The Minority

If you are still in the TTC trenches, you may want to skip this post. Please take care of yourself.

When I first figured out I was infertile, I felt a deep sense of isolation.  Especially after my miscarriage. Of course, at the time, many friends were already pregnant and some already had children. I was one of the few in my circle who was trying without success. There was so much shame, embarrassment, and envy. Every time I secretly found out someone I knew was also infertile, it felt like a covert mission to let her know, "Me too! Me too!" The blogosphere became my safe place. It also became the source of several very close friendships that remain so crucial for me to this day. But the source of that closeness always has a hint of sadness. Because, when you make friends under such awful circumstances, there is that sense of knowing that the issue that brought you close remains, on the back burner.

Then, there was Little Fab. With our miracle baby, we agreed to hope for/try for at-least-one-more miracle, to make our family complete. We both have siblings. We want a sibling(s) for LF. Done.

As I adjusted to motherhood, some of that isolation from infertility went away. My focus was totally changed, and the kind of support I needed was as well. Instead of needing to crawl my way through infertility, I could put all of that on hold. I could focus on becoming the parent I want to be and on raising my sweet boy without worrying about injections, ultrasounds, and procedures. For the last two years, I've enjoyed leaning on both my existing circle of fantastic friends, as well as many new ones, in the best way. To feel a part of the community I so desperately wanted to join has been an amazing blessing.

But, lately I've been feeling some of that loneliness creeping back in. As more and more people I know (both infertile and not) have had or are pregnant with their second (and sometimes third) child, I find myself entrenched in self-doubt, uncertainty, and isolation. Again.

There are a few levels to these emotions. On the surface, there is the obvious: I am still infertile. I do not ovulate. My ovaries are ridiculously dormant without injectable medication. My PCOS did not magically resolve after the birth of my boy. Really, nothing has changed on that front. Secondly, we are lucky enough to have some frozen embryos in storage. But, there is no guarantee that an FET will work. It is all a taxing, emotional, physical gamble. Thirdly, there is also a new financial consideration to this, thanks to changes to my insurance. (Even though I live in a state where infertility coverage is mandated, that does not mean we do not have huge deductibles and fees.)

But, those aren't the core issue.

The real problem is that I am not 100% sure I can do this again, or that I want to. I may be imagining this, but somehow I feel like because I am an infertile, I am supposed to want as many children as I can possibly carry. I am supposed to go right back into the game, blazing with enthusiasm.

Except, I'm not.

Having LF has been the most rewarding and amazing experience of my life. I love this kid with my entire heart. He is a piece of me, walking running around on two legs. He is smart, beautiful, funny, charming, and everything else you could want in a child.

But, I have no words for how much I underestimated how tough parenting would be - especially the first year. There was reflux. There were no naps. There was crippling postpartum depression and anxiety. There is STILL postpartum anxiety. There was a deep sense of losing myself and not knowing how to get myself back. I ended up back in intensive therapy and worked very hard to regain some semblance of a normal life.

As LF has gotten a little older, many of those issues resolved. He felt better. I felt better. Life stabilized and has actually gotten really fun.

We are happy.

What if adding another baby fucks all of that up? What if I fall back into that hole? What if there is not enough of me to go around?

I feel like the clock is ticking, too. If we start the FET process next spring (the current plan), LF will be around 4 (maybe a little less, maybe more) when another baby is born, assuming it is successful. That is less age difference than my sister and I have, but more than many first and second siblings. Will they get along? Will they hate each other? Again, you never know. We are constantly asked, "So when are you going to go for #2?" Like we are not meeting the schedule we are supposed to be on.

I'm embarrassed to admit these feelings and certainly know how lucky I am to have what I have. I know so many people don't have a choice about this. But there it is. Every time we are on the playground (or with friends with more than one kid) I see mothers doing it - spreading their love, attention, and energy to multiple children. I constantly sit and ask myself how they do it. How do they look so together? How are they standing without an IV of caffeine?

I feel really alone with these emotions, like I am once again in the minority. Most moms want another baby. Most infertiles would kill to have another. Right?

So what the hell is wrong with me?

Building Immunity

Yup, I'm that blogger that went back to work and didn't write ONE post in the last few months. I never wanted to become her, but here I am.

I have lots of reasons: I was finishing a very tough school year. I was learning how to balance being a mom, wife, teacher, friend, daughter, etc. Hell, I'm still learning. I was so busy that I only had time to work, eat, sleep, and be with LF and KG.

The truth is, exhaustion and family time won out over my blog. I just wasn't willing to give up my 8:30 bedtime while everything was so overwhelming. But, now that my school year ended, I'm hoping to make a blogger come back. Other than going to the CVS Minute Clinic for an ear infection (mine, not LF's), blogging was first on my list for summer vacation. I'm feeling a little rusty, so hang in there with me while I get my writing legs back.

All in all, LF is turning into an amazing little man. He does new "tricks" often. The latest: turning back to belly in his crib, over and over again. Too bad this is often when he is supposed to be sleeping! He smiles, laughs, and plays his days away. He loves to "talk," grasp things, play with new toys, touch and explore faces, and watch the world with wonder. He is close to sitting on his own, and is loving daycare, despite being sick a lot (more on that later).

The transition back to work went better than expected, and actually helped me get over the hump with my postpartum depression. I missed LF every day, but having a piece of my pre-mommy identity back was incredibly good for me. Selfish or not, I know I improved enormously in the last few months. Of course, the series of colds and viruses that have plagued LF make me feel very guilty. Luckily, there's no choice in the matter. Both KG and I have to work for our financial health, so I can only beat myself up so much about it. He's building immunity, right?

Speaking of building immunity...it feels as though I've been building some of my own lately.

There have been several moments since LF was born that I've said, "I'm the worst person to be his mother." That might sound awful considering what it took to get LF in the first place. But, since he was born, I have discovered parts of myself more vulnerable and raw than I ever knew existed. Although I theoretically knew motherhood was a tough job and unexpected things would happen (babies get sick, babies cry, babies do things that are unpredictable) I did not know when I was pregnant that I would often be unable to emotionally process those things without completely losing it. Seriously, I see moms who can let all those things roll off their backs without ridiculous amounts of worry or anxiety and I am green with envy. I on the other hand often freak out. Actually, not just often: ALL THE TIME. Illnesses, sleep disturbances, eating, reflux, you name it. Something with LF throws me and I can't eat, sleep, or smile. So, I get these moments when I feel like LF deserves a different mom. One who won't turn into a neurotic mess at every sneeze and sniffle. One who is a pillar of strength all the time. I know some moms like this, and I so wish I could channel their abilities.

Most recent example? LF ended up with a terrible virus that landed us in urgent care on a Sunday when his temp reached 104.4. During the week he battled this fever, he also had to have a chest xray, a botched blood draw, and more. I wanted to be strong for him. I really, really tried to put on a brave face and distract him with smiles and songs. But, there were many times when I could. not. do. it. Instead, I wept right along with him and had to lean on my mom (who just moved here with my dad from Los Angeles! OMG!). At one point, I asked a nurse in his pediatrician's office whether my crying was marked on a list to give nurses a head's up. She smiled kindly and told me that most mothers would be on a list if that was true.

Still, I know I take it too far. It is counterproductive and wastes time and energy I need. Plus, I'm going to be in this job for a long, long time. KG reminded me of lots of things to come: teething, injuries, teasing in school, heartbreaks. It is all coming, ready or not.

I know I need to toughen up. I know I can't continue to make myself sick with worry. It isn't good for me, KG, or LF. But, I'm just not there yet. I especially know that compared to some people very close to my heart, I have nothing to worry about. LF is a happy, (sometimes) healthy baby who is going through all the normal bumps in the road.

Perhaps with every new experience (both the scary kind and the wonderful kind) I'll build a thicker skin and a little more immunity.

Days are running out

Since I last wrote, lots of changes have been under way. Bullets seem like the most efficient way to summarize the last month of my life:

• Little Fab's reflux FINALLY improved. After a consult with a pediatric gastroenterologist, we found that his dosage of medication was too low, and the way it was compounded affected the potency of the medication dramatically. So, after changing both, and over two weeks of waiting, LF can finally eat comfortably. It has only been in the last week or so that we've seen this dramatic change, which means I can feel okay about daycare being able to feed him. More on this below. I can not emphasize how horrible his feedings were before now. For all of March I was the only person who could feed him, because of his screams, back arching, writhing, etc. and I could not feed him in public. I felt so isolated and hopeless. I am beyond ecstatic that he is doing so much better. I'm praying it continues.

• I can't believe it but I head back to work on Tuesday. All of a sudden, the reality of balancing parenthood, marriage, and teaching is hitting me like a ton of bricks.

• We did two half days and one full day of daycare this week, in order to prepare for next week, when he will attend full-time. I managed to get less emotional about it than I thought I would. But, it still kills me to leave him, and I miss him when he's gone. The test days went well, so here's hoping it stays that way.

• My PPD hit a pretty bad low during March. After weekly sessions with my therapist, some medication adjustments, and LF's improvement, I am finally feeling better. I must admit though, I feel a bit resentful (of myself I suppose) that so much of my leave was emotionally difficult for me. I won't dwell on this, but it seems as though as soon as I started to really enjoy motherhood, I'm back to work.

• My parents are moving here, cross country, to be closer to LF! I haven't lived in the same city as my parents since I was 18! Holy sh*t!

• For some reason the email notifications about comments went to my spam folder for my last entry! I'm sorry it took me so long to approve them. They are all set now.

• New LF pics are up! Enjoy!

I hope to be back to blogging more regularly, once I'm in a rhythm at work. I have a lot on my mind, and have had no chance to work it through here. I miss writing and have made a vow to myself to get back to it, one way or another. 

In and Out of the Fog

I'm here. Well, I should say that I'm not "here" (as in on the blog) but I am here, as in alive and breathing.

Where have I been? There are a few different parts to that answer.

1. Little Fab has only been cat-napping for the last month or so. Seriously, this kid is like a timer - 30-45 minutes, and then WIDE AWAKE. That's barely enough time to eat, use the bathroom, and make a phone call or wash dishes. But, if he is in bed with me, I get about 2 hours. Since I can not sleep during the day (did I pass this gene to my son?) I rest and breathe. But, if I move an inch he stirs. So, I've gotten good at surfing the web one-handed from my phone, or reading a book over his shoulder. While this isn't ideal, it is a good excuse to relax. It's also an excuse to cuddle with my boy, which is a kind of closeness I really need right now. After two months of struggling to continue the minimal nursing I was able to do (and yes, I tried EVERYTHING to get my boobs to cooperate), I finally threw in the towel. By the end, LF would only feed for 2-3 minutes at a time before he got so frustrated he would cry, so these naps are some of our only times to cuddle.

2. LF's reflux continues to be incredibly stressful. Although we have seen *some* inconsistent improvement, his feedings involve lots of time, struggle, and tears for him and for me. We have been on two different meds and three different formulas so far. We try different positions for eating and sleeping, singing to him, distracting him, etc. and still he struggles to comfortably eat. To boot, he also has ASTOUNDING gas and that also makes him squirm and cry during feedings. It also interferes with his ability to nap and stay asleep at night. As he gets bigger, we hope this will improve, but in the meantime we made an appointment with a pediatric gastroenterologist for the end of the month. As you can imagine, by the end of the day (especially one of his bad days) I am completely spent. I can barely muster the energy to chat with KG on some days.

3. This PPD thing is very up and down, and completely dependent on how LF is doing. I find his good days are my good days, and his bad ones are my bad ones.

On the upside, LF is beautiful, strong, and healthy (other than the reflux). Above, you'll see a page where I've added a couple of pictures. He really smiles and stares at us now, which makes things a bit easier. I can't tell you what a relief it is to see that little smile after a long, long night. Somehow he knows just when I need to see it.

I won't lie. Right now it is really hard to read blogs of new moms who are in bliss. The ones where babies take long naps, eat peacefully, and can be taken anywhere at any time. Someday I hope that isn't the case, but right now it is. I am deeply grateful for the baby I have, but he is a complicated little man that I'm still working on figuring out.

Off to attempt another 35 minute nap...

Rollercoaster

Thank you so much for the responses to this post and to Mel at Stirrup Queens for choosing it for the Roundup. I feel really supported by the comments and I'm glad it resonated with so many of you. I actually didn't receive one flame comment, and for that I am truly grateful.

Only a few days after I wrote the last post, my chin went back under water. I must have jinxed myself, because just when I thought I was feeling secure, I lost it. There were entire days I spent crying. There were moments when I literally felt numb as I walked through my day. There was a week-long visit with my sister (and a blizzard!) that I was only half present for. There was a dinner with girlfriends that I held back tears through. It was during that time that I realized that PPD is going to be with me for a bit. It may not be there every day, but it's standing right behind me for now.

It seems that my mood is completely linked to how LF's day goes. He recently got diagnosed with reflux and now that we are treating it, it seems as though a lot of his crying, irritability, and fussiness was linked to it. Poor kid, no wonder he was so difficult to soothe. But, in the days (weeks) leading up to his diagnosis and for several days after we started medication, he was inconsolable. He cried on and off all day and night. He slept fitfully in short spurts. He was just in constant need, and I felt like I was failing him because I didn't know what was wrong or how to help. I was a mess. He was a mess. As you can imagine, this made life incredibly stressful in the Fabulousness household, and poor KG was left to pick up the pieces.

Since getting treated, he has been much more comfortable and therefore much easier to soothe. KG and I are also figuring out more about him as a person - his cues for fatigue and hunger, his need for swaddling when he's overstimulated, and the difference between his cries. I've even managed to get him to take more naps (although he only sleeps for 30-45 mins at a time). Now if we could get him to do longer stretches overnight, THAT would be something (Advice about 7 week olds here please?). He also found the beginnings of his smile (a bit late) and is starting to focus on our faces more. Finally, I am starting to see my little man's (complicated, cute, fussy, funny) personality, and therefore I feel a little more secure and grounded. More frequent visits with my therapist and a tweak to my medication have also helped push me in the right direction. Not to say that there aren't bad days, but, on his good days, I feel optimistic.

Stay tuned.

Supposed to...

I was inspired by the courage of MissConception and Jen, as well as the encouragement of Cristy to write this post. If you are in a bad place with TTC right now, please skip this entry. I wrote it at a low point and although I have made some breakthroughs since writing it, I feel like I still want to post it. I will follow up with a post about my recent improvement.
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I have been living with the words "supposed to" a lot since Little Fab came home. It seems that when you are a new mother, and especially an infertile new mother, there are a lot of "supposed tos." I am supposed to be working towards getting my newborn on a schedule. I'm supposed to have enough breastmilk to feed him. I am supposed to be able to gently rock him to sleep at the first yawn. I have not been able to consistently accomplish any of those things and therefore I'm generally feeling like a failure at all of this. I have this beautiful, happy, healthy baby and I feel like I'm coming apart some days. Not all days, but too many.

I am also supposed to be flooded with joy. I am supposed to have natural instincts about all things newborn. I am supposed to be loving every minute. But I'm not. I'm trying really hard to do all of those things, but I am struggling. I can't seem to let go of what I thought this would all be like, and the reality of how difficult being a new mother is. After all, I tried for over two years to have LF. I should have known what I was getting into right? I should be grateful for every sleepless night and every cry from the crib. So what the hell is wrong with me? Why am I dissolving into tears several times a week?

Mainly I think it comes from being overwhelmed by nearly everything right now. The difficulty I had with breastfeeding (still hanging in there with nursing before every bottle of formula), the lack of any rhyme or reason to LF's voracious appetite (all those rumors about formula babies sleeping more is bullshit in this house), the lack of sleep (this cannot be understated), the lack of quality time with KG or with myself for that matter, and decisions about EVERYTHING (from bottles to parenting philosphies). Did I also mention that I've not yet spent a day completely alone with LF?* The day KG went back to work my parents arrived. How the hell am I going to do everything alone? Why can't I manage to return phone calls and emails? Why can't I figure out how to take a shower every day? But when I really think about it, the feeling that bothers me most is the immense guilt I have about how much I miss being pregnant. It was a perfect, happy time for me, and now it feels a lifetime away.

I've been leaning on my friends (with and without children) a lot lately. Sometimes for advice, sometimes for the feeling of normalcy I get when I am around them. They have been my lifeline and I'm so grateful to all of them for the meals, hugs, and visits. But, as we head into month 2, the visits and calls have slowed, as one would expect. However, my desperation for the connection grows each day.

Before delivery, I had no idea that I would feel like such a failure. Because I can't figure out his eating patterns. Because I can't tell one cry from another very well. Because I can't seem to help him sleep more than a 2 hour stretch at a time. Because I can't decide whether we should be pushing him towards a schedule or just following his lead. Aren't I supposed to know all of these things as his mother?

That isn't to say there aren't moments when I look at LF and am in awe: of how gorgeous he is, how much of a person he looks like already, even at 4 weeks, how fascinated he is with light and patterns. Moments when he sleeps on my chest or stares at my face make me melt. I love this child. I also watch KG with him and am consumed with warmth - KG is madly in love with his son, which makes me fall more madly in love with him. But then I feel even worse, like I'm not authentically feeling what I should for my baby. I worry that I'm letting KG down because I am so needy and emotional these days. I want to be as happy as he is, and I'm just not there yet.

So, it seems like my history of depression and anxiety has reared its ugly head. I knew I was at high risk for PPD but man, I was hoping to dodge the bullet. Therefore, I'm seeking help. I made an appointment with my therapist. I'm reminded by people close to me that I can't be a good mom if I don't take care of myself, mentally and physically. I want to be the mother LF deserves. I want to be the wife KG deserves. I want to feel like myself and enjoy this time, instead of feeling like I need to survive it.

So, right or wrong, that's where I'm at. I'm sure some people reading this will want to flame me for feeling this way when so many are still struggling to have their first baby. Of course, as an infertile, I might have felt the same way before I was actually living this. But, this space is my own to get and give support and it will remain so, even post baby.

*I have since been spending lots of alone time with LF.

My To-Do Lists have To-Do Lists

I don't know where the summer went. One minute, I was wrapping up end-of-year meetings at school, and the next I'm preparing to return on Monday. Although every summer goes quickly for me, this one really seemed jam packed. Between taking a few small trips, searching for day care, doctor's appointments, projects, tutoring, a week in Maine, and working on some curriculum material, it just flew.

Monday, I'll be back at school. Once again, I'll turn into "Mrs. HRF." It's a little known fact that teachers get just as nervous about the new school year as students do. I always get some nerves during this last week of summer, but this year I'm even more anxious. The truth is, I'm really going to have to dig deep to give my normal 100% at school this fall. Not only am I preoccupied with The Nugget but there will also be two other brand spanking new curriculum initiatives in my classroom, which puts me pretty far out of my comfort zone. After eight years of teaching, I'm having to completely change the way I teach. It's a lot to handle, knowing I'll miss 12 weeks of it. 

The best way I know to handle anxiety is to talk about it and write things down. So, this week, I made a pretty comprehensive Baby To-Do list for KG and I to tackle. Holy crap. By the end, the list is at least 20 items long, including cleaning tasks, nursery prep, appointments, phone calls, and more. Then I realized some items on the list necessitated another list, and a post-it.

What I worry about most is how there is going to be enough of me to go around. Logically, I know KG will help me get through the list of practicalities. He will help me clean out our office, move it to another room, and create a nursery. We will rent a truck and pick up the furniture we are receiving from friends and family. We will scrub this place down before the shower. The carpet will get shampooed. Somehow, by the time this baby arrives, the tedious stuff will happen, even though it feels daunting.

I'm more worried about how to accomplish all that, AND be a good teacher, good wife, good friend, and a prepared mama. Then that snowballs into worrying about how I'm going to handle training a maternity leave sub and going back to work in April, after my leave. There almost isn't room right now to be concerned with things like actual parenting and infant care!

I know a lot of my anxiety is purely the anticipation. Once I start again, I'll have to figure out how to manage it all. KG also made a good point the other day. He said I might need to learn how to be okay with not being able to do everything I did before. I'll need to learn how to say no to certain duties, admit when I'm tired, and get my work ego in check. All true.

Thank goodness, just when I'm near meltdown, The Nugget reminds me of the real priority with a kick, nudge, or push.
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PSA: RESOLVE is asking for video submissions for this campaign. I am considering making one, and you should too.

Thank You

...to everyone who said kind, supportive, and helpful things in the comments to my last post. It really did help and gave me lots to think about. I'm lucky to have so many people care about me and The Nugget.

Those people close to me know that when I get overwhelmed, it tends to all boil over at once. It's just the way I process that kind of stress. To say I had a bad day is kind of an understatement. But, I woke up the next day feeling better and with a clearer mind. All of these things are a work in progress for me, and KG and I just need to continue to breathe and make our way through decisions, one by one.


So, on a happier note: We are heading down to see some friends in New Jersey this weekend, and spend time on the shore. If you have never been to south Jersey, don't judge. It is clean and beautiful, far from the stigma of that MTV crap. It will be wonderful to get away and spend time with people we love dearly.

And, here's the 15 week pic we took after we got home from our anniversary dinner the other night. If you live in the Boston area and haven't been to Hungry Mother (oh, the irony) in Cambridge, we highly recommend it.

Breakdown

It happened. I had my first official breakdown this morning, in my OBs office. Yup. That was me. The crazy lady crying in front of a stunned OB. This breakdown was several days in the making, and as KG said when I called him after the appointment, "It just sounds like you had a cry inside you needed to let out." Apparently so. This is a long one, so get comfortable.

Let's back up.

Over the last week, I have been feeling tremendous pressure about finding child care for The Nugget. I had 3 people in the span of as many days ask me the dreaded question, "Have you looked into child care yet?" Cue. Panic. Even though, to me, it sounds totally insane to look at day care when you are 15 weeks pregnant, apparently in Boston it is totally necessary. I started googling, talking to friends, and making some phone calls. Indeed, several places said that now is the time to look for September 2013. Yup, over a year in advance. So, I made some appointments to visit a few places in our area. Oh, and guess what else? You need to be ready to cough up nearly as much money per month as our rent for full time infant care. Again, cue panic. Since staying home is not an option for me (or KG) this is the reality. We'll just have to suck it up and eat ramen for a while.

So there's that.

I'll preface the next bit by saying I am a person who likes direct instruction. Don't make me guess what I should do. Just tell me exactly the right thing to do and when to do it. I follow directions like a champ. Teachers tended to love me for this reason. I generally did exactly what they asked, in order to get a good grade. Open ended assignments? That's another story.

On to today's appointment.

I saw the OB we met last month. Again, she was a bit late (30 mins) but was warm and friendly. All started well, with my uterus measuring just right and The Nugget's heartbeat sounding loud and strong. She said my blood pressure was "on the high end of normal" but that might have been from feeling annoyed that she ran 30 minutes late. Anyway, she told me not to worry about it (then why tell me?). Then, she asked if I had questions. She didn't know what she was in for.

I started off by asking about why my ovaries are still quite large from IVF (they mentioned it at the NT Scan). She kind of brushed it off saying it would go away after the baby and they wouldn't do anything about it now. I'm okay with that I guess, but it did leave me wondering.

Then I asked about exercise. How much should I be doing? For how long? Again, I felt like I got vague answers. It started out okay. She said I should be exercising every day (holy shit!). Then, I got the standard, "Don't do anything that makes you uncomfortable, breathless, too hot, etc." Okay, that's all fine. But, when I pushed her to tell me how long each day, etc. I got, "Whatever feels right." If I knew what felt right, I wouldn't be asking. It feels awfully right to sit and watch Real Housewives instead of going to the gym.

Next, was the heaviest topic. I've written before about the fact that I am on prescription medication for anxiety and depression. I am on very low doses and have consulted my psychiatrist and two years ago (when we began TTC) I even went to a special clinic that deals exclusively with pregnancy and psychiatric medication. At the time, everyone recommended I stay on my medication, even though they are Class C, because the risk of having a depressive or panic episode was overwhelmingly likely, especially postpartum. The research generally shows that the risk to me outweighs the risk to the baby and that the chemicals that the body of a depressed mother releases can be more damaging to the baby than the meds. They also said the amount passed through breastmilk is less than through the placenta, so it shouldn't be a problem. But, I wanted to make sure this OB is on board and that breastfeeding will not be an issue at the hospital. Now, I know this is a complicated issue and honestly the research sucks in this area because they aren't randomized studies. It may not be a clear cut issue at all. But again, instead of giving me a straight recommendation, she wants me to meet again with the clinic. I asked if she has other patients with this issue (she does - many) but she said it is all dependent on individual circumstances, etc. This is all true. But FUCK, I just wanted her opinion and she just wouldn't give it to me.

Then, it happened. I broke down in tears. I didn't see it coming and still don't really know why I went over the edge. She was stunned and thrown by my reaction, as was I. She babbled a bit and I agreed to make the call to the clinic.

Lastly, I decided to press my luck and ask about nutrition advice. Are there specific food groups I should be focusing on more than others? Protein? Calcium? I have all the books with some of this info, but I wanted to know from her experience if she considers some things more important than others. What did she say? I should go see the nutritionist. Another appointment. Another question unanswered. I think I'll just make a greater effort with leafy greens.

Did I mention I am meeting tomorrow with an endocrinologist because she didn't want to tell me when to go off Metformin (for PCOS, not insulin issues) without his opinion?

No one tells you how scary all this pregnancy stuff is. The thing is, I am petrified that I'll do something wrong with this pregnancy, that I'll personally make a choice that will harm this baby. And it seems that with so many of these pregnancy-related things, there is no one right answer. There is only making "comfortable" choices or doing what "feels right." Apparently this is true from everything from choosing a car seat to the question of getting an epidural. For someone like me, that is just about the worst thing I can hear. How the hell do I know what's right if I've never done this before?

Are all OBs like this? Do they all refer you out for tough questions? Are they only good for listening to a doppler and measuring your uterus?

Hell, I have a doppler at home...

By the way, today didn't start off like this. It's actually a really happy day: KG and I have been married for 7 years as of noon today. We are going to a fab restaurant to celebrate later and shake off this mood. Happy Anniversary, KG. You are the best partner to this batshit crazy lady I could ever ask for.

Countdown

As Belle would say, I have 2 more sleeps before the ultrasound on Monday.

I'll be 7 weeks then. There won't be any ambiguity - either we will see a heartbeat or we will know it is over.

It isn't any secret I've been in a bad place while we wait for that day. In the past, I've written about my scars and the ridges are definitely showing. We haven't been pregnant since 2010 and we know how that ended. I can tell KG has come to the end of his rope with trying to soothe me or make me feel more positively about the outcome this time. He isn't angry with me, but he's frustrated that he can't fix me right now. He can't make me assume the best.

I keep playing 2 different scenarios in my mind. The one that ends in joyous tears, and the one that ends in the other kind. If it isn't good news, how am I supposed to live through that again? I think back to the pain of those days and it just seems unimaginable that I could be forced to go through it for a second time. But, it happens. Unfortunately, when you are a part of this community, you are constantly reminded that it happens over and over again.

One decision I did make is this: if we do see a heartbeat on Monday, I'm making some changes. Although there is nothing I can do to avoid being scared between every ultrasound and chance to check on the baby, I refuse to waste my entire pregnancy feeling as petrified as I do right now. Somehow, I will force myself to try and enjoy this time, because I worked so damn hard to get here.

I have read several blog posts about the huge wave of BFPs lately in the blogosphere. They have had an undercurrent of pain in almost every one. It's understandable. I lived through several of those waves in the last 2 years, and they hurt me every time. Simultaneously, I was happy for and upset by those pregnancies.

In my logical mind, I knew those women had often been through hell and back with infertility and deserved those healthy pregnancies. But, I could never shake the feeling that it wasn't fair because it wasn't me. Now that I am one of those with a pregnancy announcement, it feels strange. Maybe I am so used to being on the other side, that I can't quite compute what it will mean if I do end up one of those lucky ones.

For tonight and tomorrow night, we sit in the nebulous place of not knowing. Maybe that isn't such a bad place to be. At least for this weekend, we can still believe in the 50/50 shot at a happy ending.

"So Hard" by the Dixie Chicks

Top 10 Things I Wish I Could Make Myself Do

10. Go to the gym
9. Finish the novel I have been reading for 2 months
8. Stop Googling "pregnant no symptoms"
7. Not allow the stress of teaching to permeate every minute of my day
6. Resist the urge to call and move Monday's ultrasound to Friday
5. Cease begging SKB and other friends to talk me down off the ledge every day, when I am convinced this pregnancy will end in miscarriage
4. Eat some other food group besides carbs
3. Thoroughly clean my apartment
2. Absorb some of KG's ability to relax and go to a happy place
1. Start believing that this pregnancy will be a happy, healthy one, ending full term with a take-home baby

Big sigh.

"Why can't you just be happy?"

I know I had good reasons for putting off the ultrasound until 7 weeks. I know I did.

What were they again?

This last week felt never ending. It really did. Although work is totally nuts (5 weeks of the school year left and literally over 20 events and deadlines in the meantime) time seemed to slow down enough to let me freak out about 5 times per day.

The thoughts in my head go something like this:
"I have no symptoms. I know this is another missed miscarriage."
"No, you have a hand picked embryo, high betas, and progesterone. Plus, your due date is New Year's Day! That's good luck! You're good."
"But, this has gone badly before. This will be the same."
"It's just too early. You are acting like a crazy person! Some people never get morning sickness."
"I wonder when I should schedule a baby shower in Los Angeles? I have a wedding to attend there in October."
"Don't think too far in the future, you'll jinx it. Don't blog about it, you'll jinx it. Don't be happy, you'll jinx it."
"You'll feel better when you see the heartbeat on the 14th."
"But what if you miscarry after that?"

You get the idea.

I have resorted to stupid, self soothing behavior. For example, I was in CVS looking for a Mother's Day card for my mom, and saw FRERs were on sale. It has been over a week since my betas, confirming I am pregnant. But there they wereon the shelf, three for $11.99 to boot.

Yeah, I bought some. Why?

Even if I did miscarry, I would still have a high enough hcg level right now to give me a BFP. But, it made me feel better for 2 minutes to see a fast, dark test line that came back darker than the control line.

This level of anxiety isn't good. It really isn't. But it feels out of my control, like a primal reaction. I can't seem to get attached, be happy, or focus on the positive. It's almost like an out of body experience. Without any symptoms or additional betas, I have nothing to latch onto. Nothing that makes me feel pregnant.

A friend who is waiting on the results of her recent IUI told me that because several people we know (along with myself) have gotten BFPs, that she feels like she is doomed for a BFN. Like there aren't enough BFPs to go around. I completely understand how she feels.

In the last two weeks, several bloggers (Unaffected, Belle, Miss Conception, Mrs. Rochester, Lanie -  did I miss anyone?) have also announced BFPs along with me. I am thrilled for all of us. We all deserve to get our babies after battling infertility and loss for so long. But, that cynical part of my brain kicks in sometimes. Are there enough take-home babies for all of us to be successful?

I really, really hope so.

I also can't help but think of the bloggers whom I know and love that have not yet gotten their BFPs or had a recent loss. It hurts my heart to know my BFP caused them any pain. This blogging community is special, but complicated. I know how it is to feel happy for another blogger and yet to feel disconnected and distant from them at the same time, because the sameness of the shared journey shifted.

I'm really hoping that all of you stick with me anyway.

White Knuckles

 This post contains very delicate information. If you know me in my non-blogosphere life, please don't share the information below. We will share as we feel ready.

*********************

I'm sorry I disappeared. Blogging is a funny thing. I wrote about every intimate detail of this cycle, but when it came to the end of the cycle, I hesitated to put it out there. I've felt guilty about this for a few days. You all have shown me so much support throughout this IVF cycle (and the other cycles that have come before it), so it feels strange not to share what's been going on. Additionally, this is my space. I use the blog to write about whatever feelings or issues I am dealing with. Nothing is a bigger issue for me right now than my efforts to be a mother. So, superstitiousness be damned. Here's what's been happening in the last 9 days.

 *******************

This week, I felt shy about posting. Maybe it's because I'm extremely superstitious about "jinxing" during the two week wait. Maybe it's because I was trying so hard to distract myself from how crazy I was acting. Maybe I was too busy.

Nah.

I wasn't posting because I was ashamed. Consider this post a confession.

As some of you know, because of my PCOS, I never get natural periods anymore. Since my miscarriage in August 2010, I have had exactly one natural period. So, as you can imagine, KG and I have had very few actual two week waits in our experience with TTC. We've had a few weird Clomid cycles, a couple of failed IUIs, and one failed IVF before now. In all those cases, either my period came quickly (short luteal phase) or we had to cancel the cycle.

So, I've had a lot of time to forget what a real, long TWW is like. And boy this was a doozey. All the lessons I learned when we miscarried went out this window. I swore then that I would remember that early BFPs and good betas do not mean you end up with a baby, so I wouldn't torture myself in the future with POAS. I would be patient. I would just wait for things to happen in time.

However, a year and a half later, I forgot all of that. I hang my head in shame as I write this. Last week, I became a testing addict once again. I was out of control and spent more money than I care to admit.

No kidding - 15 tests between 7dp5dt and 12dp5dt (Friday).

Even worse, I tested using multiple brands, different times of day, and obsessively photographed them, saved them in a Ziplock bag in my bathroom, arranged them in specific ways to analyze them, blah blah blah.

Seriously, it was behavior that was completely beyond me. Some might shake their head and laugh, but until you have been in this position, you don't know how you'll react. 

The good news: the reason I kept testing and testing is because I got BFPs all week.
The bad news: the darkness of the lines on the tests were highly variable by time of day, and scared the crap out of me. (I must be the only weirdo in the world who had darker FRER's (supposedly the most sensitive test) in the afternoon than with first morning urine. This issue deserves a whole separate post. Lesson learned? Internet cheapie tests are way more accurate for me.)

Although I was tempted to jump on the blog and post every picture of every positive test, something held me back. Despite seeing 2 lines on all of these tests, and seeing the word "Pregnant" on a digital test, I just couldn't bring myself to do it. If I said it publicly, maybe it would all disappear. Maybe I would get my period within hours of sharing. Maybe it would be my fault.

Then, Friday (12dp5dt) was beta day. I held out hope for a number around 100. I always get my blood drawn in the morning, and wait for an afternoon phone call. However, I checked my phone around lunch time, and saw I had a voicemail. I was shocked because it was so early, and my stomach was in knots because I didn't know if it was a good or a bad sign.

It was a good sign. The nurse enthusiastically said that our number was 859!

I sat at my desk, replaying the voicemail over and over to make sure I heard the number right. I even called her back, to ask her to repeat the number. I was so prepared for bad news, that I didn't know how to process good news.

Since the call, I've felt really stunned. Muted. Cautious. It really hasn't sunk in yet. How could something go right? KG is with me on this one. He's happy and optimistic, but we both have an undercurrent of white knuckles. Despite this, we did celebrate with a dinner out Friday night, and talked about the future. Superstitions be damned.

My mom has been emailing, encouraging me to see this as a totally new, separate experience from our first pregnancy. She says we should expect it to be a healthy, uneventful pregnancy, one that deserves to be enjoyed. I know she's right. I know we can't spend every day petrified and expecting the worst to happen. It's just so hard.

As I said to a fellow IFer the other day, "Once you've taken the pill and seen the Matrix, there's no going back."

But, unless something changes, I really am pregnant.

We went back in this morning to make sure my number is doubling. We got 3,247! Ultrasound in 2 weeks...

Please stick little one.

Scar Tissue

I have a lot of tattoos. I started young and have accumulated 9 of them, although I wish it was more. Each one of them, for better or for worse, reminds me of a different time in my life. Some of them are beautiful. Some of them I can't believe I actually chose to put on my body. Some I have covered with new ink, and some I want to elaborate on. People who don't love tattoos don't understand why I would subject myself to intense physical pain to put a permanent mark on my body. They don't see the payoff. They have a point - technically, tattoos are scars. Occasionally, when I am in the shower or scratching an itch, I run my fingers over my tattoos, and can often feel tiny ridges of scar tissue. But mostly, when I look at my tattoos, I see the pretty and not the ugly ridges underneath.

KG has had a couple of minor surgeries to remove basal cell and suspected basal cell spots. Some scars are bigger than others, but the one on his face is barely perceptible. This tiny line that marks the spot of something that was harmful that is now gone. But, the one on his belly is considerable. It wasn't as carefully done, so it kept a purple color and rough edges. The scars are different shapes and sizes, all garnered with considerable pain. But, when I look at KG's scars, I am more grateful that they removed the cancerous cells than I am upset about them leaving such a mark.

Unfortunately, KG and I have accumulated a lot of new scars over the last couple of years. These are the kind that don't show on the surface. These scars become visible at specific times. Years of frustration, pain, sadness, and disillusionment caused the ridges to build. They have built up so much that we can't see past them. Over the last week, KG remarked to me that we are more prepared for bad news than good news. Every time the phone rang with excellent news of the retrieval, embryo reports, and the transfer date, our hearts were in our throats. We were certain the news would be bad. We knew we were going to be disappointed again. Scars.

In a few hours, we have our embryo transfer. Once again, I am up before 7am, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Scars.

Do scars ever really disappear? Or do they just become less and less noticeable with time?

We are hoping one of these days we can focus on the pretty and stop running our fingers on the ridges.

Anyone interested in an IVF update?

If you aren't into numbers and nitty-gritty, feel free to skip this post. Sometimes I like analyzing numbers, so you'll have to indulge me.

So last cycle, My med protocol looked like this:
BCP for weeks and weeks
Lupron (10iu to start, then 5iu when stims started)
75iu of Menopur and 150iu of Gonal-F for the first 3 days of stimming
150iu of Menopur and 150iu of Gonal-F for the next 7 days
Pregnyl trigger
23 eggs retrieved, 19 mature

That cycle, my estrogen looked like this:
15 (4th day of stims), 187, 404, 1,085, 1,940 (triggered that night) - 11 days of stims

This cycle, the protocol was nearly identical, except for one thing: she started me at 150/150 of Menopur and Gonal-F right off the bat. As a result, my estrogen rose a bit more quickly.

Here have been my estrogen numbers since Monday:
Mon (4th day of stims): 40, 254, 684, today: 1608
Follicle count: 14 on the right, 4 on the left
Largest follicle today: 16mm

The nurse told me to stop Gonal F tonight (but still do 150u of Menopur - fun!). She thinks tonight will be the last night of stims, trigger tomorrow, and retrieval on Tuesday.

We are nearing the finish line.

So, I'm considering taking off both the day of retrieval and the day after. I have 2 reasons:
1. I was in a lot of pain last time. Seriously, I was not prepared to be in that much pain.
2. If our results are similar to last time, I really, really don't want to have to take that call with children all around me. That was so, so awful in January.

Last thought: Please God, let the ICSI work.

I'm curious for the experts to answer this question: With numbers rising this quickly, how worried should I be about OHSS? I mean, they are reducing my stims tonight, but I went from 684 to 1608 in 24 hours.... 
 



Fitting, for the end of a cycle.

A Letter to my Worst Enemy

courtesy of Mad Magazine

Dear Depression and Anxiety,

You and I have known each other a long time. We became intimately acquainted when I was at the tender age of 11 when I managed to miss over 20 days of school in one academic year, because I couldn't handle you. Remember how it went?

1. Girls were mean to me at school.

2. I would cry at school and be unable to focus the rest of the day.

3. I would go home, crawl into bed, cry some more, and rerun the day's events over and over and over again.

4. Wash, rinse, repeat.

Back then, they called me a kid who "worried a lot." Oh if only it was that simple. Even then, I knew this went beyond just worrying and being sad.

That was only the beginning of our lifelong battle: you vs. me.

Remember when I was 16 and we really came to blows? You took the opportunity to attack when my high school sweetheart broke up with me, and you just wouldn't let go. You watched me stay in bed, day after day, crying and shaking with sadness. You laughed in my face and put your foot on my neck, holding me down until I nearly broke. Luckily, my family had lots of personal experience battling the likes of you, so they held me up and knew what to do to help. That's when I found a couple of lethal weapons against you: medication and therapy. I managed to beat you back, and I emerged victorious. Although you popped your head out of the sand again several years later, when I had a falling out with a college friend, this time I was prepared. I enlisted the help of a brand, spanking, new therapist (we'll call her Darlene) and you went back into hiding.

The next time we met, you brought a wing man: anxiety. This time, you pounced when my back was turned. I really thought when I decided to try going off medication at 27, all was going well. It was summer, I was stress-free and feeling good. But little did I know that the minute the school year started, you would pull a dirty trick: panic attacks. This time, it wasn't sadness that debilitated me. Instead, this was something much harder to handle. I had never felt anything like it. I couldn't catch my breath. I couldn't stop the racing, repetitive thoughts. I couldn't sleep or eat. KG would watch me pace the apartment at all hours, trying to work off some of the excess energy, feeling so helpless. This was a nasty, heartless addition to our battle. I was completely powerless against you, so I added something new to my arsenal of weapons against you. Along with a med change and therapy, this time I added exercise to the mix. All of a sudden, things calmed down and I was able to control the overwhelming feeling that my heart was going to explode in my chest.

Recently, some life circumstances invited you back into my life. Between my miscarriage, PCOS diagnosis, failed IUIs, KG's mother's death, a failed IVF, financial worries, and plenty of work stress to boot, the door swung open, inviting you to come prancing through. It feels like we are at opposite sides of that door - you pushing in while I try to keep you out. You try and try, but I put all my strength into keeping myself safe. Occasionally, you cause me a pretty bad day (or week) of sleeplessness, tears, and worry but I have gotten better and better at keeping you at bay. My newest secret weapon? Blogging. Somehow, writing about all of this chaos has helped keep you on a leash.

I have to admit though, you still have power over me. Even when you aren't rearing your ugly head, you make me feel weak and ashamed. Whether I like it or not, there are assumptions about people who battle with depression and anxiety and I hate being saddled with that stigma. Just like with infertility: people who have never experienced it have no clue what it is like to deal with something like this.

I can't help but wonder if we will always battle, or if this chapter of my life will end at some point.

Until then, I'll be the one pushing on the other side of the door.

-HRF

Where have you been?

This week, I have 26 parent conferences. Yup, 26. Five of them were today, after an entire day of teaching. However, after my last conference on Friday, I am on spring break for two weeks. Thank fucking God.

So, all my brain can handle right now are bullets.

• I got the call from my happy fertility pharmacy setting up my medication delivery for next week. I also have my pre-Lupron dildocam to check for cysts on Tuesday. Booya! It was kind of depressing telling the pharmacist that I still had all of my medications for transfer and after. But whatevs. Cheaper med delivery this cycle: bonus!

• I have decided not to comment on the issues happening between Elphaba/PAIL and Mel and Stirrup Queens. So much has been said on both sides, and until I have some time to really think about how I feel, I'll hold off.

• I have a blog post in the works (to be finished this weekend) about how bad my anxiety has been lately. I'm not sure how much I have said on this blog before about my struggles with anxiety, but it has been really flaring lately. Uncomfortably so. Maybe some of you will relate.

• His Royal Fabulousness is the best anxiety medication there is.

Evidence: The perfect post-it.

I'll be back in the blogging world this weekend. In the meantime...







P.S. A big hello the the new followers I got this week! Welcome!