But, back to the happy news, what this all really means is that I can (finally) start a new cycle in a couple of weeks.  Which means we’re officially a go for a November cycle.  Which means…

WOOHOO!!!

Strange that I’ve come to a place in my life where the prospect of daily injections and near-daily GYN exams would make me almost giddy with happiness.  Strange that this seems to indicate normality for me these days.

But the idea of working toward a baby again – an actual baby – seems to be worth getting excited about.  

A good day, for a change.

Because I’m also feeling optimistic about this upcoming cycle.  I’m certainly feeling more relaxed since I made the decision that this will be my last IVF using my own eggs.  If it doesn’t work this time, I’m ready to move on to donor eggs, whereupon my chances of carrying a successful pregnancy to term go up to something like 70% at my clinic.  And the age-factor isn’t nearly as important.  So some of the pressure is off me & my recalcitrant ovaries to “perform”.    

One of my younger co-workers – a fellow I’m friendly with but not close to – told me yesterday in conversation that I was looking great these days.  Which was nice to hear, not because I’m particularly vain, but because I interpreted it to mean that I’m looking more like myself again.  Between the time that my imminent miscarriage was diagnosed in early July and right up until the end of August, I felt (and looked) like death – the combination of anemia and the bone-crushing depression that I had such a hard time crawling out from under did a number on me: for those two months there was no color in my normally rosy face, and I had no energy to spare for smiling or doing much of anything besides staring dully and making black-as-death, inappropriately snarky comments.  So yesterday, it made me feel good to know that I’m back to normal as far as the general public knows.  

July feels like it was so long ago – much further in the past than the few weeks of giddy happiness that I was able to experience in May & June.  And I want that again.  And it feels more possible now that the rest of my life is evening out and nothing feels quite so dire anymore.

I go in to my clinic tomorrow for an HSN to make sure that everything’s healing and back to normal on my insides, and assuming that it is (there’s that optimism again!) I’ll probably get my prescriptions filed & we’ll come up with a start date for the patches, as well.  

And I’m looking forward to moving toward this goal again.  Looking forward to cutting off my coffee and alcohol habit, even, since I’ll have such a good reason for doing so.  Looking forward to my second chance.  

Here’s to second (and third and fourth and fifth) chances.

Have I mentioned before how no matter how much I like my doctor, his receptionists aren’t the best or the brightest?  Received a phone message yesterday that my appointment today was getting pushed back because of all the transfers/retrievals, so could we reschedule?  Ok, that’s understandable; even I wouldn’t claim that my consultation appointment trumps anything that’s on a time-schedule.  But since I specifically scheduled it for today since I had the day off & my sick days aren’t cutting the IVF mustard anymore, I needed to reschedule for later on today.  So I called to tell them so.  Only their phones weren’t picking up, just the emergency service.  

An hour before my appointment I finally reached them, and they denied there had been a phone problem.  Ok.  Whatever.  So when should I come in?  ”12:30.”  Fine.

Which I did.  And there I sat until 1:30, at which point I asked how much longer would it be?  ”At least 45 minutes more.”  Um, what the fuck?  So I ranted, raved, generally acted like a bitch before sitting down to wait some more.  Wouldn’t you know it, not five minutes later, they found time to squeeze me in.  Sorry, I know my doctor is an important, busy guy, but either they need to learn how to schedule him better, or they need to hire him an assistant to deal with the consultation part of it, or they need to not take on so many new patients or something. I do, actually, have a life outside of this clinic, and I would really appreciate it if they wouldn’t assume that this is the only thing in my life.

(Well, ok, it sort of is – in my own brain at least, IVF/pregnancy/child-prospects are running a little hamster-loop about 23 out of every 24 hours).  But I’m busy and important too, damnit!

But I had my consultation.  He asked how I was feeling, healing, etc.  Still no pathology report back from the surgery, but he’s not really expecting anything bad, so I won’t worry.  He wants to do another HSN next week to make sure everything’s cleaned up in there.  Which makes sense.  He seemed to want to tell me that DHEA is good for me, and rehashed the oft-repeated comment regarding the remarkable number of women who conceive “spontaneously” whilst on DHEA, waiting for a new cycle to begin.  

A) Excuse me while I snort derisively.  Which is to say, “Hah.  Funny one, Doc.”

B) Really ready to not be on DHEA any longer than necessary – certainly not based on anecdotal evidence regarding a slightly increased chance of what amounts to a miracle at this rate.  Zits and thinning hair, not to mention the increased risk for just about everything deadly.  Coming back to the teen-look, at this rate, I’m going to have to use artificial tech to get pregnant, simply because my husband won’t want to touch me.  Ok.  Exaggerating, but it’s still annoying.  And can’t be good for me, long-term.

Nevertheless, my doctor said he did want to wait another cycle, not jump on this next one.  *sigh*  Which would make my upcoming a beginning of December cycle.  Which would mean that traveling for Thanksgiving would be out of the question.  I expressed some disappointment about canceling (nonexistent as of yet) travel plans, and he said he’d see what he could do.  

When the nurse came to talk to me, she seemed to think that as long as next week’s HSN comes out normal, that we’ll start a cycle this month (well, beginning of November).  Making me think that in the weird world that is Manhattan, travel plans are more important than a deep and abiding urge to start trying for the one-thing-that-I-want-more-than-anything-in-the-world obsession.  Am I really unusually impatient, or is that strange?  Or did he just take pity on my upcoming birthday-angst?  Or did his receptionist beg him subliminally to get me the hell out of there as soon as he can, one way or another?  Needless to say, I’m happy that it looks like we’re back to the original schedule.  Also, it sounds like the nurse is the one who is going to be dealing with my insurance co. re: the injectables next time, not me, so a big “Woohoo” for that.  It sounds like he’s upping my meds this time, though.  Yikes.  I thought I was already on the outside edge, what with the 6 vials of Bravelle at a time & all.  

Of course, with my luck, the reward for my stubbornness will just mean that I have to bail on the WFC trip over Halloween.  Because it’s just that sort of thing that happens to me.  You know what, though?  I’d rather get started a month earlier on this next round than go to Calgary and see old friends and schmooze with editors, if it comes to that.  

If I were truly lucky, I’d manage to make a baby the old-fashioned way this month.  I hear that if you really want it, if you just relax &/or keep your hips elevated, it’s possible to get pregnant without medical intervention.  It helps if you happen to be a Republican, Evangelical high-schooler hooking up with someone who publicly states that he doesn’t want to be a father.  *sigh*  I guess I’m out of the running on all of those counts, too.  I guess God just doesn’t want me to be a mother.  

Sorry.  That was bitter.  It’s why I’m trying not to think too much about my sitch these days.  It makes me feel bitter. Bitter as soon-to-be-proscribed coffee grounds.  Bitter as bile from the nausea-inducing hormonal cocktail.  Bitter as a pint o’Guinness, drunk warm and foamy.

Hmmm.  Guinness sounds good right now.  Going to go take advantage of my non-pregnant state of being and bring one home for tonight.  Maybe with an espresso chaser.  Vomiting can’t be far off.  And on that happy note…

Still might be, but I tend to be pretty regular, even with all the weirdness in my innards lately.  Hell, even my miscarriage happened on a day my period would have started if I hadn’t been, um, pregnant.  I have a consultation appointment with the good doctor tomorrow, to get going on cycle #2, and I’m hoping he is pleased with my recovery & gives me the go-ahead for a new cycle.  Have to admit, I’m also eager to be done with the DHEA.  Hair loss is noticeable in the shower but, (I hope) not noticeable on my scalp.  Bad skin is definitely noticeable, though seriously aggressive cleaning (we’re talking rubdowns with rubbing alcohol) is keeping the worst of it in check.  My mood’s been good – yay for testosterone? – and my energy level’s been great.  I like that bit.  But if this cycle doesn’t work out, I’ll be going the DE route next time, so won’t need the egg-drugs next time.  Personally though, I’m hoping for a DHEA spontaneous this month.  

Though that might just be an excuse to have lots & lots of newlywed sex.

Like I need that excuse.

So we’re back home, and husband (!) is watching the market situation; I’m trying to avoid watching the market situation.  We’re both getting some writing done.  Dog is catching up on some much-needed sleep.  (Hah.  She’s not a dog, she’s an amoeba.  A sleepy amoeba.)  And I might make enchiladas for the youngest child.  And clean my desk.  Maybe do a bit of cross-stitch and/or looking for fabric for the new quilt that will be husband’s belated wedding gift.  It’s a day filled with possibilities.

Seriously.

It feels like fall outside, Nellie’s first vet appointment went great – her new vet has owned whippets in the past, said she was looking great, and seems like he’ll be fantastic to deal with.

And I don’t feel like death.  And I’m not being reminded of this summer’s crappy events every time I take a piss.  Which is really something to be pleased about.  Thanks, doc!

Now, hoping my cycle gets back on track so I can subject myself to this all over again.

Woohoo!

But I do want a midwife. I’m sure that I could find an OB who isn’t keen on unnecessary c-sections & who will actively promote non-narcotic pain-management techniques during labor, but it’d be a lot harder to screen for, and I don’t really see the need when there are perfectly good midwives out there who are in the business for that very reason. Plus, the midwife I’ll be going to is perfectly fine with “re-using” all my pre-IVF tests instead of insisting that I get retested for, say, rubella and hepatitis. And, you know what? At this point, anything that saves me a few blood draws (not to mention a few bucks) is a good thing.

And I’m just terrifically delighted about the idea of being out of the IVF clinic. They’re great people, wonderful folks whose expertise has made my most cherished dream come true.

But I’m tired of being in their office every other day!

Oh, speaking of… Anyone have any thoughts on an “I’m going away” gesture for the good folks at the clinic? Box o’ candy? Homemade cookies? Flowers? And please don’t say “Sterling silver model of Jerusalem” because aside from it being a bit out of my financial league, someone’s already given them one (no, really). But I’d like to do something. Any ideas?

And still, I’m thinking about doing one tomorrow. Because I am a dope, and because somehow it’s better to think ahead to tomorrow’s futile test that might possibly still have a chance, instead of thinking further ahead to the actual test on Monday, next when I’ll get a definite answer. About which I’m already terrified.

Still getting a bit crampy off & on, and I’m still waking up all night long – to pee, and just to lie there, staring up into the dark. I think that’s a progesterone side-effect, or maybe a prednisone one. It’s not too bad, and it doesn’t seem to affect me too much upon waking in the morning, but it’s noticeable. The PIO shots are getting a bit more painful, mostly because the bruising is getting bad on my poor butt.

Trying to decide between the beach and a day of writing at home. Which, since I know myself well enough to know it would turn into a day of obsessing over google-searching, is probably a bad idea. Beach just might be the best use of the day, despite my current photo-sensitivity. And it would be a nice treat for the boyfriend, so worth something right there.

I won’t obsess about tomorrow’s test. I won’t obsess about tomorrow’s test…

Hah.

Ok, IVF related stuff:

My hand is not as discolored today, which is good news. Looks like my flesh will not slough off after all.

Which is a relief.

Bad news is that my much-abused butt is starting to make known its displeasure at all the PIO injections. Bruised and lumpy, as promised. Poor boyfriend winces more than I do, when he has to stab me. Even so, even sore and lumpy, it’s easier than I’d thought it would be. Uncomfortable on the same level as a paper-cut. Truly no big deal.

The ambiguous news is that I was crampy all last night, and into this morning. I’m trying very hard not to read too much into this, but the timing would be just about right for implantation cramps, yes? Down, Susan. Down! I took an HPT & the HCG seems to have left my system, so in another few days, I’ll start testing in earnest. June 10 seems like a very very long way away.

To make a long, rambling, post short, I’m waiting. Waiting waiting waiting. Waiting to see if anything took. Waiting waiting waiting…

I was concerned enough yesterday to call my nurse, who called the anesthesiologist, who called me back to tell me that what I was describing (bright red/purple for about an inch on every side of the injection site, which remains flesh-colored) could not happen with the medicine I was given (Propofol). Well, that’s a relief, because from here, it looked, um, pretty purply-red, sort of like a pretty bad reaction of some sort – allergic or chemical – and I was getting worried about, you know, my flesh sloughing off or something. “Nah,” says he. “Maybe it’s a bruise.” “No,” I said. “I have a pretty nasty bruise on my other hand from where we attempted an iv. And inside both elbows, too. Bruises, I know from bruises.”

He was completely humorless and obviously did not understand the concept of irony at all. Sarcasm went right over his head, too. He admitted he’d be curious to see my hand that could not possibly be red, purple and swollen, and so I asked where his office was. Turns out he has no office. He’s an itinerant anesthesiologist. Hey – great work if you can get it, and then you don’t need to deal with pesky things like office calls, I suppose. He offered to meet me at my doctor’s place. If it’s not better by tonight, I’ll probably do that. I had to field way more concerned questions yesterday at work – “Your hand – my god – what happened to your hand!?!”

To which I did not reply, “You think my hand looks bad, you should see my vaginal walls!”

On the bright side, my new computer is glorious, and I’m enjoying the immediate gratification of instant start-up, instant loading of iTunes, etc. Life is good. I think I’ll like this little computer. And the windows should be done today. And I have Friday off (though not Saturday.) And I’ve been losing the bloat-weight from the meds, which makes me feel better. Been getting a bit crampy, though, which I suppose could be either good news (implantation!) or bad news (rejection). So I’m ignoring all nether-region sensations until I have more information. Concentrating on my weird-looking hand for the time being.

Which is not red-purple at all. Nope. Not even a little.

And, as people have reminded me, even though my initial embryos’ quality aren’t superstar material like I’d hoped for, it’s not like they’re not viable.  This could totally work, and until I hear otherwise from my body, or from these hokey internet HPTs I’m already peeing on obsessively, or from my doctor’s blood lab, I think I’ll just think of myself as Pregnant with a capital “P”. 

Why the hell not? 

My poor mother tried to comfort me yesterday by telling me that this would work because I have her genes and all she ever needed to do to get pregnant was to want to.  Um, yeah, that was when she was almost 13 years younger than I am now, and hey!  Newsflash!  Getting pregnant easily – not my problem!  But a couple of friends came through and said the right things – and how they knew just what I needed to hear, I’ll never know, but they did.  Thanks, guys – and Linda, this sprog is going to be honored to wear a chicken-hat just like its Auntie Linda.

And the computer meltdown – ok, financially, this could totally have happened at a better time.  Ie: not the same month as the outrageous car insurance comes due.  Not the same month that the slightly less-outrageous, but still significant medical bills came due, and not a bare week after I went and bought luggage and assorted clothes for our upcoming vacation.  But still, hell, I’m in a financial position for the first time in my life where it was possible, upon first viewing of the blue screen of death, to think of it as an opportunity to upgrade my life and not the end of everything until I could save up enough cash to scrape everything together.  Hell, if I look at it in a positive light, at least I have this ‘back up computer’ I bought last year, and at least I have a hard drive where everything has been semi-recently backed up.  So nothing’s lost except a bit of time and money, and that’s not anywhere near as bad as stuff I’ve lost in other catastrophic crashes.  (First novel, precious, irreplaceable photos, irretrievable emails, etc.) 

So I went downtown to the shiny flagsship Apple store & bought a new Mac.  Had a much better experience than at the store in SOHO, where no-one seemed to know how to answer my questions.  Here, everyone seemed on the level, intelligent, and generally the sort of computer people I like to deal with.  I’m excited about re-entering the Mac world, to be honest.  And I’ll be picking it up today or tomorrow, loaded with all my (or at least, so I hope) data, new programs, music, etc.  With any luck, I’ll be running the new Scrivener program I’ve been coveting within the week and being very very productive. 

And in the meantime, I’m feeling well enough on my feet today to make a lasagna, and to have enjoyed shopping for groceries in the sunshine today, and to be feeling like things aren’t quite so dire as they seemed yesterday.  Even if this month doesn’t work, we’ve got two more shots of IVF paid for with my insurance, which is nothing to sneeze at.  I can do this.  It’s not fun, but it’s something I can do.  It’ll work.   I’m holding positive here – this will work.