i am a butterfly…

Archive for the ‘IVF 2.0’ Category

Friday night, I think Scott was afraid he was going to have to hide my passport. I was thisclose to catching a cab to JFK and hopping on a plane to London. I picked London because it seemed like the shortest flight that would get me off this continent. It was a fairly serious threat, to go with him or without him.

I felt like I needed to get out. To leave everything behind and just go. I think I had a feeling in my gut that, if I could just run far enough, I could leave all the hurt and sadness and my broken heart behind me. It wouldn’t really have worked, of course, but the change of scenery couldn’t have hurt.

In lieu of taking off on a short, last minute trip to England, Scott and I had a “what the fuck” moment. As a result of that, we’re throwing all caution to the wind, forgetting about being broke, and going to the Isle of Skye in September. We plan to be there for the Autumnal Equinox. We’ll fly into Edinburgh, spend the night, then drive to Skye, where we’ll stay for a week. We’re debating staying in a B&B or a “self-catering” cottage, but leaning more toward the cottage. Either way, we should be able to stay for the week for about $800. The car rental appears to be pretty cheap, too, although I know gas is a lot more expensive overseas than it is in the U.S. The big expense will be airfare, of course, and that’s where we’re saying “fuck it.”

Scott and I will have been together for 13 years on September 27. In those 13 years, we’ve taken exactly one extended vacation together with it just being the two of us, and that was our honeymoon. Yes, we’ve taken long weekends, and weeks with our families, but not a whole week where it’s just us. The allure of escaping together, to a place that may as well be the end of the earth, has an appeal that can’t be resisted. So we’re going.

I’m ridiculously excited. I’m already planning what to pack and making lists of guide books to pick up next time I go book shopping. We plan to hike as much of the island as we can, so we’re going to start walking daily and going for hikes every weekend to get fit enough to do this trip the way we want. It’s still 7 months away, but I’m looking forward to this so much.

I wrote this a few days after this cycle’s transfer. It was sort of stream of consciousness, but if I got a positive, I was going to clean it up a little and use it as my first post in a new category entitled “Fertile & Hopeful.” The counter to the current category of “Barren & Bitter.”

I got the call from the clinic about half an hour ago, and the result was negative. I don’t have much to say right now, but I thought I’d post this to get it out of my drafts. It shows how high my hopes were for this cycle, which should give you an idea of how far down at the bottom I am right now.

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You were transferred back into my body on the coldest day of winter. As I dressed to leave the house, to go receive you back into my care, I wrapped myself up as carefully as I could. I chose the most comfortable clothing I had that was still fit for public viewing. (Left to my own devices at home, I’m most likely to choose something like a t-shirt and yoga pants. If you stick around, you’ll learn this.) I wanted to drape myself in softness and comfort, to pamper my outer body as I hoped my inner body would pamper and nurture you.

When I reached the doctor’s office, I waited and waited in the waiting room for it to be my turn. Papa arrived and we waited together. When we were finally called back to the procedure room, he stood by my head and tightly held my hand while the doctor did his work. When the doctor was done, we were left alone for a while, so you could adjust to your new environment. Papa and I talked and talked while we waited, holding hands and laughing softly as we discussed our dreams and hopes for you.

As I write this, I don’t know if you’re still in there. I hope you are. I hope you’re tucked safely into position, getting ready to start growing, getting ready to eventually accept the life of a new soul entering you and quickening you. I still won’t know for a week whether or not you’re still there.

I hope you are.

I took a pregnancy test this morning. It wasn’t positive.

Then again, it wasn’t negative, either. It wasn’t anything at all. Apparently, I had a defective test. There wasn’t even a line in the control window.

So maybe the universe is just telling me to chill out until Friday and wait for the blood test. I guess I’ll take the hint, if only because I have no more tests in the house.

I did take another one on Sunday, though, and that one was negative. But that was only 10 days after retrieval, which is too early, right? I mostly used it just to make sure the trigger shot was out of my system to prep for today’s test. So it’s okay that it was negative. I keep telling myself that.

For the time being, anyway. This morning, I officially switched to Crinone cream from progesterone in oil.

My clinic has been switching patients over, but my prescriptions were ordered before they started, so I got stuck with the PIO. After transfer on Monday, I asked if I could switch, and if the Crinone was any less effective. They said it’s just as effective. So why the hell am I still getting stabbed in the ass with a needle every night? So I switched. Now, after the first application of Crinone, I’m starting to wonder if I might not ask to switch back to PIO. I have a somewhat creamy, unpleasant sensation in my pants. Hopefully, it will go away,

I know, I know. You came by yesterday to find a post about Old Man and Weird Man, and left wondering, “What the hell? Wasn’t her transfer today?”

It was, but I had nothing to say about it before, when I wrote about the Old Man, and afterward, I was confined to the couch for the rest of the day. I’ll be back there today and tomorrow, too.

The transfer went well. We ended up with one, perfect grade 1 embryo and a second, slightly less perfect grade 1.5 embryo, with just a little fragmentation. We transferred both, and now we wait. We’re calling them peanut butter and jelly, to encourage stickiness.

I’m a little concerned, because I have a cold and I’ve been coughing. I’m not allowed to take anything except plain Robitussin, which I don’t think works very well, and Tylenol for my sore throat. So I’m perfectly miserable. I forgot how awful a plain old cold can be when you can’t take something to get rid of the congestion. It sucks. I told Scott that, if this pregnancy happens, for the rest of it, he’s banished to the guest room if he gets the shadow of a sniffle. I’m not going through this again.

But the coughing is what oncerns me. I’m worried that so much use of my abdominal muscles in the coughing has shaken peanut butter and jelly loose. I hope not, and I’m trying to minimize the coughing, but this cold started its worst period yesterday morning. Great timing, huh?

The embryologist called pretty early this morning, comparatively speaking. He called around 9:45 while I was putting groceries away. So early that I didn’t even have time to start my waiting-for-the-embryologist-to-call freak out.

Today’s news is good. Really good. First, the not as good news.

The four partially mature are beyond redemption at this point, so we’re writing those off. The third mature one finally started dividing, but it’s only 2 cells. They like to see embryos be 5-8 cells by now, so this one’s lagging pretty far behind.

Now, the good part! The other two are doing great. One is at 8 cells, and he said the other had so many cells, he couldn’t even count them all. So those two are really taking off.

Transfer is set for tomorrow morning at 11:30.

• Color my hair, because hopefully it will be a long time before it’s okay to do that again.
• Drink my last glass of wine.
• Maybe eat sushi.
• Finish all the laundry, which is completely out of control, but must be done before the Boy’s visit next week. Since I won’t be able to lift and carry on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, it has to be done by tomorrow night.
• Clean, though sparingly, for the Boy’s visit, and get his room made up.
• Panic.
• Knit, to control the panic.

First, I want to say thank you to everyone for their very supportive words yesterday. I’m still a wreck, but finding my way back to hope.

Unfortunately, today’s report is only slightly encouraging.

One of the 3 embryos hasn’t started dividing, but the other 2 are dividing well. They’re still keeping an eye on the third, and also on the 4 partially mature ones, but it’s pretty slim that any of those will pan out.

I’m scheduled for a day 4 transfer on Monday at 11:30. They’ll call with another report tomorrow, and hopefully the remaining 2 embryos will make it long enough to transfer on Monday.

You want to know something weird? The thing giving me the most hope right now is that my first cycle was so good. Even being so good, it didn’t result in pregnancy. So, maybe, possibly, with this cycle going down the tubes, the outcome will end up good.

I have 3 embryos. That’s it. Just 3.

Only 3 eggs out of 10 were mature.

Another 4 were partially mature, but they haven’t fertilized. They’re going to keep watching them, but odds are they won’t fertilize.

I can’t believe I went through all this for 3 mature eggs.  Yeah, it’s good they all fertilized, but with the odds the way they are, those 3 embryos have the deck stacked against them that they’ll survive long enough to transfer.

I can’t believe it.

I’m devastated.

The retrieval is done, and we came out of the deal with 10 eggs. I’m a little disappointed that it’s 10 and not 11 or 12., but I guess only 1 good one is what we really need.

I’m pretty achy, and spent the remainder of the day passed out on the couch, to which I’m going to return after I click “Publish.” Now I wait, as patiently as I can, for the phone call from the embryologist tomorrow, to find out how many were mature and how many fertilized.