IVF #2 Feb 07


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What I didn’t tell you was that I took a home pregnancy test on Monday (my birthday).

March26_2

I’m glad I have a picture of it. 

I also took another that afternoon, a pink line test, to see how faint the line was.  I got a negative.  I took another yesterday morning (Thursday) because I was feeling freaky.  It was positive. 

So I have been confident all week.  Had been.  Plus I was feeling very PG yesterday, had to to drink two cups of ginger tea to get past some serious nausea.  So this beta of 10 is mind-blowing after all that.  And kills hope.

Because it takes a beta of at least 25 to pass the home pregnancy test I passed twice.  For me to have had whatever beta I had when I passed those HPTs, and now for it to be just 10, means that it must be falling.  And having a positive HPT on Monday, coupled with how early the symptoms came on (last Thursday) seems to kill the “late implanter” thread of hope, slender as it was.  Yes, some people’s betas double nicely after 10; but I don’t think mine is a 10 on the way up – I think it is a 10 because it is on the way down.

So, should I have taken those HPTs?  The conventional wisdom in IVF-land is that we shouldn’t.  Maybe it’s not wise to POAS because we will believe the positive even when it might not last.

And mine didn’t. 

So do I regret it?  Who knows.  I’m shattered and grieving.  But I think my answer is no, I don’t regret it.  There is this minor character in the Bible, Hannah, who was infertile and endured shame and disgrace because of it.  Because she’s in the Bible, she eventually did become pregnant (unlike the rest of us) and she has this speech, it’s a prayer of triumph:  “My heart exults in the Lord; my horn is exalted in the Lord.”  Well the “horn” thing is symbolic – if your horn is lifted up (think “horn of plenty”, not anything dirty) that means you’ve been delivered from disgrace to a position of honor and strength.

I know, we’re not supposed to be disgraced by infertility.  We’re not supposed to be ashamed of it.  But tell me, my dear infertile friends, do you not feel the slightest bit degraded by it?  Less-than, somehow?  Not in a way that’s our fault – but just, in a way.  I sure do.  And I gotta tell you that “Pregnant” in the window of the Clearblue Digital was like a crown that I got to wear for four whole days.  And I was pregnant as hell, too, there was so much crazy stuff going on in my body I didn’t even tell you half of it.   I felt redeemed, like my body was finally going to be allowed to do one of the most amazing things it was made to do, and whatever my sicknesses and my wear & tear and my failures have done, my horn was lifted up.  I felt restored.

Maybe my “mistake” was believing it, but how could I not?  How could I get myself into that jaded place where I couldn’t get excited about something I’ve always longed for, because it might not last?

I guess this is how.

Anyway, maybe I’m wrong and this pregnancy will somehow resurrect itself.  I doubt it.  In which case we’re on the to FET, I hope in May.  And I will HPT again.  If I get a positive I might not tell as many people about it, and I might not expect it to last; but even a few days of being pregnant is better than none, and if a few is all I get I want to know about them.

My beta is 10.  I am shocked.  I go back on Monday.  I am pregnant – I have been all week – but there is very, very little chance that this is a viable pregnancy.

UPDATE:  There is very little chance (just one “very”, slightly improved) because my progesterone is sort of high, 114 which I think might be an encouraging sign.  But there is also chance that this is ectopic.  Of all the things that could go wrong that one never occurred to me. 

The other good news is I finally found out that we have 2 frosties – the embryos that we didn’t transfer this time were in good enough shape to freeze.  So  I’ll probably be getting ready for FET (frozen embryo transfer) next, unless this is some kind of Cinderella story.

FYI no pregnancy = no lockdown, no password.  Might need that pw in a few months but probably not this week.

Today is lockdown day as well.  Last chance to email me for the password…

I go in for my blood test in a few hours and will get a call early afternoon CDT.  Feeling optimistic.

Today is lockdown day as well.  Last chance to email me for the password…

I go in for my blood test in a few hours and will get a call early afternoon CDT.  Feeling optimistic.

I got a lot of dwarfs over here.  In addition to the regulars like Dopey, Weepy and Sleepy, occasionally Grumpy, and occasionally Happy, say hello to Crampy, Urpy and Freaky.  Crampy is the bad-ass head dwarf.  In earlier posts I said the cramps were going away but they’re not.  I awoke from some wild nimba dreams last night (more about that in a minute) and Crampy was all up In There.  Sheer terror gripped me, this could be the beginning of my now 3-days-late period, and goodbye Snow White, hello Rose Red.  My particular variant on the "poking your bbs to see if they hurt so much that they start to hurt" has to do with energetic wiping in terror of the Red Menace.  During this middle-of-the-night contretemps I thanked God for my friend Pam, (not that I don’t thank God for Pam all the time) who told me that when pregnant with one of her sons, having cramps so bad she was "doubled over" was an early sign.  I lay awake trying to breathe and not panic and thinking "Pam was doubled over, Pam was doubled over" as some kind of calming mantra.  And all is white and well.

For whatever reason, God chose to make a pregnancy sign and a "you’re about to get your period" sign EXACTLY THE SAME THING.  Thanks!  Putting that on my "What were You thinking?" list, which is actually getting quite long, to chat about with God when I see Him.  Not sure how I’m going to take that list with me by the way; maybe in heaven my memory will be better.  It is crap now, I’ll tell you that. 

What was I saying? 

Because the cramps do come and go but they’re a little stronger this week than last.  I had unwisely decided how I thought the cramps should act but they are hell-bent on doing their own thing.  Another funny thing, not exactly funny ha-ha but more like funny nudging-me-closer-to-splintering-insanity, is that the doctors and Medical People have this way of asking about symptoms that is tricksy.  Both my acupuncturist and the IVF coordinator at my clinic have initiated this dialogue with me:

Them:  How are you feeling?

Me: (unwilling to spill details about symptoms just yet) Oh, fine. 

Them: No cramps, spotting…?

Me:  (proudly) Oh yes. (suddenly filled with doubt as context suggests that cramps and spotting are bad) … I mean, I’ve had some cramping… (suddenly doubting all positive aspects of cramping since it’s WHAT I HAVE)… but they’re kind of weird cramps… kind of light… (trying to salvage hope) (brightly) No spotting though!  (suddenly suspecting that spotting is The Thing to Have, NOT cramping, since I have never been a spotter)

Them:  (completely uninterpretable) Ahhhh.

Then starting yesterday Freaky showed up.  Freaky and Weepy are sort of evil twins.  I went to Trader Joe’s, scene of many, many infertility-related defeats since it’s my grocery store, and everyone knows ALL PREGNANT WOMEN and WOMEN WITH CUTE KIDS are at the grocery store ALL THE TIME.  Especially in the daytime, which is when I go.  But I was feeling happy and triumphant because I just felt so damn pregnant.  At the little counter in the back where they hand out samples, the food they were offering slightly repulsed me (hello, Urpy) so I passed it by.  A slight twinge of nausea mixed with excitement!  Weird!  Different!  Different is good.  And so it was that at the register I found out that since my total was an even number ($63.00), I won a big box of fancy cookies.  O the joy!  At that point I knew that I was having a biiiig mood swing, because I was so happy you would have thought it was the lottery.  I almost cried from the joy of those cookies and could not shake the idea that I had somehow earned them.  I called friends on the way home to tell them about my big cookie win.  Nobody picked up which is good.  My friends have actual lives.   

Now – about the cookie thing – I’m not the only one.  My friend C. has been known to do a "cookie dance" (I have seen it) and she, I am sure, would have busted a move right there at the cash register at TJ’s.  For me, cookies are like currency.  You could purchase my piano or my car from me with cookies if you caught me in the late afternoon and the cookies were homemade. 

Then later I went calmly to discuss with my dear husband a minor transgression and within seconds was having one of those shaking, sobbing-from-the-gut, wailing, you-don’t-love-me, wiping snot on my sleeve kind of emotional storms that was a little bit more extreme than the situation warranted (but I can’t help thinking it may be an effective deterrent).  I capped off the emotional weirdness with a whole bunch of dreams: weird sex dreams, junior high dreams where large amounts of people decided they didn’t like me anymore, and my specialty dream of late: the Phantom Shot dream.  In which I wake in a panic that there is one shot I forgot to give myself, and without it either I or the (maybe) baby will die.  Phantom Shot is a variation on Phantom Task, a dream I’ve had forever, and it features a long not-lucid time where I’m awake but convinced the dream is real and I have to figure out what I didn’t do or I’ll die.  My cherished husband is a pro at being awakened from a sound sleep by my frantic search for whatever it is I think I need, and talking me back to reality. 

The emotional tenor of all dreams was just as hysterical as I felt while awake, so I now feel kind of werewolf-y, like I turned into a monster during the night and roamed the city doing unspeakable things and even though I’m back in human form I’m exhausted and don’t know why I have all this dirt between my toes.

Freaky is in the house.

I got a lot of dwarfs over here.  In addition to the regulars like Dopey, Weepy and Sleepy, occasionally Grumpy, and occasionally Happy, say hello to Crampy, Urpy and Freaky.  Crampy is the bad-ass head dwarf.  In earlier posts I said the cramps were going away but they’re not.  I awoke from some wild nimba dreams last night (more about that in a minute) and Crampy was all up In There.  Sheer terror gripped me, this could be the beginning of my now 3-days-late period, and goodbye Snow White, hello Rose Red.  My particular variant on the "poking your bbs to see if they hurt so much that they start to hurt" has to do with energetic wiping in terror of the Red Menace.  During this middle-of-the-night contretemps I thanked God for my friend Pam, (not that I don’t thank God for Pam all the time) who told me that when pregnant with one of her sons, having cramps so bad she was "doubled over" was an early sign.  I lay awake trying to breathe and not panic and thinking "Pam was doubled over, Pam was doubled over" as some kind of calming mantra.  And all is white and well.

For whatever reason, God chose to make a pregnancy sign and a "you’re about to get your period" sign EXACTLY THE SAME THING.  Thanks!  Putting that on my "What were You thinking?" list, which is actually getting quite long, to chat about with God when I see Him.  Not sure how I’m going to take that list with me by the way; maybe in heaven my memory will be better.  It is crap now, I’ll tell you that. 

What was I saying? 

Because the cramps do come and go but they’re a little stronger this week than last.  I had unwisely decided how I thought the cramps should act but they are hell-bent on doing their own thing.  Another funny thing, not exactly funny ha-ha but more like funny nudging-me-closer-to-splintering-insanity, is that the doctors and Medical People have this way of asking about symptoms that is tricksy.  Both my acupuncturist and the IVF coordinator at my clinic have initiated this dialogue with me:

Them:  How are you feeling?

Me: (unwilling to spill details about symptoms just yet) Oh, fine. 

Them: No cramps, spotting…?

Me:  (proudly) Oh yes. (suddenly filled with doubt as context suggests that cramps and spotting are bad) … I mean, I’ve had some cramping… (suddenly doubting all positive aspects of cramping since it’s WHAT I HAVE)… but they’re kind of weird cramps… kind of light… (trying to salvage hope) (brightly) No spotting though!  (suddenly suspecting that spotting is The Thing to Have, NOT cramping, since I have never been a spotter)

Them:  (completely uninterpretable) Ahhhh.

Then starting yesterday Freaky showed up.  Freaky and Weepy are sort of evil twins.  I went to Trader Joe’s, scene of many, many infertility-related defeats since it’s my grocery store, and everyone knows ALL PREGNANT WOMEN and WOMEN WITH CUTE KIDS are at the grocery store ALL THE TIME.  Especially in the daytime, which is when I go.  But I was feeling happy and triumphant because I just felt so damn pregnant.  At the little counter in the back where they hand out samples, the food they were offering slightly repulsed me (hello, Urpy) so I passed it by.  A slight twinge of nausea mixed with excitement!  Weird!  Different!  Different is good.  And so it was that at the register I found out that since my total was an even number ($63.00), I won a big box of fancy cookies.  O the joy!  At that point I knew that I was having a biiiig mood swing, because I was so happy you would have thought it was the lottery.  I almost cried from the joy of those cookies and could not shake the idea that I had somehow earned them.  I called friends on the way home to tell them about my big cookie win.  Nobody picked up which is good.  My friends have actual lives.   

Now – about the cookie thing – I’m not the only one.  My friend C. has been known to do a "cookie dance" (I have seen it) and she, I am sure, would have busted a move right there at the cash register at TJ’s.  For me, cookies are like currency.  You could purchase my piano or my car from me with cookies if you caught me in the late afternoon and the cookies were homemade. 

Then later I went calmly to discuss with my dear husband a minor transgression and within seconds was having one of those shaking, sobbing-from-the-gut, wailing, you-don’t-love-me, wiping snot on my sleeve kind of emotional storms that was a little bit more extreme than the situation warranted (but I can’t help thinking it may be an effective deterrent).  I capped off the emotional weirdness with a whole bunch of dreams: weird sex dreams, junior high dreams where large amounts of people decided they didn’t like me anymore, and my specialty dream of late: the Phantom Shot dream.  In which I wake in a panic that there is one shot I forgot to give myself, and without it either I or the (maybe) baby will die.  Phantom Shot is a variation on Phantom Task, a dream I’ve had forever, and it features a long not-lucid time where I’m awake but convinced the dream is real and I have to figure out what I didn’t do or I’ll die.  My cherished husband is a pro at being awakened from a sound sleep by my frantic search for whatever it is I think I need, and talking me back to reality. 

The emotional tenor of all dreams was just as hysterical as I felt while awake, so I now feel kind of werewolf-y, like I turned into a monster during the night and roamed the city doing unspeakable things and even though I’m back in human form I’m exhausted and don’t know why I have all this dirt between my toes.

Freaky is in the house.

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