Tis the Season

If anyone out there works in retail, you, too, realize that the chaos has begun. And if your business happens to be in the home decor retail industry, you know that the chaos is in full swing, as eager holiday-goers search for the perfect wreath, the idea accessories to decorate their mantels, and the most gorgeous ornaments to adorn their trees.

This has been my life for the past two weeks, and will continue as such for the next three or four. But this week, in particular, is the craziest, as we participate in a huge, much-anticipated holiday bazaar-type event, as well as maintaining the store in regular fashion.

So, I've been missing from my blog and yours, and am looking forward to January when I can do some catch-up reading, and check in on your progress and your life. Actually, J & I spend the first week in January skiing in this small god-forsaken town a few hours west. I'm going to refrain from skiing this year, knowing that while I'm a pretty decent skiier, I also like to challenge myself, which means that I fall alot. And falling is not what I need to be doing right now. Perhaps I can figure out how to take my laptop? Will it work in that decidedly low-tech, backwaters ski town? Anyone? How do I know?

In terms of baby updates, it's been really fun to tell people the news. I see alot of people at this time of year whom I haven't seen since last holiday season, so when they ask if we have kids yet, I'm enjoying the answer.

I have an appointment on Monday, which I'm excited about. I'll finally get to meet with my doctor, and as I've said before, I'm so excited to be able to finally talk to her! I believe my ultrasound is going to be done my the maternal/fetal specialist, which is very cool. The last ultrasound was rather unsatisfying, as they were hours behind, rushing everyone through, and I never got to see any of the individual baby closeups, just the long view of them together. (Which was lovely, but I'm jonesing for some details!)

My dear friend K gave me "The Pregnancy Journal" the other day. I'm not typically a big fan of these types of books, but this one is full of such interesting info. Did you know? Over the next three days, the babies fingernails will begin to grow. Ahhhh, the better to scratch me with!

Are You a Believer?

Do you believe in karma, fate, fortunes, whatever? *

I don't have a lot of faith in these types of things, but I do believe in coincidence and plain indecipherable mystery. However, when the fortunes are directed positively towards me, I'm all for it - sign me up!

I've been waiting to reveal these mysterious proclamations, just in case they managed to reverse themselves and prove me wrong.

Some coincidences or signs, if you will, and excerpts from my pre-retrieval desperation :

A woman I've known for years, casually, told me that months ago, she had a dream that I was pregnant with twins. She had to ask some mutual friends if it was true, because she wasn't sure if she dreamed it.

I read over at Cecily's about this online tarot card thingie, and I thought, what the heck, I'll give it a try. Some excerpts from the answers to my question "Will this IVF be successful?" include:

• "... become aware that while something in your life is dying, something else is nearing its time to be born."
• "You are bing challenged by overflowing abundance and fertility ... You may be pregnant with so many new creations that you are having trouble focusing on just one."
• "You will find yourself emptied out, clean, and ready for the next stage of your journey."

My sister recommended this horoscope site. My monthly horoscope for October revealed the following:

• "You have now reached the most important month of the year. This month brings two eclipses, two weeks apart, on October 3 and 17." These were the dates of my retrieval and beta test.
• "If you need surgery, you are likely to get the right medical help and have reason to believe you can reach the desired outcome. October 3...even more reason to expect good news about your health...an ideal time to schedule exams or procedures."

These are just the highlights from the tarot and the horoscope, but there was much more info that simply inspired me. At that point, I had little hope, a negative attitude, and an overwhelming feeling of pessimism. I took the printouts of both with me to the retrieval, and I read them over and over as I waited to get started. It gave me the hope that I couldn't quite muster on my own.

So, if you don't have inside of you the kind of hope that can get you through a hard time, look for it externally. From a good friend who believes unwaveringly. From your church. From signs and coincidences. From whatever will work for you.

* With apologies to Karen. I promise I wasn't copying ... I've had this post in my drafts folder for ages, and the time just seemed right to finish it up. But it sounds like coincidences do happen for lots of us!

Life is Good

Uggg... I just wrote a long, lovely post about today's ultrasound/doctor's visit. All kinds of wonderful detail and prosaic thoughts about the little ones inside, infertility, friends and more. But one ill move with the mouse, and -POOF!- it's gone.

I don't have the energy to go through it again, and will hope I feel up to recreating it later.

For now, the Cliff*notes version:

*Ultrasound wonderful
*Sweet little fluttering heartbeats
*Possibility of a third yolk sac that didn't develop
*Reminding myself that I'm so happy to have two inside!
*All is good, in me, in life.

And for your viewing pleasure:

The Devil Made Me Do It

Is there a taste or scent that reminds you of a specific point in your life, and can almost take you back to that place and time?

I have many ... White Rain hairspray, the thick and almost gelatinous goop that helped me achieve huge bangs and blown-out "wings" on the side of my head. One whiff of White Rain, and I am instantly transported back to seventh grade. Not a specific instance, but the year in general ... the girls bathroom at school, primping for a party or dance, the smell of my bedroom.

Salsa is a tricky one for me. A grade-school incident involved eating gobs and gobs of the stuff, resulting in an uncomfortable evening spent on the floor in the arms of the toilet. Now and days, I never know if the taste of salsa will catapult me back to that tragic night, or if I'll enjoy it fully.

The smell of pot, I must admit, sends me back to a college boyfriend and his room in the fraternity house, playing the guitar, late nights.

Last Friday, I had a revelation. I had to, I must, I was practically required by some force greater than myself and my ability to reason, get myself to Dunkin Donuts and pick up a vanilla cream-filled powdered donut.

I can't tell you the last time I've had one (it must have been a good time, for sure), and the closest DD is easily 15 miles out of my way and in an area of town I rarely frequent. Already late for work, I drove in the opposite direction, full of anticipation and delight at the prospect of filling my mouth with that icing-like goodness.

I was desperate when I got to the counter, realizing that I had no cash, and how could I buy just a donut with my credit card. How pathetic! So I upped my order to two donuts and a bag of coffee, and hurried the cashier through the transaction. I had a donut to get to.

With napkins covering my lap and donut in bag, I headed off for work, opening up the bag at stoplights, I devoured that thing in three minutes. I relished the creamy texture and the sweet bread holding it all together. I had flashbacks of happy times (what times, specifically, I'm not sure, but it did take me to a "happy place") as I stuffed my face, managing a few sips of water in between bites.

Before I'd made it to work, it came over me. The total body-encompassing feeling of disgust and straightout grossness. I might as well have swallowed whale blubber, for as nasty as I felt. There was no way I could look at the second donut, as a feeling of bloated, nauseous illness came over me.

I sheepishly made my way into work, careful to wipe the powder off my cuffs, asking "Does anyone want a donut?"

Rest Stop

On the road trip that is infertility, then pregnancy, this is the very long, straight, stretch of highway that seems to be going nowhere, though you hope that it eventually will end at your chosen destination.

It's a boring time, frankly. It's been ages since I've seen a doctor, and I'm feeling a bit of withdrawal. I miss all the nurses, and even my doctor, in a weird sort of way. Someone was keeping check on my life, in very minute detail, and now I'm just in limbo. I'm noone's responsibility except myself. And wow, that's a big responsibility for lil' old me.

I'm sure I'm not the first person to say this, but I don't feel pregnant. What does feeling pregnant feel like, you may ask? Well, you're asking the wrong person, cause I have no idea. Tired, yes, and a bit queasy, but pregnant? No, not so much.

My boobs are still sore, but not as much since I switched from the progesterone in oil injections to the pill/suppositories. Although J says they are much bigger, I really can't tell. But who am I to argue? He must be right!

I've been using this long stretch of highway to do, what else, but read and research. I've been very good about not buying any more magazines, but I have been delving into the vast archives that I managed to maintain during the e past three years. They will tide me over for a bit.

I never let myself buy pregnancy books while we were in treatment. It just seemed to real. Magazines were okay, they are less permanent, just informational, and could be tossed away if upsetting. So while I've got shelves of magazines, the books are slow in coming. Mom just passed along an interesting one by J*ane Seymour - you know, Dr. Quin*, Medicine Woman. But I'm always looking for more ... maybe a trip to the bookstore is warranted this afternoon?

We'll finally be getting off at a rest stop on Friday for a visit with the nurse practitioner and an ultrasound ... I'm looking forward to getting some more information about where we stand, and where this roadtrip is headed.

Who's Your Daddy?

Today is a new day. I've separated myself from all the stuff I shouldn't be reading at this point, and I realize that I was getting waaaaaaayy ahead of myself in yesterday's post. I mean, really, let's just deal with the here and now, and let tomorrow (or nine months from now) take care of itself. It's a problem I have. "Hi, I'm Laura, and I'm a chronic plan-aheader." Forgive me.

However, there is one issue that's really been on my mind, just cause of it's strangeness:

My due date is the same day as my RE's birthday.

Is that creepy to anyone?

I keep thinking that it's gross, being that he's the one that actually made the babies happen (I know, with some help from us and the embryologist). He mixed it all up and put it there. And their birthday could be his birthday. Yuck.

Noone else thinks it's creepy. I think it's creepy. Real creepy.

Turning Green

Poor J. If I snap at him again, I think he's going to take the kitties and leave me forever. Actually, he'll probably leave me the cats, but he'll be gone.

He just can't do anything right, in my eyes. Every step, every breath, every move, it's all wrong. I wonder, does it mean something that I actually recognize my poor behavior? Maybe so, but hell if there's anything I can do to change it. Or want to do for that matter.

We work together, so the days that we're both in the office have been a alternate version of hell for him. Some excerpts from our oh-so-blissful time together:

"Stop chomping your gum in my ear ... it makes me want to puke." Said from fifteen feet away.

"You want me to what? To answer the phone? What gives your the right to tell me what to do?"

"Don't. Talk. To. Me."

"No, I don't like my pad thai. Stop scooping it off my plate. Stop! Stop! Stop it now, do you hear me? It's mine."

"You've got the sheets all inside out. Why can't you do this right? This corner goes here, this one here, this one..." collapsing into sobs.

Composure regained. Sniffle, pittiful smile. "Could you get me a ginger ale? I don't feel so good."

While happiness abounds in our household, my sheer exhaustion and on-again, off-again upset stomach is turning me into a real ogre. I've got to get it together before we have a whole household of marathon-running out of town guests this weekend!

Feeling Good, Finally!

I’m back in the swing of things! With glee, I went to the bookstore last night and chose a book about multiples, and took practically started devouring it in the parking lot.

This, of course, only intensified all of the logistical worries that have been plaguing me since receiving the news. I’m very much a “by the plan” kind of girl, and while infertility has led my plan far off its original path, this most recent news takes me onto a whole new highway.

The logistical bumps in my highway right now include:

• The medical questions, obviously. I really don’t want a c-section. Really really. And I know that just because there are two babies, it doesn’t necessitate that option, but does increase it by a good percentage. Breastfeeding … again, something I really want to do. Do I have the willpower (and the boobs) to do that for two babies?
• The nursery. We have two guest rooms, one very small and one very big. Logically, the small one was to be the nursery. Hmmmm… not sure how two cribs would fit in there.
  
• Work. I own a business with two partners. Two of us (both pregnant) really run the day to day operations, and now I’m not sure where I stand. Where I want to stand. If I want to stand at all, or if I just want to sit at home. One plus work seemed manageable. Two plus work seems totally out of control. Which kind of lifestyle is more important to me? Hard to know until they’re here, but I’ll have to make some big decisions way before that day comes.
  
• One of my dearest friends is getting married mid-May. Will I even be able to go? And if I do make it, will I be so horrifically bloated that I won’t want to show my face?
  
  I am so very aware that I am getting ahead of myself. But I’ve always had a pretty clear picture of how it would all work out, and man, this was NOT IT!
  
  On the very positive side, last night I took my last PIO shot. My blotchy, welted, lumpy ass is very thankful that Dr. Pleasant gave me the option to switch to a pill. A pill that’s inserted, not swallowed, if you get my drift, but infinitely more pleasant.
  
  And, I was able to get an appointment with my OB/GYN’s office in just two weeks! I won’t actually be seeing my OB/GYN, but a nurse practitioner, which sucks, but it does mean another ultrasound! I’ve been going to this OB/GYN for years and years, and I really think she’s the best. She’s so level headed, warm, a genuinely nice person, and only works part time so she can still be with her family. She was so understanding throughout our initial bouts of infertility, I can’t wait to show her the good news!
  
  I actually had a visual image of myself walking down the street, holding the hand of a child on either side, and they called me “mommy.” I’m almost crying as I rewrite this. I can’t believe it … I’ve never actually thought of myself as a mother in those very real terms, in a real visual picture, with real children with real faces. But I did, and it was just natural. I’m so happy.

Ultrasound Update

And then there were two...

Shock. Glee. Tears. Delight. Fear. Crazy fear. More tears. Two.

More to come soon.

Blank

I don't feel anything.

Well, I feel pretty exhausted, and yesterday I felt like hugging the toilet in nauseous desperation, but inside, on an emotional level, I'm blank.

I am devoid of emotion and excitement, and quite frankly, I'm disappointed in myself. I expected the nervous excitement of being pregnant, of having the very real possibility of a child in my future. Yes, I know we're probably having a child, but in my mind's eye, I can't see that child, I can't imaging holding that child, I can't work him or her into my everyday life and schedule.

I'm excited in front of J, and my family and friends who know, and on a certain level it's authentic in nature, but not in volume. Maybe this is normal, and I just expected too much. Maybe I figured that the amount of pain and emotion involved in the effort should equal the amount of enthusiasm and emotion involved in the end product.

With baited breath and anticipation, I approached the Pregnancy section of my local chain bookstore. All of these possibilities awaited me ... I could browse these books if I wanted, and even buy one! No more Women's Health section for me, I'm in the big leagues. The section I often wandered by, glancing surrepticiously at the titles, but continued to pass by. Imagine my disappointment when nothing, NOTHING, appealed to me. I didn't even want to sit and stay awhile. So I left, because this section wasn't for me.

A nurse friend is currently working at the city health department clinic and just treated a young woman who is expecting twins. She has no support, no family, and none of the supplies that she'll need to get life started with the little ones. When my friend asked for help rounding up some gear to give to the young woman, I was gleeful. A mandated trip to the baby store! Where I could meander among the strollers, bop through the bassinets and dally at the diaper aisle. And get to buy baby things, but not jinx myself!

The trip was a downer. I had no desire to browse. I obligatory checked out each aisle, but with no anticipation and idea of how this place would apply directly to me. I chose a few receiving blankets and some sleep sacks in yellow and green, and loved the way the soft fabric felt on my cheek. I imagined how good it would feel on her babies in the coming cold weather. But I left quickly, as this store wasn't for me.

These experiences are the radical opposite of the beginning of our IF treatment. Still full of expectation that one good HSG to clear out my tubes, or maybe a hit of Clomid, and we'd be on the train to Parenthood. I frequented the Pregnancy section at the bookstore, and often went to baby stores to browse, just because. Just because I was sure that I'd be back, lickity-split, shopping for myself. But once things got more serious, I abandoned these joyful spots, just knowing I would jinx myself, that being so presumptuous would work against me.

I am still the IF patient, not the pregnant woman. I am happy, I am thankful, I do feel the potential for joy and excitement. Just not now.

Guilt overtakes me as here I am, the wife of infertile, who got lucky, yet still manages to feel negatively. How gross is that? But really, I just feel blank.

Comedians, We're Not

I’m exhausted. Every sentence is punctuated with a yawn. (Yawn.) Every move is made with a heavy foot. My brain seems to be working on a limited capacity.

At least I’m not throwing up.

* * *

Mom called last night, just so we could do the routine we’ve been perfecting over the past week. “Guess what?” I say to her.

“What?” she replies, with innocence.

“I’m pregnant!” I say, enthusiastically.

She responds with shock and surprise, along with a healthy dose of delight and joy.

J, myself, and my (pregnant) SIL were out and about this weekend. He often has a hard enough time dealing with the two of us together, but add on the hormones and general silliness, and he might go crazy.

We're crossing a busy street, and SIL and I have jumped ahead in front of J. He's back on the corner as we're braving the traffic, when he yells "Hey you four, be careful crossing the street!"

It doesn't sound funny till we stop and realize what he said. Yes, the two of us are really four (or five or six, only the coochie-cam will tell).

We spent the whole weekend referring to the two of us as the "four of us," and on occasion, the five or six of us. We were hoping that passers-by would overhear and think us psychotic, perhaps overrun with multiple personalities, but alas, noone seemed to notice. But the three (or five or six or seven) of us got a real kick out of it.

***

I'm in absolute agony waiting for this darn ultrasound. I thought it was to happen this week, but no.......not until next Thursday. Progesterone refills arrived this morning, so I'll keep on keeping on. (By the way, the mail-order pharmacy I'm using is awesome! I called in the refill last night at 6 p.m., and 10 a.m. this morning I had my meds. Many states away, too!)

Limbo Land

It’s a situation we’ve all been in. The incredible torment you feel when you hear that a friend or acquaintance is pregnant, when you are filled with an envy so painful it might start oozing out your pores. I know how to deny my feelings, smile, and pass along my congratulations.

I don’t know how it feels to be on the other side … to announce a pregnancy, unknowing that the person I’m directing my news at is experiencing infertility. There are so many of us out there, I’m sure it will happen. Actually, I take that back … it has happened. Another young woman in my group at church is having difficulty, at what level, I’m not sure. She congratulated me earlier this week, and I could see the wistfulness that I know so well. I still feel it myself. She said she was going to really start in on treatment now, and without asking for details, I told her I’d be happy to help in any way I could.

I’ve talked a lot to others about our issues, with the hopes that people would talk back. Infertility simply isn’t a subject most people are comfortable discussing. But it should be okay … just like talking about any other medical condition that may be central in your life. It requires as much treatment, or more, than many other diseases, and becomes so central in life, so emotional, as well as physical. There shouldn’t be shame, there shouldn’t be bashfulness. So many women have reached out to me, both infertiles and regular folks. I hope, with all my heart, that I can be as helpful to just one woman out there.

I have many sisters-in-law. Numbers One & Two don’t have problems conceiving and all, but Number Three and I share some similar circumstances. She’s done a few IVFs, many years ago, and has one child. I think she might do another soon.

SIL Number One just told me how hard it was to knock on SIL Number Three’s door and announce her second pregnancy. How she cried and cried when sharing her good news. I wonder if it got easier when she had her third and fourth? This is a woman who I’ve always thought to be so strong and infallible, and the fact that making this announcement to an infertile was hard for her, shows me a whole different side. She also told me that SIL Number Two was very, very nervous about how to tell me of her recent pregnancy. We haven’t really talked about it, but I did send her a note, telling her how pleased I was for her, but too excuse me for a bit, because good news can hurt, too.

I wonder, how will I feel when people assume that I got pregnant like most everyone else? You know, the easy way? Will I shout out “People! This was the product of careful calculation, measured dosages, and exacting timing; not of a bottle of wine under the stars!” ? Will I exhibit Tourette’s like symptoms, blurting out rapid fire statements? “IVF!” “Bad Sperm!” “Petri Dish!”

Women are comfortable asking about the details of conception, when they ask “Were you trying long?” I hope that I won’t cower and cave in, that can answer honestly and with enough information to perhaps open people’s eyes to what I, and so many women and men, deal with.

Where is this going, you may wonder?

I feel weird about being pregnant. I feel odd that I got so lucky. Because much of it is luck, I feel. Did I pay my dues? Why me and not some other deserving person whose been after this elusive goal so much longer? As has been discussed over here, I feel some “survivor’s guilt.” I’ve never felt shameful about our infertility, although I know J. has.

But I feel a little bit of shame, in this community, that IVF worked. I’m feeling caught in a limbo of sorts … where do I belong?

There's a Robber in the House

Infertility and it's accompanying treatments rob us of privacy, spontaneity, and much of the joy that goes along with trying to have a child.

Privacy is obvious ... there are three (or more) people in the bedroom. In the beginning, that Third Wheel may be a book, as you casually consult the chapter on properly timed sex for maximum fertility. As you continue to try, and fail, that Third becomes some ovulation predictor sticks. Not a crazy intrusion, but you have to pay attention to it and it influences your relationship in it's own way. The Third morphs into a computerized fertility monitor, and you report to it with daily diligence, waiting for the little black egg (or "the olive" as we call it) to pop up and instruct your sexual life.

The Third eventually turns into a human being, and you've opened yourself up to instruction, criticism, analysis, physical examination and more. It may be your regular OB/GYN, who will probably brush you up on the finer points of ovulation and baby-making, but if you've followed those first steps, you're pretty well versed. The Third magically becomes a specialist, and now there is a whole crew of doctors, nurses, and office staff in bed with you and the man.

It's at this point that privacy is thrown right out the window. Your early optimism maintains the excitement for your visits and treatments. A few pills and instructions on when to have sex don't seem that bad. You finally get to the point where you feel like you need The Third's permission to have sex. He tells you when, where, how. Eventually, sex isn't even involved in the baby-making process, just drugs, catheters, surgeries, and stirrups.

You're planning your wardrobe according to office visits (a skirt and slip-on shoes makes the whole process so much simpler), and The Third has become an integral part of your closet, your career, your marriage, and your entire life.

We totally renovated our house a few years ago, and were crazy enough to live here while construction was going on. During that year, I felt like the architect, the contractor, the carpenters, and the rest of the subs were a part of my family. At any given time - I could be tromping down the hall to the shower, or making my way to work - there they were. They overheard our private conversations, and were privey to our comings and goings. They were in my life all the time, and I've come to feel pretty similar (but in a more, ahhmm, private, way) about my RE.

Spontaneity has left the building, along with it's good friend Privacy. Baby-making sex is on a schedule, and at certain times, even just-for-fun sex must be regulated. You want to go on a vacation, or for a quick weekend getaway? Well, let me check. I may be ovulating and have to go in for the IUI at a day's notice. Friends call and want to meet out at local bar for a night of debauchery? Sorry, no can do ... gonadatropins are my cocktail of choice these days. Folks invite you over for an impromptu dinner party? Well, my RSVP is contingent on whether I know you well enough to keep my big old syringe of PIO in your fridge without too many questions.

For as long as I've been even contemplating the idea of having kids, I've thought about being able to surprise J with the happy news. We would be hoping it would happen eventually, but never really knowing how or when. Maybe I would do a test, find out about a pregnancy, and maybe even keep the secret to myself for a few days (or a few hours). I'd pick a time and place that he wouldn't expect. He'd be so taken by surprise, he'd be speechless. We would keep our little secret just to ourselves for a few weeks or months, and be able to shock our family and friends, who wouldn't have even realized we were trying.

Those scenarios haven't been in my head for so, so, long. Instead, we both spent a paranoid, uptight day, waiting for the magic phone call. We weren't joyous, we were short with each other, we made a contingency plan for what we would do if it was negative (note: it involved the hot tub neither of us have used for the better part of a year, and a refrigerator full of beer).

We waited for the message that I'd asked the nurse to leave on my cell phone. We sat closely on the couch, our arms and legs intertwined, as we set the phone on the table with the utmost reverence. Our faces were set in stone as we listened to the first message, as the nurse told us she had the results, please call her as soon as possible, and nothing more. We fumbled and mumbled to each other as we accepted that it was over. We nervously realized that there was another message on the phone. I expected it to be the nurse, calling again to remind me that there was no longer a need to continue with the PIO shots.

With baited breath, we pressed "play" to listen to the remaining message. We were silent and shaking as she reported that they were about to close the office, but wanted us to know that the test was positive, quite positive.

We clenched each other. We laughed and smiled. And then we cried.

***

Today I bought a pregnancy test. I've seen so many negatives, I can't even count, but suffice it to say, many a trashcans were filled up with discarded tests and discarded dreams. I want some of the spontaneity that regular people get. I want a momentary burst of surprise and delight, of unexpected joy. I beamed proudly when the screen read quite clearly "Pregnant".

I walked downstairs, with my hand hidden behind my back, and said to J, "Hey, guess what, sweetie?"

He replied, barely tearing his eyes from the television. "What?"

I jumped in front of him ... "You won't believe it ... you're going to be so surprised. I'm pregnant!"

He grinned, and we both laughed at the ridiculousness of it all.

And then, of course, he bugged me about wasting money on a pregnancy test. If only he knew how much they cost ...

Dream a Little Dream

My sweet white kitty is meowing in pain. That's right, she's pregnant and about to give birth to her little litter. The scene is hazy, slightly foggy.

So we take her to the bed, and she proceeds to give birth in the same position that people do ... legs up, etc. She meows and grunts, pants and groans, and finally ... it's a baby! A human baby!

Sensing that something is wrong, I pull the baby out, probably a little to forcefully. So forcefully, in fact, that the umbilical cord rips away from the mother (who, don't forget, is my little seven-pound cat).

But the baby is fine, and he's remarkably adult-looking. I don't find it odd that my feline friend gave birth to a human child.

The scene again becomes foggy. It's later. I go in to check on my kitty and her baby, and alas! The circumstances have changed. She's now with her litter of tan and white puppies. Because, of course, cats give birth to puppies.

***

I haven't been sleeping well ... can you tell? For the past few nights, I've been waking up at 3, at 5, for no reason. I'm not tired, but I still want to go back to sleep. And I do.

All is Good in This House

It's been a very happy house, these past few days. Happier than I can remember in recent times.

Today's beta was 677, so more than doubled.

As I went to the clinic this morning, I entered not with a heavy heart as usual, not with dread and sad anticipation, but with optimism and joy.

When the nurse asked what test I was there for, I got to report "Second beta, ma'am!" And the other doctor came in while I was having blood drawn and said with a sly grin, "Aaah...second beta. Very nice numbers" and congratulated me. On the way out, I spotted Dr. Pleasant, and in his not-too-excited, not-too-sad, very-middle-of-the-road way, he smiled, congratulated me and said he'd see me soon. And he even made the follow up call this evening to remind me that I need to continue the PIO shots.

As if I could forget. I'll admit that I was starting to feel quite proud of myself. I've given myself sixteen or so of those injections, and have been so pleased with the lack of pain or problem. Well, sister, let me tell you, those days are over. My hips have accumulated a connect-the-dot pattern of pinpricks, and the general soreness makes me feel like my hips are five times wider than they actually are. I feel like I'm going to run out of spots to puncture.

But life is good, so I'll keep it to myself.

Oh, wow. I mean, OH WOW!

With the enthusiastic optimism of a first-time-ever-pregnant person, I'm putting a number out there:

253!!

With the cautious optimism of a fertility patient/IVFer who knows that things often go wrong, I'm saying YAY!

I can't believe we're this lucky. Why would this work on our first go? Because all the previous drug cycles and IUIs didn't, I suppose. It makes sense, I suppose, as all the problems seemed to be with the sperms and not the eggs. And those problems were bypassed by IVF and ICSI. So that makes sense.

But knowing that this is a numbers game, a game of chance, a potential percentage, a shot in the dark, or what have you, it shouldn't have worked.

Who am I to argue??

Next beta is Wednesday, with fingers crossed.

Wash, Rinse, Repeat

I will not pee on a stick.
I will not pee on a stick.
I will not pee on a stick.
I will not pee on a stick.
I will not pee on a stick.
I will not pee on a stick.

Actually, I don't think I will. You don't have to convince me. This whole cycle has been so darn, well, medical, and I'm going to finish it up that way. I've been really good about not letting my emotions get the best of me (with the exception of kissing the framed picture of the little blobs), and damnit, I'm sticking to it.

Beta is Monday.

I've scheduled my day so that it's super-busy. Dentist first thing. Next to the clinic to get my blood drawn. Lunch with a friend. A meeting in the late afternoon. So there are just a few hours of mid-day time to kill. For those of you who may be wondering, I don't live a life of leisure, I just don't work on Mondays. Not that there's anything wrong with the LoL, I'm hoping for one soon.

The one bump in the road is the doctor's schedule. For some reason, of which I was not privy to, all of the doctors will be out of the office on Monday. A conference or perhaps a fabulous IVF-research cruise to the Caribbean? So, who will call me? When will they call me? Will they have to do a ship-to-shore call to deliver my news? Or will a nurse be given the privlege of my tears or my shouts of delight? It's my first time, people, so I have no idea.

J. and I spent Friday afternoon together, as we both had a half-day. It was so wonderful, and much needed. We walked to a nearby shopping area, spent a few hours searching for fall clothes for him, then stopped at our local chocolate/candy store for some goodies.

We headed home, jumped in the car, and went to the movies. Had a delightful time with all the blue-hairs at the matinee, while we enjoyed our contraband candy. We hit our favorite Mexican dive with a friend and his new girl (yes, we approved), then hit a martini bar to meet up with another friend. Of course, I was sorely lacking on the martini part, but a sip of J's was just enough to satisfy. And then home for the 10 p.m. shot in the rear, and another movie in the basement.

For some unspoken reason, that day was so important to the both of us. We laughed like we haven't in so long, had conversations that didn't revolve around babies or IVF, talked like friends, goofed around, held hands, and kissed a lot.

The reason, as I know realize: It was our last day together before the Big Answer. (I'm at work today, and he's out of town on Sunday). Our last day before our lives change with a new addition. Or the last day before sadness, sadness, and persistence. Either way, our last day.

Press On

Comfort, enveloping warmth, hope, support, openness. All of these I felt so strongly.

J. and I have not been secretive about our trials and tribulations, but certainly don't go shouting it from the rooftops to the passers-by. It's private, but to those we know and trust, we share what's going on in our lives, and this is currently a big part of our lives.

Our religion is the same way. We don't shout out about it, but people who know us know what we believe. And we're pretty involved in our church. We both sing in a choir, I have a great group of young women that meet, and J. helps out with the teenage group. We've been at this church for five years ... it's where we chose to get married, and stayed. We've made some wonderful friends, and feel good when we're there, and when we're with people there.

I talked a little bit before about how a few people at church know about our infertility situation. The group of women I'm in knows about it, and they've all been so supportive. I let her know about our retrieval, and She asked if she could share it with a few of the clergy and staff, and of course I agreed. The more people putting positive vibes, whether in the form of prayer or good thoughts, have to have some effect on the universe, and hopefully on the outcome.

We showed up at an event on Thursday night, and I was overwhelmed. Throughout the course of a very long evening, I had so many people coming up to me offering their good wishes, their prayers, their hopes for us. They were all people that I'm comfortable with them knowing, but it's something that's hard for me to bring up in conversation. She made that easier for us, let us skip the awkwardness, yet allowed us to share in the blessings that come with knowledge.

So many friends, men included, spoke up to us, said they knew what was going on and wanted this so much for us. No one gave any assvice, they knew not to go there. We smiled about it, spoke seriously, even laughed and giggled as someone blessed the "fruit of my womb."

We wrapped up the evening with the most wonderful sense of grace. Since then, I've felt so at peace. If this works, there are so many people who will celebrate with us, as She said. And if it doesn't, there is a whole group who will grieve and cry along with us, and help us to press on again.

Oh, no.

Please direct some thoughts and prayers to Ova Girl and C. I suspect they could use them.