Knowing and Telling

28 week update: Apparently, my cervix is back to it’s normal, lengthy self. The peri actually spent some time pointing out how nice it was (though without all those flattering adjectives), and why he was pleased, and illustrated with his hands (how when I bear down, my cervix compresses, but doesn’t open). So, all’s well on the cervical front. I’m still on bedrest, but I have permission for a weekly outing (”as long as you’re not going on a 4 mile walk,” he said. Ha!). So that’s good news all around.

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While we were in the waiting room (because the peri was running 45 minutes late - not unusual) another patient came in who was huge - bigger than I am. Turns out, she’s the surrogate for our new friends G & V. Which we learned because G walked in to the waiting room just after huge-preggo-woman. So we chatted with the two of them for a while (they had the appointment after mine, so it was going to be a while...)

We were talking with G about various childbirth and prep classes (since last time we saw them was at the infant CPR class) and it occured to me that in a room of pregnant women, she regularly introduces herself as “expecting twins by way of a surrogate.” Now, the other day I had a long conversation with my mom about “telling” and about which people get which information (ranging from the fact that we’re having twins, to due dates, to the vague mention that we had some help, to more detailed info about IVF). What I have, in contrast to G, is the luxury of privacy. (At least when my mom isn’t telling people whatever she’s telling them...) I can choose to tell people as much or as little about how these twins came to be as I want. And I do. Mostly, I don’t bring up the IVF. People ask if twins run in the family, and I answer (not really, though there are some). But unless it seems like the person might be going through infertility or have some other knowledge of the topic, I don’t generally expand on our methods of conception. As I said to my mom, for the most part, you wouldn’t tell people what position you were in if you conceived the “old fashioned” way (if you even knew), so why would it automatically be anyone’s business how we conceived?

On the other hand, it’s not something I’m hiding. When I think it’s appropriate, I share varying degrees of information. One example: When J told people at work that we were expecting, and expecting twins, mostly they gave the standard responses (Do you know the genders? Do twins run in the family? Oh my god, twins!). But one woman asked if we’d been trying long. See, there’s a flag - that she thought to ask meant she had a clue. So he told her, yes. And yes, we had help. And they had a chat about this woman’s secondary infertility and how she only has one child (which we knew - he’s 17 or 18 now). Another example: The other day I was sitting in my neighbor’s kitchen chatting with her when her DIL and the DIL’s sister came over to drop off the grandson for the night. And they mentioned that they knew someone who had just had twins - with an egg donor. And it seemed like the next step in the conversation was how lucky we were not to have done that or something. So I said something vague about having had some help. No details for them, but I didn’t want them to have the mistaken notion that this was an easily achieved pregnancy.

I don’t know who else knows, really. Most of my school colleagues don’t, except for one who also did IVF. (More people know about hers, but then, she’s single so people were going to know there was some intervention there anyway. Plus she needed more support during the cycle. My hats are off to people who do IVF on their own - I can’t even imagine. But I digress.) My work colleagues don’t, except for one who has 10 year old B/G twins, and when I told her I was having twins, she told me about her pregnancy complications and the fact that she’d done IVF. So she knows. Some of my mom’s friends know. And of course, I have no idea who else my in-laws or my parents have told, or who has pieced it together. I mean, I wasn’t being vocal about it, but nor was it this huge secret. It just was.

So what’s the point of all this? I don’t know, really. I think on the one hand that infertility is this taboo subject, and I wish more people could/would talk openly about it (coughJuliaRobertscough. And on the other hand, how I conceived my children isn’t necessarily a topic of public conversation. So at times I feel like I’m walking a fine line between being too open and too secretive - between having my own private life, and being an ambassador for those that can’t speak out for whatever reason.

I would have thought this would end with the pregnancy, but I suspect that walking around with non-identical twins will continue to elicit (likely obnoxious and ill-informed) questions and comments, both about the twins in general, and about how I “got” them. And I don’t know what I’m going to say.

Neither here nor there

I meant to post something profound on Mother’s Day, something about how it’s different this year, or not, or whatever. And I just couldn’t do it. In some ways it IS different. At our family gathering, people gave me Mother’s Day cards. (J, thankfully, saved his for a more private time.) I wasn’t the one doing the setup/cleanup as I have been in years past.

Maybe this is the source of my ambivalence: one time, several years ago, after my mother and my aunt were the primary worker-bees while some new, young, non-mom extended-family-members just sat around, my mom made a request that the non-moms be responsible for Mother’s Day. Which made sense at the time, sorta, though every year that I was again a non-mom through no choice of my own it sucked more. Especially last year when we decided to just skip Mother’s Day all together. But this year I wanted to see my mom and my grandma, and so we went.

And it felt weird. Weird to be considered a mom. I mean, I feel a sense of protectiveness toward the babies, and I do think of them as my babies, but that’s an internal, private sort of motherhood - not the kind you get a Hallmark card for.

Maybe it was all too much. At Monday’s ultrasound, the radiologist who reviewed the u/s shots said my cervix was “dynamic” - which sounds so positive and energetic, but really means that the length changed during the course of my wanding, which concerned them a bit. If I weren’t already on bedrest, I think that would have put me here. (In fact, the on-call doc was concerned enough to call my peri and consult with him about what they wanted me to do, which was the scariest part of the whole thing.)

Personally, I’m blaming the u/s tech, who had a very weird insertion technique for the transvag wand. As in, she sorta aimed for the wrong spot. I never thought I’d miss the people who asked me to self-insert, but after this I’d be tempted to offer.

More updates from bedrest-land to come...

It’s not that I’m pessimistic...

I’m just not surprised.

I ‘failed’ the 3 hour glucose tolerance test (and what a fun experience that was, let me tell you. Actually, let me not.) So I’m on bedrest and now I have gestational diabetes. And a whole new set of things to google. Like, what the hell can I eat for the next few days until the Diabetes in Pregnancy class? (The nurse faxed me a brief intro to the food plan, but since I can’t go to the grocery store and J is working a lot, well, I’m not really sure what to eat.)

Just like a Boy Scout

Be prepared. That’s the Boy Scout motto, right? So I’m working on getting prepared.

Over the weekend, we took the hospital’s L&D tour, which was surprisingly less surreal than I’d expected. Of course, it was also less useful than I’d hoped because except for learning where we’re supposed to go (which WAS useful) it was a bunch of information that probably doesn’t apply to us. We did stay after at the end to ask a bunch of our twin-specific questions (after being the ones wanting to know where the NICU is and how soon you can go visit if the babies are in the NICU, I decided to hold back on some of my more specific questions to avoid freaking out the normal people). I’ll skip the specifics, except to say that her information contrasted with some of what I’ve been told (both by other practitioners, and by the internets), so I don’t really know what to believe. On the other hand, my inability to trust the people in the know is a bit of a liability, and I should probably work on that.*

I had a slightly better experience at the breastfeeding class last night, though I knew much of what she was saying, and was somewhat frustrated by her lack of mention of other resources for breastfeeding - like kellymom or Dr. Whatshisname in Canada - both of whom have incredibly useful web presences. (Or even the La Leche League - I guess they’re too far “out there”?) Plus there was no mention of herbs or drugs to increase milk supply, how to build a support network, or really much of anything beyond latching and why breastfeeding is a good idea. Oh, and information about pumps for people going back to work - which was probably useful (how often do you get to examine various pumps up close to get used to the idea), but I missed some of it because I had to pee. I’m hoping to trust the ‘expert’ teaching the childbirth class on Monday (should be taught by a L&D nurse, and has the potential to be the most useful, since it will hopefully be information specific to our hospital), at least long enough to get something out of it. After that, I can go back to my general mistrust. Except for my peri, whom I actually trust quite a lot. (Partially because he’s always happy to explain why he recommends whatever he’s recommending, and because they’re almost always recommendations and not edicts, as if he recognizes that I’ve got a brain in my head that is not completely fried by this whole pregnancy thing, and so it’s really my choice if I take his advice or not. So refreshing, isn’t it?)

* I had an encounter with the midwife the other day that was basically the equivalent of the nurse at an RE’s office talking about “implanting” embryos or something. Really inspires a lot of trust right there, doesn’t it?

Welcome to bedrest. Population: me.

Well, it’s official. I’ve joined the ranks of the bedresting (bedresters?). Sorta. Nothing major has happened, and I’m still allowed up a bit (I was allowed to keep two already-scheduled meetings today, in fact, hence the “sorta”). And thankfully, I’m still allowed to go to the breastfeeding class tomorrow night, and the quickie childbirth class next week. Unfortunately, I’m also being allowed forced to take the 3 hour glucose tolerance test tomorrow. Oh the fun.

I suspected this would happen, I just thought I’d have a few more weeks to wrap things up at work. And home. And psych myself up for it (or wind down, or something). So this takes a bit of adjusting.

More after I process it all.

Note to self:

It is far preferable to stay hydrated throughout the day than to have to drink 60 oz of water all at once to stop the Braxton Hicks contractions, and then spend the next hour peeing every five minutes.

In the middle of the night...

I woke up in the middle of the night (nothing strange there) feeling hot (also not unusual). I rolled over to look at the clock, which said 350, and I thought, “well, that’s why I feel hot.” And then I woke up a touch more and realized where I was. And then it was 3:51.

Other than my ridiculously interrupted sleep (and bizarre dreams) pregnancy is mostly going well. I have perhaps more than my fair share of aches and pains, but the babies are growing nicely (and doing their fair share of kicking) and my perinatologist told me I have a fantastic cervix. Really. So far, it seems despite what it took to get to this point, my body is doing surprisingly well at this whole pregnancy thing. Except for how uncomfortable I am. And the heartburn. Oh, the heartburn. But that’s me, and not the babies, so I’m counting myself lucky. 24+ weeks and counting.

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A while ago, I wrote about the weird experience of going to the Moms Parents of Twins club. Last week, we went to our first prenatal education class, which was also weird. This was actually an Infant CPR class, and a very small group - one other couple, plus a single woman. I puzzled over the other couple - clearly not pregnant (actually, I don’t think the single woman was, either, but that was less clear initially), fairly established looking, and strangely familiar. After studing them across the table for a minute, it came to me. The woman, G, was one of the moms I met at the Twins club meeting - she’s the one expecting twins via a surrogate. We didn’t talk much during the class itself, though she and I both reacted to the initial training video (horribly anxiety producing), the somewhat creepy training doll (it had replaceable faces that pulled off for each couple), and the confusing steps we had to practice (is the child responsive or not? blocked airway? is the chest rising?). After the class, we chatted with them for a bit - J stayed with her husband, and she and I headed to the ladies’ room. “We’re doing the expectant moms going to the bathroom thing,” I said, and she smiled. What? She’s an expectant mom too. (I suspect that’s not obvious to a lot of people, though.) While we were gone, the guys apparently had a nice chat. Her hubby, V, shared that they used IVF, obviously (uh, yeah, actually it is obvious) and J noted that we did too. So we’re all on the same page there. They’re a bit older, and perhaps more financially stable (though after who knows how many attempts at IVF and finally a surrogacy, well, who knows?). In any case, we have our first set of twin-parent-couple-friends. I hope. I didn’t get their info or anything, but I’m sure we’ll see them at a twin club event at some point or another.

(I meant to write more about the Infant CPR class itself - it really was quite bizarre. It started with this video that was really terrifying - like, here are some examples of frightening situations you may or may not be able to do anything about, but we’re going to show you what you can try anyway, just for kicks. The training doll not only had a peel off face, but a peel-open chest -- so you could see the ribcage. And the practice routine depended largely on how focused the instructor was at any given moment. Still worthwhile, I think. But not what I expected.)

Mum's the Word

I’ve been a bad blogger. It’s not that I don’t have anything to say, though actually stringing together words is sometimes more complicated than it should be. I think I just don’t know how to talk about this part of it. The part with the plans and preparations and fears and excitements. And I know that sounds silly. It’s not so much the “infertile writing about pregnancy” issue, though I do think that’s part of it. It’s just that I don’t really know what to say. Only that’s not true - I have lots to say, I think. I just don’t quite know how.

I think maybe it’s an identity problem. Writing about pregnancy and preparations and fear and trepidation is to assume a pregnant identity. I’m doing okay with that out here, sorta, maybe, but I’m not sure yet how that translates here. Plus, I have so many little things floating around that I want to share or work through or whatever, and I don’t even know where to start.

I guess I’ll take it one post at a time.
Starting tomorrow.
I hope.

Miscellany and mush

My mother, who recently decided she didn’t want to be called “Grandma” because it seemed too old (something I’m not holding against her in the least - she can try to have them call her whatever she wants. It’s not like they won’t make up their own word, anyway) went shopping last weekend while on vacation, and apparently bought a boatload of baby stuff. Despite her disavowal of the label, she’s sure acting like a grandma :)

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In other news, my brain has turned to mush. Really. My memory is shot. I have trouble remembering what I set out to do when I get up, or go to another room, or open up a web browser. I can’t do basic math (not that my arithmetic skills were ever all that hot, but still - adding 2 + 3? Not the stuff of geniuses). It’s a good thing I’m a list maker, or I don’t think I’d get anything done. And as it is, I still have to remember (1) where I put the list and (2) to check what’s on the list.

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Best of all: I recently updated my blogroll and got to add a second star to two dear friends.

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Did I mention mushbrain? Because that might explain how I drafted this post a couple of days ago and then, somehow, didn’t post it. Um, yeah. And on that note, I’d better track down my list again and see what else I thought I’d already done.

The Voice of Experience

News about the twins has spread to people I don’t frequently see, both in my department and at work.* Actually, often it’s just news of the pregnancy, and then people are shocked when they hear how far along I am** and relieved when they hear I’m carrying twins.

In any case, one of these exchanges led to the tidbit that a woman at work (someone I have a lot of respect for, though we don’t actually work together at all - she’s one of those people who exudes good energy, y’know?) is the mother of boy/girl twins. So I saw this woman today, and confirmed that she has twins, and then told her about mine. Her kids are 10 now, and the result of IVF followed by an incredibly scary and complicated pregnancy. (Which is to say, she really gets it.) And she’s got it all together now (or at least makes it look like she does). She didn’t sugar coat things. She said, basically, the first year will be hell. But it’s all worth it, and they’re fantastic now, and they get along really well and their personalities complement each other and who knows what will happen when they get out of elementary school, but right now they are each others’ best friends.

Mostly, I’m busy amassing advice on dealing with the here and now - what do we need to get and do? How are we going to manage the early days? Will I be able to breastfeed? What classes should we take? Etc. etc. Talking to someone who is so far removed from the baby days was really reassuring. I know there will be new questions and new challenges (hell, I’m stressing about those already, too - How will they get along? When do we separate them in school? How do we ensure they’re able to have a sense of themselves as individuals and not just “the twins”?) but it was nice to see that it won’t always be like this - stuck deep in the unknown, buried under a pile of questions.

* However, news has yet to spread to many of our friends, because J and I both find it really awkward to send an email out of the blue announcing the pregnancy news. It’s something we have to work up to, I think. So everyone who sees me walking down the street knows I’m pregnant, but many of our friends who aren’t in the area don’t have a clue. We’re working on that, though.

** Because I am, apparently, huge. Or something. More politely, one friend told me I was about as big at 20 weeks as she was at 30+.

Heads and Shoulders, Knees and Toes

On Friday we went for our anatomy scan, where they measure and count and do lots of things that look mostly unintelligible to the untrained eye. As I settled down on the incredibly flat table (seriously, they think this is confortable bearable for pregnant people??), the tech looked through my file and said, “So, this is an IVF/ICSI pregnancy?” And I thought, Oh, no. Here we go. Critique or commentary or something I don’t want to deal with right now.

“Yes,” I said, “it is.”

“Where did you do it?” she asked. I told her the clinic, and she confirmed which doctor, and I thought, This isn’t so bad. I guess she sees a lot of these and it makes for good small talk.

“I’m seeing him, too,” she said.

“Oh,” I said. “He’s very good - we liked him a lot.” And then she asked about how long we’d been trying, and I told her what we’d done before that, and she asked about the ICSI, and we told her why we did it and what we thought of it.

“So, this job must be hard sometimes,” I said. “Looking at pregnancy all day.”

“Sometimes,” she said. “And sometimes it’s encouraging.”

Over the course of the rest of the scan, we’d occasionally talk about other aspects of the process, or what we thought of it, what meds, what procedures. We joked about my ease with the transvag ultrasound. Mostly she asked questions and we answered them. I wasn’t sure how much to ask her, so I didn’t ask much. In the end, I think I wished her good luck.

I can’t imagine how difficult and poignant that must be, to do ultrasounds on pregnant women all day every day while going through an IVF. Lots of people come through there for routine scans, I know, but she must also see the worst-case scenarios plenty. She must know that getting sperm and egg together and settled is only part of the challenge. And she’s doing it, now, while she lubes and scans other people’s pregnant bellies. I just can’t imagine.

(On the other hand, I can imagine the secret thrill at the possibility of having ready access to an ultrasound machine. Stim scans? Easy. Early ultrasounds? No problem. Though I think the machine is probably pretty hard to operate while lying on the terrible table.)

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The babies are fine. Measuring one day apart and right on target. My cervix is long (longer than my peri’s last scan, actually) and closed. The babies seem to have all the right parts in the right places. The tech (and the supervising MD who came in later) were having trouble visualizing all the angles of Baby A’s heart (at first due to the baby’s position, and later due to too much motion) but the consulting peri who came in at the end was really reassuring about it all. There’s also a potential issue with one of the umbilical cords potentially being attached more toward the side than the center of the placenta, but the peri didn’t seem too concerned about that, either. So far, one placenta is anterior and one is posterior, and neither is too close to the cervix. I tried to count fingers and toes, but the tech was more concerned with blood flow and heart rates and bone length (all very important, but not so meaningful to my untrained eye).

Current status: so far so good, and holding steady. 19 weeks today.

Negotiating a New Identity

So, we went to our first Parents of Twins group meeting this week. (It’s actually Mothers of Twins, but since J came too I’ve been trying to be inclusive.) It was a weird experience. There were several other pregnant women - I was actually the least pregnant by several weeks. Except for the woman who is expecting twins via a surrogate, it wasn’t clear to me that any of the rest had any trouble getting there or that this was anything but a surprise. Maybe I’m just so used to being open to that and they’re busy moving on or redefining their identities. Or maybe infertiles don’t join the group.

It was another version of the “do I still consider myself infertile now that I’m pregnant” question. And apprently, the answer was yes, sort of. I felt more comfortable with the slightly older pregnant woman who might have been through treatments to get there. I couldn’t completely shake the journey that brought me there, nor could I ignore the other women’s situations. But at the same time, I was trying to make sense of my new identity - mom of twins.

I generally dislike it when women define themselves solely in their capacity as mothers. Don’t get me wrong, I think mothering is incredibly important, but those women on message boards who use names like “Britney’s Mom” or whatever just bug me a little. I’m not planning to give up my name when I have these kids. I’ll still be me. I hope. But I do understand that a huge part of my identity will shift has already begun to shift.

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On another note, what the heck are receiving blankets used for? Apparently I’m supposed to get a boatload of them, and I’m not sure why. Anyone?

In which I ramble about planning and preparation

(mostly pregnancy related, and probably pretty boring, so be warned)

Thank you all so so much for the words of encouragement (especially from Suz - OMG she had time to read AND post? Maybe this is do-able after all!) I have started to take some action to quell the freak-out. I’ve got the contact info for one of the local Moms of Multiples groups - they have a meeting on Monday and I’m trying to get up the courage to go. I’m not usually shy, exactly, but I don’t like walking blindly into new situations with no idea of what to expect. It makes me nervous. So now I’m trying to bring myself to email them so I’ve made contact before the meeting. Does anyone know if Dads of Multiples are generally welcome at these things? Because I think he’d like to come.

Also, though they’re not on the blogroll over there --> yet, I’ve started reading a few moms of multiples blogs. So far, most of them are useful and encouraging and inspiring, which I think I really needed. If you know of any (or are one) please let me know so I can add them to the list. Please?

Other action-taking: I’m working on following Moxie’s advice and starting to line up plans and support. It turns out that I am much less interested in the details of a birth-plan than I ever thought I’d be (mostly because it feels like a bit of a waste of energy - it’s all well and good to say that I’d like the baby placed on my tummy or that I’d like J to be the one to cut the cord, but I’m pretty sure that none of that will really be an option. I mean, I guess it’s always possible, but it just seems so irrelevant in the grand scheme of things now.) However, I’ve been thinking that I might like to have an AFTER-birth plan (not for the afterbirth - ewww - but for after all of that). I don’t know if this is silly or practical or what, and I feel like I’m way ahead of myself with it. But I want to breastfeed, even if the babies are early and in the NICU, and I think that means I need to work on that in advance. For now, I think it means researching the LC options at the hospital where I’ll be, and elsewhere in the area.

I’ve also been deep into the list-making. My mom has offered to come down for a couple of days to help do stuff around the house, and then a couple of weeks later my in-laws will be here for much the same purpose. So we’re trying to think through the things that need to be done that they can help with. I think J and his brother and father will be working on condensing our various storage areas to make room for the things that need to be moved out of the, um, spare bedroom so it can become the, um, nursery. My mother, bless her little disorganized heart, also wants to help - so I’m trying to figure out what she can do (given that organizing and sorting and cleaning really aren’t her strongest attributes). I think maybe we’ll work on the craft room, which is also a storage room, so that when my FIL finds things that belong in there, I’ll have someplace to put them. So that’s a whole heck of a lot of organizing.

There’s more, but I think I’ll spare you all the details. Let’s just say that I’m channeling all of my anxiety into planning and organizing and hoping that will help a bit.

Insecurities rising

Every time we have a fight, or even a non-fight -- a pesky disagreement, a mutual out-of-sorts moment -- every time, I worry about how we’re going to do this. How are we going to make it through the ridiculous ordeal of twins? We tell people, and they ask if our families are nearby. No, actually, they’re not that close. Mine are about 3 hours away. His are across the country. We have friends who are excited and want to come play with the babies, but not necessarily the kind that are going to organize meal rotations or come over to do laundry. We have fantastic neighbors who will be happy to do some occasional grocery shopping, but other than all that we’re mostly on our own. And I’m scared. I’m scared that we can’t even take care of ourselves right now. We can’t get the house clean, or organized. We can’t figure out what to have for dinner. I can barely make it off the couch much of the time. And yes, some of that is due to the pregnancy itself - it’s changed my appetite and my energy levels, among many other things. But some of it is just us. Maybe we’re really not ready for this. Maybe we can’t do it. Maybe we shouldn’t have tried so hard to get here. I’m trying really hard not to go down the “meant to be” path, because I don’t actually believe that at all, but tonight in the midst of it all I just don’t know how we’re going to do it.

Masquerade

Sometimes I feel like a bit of a fraud.

When, upon telling someone of the pregnancy, I don't follow it with a cautious note or a worried frown.

When I rest my hand on my growing midsection (for comfort or to clarify that this is not just my fat getting the better of me).

When I make plans for the future that involve paint swatches, or furniture arrangements, or being on maternity leave.

The normalcy of the actions is so foreign to me I feel I must be masquerading - I don't really deserve to plan a nursery, or look at strollers, or joke about how my exhaustion now is just preparation for later sleep deprivation.  (Actually, I find the last one annoying - fraud or no.) 

Yesterday, someone who had just learned of the pregnancy asked if she could touch my belly - it's my first random belly touch.  At least she asked (!) but I couldn't figure out how to say no, politely.  I think as it becomes more frequent (see, there I am assuming it will become more frequent) I'll get better at asking people NOT to touch.  But right now it's all just so foreign that I feel like I'm making it up, bit by bit, as I go along.  Or reciting some script I've heard before, complete with a laugh track.

I had meant to write about telling, and I will, especially since I'm getting to the point where it's hard to avoid.  Meanwhile, J has managed to tell only a few people at work.  In some ways, I want him to tell more so he gets to experience the weird pseudo-normalcy (and brief thrill) of other people's excitement.  But every time another person finds out, it's one more boundary that has fallen and one more mask I have to put on.  No one wants to hear "Yes, I'm pregnant with twins.  At least for now." or "Well, we expect them in July, assuming I can make it that far."  So I bite my tounge, and try to act like I actually believe this is happening.

E. coli in my snatch

So, apparently I’m harboring a huge colony of e.coli in my snatch (or at least someplace in my urinary tract). They ran the urine culture three different times to be sure it wasn’t just contamination (because apparently if you don’t, um, clean yourself properly before peeing all over your hands in a cup, then the results can be flawed). But the nurse who gave me the most recent results chuckled at the notion that it was contamination, so even though my doctor is out of town, I’m being placed on good old fashioned antibiotics. They’ve reassured me that this is totally safe for the babies, so off I go to fill the prescription. In theory this will make me feel better, though since I had no symptoms I knew of, I don’t know if I’ll really feel the difference. I mean, sure, I had the whole frequent urination thing, but I kind of attributed that to, you know, the pregnancy.

In other news, we’ve been venturing out into the world of normal people, just a bit. We took our first trip to the baby superstore, where J actually had the energy and the focus to look at cribs and strollers and pack-n-plays and swings and the whole nine yards. I’ve been collecting ideas of what I might want for the abstract case of actually getting that far for a couple of years now, so it was nice to look at stuff with some semblance of actual purchasing possibility. Except that I was insanely jealous of all the normal people who had a much bigger selection of, well, everything, because they don’t need to fit two cribs into one room, or two kids into one stroller, or two carseats into one car. (I know some of that isn’t actually true, since there were a fair number of people clearly working on baby #2, perfectly spaced about 2 years behind the first.)

I also went to my first prenatal yoga class, which was full of the cutest pregnant women ever. We went around the room at the beginning with name, how far along, and one thing we’re looking forward to after the baby, and all of these 24-32 weeks and looking smaller than me women were a little nauseating. I know part of it is that I wasn’t remotely skinny to begin with, plus I’m short so I just look round all over, especially when I’m sitting crosslegged on the floor, but c’mon. It was still a nice class, though. Short, but both a little bit of a stretch and at the same time relaxing.

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I’m working on a longer and more thoughtful post about telling and who gets to know what and who thinks to ask. Basically, the number of people who just think this is super cool and peachy keen and are totally not clued in either to the possibility that it was a long road to get here or that it might be a long road from this point forward. It’s just really weird. But more on that later.

Show(ing) and Tell(ing)

For once in my life, I appear to be somewhat normal. At least in comparison to those worth comparing myself to.

Ambivalence about pregnancy? Check. Ambivalence over telling people? Check. Trying to figure out who to tell what? Check. Guilt over the twins? Check. Fear of how we’re going to do this? Double check.

I’ve also started showing. I’ve been, um, snug in the waist for several weeks now, and bought my first pair of stretchy-waist jeans a while ago, but with the right shirt, I didn’t look all that different from my former non-skinny self. Maybe even less-skinny than usual, but not definitively pregnant. But in the past week, I think I’ve ‘popped’ (or whatever people call it - though not into a cute little ‘bump’). I’m still not huge or anything (though the phlebotomoist who drew my blood the other day* said “13 weeks? You’re just 13 weeks? Are you sure?” and when I told her it was twins, she said “Oh, that explains why you’re so big.” Hmmm.

Here’s the thing: I’m glad to be showing. It makes it a bit more real -- believable -- tangible. It also makes it significantly more public. I told my boss a couple of weeks ago, because I thought that was necessary. I’ve let the news trickle out bit by bit at school and work. (Apparently not slowly enough, since when J met my work colleagues at an event last week, every one said something to the effect of “Nice to meet you - and congratulations!” which I think he found a bit disconcerting.) And my mom was a bit hurt since I had made her promise not to tell anyone, and just released her a few days ago. (My dad took the release much more as I’d hoped - he’s glad not to have to keep it a secret, but he’s not going out of his way to tell people. When it comes up, or seems like the right moment, I’m sure he’ll tell my sibs and my uncle and whomever else. And that’s fine. Plus, we had a rather bizarre conversation about how far along I am, and why they count based on LMP instead of conception, and so how far am I really. It was kinda cute.)

Point being, the secret is slowly trickling out into the world. Or, if I’m in a cab with my MIL (we’re in Vegas with the in-laws this weekend - which is its own kind of fun), it’s streaming out to strangers right and left. But whatever.

In other news, on Thursday night my right boob started leaking clear fluid. I know it’s normal, but damn was it weird.

* One of my perinatologists - I have two because we’re deciding between two clinics still - ordered the full panel of bloodwork for clotting disorders. His reasoning is that I’ve been on baby aspirin and things have been fine, and it would be better to find out if that’s because it’s helping something clotting-related BEFORE I go off it. It’s a good rationale, and in theory the tests will be covered now in a way they would not have been had the RE ordered them before. So I guess that’s good. I have a long post pending on how to pick a doctor and a clinic (a strange revisitation of my debate about fertility clinics, in some ways) but that will have to wait for another day, as I have a room service breakfast to order to use the last of the hotel credit I earned by pouting about how long it was taking the front desk to fix a basic problem. I hate to whine, but, well, I guess not when it gets me free room service, right?

Friends in need

My dear friend Mudbug, Mr. Mudbug and the darling Baby Bug need our support, prayers and good wishes right now. After an extended stay on bedrest and a somewhat complicated delivery, things finally seemed to be looking up for the Mudbug family, but today Baby Bug was diagnosed with a congenital heart defect for which he will be undergoing surgery tomorrow (Friday). The good news is that he is under the care of a skilled surgeon at an excellent, well regarded hospital. Plus, we all know he inherited his mom’s strength and tenacity, which can only help him pull through this.

Prayers, healing wishes, finger crossing, chicken bone shaking - whatever you do at a time like this is needed right now.

Advice

Sunday’s Dear Abby featured a question from a woman who had told an infertile friend to “just relax” and couldn’t understand why the friend was so upset when she was just trying to help. Abby, thank goodness, had the sense to explain the problem. Not as bluntly as I might have, of course, but with a decent dose of “How exactly do you think that helped your friend?” (Akeeyu has a much more detailed - and of course better - take on it here.)

This somewhat makes up for the “Tell Me About It/Carolyn Hax” column a couple of days ago where the happily-married mother of two (call her Friend A) vented about her bad day to a friend with a rocky marriage who has been trying to have kids (Friend B) and who then complained about being vented to. Carolyn agreed that it wasn’t reasonable for Friend B to have been so upset about the minor venting. What I wanted to know (and I sent a note to Carolyn on this point) was - what exactly did Friend A say in her venting? Because if she said “My kids are driving me nuts, you should be glad you don’t have any” or “You want kids? Take mine” then I think Friend B was entirely justified in being pissed off. Hell, I’m pissed on her behalf, and I don’t even know what happened. And even if that’s not what happened - does Friend A generally listen to and support Friend B or does she regularly complain about her fairly-decent life without offering any support to a friend in need? It’s just not as simple as it was portrayed is all I’m saying.

And then I thought I’d better go back to reading the comics instead, because clearly the advice columns were far too stressful.

Wavin’ babe

I don’t know if I should post warnings on every pregnancy-related post or what, so until I figure it out I’ll err on the side of caution and warn you that I’ll be talking about pregnancy and ultrasounds today. Feel free not to read if you don’t feel like it. Of course, that’s your right all the time. So, um, do what you need to do.

The perinatologist used the fancy ultrasound machine today. Setting aside the sheer wonder of an ultrasound during which I was fully clothed, the pleasure of the warmed goo, and the fact that this was the world’s fanciest machine, I’m left with the best part of all. One of the baby-blobs waved at us. Waved. And did a little squirmy thing.

Coolest. Thing. Ever.

Hi! Welcome to Pregnancy

I told a colleague I was pregnant today, to explain why I’ve been, well, how I’ve been - a little bit fuzzy and incredibly tired. Lo and behold, she’s pregnant, too, and about as far along as I am (though she doesn’t know for sure). It was nice to share a little bit, but mostly I felt like our experiences were so incredibly different that we were talking about different things. They were trying for a month (granted, they didn’t expect to conceive that fast - they knew it might take some time and figured they’d get started now). She doesn’t know her due date yet. She hasn’t yet seen an OB/midwife (her first appointment is in a a week or two, which if she’s due when she thinks she is will put it at late in her 11th week, if not into her 12th). She’s not sure if she’ll get an ultrasound at that appointment (though she wants one just to be sure everything is as it should be). She doesn’t intimately know what a transvag ultrasound is, let alone that it can be used to see the heartbeat before it can be heard on the doppler. She’s already told a couple of people, including some friends, and her boss. Her husband told his boss, too. It’s all just so weird to me. See what I mean about normal pregnant women? It’s a completely different world for them.

On the positive side, I didn’t greet this news with quite the same pang of intense jealousy as I would have in the past. It helped a bit to be the knowledgable one, slightly further along (at least in my head) and more experienced. It wasn’t easy, exactly, but it didn’t sting as much as it would have before. It was one of those moments where I really thought I was pregnant.

I took that feeling and ran with it, all the way to the maternity clothing store. I have that one pair of jeans, but I only had a couple of shirts that sorta kinda covered the waistband, and I thought maybe it was time. The store was even more surreal. There were three women working there, and two looked like they were in high school. Not that high school women don’t get pregnant sometimes, but these women clearly didn’t have any firsthand knowledge. It was just weird. Also weird was the couple that came in looking for a gift or something? I mean, it wasn’t for her, and it wasn’t for him, so I guess it was for someone else. Hopefully someone actually pregnant, since this woman was like 12 (okay, probably 19) and a size 2. And she kept exclaiming over how cute the clothes were. Geez, either go get pregnant so you can buy them, or go away, please. The last nutty thing was that everytime anyone walked into the store, the staff would greet them with, “Hi! Welcome to Motherhood.” I’m not ready to be welcomed to motherhood just yet. I’m still getting settled in pregnancy.

P.S. to Kell - I can’t find your email address anywhere, but if you email me I’d be happy to share what I know about SoCal clinics. My email address is on the ‘about’ page.

Graduations and new beginnings

Sorry I’ve been so silent. This is not pregnant blogger syndrome, just me dealing with some major, non-medical life stuff. Details at the end. But anyway, here’s a really long post to make up for it!

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I had my final ultrasound at the RE’s office last Friday - the twinkles actually had head-ish and body-ish blobs, which was really cool. After the scan, the nurses all gathered around with a “graduation certificate” and congratulated us. It was sweet, I guess. The three nurses who were most a part of my cycle were all there, which is rare (they seem not to overlap so much - one of them did most of my pre-cycle stuff, one was my primary nurse for retrieval and transfer, and one did most of my follow-up stuff) and it was really nice to see them all. The clinic has recently added a bunch of new nurses to handle the increasing patient load, so there were all of these new people, some of whom came and gave us hugs. I was very polite, but inside I was thinking, “Hi. Who are you and why are you hugging me?” And then, as a weird coincidence, one of my old REs (from two clinics ago) was there - she’s actually in a fellowship program, and that old office and this one are professionally affiliated, so I guess she’s doing a rotation at my clinic. It’s funny, because the day of my last visit at the Evil HMO clinic, the RE I saw before that (who supervised this RE fellow) was just starting there. I guess it’s a small world of REs around here. Weird.

So, Friday’s graduation was followed by our first appointment at the regular OB’s office on Monday. My primary OB (who was recommended by my RE, but whom I’ve never actually met) is actually a perinatologist (apparently, he has a “special interest” in twin pregnancies after IVF) but the initial appointment was with a nurse-midwife. I had a bunch of thoughts while I was there, but of course I was too busy filling out forms to jot them down, so we’ll see what I can reconstruct.

1. It was really weird to be around normal pregnant women (not that I know any of their histories, or anything, but they all looked so normal). Even now, I don’t really feel like I fit in somehow. Like I was an interloper. I’ve been in this office before, because Dr. Two-clinics-ago and the others (the ones who keep popping up other places) are based out of this office, but then I really knew the distinction - they’re all pregnant, and I’m not. (Yes, I know there are some women there just for routine well woman care. But really, mostly it’s cute pregnant bellies all over the place.) But even 9 weeks into this, I still felt like an outsider. Plus, so many of these women were adorably pregnant, and I just doubt that I will ever have that cute perky pregnant glow. J reassured me that of course I would, and I told him it would probably only last for a day or two, so he’d better take a picture.

2. I hate paperwork. There was so much of it that our appointment got cut short, and we’ll have to finish going over the second part of the form next time. Thankfully, next time is in 2 weeks, when we’ll also have an appointment with the peri. (I figure it’s about time we actually meet him!) And of course, I’ll be there again tomorrow so they can look at the TB test spot and give me a clean bill of health, because otherwise I won’t be allowed to deliver. Really, that’s what the NM said. Funny, huh.

3. I like midwives. She took time to listen. She laughed at our jokes. She answered questions. Instead of rushing things, she acknowledged that we wouldn’t get through everything, and made a follow-up appointment. All good. I’m sad, again, that I’ve risked out of using midwives for my primary prenatal care, but glad that I might see them for some of it anyway.

4. Apparently, despite the reading I’ve done which suggested vaginal delivery rates as high as a possible 50% of twin pregnancies (because 50% suddenly seems really high), I should pretty much resign myself to a c-section. There’s only one doctor (not mine) who can comfortably turn a breech baby, so if he’s on duty I can try and otherwise I can’t. Or something. I guess this gives me time to come to terms with the concept, but I had been holding out some hope that it wasn’t a done deal just yet, even though I knew it was more probable than not. And I really didn’t expect to hear it from the midwife, of all people. In a previous life, midwives would have been my first choice for care providers, and I think I’m mourning that loss just a bit too.

5. I am no longer on progesterone supplementation. Yay! My cooter is enjoying being left alone and not filled with gunk. (Hmm, that sounded nastier than necessary. Oh well, it was pretty nasty stuff.) Apparently, this means my body is producing it’s own progesterone, which seems like a very good thing.

6. We have to decide if we’re doing the Ultrascreen (blood test + NT ultrasound). I haven’t found a whole lot of information one way or another, and even though the CNM said it was fine for twins, I worry that there will be some sort of false positive reading because of the higher levels of HCG, or something. I don’t know why, though.

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I bought a pair of jeans from the maternity section today. It was weird, and I’m not entirely ready to show publicly, but I’ve been wearing variations of the same outfit for a couple of weeks now and thought it was about time. So now I own one pair of really comfy jeans that actually fit. They still need to be hemmed, but for now I’ve just turned them to the right length and taped them up. Damn it feels good to wear jeans again.

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In other news - and to explain why I’ve been a bad bad blogger - yesterday was a big deal exam based on those papers I’ve been writing forever... and I passed. It’s a graduation of another sort. Not that this actually means I’m done with my program, or anything, but it’s a big step forward. And a big relief, since after this there’s a bit more timing flexibility. Not that I want to be one of those people that’s ABD forever, but it’s a lot easier to take a leave of absence at this point. Which is good, because I’m pretty sure I’m going to need one.

Quick updates

Just popping in to join the chorus of congratulations on the arrival of Muddy’s gorgeous baby boy. He was born January 2, by c-section, at 36 weeks (after more than 3 months of bedrest) and is reportedly the cutest and biggest baby in the NICU (where he’s on a vent for some breathing difficulties). Muddy is dealing with some painful c-section aftermath, but is doing well. Updates to come as they’re available. And in the meantime, YAY!

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The DC Infertiles Meetup was fab, as everyone else has already said. I don’t have much more to add, really, except to note how much I love being with a group of people that just get it - even if we didn’t all have all the intimate details about each others’ cooters, we still all understood the general picture. When else can I leave a bathroom stall (in the Capitol building, no less) and have bunches of people who will listen to me vent about progesterone suppositories (which are better than they were before, but still gross) - and join in! So, that’s that part.

The rest of the DC trip (with one notable, charming, lemon-drop-sharing exception) was fairly unexceptional, though not in a bad way. I actually like my in-laws most of the time, but I’m allergic to their house, and off my allergy meds, so my breathing suffered a bit. But telling them about the twinkles (we showed them the u/s picture) was pretty fun. And helped buffer my MIL’s stream of well-intentioned assvice. Plus, they’ve decontaminated another room in the house, so I got to hang out and be social while still mostly breathing. So yeah, I’d say that was pretty good all around. Plus, my BIL was quietly supportive and kind and helpful, which was especially sweet.

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Food is generally not appetizing, and that is incredibly frustrating right now. Even if I’m not obsessing over Barbara Luke’s advice, it’s still problematic to be simultaneously hungry and repelled by food. And I’ve been to several grocery stores over the past couple of days in seach of food that appeals. I may have to start sampling the fast food options soon. I had McDonald’s chicken nuggets while we were in DC, and they were actually pretty satisfying. But that was then, so we’ll see.

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I finished the crazy papers, but am now busily trying to wrap up a research prospectus, in which I propose a plan of action for the next couple of years. This is an exercise in fiction, since it’s too soon to announce any news, so I have to write the thing as if what I’ll be doing for the next 18 months or so is working on a dissertation. Ha! (The general idea at this point, of course, is that I’ll be, um, otherwise occupied. At least, that’s the plan.)

Twinkle Twinkle

So this week’s freak out was caused partially by being so close to deadline on these papers (I’m working through the final edits right now) and mostly by the fact that at Monday’s u/s we saw two sacs. Yes, I’ve been holding out on you. The news freaked us out more than it should have, and talking about it would have made it more concrete than I think we could comprehend at that point. I mean, it’s not like we didn’t know that was a possibility, and we transferred two excellent blasts, and did acupuncture, and everything else we were supposed to do, but I don’t think we really imagined that this is how it would end up. So we spent a couple of days adjusting, and freaking out, and researching, and eating lime popcicles (okay, that was just me), and slowly got used to the idea just enough to contemplate that it might really happen.

And then came today’s ultrasound, where we got to see two twinkly little heartbeats.

Ohmygodwhathavewegottenourselvesinto! I know that we are so incredbily blessed by this possibility and I don’t want to come across as an ingrate. But I also know that this complicates things now and in the future. That it raises some risks. That it increases the chances of having a complicated pregnancy, of gestational diabetes, of preeclampsia, of a premature delivery. I am not anticipating the worst, but I’m not trying to sugar coat the risks. I have watched too many people struggle with even singleton pregnancies - I know it’s not all just ginger ale and flowers from this point forward in any pregnancy, but especially so with twins. And a bit of me is in mourning - I’m not one of those people who looked forward to twins because then we’d be done with all of this. I definitely want more than one kid, but I always imagined them coming one at a time. We have an embarassment of riches 11 frozen blasts, and I was looking forward to using some of them. And yes, I know we still might (I just can’t think that far ahead right now). And I know that just because there are two now doesn’t mean I’ll end up with two in the end. But for all of these reasons, it’s complicated and I needed some time to process.

I have to say, I do so love the internets. First, for worrying about me and making sure I was okay when I didn’t post as expected. I feel so blessed to think that there are people out there thinking about me. And I love that there are other bloggers who have gone before me - that I can read through Persephone’s post at a similar point and be reassured that my internal conflict seems competely normal - at least based on my admittedly limited sample size. (In fact, Persephone said almost EXACTLY what I would have said if I could focus just a bit more. So go read it, and mostly that’s what I’m thinking.)

So, yes. We are still adjusting. My mom was in town this morning so we brought her back to the exam room to see the twinkles. Otherwise, we haven’t told anyone. I think we’ll tell J’s parents on Sunday after we get to DC. (And my dad too, at some point. I think he was hoping for twins, actually.) And then we wait.

I know it’s still early and things could change. But for now, my twinkles are doing fine. And that is a fabulous gift.

NBHH

For those of you who were wondering, I’m fine. (And thank you so much for caring. Really, I feel so lucky to have such fantastic friends in the computer. MWAH!) There’s no crisis. Just a bit of a freak out paired with my desperate attempts to finish these papers this week. I swear I will provide a report just as soon as I can - hopefully tomorrow if I can polish up the conclusion to the second paper tonight. But rest assured, NBHH.

Saying the words

Thank you all for your birthday wishes - it turned out to be a pretty good one. We went to LA to take my Grandmother to a cousin’s Bat Mitzvah, then spent a couple of hours hanging out at my mom’s house (even though mom was out of town) to rest and watch the Gilmore Girls episode where Rory has two birthday parties, and then we had dinner with my Dad and his girlfriend at this fantastic all-you-can-eat Mongolian BBQ, where you go through and get raw meat and veggies and all sorts of sauces, and then they cook it up for you on the big grill. Yummy! (And good for me, since I’ve been SO hungry lately. Seriously. I need to eat all the time. Except when I’m napping.)

So even though we saw family last weekend, we didn’t tell anyone any news. It was so new and fresh. If they didn’t know about the cycle, or the specifics of the timing, I think we could have waited another couple of weeks (at least until our first ultrasound, if not until we saw a heartbeat). But they knew, to varying degrees, the cycle timing, and so we figured it was about time to share. Which we did, by phone, last night. We managed to tell 4 people, in three phone calls, without actually using the “p” word. I mean, we used a different “p” word - saying that so far, our tests are “positive”. But no actual speaking of the big “P” word.

I’ve said it a couple of times, in passing, but J can’t seem to do it at all, yet. (He was also the one who REALLY wanted to wait another couple of weeks to tell anyone.) He says that it’s so fragile, and new, and he’s scared it will go away. And I completely understand, but I also think that right now things are okay, and we shouldn’t act as if we think things are going to go wrong (even though I don’t think we’ll ever be those hyper-enthusiastic uber-fertiles who start decorating the nursery at the first sign of a second line). And he agrees with me on this, too. So we’re slowly getting used to the idea. And crossing our fingers and everything else for our first ultrasound (this Monday) - it will probably be too early for a heartbeat (5w5d, I think), but it’ll be something concrete. I mean, I didn’t even get a follow-up beta, so I’m staring at my pile of HPTs and walking on eggshells until I have something more to hang onto.

I will share this, though: I’ve been switched from PIO to suppositories three times a day for the next 5 weeks or so. I’m not having huge amounts of discharge or anything as I’d been warned I might, but I’m really not such a fan of the suppository thing anyway. My vagina seems to find the prospect of things being shoved in it to be less than pleasant. Like, “Hey, I wasn’t even really involved in this process, except when I got a big needle poked through me that one day, so why are you shoving things in here now? I mean, really. Can’t a vagina get a rest?” So that’s been fun.

And in the meantime, I have all sorts of questions, and I can’t bring myself to ask them or to buy the sorts of books that might have the answers. Not until Monday, at least. And then we’ll see if we can say the words.

4w2d(?): Speechless

Beta was 459. Yes, 459.

No repeat beta scheduled, but ultrasound (twins?) on the 19th.

Shock and gratitude and speechlessness.

I still can’t quite say the “p” word, but I did think it once.

My birthday is tomorrow. Best birthday present ever.

That is all.

9dp5dt: I can’t think in weeks yet

The lines on my new best friend, FRED, were darker today than yesterday. Still fidgeting anxiously until Friday’s beta. This afternoon, I was so numbingly tired I cried. And I’ve been really hungry. But mostly just tired. Oh so tired. I could just sleep from now until the beta.

On the plus side, I think, I watched an entire commercial filled with babies, and instead of feeling bitter, I felt hopeful. And during one of those “talk to your kids about drugs” commercials, I thought - hmm, someday I guess we’ll need to do that.

I’ve been so focused on the process I haven’t been able to envision what comes next. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m still incredibly cautious about this whole venture. Incredibly. But for a few minutes here and there, I’ve been able to imagine a time beyond this one. And it felt good.

Please, universe, don’t let this all crumble away.

8dp5dt: Motivation

Okay, so I managed to do the PIO myself, with much coaching from J. It sucked, though. But I did it. Not sure how I’ll do alone, but success makes me a tiny bit more confident. (Of course, after I did the shot I had a huge meltdown and sobbed all over the couch. Hormones, right?) J has promised to be on the phone with me when I do the shots (on speaker phone, sillies - I certainly can’t imagine doing the shots while holding the phone - I don’t have enough hands as it is!).

Have I mentioned lately how much I lurve all of you? I told the nurse at the clinic that I knew it could be done because I had friends who had done it, and she asked if maybe one of these friends could just do my shots for me. Yeah, that would have been a nice option! Oh, how I wish we could all just drop in for snacks and shots any ol' time we wanted. (Gives new meaning to the phrase “body shots” doesn’t it!)

The one saving grace that I think will get me through the shots for the next couple of days is this: I took two HPTs today, and they were both positive. And not just in a squinting and hopping on one foot kind of way. J could even see the second line on the FRER in the somewhat dim light of the bedroom, with no coaching. So, um, I think maybe this worked? At least for now. Beta on Friday.

7dp5dt (still): Help!!

Internets, we have a problem. Or at least, a situation.

There’s been a death in J’s family, and he’d really like to go to the funeral, which is Wednesday. That’s not exactly the problem (neither the death, which we knew was coming, nor J’s ability to get to the funeral - assuming he can rearrange work obligations). I really liked this man*, but I don’t think I can make it to the funeral. The stress of the travel, my allergies, the tension of waiting for my beta, and the papers I desperately need to finish all make it seem like not the best idea right now. Although in some ways it would be the easiest option.

So here’s the problem: if J goes to the funeral, I will have to figure out another method of administering the PIO shots for several days. I see a few options, but none is ideal.

1. Do them myself. I know it’s been done, but I’m having trouble envisioning how I’d contort myself to do them, and it seems like it’ll hurt way more if I do them myself, and while I got over the self-stabbing with tiny needles, this just seems different.

2. Find someone we know to do them. If we lived closer to family, or if I had any really really close, medically-inclined friends, this might work. But right now, I can’t think of who I’d ask to do them.

3. Find a nurse to do them. I think that there are nurses at the after-hours clinic run by the Evil HMO. So, if I think they know what they’re doing, I could try to make appointments for each night J would be gone and then take my stuff over there. It seems on the surface like this would be the easiest option, but something about it isn’t sitting right with me. For one thing, I’d be around a lot of sick people (I mean, that’s who generally uses the after-hours urgent care clinic). For another thing, I don’t actually know if they know how to do these shots. I suppose that’s less of a hurdle, though, since J didn’t know how to do them either, and he’s been fine. And finally, where am I going to heat my little heating pad? And will I get to rest for a few minutes afterward? And will they be nice and use my Hello Kitty band-aids and sing to distract me while they do the shot? I suspect not.

Sniffle. Poor me. And, um, help?

* I didn't mean to be glib about the death part of this whole story. He was a dear, sweet, jokester of a man - J's great-uncle, or something. The sibling of a grandparent, I think. He was a jovial man - full of life. The last really nice memory I have of him is from Thanksgiving a year ago. He was playing with his new granddaughter (adopted from China, actually) and the look of joy on his face as he watched her was just fantastic. He was beaming. I’m sorry we didn’t get to see him while he was sick, but I’m glad the vision I have of him in my head is a healthy, happy one.

7dp5dt: Miscellany and distraction

So, I was crampy yesterday. And a bit nauseous. Though that might be from pondering the crampiness. And trying to decide what brand of HPTs to buy (FRED, I suspect, but since I won’t let myself buy them yet I’m keeping busy by exploring my options). Did I meantion the crampy nausea? Beta’s not until Friday (16 dp retrieval!) so I have a long way yet to go. And no, I’m not going to wait that long to do an HPT.

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On an entirely different, and totally trivial, subject, I said I’d review all the flavors of Ga.torade I tried. Here are the reviews so far: Lemonade was pretty good. Tasted about like how all fake lemonades taste. Not too sweet. Pretty drinkable. Watermelon Ice? Blech. Not sure why I finished it. (Oh yeah. Because I was on bedrest and J wasn’t around to bring me another flavor. Bah.) Orange/Tropical blend? Eh. Not bad. I’d drink it again, but wouldn’t seek it out. I think I’m not all that into orange. The big winner, though, was the Fruit Punch. First of all, it wasn’t claiming to be something it’s not (e.g. an actual fruit flavor), plus there’s that whole childhood fruit punch thing that made it seem rather pleasant. Especially since I pretty much wasn’t allowed to drink fruit punch as a kid. So that’s my new flavor - now I have two to mix and match. (I also tried another of the Frost flavors - the turquoise one. It wasn’t bad, either, though I still prefer the purple.) Only I have to drink it right out of the bottle - something about pouring icy blue liquid into a glass is just weird - it looks like anti-freeze or something. I am a big fan of the sport bottles though. Very satisfying. And the fruit punch looks okay in a glass (though I still prefer to drink from the bottle). But now I’m a little bit addicted, especially to fruit punch. In fact, yesterday I bought it in the gallon-size bottle, which might last me a couple of days.

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One more random point: I’ve always liked Australia in concept. I’ve never been, so I don’t know firsthand, but this seems like yet another reason to like ‘em. Basically, there’s a proposal that’s been put forth to add ART and IVF to the topics covered in school-based sex ed classes, since it’s an issue that has a wide impact. Their point is that there will likely be students in the classes conceived through the use of reproductive technologies (not that the students will themselves be in need of the technologies) but still - demystifying IVF and bringing it out in the open? Sounds good to me.

4dp5dt: Progesterone lullabies

I went in today for a progesterone check. Nurse Sweetie was there, as was Nurse Newbie, who I’d thought had experience in another office and just not theirs (but that might have been another of the army of new nurses). So Nurse Newbie did my blood draw. Or tried to, anyway. Here’s the thing - I’m an easy stick (except after a week of daily monitoring). My veins today were lovely. Honestly, I probably could have drawn my own blood (except I think that if giving myself shots made me squeamish, drawing my own blood would be even worse). So, Nurse Newbie poked, and didn’t get anything, and rooted around a bit, and still nothing, and Nurse Sweetie came over and maneuvered a bit until I said “ow” and then pulled it all and started over (at which point she managed to do the whole thing smoothly and without any fuss).

Nurse Newbie (the same one, I think, though again I really can’t tell - the first time I met one of them was at transfer when I was lying spread eagled, doped on Valium, and everyone in the room (J included) was wearing those paper jumpers, hair covers, and face masks - so I’m justified in not knowing which was which) was the one who did my callback this afternoon. Apparently, my progesterone was a bit low (18.5 today) - they like to see it above 20. Though what she actually said was that they like to see it in the 20-80 range, which made my paltry 18.5 seem dire. I think a different nurse might have anticipated my reaction and provided more reassurance. In fact, I think this may be one of those times when I’d be better off with fewer details. I’m trying to remind myself that it’s not that low, and that increasing the PIO should raise my progesterone levels, and that it’s normal for them to adjust the dosage. Breathe in, breathe out.

My mom called right before we did the shot tonight, so she provided my evening distraction. Usually, J sings to me to keep my mind occupied while he’s doing the shot (one day, he did the Jeapordy theme song!) so I asked mom to sing, and she sang me a simple little song with infinite variations - the same song she used to sing to me when I was little. And she was out shopping at the time, which made it even more special - my mommy sang me a lullaby while she was out in public. It’s the same thing I’ll sing to our kids someday (whenever that day comes) when they’re sleepy or fussy or getting a shot. It’s a good mommy thing to do.

2dp5dt: Transfer tales

We arrived at the clinic just before 10, as instructed. The waiting room was more crowded than I think I’ve ever seen it. At one point, there were two small children (one well behaved, one annoying - I think the well-behaved one is about to become a big brother). We sat, and waited, and waited, and sat. There seemed to be another transfer ahead of us (judging from her bloated, scruffy, water-bottle chugging presence). All well and good, but it was after 10:30 before we even met with the embryologist and at least 12 before the transfer prep (my transfer was scheduled for 11, of course). Due to a mix up with the nurses and my acupuncturist* (who was fantastic), I didn’t get my valium until after I was in the proceure room with my legs in the braces. It might have been nice to have been relaxed before that point, but whatever.

Transfer was fine. There was a bit of a thing with my bladder - we waited so long I had to pee like 5 times before we actually got in there, and just before it was time I had to, um, poo (and as the nurse politely acknowledged, “There’s no delicate way to say this, but I find it hard to go to the bathroom one way and not the other”) and then they decided my bladder wasn’t full enough and made me drink more, and then by the time they were ready to do the transfer, it was too full and they had to drain it a bit. Not the most fun ever, but more comfortable in the long run, I think. But otherwise, transfer apparently went very smoothly. Never having attended a transfer before, I have nothing to compare to, but Dr. Piles and Nurses Sweetie and Bruiser Positive (who I like loads more now that she took excellent care of me at both retrieval and transfer, and then mentioned that she went through IVF treatments herself, plus the thing about the poo) all seemed very positive.

And the best part was the embryologists report, which I think I’ve hesitated to share until this point due to some preliminary variation of survivor’s guilt. We transfered two 5-day blasts - one “perfect” and one “near-perfect” - and had 11 blasts to freeze. Yes, eleven. Even the embryologist was impressed. I am bowled over. This is better than even my fantasies of a good outcome for this cycle.

And now we wait, and hope that our ability to make lots of hardy embryos will translate to an ability to make actual babies. I mean, I’ve heard there’s a connection, but I’ve also heard you can get pregnant from having sex, so...

* The clinic usually works with this one local acupuncturist. Not my acupuncturist. I’ve been seeing my acupuncturist for about a year - starting after I gave up on my first clinic, all the way through the second, and now into the third. I think it’s great that the clinic has someone they like to work with, but the system shouldn’t rely on it. Apparently, the usual acupuncturist gets the gown and robe for the patient (from the nurses area, so I don’t really see how mine would have thought to do that) and somehow arranges the Valium (or tells the nurses when it’s time?). My acupuncturist (actually not my regular one, but another from the same practice who I’ve seen before) was just trying to go with the flow. If any of them had bothered to talk to each other, it would have been fine. But instead there was a bit of confusion. Oh well - it all worked out in the end.

A tale of two clinics, finally

I think I may give up on ever finding the perfect nickname for my RE. The closest I’ve come is Dr. Piles of Files, so named because when we had our first meeting with him (while we were in the process of choosing a clinic) I noticed that his desk was piled with files, and articles, and journals. It looked a lot like my office looks - cluttered with projects and ideas and research. And then we met with the second clinic and the RE’s office looked like it was straight out of a designer magazine - spotless, and beautiful, but with the air of being a showplace rather than a functional office. It was a lot like some other features of the Clinic That Wasn’t - Dr. FancyPants and the whole Fancy clinic were shiny, and pretty to look at, but it wasn’t clear how that would translate to my experience as a patient there. (The final straw, though, was a perky but completely clueless medical assistant/nurse who I learned would be our primary contact. Um, no thank you.) So back we went to the Clinic That Is - which is much more humble. No fancy pants decor, no shiny surgical suite with separate entrance, no staff of millions. But it means that I know all of the nurses, that my RE did all of my wandings (except once when the other RE did a baseline - but I haven’t seen him since), that I chat with the receptionist, that I don’t get lost in a maze of hallways or staffing issues, and that he actually reads articles, and journals, and patient files. In my current state of optimism, I’m pretty sure I made the right decision. I didn’t have a cookie cutter protocol. I had close monitoring. I saw my actual RE regularly. He waved at me on days when I was just there for bloodwork. The other clinic is very highly regarded, and proposed a totally different protocol that might also have worked well. Who knows? But I know for sure that I’d have had less direct contact with Dr. FancyPants than I have with Dr. Piles.

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On a totally unrelated note: I’m getting sick of G.atorade. I stocked up on what used to be my favorite flavor of G.atorade, and I’ve been faithfully staying hydrated. But it’s pretty much the only flavor I know, and I’m getting sick of it, and I have no idea what to get instead. The G.atorade labels can be so daunting - “Frost” and “Fierce” and “Xtreme” (oh my!). So, anyone have a favorite G.atorade flavor I should try? I’ll do a taste test and report on my findings, if you’d like.

Gratitude

Out of 20 retrieved, there were 15 mature, and 14 fertilized. We’re set for a 5-day transfer on Monday. I’m feeling better, though still a bit achy and bloated. Mostly, though, I’m just feeling incredibly thankful that we’ve made it this far.

Yesterday, when they came to take J back to contribute his part in all this, I was still pretty drugged and emotional. I said, “it’s not fair” which he took to mean it wasn’t fair that I was lying in a recovery room and he was going to jerk off. But really I meant it wasn’t fair that we had to do this at all when so many other people just get drunk one night and magically become pregnant. But when the embryologist called today I felt a huge wave of gratitude - that we were able to do IVF, that J’s parents were able to help us pay for it, that we had access to fertility clinics in our city, and schedules flexible enough to allow us to go through with it, and that we might actually have something to show for it. Every so often we look at each other, or hold hands for a moment, and whisper “fourteen.” It’s the magic number of hope, promise, potential. And I am incredibly thankful to have that to hold onto today.

More information than I can process

20 eggs retrieved. 12 are probably mature. The others are various categories of over or under maturity, but I couldn’t really tell you. J wrote it all down so maybe later I can make more sense of it. They also gave us some stats on his “specimen” which I completely ignored. For a girl who always wants all the info, all I wanted to hear was how many retrieved, and that the sperm were fine. So 20, and they are.

Soup, then bed.

Stims Day 12: Green light

Lining: 11mm
R: 20x20, 22x18, 16x16, and a bunch more that Dr. Smiles (hmm, maybe) didn’t measure
L: 17x15 and a bunch more

After what feels like forever, we’ve been given the green light. Circles have been drawn on my ass for the trigger shot tonight. Retrieval will be Wednesday (pending today’s bloodwork, of course). My body is looking forward to sleeping in tomorrow, and having one precious needle-free day. My left ovary was being shy, as usual. I asked if they were going to have trouble getting to it at retrieval and Dr. Jokester (nah, doesn’t have the right ring) said they’d charge extra. But then Nurse Sweetie admitted I’d probably feel the effects of the digging. Yeah, I figured.

Also, I have a cold. Dr. NoDrugs (just for this) doesn’t want me to take anything - not zinc, not Benadryl, not Sudafed, nothing. Oh, except Tylenol. And fluids. And rest. As I expected. It’s just a mild cold, but it’s the final straw in how crappy I feel. I spent the entire day yesterday lying on the couch, drinking liquids and napping, but I have to go to work today, since I’ll be out for a week after this.

Nurse Bruiser was incredibly perky and positive when she heard I was triggering. “Aren’t you excited?” she asked. I had to think about it for a minute - probably a minute too long. I guess I’m excited to be moving forward with this whole process, but I’m scared of the physical aspects of retrieval, and scared that my eggs are crap, and scared that J’s sperm will have a bad day, and just scared all around. I’ve heard that excitement and fear are two aspects of the same emotion, and if that’s true then sure, I’m excited.

Strap me in - the next phase of the roller coaster is beginning. Please keep all hands, arms, and syringes inside the vehicle at all times.

Stims Day 8: On the rise

My E2 has finally gotten with the program - it was up to 66 yesterday, and 159 today. I still have no idea what it’s supposed to be, but I know it’s supposed to be going up steadily - and it is - so I’ll just be happy with that for now. And this all almost makes up for the fact that I’ve suddenly become a hard stick - it took a couple of tries, a juice break, a heat pack, and a more skillful nurse to get blood today. Apparently I only have one vein in each arm - the right was bruised from a bad stick a couple of days ago, and the left was feeling okay but apparently felt the need to stage a revolt (and then I got dizzy and nauseated like I used to when I got blood drawn before it all became so commonplace).

I say all of this like it’s my body’s fault, but really I feel entirely comfortable blaming Nurse Bruiser, who gave me that first bruise a couple of days ago, and then tried and couldn’t get blood today. I have now reached the point in this process where I will demand that only certain nurses be allowed near me with needles - Nurse Bruiser is very nice, and she did a fine job of writing down Dr. StillHasNoNickname’s notes on my follicles (he’s still only measuring one on each side - at about 10mm each - though there are others that are a bit smaller that he’s not measuring), but she’s absolutely not going to do my bloodwork again. Nurse Fantastico, who finally succeeded (with little trouble, once I had some juice and felt better, and after she warmed me up because I was so cold my veins were constricted), can poke me whenever she wants - I’ll wait for her to be available, no matter how long it takes. And while I’m introducing (and naming) all the nurses, there’s also Nurse Coordinator (well, that’s what she is!) - she’s organized, and skilled, and businesslike - who is probably the only other I’d allow to stick me at this point, and Nurse Sweetie, who is very good at phone contact, and calling my meds in to the pharmacy, and answering questions. As long as they each get to do the thing they’re best at, it will all work out.

Did I mention that there’s something living in our attic crawl space? I know I wanted to hear the pitter patter of little feet, but this is not what I had in mind.

Stims Day 6: Low and slow

Six days of stims and my E2 finally broke 20 - now it’s a whopping 21. Talk about slow. Geez.

I seem to lack the focus for narrative, but here are the things I’m thinking about anyway:

Thing 1: My E2. Yeah, it’s low. But we’re hoping that now that they’ve ramped up my dosage I’ll start moving along. It does make my anticipated cycle calendar a lovely relic. No idea what the schedule will be at this point. This really is the most draining aspect - I anticipated mood swings and physical discomfort, but the emotional roller coaster of stims is something else entirely. And not particularly pleasant at this point (though better today than yesterday).

Thing 2: After waiting forever for instruction callbacks yesterday (I called 4 times, but the lab was slow, and then they had the numbers but didn’t have instructions, and then the doctor was on the phone so they still didn’t have instructions) I checked my email and found, of course, a birth announcement. I actually suspect there’s a story here, since the birthdate was mid-October, and the announcement just came yesterday? I think mid-October was maybe a month early. Who knows? All I can think about this right now is how it’s not fair that the lesbians were able to have a baby before me. (Disclaimer: As I’ve said before, I don’t have any problem with gays and lesbians and single people and whomever else having kids, but it’s really a kind of slap in the face that the lesbians who between them have two uteri but no penis managed to conceive more easily than us.)

Thing 3: I was reading over some of my past blog entries (somehow #100 came and went and I totally missed it) and I think I used to have more to say, and say it better. I’m just not feeling so satisfied with my ability to express myself.

Thing 4: I have been working on these papers forever, and they’re still not done, and I’m not getting a lot done because I’m trying to keep my stress down and the papers are stressful. Though really, it’s the not-being-done that’s stressful. But I just read that article on infertility and stress in Psychology Today and it reminded me that it’s really okay for me to try to keep my stress level down - at least the parts I can somewhat control - while we’re doing this cycle. But I don’t know how I’m ever going to finish my papers at this rate.

Thing 5: I am trying to come up with a nickname for my RE. I have a contender, but I have to see if it still resonates next time I see him, or if it was something specific to today’s visit. I’m sure you’re all anxiously waiting for this news, right?

Stims Day 3: At a snail’s pace

Today’s E2 was still under 20, so I’m off to a very slow start. They’re upping my Follistim to 75 and dropping the Lupron to a more normal 5 units. As long as the E2 goes up tomorrow, I think it’ll be fine - just slow. (Better slow than too fast, though.)

I’m going up to my grandma’s house tomorrow - my mom will be there and I thought it would be nice to just hang out. J is working a bunch this week (not the best timing, but he should be free next week between retrieval and transfer, which is what I was really worried about) and the other day I thought, “I want my mommy.” I suspect this won’t be as supportive as I’d hoped in that moment, but if nothing else I’ll get to show off my injection skills to my mother, who I think can’t quite believe that I’m actually doing this. Me, the one with the major needle phobia. So I’m strangely looking forward to doing an injection as if there’s nothing to it. I might even bring the mixing stuff for the Menopur, even though I won’t need it, so I can show her what that’s like (because the FolliPen, while a cool contraption, isn’t so iconic an image as a good ol’fashioned needle and syringe - if that makes any sense).

I read an academic article about IVF once that pointed out that while we use the phrase “IVF” to refer to the whole process, the actual aspect of in-vitro fertilization is just a tiny portion of the larger experience, and one of the few parts that doesn’t involve the woman’s body. The rest of the process - the blood draws and ultrasounds and injections - make up a large portion of the experience of going through an “IVF” cycle, but are largely invisible or unacknowledged in the medical perspective. I think my desire to show-off my injection skills is part of an attempt to get some recognition for this part of the process. I think people who don’t know anything about IVF end up focusing on the sexy medical aspects - the frankensteinian medicine, cutting edge technology involved in using donor eggs or gestational surrogacy - and largely ignoring the personal experience of the process. Like me, stabbing myself in the gut with three needles a day, for example.

Stims Day 1: Let’s get this party started - updated

Not that I feel like partying, mind you.

Baseline yesterday was fine. They were training a new nurse (she was just observing) so there was a bit of extra explanation from the doctor - why is it called E2 (the experienced nurse said, “Because it’s shorter than estradiol” which was cute) and the like. The injection training was also useful - I was worried that it would just be a description, but they had a fake cartridge for the pen, and they showed me how to use the Q-caps that came with the Menopur (only after I asked - initially, she showed me how to do the mixing with the needle). So that was good. And those Q-caps are very cool. Initially I scoffed - I’m not afraid of the mixing needle or anything - but they’re really nice to use. (See update below!)

Here’s the protocol: I’m staying on 10 units of Lupron (higher than their normal protocol) and adding 75iu (one vial) of Menopur and 50u (whatever those units are) of Follistim. I asked for an explanation of the Gatorade thing, and whether I should just stock up now (it’s on sale this week, y’know?) and Dr. HasNoNicknameButWillSoon chuckled at me like I was some cute paranoid freak and told me they’re trying very hard to keep me from needing it. Which is all well and good but given how crappy my response ever was to oral meds, and given that I have no history with injectables, I’m scared they’re going to end up being too cautious.

In any case, the shots today were okay. The Menopur hurt a bit going in - I think it’s just the volume of fluid. The Follistim really did sting as I’d heard about but forgotten. But I didn’t ice for the Folli so maybe that will help for next time. Getting the pen all set up was a bit daunting, but once it was all assembled I can see how it’ll be much easier to use.

Nothing much else to report. Though maybe tomorrow I’ll share what Dr. Groovy had to say about my current state of mind.

Updated to add: Here’s a link to instructions on using the Q-cap, since I didn’t seem them in the package with the Menopur. Basically, the device screws on to the syringe - so you screw off the big mixing needle that probably came attached to the syringe (at least mine did) and screw on the Q-cap. It has a sort of poky-needle thing in a kind of collar. You push it down over whichever vial you’re working with, and it pokes through like a needle and the collar sort of clicks over the rim of the vial to hold it on. It looks weird the first time, but I think I like it - not for any fear of the mixing needles, but it’s easier to hold. Let me know if you need more guidance (and the link above lets you download instructions with pictures, too.)

Anticipation and anxiety

Tomorrow morning is our baseline scan (Again. I had what I thought was a baseline before starting the BCPs, but I guess this one checks that I’m actually suppressed now?) and injection training (hopefully) and then I’ll probably be starting stims on Thursday. At least according to the original cycle calendar, though I’m trying not to get very attached to it, because it could change and all that.

I tried to recreate the clinic’s calendar in a better format, so I could have a space to write the dosage for each day and check off when I’ve taken various meds, but I couldn’t make it work. Which is unfortunate, since this morning I almost left the house without doing my Lupron injection, and at bedtime I always have to double check that I’ve taken my evening meds. I can’t imagine what it’s going to be like when I add in all the injectables.

I opened back up my big box of needles and potions, and maybe I’m weird, but I’m not sure I like the Follistim pen. Sure, it comes in a snazzy case and all, but it’s hard to pull it out of those elastic straps, and I don’t really understand the needle-in-a-cup thing, or the spinning dosage thing, and I’m sure I’ll be convinced with how easy it is later on but right now it seems far more complicated than just mixing the powder with the water the old fashioned way.

Apparently, over the past couple of years I’ve developed a fear of the unknown. Sometimes I get really anxious about finding my way someplace I’ve never been, or calling someone I’ve never met, or knowing how to inject the medication properly. (Okay, maybe that last one would happen regardless, but otherwise I didn’t used to be so fearful.) You can imagine how great IVF is in this regard - one big bundle of unknowns. Most of the time I cope pretty well - I think watching this process through so many other blogs makes it feel much less unknown. But when I confront something and don’t already know what to expect, I get anxious.

Also, while I really like that my clinic knows that I’m a control freak (Hi Heathers!) and is willing to give me the numbers instead of just telling me that things are “fine” - I’m worried that they’re being a bit too lax sometimes. It’s fine right now, because I take good notes and I follow up on things that don’t match up (the prednisone I’m on, for example, didn’t make it onto my cycle calendar until I asked when I was supposed to start taking it - maybe they would have noticed in time, but maybe not), but what if I slip one day and forget to follow up on something that they really should be taking care of? At some point I’ll have to let go and trust that they know what they’re doing, but that’s so hard to do.

Basically I’m feeling overwhelmed. And a little bit dazed. And my heart is racing. And I think all this general anxiety has rendered me unable to write anything more substantial than this mindstream of a post. Hopefully I’ll have something more coherent (or even, dare I hope it, prosaic) soon.*

* Maybe I’ll even be able to get some of my actual academic writing done, since I’m supposed to be finishing a draft of one of my papers this week. Ha!

I really missed you guys too...

...only this had nothing to do with Disneyland.

I went to a screening of a film about menstruation. It was interesting, I guess. I’ll hold off on critical analysis for a moment, but I’ll start with an observation - people in the “real world” are not used to talking about the nitty gritty of their bodily functions in public. The number of times I had to restrain myself from saying things like “I need to run to the bathroom and see if I’m still spotting” was boggling. (Actually, I was restraining myself from having any sort of deep conversation - I was trying to be in small-talk mode. Didn’t completely work, though I only shared my deeper analysis with a tiny group of people, two of whom I don’t even know that well...)

The film is, as I said, about menstruation. Specifically, it centers loosely around the question of menstrual suppression - using Depo Provera or continuious BCPs to reduce the number of bleeds. My first bafflement of the evening was the realization that lots and lots of women don’t understand how their bodies work. Women don’t realize that the period they’re having when they’re on “regular” BCPs isn’t really a period at all, but just withdrawal bleeding. They don’t investigate the future health ramifications of Depo. Many of them wish they could just stop getting their period all together.*

What I found most disturbing was the absense of attention to the concept of fertility. I don’t just mean that they failed to mention the potential after-effects of something like Depo on a woman’s fertility, but that the notion that menstruation is tied to reproductive functioning seemed like it was missing from the film. How do you talk about menstruation without acknowledging its link to fertility and reproduction? Many (most?) women use BCPs and other forms of monthly or longer menstrual control/suppression not to rid their bodies of menstruation, but as contraception.

Another angle on the same point: Getting a period means (in most cases... there are exceptions... standard disclaimers apply... blah, blah, blah) that you’re not pregnant. If you’re 17, that period after you missed a pill is probably a big relief. If you’re 27 (or whatever) and TTC, that period is like a punch in the gut. Both mean you’re not pregnant, but not being pregnant signifies different things to different people.

Obviously, I don’t expect the filmmaker to have incorporated every aspect of menstruation in the film. That just wouldn’t be feasible. But I do think that some general reference to the notion that periods are inherently linked to women’s reproductive functioning might have been in order. I’m just saying.

Now I need to run to the bathroom and see if my period is really starting so we can get this show on the road.

* I certainly understand that there are circumstances (fibriods, endo, and the like) that would warrant menstrual suppression. But lots of women just don’t want the bother, which seems very different to me. Not inherently bad (though I fought so hard to get my body to have periods that it’s a bit foreign) but very different.

Didja miss me?

Okay, so I wasn’t gone that long. But it was fun and relaxing and just what we needed. Plus, I’m back and I still have a bit of weekend left...

Disneyland was great. We went for the full day on Friday, arriving just after opening and staying until just before closing. (The picture is actually from our brief side-trip over to California Adventure. Yep, that's us - or at least, our backsides!) We rode Space Mountain twice (it would have been more, but the ride was closed for a while). The second time we sat in the front and it was fantastic and fun and exhilarating and I still hope I can’t do it again for a while. But, you know, it was good. We also really enjoyed the fireworks show - they’re running a special show for the park’s 50th Anniversary, and it incorporates bits (sound and otherwise) from some of the attractions. Hard to explain, though it included fireworks being volleyed back and forth like cannons in Pirates of the Carribean (which seems longer every time I ride it, and not necessarily in a good way - though that could also be attributed to the gaggle of teenagers on our boat) and lasers and a big explosion from Star Tours and the castle lit as if it was part of the old Main Street Electrical Parade... like I said, it’s really hard to explain, but it was really fun. And we did lots of the smaller rides, too (including the Teacups - that's us trying to make the cup spin before the ride even started!)The whole trip was great, actually. We found a good deal on a nice hotel a bit removed from the Disney chaos, and we had a comfy bed and it was clean and we ordered room service and it was just really nice. (And I managed to transport the Lupron and the needles and all that smoothly and without too much fuss, and I took the last of my BCPs, so we're really close now...)

Like a kid on Christmas

I got a big box in the mail today full of all the things every kid dreams of - vials and powders and pills and, best of all, lots and lots and lots of needles. Oh it was just a swell package! If you don’t have one, you should run right out and order your own. (And then I promptly boxed back up everything that doesn’t need to be refrigerated, so I can get the joy of opening it again next week when I’ll actually get to play with use it all.)

In other kid-like news, we’re off for a quick getaway to Disneyland to ride all the rides that I will hopefully soon be unable to ride, and to see all the fun 50th anniversary special events and displays and the like. A last hurrah, if you will. (Also a last hurrah before I start stims next week.) We managed to find what’s turned out to be a really nice hotel (I’m using the free wireless internet in the lobby!) and we’re going to order room service and relax. And maybe watch some HBO (since we only have basic cable at home).

I’ll update when we get back...