE infertility.

I think I’m on to something here.  Just in case, I’m giving myself an extra scoop.)

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Nothing new here.

Still not-pregnant.

Still hate/dread my job.

Still wondering how the fuck my life came to this.  

Beta isn’t until Friday, but the negative test this morning at 11dp3dt was pretty definitive as far as I’m concerned.  This would be day 1 of a new cycle if I wasn’t injecting progesterone.  

I’m absolutely at a loss as to what to do next.  Can’t see holding out any hope that the FEs will survive the thaw, let alone the womb of death.  Can’t see donor eggs being enough of a sure thing to waste the time/money on it.  Hell – I have “easy” IF.  I was supposed to be one of the lucky 75% that IVF works for – so why would I think that just using superstar eggs would somehow propel me into a luckier percentile?  

I think it might be time to start haunting adoption blogs.  Reading women’s experiences with IVF helped me start to make sense of this process almost a year ago.  Maybe it’ll clarify, similarly, once I’m plugged into some other women’s lives who are dealing with this.  

And in the meantime, I’m still not pregnant.  I still hate my job.  And I’m still wondering how the fuck my life came to this.

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I think right now the worst of this is that physically, I still feel so fucking knocked up.  So every time I try to wrap my head around the fact that this cycle didn’t work, I’ll get a whiff of stale refrigerator, or accidentally brush my arm against my swollen tits, or just feel my stomach turn over when I get a cramp that’s too early for period pains, and too familiar-feeling for me not to associate it with implantation &/or miscarriage, and my brain starts to eat itself, trying to make sense of the ‘Pregnant! Not so fast – you’re not pregnant according to science! Am too!  Intuition says pregnant!’ back&forth that’s about all my internal dialogues consist of these days.  

I wasn’t even properly dreading not getting pregnant.  I mean, I’d had two IVF procedures & two pregnancies.  Pretty good reason – by the numbers, at least – to suspect that we’d get, at least, that far again.  I was certainly dreading the possibility of another miscarriage or another ectopic (hey, I guess I can still dread that one in good conscience!  Aint too late to diagnose an ectopic yet!  Wouldn’t that be a hoot?!!) but I hadn’t really spared enough energy to dread the IVF not working at all.  

I’m so fucking broken, my womb can’t even keep proto-sprogs alive til they have a chance to die of other causes.  Which means, what are my chances for a donor egg cycle working?  This isn’t just woe-is-me whining here.  Money is tight & getting tighter all the time.  My insurance is now officially used up, as regards IVF.  Does donor egg cycling even make sense, or would it be an obviously safer- both financially and emotionally – bet to try to start adoption proceedings immediately, as a better use of that $30,000 investment?  

And I don’t even know where to start.  Every time I try to google adoption, I get nothing but come-ons from every sort of podunk adoption agency imaginable.  Isn’t there some sort of a national clearinghouse?  A CDC-type registry for adoption agencies, listing success rates, interrupted hand-offs, costs, wait times, etc.?  And if there is, why can’t I find it, and if there isn’t, why the fuck NOT?  It’s only the most important purchase decision I’ll ever make, and there’s no sort of Consumer Reports to consult?

And of course, we can’t do that yet.  I’ll have to at least attempt to believe that one of our 3FE might survive the thaw & get comfy in the womb of death.  Hah.  It feels like my body has already sent that message loud & clear – “No live babies are coming out of here, ever, no matter what.  Do what you want, switch protocols, add/subtract drugs, it really doesn’t matter.  Your childbearing days were over before you ever started trying, sucker!”  I feel like even with a donor egg, there’s something else going on here.  On paper, on ultrasound, I’ve got nothing going on in there to prevent embryos from latching on and surviving.  Beautiful uterus, remember? Gorgeous lining.  No abnormal hormonal stuff going on.  And yet they don’t live.  They just don’t.  Maybe it’s not the embryos, maybe it’s me.  Or, conversely, maybe it’s the boy’s old sperm.  I know it’s not supposed to matter so much as egg quality when you use ICSI, but I have to wonder.  And, with a donor egg, we’d still be using his (sorry to say it) substandard sperm.  And my substandard lady-bits.  Not sounding like a recipe for success.

My clinic has lots of donors, so the wait wouldn’t likely be so long.  And I know it would not be as hard on me, physically, as a fresh cycle.  But damn, I’m not sure I can handle more ambiguity.  My brain is being pummeled so much that I feel like it’s all I can do to just function like a semi-normal (albeit completely fucking broken, barren, and batshit) woman.  How can I go through all this again WITH NO CERTAINTY THAT IT WILL WORK OUT ANY DIFFERENTLY?  I have a limited capacity for disappointment, and truly?  This last year has exhausted my reserves.  I think I’m done with the roller-coaster of hope.  Enough already.

Of course, the upside of accepting this one as a loss is that now I can start looking for a new job.  No longer being tied to my insurance policy is a good thing.  Or at least it would be if the economy wasn’t in the crapper.  Maybe I’ll get laid off.  The mood I’m in, the utter lack of interest in ‘assisting the public’ I’m feeling right now, that would actually feel like good news until the reality set in…

Fuck it all, I’m sick of reality.

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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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…wherein I burst into tears while on the phone with the boy.

Who isn’t here, helping me deal with the crazy, but is instead at a writing convention: schmoozing, hanging out with mutual friends, eating out, visiting with his daughter, having a good time (and yes, doing, you know, his job). Not that I’m jealous or anything, oh no!  Work today was great fun, what with my own personal crazy added to the mixup of library-customers who are always at their most demanding on short-staffed weekend days.  Suffice it to say that I wasn’t in a great mood anyway, (despite the glorious dog’s not destroying anything at all during her first day as a grown up, home-alone dog.) 

But it is – as mentioned – part of his job to do things like this in an effort to promote his books, so I was trying not to be a jerk about, you know, sitting at home alone on Valentines day with only a self-administered PIO shot to look forward to while my husband is out wining and dining with friends in Boston.  But when, for the second time in two days, he called the StarTrekWriterWhoseNameShallNotBeMentioned by MY name, I lost my shit.  Which I usually pride myself on not doing.  

It’s not like I am even entertaining paranoid fears that they’re having a sordid affair in Boston.  Even if he were inclined to be sneaky and devious (which he isn’t), she lives in NM, has a boyfriend who is a mutual friend of ours, and is not really the type to make a play for a married man as far as anything I know about her goes.

Which is SO not the point.

Point being that flubbing your wife’s name onto another woman once is unfortunate when in conversation with said-wife.  Flubbing it again, after being called on it the night before, really pissed me the hell off.  Don’t care if he’s tired, strung out, talking a mile-a-minute in full-on convention mode – I was righteously pissed off.

In fact, I’m still kind of pissed.  

In case you hadn’t noticed.

Which is actually a rather nice change from maudlin-crazy.  Vengeful crazy is much more fun.   

Oh, and to all of you devils asking why not test now – the answer is that of course I’ve been testing religiously with my internet cheapie tests.  They are all negative, which isn’t surprising, since they were still showing negative last time until I was nearly at 20dp3dt.  In the springtime, I got a positive drugstore hpt at 10dp3dt, and NOT at 9dp3dt, so that’s what I’m going for.

I will confess that I’m seriously considering trying tomorrow am with a drugstore test, though, simply so that tomorrow’s crazy can be of the “Woe, woe is non-pregnant me!” type rather than the “Ambiguity sucks! I hate to wait!” type.

Either that or I’ll just stay pissed off until the boy (and the STWWNSNBM, and her boyfriend, who are our houseguests for the next week) arrive tomorrow evening.  

Grrrr.

I’m gonna go eat some Lebanese food and growl some more.  

Grrrrr.

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