Last night, after we got home, Den suggested I go pee on a test. I did. Instead of waiting alone in the bathroom this time I brought it downstairs, turned face-down, and waited five minutes. Den and I sat together as I turned it over. My heart was thudding loudly in my chest as I hoped and hoped I would see that magical second line.

But there was nothing there. We just sat in silence for a few moments, me tilting the test this way and that. Didn’t help. No line.

But there was still a thought of me that thought, maybe I didn’t wait long enough to pee. Maybe, because this was in the evening and not the morning, that it just wasn’t good enough. Maybe tomorrow morning…

So I slept. I woke up a half an hour before our alarm and snuck into the bathroom to test again. This time I was alone again, in the bathroom, staring at it as it developed – but this time my heart did not thud in my chest. I knew the answer already. It too was stark white except for the control line. Not pregnant. I went back to bed.

I was very matter-of-fact about it all day. Over the past week I’ve just had this sinking feeling (which in itself made me hopeful, like my mind and body were setting me up for a big bait-and-switch). This cycle was too much like our first one. The egg quality just wasn’t fantastic. Even though we got three mature eggs and two embryos this cycle, I really just couldn’t believe that they were good enough. Oh there were times when I really thought I was pregnant, sure. I sure as hell hoped so. But there were two reasons I was so calm, and one of them was that I really didn’t think it was going to be positive… and I could wait to see the negative. I hate seeing another negative test. Hate them.

The other reason I was so calm I figured out yesterday, Christmas Eve: I had pretty successfully managed to avoid accepting that it was Christmas and thus time for this cycle to end. Through putting up all the lights, shopping for gifts, baking, wrapping I have maintained a very good attitude. I did not cry about our loss at all (more than usual), I did not sit around picturing Devin and this Christmas. It was like I was functioning, but blissfully unaware in my deep subconcious.

All that changed Christmas Eve when the wrapping was done, we were dressed, and Den was asking me if I was ready to go to his dad’s. It hit me all at once: it really was Christmas. And I did not want it to be Christmas. I wanted to hit the fast forward button, or just put in another tape. Christmas without my son here is pointless and painful. I ended up curled in the bed sobbing in shallow near-hyperventillating breaths. Luckily the anxiety attack didn’t last very long. But no wonder I wasn’t thinking about testing: here I was, desperately hoping Christmas would just skip this year.

I did not cry again throughout it all. Even after the two pregnancy tests, even at family gatherings, even watching my neice open her gifts. I felt… calm. Resigned. I was right in one regard: the family gatherings were no worse than if I hadn’t tested. Today’s internal turmoil was about Devin, which eclipses pretty much any other complaint, big or small. It should not be Christmas without my son. It is not Christmas without my son. Not this year. This year was some sort of half-assed farce. My heart was nowhere close to being in it.

But as the day and evening wore on I felt myself getting more and more frustrated. More angry. Not only is my son not here to celebrate Christmas, but I’m not even pregnant again. Stillbirth and infertility. That angry, angry combination. It just gets me to the point of wanting to throw things. I am TIRED of hearing people getting pregnant. I am TIRED of assholes (friends of friends) having babies when they shouldn’t be. I am TIRED of constantly being the one shit on.

I finally broke down after we got home, after I sat with my laptop and recognized the anger and hurt that was bubbling up inside.

Mostly I’m angry that we have at least another two months to wait to hold our baby in our arms. At this stage pregnancy is sounding more like a chore, a huge wait that I would rather just skip to the end of. I did it, you know? I did all but the last month. I loved it, and I hope to do it – and really enjoy it – again someday… but right now I just want a baby. A real, live baby of our own, in our arms. So this IVF just tacks on another 2 months to the already long wait of pregnancy. That’s what I’m frustrated about. That’s what I’m angry about. I’m tired of waiting.

Last time the first try didn’t work. But the second one did. I can only hope this will continue to follow that pattern. This next cycle will be our heralding of the new year.

Please let 2009 be better. Please.

Not pregnant.

Honestly I’m not surprized. I feel disappointed… so sad I won’t get my September birthday baby… but not in the least surprized. This whole cycle was a damn fuck-up. That embryo was in all likelihood just not the best quality. Or we fell on the wrong side of the 50-50 odds.

So we do it all again. And hope next time I don’t overstim.

So the omnipresent question is… did you test? When are you testing? And my answer is… no. And I don’t know.

Originally I was going to do my typical testing every two days up until the beta. Given the issues with timing and everything I planened to take a test – knowing it wouldn’t be conclusive – today, Tuesday, and then test again on Thursday, Christmas day. For a while I leaned towards wanting the Christmas morning surprize test. With the news of the lost frosty I decided to guard my heart and test on Tuesday, preparing myself for the worst.

But I woke up today for work and only thought about testing for the briefest of moments. The thought was more an acknowledgement, Oh yeah, I was going to take a test today, but then I shrugged and the thought was gone. After learning of a work delay I went back to sleep without a problem. No wondering what the test would show, no itching to find out as soon as possible.

This is the first time in any of my cycles that I have ever felt this calm coming up to the end of the two week wait. I feel… resigned. I have absolutely no idea what the answer will be – it could go either way and I have no inclination to take a guess. I just feel like it’s going to be what it’s going to be, and either way it opens up a bunch of issues. In a way I feel safe right now, sitting in limbo. I know that I don’t know – I have a chance, but not a guarantee – and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it.

So Thursday, after Christmas dinner and family visits, I will take a test that will tell me if I am waiting for the next stims or the next ultrasound. Both kind of scare me. But at least the answer on Thursday will be pretty reliable. Whatever I am given that night is what I will have to come to terms with.

I am scared. I am sorrowful. I am hopeful.

I ask not for a positive, since that is beyond my control. I ask only that I have the serenity to accept the result.

In June of this year, the day that my neice was born a mere three months after Devin’s birth and death, I entered our local Hallmark store for the first time since I was pregnant. I was looking for a gift for my neice and knew I would find it there – it had lots of very cute, appropriate baby items. Items that mean something, not just the same old bear or rattle. I found what I was looking for, but instead of darting out of the store I found myself standing in front of the baby boy section. I touched the plush rattle I had seen months before, looked at the baby boy memory books and little blue piggy banks, tears welling up in my eyes as I struggled to stand against the wave of emotion within me. Amongst all of the items there was a soft blue taggies blanket, and my hand went to it of its own accord. I picked it up, thinking how perfect it was – no, would have been – for Devin. With a heavy sorrow I put it back and left.

A few days ago I was back in that store shopping for Christmas gifts, and again I found myself standing in front of the baby section. This time I didn’t cry. The blanket was still there. I picked it up again, considering. But… no. I put it back.

It turns out we had to go back to that store today to pick up one last gift. I ran to the back to grab the blanket, and turned to my husband who had walked up behind me. Apologetically I said, “I know it might be stupid, but I need this blanket.” So today I bought it… for Devin. Even though he’s not here. I’m here. And I need it.

See, Sheepie really likes it. ;)

As I started this entry I thought how very fitting the title was before I even knew it: this was a present for Devin… as a way of keeping him present in our lives. It’s not just that Devin was. He is, and always will be.

It has snowed a lot in the last few days. The dogs are thrilled. The husband, less so.

I still think the snow just makes everything look beautiful. The trees, the streets, the hills… everything so clean and white and pure. There’s a different kind of silence when the earth is coated with snow. It’s perfect.

Even the dogs look like perfect little angels.

My bloated ovaries have finally gone down and I no longer have to shuffle around clutching my coat closed for fear that someone will ask me when I’m due. It’s been a couple of days now that I have been comfortable again. It was not such a good week. Anytime I ate something of some weight I immediately felt like my insides were being squashed. It actually felt more uncomfortable than being a month away from my due date. I guess the uterus is designed to expand like that… your ovaries, not so much.

So it was definitely worse this time than cycle #1. My blog entries from then indicate that I was feeling back to normal the day after transfer, and that was certainly not the case this time. I believe it was a full week after retrieval.

Monday at my casual job I wore my jeans, as usual. It did NOT go over well. I felt so sick all day, like they were about to throttle me to death. I had to undo the button, and even sometimes unzip them entirely. And these were my big jeans that haven’t fit me for a month! So Monday evening I did something I swore I wouldn’t do and pulled open my bin of maternity clothes. Most of it woudn’t fit me right now anyways, but I gleefully wore my maternity sweatpants to work on Tuesday and was so happy I did. Oh, oh so worth it.

So I’d have to say that Wednesday I was feeling better, though still feeling big. Thursday I made sure to wear a loose fitting shirt to our pig-out food party at work, so I wouldn’t feel self-concious. But the good news was that, even though I ate a ton of food all day, I never felt sick! So yes, I would say Thursday was the day I really started feeling much more like myself again. A week exactly.

As for other things going on in my body, it’s been a bit interesting. One of the changes I am most appreciative at this time of year is that I am not cold anymore! My blood runs very cold. But between the progesterone and the iron suppliment I started taking again it is doing the trick. I am, of course, a little chilly – it is the middle of a snowstorm, after all – but my hands aren’t freezing cold all day at work. I really really like this. And no, I have no clue which of the two is having this effect, since I was on both during my pregnancy (well, the progesterone was natural for most of it, but you get what I mean) and I started both at roughly the same time. I’m really hoping it’s the iron – that’s something I can maintain regardless of my cycle and pregnancy status.

Another interesting thing I’ve noticed the last week is that, despite the allure of all the chocolate and cookies and sweet treats that I have been lavished with this holiday season I am really not craving them. In fact I have a bin of cookies and a bunch of lindor and ferrero roche chocolates in my house and I have barely nibbled at them. Today we went to Applebees for dinner because I craved one of their salads. So… yeah. Progesterone apparently makes me crave healthy foods. Same as last time. My body knows what its doing.

I have felt some very minor cramping/twinging going on today, mainly from my left ovary. Things getting back to normal size after their ovarian verson of sumo wrestling. It’s not much, just little periodic reminders of the fact that I am in the middle of a cycle still. (Thanks, like I really needed the reminder!)

(And just to point out, my “symptoms” are not that of a pregnancy or not, but rather due to the copious amounts of progesterone I get to shove up my hoo-ha daily.)

I think the hardest thing for the two week wait – and the first few weeks of a pregnancy, I am sure – is the simple knowledge that you can’t make a single damn bit of difference in what’s going on inside you. My reaction is to be careful, act pregnant – which I’m sure is not a bad thing – but if jarring movements dislodged embryos there would be a hell of a lot less pregnancies in this world. And my first two cycles proved quite neatly that one’s attitude during the two week wait does not affect the outcome. It’s in there, it’s where it’s supposed to be, and it’s either going to grow or it’s not. I can’t see it, I can’t feel it, I can’t test for it, nothing. And that is just really weird. When you’re growing the eggs you can see the follicles. When they retrieve the eggs they can count them all. When they fertilize the eggs they can watch them grow under a microscope. And then they put it back in and it’s like turning out the lights for two weeks. I’m pretty sure this is what it’s going to feel like in between ultrasounds, for the first trimester of my next pregnancy… until I can feel movement, or at least hear the heartbeat by doppler.

I’ve never been a very patient person. I hate waiting around. I want to know… but at the same time the thought of another negative test makes me feel a little sick to my stomach. Maybe a state of suspended belief isn’t such a bad place to be, after all.

I am feeling anxiety creep up on me. The holidays, the cycle wait, work, the weather… it’s all conspiring to make me feel a little bit jumpy. Plus running out of my anti-depressant probably wasn’t good either. (I’ve only missed one day, which does not have a large impact, but it does start to have some effects at the end of the second day.)

I don’t even know what I’m looking for. I’m wandering the house looking for food, though I’m not hungry. I’m wandering the internet looking for conversation, though I don’t really want to read. I’m just… wandering. Aimlessly.

I’m trying to think more about Christmas and less about this cycle – although, neither topic is very relaxing, to say the least. Packages still aren’t mailed, and I would have had them all ready to go tonight if it weren’t for a wee snow storm we are having at the moment. Everything shut down and I wasn’t going to venture out. (Although before everything shut down everyone was apparently out at the bank getting money so they could buy 5 gallons of milk and fill up their vehicles with gas… so they can go home and go nowhere. This is New England, people. Everything will be fully functional tomorrow. Go home and stop freaking panicking.)

Being sent home early felt like a little gift. I got home before 4pm, whiich is unheard of for me nowadays on a week day. It was fabulous. We moved the tree downstairs (the cats have been climbing it during their unsupervised nights), I decorated… and when I was done I still had a whole evening to enjoy myself. I’ve been watching some TV shows and trying to just unwind.

I’m really starting to wonder how long I can maintain working 6 days a week. I know it’s a stressful time for me right now, so I probably need a little more downtime than I would normally, but I’m getting a bit exhausted. By the time I get done with dinner and a little bit of cleaning up (very little), go through the mail, respond to emails, and whatever else I need to do that day it’s time for bed. In order to write a blog entry and watch an episode of my show I have to stay up another two hours, which means I get two hours less sleep. I feel like I either have to choose between my “unwinding” time and sleep. And that sucks. I am wondering if my schedule will change when my coworker who is on maternity leave comes back. There was talk of her maybe not coming back, but it looks like she will be. So I’ll wait and see how they want to manage it.

The last couple days I’ve been hitting the second half of the 2 week wait – which is to say, my optimism is faltering. And then we got the letter that stated: “Embryos Cultured to Day 6: 1; Blastocysts Frozen: 0.” I can say the wind has been sufficiently taken out of my sails.

I sat on Den’s lap for a little bit while we both silently wondered the same thing: what does this mean about jellybean, the one we put inside us? The past week I had this thought that if our secondary choice was doing so fabulously, then the one we put inside me must be doing well. The embryo in the petri dish was the shadow, the mirror.

So now what does this mean? Does it mean the embryo quality this cycle simply wasn’t good enough? Or does it mean that the eggs that matured later just didn’t do a very good job of it? Or maybe it just means that my embryos prefer my uterus to a petri dish. I don’t know. They don’t know.

Now we have no damn safety net. I didn’t feel so upset about this cycle not taking, because we could just pop in the second one for another try at it. No going through this stimming and fertilization bullshit with the added fun of OHSS. Two chances for the price of one!

I was just so surprized and happy at the thought of having a frozen egg. It was so monumental, so unexpected in this fight against my egg maturity problem. It felt like a victory. Well, an almost-victory.

The last week before testing is always so filled with anxiety and unease, bouncing from convinced that it worked to convinced that it didn’t. I much prefer the contentment and conviction of hope that permeates my first week. The wait was always bad enough without disappointing news in the middle of it.

I guess I shouldn’t feel too surprized by this. I was happy just to know that we had one good embryo. And somehow I think I would have felt much better right now if we had only one to start with. I was given something, then had it taken away. And that really pisses me off.

Enough with the taunting, life. Let me get on with it in a straight line. I am tired of roller coasters.

No frosty. Jellybean #2 didn’t make it.

I was talking to Den about personality type tests and how me and my co-workers were on different ends of the spectrum in many ways. I find it hard to pin down my husband’s personality type. I led him through a quick Jung personality type and found out why: he’s pretty borderline in almost everything. It did peg him as the “Champion” type, ENFP, and I can see a lot of that in him. But there are large portions of the description that just aren’t necessarily right. He fluxuates. I can see a lot of ESTJ in him, even (moreso than any other – isn’t that strange).

After he fell asleep I took the test myself to see how I’ve changed over the years. Interestingly enough I fall into the INFJ category now. The introverted part is a no-brainer, and after reading some descriptions of different types I do certainly seem to be an NJ – intuitive judging. But it’s that little F that’s a surprize.

I used to be a very solid INTJ: the thinker. Many parts of the description still describe me very well, and I do think it’s dependent on what I am working on at the moment. I can be highly analytical and judgemental, sometimes to the exclusion of others’ feelings and situations. When I’m working, I’m working.

I chuckled when reading the description. There have been times, many times, when at my one job I’ve just made a decision that something is stupid and needs to be changed – so I change it and let my boss find out later. (And she happens to really really hate change.) I am a perfectionist, and my respect needs to be earned – and once lost is hard to regain.

But over the past few years a different side of me has been developing: the activist. The feeler.

This is the side of me that is the writer, the mother. As my social skills developed, so did a great sense of empathy for others. One of the problems we encounter in our marriage is that I am highy reactive to his moods. I feel very, very deeply – I am easily hurt. And I feel a need to reach out to others. It is why I work in animal rescue, why I want to do more with pregnancy and birth, why I want to reach out more to other loss mamas.

I have grown up in so many ways. As a child I felt so very isolated – more, I think, than a typical teen does. I had poor social skills combined with an introvert personality, a biological tendency towards depression, and an overly analytical mind that always had me questioning and working on details.

I feel far more connected to the “mother” earth now, to the world around me. I have made many social connections and found that I enjoy helping others. I enjoy speaking out and supporting a cause – as long as I’m not standing out from the rest.

It is interesting being at such different ends of the same spectrum.

But of course there is a big part of me that thinks these personality tests are hugely flawed anyways. Fascinating, and certainly worth taking a good look at yourself to see if you can learn anything new… but to be taken with a grain of salt.