Chemical Cocktails Aren't Very Tasty, But The Souvenir Glass Is Nice

Well, friends.....in our newest installment of "Who Wants To Be A Down-Regulator", we found out that (1). the HCG shot worked in the sense that my LH and E2 levels have somewhat gone down, (2). My P4 levels have gone up, and (3). one of the cysts is shrinking.

However, my E2 and P4 levels haven't changed as much as they need in order to start Lupron (my reading is 2, and it needs to be 3......isn't that a har-de-har?), and the cyst on my right side has gotten bigger (4cm). So, after Dr. Pipsqueak reviewed today's latest bloodletting, she has come up with a new plan to try to suppress me enough to start Lupron. Starting tonight I get to start BCP's (yay.....my favorite!) and add in Ganirelix for the next four days, then go in on Sunday for more bloodwork and a date with the wand. If everything looks good, then Lupron is a go (I have until Sept 1st to start Lupron for this lab series). If not.....then the plan is to stay on the BCP until the next series starts in October. Which blows big monkey balls, but there's not much that I, or anyone else can do. I had to go pick up my meds at the office and got to speak to Nurse Blondie, and I did ask whether or not I should be concerned about the cyst bursting or getting bigger, and she said that Dr. Pipsqueak doesn't seem to be overly concerned and that the cyst is pretty small compared to the size it could be if I didn't take the HCG. But, that cyst is still creating hell and havoc, much like a middle-schooler. How ironic.

Nurse Blondie suggested having a "talk" with my ovaries, and I told her that I've begged, cajoled, bribed and threatened those little fuckers, and that the next move is a well-aimed punch in the cooter. Oddly, she didn't find that as funny as I thought. Hmmm. Perhaps I shouldn't have used the word cooter.

So.....that means that I get to start a new chemical cocktail, starting tonight. Anyone out there take Ganirelix and have any input? Is it more, or less shittier than Lupron? How about side effects? The only thing I could find on my trusty Dr. Google is that it's a GNRH-antagonist, which is like someone telling me in Russian that I should try black caviar. And, I HATE BCP's....hate, hate, hate them! Ugh, nothing like being a moody bitch right in time for the new school year, huh? Heads are gonna ROLL next week with my 7th grade homeroom! Grooowwwwl! Let's hope that it really doesn't make me crazy.....or, at least, not as crazy as Loopy Lupron does.

Seriously, though, I am disappointed-I won't gloss over that-but not totally gutted by it. Perhaps now is not the right time to do a cycle, and, with everything else that's going on with school starting and my mother's illness (she's doing well, btw....the tumor has shrunk to the point that the CAT scan can't pick it up, and they've moved her surgery up to this Friday, instead of in November). I just can't help feeling that time is slipping away from me with each passing month that we don't conceive. I'll be 37 my next birthday; and, although it is still technically "young", even by infertility standards, it sure ain't 30. It's the age where I have to start worrying about upped miscarriage and Down's syndrome rates, CVS and amnio testing, and all the crap that I never gave a thought about when we started this whole mess. To be honest, I idealistically thought that we'd have more than one child by now, and we wouldn't have to worry anymore. That the world of infertility would be just a distant memory for us.

Boy, was I wrong on that one.

Punch, Meet Judy

Well, it's official....I have not one, but two cysts on my ovaries-one measuring 2cm on the right side, and one almost 3 on the left one.

Sean got to name them this time-Punch, and Judy. Hopefully they'll kick the shit out of each other. As for me, that's what Anaprox is for, right?

According to the RE's office, my estradiol numbers are going down, but not as much as they want. So, I get to take my HCG trigger today or tonight (no set time), and they "should" rupture. Then I get to go back in on Monday for another wanding and more bloodletting. After that......well, we won't get our hopes up yet, shall we?

Hey, c'mon.....this is par for the course for us. SOMETHING has to go wrong when we decide to do IF treatment. It wouldn't be AS MUCH FUN then, right?

I'm still waiting for the punchline, though.

Hmmmmmm.....

Well, I'm back in the doctor's office AGAIN. I came in yesterday for my usual "WTF" bloodletting, only to get a phone call from Nurse Blondie yesterday afternoon. My estradiol is still up, and my progesterone hasn't risen high enough to see if I ovulated, so I'm now here for more bloodwork and a wanding to see what's brewing in my girly-bits.

Of course, I've been crampy on my right side for the last few data, and when I woke up this morning and peed, I found a smear o' bright red blood on the toilet paper. And a clot in the toilet (yeah, it TMI-deal with it!).

Anyone wanna put on their Dr. House hat and diagnose me? I'm guessing a cyst, but it's anyone's guess.

Wash, Rinse, Repeat

Let's hope that my body cooperates today, and I've actually ovulated. I'm tired of this shit already, and I haven't even really started the process yet!

At least the office doesn't seem as crowded today-I got a comfy warmer seat on the first try! And a cup of coffee that tastes pretty good. I'll take comfort in that, at least.

You've got to try to appreciate the small stuff, right?

I'll update later once I hear.

******update 2:30 pm********

Well, what do YOU think happened?

Orders are to be back in the office Monday for bloodwork.

It's cycle day 30. Why don't I have a good feeling about this?

I need a fucking drink. I'm just SO done with this shit.

You win, ovaries. I say Uncle.


-- Post From My iPhone

Deja-Vu

Hmmm....guess where I am?

It looks like they're giving away another IVF door prize this morning. Of course, being a weekend, there are a lot of husbands/partners/significant others here. But, I didn't get a Seatsicle, so that must count for something in the IF universe.

So, shall we take bets as to whether or not I've ovulated? I'm guessing yes, but that's the cock-eyed optimist in me. That, and perhaps the half-pitcher of sangria I sucked down last night at dinner.

We must get through somehow, right

-- Post From My iPhone


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

Okay, it's now 12:45, and I got the call from Nurse Blondie.

Guess what? C'mon, you know the answer to this one!

I STILL HAVEN'T STARTED LUPRON!!!!!!! I need to go back on Wednesday, because I'm "really close" but....no cigar.

I'm about to punch my cooter in the cooter and give it a "time-out". I hope that this isn't a precursor to how this cycle could potentially turn out. If that's the case, fuck it!

GGGGGGAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!

WTF?

Can you fucking believe that I STILL haven't ovulated??? It's CD 25, for fuck's sake!!!! Apparently I'm "close", though; so I now have to go back on Sunday.

Now, if this was just a regular cycle for me, I'd be ovulating at CD 26....Which would make this a 40 day cycle. 40 days! I've NEVER had a cycle that long before. Now I'm freaked out because I'm thinking, what if I'm starting to go perimenopausal?

AHHHHHHHHH! THIS SUUUUCKS!!!


-- Post From My iPhone

The Waiting Room, Round Two

I'm back at the clinic for my blood draw, and I screwed the pooch yet again-I got another Seatsicle. Although, I can't complain too much...it's only partially under the air vent. At least the TV's on this time!

Ooh-I did the Fertility Chair Switch and got a warmer seat!
Woot! Maybe that's a good sign that I'm going to start Lupron!

Isn't it sad that I base my IVF success by the seat I get at the clinic? Yeah, I thought so.


-- Post From My iPhone

Figures....

So, do you think that perhaps MAYBE I can have an IVF cycle go somewhat smoothly?

Nah, why should it? That would make it boring, right? The extra stress just adds to the experience!

Sean and I had to go back to the clinic on Monday afternoon because we forgot to fill out our consent forms. While I was there, Nurse Blondie let me know that I had to go back on Friday for more bloodwork, since I hadn't ovulated yet. And, since I haven't ovulated yet, I can't begin the Lupron.

Yep, that's right-it was cycle day twenty-freakin' one and I HADN'T OVULATED YET!! WTF? This has never, ever happened to me before. Unfuckingbelievable.

I guess that explains why I pretty much sexually assualted my husband on Saturday AND Sunday.

Well, that means that it's back to the clinic on Friday morning for the Annual Running of the Hormonal Bulls blood draw and hope to God that I get a good seat. Or else I'm bringing my parka. And my down comforter. And a thermos of vodka.

Because everything is easier with a thermos of vodka. Trust me on that.

The Waiting Room

Is it twisted and sick to get disappointed when you groom your girly-bits for a date with the Follicular Lurve Wand, only to find out that you're only having bloodwork instead?

I GROOMED, dammit! My va-jay-jay hasn't looked his good in MONTHS! Oh, well...

------------------------------
I was up at an UNGODLY hour this morning-5:45 to be exact-so that I could get to the RE's office for b/w and an ultrasound. But it appears that there was no need to, because it's bloodwork only this morning. So, here I am, early-morning blogging at the office. And, this is the second time I've made this mistake-I guess I'm a little IF rusty when it comes to appointments.

Did I ever tell you about the chair situation at the RE's office? Oh, God....it's frickin' HILARIOUS! So, the waiting room in the office is pretty large, with a lot of chairs and couches around, tables with an assortment of magazines for your reading pleasure, a coffee machine and pastries-even a flat-screen TV (Which isn't on right now-boo). Well, like in most doctor's office, it feels like Siberia in here-and it's like that ALL YEAR ROUND. Like, it's warmer outside in January than it is in the waiting room. Why is this? What the fuck is the point-to kill germs?

Anyway, there's a whole bank of seats under the windows that, although close to the TV, are RIGHT UNDER the air conditioner vents. And, NOBODY wants to sit there due to the fact that you freeze your tits off. You'd probably get frostbite waiting to have blood drawn. In fact, you'd probably have frozen blood to draw. Not to mention a frozen cooter. Not that the actual exam room is any warmer-it's only slightly warmer than a meat locker.

So, the game amongst the patients is to get there early enough so you're not in those seats-call it "Musical Chairs for IF Treatment", if you will. When they call your name for the blood draw, you actually have to leave all your shit on the seat like a 2nd grade child, otherwise the poor saps that got the Seatsicles will jump into your chair faster than shit out of a goose. And then look at you when you come out of the lab like they're expecting a fight. Nothing like a room full of women hopped up on hormones, huh? If you end up with the bad luck of getting the Seatsicle for the whole time you're there (which could be up to an hour and a half, depending on how busy it is), the nurse basically has to melt you out of your seat with a hair dryer to get you in the exam room. Well, I got here this morning at 6:15, thinking I would "win" the game and get a good chair, but, alas, the waiting room looked like they were giving away an IVF door prize, and guess where I had to sit....you've got it....THOSE SEATS! I can't feel my extremities and am now praying to be put out of my misery. Could you hook a sister up with a heating pad, for fuck's sake?

Whoever said that IF isn't so bad obviously hasn't sat in this waiting room. Help!



-- Post From My iPhone

I Like To Ride My (IVF) Bicycle.....

I had my RE appointment last week with Dr. Pipsqueak, for a physical and saline ultrasound, and it's weird getting back on this IVF bandwagon. It's a bit like riding a bike after not using one for years-you kind of wobble around like a drunk for a few minutes, fall off on to your ass, scrape your knee and curse and wonder why the fuck you're doing this in the first place, because it's OH SO MUCH FUN. Then, you get that sense of familiarity and everything starts to work together, as if you've suddenly remembered something buried deep inside you, and it all starts to make sense, in a fucked-up hormonally challenged sort of way.

Yeah, infertility is like that, isn't it? Especially when you've done multiple IVF cycles and have taken a long break in between, like me. I actually forgot who to call when it was my CD 1, and I made a complete ass of myself when trying to find out who gets the call (I ended up calling the admin AND the nurse....better safe than sorry, right?). But, I'm trying to worry less about the small, dopey things and focus on the things that I can control; which, let's face it....isn't a whole hell of a lot-at least, not when it comes to an IVF cycle.

So....yeah, did I mention how much I LOATHE the saline ultrasound? Yeah. A lot. I mean, I can look on the bright side....it ain't an HSG (and we KNOW how much I love them. If it weren't for Captain Valium and his sidekick Sergeant Anaprox, I'd be writhing on the floor in pain). But.....ew. Gross. Messy and just awkward. But, necessary.

All went well with the appointment, though. The girly-bits checked out fine, and the physical went well. Right before the ultrasound, she said to me, "So....have I told you what we've planned on doing for you?" (which ALWAYS makes me feel like all the RE's in the office are are discussing my cooter whilst tenting their fingers together a la Montgomery Burns and saying "Exxxxcelllent...."). So, since I had no idea what she was talking about she told me that she went to the lab director with "my file" (as she said those words she held her hands apart about six inches, which leads me to believe that my chart must obviously be the size of "The Lord of the Rings"....all three of them) and asked him to look at it. The whole damn thing. Shit-I hope that guy had enough Red Bull on hand for that one, because I'm sure that it was just fascinating reading. Sort of a cross between reading grafitti on a bathroom wall and a church bulletin. Or maybe a church bulletin graffitied on a bathroom wall? In a church? Oh, never mind....

Anyway, after the poor man probably went blind reading my epic trilogy-like novel chart (Myyy PRECIOUS.....), he and the other RE's decided that perhaps a fresh transfer isn't the way to go with me. It's obviously that I don't need a lot of medication in order to produce the amount of eggs to populate a Third-World country, and that it's a delicate dance to balance my meds with enough mature eggs to retrieve-stay on the meds too long, get a lot of eggs, and no fresh transfer; trigger earlier to avoid OHSS and get a transfer, and not get enough mature eggs to fertilize. And, because from past experience I seem to have no problem with embryos fertilizing, developing and their status post-thawing, we'll be doing another freeze-all cycle. As Dr. Pipsqueak put it, "There's no sense forcing your body to do something that perhaps it isn't able to do". Which, although it makes me feel shitty that I, yet AGAIN, have managed to be unable to do what "normal" women can do, she does have a valid point. In my case, there might be no way that I'd ever be able to do a full IVF cycle all at once. It's such a delicate balance with all the medications that are taken, and if I over-respond to the stims, there might really never be a way to balance it out with progesterone in the luteal phase. Although numbers-wise I've never had a problem with that, maybe I'm just really sensitive to that and it's just the way it is. Great, huh?

But, there is a plus side to all of this insanity. I don't have to do PIO. My ass-cheeks have been saved to fight another day. Woot! There is a plus side to IVF-who knew??

I got my call from Nurse Blondie today and I'll be doing the CD 21 long Lupron protocol (otherwise known around these parts as "The Neverending Migraine And Mental Insanity From The Fire-Pit of Burning Hell"), I was hoping at first that I'd do the BCP/Lupron overlap, which was the one that I did the very first time, which was two weeks of BCP's , then overlapping the Loopy Lupron for the last three days. I like the latter better-the less time I'm on Lupron, the better it is for anyone who has to have any personal contact with me-but, because of scheduling (mine, not the clinic-we've got to do the retrieval before September 1st, which is when school starts) I'm doing the Long Lupron protocol, but at a higher dosage-I'm starting on 20 units of Lupron and they'll taper it down, which I did for the last cycle. The Lupron Suckfest will begin in about six days (Aug. 3rd), so my favorite side effects of headaches, mood swings and hot flashes should be hitting me full-force right around the time of a family reunion picnic (Sean's side) and my FIL's surprise 60th birthday party. If his family ALREADY didn't think that my husband married a crazy person, then they're in for a treat that they couldn't even begin to imagine. Hoo boy! Party on! Can't wait!

The Return of the Stay-Puff Marshmallow Girl

So, I've been thinking a lot about this upcoming cycle lately. I don't know-call me a little crazy-but, I'm actually looking forward to it, in a sick and sort of stick-sharp-objects-in-your-body kind of way. However, there is one thing that I seriously need to do before we move forward.

Lose weight. Because, OH MY GOD, I can't stand the way I look right now. And it's not going to get any better once we add meds to the mix.

I've gained about 10-12 pounds in the last year, and that's not counting the fact that I was 15-20 pounds overweight to begin with. So, that means that I've gained a total of thirty pounds since I've started IF treatment. Holy motherfucking shit. Of course, some of that weight is in my boobs (I was already a D-cup when we started, and have slowly migrated to a DD), but not THIRTY POUNDS. That means that I am going to have to get serious when it comes to losing some of the weight before we start, which doesn't give me a lot of time. Plus, I've been such a lazy bitch when it comes to exercising. I just can't be bothered, which is NOT GOOD. I don't know if it's a sign that I just don't give a rat's ass, or that I need to get motivated, but I just can't stand it anymore. I have to do something about it, STAT.

So, I've had the online membership for WW since February of last year, and within the last two weeks have been tracking my food intake. My biggest problem is not what I eat, because we actually eat pretty healthfully-lots of whole grains, fresh fruit and veg, and we rarely cook or eat red meat (honestly, the only time I eat steak is when we go out to dinner) at home-but, I think my problem is a combo of the fact that I don't drink enough water throughout the day, and also that my dinner tends to be later because Sean doesn't get home until 7pm, which means we don't usually eat until 7:30-8pm. And, that's not really good when you want to lose weight. Add that to the fact that I'm not really exercising, and well......there you go. Thirty fucking pounds later.

It's just so damn frustrating. It's bad enough that I can't get pregnant on my own, but to LOOK like I'm pregnant (or like I've just had a baby) when I clearly haven't, is embarrassing. I guess I should console myself with the fact that at least it's somewhat evenly distributed throughout my body (but a lot of it is in my belly). Thank God for big tits, though....they make my belly look smaller. You've got to be happy for the small accomplishments in life, right? A big problem for me is that I don't have a "buddy" to help motivate me, so I get lazy. Sean's no help-he's on his feet all day long, so he burns his food as fast as he eats it. Plus, he's a man-and we all know they tend to lose faster. Fuckers. Not like he needs to anyway-he's got a nice flat stomach to fit in his 33" waisted pants. Bastard.

Now, it's time to get off my ass and move around. Enough talking about it....it's time to start acting on it. I'll be blogging on my progress, so if I cheeze out, I give any one of you out there full permission to kick my fat ass around the block. Whatever it takes, right?

Potpourri

Wow, I had NO idea that I haven't updated in four months!

I guess it's official-I am a total slacker when it comes to blogging lately. However, I'm discovering that "itch" to blog again, because I'm feeling a need to express myself here. I feel as if I can truly say what I feel, without having to explain why I feel that way. I don't need to make it all flowery and pretty and worry about not offending someone if I don't say it the "correct" way. Because, let's face it....that's not really me.

So.....what's been going on here? Sheesh, where do I begin?

School's out, as of this past Thursday. Let me tell you.....having a job that you like makes a hell of a difference in your mental state. I never realized how much I hated my former position until I started in my new job. Now, that's not to say that I love every single aspect of my job, because life ain't perfect, people. But, to work in a place with a support system, to feel as if you're an equal, contributing member of a faculty......let's just say that I'm going nowhere anytime soon. I can see myself retiring here, that's for sure.

As for the home front, well.....that's a different story. We've been dealt a major kick in the ass lately. About a month ago, my mother wasn't feeling too well-she was having pains on her right side, and went to the emergency room. The docs there thought that she might have a case of diverticulitis, so they decided to do a CAT scan to see what was up. They found that her colon was twisted on the right side, which was causing her the pain. But, it was what they also found that has changed everything.

They found a mass on her left ovary, and recommended seeing an oncologist.

Of course my mother, being a nurse herself, decided that she was going RIGHT AWAY to her regular gynie (who she sees yearly) to see what was up. He did an ultrasound, saw what was up, and concurred about seeing an oncologist. He ended up recommending someone on his floor, she got an appointment the next day (cancellation), and they scheduled a hysterectomy.

So, she went in for the surgery on May 29th. What they hadn't counted on was that the tumor was adhered to her bowel, pelvis and bladder, and that the entire area was inflamed. So, they biopsied as much as they could, and closed her up. We found out the next day that it was Stage III Ovarian Cancer. Considering my grandmother (my mom's mother) also died from ovarian cancer, we all took this pretty badly. The recommended course of treatment is that she gets chemo every three weeks (she had the first treatment as an inpatient, and her second is on Wednesday of this week), they'll redo the CAT scan to see if/how much the tumor has shrunk, and then, if all looks good, will reschedule the surgery and remove everything they need to.

To say that this was a blow to us is an understatement. My mother is a trooper though. She's feeling okay so far-mostly tired, but she started losing her hair last weekend, and decided on Thursday that she was going to shave it all off, rather than let it fall out gradually. Her doctors are optimistic about her chances of beating this, despite the diagnosis. It hasn't spread into the lymph nodes, which is good news. The recurrence rate isn't wonderful, though.....which worries me. But I know that she's in the best hands possible. And, in a really weird way, no amount of worrying is going to change the fact that my 57 year old mother has cancer. I just have to be there and support her and my dad as best as I can. Luckily I'm not working this summer, and we're not going away, so I can help out more.

So.....what do I decide to do in the wake of all this drama going on? Why, prepare for a fresh cycle, of course! Because I just can't seem to be able to have enough going on right now....let's add some infertility to the mix! Woot! What the FUCK am I thinking?

Well, I had a mini-freak out thinking that, what with injecting enough hormones to choke a woolly mammoth, I was next on the Big Casino list, so I emailed Dr. Pipsqueak with a shitload of questions (would I get cancer? should we cycle again? should I have the BRCA genetic tests?). She reassured me that (1). there is no proven correlation between reproductive cancer and fertility meds, (2). if my mom tested positive for the BRCA mutation, and I was tested, it would depend on my results (luckily, mom tested negative, so it wasn't passed on-woot!) and (3). there IS a corellation between INFERTILITY and ovarian cancer, so it would be to my benefit to get knocked up to lower my risk. In short, we need to cycle, and since I'm not getting younger, it needs to be soon.

Needless to say, we're updating our things with her office, to try to get in during the summer for a cycle, once the lab opens in mid-July. We were talking about cycling anyway, but now there is more of an urgency. Maybe I'm overthinking this whole thing, but I'm thinking that, if I can get knocked up and have a baby (or two, but at this point beggars can't be choosers!), and we know that we're done, I'll have a hysterectomy and hopefully be done with the whole potential cancer-y mess. That is, if it's a perfect world and everything works out. Which, in my case, never does.

So, I'm back in the IVF saddle, for the fifth time. Hey, do you think that they have a "frequent flyer" type of program for IF? Or a "buy four and get the fifth free"? Hell, I'd even take preferred parking, at this point. I guess that's just the old, crusty barren bitch in me, raring to get out.

It's good to be back, though. Hopefully there are still some of you out there, but if not, I'll just chat to myself and look like a crazy woman.......trust me, it won't be the first time.

Infertility, watch out.....I'm gonna kick you right in the cooter. Repeatedly.

Or, at least until a baby falls out of it.

The "All-Naturale" Approach

Since I'm not cycling right now, it's a bit weird blogging....I mean, what is there to write about? I'm not hormonal or bloated (not counting the FAT that's accumulated around my middle again...sheesh), shooting up fertility meds or massaging the Strawberry Shortcake-bandaided-covered lumps of progesterone on my ass.

Oh, wait.....not yet, at least. That fun is coming soon enough

It makes life rather boring, in a sick, demented sort of way.

So, I've been going for weekly acupuncture for almost a year now, and this time around the acu has also prescribed me some Chinese herbs to "help" things along. She feels that it will balance my reproductive system and "prep" it for a new cycle, if I don't get pregnant first.

Seriously......the only thing that this has helped, at least so far, is in activating my colon. OMG....the GAS! And the POOP! And the GAS.....ugh.

Last month she put me on this 4-phase formula that didn't work. When I got AF last week, she decided, after going through my Chinese diagnosis (Blood Stasis and Kidney Yang deficiency) and Western dx (blocked tubes), I got an herbal mix that is supposed to "Resolve" my lower system. It's in capsule form that I have to take three times daily (three caps a day). Luckily it doesn't taste like ass, so it isn't too bad. Being the dorkus maximus that I am, I looked up the herbs and I figured that nothing in them will make me sprout another leg from my body, so I should be all right. The pamphlet that she gave me with the pills did specifically state that it was good for tubal occlusion and blood stasis, cysts, and endo, so I guess that I've got all bases covered.

Oh, God.....did I mention the GAS?!?! And the SMELL from the GAS!?!?! And the SHEER VOLUME OF SOUND it makes!?!? Urgh...it's like I've got a duck speaking out of my ass. Or a small rhino. Or the entire contents of the Amazon. It's scary how much gas I have. SERIOUSLY. I kid you NOT.

Oh, yeah-I'm also supposed to avoid "cold" foods, and red meat, so I guess that means no ice cream on my filet mignon. Oh, well. Actually, I'm afraid to eat, since everything that goes in my mouth smells like the Plague coming out. I'm afraid to look at the sheets, in case there's scorch marks. Or shart marks (c'mon, you've got to know what a "shart" is!? I'm SO not going there unless I have to!).

Really, though-there's a purpose to this, right? I mean, besides being a stinky thirtysomething who gets a panic attack thinking that there's noxious gas leaking out of her rectum which will kill upon contact?

Although, my butt could be considered a WMD.....or perhaps our new Adminstration can use it to find an alternative to our energy crisis......I could make millions! IVF for everyone! Yay!

Catharsis

So.....it's been exactly a month since I've posted.

It's been a tough month.

First of all, thank you all so much for your kind words. The whole ordeal with Buddy left such a void within me. It hits me at certain times-if I'm snuggled up relaxing on the couch and realizing that there's no kitty to jump into my lap, or in the mornings. Some days are easier than others, but I'm still plodding along.

Sean and I hit a breaking point a few weeks ago with this whole IF bullshit. We've both felt a disconnect in our marriage for a while now, and difficulty communicating with one another, physically, emotionally and literally. We were arguing more and more about stupid things, and the whole sexing thing was......well, another shitty job to get through.

About two weeks ago we got into a HUGE argument-huge enough that I took my car keys and left the house, because I just couldn't deal with it anymore. It was probably one of the few times in my marriage that I seriously considered separation, because there was NO WAY that I could see the two of us staying together without killing one another. After about an hour I came home, and we both laid down the law-something had to change, or our marriage wouldn't survive.

It was a sobering thought. We talked, REALLY talked, for probably the first time since we started doing IF treatments-about the pressure put on ourselves in regards to having children, the disappointments, how hard it is. Until this point, Sean had never really expressed how he felt about what we've gone through, so I just assumed that he was either being naive or didn't really care as much as me, since it wasn't "his problem". I learned that night that he is hurting just as much as I am. He also never really talked about treatments, and how he felt about going ahead with another cycle. He wants to, but not at the expense of our marriage, which I can understand.

I don't think that, until that moment, I ever truly confided in him about what hell going into treatments is for me, and the toll the negative outcomes of our cycling has taken on me emotionally. He did suggest that perhaps we need to speak to a counselor about this, because it is a huge stress on our marriage, and maybe he's right. What I do know is that we can't go on the way we had been and make things work.

It was a catharsis of sorts, for both of us. We needed to get it all out on the table, so that we both know where we stand in all this.

So.....what's the deal?

We will cycle again, probably in the summertime.
I will get into the best shape physically and emotionally to help things along.
We are taking more time for us.
We are trying to come to terms with the fact that perhaps it will be just the two of us.

It's not easy, but we're taking it one day at a time. That's all we can do, right?

Goodbye, Handsome Boy

On Wednesday, we had to make the hardest decision that we've yet to make in our marriage.

We had to let Buddy go.

It was agonizing to make-but realistically, we knew that it was the best choice, that we were being selfish if we didn't go through with it. Since Saturday, he had gone downhill-he was barely eating....all he wanted was water, and would barely drink any. He was also starting to have difficulty going up and down the stairs, and was so lethargic. He urinated on the bed several times (a few times in his sleep) in the middle of the night and didn't bother to clean himself afterward. Waking up at 3:30 on Wednesday morning to a soiled bed, and then trying to clean Buddy's paws with baby shampoo because he can't clean himself was the reality slap for us......we knew that it would only get worse for him from here on in. And, that wasn't fair to him-he deserved better than that from us.

Sean made the appointment for Thursday afternoon, and took him to our vet. Being that I just started my new job, we felt that there wasn't any way that I could take the time. I think that it was also easier for Sean this way-he could focus on Buddy and not on me losing control (which would have happened if I was there). Of course, I feel guilty as hell; as if I had abandoned him when he needed me the most. I was his mommy, and I wasn't there-it's something that I need to come to terms with, eventually. Leaving for work on Thursday knowing that he wouldn't be there when I came home was one of the hardest things I've had to do. I didn't want to let him go-I was trying to memorize how he felt, the texture of his fur, his eyes, his smell.

Sean said that when the vet examined him, he could feel the lumps throughout his abdomen, where the cancer had obviously spread through his colon. He reassured us that we were doing the right thing. He also commended us on how we went over and above what others would have done in the same situation.

Of course we did-he was our baby. We had to try to save his life.

We decided to have him cremated, in the end....I couldn't bear having him put in a communal grave and left alone. He will be with us, where he belongs.

Those who had the experience of being around him knew that he was just about the sweetest, most loving cat. He hated to be held for long amounts of time, but would constantly crawl into your lap and look up at you with his big green eyes. He loved his mousey "Marvin",chewing on the shower curtain liner (even though he knew it drove me crazy), trying to see if he could sneak into the bathroom and drink out of the toilet, and loved lying in your lap. He would wait for you either at the door or would be watching out at the window to see you pull into the driveway. He even loved his sister; and, although she kicked the crap out of him at times, he was the first to go up to her and clean her head with his tongue and lie next to her.

What I remember especially about Buddy is when we found out about our miscarriage, four years ago. There I was, sobbing in bed after the phone call from the RE, and he climbed up into my lap, touched me gently on the face with his paw, and looked up at me. His eyes looked right into my soul, telling me that everything was going to be alright. He had that way about him-he could actually communicate with you through his eyes. It was one of the things that we realized was missing in the past few days-that ability to "talk" to you with his eyes. At the end, there was a blankness there that was absolutely heartbreaking. We knew then that we had to do the best thing for him, even though it was the worst thing for us. He was at least with someone who loved him, in the end. He wasn't totally alone.

Goodbye, my handsome boy. You've left a void in my heart that nothing can replace right now. You were my baby-perhaps the only baby I'll ever live to have. I hope you can forgive us for trying to do the right thing, and that you're in Heaven, knowing no pain, and feeling free and happy.

These words written here will never begin to express how much I will always miss you, and how much you've affected my life. Thank you for loving us unconditionally, for the gift of your companionship. We love you and will never, ever forget you.

Hello? Is it Me You're Looking For?

Anyone still out there? *knocking on monitor screen*

I'm still around, really. I've inadvertently taken a little "blogcation", although it wasn't my original intention. There's been so much going on here, and lots of changes have happened, and, really, since I'm not cycling at the moment I felt like all my posts had that "woe is me, I'm a bitter infertile bitch wah wah wah" type of repetition thing starting to happen, and seriously.....who wants to read that shit over and over again?

It was even starting to annoy me. So, there we go.

A basic update: We found out the end of October that the kitty chemo didn't work, so they offered the option of an oral chemo protocol. It had less of a chance of working and really didn't have a great life expetancy, so we had to make the decision to stop Buddy's treatments. They sent us home with prenisolone, gave us about a month. Buddy is still with us, but we've noticed the past week that he's started to noticeably slow down. He's also started things like going outside the litter box (the best was coming home on Thursday to find that he peed on our brand new comforter set, and he's pooped on the floor). So I really think that it's going to be sooner rather than later, which totally blows ass, but really, he's lasted two months longer than the doctors said he would, so at least we've had extra time with him. It still blows large monkey balls, though.

I also started a new teaching job, mid-year, in a MUCH better district (teaching middle school music AND drama-woot). I started this past Monday, LOVE IT, and am exhausted with trying to get organized and used to the new routine, which is totally different than elementary school music. Everyone is really nice and have been so welcoming, which is foreign to me, given that I came from a school where almost nobody talked to me my first year there. Let's just say that I had really no hesitation when the job was offered to me....

As for where I'm at with cycling.....who the hell knows. Sean seems to be under the delusion that I'll get pregnant on my own. However, since we all know that I am NOT the Blessed Mother, I have a sneaking suspicion that it won't work. I'm still doing acupuncture weekly and will start herbs, just for shits and giggles. Since I've changed jobs and health insurance carriers, I'm not sure how this will work, so I'm going to be totally optimistic and say that perhaps we'll cycle in the summer, if I can convince Sean that we won't get busted by the insurance company. Watch what happens, though-because I've just started a new job and I'm no longer tenured, I'll be one of "those people" and get knocked up on my own, after downing two bottles of vino, a joint and some processed food, and after only ONE NIGHT of the sexing, post-ovulation. Why? Because that's just my damn luck, that's why.

Ah, just the delusion of that makes me giggle.

So, my New Year's resolution is to blog more, because if I don't, I've found that I'm a total bitch to everyone around me. This little blog has kept me sane; or, at least as sane as I can be. To that end, I'm now finishing my post on our brandy-new iMac, which is bitchin'! We picked it up yesterday from the lovely Fed Ex people, and it was idiot-proof to set up, which is partly the reason why we got it.....so Sean doesn't end up downloading mega-viruses and deleting half the hard drive, which is what he did to the PC we had ("but, babe....I thought that you were SUPPOSED to click on the flashing window!"). I totally love this thing, and if I weren't already married I'd take out a Domestic Partnership license for this mofo. Because, I'm weird like that.

Seriously though.....let the snarkiness begin

Raining and Pouring

I'm really starting to think that either I'm cursed, or the universe is laughing hysterically at the fucked-up-ness which has been my life as of late.

But, I'm not laughing. Really.

We things were starting to settle down-got my repeat mammo (nothing suspicious, and I get to go back in 6 months for an update-yay!), I actually have a prospect of a new job in a great, blue-ribbon district (although I'd be adding a commute, I'd be a fool not to take the job if it's offered to me), I'm doing another show (Beauty and the Beast), we're gearing up for another cycle, probably within the next few months. We thought that finally things were stabilizing.

But something wasn't right. And it wasn't with me, or with Sean, but with Buddy.

We noticed, after we returned home from vacation in July, that he was going through his pee-antics again. We actually had to rip out the carpet in the house because it was just out of control (which really wasn't a bad thing, now that I'm looking at the finished floor), but we also noticed that he was vomiting more frequently. He also looked as if he'd lost a bit of weight, so off we went to our regular vet, where it turned out that he actually lost two pounds. He did a slew of bloodwork, found nothing, so we thought perhaps he had some bug. But, to me, something wasn't right.

About three weeks ago, Buddy started having diarrhea-at first it was the typical kind, but then it quickly became watery and bloody. He was up and down constantly to the litter box, and looked even skinnier, so we went to the emergency clinic. They diagnosed him with colitis, gave us some antibiotics and told us to follow up with our vet. Our vet x-rayed him and found nothing, but he wasn't getting better, so he referred us here for additional testing. At this point, Buddy was listless and not eating, drinking water but just going from the litterbox to the bed, and whimpering, so two days after our vet visit we went to the animal hospital as an emergency. We were there for five hours (it turned out that he lost another two pounds-not good), but the staff was awesome. They did tons of tests on him (and had to keep him overnight) and found, though ultrasound, enlarged lymph nodes in his colon, which they took samples of and tested them.

And found out that he has lymphoma. Our options were: meet with an oncologist, take him home, where he'd pass on, or euthanasia. So, we met with the oncologist, but we had the feeling that we were going to hear that we should put him down.

Needless to say, we were both a mess. Couldn't eat, didn't sleep, cried constantly. He's our baby-we got him three months after we were married, so he's our first, and so sweet. We weren't sure that we could make the decision to euthanize him, but we didn't want him to suffer.

The oncologist we met with was wonderful. She examined Buddy (who put on a little show for her, flirting and being cute....the most active he'd been in two weeks), and recommended a 25 week course of chemotherapy for him. Although lymphoma insn't "curable" like other cancers are, it seems to be the easiest type of cancer to treat in cats, and they respond pretty well to the therapy. The doc gave us a 50-75% remission rate, and said that she felt that if he responded to treatment we could have up to another two years with him. She said that we don't have to make a decision that day, and she'd send us home with some prednisone, but we had to make a decision within a week of starting the pills. She left us alone, and we talked about it. We had to give him a chance, especially since he seemed more alert that day than he'd been in weeks.

Ultimately, we weren't ready to let him go. Perhaps that's selfish, but there it is. We had to give him the chance to fight it, to live. So, we started the chemo that day.

The doctor recommended four weeks of treatment to start, and an ultrasound on the 5th week, which will check the lymph nodes in the colon. If the nodes are shrinking, then the treatment is working and he's going into remission. If not.....well, then we have to discuss this and make decisions.

We're already seeing a difference in him. Luckily, cats seem to tolerate chemo much better than humans-they don't lose their hair (most often, just their whiskers, which grow back after chemo is done), or suffer from sores. We've noticed that he's a little tired and out of it after a treatment (all injectible, btw-the last week is an IV infusion, but he's usually done within 30 minutes), and not as hungry, but he's doing really well. He's back to his old tricks, and his appetite has rebounded (helped by the prednisone and an appetite stimulant) to where he's eating a 3oz can within 24 hours. The only problem we've seen is that, although the diarrhea has stopped, he seems constipated (poor guy), so I called the hospital and they recommended adding pumpkin to his food to help things along. When we went for his treatment yesterday we mentioned it to the doc. He examined Buddy and let us know that his intestines seem okay, what's in there is soft and nothing is blocked. He said that the straining he's doing is due to the lymph node enlargment, but to continue the pumpkin until he starts to go normally. He let us know that because he basically didn't eat for two weeks it's more than likely that he's absorbing most of the food and not producing enough waste for him to go yet, but he will.

And how are we? I feel better making the decision to go through with it (although people I know have told me that we're crazy to do this)-it's not as outrageously expensive as we thought (less than $100 a treatment), and if we have to give up going out to dinner and spending money on fripperies for a while, it's worth it to have this cute kitty, who is curled up next to me as I type, around for a few more years. It's a committment on our part, with giving him meds at home (which is a joy, let me tell you) and taking him to appointments every week, but I look at it this way. If people make a committment to have an animal share their home and become part of their family, then you have to follow through with that responsibility-whether it's cleaning up poop or vomit, or take care of a sick animal. You can't have all the good and none of the bad. That's not to say that people who make the decision to put their animals down are not good people-everyone's decision to do that is a personal one, and I can't judge someone for that. We made the best decision for us right now, and we're hoping for the best.

It was also interesting to note that he started treatment the day of the feast of St. Francis of Assisi, who is the patron saint of animals. Hopefully that's a sign that we made the right choice, and that he will go into remission.

Remember

In all of my various postings, I've never written about September 11th.

I think that, for a lot of people who lived near the sites of the terrorist attacks, it isn't easy to talk about. It's hard to explain to someone who lived hundreds of miles away what it felt like, the chaos, the fear. And, to be honest, in some ways I also don't have that direct experience, compared to many who lived in Lower Manhattan (like Shelli, or my uncle and his friends), or some friends of mine who were actually in the Towers at the time of the attacks, and managed to escape-they had a first-hand experience that I never, ever want to have to go through.

I had just started teaching (I was in my second week of school), trying to get acclimated with the whole school routine for the first time. Sean, who was celebrating his 30th birthday that day, had started a freelance gig working at NYC Fashion Week, and had already left for Manhattan to get to a call on time. We had made plans for dinner that night, and went our seperate ways.

It was in the morning, I was on my prep time, and I was sitting at my desk when the principal came in and asked to see me outside in the hallway. She then told me and the art teacher that two planes had crashed into the WTC, and into the Pentagon, that it was a terrorist attack, and that we needed to go into a lockdown situation. I actually didn't believe her at first; in fact, I thought that it was a drill. Then I suddenly realized that Sean was in Manhattan, and told my principal that he was there. She immediately said to me, "Go home....now." I remember going upstairs to the Teacher's Lounge and seeing a television on, with a group of people huddled around it; this is how I saw the first tower fall-through a grainy transmission on an old TV set. Then the phone calls started-from my parents, my brother-in-law, my mother-in-law...."Have you heard? Where's Sean? Has he called yet?" Of course, I had NO IDEA. And I was started to panic.

We were three weeks from celebrating our first wedding anniversary.

Since the cell phone reception was sketchy due to overloaded lines and connection problems, it was difficult getting through to anyone in the Tri-State area. My uncle lived (and still does) about 12 blocks from the area, my aunt worked in the Chrysler Building, I had friends who worked in both Towers........and we had no clue if they were were okay, or if there were going to be more attacks in Manhattan.

I went home, and turned on the news. I saw the second tower fall. And, I waited.

The phone rings. Different voices, different people calling. Have you heard? Can you believe it? Do you know if they're okay?

I have no answers for anyone. I can't stop watching the images on the screen; the dust clouds, the destruction, the fear in people's faces. I can't move from the couch.

It's completely silent outside. No cars driving down the street. No kids playing outside.

No sounds of planes in the sky, which is the norm here, being that we live less than 10 miles from Newark Airport. And that unnerved me most of all, that day, and in the days afterward-lying in bed and not hearing that drone of airplanes overhead. Of hearing nothing and wondering if more was coming.

I remember, distinctly, the sound of helicopters overhead. I ran outside and stood on my front steps, along with my neighbors, to see military helicopters swooping overhead, rushing to guard the refineries that are a few miles away......refineries that supply gasoline to the airport. And, I remember seeing the fear in people's faces, the fear that I'm sure was mirrored in my own face.

The phone rings again. It's 3pm. It's Sean, finally; calling from a payphone in a Midtown bar. He's okay, thank God. He's not sure if he can get home, since there's no public transportation allowed in or out of Manhattan. The company he's working for are planning to put them up in hotels, but he's going to try to get out if they open the trains up.

I don't want to stay in the house alone. What if there's more coming? But, what can I do? I have no choice.

And so....I wait.

Hours pass. The television is still on. More phone calls-uncle is okay, aunt is home and okay. So and so got out of the Towers; another friend, luckily, didn't have to go to the complex that day because her meeting was rescheduled at the last minute.

I can't eat or sleep. My stomach is in knots. Will we have to go to work tomorrow? Yes-the district decided that schools should remain open, to give the kids a sense of normalcy. Yeah, right. Nothing will ever be normal again.

Finally the door opens. He's home-scared, dirty, and sweaty after a three hour wait at Penn Station. He managed to get the first train out of Manhattan. We hug. We cry. We give thanks that he's home and okay.

That's what I remember. Like I said, compared to many who witnessed the horror first-hand, it's fluff and trite. But still, it's something that I'll never, ever, forget.

May we always remember.

Squash and Repeat

Well, I guess I spoke too soon...

I got a letter in the mail about my boob-squashing results. Apparently, they found something "inconclusive" about my right breast, and I now need to go for a repeat mammo and ultrasound.

Yeah. You've read that right. Did I freak out? Slightly, considering that my grandmother had both breast and ovarian cancers (which she eventually passed away from, at age 61). I called the gyno's office and spoke to them about what the report said, and they told me that I shouldn't worry too much (yeah....riiight), because repeat mammograms happen A LOT when you get your baseline. It also seems that I have "dense breast tissue" (shit, I could've told them that one-my cans are huge and always have been, even when I was a skinny 110 lbs in college), which makes "inconclusive" results more common. Luckily, I'm pretty fanatical about doing self-exams, so I know that I haven't felt a lump anywhere. But, that letter was like a kick in the gut.

Of course, the first thing I thought of was the shitload of fertility meds I've taken over the years. The RE's all have said that there's no correlation between taking IVF meds and breast cancer; but, let's be honest here-there's no way that they definitely know one way or the other. Did I open myself to a risk that I shouldn't have? Perhaps. And, the sad thing is, I was getting this mammo not only for my regular gyno, but also for Dr. Pipsqueak as part of my IVF checklist for another cycle. Now there's a possibility (a small one, but one nonetheless) that I might never do this cycle.

So, I have make my appointment to go back next week, once I get my period (because there is NO WAY I'll go near that thing with sore PMS boobies). Of course, there is that slight possibility that I won't get my period, but.....well, we won't hold our breath on that one.

There's the story......not the funny one I started writing (which is still in my drafts). Once the dust settles, and I find this shit funny and not scary, I'll post it.

Until then, make sure that you don't neglect your tits, girls. There's my public service announcement of the day.

No Guarantees

I'm a bit sad today, since this weekend marks the end of the summer, and the end of my summer vacation. Back to the grind, starting on Tuesday (with the kids coming in on Wednesday).

While I'm usually more than ready at this point to go back to work, I'm finding that this year, for the first time, I've felt that the time off was too short, and I don't feel at ALL ready to start. I half-heartily went to my schools, set up my spaces, but it was a struggle. I don't want to go back and begin all the mess and politics and bullshit. But, I have to.

I also, stupidly, think every June that perhaps, just perhaps, I'll be pregnant by the time school starts in September. And, of course it doesn't happen, so I go back for faculty meetings with a flat belly and watch the other teachers congratulating someone else on their pregnancy or welcoming someone back from maternity leave. And then I feel like shit because I'm jealous and sad and then I feel even worse because the pg/new moms don't deserve me giving them the stink-eye. And then the vicious circle keeps going around and around....

I think that also, the beginning of every school year also brings to light the fact that I'm going to be a year older; and, when going through infertility, every year that you're not pregnant and every year that you're getting closer and closer to the dreaded 40 is another year further away from the dream of your own child. Now, I do realize that many women my age (and older) have successful pregnancies and births, but who knows if I'll be one of them. There's no guarantee. Sadly, infertility teaches us that nothing in our reproductive life is a "given"-all those assumptions of "fall in love, get married, have babies" just doesn't happen in our case.....at least, not easily. And, for some of us, it doesn't happen at all. And it scares the shit out of me that I might be that person-the one who never has that baby.

Of course, the fact that we're trying to get our ducks in a row for possibly another cycle doesn't help the floundering feelings that I'm having right now. Is this the right thing to do? Should we, or should we throw in the towel altogether? In a stupid, almost naive way, I'm not ready to give up yet. I always have the glimmer of that old crusty bitch Hope in the back of my head saying, "Weeeelllll, perhaps if you do just one more cycle....". But, am I torturing myself, or should I trust that voice? Is it intuition, or just delusion speaking?

And, the worst thing of this whole thing is that there are no answers. There's nobody that can definitively tell you yes, or no. I hate that the most about infertility-it's so indecisive, so ambiguous. I like answers, I like dealing with the concrete, not the abstract, which is odd given I make my living in the performing arts. However, infertility's not like researching a character for a play or delving into a solo in a major oratorio. It has a life of its own, very similar to a little child-unpredictable, and unable to understand things that are too complex.

So, what to do? Right now, it's the waiting game. We think that we will probably cycle again, but we need to be prepared; or, at least as prepared as we can considering the situation. Will it suck? Totally. Am I ready? Well, as ready as I can be. We just have to dive in again, instead of just sticking in a toe, then pulling back.

And, that's that.


Our next installment will be all about that lovely mid-thirties rite of passage that we women ALL look forward to......Our First Mammogram. Believe me, it's full of insanity that only I could have the joy to experience. Seriously.