The fat lady never sang

As you all know, I was intensely disappointed upon getting a BFN at 12DPO. But I moved on fairly quickly, already looking forward to the next cycle. I started getting more pronounced AF symptoms toward the end of last week (a teensy bit of spotting and enough cramping that I had to ask for a Tylenol at our family reunion), so I prepared myself with pads and Tampons wherever I went. Assuming a 14-day luteal phase, my period should have come on Saturday—in the midst of the family reunion.

But it didn’t.

By late Sunday morning, I still hadn’t had much more spotting. I pulled M into our tent (sounds kind of romantic, doesn’t it?) and told him my concerns. One of three things was happening, I said. Either 1) my period was just being a pain in the ass and ruining my timing for the next cycle; 2) I had another pesky corpus luteal cyst; or 3) I was pregnant. I couldn’t even imagine No. 3.

We left after lunch so I could make it to a baby shower. M dropped me off and amused himself for a couple of hours while I made a Herculean effort not to drink much or pee. I would, I told myself, stop at a Target on the way home and pick up a pregnancy test. Just in case. (A side note: The baby shower was not annoying or tear-inducing; just a nice little tribute to the mom-to-be.)

I picked up my little package from Target and headed into the bathroom. I had to pee so badly, I told M, I didn’t want to wait till we got home. In the bathroom, I dutifully POASed and placed the stick on the toilet paper rack upside down, all the while thinking to myself how futile this was. By this point, I suspected I had a cyst. Then, I wiped—and saw more brownish gunk than I had yet seen that weekend. “How ironic,” I thought, “I get my period right after I POAS. What a waste of money.” Confident that I had a BFN, I turned it over.

And a + stared me right in the face. No doubt about it. (This is what the folks in the newspaper business call "burying the lead.")

I waited until we got in the car to show M, my hands shaking, tears running down my face. How could this possibly be?

I got my beta today. 150.8 at 17DPO. Another beta is scheduled for Wednesday morning.

This is real.

And to think, I thought it was over at 12DPO…

BFN

I was so anxious last night about testing this morning, I woke up practically every hour. Finally, at 2 a.m., I figured it was close enough to morning to POAS. BFN. I didn’t even cry. I just went back to bed and laid there for a while before switching locations so maybe I’d be able to finish my night’s sleep. I guess the cramps were just early AF symptoms. (And please don’t tell me that 12DPO might have been too early; I’m pretty sure this is it. Now I just have to wait for my period.)

I tend to be an extremist. Things are black or white; never gray. I either want a job or I don’t. Somebody either is my friend, or she isn’t. So throughout this process, I’ve convinced myself that if something doesn’t work the first time, it never will. I know this is ridiculous, but, well, that’s me. I’ve already decided that if I don’t notice any EWCM this next time around, I’m going to request IUI for my third round of Femara. No sense in wasting cycle after cycle. (But, then again, there’s a little whisper inside of me that says everything was perfect this time, and it was only by chance that I didn’t get pregnant.)

I can’t forget that I accomplished my main goal for this cycle—ovulation. Anything else would have been icing on the cake. Regardless, I still feel like crap today. I’m embarrassed to say I actually threw up this morning before going to work.

Though I am still struggling in the depths of despair (OK, I’m being overdramatic, I’m not actually that depressed), I must give a shout-out to Ms. C, Ultimatejourney and The Reluctant Baroness, all of whom recently got their BFPs. Ladies, you give the rest of us hope!

I thought I was unique. I thought I had been through enough, read enough blogs, researched enough that I wouldn’t be totally obsessive over the two-week wait.

I was wrong.

This wait is absolutely killing me. I had told myself that my only real goal was to ovulate; that the pregnancy part would straighten itself out in time. Well, that lasted right until the point that I was sure I ovulated. Then, I started fantasizing that “this could be the cycle.” I began feverishly researching, determined to find a site that would tell me, “Yes, you are probably pregnant!” Alas, no such site exists.

Here is the small, paltry, miniscule reason for my obsession: cramping. Yes, I have been having very, very minor twinges and cramps since 6DPO. Now, these cramps could be a) an early sign of the coming AF (although the few times I’ve gotten a natural period, I don’t remember cramping this early, and I never have short luteal phases); b) a symptom of another corpus luteal cyst; or c) absolutely nothing important.

Or. Or. They could be a sign that a lil’ embryo is implanting itself in my uterus.

I’ve read so much on implantation cramps I’m dizzy. The consensus (as most of you already know) is that there is absolutely no way to tell that you’re pregnant based on early symptoms. Yet that doesn’t stop me from grieving the fact that my boobs don’t hurt.

I thought the two-week wait would be a nice break for me! Yet I can’t stop thinking about how nice it would be to get a BFP right before our family reunion this weekend and the baby shower I have to attend on Sunday. Ah, the lovely feeling to know that I have a secret little baby growing in me…

I was going to test on Friday, but I think now that I will do it on Wednesday—12DPO. It’s hard for me to get anything done until then. Not that I’m going to be a mess if I get a BFN; I just want to know. Then, if I’m not pregnant, I can put this cycle behind me and look forward.

Why, oh why can’t I just live in the moment?

Can you measure suffering in tears?

My good friend K has had a hard life so far. Part of it has been her own doing, part of it has been because of her struggle with depression, part of it has been being part of a sorta-dysfunctional family, and part of it has been simply circumstance. Though she went to a top college, she was a film major, and has never found (or even pursued very diligently) a job in her field. Instead, she is 29 and has worked at one of a couple of mall stores for most of her post-college life. She lives with her mom, who is about to lose their house because of money problems. She would like to live on her own, but can’t afford it. Her parents recently got divorced, and her dad lost his job several months ago. She has had two serious relationships, both of which ended badly. She still keeps messages from her ex-boyfriends on her cell phone because she can’t bear to delete them. She has struggled with weight. She is constantly feeling bad about herself because she has never measured up to what she or other people hoped she would become. I consider her to be a beautiful woman with a natural gift for making others feel good about themselves and a genuinely kind heart, but she has a hard time believing that.

When I look at myself through K’s eyes (which isn’t hard to do, because she is constantly tossing warm fuzzies my way), I see a woman who has just about everything—a supportive, stable family; a modest but comfortable house; a loving husband; a good job in my field; a strong faith in God; the motivation to get things done when they need to be done and enough money in the bank to cover us when shit happens.

K doesn’t wish me any ill, and she doesn’t resent me for how my life has turned out. I’m not being arrogant when I say that I think K wishes she could be a little more like me (she’s told me as much). Consequently, she’s often the first person I call when I’m feeling down, because I feel like I need to prove to her that my life is not all sunshine and roses.

If I were K (and to clarify, she would never say this; she’s too good of a friend), I would say that it’s about time I had to deal with some real heartache.

This is all a long way of saying that I fear we haven’t suffered nearly enough in our quest for a baby. That getting a BFP next week is just too much to ask for. Pregnancy on our first cycle of Femara (albeit after three excruciating cycles of Clomid)? Come on, are you joking?

I have had what I consider to be dark spots in my life: When I was flatly rejected by the sorority that had accepted all my friends (I thought it confirmed I was an unlovable person who would have a miserable social life in college). When the man whom I thought I was going to marry broke up with me the fall after I graduated from college (I had no idea how I was going to handle being a “swingin’ single” in her 20s). When I spent eight unemployed months desperately searching for a job after I married M and moved to Wisconsin.

But I’m not sure I have ever really suffered. I haven’t yet had to deal with the death of a close loved one, and I’ve never wondered how I can possibly live another day. If I were K, I would say that 15 months TTC is not enough, and that perhaps I need to feel what it’s like to wait years for what I want.

Then again, suffering is not necessarily measured in time. As I have said before, I’ve known for a long time that I would be infertile. So I guess, in a way, I’ve suffered for a decade or more. While other couples have had joyful anticipation at the beginning of TTC, we never did. It was all dread from the moment we got married.

So, have I met my suffering quota? I hope so. I’m not sure if I necessarily “deserve” to get pregnant right now, but when has God restricted blessings to those who deserve it? Aren’t we all undeserving in the end?

Ho-hum

M left on a business trip early this morning. He won’t be back until next Tuesday. I find myself at a loss as to what I’m going to do until then.

Let me clarify. I am not one of those wives who is lost without her husband. I remember going on a 48-hour road trip with a friend several years ago and watching her tearfully kiss her husband goodbye, then “bravely” try to gulp back the tears as we drove away. I thought it was ridiculous; we were, after all, going to be back in less than two days! I lived on my own for several years after college (many of those years sans boyfriend) and am used to entertaining myself. So why the empty feeling?

Actually, when M initially took his current job, he was expecting to be on the road much more often than he is. I had balked at first because we were about to be married (we didn’t live together before we were married), and I wanted us to have a chance to get used to each other before he was gone all the time. As it turned out, he was hardly ever on the road during the first year, and has only occasionally gone on business trips in recent months.

But. But. Now that we have lived together for two years, everything seems more meaningful with M around. I plan our social events with him in mind. He is my constant companion, my rock that doesn’t change. The colors in the world around me seem a little less vivid when he’s not around. Even though we’re often working on different things in the house, just knowing that he’s around is comforting to me.

I am going to try to keep myself busy this weekend. A new friend and I have tentatively made plans to get together on Saturday (we’ll see if that actually happens or not). I’m hoping to bake some cookies to bring over to our new next-door neighbors. My parents live two hours away, and I’m planning on meeting them halfway between our houses on Sunday to grab some lunch and hang out for a little while.

Hopefully, I won’t be sitting around thinking about the 2ww that much.

You can take the infertile out of the neurosis, but you can't take the neurosis out of the infertile

First off, I have been so self-involved over the past week that I have neglected to thank whomever wrote a Secret Ode to me on Mel’s blog. That truly made my day. Sometimes, I wonder how much I should talk about my faith for fear of offending someone. Then, I think that even if some of my readers don’t share in my spiritual beliefs, perhaps my faith can help them grow in their own way.

M and I are so proud of ourselves. For the first time ever in this TTC process, we have actually been aware of ovulation when it is happening and have been able to time sex accordingly--the day before, the day of and the day after. And both of our bodies worked the way they should work! (M, if you’ll recall, was having performance issues related to medication. He’s changed medications, and things are mostly back to normal.) From my temping, I figure that I probably did indeed ovulate on CD13. CD13! That never happens for me!

That said, I wouldn’t be Ann if I didn’t have some type of neurosis left. Like Geohyde, my initial temping after ovulation was less than satisfactory. My temps hadn’t risen much, and by last night, I had started to convince myself that my RE was wrong and I hadn’t ovulated after all. I was terrified my temperature would dip this morning. Fortunately, it rose and all my fears were for naught.

I am also experiencing some sort of post-ovulation withdrawal, similar to Ultimatejourney’s. We have done everything we can this cycle, and now all we can do is wait. I realize that all of you go through this each and every cycle; indeed, that is what the 2ww is all about. But I’m not used to it. I’m used to actively pursuing ways to force my body to work correctly. I’m not quite sure what to do with myself now that our efforts have actually paid off and I at least have a chance in hell of getting pregnant. What do I do with myself now???

Unfortunately, M is out of town on business Thursday through Tuesday, which doesn’t help in distracting me. I’m trying to arrange some “playtime” with a new friend, and hopefully I’ll be able to meet my parents, who live two hours away, for dinner or something on Sunday. Please, go quickly, 2ww!

Why I love my left ovary

The Letrozole/Femara worked! Yippee! (For you Googlers who are happening upon this blog for the first time, Clomid = no regular ovulation for me. So there is life after Clomid! (I hope) )

Despite the best efforts of Living-in-the-moment Ann, I’ve been a mess all week. It’s been difficult for me to make plans for the weekend, because I kept on thinking, That’s after I’ll know for sure whether oral meds are a total wash for me. What if I’m in a total depression?

Since Dr. Hot was on vacation, the other RE at the clinic, whom I’ll call Dr. Supportive, did the honors (today is CD13). First he checked my uterine lining, which he said looked great (I didn’t get specifics). Then he looked at Right Ovary. Nothing. Nada. Zip. It occurred to me to panic, but then I thought, Well, the last couple of times Left Ovary has done all the work, so maybe that’s the case this time, too. Sure enough, Dr. Supportive triumphantly showed me the big black blog on my left ovary. 17 mm. I was practically in tears, I was so relieved. He said it appeared as though I was in the process of ovulating already, so no need for an hCG shot. His prescription? Since we had sex last night, he suggested doing the deed tomorrow. (I quickly interjected, “But what about tonight?” He laughed and told me he was just about to say that.) I feel like a newbie with this whole trying-to-conceive thing, eagerly inquiring as to when I should copulate with my husband. Because, you’ve gotta remember, this is the first time ever that we’ve actually known I was about to ovulate. Ahead of time. This is the first time my reproductive cycle has been more than guesswork. Now, let’s just hope that we’re able to get our mission accomplished over the next few days. Then M and I will both be feeling pretty proud of our bodies.

My biggest concern now is my, er, “lady lubrication.” I was dry as the Sahara last night, but this morning things felt a bit, um, wetter. Maybe one of these days I might actually be privy to the elusive EWCM. It’s a rare species, and I’ve tended to doubt its existence, but by golly, I’m going to do my darnedest to coax it out of its hiding place.

There are too many Anns in here

To add to my ever-increasing list of ailments, I got a urinary tract infection last night. Ugh. I was in tears, simply because I’m sick of having something wrong with me all the time. I decided I needed immediate attention and paged my poor RE because I was terrified this meant I would have to cancel my cycle. Also, I had read online that a urinary tract infection could be a side effect of Femara. Dr. Hot gave me a prescription for antibiotics and reassured me, slightly exasperatedly, that this doesn’t affect my cycle in the least. I think he thinks I’m crazy.

And, as it turns out, I am. I’m suffering from multiple personality disorder at the moment regarding my upcoming follie scan on Friday. Here’s what’s going on inside my head:

Living-in-the-moment Ann: I am going to get over my bladder infection, and do my work this week just like any other week, and not think about my appointment on Friday. Because what if it goes badly? I can’t hinge my entire week on a doctor’s appointment!

Hopeful Ann: Oh, but won’t I feel just fantastic when/if I find out I have one or two sizeable follies! And why shouldn’t I? I mean, it’s not as if Clomid was a complete bust—it just didn’t work quite as it should. Femara hasn’t made me crazy like Clomid did; that’s got to be a sign, right? And I’ve heard plenty of stories of PCOS women who tried Clomid and it didn’t work, and they tried Femara and got pregnant on their first try! It could happen! It could, it could, it could!

Pessimistic Ann: Yes, well, I know plenty of other stories of women who didn’t get jack-squat from Femara. What makes you think you’re going to be one of the lucky ones? You certainly haven’t been very lucky so far. Just look at the title of your blog!

Hungry Ann: I’m hungry.

Scientific Ann: Well, you know that Femara works in a completely different way to increase estrogen than Clomid does, blah, blah, blah. So your reaction to Clomid is completely unrelated to what your reaction will be to Femara. And, you have ovulated before, so you have the capability.

British Ann: So chin up, old sport! You could be in for a jolly good scan on Friday!

Pessimistic Ann: I’m not holding my breath. I’ve had so many disappointments so far, it’s hard to imagine things actually working the way they should. And I haven’t even “put in my time” yet. We’ve only been trying for 14 months, and most women with PCOS take longer than that.

Even More Pessimistic Ann: Well, but you’ve forgotten the possibility of a miscarriage. You could easily make your “quota” of at least two years TTC with a couple of miscarriages. Hahahaha—take that, Hopeful Ann!

Hungry Ann: Is it lunchtime yet?

The grass isn't greener here, either

First of all, thank you for all of your well wishes! I'm loving this Commentathon--even though I'm not actually participating myself (hangs her head in shame).

Two years ago, when I was searching for a job in my newly-chosen field of public relations, I went through periods of anxiety and periods of peace. The anxiety came when I interviewed (or prepared to interview) for a job I really, really wanted. It continued as I waited for The Call post-interview and eventually waned when I accepted the fact that they were never going to call me for a second interview or job offer. The peace came when I didn’t have any interviews on the horizon. I could blissfully concentrate on my free-lancing career and not jump every time the phone rang.

The same is true of infertility. I was doing perfectly fine (except for my bronchitis, of course) this past weekend—until I discovered my period was beginning. Then, I worried myself to death that my cysts would still be around and I’d have to sit out yet another cycle.

Digression: I like to compare my cycles to the game Mousetrap. For those who don’t remember the game, you had to set up this elaborate Rube-Goldberg-like contraption so a marble could travel through all the stages and eventually cause a trap to fall on a mouse. My brother and I, however, were perpetually losing or breaking a piece. Break one piece, and the mousetrap is useless. That’s just like the menstrual cycle: When one thing is wrong, it throws the whole cycle off-kilter. In my case, my cysts were delaying the onset of menstruation. So, logic would dictate that because I menstruated, my problems were gone. The missing piece was restored, and the chain reaction could continue. But I wasn’t sure, and the uncertainty caused me much anxiety.

Now, I am half-dreading next Friday. That’s when I’ll find out if my follicles are, indeed, responding to the Femara. This is it. If they aren’t responding, it’s likely I will be moving on to IVF by the fall. (My doc thinks, and I tend to agree, that injectables without IVF may be more hassle than they’re worth for a PCOS patient, simply because of the high possibility of cancellation. I don’t mean to offend any of you who are on injectables; I’m just not sure it’s for me.) I’ve got my “interview” set up, and I HAVE TO make a good impression. Then, if by some miracle all goes well, I have yet another two weeks to wait until I find out if I got the job. (The nine-month kind.)

M summed it all up the other day when he asked me, “Can’t you just live in the moment?”

No, unfortunately, I can’t. I told him this is nothing compared to what I’ll be like during the first trimester if I ever actually get pregnant (evil grin).

There ain't no cysts on me

I woke up this morning with a feeling of impending excitement/dread. Today was the day. At about 1:30 this afternoon, Dr. Hot would give me either good news or yet another disappointment.

I went to work, and though I had lots to do (for once), it was hard to concentrate. I left the office for a professional networking luncheon, but my heart just wasn’t in the mood for schmoozing. All I could think about was my appointment.

Finally, I got to the clinic, my heart pounding furiously, and Dr. Hot walked in the room. I gave him a nervous smile and leaned back, trying to relax in anticipation of the slightly uncomfortable contraption forcing its way into my nether regions.

Was I waiting to find out if I was pregnant? Was I breathless in anticipation of news about whether I was ovulating.

No. I was simply there to find out whether I could finally START TRYING TO GET PREGNANT AGAIN! That’s all. How pathetic. That, my friends, is one of the reasons why it takes PCOS women so long to get pregnant—because we wait, and wait, and wait-- just for the opportunity to try.

I had unexpectedly gotten my period on Sunday (remember, I had two ovarian cysts), and was in the office for a baseline ultrasound. I was terrified Dr. Hot would say the cysts were still rather large and I would have to sit out yet another cycle. Instead, he sent me home with the instructions to start taking Femara. I smiled at him and said, “Do you realize this is the first time you’ve given me good news?”

And so the games begin. Femara, please don’t forsake me. To borrow from K, all I need is one good egg.