Remember how I mentioned how sweet my Zoe was as a little puppy? Well the other day I saw this picture on i has a hot dog (sister site to i can has cheeseburger) and was struck by a huge wave of puppy fever. Know how people get baby fever after they have a kid and swear they’ll never do it again, or not for a long time? Well my baby fever never goes away, but that’s what happens with me and puppy fever. I am suddenly weepy-eyed at the memory of a little fuzz-butt asleep on my lap, sweet, soft little puppy fur under my hands, tiny little muzzle on a tiny little head and a little round belly. Oh my god, puppies are the best thing ever. I mean, just look at that picture! The little nose, the sable fur, the little tiny white tip on the skinny little tail. And the paws! Oh my god, the paws. I could nibble on them they are so sweet. OhmygodIwantapuppy.

And then I start thinking about puppy accidents and how Zoe chewed through three different laptop cables and the enormous vet bills we already deal with (just for yearly check-ups!) and the fur… plus I’m working full time now (which I wasn’t, back when I got miss Zoe), and hell I fell guilty for ignoring our four as it is. And if we do get pregnant soon, and we have a new baby with a less than year old dog? Okay. So maybe getting a puppy isn’t in the cards right now. Besides, they never stay that small and sweet for very long.

We actually took our two dogs to the park today. To a picnic. Where there were other people. And food. I admit, we don’t frequently take them out of the house – it’s just a lot of work. Zeeke, our shepherd, gets sick in the car no matter where we go. Zoe gets anxiety attacks around strangers. That means before you even get to do anything you’re automatically dealing with two dogs with diarrhea. And then Zeeke has like way too much energy for his (admittedly large) body and he tends to do a lot of pacing, whining, barking, dragging, and trying to jump on people (which we do not allow, just so you know). Zoe, again with the panic attacks, slinks along behind your legs if you’re lucky. If you’re not lucky she will attempt to bolt, which is typically unsuccessful due to the whole attached-to-a-leash thing, so instead she ends up hitting the end and yanking your arm out of your socket. Maybe she will find some small crevice to crawl into. Like under a chair. Or behind a garbage can. Then you get the people walking up to her saying, “Oh what a GORGEOUS dog!” and all we can say in return is, “Please don’t touch her!” Not out of concern for them, but out of concern that she will soil herself. And she has long fur back there – just sayin’.

So keep all of that in mind when I say that we took them both to a picnic in a public, busy park. And then I’ll say: it went really, really well. They did both panic on the car ride there, but that’s unavoidable. We took them for a walk around the park to help Zeeke get some of that energy out. But then he got to meet some people. Kids always point and squeal at him, saying, “Doggy!” – and often, “BIG doggy!” The intelligent parents ask first if it’s alright if he is petted. I was really impressed with the kids today, though – no one ran up to us, and all of them – even the little toddlers – were really gentle. Zeeke gave some hand kisses and received pets. Den just held him still so he wouldn’t move quickly and knock the poor kids over. Most of them were pretty intimidated by him (he’s 95lbs and TALL). But they all walked away with a big grin, as if they’d just conquered a quest. And Zeeke just sat there, tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. At one point when Zeeke saw his daddy coming back from the bathroom – Zeeke had his eyes fixed on Den, recognizing him from a very good distance away, and jumped to his feet in joy as Den got closer. A little toddler, walking with her parents, pointed and just shrieked with laughter. It was too funny! Then she came over to pet the doggy and was enthralled.

Zoe of course was quite thrilled that Zeeke got all the attention – I’m not sure everyone even noticed we had a second dog with us. She very very quietly would just slink behind Den’s legs when someone walked over, and then just sit still in hopes that she would be overlooked. With Zeeke as the frontrunner it’s easy enough to distract people from her. It made it easier for me, who typically has to run interference between rambunctious kids and my poor, terrified dog. Today people were really respectful and just appreciated her with their eyes, recognizing her need for personal space. And Zoe in turn did really quiet well, even approaching a couple of people to sniff pants before retreating behind our legs again. When we walked around the park her tail was up, trotting comfortably beside Zeeke. I was thrilled to see it. Maybe in the past three years she has made more progress than I thought.

We did have to eat standing up, because the last thing we wanted was to get Zeeke too close to all the people eating at the tables… we had visions of him jumping up to help himself and causing mass chaos. As it was he nearly swiped a hamburger from Den’s hand when his attention was elsewhere. Next time we’ll have to remember to bring some chairs so we can sit – it felt like we were being aloof by standing apart… but a necessity.

The ride home was uncharacteristically quiet. No whimpering or whining from the backseat. In fact, Zeeke layed down for most of the half-hour drive, an unprecedented move on his part. Den and I were quite drained as well, especially since I had worked this morning before the picnic, as is typical for my Saturday. When we got home all four of us passed out.

I’d say it was a very successful day. We’ll have to try it more often.

I am bleeding heavier today. I am mid-cycle. I am on the birth control pill. I looked back at my notes from my previous few cycles and found that every cycle on the pill I have bled off and on through pretty much the whole damn thing. Lovely. So I called the nurses just to let them know that it was happening, in case it affected anything with the cycle or if they wanted me to switch pills or something. Thankfully she told me that it’s pretty normal for bleeding during pill cycles when your body isn’t used to being on it (which my body of course isn’t, seeing how I spend one cycle on, one cycle off, repeat), and that it won’t affect the cycle at all…. only my (dis)comfort level. Which, okay, is rather irritating… I don’t think I will ever be able to not wear panty liners ever again, I’m either bleeding, leaking progesterone, or producing ridiculous amounts of CM. And the bloaty shit is just plain annoying, I didn’t expect bloating until starting stims. But I’ll deal with it, as long as it doesn’t fuck up the cycle!

I got my paperwork in the mail today. I am having to make some adjustments to the timing, just to ensure that retrieval doesn’t fall on the two days that Den has his big thing at work, but here’s what it’s looking like:
Start Lupron on Aug 11 (this coming Tuesday!)
Last BCP Aug 14 (one week from today)
Expect AF Aug 18
Start Stims around Aug 20
Estimated Trigger Aug 30
Estimated Retrieval Sept 1
Estimated Blast Transfer Sept 6
Estimated Beta Sept 15

To be perfectly honest I don’t even know what I’m feeling about this cycle. A little bit of hope, anxiety, frustration, excitement, fear, relief…. all of it tumbled together. I definitely feel happy that we’re getting another chance at this, but every cycle that goes by I get a little bit more frantic, a little bit more hope lost. I was going to say desperate, but I actually think the desperation has faded somewhat from what I felt in the first year after Devin died… that was pure adrenaline-run desperation, a monster inside clawing at the walls, sobbing Give it back, give it back. Now it’s faded into a heavy ache… just a woman, arms around herself, with barely the strength to keep whispering, Please…

I was having a hard time with anxiety last week… not the kind of anxiety brought on by work or cycle planning, but just random general anxiety. I mentioned it to my acupuncturist on Monday, and when she placed some needles she said it should help with the anxiety. I didn’t think about it after that, until I realized today that I haven’t felt that kind of random, sourceless anxiety at all this week. Nice. Next time I’m struggling with something I’ll have to mention it to her.

And also, the birth control pill freaking hates me. Or my body hates it.

I ended up at the doctor’s office last week. I was spending a quiet Monday at home, writing and working and feeling very lovely in the quietness of my house while the husband is at work. Unfortunately as the morning progressed my belly started hurting. It wouldn’t have bothered me, except for how similar it felt to the ectopic. Low, below my belly button. I was just sitting there, thinking fuck. What the hell is this?. So I ended up going in for a quick scan, mind racing ahead to cysts and canceled cycles. Thankfully this time I was wrong. There was nothing wrong with my ovaries or tubes or uterus… everything looked perfectly normal. Just some “bubbles” in my intestines which were probably causing the pain and pressure. Lovely. A trip in just to be told it’s gas.

That started soon after I started the pill, and unfortunately I have felt bloated and bleh ever since. The last two days I have had breakthrough bleeding – yay for panty liners (can’t I EVER get away from the damn things?!). Plus – and I can’t say for certain that the pill is to blame for this one – I am emotional and sensitive and not a very good roommate for the dear hubby.

I know the bloating and rawwrrr-factor is only going to get worse with lupron and stims, but ugh. I hate the damn pill.

Working definitely has its ups and downs. Hopefully more ups than downs, but the last week has given me a serious headache.

I had actually applied for a position at a location closer to my house – much closer, in fact, cutting an hour of commuting out of my day. I wasn’t entirely sure it would turn out being the best decision for me, but I weighed the pros and cons and decided to at least put in for the transfer and see where life took me. Yesterday I found out I didn’t get the transfer. I certainly felt the sting of rejection, they selected someone else instead of me. That hurt. But my coworkers gave me hugs and said, “I’m sorry… but glad we get to keep you.” Today I looked around at the teasing going on around me, the comfortable chit-chat, and realized I felt relieved that I didn’t get the other job. It can be stressful and certainly has its struggles, but I am happy where I am. The people I work with really understand me… they ask about IVF and cheer me on, and they accept and understand Devin and what he is in my life. Also since my coworker lost her baby it is sometimes comforting to talk to her about our losses.

Not saying I couldn’t find this kind of connection elsewhere… but maybe right now I’m right where I need to be.

The nurse is putting my calendar in the mail for me. They’re not telling me anything I don’t already know. Start lupron next week, overlap with the pill, get my period, start stims sometime around the 20th. Retrieval will be the first week of September… I’m aiming for around September 1st. Den has to work the weekend prior, and it’s a major deal that he can’t miss, so I have to make sure that retrieval won’t be any earlier than the 31st.

All summer – actually, all year – I have been listening to people saying how time is going too fast, how it’s another month gone by. Everyone else seems disgusted that it’s August already. I just smile inwardly. I like watching the time tick down to our next cycle, our next opportunity. One day hopefully I’ll want time to slow down… but right now I am very happy to keep it hurtling forward.

One month until retrieval.

Today I floated on a pool and bathed in sunshine. This has not been a warm, sunny summer – just yesterday rain was pouring miserably while I was at work. But today the sun was out, and I took advantage.

I love the sun. I have to wear a ridiculously high SPF sunscreen to keep myself non-lobster-esque, so in the height of summer I tend to avoid the direct sunlight, but oh does it feel glorious after all the rain and overcast gloominess. I needed it. My skin and soul soaked it up, warmth I need to keep myself whole.

I love the water, too, which is why I prefer to sunbathe while floating, parts of my skin still submerged in the water. The feeling of my fingers drifting through the cool water, the gentle rise and fall as I ride the ripples sent out from the movements of others, it just brings me back to my home. I practically grew up in a boat – my dad bought our first one shortly after I was born. We stored all the life vests in the bow, tucked underneath against the fiberglass sides of the hull. I would always crawl in there as a child, curl up on my little nest of life vests, listening to the sound of water swooshing against the sides of the boat. My mom would look at me a little green, asking how on earth I could handle being totally enclosed like that, unable to see. But it was my version of a rocking chair. No matter what boat we were in – the canoe, the aluminum car-topper, or later the bayliner ski boat, I was always found curling up in the bow, my safe place.

Today BabyH splashed and swam with SIL in one end of the pool. The sun warmed my face as the water cooled my hands and feet. I closed my eyes, breathed deep, and for a little while nothing at all really mattered.

It comes in waves, sneaking up on me, crushing me when I least expect it. Panic. Fear. There are days when I feel like I’m sitting underwater, the pressure sitting on my chest, like a physical manifestation of the huge obstacles in my way. It sits there, unmoving, and I slowly suffocate.

I had the appointment with my RE today, the consult to talk protocol and plans for this next cycle. I went in with a little bit of hope that he’d have some new idea, some new research paper, that could point us in the right direction. He didn’t have any. I wasn’t shocked by that, but I was a little disappointed. We’re going to do the same protocol as last time, he might change dosage very slightly as we go. Last cycle went very well for me, so it’s truly not a terrible thing. At least we’re in a better spot than we were before the last stims cycle. At least this one has a much better chance of giving good eggs.

But it’s the eggs, it all comes down to the eggs. After talking for a bit I said to him, “I’m guessing you’d recommend putting in more than one this time.” He certainly does. For me his recommendation is transferring 2 or 3 embryos at day 3, or 2 blastocysts on day 5. At this point it’s pretty clear I am not a “normal” IVF patient, and just don’t fall into the normal recommendations. I observed that my implantation rate has not been good. He told me that the research is showing that women with low oocyte maturity – people like me – seem to have a much lower pregnancy rate than normal patients…. our eggs just don’t stick very well. Even though they look like perfect embryos, dividing and growing and getting a really good rating. There’s still something just not right about them.

He made a mistake, though. We were looking at my full IVF history, with my losses and everything, and he said how just unfortunately I’ve been. I was quick to point out that I did get a viable pregnancy with my own egg, a healthy baby… that my stillbirth was a freak accident, and not connected to this egg immaturity problem. He said, “We don’t know that for sure.” My thoughts froze. I acquiesced and conversation moved on, but inside my head I was saying, No, no, no. Don’t say that, it’s not true. It’s not true. Don’t put those thoughts in my head! I’ve spent the rest of the day with a little voice in the back of my head wondering if it was possible. What if something is truly that fucked up about my eggs? Devin’s placenta was small, he was small. Maybe what killed him was a freak accident, but was there something else wrong? Was it really truly a complete fluke that I have these two really rare things happen to me… or are they connected? After returning to work I wanted to huddle in the corner with my hands pressed to my ears, as if that could keep my fears – my paranoia – at bay.

I left my appointment with my light jacket pulled haphazardly over my head in an attempt to protect myself from the downpour, but I couldn’t throw a cover over my heart. I am so broken. I sat in the car for a while, called Den, replayed thoughts and numbers and realizations. When he was talking about my eggs and pregnancy rate I knew he was right. I’ve known the truth for a while, but today it hit me full-on. Hearing the doctor say what I already knew made it real. There is something very wrong with my eggs. All of IVF is a gamble, but for me they truly are shooting in the dark. All the normal statistics just don’t apply.

I will be transferring two embryos next time, because I have finally accepted that the chance of me getting twins is pretty much nil. As much as I want to believe it has something to do with the cycle, the quality of the egg…. the last cycle really blew it out for me, I think. A perfect blastocyst, from a stims cycle that produced a embryo that led to a pregnancy, a FET without the demands of stims… it was the ideal cycle. If any of them were going to work, it was. And it didn’t. It simply didn’t. Once the possibility of twins – and the higher risk that entails – is removed, then transferring more makes sense. I need to be pregnant. Maybe this will help it happen sooner.

But the thought also panics me. I have only two stims cycles left under my insurance coverage, and whatever frozen transfers may result from those stims. That’s it. Total, lifetime. I know it seems foolish, but I start thinking about how it is looking more and more that we will never get the two living children we’ve always wanted, to raise together. And sometimes, when I am feeling really low, I wonder if we will have enough to bring home even one. It does seem like 2 stims cycles and FETs is enough to get me pregnant at least once…. but what if I lose that one, too? It just doesn’t seem to be enough of a buffer. I’m suddenly staring at the end of the road drawing nearer and it’s freaking me out.

Back when we started this journey into IVF we had only 2 stims cycles covered, but that seemed like plenty enough. That was back when the chance of pregnancy was over 50%, when stims cycles would result in a basketful of eggs, where babies didn’t die and miscarriages happened to other people. Now I’m adding it all up and it scares the shit out of me.

My doctor told me I’m handling all these disappointments and losses with a lot of grace. And I am, in some ways. But he doesn’t see how my grace is based entirely on the faith that this will work out in the end – that all of this pain and suffering will be worth it when I bring home my child. And he doesn’t see how very dark it gets when I allow the possibility that this won’t end well at all.

Twitter and I are breaking up.

I like the concept. It works well for me. But the problem is the public-ness of it all. I know, I write in a public blog about my reproductive system, what could possibly be more public than that? The thing is, this blog is moderately “hidden” from search engines. I am not stupid, I know that nothing is fool-proof, but I have some sense of being left alone in the internet world. I am here, wide open, if you know where to look – on the infertility blog rolls, from other blogs. But some random schmo searching for “condoms” won’t suddenly pop up in my blog. I have things in place to keep the spam away – and it actually does a reasonably good job of it, too.

Twitter spam is irritating as hell. I get it in all forms – the random friender that is really just a spam front; the @replies from some company/product that I might have mentioned off-hand; and the people who twitter and add others just for the numbers and the publicity. It pisses me off. Don’t use me to make a buck. Some days I feel like the only thing my twitter account does is allow this crap to find me. I now think twice about what words I’m using. It’s negated all the positives.

I find myself liking Facebook more, though I post much less there than I do in Twitter. I know who is reading, and it’s a lot more interactive. (It’s also a lot more family members, which is why I keep discussions of my hooha down to a minimum there… hence having twitter separate.)

So I might be going friends-only with twitter. Which means no happy twitter updates at the top of the blog during IVF stuff… which is the reason I started it in the first place. This is a problem. I dislike problems.

I love my living room. I think I have always known this, but talking about things with my therapist today really solidified it in my head: I really love my living room.

I didn’t always. There was a time when it, like the entire rest of the house, disgusted me. It had dark wood panelling and horrid wallpaper and just looked like a disgusting, old, dirty cave. When we pulled the paneling down I worked very hard to find the perfect paint color, a very light grey-green. I have two shelves of photos, one of Den and me, one for Devin. I hung some of my photos on the wall. It’s not done yet – there’s still a built-in bookcase to paint, and the trim hasn’t been painted yet either. But it’s airy. Bright. There are windows on both sides of the room that we open to let a breeze through. Even when the rest of the house is too warm, I sit beneath the lazily spinning ceiling fan and feel perfect. I can sit here and look out at our yard, at the sky and the sun. Yesterday morning I set up my laptop, pulled out my notepad, and worked on some freelance projects. I felt at peace – and how often does that happen? I love this room for that reason alone.

This was the room I set up camp in when I got my Zoe as a puppy. Both of our desks and computers were in the second bedroom (the “baby’s room”), with far too many cords and other chewables for a new puppy. So I shut all the doors, set up the baby gate, and used the living room as my home base. I had my laptop on the kitchen table, the TV, the couch, and lots and lots of dog toys. I remember those months with so much joy. There was no baby at that point, no TTC. No job. Just my little furry baby and me all day. We’d play on the floor with her toys, then she’d sack out on my lap or on her pillow like only a baby can. I’d watch TV for an hour, legs going numb, because I couldn’t bear to move her.

That’s always how I pictured my time with a baby: here in this living room, baby toys everywhere, just me on the floor all day, doing nothing and everything… and finding joy beyond words in doing it. This room has all those memories, and all those hopes and dreams. I hope someday I’ll be able to fulfill them.

Dear baby boy:

It has been two years since we first found out you were going to be ours, two years since that light came into my life. I know most people don’t consider a positive pregnancy test the start, but with you…. you left too soon. But I had 8 months with you. 8 months of feeling the happiest I’ve ever felt in my life. 8 months of knowing that things were going to be different… that things were different. And this was the start of it. Staring at that pregnancy test, feeling my heart race, feeling giddy and shocked and struck with a sense of wonder beyond anything I had known. I looked at that positive pregnancy test, with two pink lines, and knew you were there, growing.

I can’t believe it’s been 2 years since then. By the time I get pregnant with your next sibling there will have been 2 years between successful IVF cycles. That is the timing I wanted between you and your sibling. I want to keep this happy and remember all the good things, but it’s been a long time. I’m getting so tired, baby boy… so tired of waiting. I can accept the reality that you will never be here with us, but I can’t understand why you don’t have a sibling growing yet. We almost did. We thought we did.

I don’t like watching the time go by.