Posts Tagged ‘prednisone’

No news

In this case, I am assuming it’s good news.  My doctor was going to call if anything changed today, so I’m going to assume that all 4 little proto-sprogs are still alive.

First PIO shot tonight, and I started the pessaries last night.  Blech.  However, today also began my “pineapple for breakfast” week, so that’s a good thing.  And this is my last day on the massive dose of prednisone.  Which is good.  I’m feeling bloated enough as it is.  Almost all the post-retrieval crampiness/kidney soreness is mostly gone, just a bit in the morning that goes away once I’m up and in the shower. 

And I took an HPT this morning so I can track the trigger shot leaving my system.  I did that last time so I could verify when I was back to zero according to the internet-cheap tests.  That way, I can start obsessively testing in another 10 days or so without worrying that I’m reading the trigger shot.  It’s still a faint positive, so I’ll test again in another 3 days or so just to make sure it’s gone before it – I hope – goes up again.

And thank you to everyone who’s been commenting.  It makes me feel not nearly so alone, and not nearly so hopeless. 

New mantra:

It only takes one.
It only takes one.
It only takes one.

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Still waiting to start to miscarry. Still waiting.

Not that I should really be looking forward to misery and blood, but I guess I’m really believing that this one is over, and I need to start looking forward to the next attempt.

I’m drinking a glass of hard cider, even as I type. Yum. I’m still dealing with prednisone-headaches, but nothing like the evening of death I endured two nights ago. And is it very wrong of me to admit that I’m really enjoying the freedom from injections (and let me say I hope my doctor takes my current lack of miscarriage into account my next time around. I’m thinking that fucking placenta is producing plenty of progesterone to maintain a pregnancy already, and I was at 8 weeks when I stopped injecting. Here’s to the fond wish that progesterone injections will not be indicated for the full 12 weeks next time! The lumps in my ass are slowly disappearing, though the side that endured that incredibly painful mistake is still pretty sore and pretty lumpy. Better, though.

And, just to give you way too much information about my life, I’m really really REALLY glad to be off pelvic rest. Damn, that was a long time with no conjugal joy…

The boy’s daughters have been mostly absent since he told them that I’m not some passing fling (which still pisses me off, because after having lived here for more than a year, I would HOPE they might have figured that one out on their own.) But they’re all still talking to their dad in more or less complete sentences, which is the most important thing. It’s not like I’ve been close to any of them, for this period of not-closeness to be an abrupt change. And tomorrow, the youngest daughter goes back to her mother for a couple of weeks. Which will be a relief, I have to say.

As for me, I’m still waiting for my body to figure out what’s going on. But I’m trying to do other things & think other thoughts in the meantime. Trying to get back into the writing habit, and trying to remember all the things I love to do that have nothing to do with babies. Hard though that is, sometimes, to remember. I decided today that the best way for me to look at this miscarriage is that there was something wrong with the baby. Its little cells weren’t dividing or sealing up properly. It had too many – or not enough – chromosomes somewhere in there. We knew they weren’t superstar embryos to begin with, and much better that the sprog die on its own than for me to have to make a horrible decision in another couple of weeks. I’m glad that decision was taken out of my hands. And now I just want it to be over so I can get started on trying again.

I’ve been checking out past contributors on CycleSistas, and was struck by how many of the IVFers are currently pregnant, even if they didn’t get that way on their first cycle. It’s encouraging, I guess, even if I have to stifle “it’s not fair!” thoughts when I see how trouble-free some of these pregnancies have been, after sperm meets egg. But it is encouraging. The DHEA research I’m reading has been more than encouraging, and luckily for me, I ended up (through no real fault or credit of my own) at the premier clinic that’s been dealing with this protocol. When the senior partner had the US wand halfway up me a few weeks ago, he asked, (because making conversation is really what a woman wants to do while a stranger roots around in her girl-goods) “So, how did you find us?” I had to admit that the website was easy to navigate, the receptionist was nice, and they were able to see me right away – on Good Friday – when I called, as opposed to the three month wait some other clinics had. It was pure luck, though I’ve been so very pleased with my care there, especially compared to some of my friends who went with Cornell or other top-dollar clinics in town. Also, I think they automatically put second-cycle IVFers on it, so I won’t even need to do much convincing of my doctor, which is nice. I’m not feeling persuasive these days, just bullying. It might also mean that the horrible fight with boy might be moot, since I think this clinic prefers a few months on DHEA before trying again. Ok. I can live with that.

My insurance will cover two more tries, and really, even if we don’t get lucky these next couple of times, I’m willing to go the donor-egg route. I’m willing to adopt (though that’s going to be a tricky proposition, given my age, the boy’s age, our unwillingness to adopt anything other than an infant, and our previous marriages/divorces/currently unwed state of being. [Which was, actually, the reason for his springing the whole ‘we’re getting married’ thing on his kids. I told him we should probably get cracking, due to the adoption issue, and he moved on it. I cannot fault this man. He is trying very hard to give me what I want so that I’m in a place to give him what he wants. I want a baby, he wants a wife. We’ll both get our wishes in the end, I think.])

But all that’s at least a few weeks in the future. Let’s see – what else is occupying previously pregnancy-occupied space in my brain these days?

Still trying to finish the quilt I started three years ago. I love hand-piecing, but I really don’t have the patience for hand-quilting. But I want that quilt on my bed instead of on the chair in my bedroom, so that’s good incentive to finish it. I’ll get there before winter, I promise. I’m still plugging away at the cross stitch I’m trying to finish before I die. I love cross stitch, and I really love intricate cross stitch, but this one is like 500 stitches x 400 stitches, and it’s baby-themed, and it’s just taking me for-damn-ever. Hmmm, other ponderings? I really need to start working out. It would be a good thing for me to lose about ten pounds before our next IVF attempt. Since I found it difficult to maintain – let alone diminish – my weight while on the drugs. Though I did. I weigh exactly what I did when we started, but I’d like to do better this time around. Of course, I’m still in the comfort-food stage of grieving, so that’s not likely to happen for another week or two.

And I have tomorrow off work, too, which is a better thing than I can really express here. In a way, the insurance thing is keeping me from moving forward at work. I’ve known since the beginning that this stupid schedule where I have far too few two-day weekends was not going to work for me, but how could I look for better working conditions when it would mean giving up the insurance that was covering something like 80% of this. And then, how could I consider changing insurance carriers mid-pregnancy? Maybe I’ll start seriously job-hunting again, to see if I can find something that allows me a life outside of work. I think it would make a difference as to how much I like living here, and I think that would only help my relationship with boy, my state of happiness, and possibly my conception-affecting stress levels.

So there. You’re all caught up with my life, and I’ll try not to post again until I have something IVF-related to talk about.

Hah. As if that’s going to happen.

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So yesterday was the first day I wasn’t on prednisone, and I nearly didn’t make it home.

Started getting light-headed on the subway which, if you’ve never feared fainting on NYC’s subways at rush hour, is a treat not to be missed. Nothing like fearing for your life if you pass out instead of just being embarrassed about the fuss. Made it back home without actually blacking out, and immediately collapsed on the bed. Boy ran out of the room, and I heard him yelling on the phone but simply couldn’t go find him to see what was wrong.

At that point, I wasn’t even thinking prednisone withdrawal, was more thinking massive infection. But there was no fever, and no cramping and so nothing to really worry me; so I just waited it out. This morning, I’m a bit better, though I feel like I truly understand the meaning of the word ‘wan’ for the first time now. I feel wan. I look wan, too, according to the boy. Actually, I think his exact words were, “Holy shit, I’ve never seen you look so white before. Are you dead?” No, I just play a dead person on tv, but thanks for asking.

So this morning, when I got up and didn’t immediately fall over, I went to the computer to check prednisone withdrawal symptoms. Sure enough. Low blood pressure, light-headedness, chills, trembling extremities. Fun times, but not life threatening. Most likely. A bit worse reaction than we could have expected, given that I tapered off an already low dose over the course of a week, but nothing too scary. I guess now we know I’m sensitive to steroids. Good to know.

And this morning I’m better, not worse, at least physically. Mentally is another matter.

Because, see, the other thing that happened last night, the thing that all the yelling on the phone was about, is that the boy chose to tell his youngest daughters about our marriage/baby plans last night. And all fucking hell broke loose. His youngest daughter has given him an ultimatum – she’ll move out the moment I announce a pregnancy. His middle daughter apparently hung up on him, then called him back so she could practice her cursing for a while. Hysterical doesn’t really begin to cover it. She’s an excitable girl. And the boy is upset, and I’m upset – beyond upset, really. Because how can I ask him to make a choice between his daughters and me? It’s not in me to enjoy what I want, if it means that other people are miserable. And how could this not make him miserable? So I’m angsting over this, and then he announces that he thinks we should wait until October or November to try again. This knocked me back a bit. We’ve already waited, er, far too long.


So it turns out he doesn’t want to have me due (as if that’s a given!) during the same general time frame that his daughter’s due to graduate from high school. So I should just wait until winter to start this process again.

I did not take this suggestion well at all. I mean, I’ve been awfully damned patient with his kids and their crappy attitudes, their rudeness, their unbearable rudeness. I’ve put up with the expectation that I should put off my life so as not to impact theirs too much. I’ve put my life on hold, put my own feelings aside, and pushed my emotional well-being to the back-burner in an attempt to make this all easier on them.

And I should put off something that cannot be put off any longer? They hate me already, and I should jeopardize the rest of my fucking life because of hs graduation conflicts? To hell with that.

Because no matter what I do, or try to do, or don’t do – it doesn’t work. Now they’re whining that they don’t know me well enough for their father to marry me. Not that they’ve ever shown the slightest inclination to get to know me. What they mean is that we are dissimilar. We’re from dissimilar cultures, educational backgrounds, socioeconomic backgrounds. We have very different values, different experiences, different ways of relating to the world. In short, I’m nothing like their mother, or like them, for that matter. And I think it freaks them out a little bit that their dad fell for someone so very different from anyone they’ve ever met in New York.

And I simply don’t know what to do about it, or if I can do anything about it. And at the moment, I’m not even feeling that inclined to try.

Because, you see, I keep trying to become involved in their lives and I keep getting rebuffed. When daughters are at dinner, the only topic of conversation (literally) is celebrity news, and reality shows. The boy wants to know why I don’t join in these conversations – well, that would be mostly because I have nothing to add that wouldn’t be insulting. I don’t know – or care – who most of these folks are, and I’m not about to start watching TV at this point in my life in order to be able to stay current with an entertainment trend I find repulsive. “Just be yourself,” he pleads. Well, I am being myself. Myself happens to be introverted and shy. Myself dislikes conflict and the vicious behavior these kids tend to exhibit at the dinner table. Myself could not give a shit about celebrity gossip, and finally, myself thinks it’s more polite not to say anything in such a situation, than to join in with what I actually think about the lame-ass, waste-of-time subject of the conversation.

I’m just heartsick, and I feel like I’m being asked to do, and give, and accept too much. I want to go away for a while. I want a vacation from my life. I woke up crying last night. Sad dreams, because, you know, I didn’t get enough sobbing done last night.

I’m cried out, I’m exhausted, I’m sick, and I’m still waiting to get rid of this dead baby.

I’d be glad it’s Friday, except that means I have to go home tonight. And right now, that sounds like a worse deal than being at work all day.

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…why Menopur is the preferred FSH drug.  

Or at least so I assume.  Unlike all my other injection sites, the Repronex one from 16 hours ago is still tender – like a deep muscle bruise.  This is going to get uncomfortable very quickly, since I only have so much room to inject, and 4 shots a day to take.  

And the Prednisone bloat has begun.  So I tried to counteract with a long walk this morning, and the purchase of good, cheap-calorie food for this week while Sam’s away.  I figure I should take my dieting time as seriously as I can, when there’s no one here making yummy food all day long.   No fun, but hey, neither is being fat and bloated.

Late night at work today, softening up my co-workers by taking on an extra shift this week so that my “emergency” day off next week won’t piss everyone off quite as much.  Well, and also because when trying to schedule this week, I didn’t know how often I’d be US/BW-ing this week.  The fact that my only appointment is on Friday, which I have off this week, is just a happy occurence.  

Oh, and my period is over, about 3 days earlier than it normally would be.  I usually have a light day on day 1.  A heavy day on day 2.  Almost nothing day 3.  And then light bleeding for days 4, 5, & sometime 6.  Days one and 2 were right on, with cramping all day on day 1 (for the first time ever.)  Day two was pretty heavy, though nothing special.  And then I only had spotting on day 3 & there’s been nothing since.  (This would have been day 5).  Of course, I might start a new period at any moment (ah the joy), but for the moment, I am enjoying the blood-free period.  

May it all stick to the inside of my uterus and make a nice, cushy pillow for embryos to burrow into.  

This is me, visualizing the events of my menstrual cycle.  Ew.

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