Today, if you didn’t know already, we spent the day at six flags. We are very lucky to live close to one, and I love the coasters, but it’s been several years since we went… I don’t think we went in 2007 at all before I got pregnant, since that year was entirely spent doing cycles before then. Last year we didn’t go just because we never got our act together enough to go. So this year I said, damnit, I am going!

One of the reasons I like to go when we can is that in 2003, before Den bought this house, when we were living in a small apartment and just dating, we went to six flags together. It was the best date, ever. The rides kind of lose their thrill after a little while, the sights get a little boring, but man, going back there brings back the memories of that perfect day.

There were signs all over the park about upgrading your day pass to a season pass. We’ve been talking about getting a season’s pass for years… but every year I keep saying, “but I’ll be pregnant,” and we don’t. And then I thought about what Terry posted in my comments a while back:

when we were contemplating a trip to Costa Rica with friends, and I was struggling with whether or not I wanted to take the chance, my husband said something that I was (and still am) grateful for. It was something like, “If we don’t plan to go and you AREN’T pregnant by then, you will be disappointed that we didn’t go. But if we do plan to go and you ARE pregnant by then, you will be so happy to be pregnant you won’t care that we missed out on the trip or wasted some money.”

So we bought the tickets. And even if I am pregnant all summer I can go to the water park and play in the pool while the others go on the waterslides. But I kept thinking, if I’m not pregnant after this FET I’m going to need something to do. With a season pass it’s not like we need to plan for a full day’s outing… we can just pop in and out whenever we want, if we have some time in the evening if it suits us.

(My hair was an effing DISASTER today. Those coasters did their own version of hair styling.)

::

On the downside, all day I’ve felt like I needed to pee. Even after going to the bathroom. Now that I’m home I definitely notice it. I hope I don’t have another UTI starting, ugh.

As hopeful as I am for this cycle, and as excited as I want to be, I have to admit that I am frankly terrified that our embryo isn’t going to survive thaw and that we’ll have nothing to transfer. Every time I think about next week I get a huge knot of anxiety sitting on my chest, so I just have to push it off and think of something else. I’ll feel better after transfer. I think. But then there’s always something to hold my breath for, isn’t there.

::

Today at work we had to have the vet euthanize one of the cats. It was his time to go, he was very sick and not getting better, but it’s still a loss of an animal whom we’ve cared for the last several years. It’s always hard. I wasn’t there at the vet’s office, but my coworker came back in tears.

But I didn’t cry. I rarely cry anymore – about anything. A lot of girls talk about being more sensitive to everything, and I do remember a phase when that was the case with me. But now it’s almost a numb feeling… but not really numb. It’s like… I’ve felt so my grief, such deep, cutting pain, that the little things don’t really register anymore.

I was thinking about it all day today and realized, it’s not entirely true. There was a point when I was talking to my coworker, watching her tears, that I could feel them stirring in me. But I shut it out instinctively. Because I realized I don’t want to start. Once I start crying, once I start letting that sadness creep in, it doesn’t stay just a little cry over a cat. Letting down those walls means that it all floods in and I cry for everything.

In a way it makes me feel kind of crappy, because I don’t react “normally” to things. I don’t have a reaction of shock to horrible things anymore. It doesn’t surprize me when pregnancies are lost. I feel very jaded.

I remember a time when I thought I knew it all. I thought if you followed the rules and took good care of yourself that nothing would go wrong. I can only shake my head sadly at that past me’s arrogance and judgements. I looked down my nose at things that I thought weren’t necessary. Who the hell am I, anyways? I really think hard about those doctors who have been there, who have seen the dead babies and devastated families, and start to understand why they are quick to jump to early induction and c-sections. Because it doesn’t always go the way you expect it to. It doesn’t always go the way it should. And none of us know why, or who, or when.

I think about that old me and I both envy and loathe her ignorance. How very easy it is to know you are right… and how very humbling it is to realize how little you really know, and how little you really matter in the grand scheme of things.

::

Tomorrow morning is my lining check where they will hopefully tell me to start the progesterone. I am not anticipating any issues, but I’m still running through things in my head, making sure everything that needed to get done is done.

I forgot to mention something that happened that day we went to six flags. On our way into the park a woman with a handheld device stopped us to ask us a few survey questions. I’m totally cool with that and happily answer. Amid the questions she asks us if we went to six flags last year or the year before that. Last year, definitely not. But did we the year before that? Den and I discuss it briefly – I was pregnant that summer, I don’t think we got to go at all that year. We move on.

Near the end of the survey the young woman asked if we have any kids under 18 in our household. “Of course, one aged zero to 3, any others?” she says, pen poised above the screen, smiling happily. I froze, realizing that I was stuck, I had already mentioned the pregnancy and there was no way to get out of that without explaining the whole situation. I suddenly just wanted to get into the park. My mouth opened and closed, then I said, “No, just the one.” She nodded with that happy smile and moved on to the last questions.

So now Six Flags thinks I have a 1 year old in my house whom was being babysat on Monday so we could go ride the roller coasters. And I don’t feel bad for not correcting them. It’s more humorous in a sad, dead-baby-humor kind of way.

::

I drove home from work with gardens and projects and appointments and cycle dates all floating through my head, like usual. My mind stopped to weigh my thoughts, a little “check-in” with my emotional state. And I realized I feel okay. I’m not gleefully happy, but I don’t feel bad either.

I realized that a lot of that urgency and desperation has faded away, along with a large part of the grief. I remember cycling in December with this crazy feeling of fear mixed with excitement and a huge amount of frustration and anger and sadness. It felt like I was fighting uphill every step of the way, clinging on by sheer will. It was not a pleasant feeling, but it seemed both necessary and inescapable.

This FET feels like I’m floating along in the river. Just floating, treading water… conserving my energy for later, if I might need it. I think maybe it’s sunk in that all of this is out of my control. Or maybe it’s because now I know that pregnancy does not instantaneously mean bliss, and that maybe taking my time to prepare for the next emotional onslaught has its benefits.

One of the hardest parts of this journey has been redefining myself and my circumstances. I’ve been thinking about IVF and infertility. Just like there are those who are naturally very fertile and pregnant the first time they throw out the contraception, there are very fertile IVFers… which is to say, they get pregnant soon as they do IVF, that whatever their problem was is circumvented by the procedure. I once thought that was me. Even after our first cycle, with two embryos transfered, didn’t work, the second one did… so I convinced myself that the first cycle’s embryos were really bad and thus “didn’t count.” That all I needed was a “good” embryo and I would be pregnant. IVF#3 bombed horribly and didn’t really affect my belief, but IVF#4 hit hard. There was no crutch of bad embryos that time. 6 embryos, all looking so good, 2 frozen, 1 transferred at blastocyst stage… there was absolutely no reason it shoudn’t have implanted. But it didn’t. It just… didn’t. My next cycle from the same “batch” worked… well, not in the right place, but it did implant, I did get pregnant.

I was pushed into have to re-evaluate my mental perception of my fertility. Getting a healthy embryo is obviously not the only issue. Bad luck? Maybe. Whatever luck is, I do seem to have a terrible vesion. Or maybe there’s something else at play, another health issue yet unidentified. But either way it means that just because I have an embryo transferred, even a blast, gives me only a 50-50 chance just of getting a positive pregnancy test.

I think that’s what’s holding me aimless right now, holding me back from making plans and getting excited. I am a spectator to my own life, just sitting back to see how my self will be redefined next.

But I’m okay with waiting, for now. The weeks go by quickly enough. I keep myself busy.

Yes, I forgot to post about the appointment on Wednesday morning. It was pretty standard… blood draw, wait, into exam room to wait some more. My stomach was all kinds of upset, as is usual when I have to sit naked in an exam room.

The ultrasound tech had a Resident with her, which isn’t a big deal to me. But she was being more thorough than usual to show her what things look like, etc. She turned on the blood flow view of the ultrasound… I could see a couple of small marks of red. Something in my gut jumped, because that was the view I remember them turning on at Devin’s last ultrasound, when they turned it on to look for blood flow and found only a few spots, instead of a pulsing beacon like there should be. The moment of remembrance was over quickly, and then I very very briefly panicked, wondering what the heck she was looking at, was something wrong? But then I heard her tell the Resident that there was nothing of note, not like she expected anything, but it’s good to check. Always good to rattle me.

My uterus looked… thick. She measured it at a 12 triple layer, and said out loud, “Can’t get any better than that!” So at least we know my uterus is cushy and happily waiting for an embryo. No issues there – not that there ever has been.

The u/s tech chatted briefly with me in the hall before I left. She said I look good, considering that I’m standing there in that hall yet again. I smiled. It happened once, it’ll happen again, I said. She is so nice – she’s the kind of tech who is very gentle, very knowledgeable about her job, and remembers you. Every time I go in she knows not just where I’m at in my current cycle, but she remembers that I’m prone to overstimming and that my problem is egg maturity.

I got the call later that day that my transfer is scheduled for 11am on Tuesday.

I’m still so nervous, though. Only one embryo in storage… and my luck has proven to suck in the biggest way. I’m terrified that it’s not going to survive thaw – I don’t know the survival rate on day 6 frozen embryos. If I can get to transfer with a live, beautiful embryo, then maybe I’ll start breathing again a little bit.

Today at a BBQ I knew very few people besides a couple of coworkers. One of the women I recognized from work (though not my office), so I seated myself at her table. She’s one of those people who are very energetic, very vibrant, who say what’s on their mind. She and her husband included me in conversation without a pause.

Before I knew it she jumped out of chair and came around the table towards me, saying, “Oh, I love your necklace! Is that a footprint? No, it’s a handprint!” I was wearing Devin’s necklace. I was caught off-guard and stuttered, “Yes.” My mouth parted wordlessly as I hastily tried to figure out how to explain what the necklace was for me.

Maybe she saw the jolt in my eyes, maybe she just wanted to explain, but before I could get anything out she said, “I know your story,” with a little motion that said it’s fine. I relaxed immediately. She turned the necklace over to read Devin’s birth stats and said, “Awwwww. That is SO nice, I love it!” I told her how some of my friends had bought it for me after Devin’s passing, but that I don’t wear it to work because I just don’t want to deal with explanations when I am working. She nodded, understanding. We had a little conversation about jewelry and children – she has two. (Children, that is. According to her husband she has far more jewelry.)

I just found the whole exchange very refreshing. I had no idea this person knew anything about me, much less that my son had died, but since she’s friends with my coworker I shouldn’t be surprized that info was passed along. I’m always grateful to avoid explaining to the unexpecting. I think the part that makes me smile most is that she knew that Devin died, but still happily, normally opened conversation about my necklace and about Devin. As other baby-loss mamas know, that doesn’t happen too often – they usually sit and wait for you to bring it up. (Not that I blame anyone for that, they have no idea how someone will react!) It was quite refreshing.

I spent the large part of the rest of my time there making faces at my coworker’s baby. He’s a cute kid, and seems to like me. Ever since I got pregnant with Devin I’ve noticed that babies and little kids seem to be attracted to me. They never used to before. I held him for a little while… until he spit up, then I hastily gave him back. (Not that I couldn’t deal with it, but if I don’t get all the good stuff, I’m not dealing with the gross stuff.)

It feels good just be me, to enjoy things – babies – as much as I can, around people who understand that there’s a huge shadow for me. I like that my coworker asks if I want to hold him. I like being able to bounce a grinning baby on my knee and think, you know, I’ll be good at this one day. I like that the people in my life look at me with understanding – and not pity – in their eyes.

The other day we passed a military cemetary. “Is that where you’re going to be buried?” I asked Den. “It depends. Whatever you want,” he replied. I informed him that I wanted to be buried with Devin. “I don’t think that’s possible, hon,” he pointed out. Devin is buried in a baby section. I didn’t even have to pause. “We can move him.”

I guess it’s been on my mind, since the words sat well with me. I don’t mean move him now – he is fine, with the babies. But when I die, I want him put with me. I want his headstone and mine to be together, so that people know he was my son, so that they know how long I had to live without my baby boy. I’d like Denis to be there too (if he decides that he does indeed want to be buried). I guess I’ll need to put aside some money so that family can do all of that. Maybe, if we have extra money someday, we will move Devin sooner – but that would require purchasing the family plots, so I don’t see that happening. Not until it’s necessary.

When I was pregnant with Devin I mentioned to Den briefly that we ought to have a Will drawn up. It just seemed so morbid, we never got past that brief mention. Now talking about death and planning doesn’t seem like such a strange, creepy thing.

This is a little intro I wrote for somewhere else online. I wanted to post it here too.

I have spent the last three and a half years waiting. At first we thought it would be a short wait, so I held off on everything. Then we were neck-deep in treatments, so I couldn’t do anything. Then I got pregnant! It was the blissful wait… with the wrong ending.

After Devin died I was right back into waiting, but this time I got a job… for a little while, I said. I’ve been at that job for 10 months now. I am not pregnant. I look back at the last ten months and think, thank doG I got something accomplished in that time. At least I was busy, at least I was making money, at least we’re working on the house. It is NOT wasted time.

Infertility and loss have well and truly fucked up my life plan. I spent a long time being angry about that, and being fretful that I’ll never get it back on track. I hit the pause button on my life and lived in limbo for a long time, convinced that was my only option. After all, I have no idea when I will get pregnant. It could be in two weeks, or 4 months, or a lot longer. Three and a half years ago I never even considered the possibility that it could take over three and a half years. I have learned that nothing goes as planned.

The longer I wait the more I realize that what I need to do is change around the order of my plans. Until that part of my life starts I will work on the other parts. I am thankful that I got that job. We know my income will stop one day, so we’re throwing all of it into the house while we can. We made a garden, ordered a new front door. This summer we plan to have our hardwood floors refinished, paint the ceilings, replace the kitchen countertop, rebuild the stairs. All the little things we said “we’ll do later,” well we’re doing them now. Because we can. Because we don’t have something else to do.

In the end it will be very nice to have all these things done before a baby is brought home. Our house will be more finished, more living-friendly. Not that we couldn’t have had a baby in our house before but… it will be nice.

I used to not make plans because “I’ll probably be pregnant.” Well fuck that. I’m making plans. I’ll happily cancel them if I need to.

Living without a timeline is really freaking hard for me. But damnit, I’m tired of not living at all. If this is how it has to be, then so be it.

I am PUPO!! (Pregnant Until Proven Otherwise) I have an embryo nestled safe inside.

I woke up in the middle of the night, anxious. I distracted myself online until I could fall asleep again. Then this morning the anxiety returned… I was starting to think that maybe taking the valium in the morning would be more beneficial than taking it right before transfer, lol. I had a ton of things to do before my appointment, so I just was zipping around town checking them off my list one after another. I was glancing at the clock all morning, checking to see how much time I had left. As the time ticked by without a noise from my cell phone I slowly started to relax.

When we got to the hospital and checked in I felt a good half of the tension melt away – I mean, they wouldn’t have us suit up if there was no embryo, right? But as we waited and waited for the doctor to arrive I started worrying again. I wished the valium would kick in better.

But everyone greeted me happily and exclaimed over Sheepie. Finally I was wheeled into the IVF OR – with Sheepie! Yes, they let me bring him in with me! Den sat to my right, Sheepie was clutched to my chest, warm blankets enveloped me. Abdominal ultrasound (with warm gel!), speculum, catheter… catheter…. ummm, catheter does not want to go in. They got a different catheter, one that would bend better, they said. Whew no problems with that one.

Lab tech came in and gave us the report card. One blastocyst thawed, 1 blastocyst survived thaw, 0 embryos left in freezer. Before we knew it the little embryo was put in, an ultrasound pic was printed off for me, and I was wheeled back to my alcove for a mini nap (30 minutes laying down).

As I layed there I felt this rush of excitement and glee and relief flood me… all of that emotion I’ve been holding at bay for weeks, too nervous to experience it. But now we know it’s alive, and it’s safe back in me.

We have a long ways to go, emotionally and physically, before “pregnant”… but right now I’m just savoring this one small accomplishment.

Last night I slept on my right side.

I have no tube on my right side, but I do on my left. I mean, I know it is probably silly. Most people don’t get ectopics, no matter which way they sleep.

It just felt better, safer to lay on that side, knowing that the embryo had no hole to fall into.

::

Yesterday after transfer Den happened to glance at me as we were walking and said, “You’re waddling.” I looked at him with shifty eyes. Was I? Oh. Yeah. I was. It wasn’t even a concious decision. I was just walking as gingerly as possible, so as not to jostle anything.

::

I had intended to go back into work for a little bit yesterday evening. Monday I told my coworker that I am so over the “being careful” and bedrest shit. I shrugged. I just didn’t care.

And then after transfer I layed in bed with my laptop and sent a quick email to her asking if I could come in tomorrow instead… I was just going to take a nap and lay in bed. Just in case.

Also, I was falling asleep. I do not recall that from previous transfers, but yesterday I felt like a ton of bricks had hit me. The valium I take before transfer usually makes me loopy and a little sleepy, but yesterday I never got to the loopy stage. I was a little affected, maybe, sorta. Immediately after transfer, while laying in the hospital bed for my 30 minute horizontal time, I closed my eyes and just kind of meditated, Sheepie held in my arms. I thought about how lucky I am that we had an embryo, a live, growing embryo, and that it was safe inside me. But annoyingly I never felt the valium really kick in.

I got home, ate, took care of some business around the house, and then finally crawled into bed with my laptop to rest. And that’s when it hit me. I was trying to post and send a couple of emails, but it was hard to keep my eyes open. Finally I pushed my laptop to the side and feel deeply asleep.

Now I don’t know if the exhaustion was a delayed reaction of the valium, or if it was simply a result of all that pent-up anxiety leaving me in a rush, but either way I was exhausted. It felt blissful to fall asleep for a nap.

::

Today I was back to my regular routine of work and life this way and that. I feel no different. I keep forgetting that I’m “with embryo.” When I do remember I kind of wish I hadn’t… it’s much easier to go about my day without the thought floating above my head. I wish I could just forget for a week… just wake up one morning and say, “I think I’ll test now.”

I don’t want to think about babies. I don’t want to think about pregnancy. Thinking about it means letting the hope in, and with it the acceptance of more disappointment. After all these cycles I still haven’t figured out what’s easiest. In the end I don’t think there is an easiest, just good news and bad news. In the meantime I just try to get through each day with enough distraction that hopefully I can let it go for a little while.

I showed Den the new weekly pill sorter that I bought to replace the various large bottles that currently occupy my night stand. “Didn’t you already have one of those?” he asked.

“Yes, I did… but it’s too small to hold all the pills I now take.”

He gave me a sad headshake.

::

I’m laying in bed staring at my belly button. I wouldn’t call it completely healed, but it’s well on its way. And suddenly it occurs to me that I have more physical signs of being pregnant with the ectopic than being pregnant with Devin.

::

I can’t say that I don’t care, since plainly that isn’t true. But in a way I feel kind of numb… numb to the excitement, to the fear, to the anxiety. People ask me how things are going and I shrug. I don’t know, it’s just… going. I know where I am in my cycle, I know how many days I have left. But I feel very fatalist about it. It either will be or it won’t be, and nothing I do or say or think will change that.

I guess that’s one of the upsides, as it were, to having bad things happen when you do everything right: you really start to realize that what you do doesn’t really matter. Right now it doesn’t matter if I jump or run, it doesn’t matter what I eat, it doesn’t matter how much I fret or not. There’s a huge part of life that is out of your hands and slowly I’m coming to accept that and just let it go… let go of control, let go of the illusion.

I am not saying I am giving up. We are not stopping treatments, not at all – if this FET doesn’t work we’ll be going straight into another stims cycle. I am determined and will do whatever I need to. I just realize that every cycle brings only a 50-50 chance. That’s the chance we take, and I’m okay with that, because it means 50 more than what we had to start with. Chances are this will work – it just might not be this one.

The other thing keeping my excitement and nerves in check is the knowledge that even if I do get a positive pregnancy test it does not by any means guarantee a happy ending. My miscarriage hurt me in ways that the loss of Devin didn’t, because the timing was so different. I lived for two weeks in daily fear and anxiety – was I pregnant? Would I stay pregnant? I thought the next test would reassure me… the next pregnancy test, the next beta, the next ultrasound. And I am truthfully a little nervous to be thrown back into that place again. I was relieved after my surgery just because at least I knew where I stood. My beta is Thursday. Whenever I test, if I get a positive, I still have to wait until Thursday for the first hopeful reassurance… and the earlier I test, the longer I have to wait.

Things may very well change in the next few days, as the moment of truth comes closer… it usually does. For now I’m just waiting.

The progesterone effects are starting to kick in. I checked my symptom notes from the miscarriage, I wasn’t feeling anything else yet… I’ll keep my eye out on Sunday and Monday for anything that feels strange… but not too close. Even though it is my body, I am but an observer.

::

One of my favorite songs that is currently making me tear up. From the Land Before Time.

If We Hold On Together
Diana Ross

If we hold on together
I know our dreams will never die
Dreams see us through to forever
As high as souls can fly
The clouds roll by
For you and I