I am beyond frustrated. This was supposed to be the easy part—take 5 days of Provera, get a period a few days later, then start the tough process of growing those follicles.
Instead, I am sitting here, 7 days after my last Provera pill, and no period. Oh, I got spotting earlier this week, but I haven’t had it the last several days. Of course, my two main thoughts are: What if the spotting was the closest thing I’m going to get to a period this time around? and What if I don’t even have enough estrogen in me to build up even a mediocre lining? Dr. Hot’s nurse said to give it 14 days, then to come in for an ultrasound. If I have barely any lining in my uterus, then they’ll just start me on the Femara. But I fear that will get this cycle off to a bad start. I prefer a clean break with a period.
I’ve taken Provera maybe 5 times before, and AF has always come within 4 or 5 days. I took Prometrium several months ago, and it took about 10 days for AF to come—but I didn’t have the on-again, off-again spotting. What gives? (And no, I’m not pregnant; in fact, my temp this morning was consistent with my pre-ovulation temps.)
I would appreciate some feedback. Have any of you ever taken Provera, gotten some spotting, and then several days of nothing before finally getting your period? On top of all this crap, my severe allergies have kicked in, so I’m exhausted, and I’ve been seeing a chiropractor for severe upper back problems for the past week and a half. Grr.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
AF, where are you?
For the love of God--just get here already! I am so, so ready to start this next cycle, and all I get is this damned spotting. I am sick of living on pins and needles! AARRGGHH!
Friday, May 25, 2007
Bargaining with God
I haven’t talked about it all that much in this blog, but M and I both have a deep faith in God. We have kept on reminding each other throughout this whole ordeal that God has a plan, and we just have to trust in him.
Except. Sometimes it’s difficult for me to accept that God’s plan may be different than mine. Case in point: Remember that “dream job” I applied for? Well, I e-mailed the hiring supervisor the other day, and she (very kindly) wrote back to say that I didn’t have enough experience yet for the job. I’m not terribly upset, because I kind of had a hunch she would say that. Actually, I had been a bit afraid I would get an interview for the job. Because if God allowed me to land a new job (I plan on quitting after having a baby and doing free-lance writing from home), doesn’t that mean that he wants me to move in a new direction because it’s going to be a while before I have a baby? Whereas, my not getting this job could mean that God has a different plan for me—namely, a pregnancy??? You see my neurosis. It’s perfectly unreasonable, but I can’t stop thinking that way.
I am always afraid that God’s plan is much, much different than my plan. Yes, it’s always easy to trust in God—when you agree with him. It’s when his plan is vastly different from mine that we have a problem.
During my freshman year in college, I rushed a sorority. All my friends got in and I didn’t. I was absolutely devastated, but I survived. The following year, foolishly, I decided to rush again. I figured with more of my friends in the sorority, I would have a better chance. Even though I really didn’t want to be in the sorority itself anymore; I just wanted to have more time with my friends. Even though there was a tiny voice inside me that said I shouldn’t do it. Well, I rushed, and I got cut in the first round. In my opinion, that was God’s way of saying to me, “Well, if you aren’t going to listen to me that this isn’t the right thing to do, then I’m going to have to take action myself.”
The summer after I graduated from college, I was debating whether to break up with my boyfriend of more than two years. I knew he sometimes didn’t treat me right, but I thought I loved him, and I wanted to get married. I decided to weather the storm. A month later, HE broke up with ME. Again, God took matters into his own hands because I wouldn’t take a hint.
Now, I’m trying—again—to figure out what his plan is. I analyze every possible sign, all the while knowing deep down that the ways of God can never truly be understood by humans. I have been prepared for the possibility of adopting my entire life. Does this mean God has been preparing me for that path? I don’t find anything wrong with adopting, but if that is my path, that means I am still several years away from having a child! Thy will be done—but only if it’s also MY will.
I’ve been anxious about this next cycle (I’m done with Provera and am expecting CD1 within the next week). I fear that my ovulation problems will still be plaguing me, or that even if I ovulate, I still won’t be able to get pregnant. This morning on my drive to work, I was filled with a sudden peace and relief in remembering that God is in charge and he’ll make sure everything is “OK.”
But what does “OK” mean?
Except. Sometimes it’s difficult for me to accept that God’s plan may be different than mine. Case in point: Remember that “dream job” I applied for? Well, I e-mailed the hiring supervisor the other day, and she (very kindly) wrote back to say that I didn’t have enough experience yet for the job. I’m not terribly upset, because I kind of had a hunch she would say that. Actually, I had been a bit afraid I would get an interview for the job. Because if God allowed me to land a new job (I plan on quitting after having a baby and doing free-lance writing from home), doesn’t that mean that he wants me to move in a new direction because it’s going to be a while before I have a baby? Whereas, my not getting this job could mean that God has a different plan for me—namely, a pregnancy??? You see my neurosis. It’s perfectly unreasonable, but I can’t stop thinking that way.
I am always afraid that God’s plan is much, much different than my plan. Yes, it’s always easy to trust in God—when you agree with him. It’s when his plan is vastly different from mine that we have a problem.
During my freshman year in college, I rushed a sorority. All my friends got in and I didn’t. I was absolutely devastated, but I survived. The following year, foolishly, I decided to rush again. I figured with more of my friends in the sorority, I would have a better chance. Even though I really didn’t want to be in the sorority itself anymore; I just wanted to have more time with my friends. Even though there was a tiny voice inside me that said I shouldn’t do it. Well, I rushed, and I got cut in the first round. In my opinion, that was God’s way of saying to me, “Well, if you aren’t going to listen to me that this isn’t the right thing to do, then I’m going to have to take action myself.”
The summer after I graduated from college, I was debating whether to break up with my boyfriend of more than two years. I knew he sometimes didn’t treat me right, but I thought I loved him, and I wanted to get married. I decided to weather the storm. A month later, HE broke up with ME. Again, God took matters into his own hands because I wouldn’t take a hint.
Now, I’m trying—again—to figure out what his plan is. I analyze every possible sign, all the while knowing deep down that the ways of God can never truly be understood by humans. I have been prepared for the possibility of adopting my entire life. Does this mean God has been preparing me for that path? I don’t find anything wrong with adopting, but if that is my path, that means I am still several years away from having a child! Thy will be done—but only if it’s also MY will.
I’ve been anxious about this next cycle (I’m done with Provera and am expecting CD1 within the next week). I fear that my ovulation problems will still be plaguing me, or that even if I ovulate, I still won’t be able to get pregnant. This morning on my drive to work, I was filled with a sudden peace and relief in remembering that God is in charge and he’ll make sure everything is “OK.”
But what does “OK” mean?
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Me, me, me (my favorite subject)
I was tagged a while ago (I’m horrible; I can’t remember who tagged me), so here goes. It’s probably best for me to just restrict my post to a list, because I’m feeling really snarky and crabby this week.
Eight Random Things About Me
1. I absolutely adore 80s music, even though I went to high school during the 90s. I can be in a bad mood and get in my car and hear “Summer of ’69,” and I immediately cheer up.
2. I have a bit of a social anxiety disorder, though I don’t take medication or anything. I am constantly worried that a) everyone else has more friends, and definitely more close friends, than I do; b) I have said the wrong thing in a conversation with a friend/acquaintance; c) I’m the person at the party that you didn’t want to invite, but felt obliged to. I also typically get nervous before dinner parties/game nights/outings with anyone but my very closest friends. We usually have a great time, but I’m always nervous that we won’t, or that I’ll say the wrong thing. (I’m really not as much of a basket case as I sound like; I’m just being really, really honest here. And yes, I know that most of the time, it’s all in my head. I guess it all comes from having an extremely difficult junior high experience, when it WASN’T all in my head.)
3. Because of religious beliefs, M and I didn’t have sex or live together before we got married. Neither of us regrets it for a second.
4. My brother (who is four years older than me) and I went to see Police Academy 4 together twice in the movie theater when he was in early high school and I was in 5th or 6th grade. Yes, we enjoyed each other’s company that much, apparently, and no, we didn’t have anything else better to do.
5. During the seven years since I graduated from college, I have managed to find myself jobs in which I don’t have to work very hard, but in which my managers seem to think I’m the best thing since sliced bread.
6. I was very involved in theater from age 7 until sophomore year in college. I rarely got a really good part in plays, but I hold firm to the belief that that was because I was unfairly passed over. I refuse to entertain the thought that I might not have been very good…
7. My mother is my best friend. She and I drive each other crazy sometimes, but she’s the first one I want to call when I’m bored, or sad, or puzzled, or just in need of a listening ear.
8. As a (former) journalist, I have interviewed Wayne Brady of “Whose Line..” fame (kind of standoffish and jaded), Paula Poundstone (totally down-to-earth and fun), and several other D-list celebrities. I hate it. I prefer interviewing real people who are surprised anyone wants to talk to them.
Eight Random Things About Me
1. I absolutely adore 80s music, even though I went to high school during the 90s. I can be in a bad mood and get in my car and hear “Summer of ’69,” and I immediately cheer up.
2. I have a bit of a social anxiety disorder, though I don’t take medication or anything. I am constantly worried that a) everyone else has more friends, and definitely more close friends, than I do; b) I have said the wrong thing in a conversation with a friend/acquaintance; c) I’m the person at the party that you didn’t want to invite, but felt obliged to. I also typically get nervous before dinner parties/game nights/outings with anyone but my very closest friends. We usually have a great time, but I’m always nervous that we won’t, or that I’ll say the wrong thing. (I’m really not as much of a basket case as I sound like; I’m just being really, really honest here. And yes, I know that most of the time, it’s all in my head. I guess it all comes from having an extremely difficult junior high experience, when it WASN’T all in my head.)
3. Because of religious beliefs, M and I didn’t have sex or live together before we got married. Neither of us regrets it for a second.
4. My brother (who is four years older than me) and I went to see Police Academy 4 together twice in the movie theater when he was in early high school and I was in 5th or 6th grade. Yes, we enjoyed each other’s company that much, apparently, and no, we didn’t have anything else better to do.
5. During the seven years since I graduated from college, I have managed to find myself jobs in which I don’t have to work very hard, but in which my managers seem to think I’m the best thing since sliced bread.
6. I was very involved in theater from age 7 until sophomore year in college. I rarely got a really good part in plays, but I hold firm to the belief that that was because I was unfairly passed over. I refuse to entertain the thought that I might not have been very good…
7. My mother is my best friend. She and I drive each other crazy sometimes, but she’s the first one I want to call when I’m bored, or sad, or puzzled, or just in need of a listening ear.
8. As a (former) journalist, I have interviewed Wayne Brady of “Whose Line..” fame (kind of standoffish and jaded), Paula Poundstone (totally down-to-earth and fun), and several other D-list celebrities. I hate it. I prefer interviewing real people who are surprised anyone wants to talk to them.
Monday, May 21, 2007
What color is my parachute?
As I prepare to start my next medicated cycle, I can’t help but ponder the stories of my fellow IF bloggers. (To those of you who don’t have PCOS, I apologize—this is going to be a very anovulatory-focused post.) I wonder whose story will most closely resemble mine?
There’s Carrie, one of the fortunate few who ovulated and conceived on her first cycle of 50mg Clomid. Now she’s just waiting to get past the first-trimester jitters. While Carrie is an inspiring story to those of you Googlers searching for “Clomid success stories,” that ship has unfortunately already sailed for me.
Sharah also ovulated on Clomid, but never got the double lines. Now, she’s trying Femara—just a few steps ahead of me.
K never responded to any oral medication. When she tried injectables, she went through a jaw-dropping 65-day stim period before finally showing some mature follicles—only to land in the hospital with OHSS and no pregnancy to show for it! She’s currently preparing for her first IVF cycle (to take advantage of all those follies next time around).
Cass, my IF blogging Yoda, also haphazardly ovulated on Clomid and Femara. She ended up going to IVF, but only because they also had a MF issue. She was fortunate enough to get pregnant with twins on IVF #1.
And Samantha never responded to anything but injectables. Just like K, they seem to put her ovaries in overdrive. She just finished IVF #3 with a cancelled transfer, and is hoping one of the upcoming FETs does the trick. I think many of us in the IF blogging community is hoping and praying that one of those frozen embryos sticks, because Samantha has gone through more than anyone should go through.
I know there are many, many more stories out there, both PCOS and otherwise, but these are just the ones that stick out to me. I feel like I’m completely separate from these stories, because I ovulated on Clomid—-but only sorta. I don’t know if ovulation on CD28 really counts. I think my body just released the egg because it was tired of holding it up, not because of any hormonal signals. So I don't really know whether to count myself as a "non-responder" to Clomid or not. An anonymous commenter recently wrote that she got pregnant on her first cycle of Femara. That's wonderful, but my next question is, "Did you try Clomid at all?" I don't think she did. I fear that because Clomid was so fickle with me, other drugs will be too. That's being pessimistic, I know, but that's where I am right now.
I guess the good part of my situation is that my “plan” is clearly defined. If Femara doesn’t bring my cycle down to about 33 days or less, I’ll suggest going back to Clomid (i.e. drug that turns me into the bitch from hell) and trying 150mg. If not, then it’s straight to IVF for me. Dr. Hot doesn’t believe in doing injectables without IVF, and after reading many of your stories, I tend to agree with him. I just hope my body makes up its mind quickly, rather than waffling back and forth, deciding to respond at random times.
For those of you who don’t have problems with ovulation, congratulations on making it all the way through this post! I’m sure you learned more about the “what ifs” of PCOS than you ever wanted to know.
There’s Carrie, one of the fortunate few who ovulated and conceived on her first cycle of 50mg Clomid. Now she’s just waiting to get past the first-trimester jitters. While Carrie is an inspiring story to those of you Googlers searching for “Clomid success stories,” that ship has unfortunately already sailed for me.
Sharah also ovulated on Clomid, but never got the double lines. Now, she’s trying Femara—just a few steps ahead of me.
K never responded to any oral medication. When she tried injectables, she went through a jaw-dropping 65-day stim period before finally showing some mature follicles—only to land in the hospital with OHSS and no pregnancy to show for it! She’s currently preparing for her first IVF cycle (to take advantage of all those follies next time around).
Cass, my IF blogging Yoda, also haphazardly ovulated on Clomid and Femara. She ended up going to IVF, but only because they also had a MF issue. She was fortunate enough to get pregnant with twins on IVF #1.
And Samantha never responded to anything but injectables. Just like K, they seem to put her ovaries in overdrive. She just finished IVF #3 with a cancelled transfer, and is hoping one of the upcoming FETs does the trick. I think many of us in the IF blogging community is hoping and praying that one of those frozen embryos sticks, because Samantha has gone through more than anyone should go through.
I know there are many, many more stories out there, both PCOS and otherwise, but these are just the ones that stick out to me. I feel like I’m completely separate from these stories, because I ovulated on Clomid—-but only sorta. I don’t know if ovulation on CD28 really counts. I think my body just released the egg because it was tired of holding it up, not because of any hormonal signals. So I don't really know whether to count myself as a "non-responder" to Clomid or not. An anonymous commenter recently wrote that she got pregnant on her first cycle of Femara. That's wonderful, but my next question is, "Did you try Clomid at all?" I don't think she did. I fear that because Clomid was so fickle with me, other drugs will be too. That's being pessimistic, I know, but that's where I am right now.
I guess the good part of my situation is that my “plan” is clearly defined. If Femara doesn’t bring my cycle down to about 33 days or less, I’ll suggest going back to Clomid (i.e. drug that turns me into the bitch from hell) and trying 150mg. If not, then it’s straight to IVF for me. Dr. Hot doesn’t believe in doing injectables without IVF, and after reading many of your stories, I tend to agree with him. I just hope my body makes up its mind quickly, rather than waffling back and forth, deciding to respond at random times.
For those of you who don’t have problems with ovulation, congratulations on making it all the way through this post! I’m sure you learned more about the “what ifs” of PCOS than you ever wanted to know.
Friday, May 18, 2007
False hope
I called the RE’s office yesterday (I’ll christen him Dr. Hot—because he is. Very.) and asked for his blessing to start Provera to induce my period and begin my first Femara cycle. The nurse called back and instructed me to first take a pregnancy test, and then, if I get a negative, start on the Provera. If it’s positive, well, that’s a different story.
I know I’m not pregnant. I’m 99.9% sure of it, since my temperatures indicate I didn’t even ovulate (yes, I had a false alarm a couple of weeks ago, but my temps have fallen so much that even Fertility Friend has admitted it was wrong and taken away my coverline). That’s why I want to take the Provera. I know Dr. Hot is just covering his butt, so someone can’t go back to him and say, “You prescribed Provera when you didn’t even know if the woman was pregnant?!!” Yet somehow, the fact that he even suggested a pregnancy test makes me hopeful. Like maybe it is possible to ovulate without a temperature rise (as far as I know, it’s not), or even to conceive without ovulating (not bloody likely!).
In a way, it’s like hoping you may have lost weight simply by buying a gym membership—without ever actually going to the gym to work out (yes, I know it’s a weak analogy, but it works in this case).
So, I know I will not be announcing a BFP next week. But you can bet my heart will still be pounding when I POAS tomorrow morning.
I know I’m not pregnant. I’m 99.9% sure of it, since my temperatures indicate I didn’t even ovulate (yes, I had a false alarm a couple of weeks ago, but my temps have fallen so much that even Fertility Friend has admitted it was wrong and taken away my coverline). That’s why I want to take the Provera. I know Dr. Hot is just covering his butt, so someone can’t go back to him and say, “You prescribed Provera when you didn’t even know if the woman was pregnant?!!” Yet somehow, the fact that he even suggested a pregnancy test makes me hopeful. Like maybe it is possible to ovulate without a temperature rise (as far as I know, it’s not), or even to conceive without ovulating (not bloody likely!).
In a way, it’s like hoping you may have lost weight simply by buying a gym membership—without ever actually going to the gym to work out (yes, I know it’s a weak analogy, but it works in this case).
So, I know I will not be announcing a BFP next week. But you can bet my heart will still be pounding when I POAS tomorrow morning.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
"This title is six words long" (thanks, Weird Al!)
Our Mother’s Day celebration was OK. Not great, not terrible—just OK. I was really tired for much of it, not because of lack of sleep, but because I just seem to be tired a lot these days. I’m sure it has to do with emotional instability. Some weekend nights, I sleep for almost 12 hours—just because I can.
My in-laws are very sweet. When I first got to their house, my FIL greeted me with an enthusiastic “Happy Mother’s Day!” When I hesitated (because I honestly didn’t know what to say), he quickly said that I have a mother, so it’s a happy mother’s day. Then, later, when I wished my SIL a happy mother’s day after saying goodbye to her, she instinctively said, “Happy Mo—Happy Aunt’s Day!” I appreciate their sensitivity. Of course, my SIL still spent much of her time in talk of the Mommy Club variety, but that’s to be expected; it is, after all, her life.
* * *
My friend J saw an OB last week who supposedly specializes in infertility. She and her husband have been TTC #2 for almost a year and a half. She ovulates normally, and had no problems with #1. I have many jumbled thoughts about my two conversations with her over the last week.
1. You’re going to think I’m an awful person, but…I’m rooting for her, yet I’m sort of not. I want her to get pregnant again, but not before I do. In my own twisted view of the universe, I should be able to get pregnant with my first before she is pregnant with her second. It’s ugly, but it’s true. I want her empathy as I’m going through my treatments, not her sympathy.
2. That said, I’m a walking contradiction. I still want her to get the best treatment possible. She seems to like her OB a lot, but the guy didn’t run any bloodwork! He just asked a bunch of questions about whether any of her or her husband’s lifestyles have changed since the first baby, and said there shouldn’t be any problems. He prescribed her three months of 50mg Clomid, to start on the 6ixth day of the cycle (written that way so she can’t find me on a Google search), but that was just to pacify her, I think. His biggest piece of advice? “Just relax.” He also had her go in for an ultrasound over the weekend. I’m no doctor, but isn’t it possible that some of her hormone levels could have gotten all wacky after her first pregnancy? Isn’t it his responsibility to check those levels (or at least do an SA on her husband!) before prescribing Clomid for the summer?
3. When she first told me about her visit, it was all I could do not to fire a whole bunch of questions her way. I had to remind myself that this is her life, her treatment, and her doctor. I’m not a doctor, even though I have my Google MD proudly hanging in a frame on my wall. I was happy, however, that she called me over the weekend with a few more questions. She had been consulting Dr. Google herself, and discovered that most docs don’t prescribe Clomid without running some tests first. She also found out it’s unorthodox to prescribe it on day 6ix. So, at least she’s more informed as she goes forward.
I really don’t want to be one of those friends who tries to dictate someone else’s infertility treatments. So for now, I’m keeping my mouth shut until she asks me more questions.
My in-laws are very sweet. When I first got to their house, my FIL greeted me with an enthusiastic “Happy Mother’s Day!” When I hesitated (because I honestly didn’t know what to say), he quickly said that I have a mother, so it’s a happy mother’s day. Then, later, when I wished my SIL a happy mother’s day after saying goodbye to her, she instinctively said, “Happy Mo—Happy Aunt’s Day!” I appreciate their sensitivity. Of course, my SIL still spent much of her time in talk of the Mommy Club variety, but that’s to be expected; it is, after all, her life.
* * *
My friend J saw an OB last week who supposedly specializes in infertility. She and her husband have been TTC #2 for almost a year and a half. She ovulates normally, and had no problems with #1. I have many jumbled thoughts about my two conversations with her over the last week.
1. You’re going to think I’m an awful person, but…I’m rooting for her, yet I’m sort of not. I want her to get pregnant again, but not before I do. In my own twisted view of the universe, I should be able to get pregnant with my first before she is pregnant with her second. It’s ugly, but it’s true. I want her empathy as I’m going through my treatments, not her sympathy.
2. That said, I’m a walking contradiction. I still want her to get the best treatment possible. She seems to like her OB a lot, but the guy didn’t run any bloodwork! He just asked a bunch of questions about whether any of her or her husband’s lifestyles have changed since the first baby, and said there shouldn’t be any problems. He prescribed her three months of 50mg Clomid, to start on the 6ixth day of the cycle (written that way so she can’t find me on a Google search), but that was just to pacify her, I think. His biggest piece of advice? “Just relax.” He also had her go in for an ultrasound over the weekend. I’m no doctor, but isn’t it possible that some of her hormone levels could have gotten all wacky after her first pregnancy? Isn’t it his responsibility to check those levels (or at least do an SA on her husband!) before prescribing Clomid for the summer?
3. When she first told me about her visit, it was all I could do not to fire a whole bunch of questions her way. I had to remind myself that this is her life, her treatment, and her doctor. I’m not a doctor, even though I have my Google MD proudly hanging in a frame on my wall. I was happy, however, that she called me over the weekend with a few more questions. She had been consulting Dr. Google herself, and discovered that most docs don’t prescribe Clomid without running some tests first. She also found out it’s unorthodox to prescribe it on day 6ix. So, at least she’s more informed as she goes forward.
I really don’t want to be one of those friends who tries to dictate someone else’s infertility treatments. So for now, I’m keeping my mouth shut until she asks me more questions.
Friday, May 11, 2007
Now I'm part of the "in" crowd
Woo-hoo, my very first tag! Thanks, Dianne, for the opportunity to write my own "I Am" poem.
I am sympathetic and empathetic to a fault.
I am a woman who hates writing, but loves having written.
I am a pessimist, but not a cynic.
I am a realist, but I have a strong faith in Christ.
I am a true, loyal friend to those who give me the chance.
I am a Midwestern girl at heart.
I am an over-analytical mess at times.
I am a pillar of strength at others.
And now, I'm tagging five other IF blogs. I would love to hear what, and who, you are! (And if you've already been tagged with this one, sorry!)
Child-Bearing Hips
Baby Godot
Purgatory
Hopeful to Hateful in 28 Days
Still Trying After All Those Pills
I am sympathetic and empathetic to a fault.
I am a woman who hates writing, but loves having written.
I am a pessimist, but not a cynic.
I am a realist, but I have a strong faith in Christ.
I am a true, loyal friend to those who give me the chance.
I am a Midwestern girl at heart.
I am an over-analytical mess at times.
I am a pillar of strength at others.
And now, I'm tagging five other IF blogs. I would love to hear what, and who, you are! (And if you've already been tagged with this one, sorry!)
Child-Bearing Hips
Baby Godot
Purgatory
Hopeful to Hateful in 28 Days
Still Trying After All Those Pills
Thursday, May 10, 2007
She's a super-freak (control freak, that is)
When my relationship with M started to become serious, the inevitable question of where we were going to live (we lived two hours apart) came up. It was I who decided (rather quickly) that I would move away from my hometown to live with M. Why? I wanted to seize control of the situation before it got out of hand, even if that meant moving away from my family and friends. That way, it would be my choice—not just something that “happened to me.”
The weekend M proposed, I knew it was coming. We had shopped for a ring several weeks beforehand, and my powers of deduction led me to believe this was the weekend. I was ready. Oh, was I ready. In fact, when we talked on the phone during the week prior, I even suggested we go on a hike somewhere in the area. Why? Because I wanted to ensure M would have a romantic place in which to propose to me. Yes, that’s right—I tried to plan my own engagement, for fear of having to wait too long. Little did I know, he had planned to propose during a picnic lunch, so it didn’t matter where we were before and after.
My whole life has been about control. Being a perfectionist doesn’t help; it means I not only have to be in control of everything that happens in my life, but it has to happen exactly as I had envisioned it. Now, don’t get me wrong—I’m OK with the occasional mishap or delay. But I have to be prepared for the possibility of a mishap. My former roommate liked to tease me about something I said once: “I don’t mind surprises, as long as I know they’re coming.”
Fortunately (?), I was prepared for IF. As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve always known there was something wrong with my ovulation, and I assumed it would take us longer to conceive than most couples. However, the part that kills me is that I have no idea how long. And I have absolutely no control over when I get pregnant. I can’t plan it. Perhaps the reason IVF is so appealing to me is because it happens under controlled circumstances. You don’t just sit around and wait for things to happen; you take an active role in trying to make your body work like it should. However, as many of you know very well, there are no guarantees in IVF. Which is why I know I need to exhaust all other options before taking that step.
You might have noticed that, however often I try to blow off the statistics, I’m sorta obsessed with them. Why? You guessed it—because studying the statistics of each treatment option is the only way I can pretend I have some sort of control over this whole process. Science (in particular, medicine) frustrates me, because it’s not cut-and-dry like mathematics—therefore, it’s more difficult to control. One and one don’t always equal two. In some people, they equal one or three. In others, one of the “ones” is actually defective, but we don’t find out about it for three years. And studies have shown that in some cases, one and one actually both have numerous unforeseen side effects. You get the picture.
So how do I take control of this situation? Well, I don’t. Instead, I analyze it to death, and hope that one and one, someday, will make two.
The weekend M proposed, I knew it was coming. We had shopped for a ring several weeks beforehand, and my powers of deduction led me to believe this was the weekend. I was ready. Oh, was I ready. In fact, when we talked on the phone during the week prior, I even suggested we go on a hike somewhere in the area. Why? Because I wanted to ensure M would have a romantic place in which to propose to me. Yes, that’s right—I tried to plan my own engagement, for fear of having to wait too long. Little did I know, he had planned to propose during a picnic lunch, so it didn’t matter where we were before and after.
My whole life has been about control. Being a perfectionist doesn’t help; it means I not only have to be in control of everything that happens in my life, but it has to happen exactly as I had envisioned it. Now, don’t get me wrong—I’m OK with the occasional mishap or delay. But I have to be prepared for the possibility of a mishap. My former roommate liked to tease me about something I said once: “I don’t mind surprises, as long as I know they’re coming.”
Fortunately (?), I was prepared for IF. As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve always known there was something wrong with my ovulation, and I assumed it would take us longer to conceive than most couples. However, the part that kills me is that I have no idea how long. And I have absolutely no control over when I get pregnant. I can’t plan it. Perhaps the reason IVF is so appealing to me is because it happens under controlled circumstances. You don’t just sit around and wait for things to happen; you take an active role in trying to make your body work like it should. However, as many of you know very well, there are no guarantees in IVF. Which is why I know I need to exhaust all other options before taking that step.
You might have noticed that, however often I try to blow off the statistics, I’m sorta obsessed with them. Why? You guessed it—because studying the statistics of each treatment option is the only way I can pretend I have some sort of control over this whole process. Science (in particular, medicine) frustrates me, because it’s not cut-and-dry like mathematics—therefore, it’s more difficult to control. One and one don’t always equal two. In some people, they equal one or three. In others, one of the “ones” is actually defective, but we don’t find out about it for three years. And studies have shown that in some cases, one and one actually both have numerous unforeseen side effects. You get the picture.
So how do I take control of this situation? Well, I don’t. Instead, I analyze it to death, and hope that one and one, someday, will make two.
Tuesday, May 8, 2007
Damn the statistics, Part...Oh wait, I am a statistic!
At my job, I frequently network with physicians. This morning, I met with an OB/GYN to discuss the possibility of media opportunities. Infertility success stories came up, and I said that I assumed probably a lot of them ended up going to an infertility specialist. She said, no, actually, 80 percent of infertility cases are “cured” by an OB.
So, let me get this straight: Not only am I among a minority of women who have problems conceiving, but even among that population, I am part of the 20 percent who can’t be helped by an OB? Now, I know she is just promoting her practice when she says that, but still…I’m already an extreme case! That really bummed me out.
***UPDATE***
A few of you wise readers had some good points. I guess it really depends on what your definition of "infertile" is. Also, it depends on whether women are willing to spend years and years of throwing darts at the wall with their OB, or go to an RE to hopefully get some more clear answers, and some more exact treatments. So, I have decided I will just forget I even talked to her. Well, except for the work stuff. That I probably shouldn't forget.
So, let me get this straight: Not only am I among a minority of women who have problems conceiving, but even among that population, I am part of the 20 percent who can’t be helped by an OB? Now, I know she is just promoting her practice when she says that, but still…I’m already an extreme case! That really bummed me out.
***UPDATE***
A few of you wise readers had some good points. I guess it really depends on what your definition of "infertile" is. Also, it depends on whether women are willing to spend years and years of throwing darts at the wall with their OB, or go to an RE to hopefully get some more clear answers, and some more exact treatments. So, I have decided I will just forget I even talked to her. Well, except for the work stuff. That I probably shouldn't forget.
Monday, May 7, 2007
Well, damn
It was a false alarm. My temps have gone back down again, and I am bitterly disappointed. Not that I actually expected to ovulate so soon after starting Met. But that temp rise last week allowed Hope to knock at my door again. Damn, she is so persistent. Guess I’m waiting for the Femara cycle for my next legitimate chance.
In other news, I applied for a job yesterday. Although I have lots of support and great people at my current job, I’m bored to tears. I just don’t have nearly enough to do, and sitting around reading IF blogs all day is not the best strategy for keeping my mind off TTC. I had told myself it would be silly to look for a new job, because what if I get pregnant in a couple of months? (I plan on quitting after having a baby to work from home.) Then again, however, what if it takes a couple of years, instead? I just can’t put my life on hold on the off chance my body might do what it’s supposed to do.
I talked to my MIL a few nights ago, and she told me she’d checked out a book about PCOS from the library. I was genuinely touched. I feel very blessed to have a MIL who doesn’t bug us about when she’s going to have another grandchild, but instead whose heart aches every time she sees the pain I’m going through. I’m flattered that she wants to learn more about my crappy ovaries.
In other news, I applied for a job yesterday. Although I have lots of support and great people at my current job, I’m bored to tears. I just don’t have nearly enough to do, and sitting around reading IF blogs all day is not the best strategy for keeping my mind off TTC. I had told myself it would be silly to look for a new job, because what if I get pregnant in a couple of months? (I plan on quitting after having a baby to work from home.) Then again, however, what if it takes a couple of years, instead? I just can’t put my life on hold on the off chance my body might do what it’s supposed to do.
I talked to my MIL a few nights ago, and she told me she’d checked out a book about PCOS from the library. I was genuinely touched. I feel very blessed to have a MIL who doesn’t bug us about when she’s going to have another grandchild, but instead whose heart aches every time she sees the pain I’m going through. I’m flattered that she wants to learn more about my crappy ovaries.
Friday, May 4, 2007
Metformin and me (a love story)
Oh metformin, how I underestimated you.
When we first began our relationship, I was skeptical. I had heard all the stories about what a “bad boy” you were—causing heartache, stomachache and even indigestion. So many girls spent hours crying in the bathroom because of you. And all that, just for the small chance that you might give them what they needed. And you didn’t! Some of those girls eventually ended up with Clomid, or Femara—who have much better reputations than you do.
But Clomid broke my heart. He was unreliable, and I was forced to run into your arms against my will. I thought I would be wasting my time with you. And it’s true—at the beginning it was tough. You reared your ugly head in my bathroom for a few days. And then, when I finally ramped up to 1,500 mg, you crashed my intimate wedding anniversary getaway with my husband. Really, metformin—was that necessary?
Eventually, we learned to live with each other. I obediently bided my time with you, waiting until the day when I could switch to what I believe is the right one for me—Femara. Until earlier this week…
Alas! Alack! Was that a temperature rise I saw? And then, the next two days, the temperature didn’t go down very far? Could it possibly be ovulation? ON CD14??? After only three weeks of taking you? Oh, metformin, I have never had a normal cycle for as long as I’ve been charting. Could you be the one I have been waiting for all my life? And, wonder of wonders, my husband and I actually had decent timing—sex on the day before the supposed ovulation!
But no, I refuse to think anything will come of this. Because although I know you have satisfied some women in the short run, I’ve seen the statistics. I know that you alone rarely impregnate women on your own (sorry for the ego-deflator, but it’s true). So no, I’m not in the 2ww. I’m not, I’m not, I’m not, I’m not... (But I will be much more willing to invite you along when Femara and I begin our relationship next cycle.)
When we first began our relationship, I was skeptical. I had heard all the stories about what a “bad boy” you were—causing heartache, stomachache and even indigestion. So many girls spent hours crying in the bathroom because of you. And all that, just for the small chance that you might give them what they needed. And you didn’t! Some of those girls eventually ended up with Clomid, or Femara—who have much better reputations than you do.
But Clomid broke my heart. He was unreliable, and I was forced to run into your arms against my will. I thought I would be wasting my time with you. And it’s true—at the beginning it was tough. You reared your ugly head in my bathroom for a few days. And then, when I finally ramped up to 1,500 mg, you crashed my intimate wedding anniversary getaway with my husband. Really, metformin—was that necessary?
Eventually, we learned to live with each other. I obediently bided my time with you, waiting until the day when I could switch to what I believe is the right one for me—Femara. Until earlier this week…
Alas! Alack! Was that a temperature rise I saw? And then, the next two days, the temperature didn’t go down very far? Could it possibly be ovulation? ON CD14??? After only three weeks of taking you? Oh, metformin, I have never had a normal cycle for as long as I’ve been charting. Could you be the one I have been waiting for all my life? And, wonder of wonders, my husband and I actually had decent timing—sex on the day before the supposed ovulation!
But no, I refuse to think anything will come of this. Because although I know you have satisfied some women in the short run, I’ve seen the statistics. I know that you alone rarely impregnate women on your own (sorry for the ego-deflator, but it’s true). So no, I’m not in the 2ww. I’m not, I’m not, I’m not, I’m not... (But I will be much more willing to invite you along when Femara and I begin our relationship next cycle.)
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
Musings on eggs
At the infertility support group meeting M and I attended a couple of weeks ago, one of the women (who had experienced multiple miscarriages) spoke about the price of an IUI at one of the clinics in the area. When I questioned how much the monitoring ultrasound (to figure out if the woman was, indeed, about to ovulate) cost, she said she never had one. She always knew when she was ovulating, because she could feel a distinct pain near where her ovaries are. She could even tell which side she was ovulating from. One of the other women chimed in with the same experience.
I was aghast. I cannot imagine knowing when I am ovulating—especially since it happens so rarely. We PCOS-ers consider it a damn miracle if we release an egg at all, let alone pinpoint the ovulation as it’s happening.
I spend my days living in fear. I’m afraid that even if I do ovulate, I’ll be like the many PCOS-ers who can’t conceive even if they do start ovulating (I know I said screw the stats, but they’re still in the back of my mind). But the truth is, I don’t have any logical reasons to think I can’t get pregnant if I can just start reliably predicting ovulation. I have only had well-timed sex once. And I didn’t get pregnant. Hell, that means nothing! I need to stop thinking about what might happen, and instead focus on the reality of the situation—I still have a very good shot at getting pregnant without IVF. (I don’t mean to offend any of you who have gone through IVF. I still consider it a very good option; it’s just that here in Wisconsin, it’s all out-of-pocket, and that’s a good $12,000 down the drain.)
I was aghast. I cannot imagine knowing when I am ovulating—especially since it happens so rarely. We PCOS-ers consider it a damn miracle if we release an egg at all, let alone pinpoint the ovulation as it’s happening.
I spend my days living in fear. I’m afraid that even if I do ovulate, I’ll be like the many PCOS-ers who can’t conceive even if they do start ovulating (I know I said screw the stats, but they’re still in the back of my mind). But the truth is, I don’t have any logical reasons to think I can’t get pregnant if I can just start reliably predicting ovulation. I have only had well-timed sex once. And I didn’t get pregnant. Hell, that means nothing! I need to stop thinking about what might happen, and instead focus on the reality of the situation—I still have a very good shot at getting pregnant without IVF. (I don’t mean to offend any of you who have gone through IVF. I still consider it a very good option; it’s just that here in Wisconsin, it’s all out-of-pocket, and that’s a good $12,000 down the drain.)
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