Little Miss Know-it-all

Sometimes I think this whole process would be easier if I were more complacent, less involved, more docile, less confrontational. Generally, I pride myself on the research I do, the information I gather, and the questions I ask. But sometimes I think it would be easier to be the kind of person who just trusts the doctors and doesn’t question or challenge.

Okay, maybe not.

Except for today, when I got all worked up about the progesterone test I’m supposed to have one week post-IUI/ovulation, which would be tomorrow. The thing is, Evil HMO often takes several days to get lab results back (they often send my blood to another city for processing!). So if I get the test done tomorrow, they might not have the results before the clinic closes on Friday. This wouldn’t be a problem if I didn’t know that there are two reasons to check progesterone - to see that I ovulated, and to make sure that the levels are high enough to actually be useful. It’s the second point that concerns me. If I were to need progesterone supplementation, as I know many people do, and they didn’t get the results until Monday, then I couldn’t start that until Monday.

I’m having a weird visit with Hope. On the one hand, I’m hopeful that it would even matter that my progesterone levels were satisfactory, therefore I’m depressed at the possibility that there would be a need for supplementation that we wouldn’t know about until Monday.

Of course, I called the clinic - they close early on Wednesdays, so I asked the receptionist to check with the RE (or one of the nurses) to see if there was any point in my getting the progesterone test run today instead of tomorrow, and now that it’s several hours past closing time, no one has called me back. So I’ll just do it tomorrow (early, of course, in case that helps things at all).

See? This would be so much easier if I didn’t think the test results mattered so much (or so promptly). And maybe I should pretend I’m one of those people who just trusts the doctors, since if it were really a problem they would have (or could have) told me to take the test a different day. Maybe the results will come back in plenty of time, or they'll be normal. (Me, with normal test results? That would be cause for celebration!)

So maybe it’s all fine.

It would be for the docile, complacent me.

Dayeinu

Passover is a holiday of thanksgiving, in a way. The phrase Dayeinu means “it would have been enough.” But it is also a story of anguish and despair. Not just the slavery, but the attempts to wipe out the race through the killing of babies - first the Egyptians’ decree regarding the slaying of Jewish boys, then the plague sent by God calling for the death of the firstborn of the Egyptians.

This piece of the story resonates with me this year. I was also thinking about what Bugs said about gratitude toward her husband, and about how there are a lot of ways in which I’m not quite at the point of saying “It would have been enough.” And then I feel ungrateful.

If I had only found my husband, would it be enough?
If I found my husband and was able to share a life with him, would it be enough?
If I shared a life with my husband, but was unable to make a family together...

I don’t want to live my life feeling like it is incomplete, but that’s where I am right now. We’re nowhere near having exhausted the possibilities, so the carrot still dangles just out of reach.

I think this is hitting me especially hard as I sit here in this 2ww. I would say that I’m analyzing every twinge, but since I’m not having any twinges all I can do is contemplate their absence. It’s too early, I know. Way too early. J keeps reassuring me. But Hope snuck in last week, encouraged by my RE’s positivity and good results on the sperm wash, and now she’s lurking in a corner. She won’t come out to play, but I don’t really want her to leave, either.

Gone (Gefilte) Fishing

We’re off for a long weekend at my mother’s for Passover. And my in-laws are flying in. And I think my Dad (who doesn’t usually come to these things) is coming to Passover dinner with his girlfriend (whom I really like). But damn, that’s a lot of parental units all at one time.

Thankfully, my mother has a cable modem, so I should be able to sneak away for some bloggity venting, sanity checks, and the like. (Edited to add - except that her cable modem is down, so I’m using dial-up. Oh the Dark Ages!)

Other random tidbits (Spring cleaning for my brain)

1. I’m thinking of switching to Typepad or someplace. I got really frustrated when Blogger was down a while ago when I really wanted needed some support, and I would have gladly paid $5 to post just the one post. So if it will keep that from happening again, it seems worth the $5 a month it will cost. But I set up a trial account on Typepad and I’m not wowed yet. It’s okay, but I’m not completely convinced. So, to those of you that have made the switch recently - how was the transition? Are you liking Typepad? (I think the other option is to use Moveable Type or Word Press on some other server. Any input on that idea?)

2. We went out to dinner the other night to this place where you grill your own food. The menu included a handy description of how to tell if the meat was done. I read it and started giggling, and even J chuckled a bit. (Because chuckling seems more manly than giggling, I guess.) All very quietly, since I didn’t exactly want to explain to everyone at the table who hadn’t read TCOYF why this was so damn funny.

We suggest the ol’ touch test when grilling steaks and burgers. A rare steak will feel like your cheek, medium rare like your chin, medium like the tip of your nose, and well done like the bottom of your shoe.

Thankfully, my cervix has never felt like the bottom of my shoe.

3. Thank you for the fun comments on the laying/lying. Being with this much family is stressful, and it was really nice to sneak away with my computer and find your comments. Much appreciated, really.

Laying/lying

I couldn’t figure out what to wear today. What’s the right attire for an IUI? I mean, I don’t have to seduce the nurse to get what I came for, but I don’t want to be all skanky or anything. It’s helpful that I have quite the wardrobe of actual clothes that feel a lot like sweatpants. I wore baggy black pants (with an elastic waist) and a bright pink top. And my black, white, and pink striped socks for fun.

I was a bit nervous going into it, which was exacerbated by what looked like such a small “contribution” from J this morning. (I know the cups are huge, so it always looks small, but I was already really nervous, okay?) So the best part of the day was when the NP said the sperm responded well to the wash and were very motile - I think it was something like 10 million at stage 2 and 3 after the wash. So that was reassuring.

Afterwards, she said to stay lying* down for another 15-20 minutes. So I stayed for 25 (paranoid freak over-achiever that I am), and only got up because I really had to pee. While I lay* there, J entertained me by reading me today’s Dear Abby and Hints from Heloise. And now I’m working from the couch for a bit before acupuncture this afternoon.

So that’s that. And now we wait. And wait. (She said to wait two and a half weeks to test. Two and a half weeks! Who is she kidding?)

*I had to look up the proper word choice here and found the following example about how to distinguish laying from lying. Isn’t it helpful?

When you go to Bermuda for your vacation, you spend your time lying (not laying) on the beach (unless, of course, you are engaged in sexual activity and are, in the vernacular, laying someone on the beach).

Hope crept in

Two nights ago we plotted our questions for the RE -- What next? How many more cycles of oral meds? When do we consider injectibles?

And then yesterday, things changed. Follicles grew. Directions were given. Circles were drawn on my ass. An IUI was scheduled.

And lest I think this some fluke, I managed to find a pair of flip-flops I actually like to replace the ones I loved that got all icky and moldy (don’t ask). I found another pair just like them. No settling for second best.

Hope came creeping in. I poured her a cup of tea. I’m not used to her visiting, but it’s kinda nice.

As of yesterday, two strong follicles: 18mm and 14mm (one on each side).
Trigger tonight, late. IUI Thursday, midday.

Quick cycle update

I went in for my second sono of this cycle on Friday (CD15, if you're counting along at home), and had no major follicles. Lots of small ones (in typical PCOS fashion), and one that’s not quite 10mm, but nothing bigger. And my lining is still fairly thin. Follow up sono on Tuesday, unless they squeeze one in on Monday since I’ll already be there to see the RE.

The nurse’s assistant told me to pee in a cup again. Last time, I had already stopped at the restroom, so I could just say “Oh, I just went. Sorry.” But this time I was waiting for the bathroom when she asked for the sample. I said I didn’t think it was necessary, since there was no chance I was pregnant and they wouldn’t be running a test anyway. So what did she do? She wrote on my paperwork “pt refuses to give urine sample.”

Here’s what bugs me the most about this - I felt like I had to apologise to her for disobeying her medical command, even though not only is is pointless (the last time we did this, my wand-nurse threw the cup away right away) but she should be apolgizing to ME. This is a fertility clinic. It’s depressing to ask me to pee in a cup twice a week - I know nothing has changed since the last test, and suggesting that I might be pregnant would be amusing if it weren’t so depressing.

Yard Work

Me: Wow, there really are a lot of weeds. I think there are more weeds than grass.

J: Yes, but we can’t give up. Eventually we’ll win. We’re bigger. And we’re smarter than grass.

Yep, that’s us: smarter than grass.

Unlocking the door

I had been feeling a bit dissatisfied with my acupuncturist. I chose this office because several of the practitioners specialize in fertility, plus two (includimg the one I see) are on the faculty of the local acupuncture school, which I took as an extra recommendation. But I’m not sure I like them all that much. I hear read about other people’s experiences with acupuncturists, and it sounded like some are stronger in the interpersonal than others. (And then there are the clueless ones, like Michael.)

My acupuncturist has an okay bedside manner, I guess. I’m not sure she really gets the whole infertility thing. But she earned some brownie points recently by keeping up on the fertility journals and giving me a supplement (N-acetyl-cysteine) that was shown to be useful in Clomid-resistant PCOSers. So I decided to stick with her a bit longer.

She had something new for me yesterday - instead of listening to ethereal music and then falling asleep as i usually do, she had a new CD - Earth Mama Fertility. (The beginning of the CD cautioned “Please do not listen to this meditation while driving” and then went on to have you close your eyes. Um, yeah, I guess you need to be warned about that.)

I’m not opposed to guided meditation, though I was a bit turned off already just looking at the title of the CD. But I figured I’d give it a shot. The narrator had a fairly soothing, not too irritating voice, and the beginning was good - had me thinking about a time when J and I were first in love, and then about a time when we knew we wanted to start a family together someday. But then there was this whole section about unlocking and opening up the cervix (she was going on about the door to the womb, but I know my body, and that’s my cervix). Something about the cervix being closed to conceiving for so many years that it now needs to be welcomed to open. It’s true, my cervix is really closed. That’s why the damn HSG hurt so much.

I also slept through part of it, which I felt bad about at the time because I was the first to listen to the CD and give feedback, but I guess it speaks to the non-irritating voice if nothing else. Back to music for me next time, though.

Double whammy

We started TTC in earnest a year ago. At the time, even knowing that we’d potentially have problems, with the PCOS and all, I still thought we’d be pregnant within a year. Not have a baby or anything, just have managed to get me knocked up. I had thought for a few years that I’d like to make J a daddy, and that his 30th birthday seemed like a good occassion. No dice on that one - my deadline expired today (er, yesterday, thanks to Blogger)

As I think I’ve mentioned before (but am too lazy to go double check right now) B & R are friends of ours (and the guys’ parents are old friends). I dated B (for a month) before I got together with J (they were roommates). We got married two weeks apart. We bought houses the same summer. When we started trying, I knew with no uncertainty that they were trying too. And then I found out they’d been trying for a while and were moving on to IVF. And they they got pregnant on IVF #1. And I’m really happy for them. Really. She’s been supportive and has mostly done a good job of remembering what it feels like on this side. We’ve commiserated about our in-laws. They were due in June, and I was hoping to be very pregnant by then (or a little pregnant, or at least having a better sense of how I’m responding to new treatments). And yesterday my in-laws called to tell me they’d had the babies. (I just got some info from her, finally - they were 28 weeks, she had severe HELLP - is it ever not severe?)

These were two of my milestone markers, and they were supposed to be spread out more than this. A lot more.

And in the time it has taken to get Blogger to take this post, I had the third strike of the day. One of J’s high school friends is pregnant. This is especially hard because of the group of friends (who we’ll be seeing at a wedding in June), we were supposed to be next. And I knew there would be conversations about that. (Ah, the bliss of chatting about when youi’ll start trying as if it’s that simple. Remember those days? Me neither.) But now there won’t be. Because she’s next. amd she’ll be showing by that point. And with her pregnancy and the two other recent babies (a little over a year, and 7 months or so) it will be baby talk the whole time. Because that’s what you do at weddings after you stop talking about who will get married next.

And I had to go out into the world today, instead of staying at home curled in a ball as I’d prefer. I’m trying to remind myself that bad things happen in threes, not fours, so I should be safe for a little while. But then, who knows?

Like the commercial, but way better

HSG this morning - crampy and very painful at the time. Better now that I’ve been curled up with my cherrystone pillow for a while.

---

When we first started house hunting, we were SO excited about the whole process. We shared the minute details of our early house visits with our various parental units. When we made our first offer, we called them to discuss it before actually submitting the offer. Same for the second offer. By the third offer (the house we now own), we had come to the conclusion that it was easier to just keep it to ourselves until there was some news to share.

I think we’ve reached that point with our fertility treatments. Not that we gave our families detailed accounts before, but now that we’re doing an IUI, I’m really not inspired to share with them at all. I think partially this has to do with the weirdness of imagining our parents contemplating the mechanics of the IUI. Not that it wasn’t weird to think that they might be aware that we were having timed sex, but this is a whole new set of imagery. Even telling my mom that I was having an HSG (which I did before this new realization sank in) was weird - I have a close relationship with my mom, and I still found it awkward to explain. So forget talking about the IUI. No, I think we’ll just keep it to ourselves until we have some news one way or the other.

The problem with this new isolationist strategy is that I have no one to talk to. I mean, I have you wonderful people, but I couldn’t exactly call you on the phone to vent about the stupid clinic and their stupid bureaucracy while I drove back to campus. And J wasn’t reachable, and so I had to vent to myself, which is supremely unsatisfying.

So...

I think we need an infertile hotline - not an information service or an official resource like Resolve or whomever, but a lifeline for the blogworld-infertile-types to be able to call and reach someone who will understand what they’re venting about going through. And maybe do a little Googling on their behalf. This would be great for times we weren’t near the computer (as few and far between as those might be). It would be like that commercial where the woman calls the hotline to find out if something is funny, only way way better.

Possible services:
- Basic information searches: Need to know if what your doctor is telling you is what your favorite blogger’s doctor said about a similar situation - right now? We can check. Need to know the ranges for a particular test while you’re still at the lab? We have that information.
- Venting: Driving away from a frustrating medical visit? Call and vent. Just had a run-in with a pregnant SIL/co-worker/crack whore? We’ll share your seething.
- And more: Out of town and away from a computer? The Infertile hotline could help you maintain your sanity until you can get back to the blogs. The hotline could keep you informed of any major announcements, and can convey your messages to the blogworld.

I’m sure we’ll find many other uses for the hotline.

And I’d totally take a regular shift. It would be the first job to actually make use of my finely honed googling and blog-obsessing skills.

One of those days

Yesterday’s timeline (annotated for your enjoyment because I can’t shut up)

4:00 -- arrive for dildocam appointment (having already stopped to pee so I could just go right in)
4:10 -- time of scheduled appointment
4:40 -- my name was called, quietly, and someone else was taken back instead
4:41 -- mistake realized, I was finally taken back (4:41. See that? It might have been later, but I'm trying to block the memory.)
4:42 -- I was made to pee in a dixie cup
4:50 -- nurse finally arrived for dildocam
4:51 -- pee was thrown away (Apparently, the clueless medical assistant makes everyone pee in a cup no matter the reason for the visit. I find this especially obnoxious in a FERTILITY clinic, don’t you?)
5:00 -- lab closes (important, because I actually do have to take a pg test before the HSG)
5:02 -- make it back to the front desk to schedule follow-up dildocam and injection training class (This is apparently complicated, and requires me to call J to find out what he can move on his schedule because the clinic’s availability is so limited. Calling him requires stepping out of the waiting room, so I can’t discuss with him and the receptionist at the same time.)
5:10 -- appointment is finally scheduled
5:12 -- in line at pharmacy
5:15 -- pharmacy does not have prescription
5:16 -- back at clinic asking for prescription
5:30 -- I finally get the prescription, with the correct medication, dosage, and NAME on it (mine, spelled correctly, finally)
5:30 -- pharmacy closes

[I’ll spare you the play-by-play account of my rush to grab some food, get back to campus, park, and get to my evening class.]

10:45 -- get prescriptions filled at 24-hour pharmacy in hospital (because I can only use in-plan pharmacies, so can’t just go to a normal drugstore) Actually, this was the easiest part of the whole thing. They were polite and effecient and It took them about 15 minutes to fill my prescriptions.

The excitement is (not) building

You know how on some TV shows they’ll do an episode where some or all of it is a flashback - so the program starts with a moment that makes no sense, and then the rest of the episode fills in the backstory so in the end you’re back where the whole thing started? That’s what this post feels like.

I should be more excited than I am about all of this.

I started my period yesterday. (For those of you counting along at home, my last provera was on Wednesday night, I had some spotting on Thursday, and on Friday I got my period.) I knew it was coming, what with the spotting and all, and I still couldn’t bring myself to call the clinic until 1pm. As much as I want to take these next steps, actually taking them takes a lot of effort.

So I called the clinic to schedule my HSG, and to ask about doing the Clomid/IUI this cycle rather than waiting it out for next cycle (both because of my anxiety at getting this started, and the fact that the likely timing for the next cycle coordinates with our being out of town at a wedding). Of course, I never want anything that’s easy for them. First it was a scheduling thing about the HSG (they only do them on Mondays and Thursdays, and I was trying to coordinate it so J could take me, even though it was looking like he’d have to take me on his birthday). Then it was the Clomid thing. Then a question about stopping/restarting the Glucophage. And something about parking. (That wasn’t me being a problem patient, though.)

I’ve cut out all of the scenes of phone calls back and forth, and messages, and calling again, and not running errands because they’re supposed to call ME. At the end of it all is this: I’ve been given the green light to start the Clomid this cycle (pending my baseline u/s on Tuesday), and we rearranged schedules so we could do the HSG when they wanted us to (and not on J’s birthday).

I should be more excited than I am about all of this.

Right now, I’m not particularly excited. I had a brief moment of excitement when we finally got everything scheduled, but it quickly faded. I thought it was because I was worried - about the HSG, and about J needing to give me a shot in the ass (potentially before he’s had the class where he learns how). But while I’m worried about those things, I don’t think that’s what’s keeping me from the thrill. I’m worried that it’s the protective mechanism kicking in already - whispering, “Don’t get TOO excited - you’ll jinx it” or worse, “You’ll get your hopes up and then be crushed.”

But I’m trying to be more positive about things, or at least less bitter up front. Not that bitter doesn’t suit me, but I had a conversation with my mom a couple of weeks ago (that I blogged about and then didn’t post for some unknown reason) about all the mind/body research and how thinking positively can impact health. At the time, it sounded an awful lot like “just relax” and so obviously I got irritated and didn’t really listen. But in thinking about it later, I figured it couldn’t hurt. I’m not going to be Pollyanna or anything, but I’m trying to be more aware of my language choices. (Her point was specifically in regard to my saying I “couldn’t” have caffeine, when it was in fact a choice I was making for my health and the potential fertility benefits, and one that I was fairly happy to have made.) All that is to say that I’m not sure I really know how to be positive about all of this. I’m just trying not to be negative - at least not before it’s warranted.

So I’ll end with this instead: Any words of advice on either the HSG or our first IM shot in the ass? Information being more powerful than blind anticipation, or something like that. But please, not too many horror stories, okay? I don’t think I could take being any less excited at this point.

Finally a fun search term

I've only just started to get hits from people's random web searches - so far, it's been a couple of hits looking for information on Peggy Orenstein and infertility. But today I discovered this search for the "definition of assvice" - and look at the company I'm keeping! (Top results are Olivia Drab, me, Tertia and Julie - I stopped after that, but there are more, of course. Not meaning to leave anyone out or anything.) Dude, I feel like I'm sitting at the grown-ups table or something.

I especially like the smartypants suggestion from the search engine: "Did you mean 'definition of advice'?"

pop!

You know that bubble I was talking about? Um, yeah.

So we met with Dr. L on Monday. Now, to recap, I’ve been trying to get an appointment since my new health insurance took effect on January 1. First I had an appointment with my new GP, Dr. Youthful, who referred me to the Fertility Clinic. Then we had to go to the introductory class at the clinic (2 week wait). Then we got an appointment with the NP (5 1/2 week wait). And then, finally, we were allowed to make an appointment with the big cheese herself (3 week wait). So, for those of you counting along at home, that’s one week shy of a trimester that it has taken us to actually see the doctor. In theory, this is because they want to educate us, and run all the tests, so that when we actually see her we’ll be ready for a plan.

And what a plan it is.

Step one: More tests. Yep. Because I’ve never had an HSG. Why they couldn’t order this before the magic appointment with Dr. Big Cheese I have no idea.

Actually, that’s step two. Step one is inducing a period with Provera (or at least its generic equivalent). So, 10 days of provera, followed, we hope, by a period. Then...

Step two: HSG

Step three: Wait. Because I needed more practice with that one.

Step four: Get period, or induce with provera again.

Step five: Next cycle, presuming the HSG comes back fine, I’ll do Clomid (150 mg, CD5-9).

Step six: After being given the go-ahead from the wand monkey checking my progress, J will give me a trigger shot in the ass. Oh, I guess I skipped the step where he learns how. It’s in there someplace.

Step seven: IUI.

Step eight: Cross fingers, pray, consider the possible benefits of baby dust.

Which means that we’re probably looking at an IUI in early June. Which is 5 months after we started “working with” the new HMO.

I laid it all out on a calendar to see if it really sucked as much as I thought. It does. In this time, we’ll pass by two important dates. The first is J’s birthday - he’s going to be 30. I’m not upset over the age factor, but over the thought that I had so many years ago that I wanted to be pregnant by his 30th birthday. No particular reason, it just seemed like about the right timing. The other thing is that our friends’ twins (via IVF) are due in early June. These are the friends with whom we’ve shared all our life milestones - J’s parents and B’s parents were friends, and J & B lived together in college. I actually dated B before I was with J. (But that’s a story for another time.) We got married within 2 weeks of each other, and bought houses the same summer. When we started TTC, I knew without being told that they were too. And now they’re expecting twins, and we’re waiting and waiting for our first IUI.

But hey, at least we actually have a plan.

---

Here’s the info on the article I mentioned in a previous post:

Rizk, Bedaiwy, and Al-Inany. “N-acetyl-cysteine is a novel adjuvant to clomiphene citrate in clomiphene-citrate resistant patients with polycystic ovary syndrome” Fertility and Sterility Vol 83, No.2, February 2005. 367-270.

I’ve also put a copy of the .pdf online since I’m not sure how accessible the PubMed database is to folks not at Universities.

Infertility TV, take 2

I was going to share the details of my latest visit with the evil HMO, but then I came across a couple of mentions of this new genre of television programming currently in development and got distracted.

Apparently, there are two programs currently in development - one for UPN (I think) that seems to be untitled and lacking in details, and the other at NBC, called Inconceivable.

The drama is a soap and a franchise set at a high-end fertility clinic, where a team of doctors and other specialists assist clients who cannot conceive children through traditional methods. The storyline explores the moral and ethical gray areas where science pushes the boundaries of law and where doctors are put into positions that some might say involve "playing God." But to the young couple who couldn't before conceive a child and now hold their newborn baby in their arms, those same doctors are merely heroes.

Excuse me while I gag.

Okay, now that I’m back. I’m not sure what I think of this whole idea - it could be a good publicity move for infertiles everywhere, or it could be as nauseating as the above description (which I culled from a random, and not necessarily fully legitimate source).

I’m imagining the possible storylines now:

• The fat, bitter, infertile comes to the hotshot clinic in grubby sweatpants, with unwashed hair and a chocolate bar in each hand, and emerges thin but for her perfect pregnant belly. (Sounds like the Extreme Makeover - Infertile Edition I suggested over at Within the Woods. Or, as Amy suggested we call it, Pimp my Ute.)
  
• The movie star who is not having IVF, no way, twins just run in the family. Got a problem with that? Talk to the “very attractive attorney” who founded the fertility clinic after leaving law because “her humanity became a liability.” Mmm, okay.
  

Maybe they’ll do a little shout-out to the infertile army, the barren bitch brigade, the obnoxious among us who will watch this while snickering about the inaccuracies, much as I imagine doctors do during ER, lawyers during Law and Order, and scientists during CSI.

Speaking of CSI, though, I wonder about the possibilities of a boom in the business of infertility as a result of the publicity. How many kids wanted to be forensic scientists before CSI? Now they can all aspire to be infertile bitches infertility doctors.

Things they may already have done accurately:

1. The character of the main fertility doctor is described as “Charming, handsome, incredibly smart, and ruthlessly ambitious, this renowned specialist has a well-earned God complex. Ethically ambiguous, but a lovable rogue. Has personalized license plate: ‘BABYMAKER.’ [Um, that’s more letters than would usually fit on a license plate. I guess they make extra-extra-special plates for the Gods among us.] Likes to Google himself.[Who doesn't?]”

2. It’s hard to find concrete information about the show. What is out there is self-congratulatory but not particularly informative, and you have to click around a lot gathering information to get a good sense of things -- just like trying to get information from a fertility clinic.

Thoughts?

Pathetic optimism

I spent a bunch of time last night researching on PubMed last night - looking for information about soy and phytoestrogens (or oestrogens from some of the international journals!) and, separately, about Clomid and this new amino acid my acupuncturist said has been shown to increase the effectiveness of Clomid in PCOS women. And I found the article she had mentioned.

I had been growing dissatisfied with my acupuncturist, mostly due to the total lack of visible results, but also due to a less-than-perfect vibe. But this new information (and the fact that she is actually out there gathering information) has warmed me to her again. So the new acupuncturist will have to wait while I stick with this (hee!) for a while.

We’re off to an appointment with the new RE today. I am strangely optimistic -- because the evil HMO has made me jump through so many hoops, actually seeing the doctor seems like a monumental occurance. Actually, this is really pathetic.

But still, I’m trying to be optimistic about this - a new doctor, a new clinic, a new cycle, a new amino acid. The bubble hasn’t burst yet.

(I’m sure I’m just setting myself up for a crash, though. But maybe if I say that it will soften the fall when it inevitably comes.)

Let's talk about sex

I mentioned to my therapist yesterday that I had a low sex drive and that sex wasn’t really all that fun anymore. She fixated on this point - wanting to know when we last “made love”. I had to restrain myself from snickering.

I’m not sure I’ve ever been a fan of the phrase “make love” but especially now that our sex for the past however many months has been focused on trying to get pregnant, I can’t do much more than call it sex. When we first started TTC, we could still think of it as BMS (baby making sex) or the ever-so-cheesy BD (baby dance).

The first time we “made love” after we decided to try to get pregnant was magical. We knew we might have problems, but at that point those problems were off in the distance. We were caught up in the possibility that we were, at that very moment, conceiving a child. It was wonderful. (Well, the missionary position isn’t so great, but the moment was wonderful.)

But now that we’re old hands at this, the BMS has lost its magic. Sure, I still stay lying down for a while afterwards, just in case that helps move things along. But overall, it seems like one more chore to do in the whole process - something that happens on schedule so I can put it in my chart.

I think it’s because of all this that I’m strangely hopeful about the (probable) upcoming IUI. It’s not so much that I think it’s going to work (of course I WANT it to, but I’m trying not to get my hopes up about that right now) but that it will change the way we think about sex again. Of course, I’m sad about the IUI, since it makes this whole process seem so clinical - moreso than Clomid and frequent wanding and bloodletting. But I’m hopeful that by freeing us from the BMS we’ll be able to reclaim the idea that sex is “making love” and not just another procedure.

stupid vampires

The lab at the evil-HMO is like a really dumb vampire. They’re in the mood for something nice and tasty, and then they get me instead - bitter and pissy. Sounds yummy.

I went back to the lab for a follow-up from one of the tests the NP ran at my last visit. Apparently my liver function test was off (high or low, she didn’t actually say) and the new RE (whom I’ve never met) wanted to rule out Hepatitis, even though we’re all pretty sure that this has to do with the Glucophage. But I guess it’s good for them to double check.

I tried to go to the lab on Wednesday afternoon - I had some time, I had eaten, I was wearing comfy clothes. Except that the lab closes at 12:30 on Wednesdays. Which I clearly didn’t know. (It was nice for a minute, there, looking at the spacious parking lot that’s usually hard to navigate. Too good to be true, though.)

So I went back to the lab today. The NP had said she’d fax over the lab request, so I stood in line to check in and told the bitchy woman that the form should have been faxed. Of course, she didn’t have it. So she sent me back to the NP (conveniently located next door) to get it. The very nice receptionist at the fertility clinic went to check with the NP and determined that it was waiting for me right there at the front desk of the clinic. Easy enough, if I had known.

So, back to the lab to wait in line again. And then wait. And wait. They seemed to be short staffed. And the waiting room was fairly crowded, and there was this obnoxious guy who was giving a running commentary of the lab and the people and the woman who cried after she left the lab and how it must be a bad lab tech and a big needle and on and on. [Incdentailly, I saw the woman, and I know she was referred from the OB/Gyn clinic next door, which is largely the fertility clinic, so I’m guessing her crying had less to do with the lab tech and more to do with whatever they were checking for today. Dropping beta? Who knows. But I felt for her. She looked so fragile.]

So I finally got called back into the lab, where the tech informed me that iit would be 5 vials of blood. Because he’s a vampire and was getting hungry. I’m a little unsure about this, since it’s just one test, but I realize that it’s really a whole panel of Hep tests, so maybe requires more than one vial. Yes, I was rationalizing. So I told him I needed to lie down for that much blood. [This was supposed to be my experiment in being a normal person in the blood lab who just sits in the chair with the little arm thing and then walks out totally fine. I tend to get a little lightheaded during blood draws, but I’m trying to get out of the pattern. But I wanted to start with a small draw on a non-fasting day.] So he leads me back to the EKG room, which is where I get to lie down for bloodwork (every single time I’ve been to this lab I’ve used this room). Everything seems to be going well - he doesn’t give me grief about needing to lie down (unlike the bitchy woman I had last time who I shouted at - the same bitchy woman at the front desk today). He drew the blood and everything was fine. I got up, feeling mostly fine, and went back to his regular station to pick up my ID card. And then he hands me..... someone else’s card.

Me: This isn’t my card.
Him: It isn’t?
Me: Um, no.
Him: Oh, what’s your name?
Me: [myname] But isn’t it a little late to be asking me that?
Him: Oh, your card is right here. [Attached to MY LAB FORM]
Me: Um, does that mean you ran the wrong blood work?
Him: Nope, the card just got separated.
Me: Are you sure you lying asshole?
Him: Yes, it’s fine. Have a nice day.
Me: [speechless] Thanks for nothing, you stupid vampire.

I thought it seemed like an excessive amount of blood, but then they always seem to want more blood than it seems they should need, so I initially chalked it up to their lab weirdness. But now I’m convinced that the reason he drew five vials of blood and ruined my attempt at normalcy was because he was using the wrong lab order form. Dumb fucking vampire.

notes from a bookstore

Yesterday was J's first day off in I don't know how long - definitely since before our trip East for the funeral. So, it was a low key day - he slept in, watched some TV, had a very late breakfast. And then later we went to Borders and stayed for nearly 7 (yes, SEVEN) hours. He read two books, I browsed through a couple and then got through a chunk of grading. It was really nice.

A couple of observations:

1. They've moved the section of infertility books from their old, obnoxious spot next to pregnancy and baby name books to the Women's Health section (near other health issues and far far away from baby books). This was one of my biggest problems with that bookstore (and most others) and I'm glad to see that the letters other infertiles wrote (or the vibes we sent?) got those books moved to a much less depressing location. Score one for the infertile army.

2. The spot J found to sit and read (after an hour or two sitting on the floor in the travel book section) was next to the pregnancy books. It was mostly quiet until a giddy couple (who probably had just peed on a stick this week) showed up to look at “Pregnancy for Dummies” or whatever (really, that should be AND whatever - they took 8 or 10 books to browse through, but didn’t seem to pick one to buy). It was so sweet and naiive. And almost harder to watch than the parade of pregnant bellies looking at baby name books. And how jealous am I? Oh, very. I want to be that excited and blissfully unaware. I don’t begrudge them their happiness, and I hope nothing happens to disrupt that bliss, but I am SO JEALOUS.

Retail therapy

I stopped off at the drugstore to by the special Neosporin+Pain Relief in the hopes that my finger (which is weirdly infected and painful) would revert to its normal size and sensitivity. And I needed Q-tips.

I’m a terrible errand runner. I get into a store, even a drugstore, and I wander aimlessly. I’m the reason they developed those nifty displays of new nail polish colors (I bought a small bottle of a bright turquoise that matches this skirt I just bought - not at the drugstore. It’ll look great on my toenails when they’re sticking out of my sandals, and it was on sale!) and endcaps with special discounts on bottled water (6 bottles for $1 - that’s a good deal, and I’m supposed to be drinking more water). And hey, maybe my new haircut would look better with some little clips or something. And I’ve been meaning to buy another generic birthday card for when we remember we need to send one right away. And so on.

It’s not that these were extravagant or unnecessary purchases. It’s just that I seem to lack the ability to run in and grab the two things I need. This drives J bonkers. It’s hard when we try to shop together - I’ll be wandering the aisles and he’ll be ready to check out. I do it at grocery stores, too.

I think this stems in part from the legitimacy of the purchasing. In college, when I was mostly on my own financially, I had a credit card that was billed to my mom. This was not a clothing and eating out card, but a basic provisions card - medications, groceries (to supplement the dining hall), and emergencies. So, mom’s credit card would buy me cough drops and kleenex, and a magazine and nail polish to cheer me up while I was sick. Nothing excessive, but I got to spend money without feeling guilty about it. [I could muse about whether having tight finances makes me spend money differently than someone who grew up not feeling cautious or guilty about any of their spending, but I won’t. At least not more than I just did.]

This “legitimate” purchasing style continued with my own money. I could go on a moderate shopping spree for the foods I needed for a special diet (my current one included) and not feel guilty or excessive. When I go clothes shopping, or shoe shopping, I often feel guilty. It’s not going to fit soon (either because I’m going to lose weight, or because I’m going to get pregnant) or it’s going to be out of season or out of style. (I’m more likely to buy a purse - since I won’t grow out of it.) In fact, most of my clothing (or purse) shopping sprees (such as they are) happen at a place like Target - where I can pick up a new shirt, and a birthday card, and some kitchen towels, and the post-it notes I need for the next round of grading. This is the shopping I like best.

But don’t expect me to just pop in for a toothbrush. I’m afraid that’s impossible.