Don't Count Your Eggs

Momo Update

I had the anatomy scan today with a perinatologist. I'd never met him, and while he was very nice, he was also fairly quiet. I didn't see much of what he was doing or measuring and just tried to read the look on his face. This is something I got good at with our RE. Reading his eyebrows for indications of whether things were going well or not. It's totally insane, I recognize that. All I'm doing is projecting my own feelings onto this poor man's face. So I tried to just be still and let the man do his job. 

And he did. And he said Momo is fine. She has all her parts and when he turned the monitor towards me, she looked like a little turtle drinking water. Or pee. I think that's what they do all day, squirm around, form human body parts, and drink their own pee. Here she is:

She kind of looks like a monkey. I assume the head and face will figure itself out soon. So that is the good news. She's fine. The other piece of good news is that the placenta previa is resolving and moving away from my cervix. So yay. But...and there seems to always be a but... I have a blood clot between my water bag and uterus. Huh? Though I've banned myself from Google, I have tried to Google it, but nothing really comes up. As I understand it there was a little space between the water bag (there's a water bag in there?) and the uterus and blood is trapped in there. Glorious. It's more common with IVF.  The doc said that is why I bled the other day when moving around more. Moving aggravates it. He said if I'm fairly sedentary for the remainder of this ride, then the blood will..."dry out and form a blood pancake" when I deliver. Yum. Breakfast on me everyone! So gross. But whatever. I'll lay on my ever expanding butt until Momo is fully cooked if that's what it takes. 

I'm taking today as good news. Momo looks good. No birth defects detected. She's doing fine. I'll have to cancel my Thanksgiving trip to Seattle and just...be. I thought four years on IF Island had taught me all the lessons of patience I could possibly learn, but perhaps there's more. But of course, I'm grateful. I think I have a little fireball on my hands who will forever show me who's boss. 

Why I hate the word tentative

This morning I woke up at 5:40am bleeding. Not like I was when I landed in the ER last month, but enough to make me freak out. It was probably my fault (though I do hate to point the finger with any of this stuff because we honestly never really know what the cause of certain complication are, but...) I ventured out of the house yesterday with Noah to have lunch with some friends, and then we went to the market. Adventurous, right? I'd been feeling good and am scheduled to go back to work in two weeks so I thought a trial of a few hours out of the house was maybe a good idea. I was wrong. 

Noah, the emotional anchor of our house, kept the situation this morning calm, reminding me that Momo is fine, we know the cause of blood and we know now that even when I feel fine, I have to be cautious. He put his hands on my belly and sent Momo some Daddy love and all I could think about was the word tentative. 

I kind of hate that word, but this morning that's how I felt. That's how I've felt for years living on IF Island. Tentative. Not certain. Provisional. Unconfirmed. Iffy. That's how every IUI and IVF cycle feels. That's how the 2ww and early betas feel. It's how being P after ART feels. And truthfully, I guess, that's how a lot of life feels. And that's kind of the truth. We all long for and try to create situations where we feel in control of our life outcomes, but really more than we care to admit is kind of tentative. Learning to sit with the uncertainty of it all is difficult but perhaps necessary. We do what we can, we believe in ourselves and our families-to-be, and we hope for the best. That's all we can really do. 

I keep telling myself that once I hit...16 weeks, or 20 weeks...or after the anatomy scan, or then maybe once I get to 24 weeks, I'll feel ok, less anxious,  but the truth is committing to being a parent probably means committing to a lifetime of worry about your child. I've been worried about Momo since we located her, almost a year ago. I was worried the clinic would give her to someone else, on purpose or on accident. I was worried she wouldn't thaw after being frozen for four years, I was worried she wouldn't implant it the right place, and that she wouldn't take. I guess where I am now then is really par for the course. Good luck to me ever getting a good night's sleep again. Once she's here I'll be up watching her breathe until she's 18! So today I ask myself how does my worry serve me? And then take the deepest breath I can.

Another thing, unfortunately tentative for people on IF Island are laws surrounding infertility treatments. I know around the world there are many different laws that prohibit certain people from accessing certain treatments. And certain third party reproduction options, like surrogacy and egg donation, aren't legal in many places. Tomorrow, Colorado and North Dakota will vote on "personhood ballot initiatives" that could grant embryos the same rights as people, thus making IVF treatments in those states nearly impossible, as "performing any act that potentially jeopardizes [embryo] safety could be seen as a criminal offense under these vaguely worded personhood measures." Infertility advocate Keiko Zoll wrote a good explanation of what it all means if you're interested. 

But while much in life, especially life on IF Island is tentative, there are a few things that are certain. The love we all have from family and friends and partners and others in the IF community. The determination we all have to figure out how to create our families. The strength and resilience and patience we all cultivate while in "process." And hope. I know I write about being hopeful and the challenges of being hopeful sometimes, but I believe it is important and also something we all inherently have within us. Even if it is buried at times, or even if it's scared back into its shell by something upsetting. These things I know to be for sure. 

Also, just a heads up, but if you live in the LA area, there is a fundraiser walk this coming weekend, Saturday, November 8th in the Encino Hills.  It is a walk to support the BabyQuest Foundation, one of if not the only non-profit I know of that helps people fund infertility treatments. It's a great way to get more information, connect to the community, get some exercise, and raise money for a good cause. Check it out if you're local. I was planning on being there to register people but I'm not totally sure after this morning. But there will be a lot of great people out there!

Happy Monday everyone!

 

 

Bed Rest Survival Guide

So I don't really want to say I'm on bed rest, because really, it's a very modified version of bed rest. There are people who have to lay in bed all day and only get up to go to the bathroom and maybe get a quick snack. That's awful. I'm being cautious and laying low because I don't want to land in the ER again, and aside from being a little lonely at times, I can't complain. 

People have been asking me what I do all day and wondering how many hours of Real Housewives I watch daily. The answer to the first question is I'm not totally sure, the day kind of just goes and somehow I manage to stay kind of busy. And the answer to the second question is none. I have never seen a single episode of Real Housewives. I know. What's wrong with me, right? So here's my list of things to have/do to survive being housebound:

1) GOOD BOOKS. I usually have a few books going at the same time. One is a for fun book, one is infertility/parenting related and one is hopefully more educational. My for fun book this week was actually one of my dad's books. Dad is a writer with over 20 published books and when I went on bed rest he brought over a stack, I mean, a STACK of his books for me to read. No excuses, right? Well, I read one of his more recent fiction books, Begin Again Finnegan, a Hollywood thriller, and was really impressed! Finished it in less than two days and now my dad can't nag me about not reading his books. The infertility related book I read this week was a new book called Where Have All The Storks Gone?. It's written by a husband and wife who were on IF Island for several years, and lived to tell their story. It's also a very quick read and provides both of their perspectives, and many scenes/moments a lot of us here on the Island can relate to. They also have a website for the infertility community called stork parenting. Now I'm reading a book my yoga teacher brought over called The Continuum Concept that is basically telling me I should have constant physical contact with Momo when she's born. It's interesting to read different books on parenting but there is SO much information out there, sometimes it's too much and too conflicting. I'm confident we will figure it all out at some point.

2) GOOD FRIENDS. It is really helpful to have visitors when stuck at home. Practicing my dwindling social skills once a day for an hour or so helps me feel somewhat connected to the world. 

3) GOOD FOOD. Obviously. I'm slightly obsessed with the fact that I know I'm not getting enough protein. I try but I'd rather eat fruit or ice cream than protein. Then I feel guilty and paranoid but I do the best I can. Good food can have a variety of meaning I suppose.

4) GOOD TV. For some it's bad TV. For me, I've really been watching nothing but the World Series, and as a Giants fan last night was some seriously bad TV. OMG. It was awful. I'm really excited that Master Chef Junior is coming back in November. I really blew through too many good series during my first round of bed rest.  

5) A GOOD CRAFT PROJECT. I'm not super crafty but wish I was. I write. That's my craft. And I do spend a lot of time writing. But I think it's good to also do something with your hands, other than typing. So my mom said she would get a bunch of plain onesies and teach me to embroider. Baking sometimes also satisfies the urge to create, and also satisfies the urge to stuff my face. 

Hmmm. What else. I'm able to do some work from home as well, so that keeps me busy. As does working on our documentary. I'm considering the fact I haven't worn shoes or real pants in a month a blessing rather than seeing it as being confining. It's all a matter of perspective and my view on all of this now is that the only thing that matters is that Momo is growing. 

Any one else have to do bed rest? Any good survival tips?

A Family Addition

Last night, my pregnant sister-in-law had her baby. Noah and I were on pins and needles for much of the day as Noah received text updates from his brother. We were both genuinely excited and nervous--for them in the moment, and for us in the future. Noah and I have spent so long trying to get something to grow in me, we didn't really think about getting it out. I am still so focused on keeping Momo in I can't imagine the exit strategy. Learning the play by play of birth was...a lot to take in. 

All went well for them and a new human being is officially on the grid. This whole process of making life is so amazing and insane--beautiful and painful. I know Noah and I got to feel the thrill of their experience partly because we know Momo is coming too. Is that terribly selfish? Maybe. But it's the truth. I don't know how I would have felt if we had just come off another unsuccessful cycle or a loss. I don't know how it would be if we were in the process of getting matched with a birth mom through an adoption agency, or had just taken out a loan to pay for an anonymous egg donor. I'd like to think I would be just as excited and that I'd be able to put my own self and situation aside to fully appreciate theirs, but I don't know. There is something specific about infertility that stings at the core, and creates some of the most unwanted feelings of jealousy or frustration. I didn't feel that last night. I just felt happy (and a little terrified of birth, but I'm not there yet.)

I haven't been very present for much of their pregnancy process and I woke up wondering if I was even going to be welcomed to play the role of Auntie, and figure out what that really means. Being on IF Island while friends and family are frolicking around Fertile Farms is a tough spot. Many people you want to support or who you want to be supported by just can't. It's a very hard thing to logically explain but a wedge gets created and both sides start to drift. That's at least what I've found to be a common situation. My mother always said how I handled myself in the moment was important, because one day things would be different. Sometimes I felt I could handle myself well, sometimes I couldn't. Sometimes I feel regret,and sometimes I recognize I did and am still doing the very best I can. I always try to be honest with others, but more importantly with myself. 

Last night when their baby was born and we got a first glimpse, Noah said, "looks like she has my brother's mouth, kind of." We were already looking at identifying the baby through the parents--one of the most common things we all do. Who does she look like? I had an overwhelming feeling in that moment of gratitude. It was weird. I thought I'd be sad or something, that Noah and I won't have that experience of finding our traits in Momo's face, but I wasn't. I felt so thankful to the egg donor and the couple who donated Momo as an embryo, for giving us this chance to grow and make and have Momo. I have no idea what or who Momo will look like, so she will just have to look like herself. I know one thing though, yesterday when I saw her on the ultrasound at the doctor's office, the doc said she looked like she had long legs. Yay for donated genetics, because long legs were not something I would have been able to pass down! (Did I mention the egg donor was 5'11? And I'm 5'5 in heels? Again, terrified about the exit strategy).

Momo is kind of saving our lives right now. It's a lot of pressure, perhaps, on a 17 week old fetus, but it's true. She was waving on the ultrasound yesterday and the placenta previa is slowly making it's way away from my cervix, which hopefully will mean no more blood baths. I'll keep resting for another month and hopefully it will resolve soon. 

My friend Candace once said that adoption is not a cure for infertility. She adopted her incredible baby boy and her life is forever changed. She is a mom now, and that's her main focus, but when she said that adoption isn't a cure, that kind of struck me. Having Momo won't cure our infertility, but it will give us a different focal point. The whole journey (that's still going) has given us an experience and an appreciation that we wouldn't have been able to have otherwise. 

Sending love and wishes that everyone on the Island will soon find a different focus. 

Little Ole Me on Fertility Revolution Podcast

Greetings and happy saturday from...my bed! You'd think I'd be sick of being in bed but I have to say, it's kind of my safe space now. And I can move about so it's really not as bad as some people who have to literally lay in a supine position all day long. I can't complain. 

So just a short post today giving anyone interested a heads up that I was interviewed on the Fertility Revolution Podcast. You can listen here if that's how you want to spend part of your saturday. (It's about 30 minutes or something). 

And if you're not in the mood, then scroll down and maybe one of these little internet gems will make you smile. Have a great weekend. 

We're Driving Each Other Bananas!

Well, actually, I'm driving him bananas. Bed rest take two, week two begins today and let me say we survived week one by the skin of our teeth. Is that the saying? So weird. 

I've written about the challenges IF Island can have on a relationship many times before, specifically in these few posts. Mostly I've written about the common relationship stressors and the various ways Noah and I have gotten through them. I do feel our relationship is stronger from our experiences and we definitely communicate better. But sometimes the daily grind of what's happening on IF Island and beyond can just kind of make you drive each other crazy.

Being on round two of bed rest (not counting short stints post transfers), means its old news. The first time around was in August with the hematoma. I was so terrified and so sick and nauseous that I could hardly eat or move and basically just moaned in bed, which kind of made things easier. I wasn't as conscious. This time around, Momo is stronger so I'm a little more confident, and I'm more alert, which makes me more frustrated and bossy. I'm very aware of that. And so is Noah.

I am very lucky to have a wonderfully patient husband, but he's a) at work for about 10 hours a day b) forgetful c) exhausted when he gets home. I on the other hand am a) in bed or shuffling around the house for about 10 hours a day b) super specific (slightly OCD) about how I like things c) awake and ready to bark my needs the second he walks through the door. While I am not just flat on my back all day, I can do some things around the house, I notice I start spotting more when I'm upright and more "active." And that makes me panic. So I'm trying to be still and I definitely can't do things like go to the market or climb a ladder to change a light bulb (that's been out for weeks but I'm trying not to notice). I feel helpless and useless which in turn makes me frustrated. Then Noah gets home from his long day and I feel guilty asking him to do all these things and really, I don't want him to go to the market, I want him to hang out with me. But the next day when there's no food in the house, I'm angry that there's no food in the house. See where this is going? In circles. 

Last night we talked about this merry-go-round we're riding. It was almost 10pm and I had a really weird cramp in my left pelvic area that started sharp and went dull and is still there (?), so I was, surprise, in bed, and asked him to bring me a bowl of cereal. He brought up a giant bowl overflowing with cereal, about a half an inch of milk and giant slices of bananas. I suddenly wanted to cry (also, I think the hormones are kicking up a notch, is that possible?). It was so...clumsy and not how I wanted it. On the one hand I was so appreciative that I have him and he was bringing me a late night snack and he actually does take very good care of me, but on the other hand, the milk to cereal ratio just made me feel like crying. I didn't want to criticize his efforts and ask him to go back downstairs to get more milk, but I also didn't really want to eat it dry. First world problems, right? I ended up saying something bitchy about how giant the bowl was and he snapped back something rude like, "well, don't eat it if you don't want all of it."

We were both at our limits and we recognized that right away. The years we've spent learning to problem solve on the Island have taught us how to take a step back and discuss a situation like grown ups. We ended up having a good conversation about how we communicate what we want as well as our disappointments. We avoided another mango meltdown by acknowledging my own limitations and frustrations and how for years things just haven't gone the way I would choose or want. And we acknowledged how Noah has taken on a double load and how some of those duties he just doesn't like or isn't great at. And we came up with a plan of how we were going to tackle the next week. I explained my preference for thinly sliced bananas and he laughed at me. Order was restored. 

I am going to continue to try and be more flexible and patient with him, myself and the situation. He is going to try to remember to do some of the things I ask and work on his plating presentation. And we are going to get through this. 

A special thanks to my friend's who've come by and brought food and good company--you're helping more than you know! 

Finding Perspective

One day, each and every one of us on IF Island will be able to look back at the dark infertility years and say, "remember when..." That's a fact. Because one day we will all be over 50 (hopefully) and I don't think doctors prescribe menopur to women over 50 because they are probably starting to make their own post-menopausal pee. (I'm pretty sure that's the secret ingredient in menopur, or at least it was at some point in time). At some point, we will have resolved our infertility crisis and be looking back in retrospect, possibly arguing with out sig figs as we try to remember if we did three IUI's or only two? Did we also do a frozen transfer off that cycle or was that the time before? Was I on bed rest the whole time or just a few months (TBD, fingers crossed). Everything that feels so immediate and intense right now won't feel that way forever.

I think about gaining perspective often when I start to feel frustrated. Being on IF Island means the pause button on your life has been pushed. It often means rather than moving forward with hitting certain milestones in your life, you're kind of doing a side shuffle. It means many other hopes and dreams and plans are put on hold. And when you're in it, it feels never-ending. 

Spending the better part of the week now on bed rest is its own kind of holding pattern. In one way I feel like I am moving forward as Momo is growing and each day is a day closer (though the end of March 2015 feels like a million years away). But I get frustrated at what my life and career and relationships have become--stuck. Noah wanted to try and go on a trip over the winter holiday, ummmm.... I just had to file for disability from work, and laying in my bed with me is not the preferred past time of most of my pals. Though I am so appreciate of friends who come by and bring food and good company, it really helps the day go by. 

But. And there's a but. It just is what it is. I didn't expect to deal with infertility for the years that I did. I didn't think being P was going to put me on my ass like this. I didn't think once I got P I'd still feel so stuck, but it is what it is. And if I start to pull the focus of my lens back a little to get more of a wide angle view, I can start to see the bigger picture. Four years of infertility and treatments and a complicated P isn't totally a drop in the bucket but it isn't eternity. On the time-line of my life it will be a small dark spot. Momo will one day have her first birthday. She will start school. She will turn 16. She will learn to drive. OMG. Now I seriously have anxiety. 

I was reading something about parenting after infertility and it seems like one of the hardest things for people who are P after ART is to be able to imagine the child, as a child. I think that may be because we on IF Island are so focused in on the immediate experience we all have--it's hard to open out to imagining what's on the other side of all this. 

But there is another side. And that's important for all of us to remember. No matter where we are in the process, I think it's helpful to take some time to get perspective and remind ourselves whatever our immediate experience is right now will change. It will. Change is the only thing we can be certain of, right?

Learning Not To Panic

I typed in the title of this post and am now just sitting here. I thought I had some words of wisdom about calming the fear and relaxing the body but if I'm being honest, I don't know how good a job I'm doing myself. Ok. Let's dissect this together shall we.

Thursday was one of the most traumatizing days of my life. In moments of panic like that, sometimes the brain and body go into this bizarre survival mode where you become somewhat removed for the immediate experience. I was there, I was feeling what was happening, but I was also checked out. 

Yesterday I went to my OB and she confirmed everything the ER doc said. Momo is fine, the placenta is being difficult. While I trust my doctor and really like her, I'm having a hard time believing everything is fine. I woke up all through the night on Thursday because I could feel myself bleeding. I woke up this morning wanting to cry because my belly looks less round and I'm worried I'm "deflating" and Momo's little sac is going to close in on itself, or something ridiculous. I have guilt and fear about my body not working properly, and worries that something else terrible and scary is lurking around the corner for us. 

And now it's Saturday morning, and I have to get a hold of myself. All my feelings and fears are normal and understandable, but they don't serve me in any way. They just make me feel bad and drive Noah bananas. Noah has this enviable yet somewhat annoying ability to never get freaked out. About anything. Ever. He goes with the facts he knows and moves on.

The facts we know are that Momo is still in there. I'm not "deflating" and she still has her heartbeat and her dance moves and is measuring at 15 weeks, which is on target. My body is not failing. My body has grown her from a blob of soap bubbles to what looks pretty close to a human baby, even at this stage. My body is working out the kinks. It seems to throw us some curve balls at times and that's frustrating, but it is what it is. Momo seems to know how to hit the ball out of the park every time. 

It's a sunny day here in LALA land, and while I'm confined to the bed, I can take my dark, fearful sunglasses off and just sit with what is. For now. Because that's all I have. Worrying and wondering about what might happen, and then worrying and wondering about how my worry and wonder are negatively impacting Momo is making me crazy. So I'm just going to stop. I'm going to take a deep breath and watch back  the footage of yesterdays ultrasound. Noah filmed Momo on the ultrasound monitor so I can watch and remember that she's still there and she's okay. 

That's my weekend mantra. We're ok. Everything is ok. My mom and aunt are coming over with healthy food so Momo doesn't eat a giant bowl of cereal with a giant scoop of ice cream in it for dinner, again. 

Wishing and hoping everyone out there is more than ok this weekend. Thanks for all the love and support.

There really is no rescue boat

When I first got my passport stamped to enter IF Island, I didn't really know what was happening. I had to go to that Stirrup Queens website to look up the acronyms, because I didn't speak the language. I started searching for other blogs I could relate to and sometimes it was helpful, sometimes it was overwhelming. I decided to start this blog as a way to kind of find my own voice in this, and to hopefully be able to share with others. 

I remember early on, coming across infertility blogs of people who had gone on to get P and then parent. And while part of me felt relieved and genuinely happy for them and the knowledge that this can work for people and people do get out, I also felt a little...annoyed? Jealous? Those are not exactly the right words. But I was slightly turned off by the blogs of people who had become P and then only wrote about being P. It made sense, that was now their experience, and the thing about blogs is they happen in real time. But I felt a little...abandoned, because I was in the absolute depths of my IF despair. There were moments where I even forgot what the goal was because all I could see was the next needle in front of me or the crossed-off cycle calendar and empty prescription bottles in the trash. 

I remember saying to Noah, "what's going to happen to the blog if we ever get pregnant?" He looked at me like I was a complete idiot and said something about that being the goal and still being able to write about both. I guess in my mind once P happened I thought a rescue boat would scoot up to the Island, and a sexy Brazilian guy would hand me (and Noah of course) a virgin margarita and zip me off to another Island where people just talked about baby names and complained about P symptoms. I couldn't have been more wrong. There's no speedy rescue boat, and definitely no sexy Brazilian. 

I guess what I'm trying to say is being a little P and then slowly gaining momentum towards being solidly P actually just feels like another step in the infertility journey. Granted, it's the big step we all want to take, but I'm definitely not off the Island. I will never abandon my fellow Islanders and this blog is not going to shift to being all about P. I honestly know nothing about that anyway, but I'm learning and I so appreciate the guidance and comments from all of you who are or have been P.

Many people are just starting their journey, doing their first IUI or IVF, coming off of their first cancelled cycle, waiting for their first betas, deciding to move to third party or adoption. I'm going to do my best to continue to write about all these things and am going to get better at posting more video, though I have to say it kind of upsets me when I see how young Noah and I (and our RE) look when we first started ART. I think four years on IF Island aged us exponentially!

So I guess that was a wordy way to say I'm still infertile. (Ugh, I hate that word) and that's still what this blog is about. It's about the journey and about learning how to pick yourself up again when you've been knocked down, yet again. I really hope I don't have to experience that heartbreak again. I know it would be way worse than it's ever been. So I'll continue to focus on the positives and imagine and visualize Momo growing and hanging on and becoming the baby that was meant to be our baby. I'm going to be grateful to feel completely sick to my stomach and on bed rest until further notice. I'm going to hope to see a stronger heartbeat and a bigger gummy bear at tomorrow's ultrasound, and I'll do my very best to surrender the process with all it's unknowns. 

And I wish everyone out there, not matter where you are in your process lots of love and strength. 

I Broke My Streak

For the first time in four years I feel like we got good news. Momo is in there. Measuring at 7w1d (which is what I am) and 133 bpm (which is an average heart rate), Momo is looking good. I think I just created his (or her) first baseball card stats. Take a look:

Momo looks like a tiny buffalo on its side. The blood blob is still there. So we aren't in the clear, but it got smaller. Momo seems to not care about the blood monster. He's flexible and easy going like his dad. 

So I'm back in bed (Momo also likes to be lazy like his mom). My RE said to just be still, let this blood situation clear up, and check back in in a week.  Yes Sir! 

So that's the plan. I'm starting to believe this might be real. Not ready to say the P word, but getting close. I know anything can happen, but something in my gut (perhaps a tiny buffalo with a heartbeat) tells me Momo wants to be here. My Doc said we got a slow start, but, "it's a fighter, like its mama."

Indeed. I'll take the good news today but with no attachments or expectations. Just gratitude to be one step closer. 

 

Happy Friday IF Islanders!

Greetings from my bed for yet another day laying on my ass!

Actually, I look more like...

I've officially spent the better part of this week thinking about, worrying about, talking about, and monitoring what may or may not be coming out of my private parts. I'm really putting my masters degree to good use. I woke up this morning and decided this blood monster with it's horrifying name (subchorionic hematoma) is ridiculous. Have I seriously come this far only to be wiped out by some blob of stale blood? No. That's not happening. That's truly absurd. If there's a problem with the embryo--if it isn't developing properly or something seems wrong, ok, I understand these things happen. But a friggin' pool of blood that just happened to form to threaten and intimidate and rob me of any possible feelings of joy and excitement over finally getting P? No. I don't think so. 

P at last! P at last! Thank God almighty we're P at last! Yeah, no. I'm not going out like this.

I've been good. I've been sedentary. I've been eating as much as I can. It sounds like a prescription for an absolute obese disaster but whatever. This is a moment in time, and this too shall pass. 

This morning, a fellow IF Island friend who I've never met but have grown very close to texted me one single word. Negative. Followed by a broken heart emoji. She is on her second transfer on her second donor cycle and getting her text first thing this morning made me want to punch a hole in the wall. She has a few more frosties on ice but come on! When will her torture end? It was a reminder that there is no justice on IF Island. There is nothing fair. But it is another moment in time, and this too shall pass for her. 

IF Island is filled with highs and lows. More lows than highs. I so relate to the feeling of that broken heart emoji. Here's a video post from the day after all our embryos fell apart in the dish. My heart wasn't just cleanly broken down the middle, it was completely shattered. I always fear that shattered heart is just around the corner, but today, I'll send love to my friend and I'll decide to just be positive about my situation. There may be time for sadness and broken hearts later, when we know things for sure. But as long as we don't, I'm choosing to find hope in the uncertainty rather than fear and dread. It may not change the outcome but it will give me a day of possibly feeling decent. We all need those days.

Sending love to all the broken hearts and sending an optimistic spin to anyone in a place of uncomfortable uncertainty. 

Emotional Whirlwind

Yesterday was a total whirlwind of emotions. It started with scared--seeing a giant glob of blood next to Momo and not knowing what was going on freaked me out. Then I became obsessed with finding answers--looking to Dr. Google for what this blood clot with the worst name EVER actually is. I didn't quit understand the hematoma and thought maybe it was happening because there is something wrong with the embryo. My doc said something about nature taking its course if the embryo is bad, and I was trying to make sense of that. Was this nature taking its course? Then I got really angry--why is this happening? These things happen in less than 3% of pregnancies, and after all this I just happen to be one of them? SERIOUSLY? I blamed myself thinking maybe I did this by going for a long walk two weeks ago. I was angry with the Seattle clinic for being so nonchalant about bed rest and encouraging activity after an FET. I was angry that Momo might not be getting the nutrients he needs because the blob of blood is in the way.  I was angry that it seemed like my body was sabotaging me, yet again. I was angry that we saw a heartbeat and felt nothing but fear. Then I was sad. Just plain sad to the core of my being.

Noah came home last night tired. He brought home food and said, "I thought hearing our baby's heartbeat would be the best day of our lives." I felt sad that we've been robbed of the joy this experience is "supposed" to bring. As much as I tried to just focus on the positives--that we heard a heartbeat, I couldn't. My truth is that I'm scared. I'm not pessimistic, just scared.

Through our years on IF Island we've been in this emotional whirlwind before. Feelings spin so quickly they make you sick. Things happen that we never fathomed could happen, and half the time you don't understand what's going on. You cry until your eyeball sockets hurt and your brain feels like it's throbbing in your head, and then you have to make a decision. Am I going to be overwhelmed by my feelings, or am I going to regain some control? I wavered for much of the day. I had moments where I felt like if this pregnancy isn't going to be viable, just put me out of my misery already. Followed by moments of feeling so sure that Momo wants to be our baby, is meant to be our baby, no blood monster is going to get in our way and Momo and I are going to fight this thing to its blood-clotty death! As I wavered between feelings of regret and anger and fear and determination and hope I tried to find a moment of stillness. I imagined myself still, bare feet in a cold rushing river. How can I make my mind and my emotional self just still? At least for a moment. 

In my moment of stillness I decided this is another lesson in learning to be ok with uncertainty. I cannot look back at what may or may not have happened and I cannot look forward to what might happen. I can just be still. Physically and emotionally. I can try to imagine the blood monster (I kind of want to name it Kurtis, I don't know why) shriveling up and dying--absorbing into my body and falling out. Ugh, how gross. And I can picture Momo, our little fighter. The legend of Momotaro is that he was born out of a peach, (Momo actually means peach) and he went on to battle villains and ogres that were terrorizing his family's village, and in the end saved the town. Noah speaks to Momo every night. He puts his scruffy face to my belly, identifies himself, "Momo, this is your dad," and then instructs Momo to keep hanging on. No matter what ogre or villain or blood monster is trying to attack you--just hold on! To bad Momo is the size of an orange seed and doesn't have legs to kick this things ass!

My dad wrote me an email this morning. It read:

Last night I had a dream that you were on something like an island. Mom and I were looking for you. We came to a wall, and I heard the slight distant cry of a baby behind it.  We started to break down the wall, got a hole in it, and came to a wooden fence.  We started to take that apart.  And then we saw you, holding your baby, coming out of a room. Didn't feel like an island then.  You looked at us but didn't smile in relief. You were just so tired and concerned about staying alive. I don't know where you got food to eat, but the baby was only surviving thru you and it was big enough that it looked like it should be on some solid foods.  

 

So, what does it mean?  That we would break thru all barriers to get to you?  That you can survive conditions that would normally undermine anyone else?

 Perhaps surviving the blood monster is my first test of parenthood. Perhaps I have to learn to break through the emotional barriers of fear and the physical barriers of my own body threatening our little bean. Perhaps there are a lot of red flags and warning signs for me, and I have to choose to see nothing but Momo. Beating at 109 beats per minute. Not because I'm an ignorant fool, but because it doesn't serve me at all to focus on the red flags. 

 

I know this pregnancy will either work, or it wont. Wow, that's the first time I acknowledged that I'm...and I actually wrote the P word. I hate the sentence it's in. I know that much of it is out of my hands. I know that if something is wrong with the embryo, nature will most likely take its course and I have to come to terms with that. I know that I have to be still and present and open to whatever is. I also know that I have 12 episodes of Master Chef that can get me through the day. And I have so many incredibly supportive fellow IF Islanders! Thank you all so much for posting your stories and sharing information. Thank you all so much!

Just Another Day in Paradise...ugh

So I do have a subchorionic hematoma, and it ain't pretty. Last night was a repeat of saturday night, complete with a golf ball size blob of something scary. Lots of bright red blood. The funny thing about all this is once something freakish happens I get a little desensitized. Of course it's always scary but I was like, "Oh terrific, that's happening again." Knowing Momo was still there after the last blood bath made me feel like it was possible for him to still be there today. 

And he is. But...

He's surrounded by blood. And a lot of it. 

So that's Momo in his little sac on the right, and the large mass-like blob on the left is the pool of blood. Glorious. The doc said it looked like there was some "separation", and Momo is measuring a little small at 5 weeks 6 days when I am 6 weeks 3 days today. Not good signs. None of what has happened thus far have been good signs. Except for one. Momo's heartbeat. We heard it today for the first time. 109 beautiful little beats per minute. It's a little slow but also very early. 

So now what? I wait. That blood is going to have to come out at some point and either it will take Momo with it or it won't. There's no way to know. My doc feels like there have been so many red flags, that if Momo doesn't survive than there was something wrong and it wasn't meant to be. If Momo does survive whatever is looming around the corner for us, than I don't care how small he's measuring, he's the toughest, strongest baby there ever was. He's also probably a girl in that case.

Thanks to everyone for the support and for sharing similar stories. I know things can go either way and I'm trying to stay positive. Today I'm on bed rest and Momo is there and has a beating heart. A storm is coming and we'll just have to see if we're both still standing in the aftermath. 

Getting through the next week. AHHHH!

We got home late last night and I slept hard. The progesterone induced crazy dreams have begun, and last night's dream was something about my strange neighbor holding my sister and me captive in a weird house. It seems like the last time I was in the two week wait I had similar bizarre dreams. Though this isn't a 2ww, it's a 1ww. One more week! I have made a promise with another friend in her glorious waiting period, that we will not Google anything. Period. No "early pregnancy symptoms," "success rates of hatching blastocysts," "how much pineapple core is too much?" or "did I ruin my chances by tripping on a step?" There are so many mixed reviews on bed rest and what to do during this time period, it can make a person crazy. I'm already crazy-- no need to add fuel to the fire.

It also doesn't help to be superstitious. Last night, at the Seattle airport, I did something I vowed never to do. I bought a onesie:

Before we left for Seattle I made a joke that if we found a onesie that said "Made in Seattle," we should get it, because Momo was literally made in Seattle. We didn't do much onesie shopping on our trip, but as we were walking through the airport, this little number caught my eye. In my head nothing says bad juju like buying a onesie prematurely-- but I also thought, "what are the odds that I find a made in Seattle onesie at the airport on my way out of town? Maybe it's good luck?"

Bad juju and good luck are all completely relative to how I'm feeling in a given moment! Being paranoid that rolling over on my stomach too hard will make or break our success is ridiculous. Many of us can't help these thoughts, but in the end it just feels like reasons to blame ourselves if things don't go well. All of us do everything we can in a given cycle. Sometimes things work, sometimes they don't. We have to slow down within reason, but also live our lives. If it's either going to work or it isn't, buying a onesie isn't going to affect the outcome. 

So I'm not going to see this little onesie I got as a good luck charm or otherwise. I'm going to shove it under the bed with all the other good luck trinkets I've collected over the years. Hopefully, one day, I'll be able to pull it out and snap Momo into it--remembering the moment Noah and I were hustling to catch a flight home--Noah carrying all of our luggage while I carried just this little onesie in a brown paper bag. Either that, or I'll send it to my brother-in-law whose baby is due at the end of this year. 

So much love and patience to anyone in this waiting torture! Hoping this is our ticket off the Island!

So Nice to Meet You, Now Please Take off Your Underpants

Momotaro, our donated embryo is in! Here's baby's first head shot: 

They did assisted hatching, so that's why it's kind of coming out of its shell. Momo is a little shy, like its dad.  The transfer was easy, the doctor was nice (met her for the first time today and spent about four minutes with her), and the embryologist said it thawed well and looked good. What more can I ask for? More valium.

It really has taken a lot to get here. Not just the physical journey of getting in a car, then a plane, then a train/light rail, then a boat (Noah's family lives on an island off of Seattle), then another car-- but the journey of getting to embryo adoption. It's not exactly something you wake up one morning and decide to do. Some serious...stuff has to go down before one gets to this decision. And it is in that...stuff where we've learned and hurt and grown and compromised and stood dumbfounded with my pants around my ankles waiting for my morning shot and thinking, "how did this happen?" Learning to sit with and wade through the... stuff forces you to keep stepping up to the plate and swinging for the fences, even when you keep striking out. This...stuff teaches you to show up for yourself and your partner and your baby-to-be--even after repeated abuse and heartbreak. 

I haven't always thought of this...stuff as a journey. There was a lot of time spent confused and crying--angry at how this was all playing out. I still have my moments, no doubt, but I just keep reminding myself that I will be a mom.  Maybe I am right now as I write this. Mom to a day five hatching blastocyst that's been trying to implant into my puffy uterus lining for the last five hours and 14 minutes. 

So now I follow Dr. Google's bed rest advice (did I mention I'm really bad at best rest and am totally not following the last bed rest protocol because this clinic says there is not need to be totally still) by eating pineapple core, drinking hot beverages, and keeping my feet warm. Even though I'm perfectly aware that Momotaro will either stick or not, the thickness of my socks and the temperature of my beverages give me some sense of control. 

I have no delusions about having control over the outcome. Last night I freaked out because I've had greasy french fries three times in the past two days. Very unlike me. I suddenly became convinced that I'd sabotaged the FET by not eating healthy foods. Noah had to remind me that a few fries will not come between me and my baby. Any baby of mine will inevitably love french fries. What I can control right now is my optimism, even if it means the fall will feel that much farther. The fall will suck and hurt anyway-- I might as well send my absolute whole-hearted truth into the universe that I want this. I want this to work really, really bad. And in about ten days I'll know if it did. 

Thanks to everyone for all the love and support, and good luck to my fellow Islanders who have procedures in the upcoming days!

2WW has officially become a 1WW

The weeks go by whether you're having fun or not, so might as well have the most fun possible I suppose. Part of what has been really fun for me is obsessing on TTC message boards about possible "symptoms" during the 2ww, of which I have none. Well, I have had a slight tightness on the left side of my belly which, could very well be gas because I also have gas, which I have not found in my research to be a pregnancy symptom. I have been having some vivid dreams though, the last one being about running up a jungle gym with no pants on trying to hit bad guys with various stuffed animals from my childhood. Oh, and I did have another dream the other night that I was pregnant but it was with my sister's egg and our friend's sperm and everyone was crying and upset that it worked because our friend regretted giving us sperm and Noah and I were like, "why did we do that?"...it was a hot mess. Really strange and I woke up with a weird feeling.

This morning Noah woke up chipper and said he had a "good dream." He has a less insane psyche than I do so I was glad to hear his dream involved a glimpse of a possible future that was positive, but he won't let me share it because he's become a little superstitious. Good dreams are better than bad dreams. That's all I'll say.

I knew a gal who went through IVF and it didn't work out the first round. She did it again and PGD tested the embryos and in the end had two normal embryos, a boy and a girl. By transfer day she and her husband were told that only the girl was developing and the boy embryo had arrested, or whatever they call it when it seems to stop developing. The night before the transfer her husband had a dream that they had a son, and when they went in for transfer he insisted the doctor put both embryos in. Hesitantly, the doctor did, and they got pregnant and now have a beautiful, brilliant, healthy boy. 

I don't know what my point here is really other than I'm going to try and clear up my unconscious mind as much as possible, and keep dreaming. Wishing that everyones dreams come true, unless you're chasing bad guys with no pants and a bag of decrepit stuffed animals. 

Cry Baby--and I'm not talking about myself!

Soooo...I've got nothing. Trying to edit video, maybe we'll get something done by the end of the week that we can post, but I did come across this video of the  Cutest Baby ever. It's a good sign that I can watch video of a cute baby without crying myself. It's honestly taken some time to get here. 

Noah and I have been watching some of our old video footage and it's crazy how much and how little has happened in the past two years. It's some how a total blur and yet I have so many specific intense memories as well. One day we'll be looking back at this time as the dark infertility years. Nothing stays the same forever. One day we'll be like, "Remember when we were holed up in the house with a bag of shots crying all the time? Hahahaha...what a distant memory!!!" We probably won't laugh. But it will be in the past. Sometimes when things feel so intense I have to remind myself of that. As much as it's important to be present, it's also important to remember if the present is really painful it may not be as bad tomorrow. 

I'm going to keep scouring the internet for things that make me smile. I've survived bed rest like a pro--how can I seriously complain about that? Tomorrow I'm back to work and then will pretend that I'm not counting down the days until my Beta (10 days).

 

 

2WW Take 2!

Oh the glorious 2WW. How quickly I forget to feel gratitude just to be here, on my couch, surrounded by pillows and my insane thoughts. I should use this time to practice mindful meditation and honing in on the skills required to quiet a monkey mind. But instead I obsess online about the conflicting theories on bed rest and convince myself that chewing is in fact a form of exercise. It's the most movement I'm getting these days---nom nom nom.

Today is day three and I realize why I'm so crazy:

This is what my weekly schedules have looked like for the past...year and a half? Medications and appointments and lining or follicle growth measures. How can a person NOT become obsessive. The schedule changes faster than my hormonal mood swings and the constant checking and double checking to see if I'm doing the right thing is absolute crazy making. Then when I get measurements of some sort I obviously have to double check the message boards and online forums to make sure my lining, or whatever, is where it should be, and then I have to check all the natural remedies to make my lining, or whatever, better.  THIS IS THE MAIN INGREDIENT OF TAKING A SOMEWHAT NORMAL WOMAN AND MAKING THEM A CRAZY PERSON! 

I have a new schedule now, which looks like this:

DO NOT. DO NOT. DO NOT! If I do ABSOLUTELY NOTHING but eat, then I'm safe. Anxiety much? And really, it's a lot of ridiculousness but hell if I'm going to mess with my directions. I've become a stellar student at following directions. I've also added my own list of don'ts that I've compiled off the internet and from other...sources. Don't drink cold beverages or eat cold foods. Don't walk faster than a three legged-turtle. Don't sit up to eat soup, just let it dribble all over your face as you try to spoon it into your mouth. Don't let your husband have a moments rest, make sure to call his name asking him to get you stuff the second he walks away and sits down to do something other than serve you.

But I suppose I should also create my DO list, and it will start with this picture:

This is the Lone Ranger before thaw on Day 6 (below) and after thaw about two months later (above). It's aged stunningly in my doctor's opinion.

DO be thankful that the embryo thawed successfully and maintained its form so well.

DO watch lots of shows and movies that distract you and make you laugh.

DO eat warm, comforting foods and be very grateful to have parents that live close by and a mother who is an amazing cook.

DO try and stop counting the days until the beta HCG blood test (my day to get tested is Nov 8th, why does that seem sooooo far away).

DO move slowly and practice mindful living.

DO nap, even if you're not a napper.

DO remember that whatever happens is just going to happen and that you'll deal with it with strength and courage.

Wish me luck on this last day of bed rest! Or better yet wish my couch luck, the poor thing is full of crumbs and starting to droop.

Guess who's bad at bed rest?

ME! How quickly I forget how desperately I wanted this day to come! I'm terrible at being flat on my back but really good at demanding things from my husband. I don't know who is more miserable right now. Actually I do. Poor guy. But we made it to this day! And for that I'm grateful.

We woke up yesterday at 6am, then 7am, then 8am, waiting for the call from the doc saying that the Lone Ranger had thawed fine and that we were still on for our 10:30am appointment. I was going nuts, making up all kinds of scenarios about why he wasn't calling, and finally at 9:30am I called the office and they were super nonchalant. 

"Oh, yeah, you're still on, come on in at 10:30am" the front desk gal said.

Perhaps I misunderstood and they were only going to call if for some reason it didn't thaw properly. There is an 80% chance that frozen embryos survive the thaw so of course my optimistic brain only registered that there is a 20% chance it wouldn't. It was a waste of anxiety yesterday morning because the Long Ranger not only thawed but thawed beautifully. The doc said often thawed embryos get a little deformed looking and compress a bit and have to bounce back into shape, but our little one looked almost exactly the same as it did before it was frozen. The doc looked at me and said, "You don't seem excited?!" Yeah. I know better than to be excited, ever. But the fact that he was excited was a good sign I suppose. He did five ET's that day and I believe we were the 5th. I wanted to ask him what he thought our chances were but I refrained. None of that matters. It will be a baby, or it won't. Ugh but I sooooo hope it will.

So I guess i have to do my part now, which means lying on the couch and watching entire seasons of master chef until my eyeballs fall out. My parents came over yesterday to hang out and bring food and maybe they'll come back tomorrow. People say, "enjoy the rest time" but really it's hard to enjoy. I just have to remember that for so long all I wanted it for the Lone Ranger to be in, nuzzling into my lining. Hopefully that's exactly what's happening.

Thanks for all the love and support everyone! It really helps me. We will do our best to post some video tomorrow, maybe of me on valium singing before transfer...I have no idea how or why that happened but it did.