Fertility Now!

At first I read it as octopus

Upon reading articles about this situation, here are my questions:

1.  Who decided that the mother was infertile and needed any fertility treatments to begin with?  She had six kids at home, apparently without any big spacing gaps. 

2.  What kind of crazy-ass doctor transfers EIGHT embryos?  Here's the quote which seems to confirm they were conceived via IVF:  "However, the children's grandmother, Angela Suleman, was quoted as telling the Los Angeles Times that her daughter had embryos implanted last year, and never intended to give birth to eight, but 'they all happened to take.' Suleman said her daughter rejected an offer from doctors to abort some of the embryos."  According to everything out there, it doesn't look like any of them are identical twins, so apparently there really were EIGHT embryos put back. 

3.  What kind of crazy-ass doctor transfers more than one embryo to a woman who has, let's repeat ourselves, already given birth to six kids, including one set of twins?  She is apparently 33 years old, so it's not like we're talking about a 44-year-old with a 5% chance of conceiving. 

4.  How crazy is it that the kids are so healthy that only one of them is on a ventilator?  (It's great; it just seemed unusual to me.)

What do you think? 

And in a totally unrelated note, am I the only one finding Bruce Spr*ngsteen oddly sexy these days? 

Bright new day

How nerdy is it to weep with delight  over an executive order? 

Or to sigh with relief over another one? 

What joy it is to see this week unfold:  to see that my trust was not misplaced,  that his promises were not mere posturing.  What a soaring feeling to watch so many of the tyrannies of the past eight years undone with the judicious sweep of a pen.  What an unaccustomed thrill to admire a leader--our leader!--acting with conviction and honor and integrity. 

What a lovely new world it is.  Thank you, Mr. President. 

   

Don't wanna

I've had this mantra going through my  head lately, a la this song by the Lemonheads:  don't wanna get pregnant, don't wanna get pregnant, but I don't wanna not get pregnant, I don't wanna not get pregnant. 

Ambivalent, much? 

It's been about 5 weeks since the D & C.  I've had a period, but my doctor had suggested that we wait one more cycle before starting the whole medication regimen again.  When I asked him about using birth control for that one cycle, though, he seemed perplexed, and waved off the idea.  So now we are in that place that we haven't seen for many years:  not actively trying to conceive, but not preventing it, either.  It is odd, but I have to say, I kind of like it.  The possibility of an uncoerced pregnancy is both alluring and terrifying:  what a lovely way to conceive, and yet, what a way to set myself up for more failure.   As I told Steve, when sex ends up leading to surgery, you approach it with more trepidation. 

We've finally submitted our blood work for the chromosomal analysis on ourselves, as well as an immunodeficiency panel for me.  Now we're just waiting to see what the results are, to give us a sense of what our options are, long-term.  Either way, for right now, we will forge ahead doing some variation on what we've been doing, for as long as it takes, or as long as we can handle it.  If it turns out we're mutants, then at least we'll know that some sort of genetic testing combined with IVF might work in the future.  If it turns out we're not, then it might make sense to talk to the other doctor about IVIG, again to be considered at some point in the future. 

We're not ready, yet, for more intervention or treatment than what we've been doing--ovulation induction; heparin, aspirin and progesterone from ovulation forward.  But at the same time, I'm not sure how many more of those cycles I have in me, and how many more losses it will take to get me to a breaking point.  Mostly, I'm hopeful I won't have to find that out. 

Mother tongue

The other night, Andrew, Steve and I sat down and began to eat.  After he ate a few bites,  Andrew looked at me and said, "dasisgute, Mom!"  I looked at him, confused, and he repeated, "dasisgute, dasisgute," until I finally realized:  he was saying "this is good."  In German.

Neither Steve nor I speak German; we both get by in Spanish, and I can falter my way through French, but this was more than a little surprising.  Of course, several days earlier, Andrew had spontaneously started counting in German, so I suppose we should have been prepared.

It turns out, you see, that one of his preschool teachers speaks some German, and apparently, she's been teaching them some words and phrases.  Meanwhile, I've been starting with Spanish--the colors, the numbers, and at Andrew's request, the alphabet.  His English vocabulary, meanwhile, has also taken off--he mimics nearly everything we say, and told our guests the other night that "the tyrannosaurus rex is the ferocious dinosaur."   

We get the feeling now that we could introduce any subject to him, and he would be able to instantly grasp and assimilate it.   We think either he is going through a developmental spurt, or he is actually part cyborg. 

In other words...we're having so much fun.     

Getting better

I'm home from my business trip now, thankfully--done with the Chihuahua depositions and the crime-scene hotel room.  (I was a bit taken aback by the large stained area on the carpet, but could have overlooked it, if not for the blood smears three-quarters of the way up the shower curtain.  I had a new room within minutes, but wondered if I should call the local Crimestoppers hotline.)  

Thanks for all the kind words and suggestions.  The hormonal insanity of my period over the past few days has no doubt colored my perceptions and reactions; thankfully, I can feel that evening out, and I'm hopeful that the next few weeks are a lot easier.  

As for my girl get-together--I have told them all, actually, about what's gone on with us the last year.  They have all been very kind, and I know that they will be as loving and supportive as they can be.   (The friend who is pregnant with twins, in particular, has my back something fierce.)  And I plan to spend a very large portion of my time with at least a slight wine buzz, so that will help, too.

For now, we're working on potty training, doing a dinosaur puzzle ad naseum, watching too much American Idol, and eating baked goods as fast as I can churn them out.  We're going to be just fine. 

So Hard

Yesterday was really hard, as you could probably tell from that post. 

It did not get easier when I went to the baby shower--a stupid idea, in retrospect, but I also could not stand staying home, where my sobs were met with Andrew's perplexed sadness ("What did you hurt, Mom?  Please stop crying, mom."). 

I thought, after driving around crying for 25 minutes, that I had let it out and that I was safe to be seen in public.  But when the hostess asked me, after I won a baby name game, "Is there a little one on the way?" I died a little inside.  And when, after I answered her with a tight wordless smile, the woman sitting next to me prodded, "Well, is there?"  I came disturbingly close to bursting into tears and storming out.   Or, you know, just punching her. 

I appreciate all of the suggestions about just not going to the meet-up of friends next month, and for the first time in the history of these meet-ups, I seriously considered it.  If it were just these two friends with whom I was meeting, I probably wouldn't go.  But, instead, it's a gathering of six of us--five people I want very much to see, in a sunny place where I'm looking forward to escaping the wintry chill.  Even though it's going to be hard in many ways, it also is going to be fun in a lot of ways, and I don't want to deny myself that.  I also really want to go and celebrate my friend's hard-won twin pregnancy, because I feel nothing but happy for her.  And I'm really hoping that in a month, I won't be quite so freaked out and upset by it.

Today has been hard, in a different way:  a three-hour drive to the small town where we buried my grandmother four months ago; a series of depositions with a Chihuahua in my lap; and the arrival of my period.  

It can only get better, right?   

The Straw

I was doing okay when I got the baby shower invitation the week of my D & C. 

I even did okay at the shower itself, for R., a dear childhood friend who is as freaked out about her pregnancy as she is excited by it (it's in no way unwanted, but their financial/job/living situation could be better). 

I was doing okay when I got the news the week of my bad ultrasound that one of my very best friends--the one whose due date was three days apart from mine--was pregnant with identical twins.

I soldiered through the other two baby shower invitations I've gotten in the past two weeks, even going to that satanic BabyMegastore to pick out gifts.  I didn't even cry, though my eyes did get suspiciously full at times.

I had steeled myself for today's shower--for an acquaintance who I know struggled through infertility to get here--and figured I'd be able to ooh and coo and get through somehow. 

But today, when I got the email--note, not even a phone call--from my friend of 18 years, the friend who has lamented about how terribly fertile she is, and who not-so-secretly began trying for her second child about, oh, 8 seconds ago--announcing that she's due in August--that, that was just too fucking much. 

How am I supposed to do this, how am I supposed to get through our annual meet-up next month, with her pregnancy, and the other friend's twin pregnancy, and my sad, sad, empty flabby belly?   

And now for something completely different...

Wow, this place has really been like The Miscarriage Channel--all miscarriage, all the time!--lately (incidentally, not a Nielsen favorite.  Who knew?). 

So, in an effort to lighten things up, and inspired by Vegas Mommy's recent post, I've decided to instead share some products that I love. 

• Kiwi Express Shine shoe sponge.  This thing is awesome for making your shoes look like you've actually paid attention to them, instead of other things like constantly-hungry cats, reproachful-looking boxers, and jam-smeared toddlers.  Score!
• Trader Joe's Vegetable Masala burgers.  These are just like the filling for a samosa, in burger form.  We eat them either wrapped in naan, or on a burger bun, with chutney.   Bonus:  they're actually good for you!  (120 calories, made mostly out of veggies and spices.)
• Alba Hawaiian body butter.  You can get it at Target or Whole Foods--a good sign, in my book.  (On one magical day, Costco was even selling an Alba Hawaiian variety pack for $17.  I should have bought six.)  The products are EU Safe Cosmetic Directives Compliant and smell really nice.   
• Trader Joe's Roasted Artichoke and Parmesan dip.  I know it is probably terrible for me, but it is delicious.  I could happily just eat it with a spoon.  (It is also exceedingly tasty with their pretzel chips.)   
• Haba toys.  We bought Andrew this magnet set for Christmas, and he loves it.  We love their design aesthetic--playful, colorful and whimsical, but not garish. 
• This American Life.  I am addicted to their weekly podcasts.  Steve and I also really enjoyed watching the first season of the TV show. 

So, what about you?  What are you loving? 

Results

Today I got back the genetic testing results from the D & C:  it was abnormal, with complete trisomy 8. 

I'm not sure how I feel about this news yet.  On the one hand, now I conclusively know that the miscarriage was not my uterus's fault, so I suppose I can stop sending it hate mail. 

On the other hand, because we haven't yet completed the genetic testing on ourselves, right now it appears to just be a garden-variety miscarriage, something that could happen to anyone, with no extra clues for what might help in the future:  bad luck, but not part of any discernable pattern. 

In recent days, I'd been looking more into IVIG and the APAS diagnosis for future treatment options.  Sadly, this study's results won't be available for another couple of years.  (I checked.)  Now, I think I'm going to wait a bit to follow up on that, until we know the results of our karyotyping.  It may still be an option, but I'd like to have all possible information before deciding what to do next.   

Meanwhile, I am both anxious and terrified about trying again.  This experience has also made me realize, yet again--though I've never lost sight of it--how very precious Andrew is to us.  It's ironic, I suppose, that part of my reason for trying for a second child--trying not to make him too very much the center of my world--has just made the sun shine around him all that much brighter.    

In with the new

So far, my 2009 has been really lovely:

Andrew slept in til 8:45 (!), and a little while later, some friends and their little boy came over for brunch (accompanied, of course, by mimosas).  Then we met up with my parents, and took Abby and Andrew for a walk by the river, in the bright sunshine.   Since then, we've been lounging and playing, bathing Andrew and enjoying his new toys and books.    

This week has been--thankfully--much better than the last.  I didn't realize quite how stressful it would be to have Steve's family here for so long, and I find myself much happier only having to coordinate the three of us this week. 

I need to do a repeat beta test, though I've not been in much of a hurry to do so; I suppose I'll swing by the lab tomorrow.  [Incidentally, my favorite nurse gave me a large stack of lab requisitions for stat HCG  tests, in case I had to go back several times; knowing their value on the infertile black market, I thought briefly of hoarding or selling them.]  I should be getting my chromosomal testing results from the D&C soon, and I'm hoping that gives me some useful information. 

Mostly, though, I'm trying to fit back into my life, trying to enjoy a few drug- and jab-free months, to soak up Andrew's sweet kisses and amusing pronouncements.  I'm hoping that the rest of this year is as full of love, sunshine and contentment that today was.   I hope yours is, too.