Don't Count Your Eggs

Staying the Course or Trying Something Different

Since Noah and I have been in the process of documenting our journey and exploring how different modern families are created, we've had the opportunity to interview many different people who built their families in different ways. It was enlightening for me to speak to these individuals/couples during our process, because it constantly reminded me that where there is a will, there's a way, you may just need to get creative. One thing I noticed is that different people had different approaches to ART, and as we are editing footage and looking back at these interviews and at our own path, I'm starting to better understand that there are different ways to approach ART.

I know people who set out to do IVF until it worked. Statistically, I believe IVF takes about three rounds to be successful. I read that somewhere but I can't quote it. Basically, striking gold on the first try isn't necessarily the norm, but after trying different protocols and getting the right cocktail of meds etc. many people do have success. These people decide to stay the course and learn something from each round. It's a good but often expensive strategy, (though some clinics offer package deals, which could be worth the investment for many people).  I sometimes wonder if Noah and I just kept trying to find my "one good egg," if we would have eventually been successful. After our first IVF wasn't successful, we decided to try something different. We weighed our chances with my DOR diagnosis with the physical, emotional and financial cost of doing several more rounds and decided we couldn't afford to stay the course hoping something would work. I vividly remember our doc saying something like If we had won the lottery and the process wasn't so physically and emotionally hard, he'd advise us to do IVF again, but given our circumstances, he too thought we should move on. 

I wasn't really ready to have the donor egg conversation at that stage of the game, and I was angry that our finances were a big deciding factor in how we were going to get our baby. It didn't seem fair. None of it did. But we found a way to emotionally process the situation and gather enough dough to move to a donor egg round with my sis. When that didn't work we were truly broken. Our doc recommended a proven anonymous egg donor, but we 1) couldn't really afford it and 2) I was afraid of doing the same thing. Though an anonymous donor wouldn't really have been the same as using my sister's eggs, I was afraid that maybe I couldn't carry. Though Noah always got glowing sperm reports, he was also a common factor--maybe there were issues there we didn't fully understand. It just didn't feel right to me. And then we found Momo, our adopted embryo. It was something different. 

How each person/couple approaches their journey to parenthood in the world of ART is a very individual and unique experience. There is no right or wrong. Some people stay the course, some people try something different each time, some people stay the course until the feel ready to try something different, some people decided to ultimately live child-free or adopt. Some people take a break and get pregnant naturally-- there are so many possibilities. What's most important is weighing your options, and knowing what you and your partner are comfortable with. It's sitting with the facts of your situation and remembering that those facts aren't always written in stone. There is still a lot of mystery around reproduction. It isn't always an exact science. It's deciding what your body, your mind, your relationship and your bank account can handle, and moving forward in a way that feels right. 

When Momo is finally born (gulp), I know I will probably say what most people we have interviewed for our documentary have said, that they couldn't imagine it happening any other way or having any other child than the one they ended up with. I never thought I'd be P with an adopted child. But I do feel like Momo is supposed to be in this world and is very much our baby. All the what-ifs don't really matter anymore.

Wishing anyone having to adapt and make difficult decisions all the love and strength in the world.

Committing to Being Your Best Self

I just got back from being up north for my sister's wedding. It was a beautiful day and a super exhausting weekend. She was so happy and my family felt fully able to celebrate. Momo was very much a part of the celebration, too. The last several times my family was together like this was for funerals-- Noah and I were coming off of some kind of "failed" cycle and the tears shed were not happy ones. This weekend was finally different, and I felt complete gratitude for it.

For much of the wedding day, Noah was busy filming the ceremony and running around with my cousins, while I was helping my sis and chatting away. We didn't see much of each other, but every so often I'd look over and catch him laughing or giving my dad a hard time in good fun. He was happy. And it made me think about our own wedding day over six years ago, and how happy we both were then. I've celebrated several anniversaries on this blog writing about hitting that developmental milestone of marriage and having every naive expectation to smoothly sail to the next destination of parenthood only to have the ship come to a screeching halt. 

For this weekend, my sister asked me to write a speech about love and commitment to read during the ceremony, just after they did their vows. I started by talking about my sis and her beau and ended talking about what it means to fully commit to something or someone. For me, to commit fully to someone means to love them through the good, bad and  the ugly. It means waking up every morning with nothing but respect and love in your heart for that person. It means promising to challenge each other and support each other in growing and learning and becoming the best version of yourself. It means being grateful for every day you have together and vowing to always make the other person laugh and smile. Those were my basic thoughts, and it's how Noah and I have tried to be since our own wedding, and how we've tried to approach living on IF Island together. 

Living on IF Island takes another form of commitment. One that involves committing to finding a way to create a family. Once you've landed on IF Island, it's almost as if you have to commit to doing your best, being open to the process, and trying not to lose hope. There's no right or wrong way to approach being on IF Island. It's a very personal experience and each person/couple has to do what they feel is right for them. For Noah and I, we decided we were going to commit fully to finding Momo. We didn't know how or where she'd be, we just knew we weren't leaving this Island without her. We may have had to change our tactics if we were stuck here for longer, and I have so much respect for people who know when to call it.  Sometimes the commitment to doing whatever it takes becomes too much and your commitment to your own life and self and relationship must take priority. But I also know that many of us IF Islanders are determined and committed people who get back up time and again after being knocked down and eventually find a way off the Island. We keep our eye on the prize and truly learn how to become the best version of ourselves. I know I was the worst version of myself for several years, but I had faith that I'd find my way again. There is something in just trusting the process. In total destruction we find a way to rebuild in a stronger and studier way. 

I'm exactly sure where I'm going with all of this. Just my rambling thoughts on a Monday afternoon. But I think part of my reflections about life and love and commitment and partnership and not knowing where the road might lead you just speaks to the very nature of being alive and trying to be your best self every day. 

Wedding Bells

In a few hours--ummm, I really should get out of bed and get dressed--I'm headed to Nor Cal for my sister's wedding. I'm excited for her that this is finally happening! Last week, my sis asked Noah to film the ceremony and Noah grumbled. It's gotten to the point where Noah has become the free videographer at nearly every wedding we go to, and I understand how it's a little annoying. But I looked at him as he got his grumpy on and said, "She gave us her eggs!" That's all I had to say.

We will forever be indebted to my sister for her generous contribution to our process, even though it didn't work. My sister offered to help us last year. We didn't think we would actually get to that point, but we did, and while she had some hesitations when it was time to step up to bat, she donated with such grace and generosity. She didn't complain at all. She was amazing.

After it didn't work I felt terrible. I couldn't believe she went through all that she did and we had nothing to show for it. But Noah helped me put that in check immediately. We tried. She tried. And it was an experience and a gift we will never take for granted. All of these things we've done have been part of our journey, part of the steps we needed to take to know we did all we could. Noah insists we never look back. We only appreciate and learn from the past and  move forward.

OMG. Really--I have to get up and leave for the airport in 30 min and I'm not packed. Ok. So I'll just say that I'm excited to celebrate her this weekend and be with my family. And I wish everyone a great weekend. 

Managing Expectations on IF Island and Beyond

The other day, my dad sent me this article in The Huffington Post, which was called The Pressure To Have a Perfect Birth. It discussed how many women plan for the event in a specific way and end up feeling regretful or sad or disappointed or like they've failed in some way if things don't go according to plan. 

While I understood what the article was saying, I had an overwhelming feeling that everyone needs to slow down and give themselves a break here! From my experience on IF Island, I also know similar feelings can arise well before a delivery date. Being on IF Island often means a doctor is going to "make your baby." It may mean pieces of someone else's genes are being used. It is not the "natural" way humans are made, but so what? I spent way too long feeling inadequate and defective and broken. I had to mourn the loss of not putting my parts together with Noah's parts in a magical night of creation. I had to shift the expectations I had about how and when I would have a baby. And I had to remind myself constantly that none of this was my fault. That I was not letting Noah down. That I was not a failure because our IVFs were not successful. I had to be super conscious of the messages I told myself and I had to find a way to adapt to our situation and be kind to myself. I didn't need any more pressure. I didn't need to feel bad about my eggs and guilty about how much money we had to spend. I think it's very common for people on IF Island to feel this way--to feel something is your fault. But it isn't. It's a crappy, frustrating situation, but it isn't anyone's fault. It takes work to really reframe all this for yourself.

Before I entered the glamorous world of A.R.T., I also had expectations of being P. I was going to do prenatal yoga and eat organic only. I was going to go for long walks on the beach and stay fit so I'd only have the cute belly bump. I'd wear long dresses and...I'm just laughing at myself now. That was the "plan." Ha! Doesn't life just come around a tell you where to shove it sometimes? I never fathomed I'd have to do a month of bed rest off the bat, that I'd feel physically awful and emotionally panicked. That I'd see blood frequently and be told not to exercise, at all. That I'd gain 10 lbs in my ass from gorging on food I wouldn't dare eat when I was just eating for me. Life. Doesn't. Go. As. Planned. I should have learned that by now. And honestly, I think I have a bit. Because I don't let feelings of guilt or disappointment lurk in my psyche. I am doing the best I can. We all are. And I'm proud of all of us who get up in the morning after years of A.R.T. heart break to face the fertile world. I'm proud that Momo and I battled through the first trimester (almost) with fervor and determination.  There is no room to feel bad about anything. 

Now I only have one birth plan. (Though I'm totally not thinking about it yet!) The plan is to get Momo out of me in a safe and healthy way. Whatever that may be. Initially (like when I was an IVF virgin four years ago) I wanted a natural birth. With no meds. I still "want" that, but I'm not holding on it. If I have a C-section, so be it. If I need meds, fine. No judgment. There is no right or wrong. Just one goal. That Momo and I come out alive and well. I believe in having an idea of a plan and expressing your wishes to the doctor because as we all know, we always have to advocate for ourselves. But I also believe in being flexible and smart. 

That's what years on IF Island has taught me. Patience. Self forgiveness. Appreciation. Letting go. Flexibility. Strength...the list can go on and on. All these values are important for how I treat myself and others and how I raise my child. Without judgment and pressure. Just pure openness and love. 

Finding a Community on IF Island

Yesterday Noah and I had a booth for our documentary, One More Shot, at the Resolve Walk of Hope in Long Beach, CA. 

That's us with Candace and Baby Max, who we interviewed in the film. It was amazing to see so many people out there and it made me think about how important it is to find a community. 

When Noah and I first got our passports stamped on IF Island, we were totally alone. We had no idea what had just happened and though I tried to include my friends in our process, eventually they all went on to have babies and our repeated disappointment and bad news became old news. No one wanted to ask how things were going any more. And we understood that, because we could hardly deal with all of it. After our first IVF ended before transfer day is when I started seeking out people to interview for the documentary. It was meeting these amazing IF Island Survivors who shared their stories that helped me feel like everything was going to some how, some way be ok. They became my community and support and then I started this blog and connected with so many other people from all over the world. I really think it was the support and connections I made on IF Island that saved me in a lot of ways. 

Seeing so many people yesterday walking with groups of friends in support made me smile. I didn't really have that in the beginning until I really sought it out. And it wasn't always easy to find people who I felt understood me. And I spent a lot of time alone with my feelings. I know a lot of you out there understand what I'm talking about, and I hope that wherever you are in your process and wherever you live, you can find some people who get you and support you. We all deserve that. Sometimes it takes more effort and energy than we feel we have, but it's worth it. 

MOMO UPDATE:

It's not a great pict, the ultrasound machines at Kaiser are literally from 1987. But I saw Momo today at 13 weeks, dancing. I also gained 10 lbs. Yeah, that's TEN POUNDS in the last few weeks and my doc said to start, "slowing it down." Best rest + Carbocide = 10 lbs.  I've started feeling a little bit better so maybe I'll try to eat more than loaves of bread smeared with butter and ice cream. And I'm not on bed rest anymore so really there are no excuses. I've also got to break my ultrasound addiction because I've been cut off for a month. I hope I don't have withdrawal symptoms. My next ultrasound is October 20th! I'm already shaking and twitching. 

So that's the update. Sending lots of love to everyone on the Island, especially those who feel totally alone in all of this. You're not. You're REALLY not alone. 

Friday Hubs Post: Don't It Make You Smile

I’ve been wanting to do a Hubs Post for the last couple weeks but I haven’t been able to put my feelings into words. I have written and re-written the first paragraph to this post four times now. Nothing seems right to say because I’ve had so many different feelings. I am thankful. I am excited. I am exhaling. I am believing. I am realistic. I am hopeful. I am terrified. But mostly I am smiling. 

 

I’ve been smiling since I stood staring at the ultrasound monitor in our RE’s office two weeks ago. On the monitor I saw a little being. A little being with a heartbeat and a nose and newly formed arms and legs that were kicking and punching around. I saw life changing and evolving right in front of me. It looked as far off as if I were trying to decipher some distant movement in space and it was as close as two feet away from me. And then our RE told us that things looked good and he was pleased, something I hadn’t heard him say in our more than two years of coming to his office. 

 

After that appointment, I caught myself smiling again. My cheeks were starting to hurt. And for a moment there outside of the office, hugging Maya, I felt bad about smiling. Almost as if by smiling or feeling relieved that we may be taking the next step in our journey, a step we’ve fought so hard to make and one so many people take either for granted or take without knowing, would some how jinx us. I felt bad for smiling because the only community I know in all of this is the infertility community and I some how didn’t feel like I could smile without betraying everything we’ve gone through or anybody that is still going through this. Every IF Islander deserves to smile a genuine, anticipatory smile. And then I remembered, until our baby is born, we are still going through this. We are still a part of this community, and will always be. And I love that. And I appreciate that. And that, too, made me smile. And after all of those things running through my head in a matter of seconds, I smiled again. I smiled because, unfortunately, I haven’t stood with my arms around my wife and smiled a stupid, happy big smile with my big dimples a whole lot in the last four years. I smiled because for a the first time in a long time I felt like our lives were moving forward. We were one step closer to our family.

 

I know I’ll be nervous and anxious and all of those things in the time ahead but I’m going to welcome it because I appreciate the feelings and struggle it’s taken just to make it here. No matter what happens with that little lady inside Maya’s belly (along with the pizza I watched her inhale last night), right now I’m smiling.

 

Normalizing how Modern Families are Made

Today I had the NT scan. An over the belly ultrasound that measures the baby bits to see if there is a nose bone and some brain parts and something about fluid in the spine. Ask me anything about follicles or fallopian tubes and I can give you an exact scientific answer. Ask me about anything P related and you get "some brain parts." I'm well aware of my area of expertise. Though I woke up with the thought that this could be the worst day of my life, I left the doc with the thought that this is really happening. I still have that placenta primavera jazz (previa) but I'll just hope it works itself out. Look at me being all nonchalant! 

Last night our production team came over and we talked about the documentary we've been making, ONE MORE SHOT. (I don't have a FaceBook page but the film does. Come be our friend at OneMoreShotFilm. I promise no belly picts!). Noah and I have been filming for over two years, and now that we think we are on our way to our ending we are kicking the film into full gear with the help of some incredible people who know how to make it all happen. Sitting around with everyone talking about our lives in third person felt a little strange. Knowing these folks have been watching footage of the most intimate and terrible moments of our lives made me feel proud of what we are doing. Maybe part of me really should be embarrassed, there is a LOT of footage of me peeing in a cup or crying, or both. But I don't feel embarrassed. I feel like our story is the story of 7.3 million Americans and millions more around the word, and if Noah and I can give a face to this, then here we are. I don't like all the secrecy and stigma and I don't like how alone or ashamed some people feel. Infertility is no ones fault. It happens, and it's a medical condition. And it needs to be better understood, and hopefully one day covered by insurance!

Another thing that is important to me is the idea of normalizing how many modern families are created. If all goes well, I'm going to give birth to our adopted daughter. Wow. Writing that down just brought tears to my eyes. She is 100% ours, but genetically she is 100% the gift of strangers. She has siblings out in the world, and she will know her story from day 1. Or day whenever she can understand. With scientific advancements, there's a lot we can do to make a family. It's amazing and it's a miracle, and I'd like to be a part of also making it normal. A family is a group of people who love each other and care about each other. A baby is a tiny person who has little bitty fingers and toes. That's all that matters in the end.

We interviewed a woman over the weekend, who became a single mom by choice at the age of 46 with the help of an egg donor and a sperm donor. She jokingly referred to her "Frankenstein baby," but seeing the tiny little girl in her arms she was far from monstrous. She was beautiful and special. She was a gift from pieces of other people who allowed this woman to become a mother. 

It has taken a village, literally, to make Momo. I tried to count all the people involved from doctors, to naturopathy docs, to friends, to family to donors...it's more than I can count on two hands. So as Noah always says, when this kid is born she will know she was so wanted, that other people wanted us to have her too. So where's the shame in that? I had/have a broken part and my village helped me find a way around it. To me that's a beautiful thing. 

Trust Your Body

The day, or few days, before I have a doctor's appointment, I get this sick feeling that Momo might not be there. I'm so conditioned to bad news, that even now, when we've been getting good news thus far, something deep in my psyche is still uneasy. Noah has been saying the same thing over and over to me, "You have to start trusting your body again." And he is 100% right.

For the first time in a long time, my body is doing what it's supposed to be doing. I've written several posts about the disconnect between mind and body that sometimes happens on IF Island, and the difficult relationship we have with our bodies when going through treatments, and the overall importance of knowing your body and taking care of it. Now I'm at a place where the most important thing I can do, other than feed and take care of myself best I can, is to learn to trust my body again. So many times I've felt frustrated or confused by my body. So many times my body has responded in the opposite way than it was supposed to. So many times I've felt sabotaged or betrayed by my own body. I've abused it with medications and being in this process for years, my once strong and toned body has drastically changed. Needless to say it's been rough. But now my body is doing what it is supposed to do. It is holding on to Momo and allowing her to grow (I think), and I have to tell myself that, over and over again. Or Noah does. Until I can fully believe it. I can only imagine how hard it is for people who have miscarried to trust their bodies again. But each experience is different, and we all have to remember that. Our bodies want to do this, it just takes some of us more time to figure it out.

I stopped the PIO shot on Saturday and will test to see that my levels are ok tomorrow after my NT scan. I wonder if I'm feeling much sicker these last few days because of some hormone shift or because I am nervous. Whatever the case may be I'm trying to be reassured that feeling crappy is a good sign and am hoping that with time I can regain that trust in my body once again. 

A Walk, A Film, and A Smile: Happy Friday IF Island

Happy Friday!

Last night, Noah and I walked to get burgers. It's been warm at night here in LA LA Land and we walked down the streets in near silence. I asked him how his day was, he had a few highlights. He asked me what I had eaten that day--I lied about some healthy stuff and we held hands on and off. I looked over at him and could see the indentations of his dimples. It made me smile and I said, "are we genuinely happy for the first time in four years?" He laughed a kind of sad but content laugh. Four years. As much as we were able to find our moments, do things that made us feel whole and normal and happy--much of the past four years have been kind of miserable. The weight of infertility sits like two giant anvils on either shoulder. The uncertainties and medical processes and waiting are cyclical, and with each lap around you just get more worn out and emotionally exhausted. In between it's important to find your happy. We went on little vacations, we went to baseball games and concerts and tried to live normal lives, but it was always a conscious effort to not be unhappy. My yoga practice and finding my mantra saved me in a lot of ways. For Noah, going to the gym and playing rec softball saved him a little. We did our best with what we had, and we learned to survive and find moments of relief and happiness. But last night we allowed ourselves to both feel genuinely happy without trying. I almost forgot what that's like.

Today I wanted to share some info. There's an upcoming walk in SoCal that supports infertility. My friend Candace, who we interviewed for the film, is helping to organize the event. It's Resolve's Walk of Hope in Long Beach on September 21st. Noah and I will be there with a booth sharing information about our documentary, ONE MORE SHOT. (If you haven't watched the extended trailer you can do so here.) 

Noah and I have been working on this film for over two years. And we are excited to just be getting the website up (it's a work in progress, we need to fix up some of the picts still), but we are ready to push full steam ahead to get this thing done and out into the world. It follows our own journey through diagnostic procedures, IUI's, IVF, donor eggs, FET's, and finally embryo adoption, and everything in between. (I still feel very cautious even thinking we have found our ending, but I'm going to believe it until proven otherwise). We also interview several couples who have created their families in alternative ways. This weekend we are supposed to interview a woman who decided to pursue single motherhood later in her reproductive years, and has an 8 week old in her mid forties using donor eggs and donor sperm. 

So stay tuned! If you live in SoCal, we'd love to meet you at the walk! If you don't or can't make it out, please stay connected by signing up on our mailing list on the Doc website! We are hoping to start a fundraiser soon so we can finish this thing legitimately and really start raising awareness about infertility and normalizing the different ways families are made.

Wishing everyone on IF Island a beautiful weekend. 

Things Just Got Real

Our cell free DNA test came in and everything looks normal. Noah and I exhaled a sigh of relief. Then we read on. Momo is actually Momoko. Momo is a girl!Or as Noah has just clarified, Momo is not yet a girl but is going to be a girl. The parts have to be formed I guess. Yikes. 

Of course we are thrilled that it appears healthy so far and is human. But I think Noah and I, for some reason assumed Momo was a boy. A boy was made from the this batch of embryos in 2010. So there is a full genetic male sibling out there. And knowing that just made me assume Momo was going to be a boy, because I'm an idiot and that's how my brain works. Also, I think we just pictured raising a boy.

But now we are picturing something else. The fact that I suddenly am picturing something is different. Suddenly S$*T just got real! In a good way. 

When I read the test results to Noah, his face went white. He suddenly saw pink tutus swirling in his brain and he said, "I don't know how to do that." We don't know how to do any of this. I don't know the difference between a hard or soft cheese or if I can drink a fresh squeezed juice. All we both know is infertility. We know how to measure vials of menopur and what a typical follicle count should be. But we also know we can learn, do, and figure out anything that comes our way. That's what four years on IF Island has taught us. No eggs? No money? No genetic connection? No problem. We figured out how to get this little girl cooking with very few ingredients. 

So I have faith in Noah that he will figure out how to braid hair and sing the theme song to Frozen. And I will not freak out about the sudden responsibility I feel to grow this gal and not give her an anxiety disorder in utero.

Last year at this time I was coming off an unsuccessful cycle and trying to find a moment of relief from feeling crappy by way of a cardio hip hop class. We never thought we'd see this day. Four years in a dark hole often blocks the light. But I think the lesson here is always know there is a little light, even if it is just a speck. We on IF Island are problem solvers. We are warriors. We are determined. And some how, some way we find ways to survive the madness and relish in the moments of calm. I don't feel calm yet, but each day feels a step closer. 

Sending lots of love to everyone out there. 

Are stretch marks going to one day be my biggest concern?

Last night, my neighbor came over with a little sample of some Clarins oil that she said she used to prevent stretch marks throughout her pregnancy. Another friend also swears by this stuff and I had a surreal moment where I thought, "are stretch marks going to one day be my biggest concern?" It made me smile. At this stage I could kinda care less. I changed my body wash and face wash and haven't worn nail polish in two years, thinking some how my products might have been negatively impacting our A.R.T outcomes, so the idea of slathering on anything extra that doesn't have estrogen or progesterone in it to help keep the baby alive seems almost...too normal? Does that make sense? If I get to a point where I am legitimately worried about stretch marks, I know I'm in a good place.

Right now, even though we saw Momo and he had shoulders and knees and stuff, I still have a few other worries ranging from am I getting enough nutrition to what's going to happen when I finally go off the PIO shots to will I start bleeding again to what the results of my cell free DNA test will reveal to anticipation for my NT scan next Tuesday where I think they look for markers for various syndromes. Then I start to worry about how much I worry, knowing full well if this kid comes out twitching that will directly be my contribution. I wonder if placental cortisol levels can be tested? OMG, I don't need to know that. 

I can't wait for the day when finding pants that fit and selecting the perfect stretch mark prevention cream are my major worries. I can't even imagine. After all of this, it almost seems vain. I'd gain 100lbs and have 1000 stretch marks if it meant a healthy baby--but if I don't have to, that could be ok too. 

Being P after A.R.T comes with some baggage, that's for sure. But it also comes with the possibility of slowly, eventually, becoming a little more "typical." I will never know what your average pregnant woman experiences. I assume many of the worries are similar. But I do know that my experiences leading up to this point have been profoundly impacting, and I have to give myself space to accept that and try to reason with some of my fears.

And some time, hopefully soon, the day will come where my biggest struggle is choosing a stretch mark cream. And when that day comes I will celebrate the fact that I'm getting stretch marks because that will mean everything is ok.

Graduation Day

I can honestly say I can't believe this day has come. 

Noah and I pulled up at the RE's office at 7:45am. We got out of the car and suddenly it started to rain. Not a little drizzle, but a sudden down pour. The sky was gray and the clouds were a piercing white. I looked up for a moment and imagined the rain washing away the years we've spent battling infertility. I imagined it to be a cleansing. A clean slate. A symbolic gesture of a new beginning.  We hustled into the office and saw this:

Momo has limbs. And a head. He (or she) danced a little, peed a little, then drank it (according to the ultrasound tech, that's how it gets amniotic fluid), then passed out. It looks like he's holding onto the umbilical cord, because that's where he gets his Honey Nut Cheerios. Noah and we're speechless. Absolutely speechless. Four years. $50,000. Repeated disappointment and heartbreak. And finally, because of the kindness of some anonymous people who live over 1,000 miles away, we are now solidly on our way to having a family. 

So I think I have to officially change my "about" page and start to add some letters onto the P word. The doc said to keep on the PIO shots (yay) because of the bleeding, which he says is because the placenta is covering the cervix and has some blood clots in it. At least having an explanation will help me not freak out. 

I'm going to continue to write about how this all progresses and about different topics on IF Island and ways to cope, and will be sharing more of our movie soon. Thanks to everyone for all the love and support and know I send it right back at ya.

The Last Shot...Just Kidding

Today was supposed to be my last PIO shot. Supposed to be. But since I started bleeding again at work yesterday, yup, that happened, the RE said to keep on it until I see him Monday to reassess. I was hoping for a solid graduation--blue gauzy surgical cap and white sheet gown included-- but we shall see. Three lessons I've learned on IF Island, and this little holding chamber known as a Little P After ART is:

1) Rarely do things go as planned so chuck your expectations at the gate and be prepared for a change of plans. 

2) Nothing feels good. Nothing. Everything on IF Island and beyond is simply different degrees of uncomfortable ranging from bearable to freak out tears at the sight of another needle. Or feeling like you're going to barf with the smell of a hard-boiled egg. I seriously can't deal with eggs or poultry right now. 

3) Nothing stays the same. This has been my mantra along the way. Because it's totally true.  The times when you're spinning your wheels at the bottom of the despair pit feels like an eternity, but it won't last forever. And being a little P after ART will eventually turn into a solid P. I hope that's what happens for me on Monday and in the next few weeks when I get back the results from the cell free DNA test I took yesterday and when we measure Momo's bits at week 12. I think then I'll feel more confident about all this. 

So I'm back in my safe space, my bed, and will take it easy today. Perhaps being upright at work all day yesterday did me in. The bleeding has stopped today so I can breathe a little easier, but the anticipation anxiety I have every time I go to the bathroom is becoming debilitating. I have to find a way to be calm and know that whatever is going to happen is going to happen and I have very little control, which also means I can't blame myself for anything. All I can to is believe Momo is a warrior and he'll be ok. Maybe I'm just a bleeder and I'll get to have a glorious 9 months of this. And maybe not. For now everyone is ok. All I have is the now.

Wishing everyone a fabulous weekend! Happy Friday. 

Back To Work

Noah and I had a nice long weekend together and were able to put most baby making thoughts aside for a few days. (Every day. though, I do still wonder if Momo is still in there).  I'm still  spotting occasionally, which freaks me out and I find myself holding my breath every time I go to the bathroom. I'm hoping that this will calm in the next few weeks once we have all the scans and tests and chromosome analysis done.

Today I'm heading back to work. I've been out for a month, and while I'm glad that things in my uterus are looking good enough for me to be able to resume my normal life, I'm kind of...anxious about going back. I've been very open with my job and co-workers about our struggles, and I distinctly remember going back to work after a BFN. It's totally surreal. You go through this tremendous effort with an ART cycle. You invest in such a physical and emotional way for weeks and then you're spit out the other side and expected to just go back to work and be normal again. I imagine for people who have miscarried it must be completely traumatic to go back to work or a normal life.

These experiences we have on IF Island divide our lives in a way into a before and after. There was the before our first IVF--the hope and optimism. For me I talked openly about it, explaining it to co-workers and gathering support.  Then I went through it and went to work through the physical process of it. I even had to drop my pants in my office a few times so a co-worker could give me a shot. And then there is the BFN. Taking a day or so off and realizing life must go on. That you've changed inside but the world still turns and you have to just jump back in. So you do, and sometimes work can be a welcomed distraction, but sometimes your brain is just somewhere else completely. Eventually things go back to normal and the traumatic experience you had becomes part of your past. For me this has happened multiple times and I found after a while it kind of becomes borning news. 

I've never gone back to work after getting a positive. My positive was not Big and Fat, it was actually little and scrawny, but it was a positive nonetheless and seems to be getting more positive as I go along. I'm sure most people at my office know, and I'm fine with that, I just really don't want to be congratulated. At 10 weeks I know a lot can still go south. I'm not ready for people to be excited for me.

Some people at my office don't know about our struggles or that Momo is adopted. A big part of me wants people to know because I feel it's important to really start normalizing these alternative family building options and educating people on infertility. But I'm not sure how this information will be received by some people and I'm not sure I want to get into it--at least not yet. I just want to blend back in after a month of sudden disappearance and have no one really notice that my boobs are outrageously big.  Maybe some people will just think I was on medical leave recovering from a boob job. 

Anyway. That's my update. Life is going back to normal. I'm off bed rest. I've been instructed to take it easy but also to start resuming normal activity. So that's what I'll do. I have three more progesterone shots left to do and will hopefully graduate from my RE on Monday. Then maybe I will really be a normal person. Funny, I can't even imagine what that might feel like.