Back to "normal."

Not a banner day today. It started out with my period arriving in full force, with a lovely side dish of cramps and nausea. I was erroneously thinking that if I got a period this cycle it would likely be not much of one. Wrong.

Next, even though I’ve had the dates saved in an email for weeks now, I didn’t realize that B. would be out in the field three weeks in a row. He’s back on base in San Antonio on the weekends, but it means that we won’t be able to talk through the week for the next two weeks.

This last Monday - Friday of no communication was hard enough. It’s going to get tougher and tougher as this IVF cycle ramps up into gear. When I was planning on doing this cycle alone, I somehow didn’t picture myself not even talking to B.

This realization has left our communication today tinged with a frantic edge, like we’re about to be disconnected at any moment. I guess that’s partly true.

Less important but no less irritating, I tried to take the dogs to a new off-leash area that just opened nearby. This would have been big news last year at this time - I spent a significant amount of time at the off-leash area in Piedmont Park, which is a good twenty minute drive away. The new off-leash area is a mere five minutes away, so with little else to do today, I thought I’d check it out. When we got there, the only two dogs in the run were boxers, Feral’s least favorite breed of dog, next to viszlas. Yes, one of my dogs is breedist. Severely breedist, actually. There are exceptions to the rule, but if Feral is going to be an asshole and initiate a fight, nine times out of ten it’s going to be with a boxer or viszla.

Feral is extremely well socialized, and neutered, so it’s not that he’s a permanent asshole. He spends two or three days a week at a wonderful doggie daycare and rarely, if ever, gets in fights there. He is protective of me, though, and that combined with the two hyper boxers most likely would have spelled a trip to the emergency vet for someone. We turned around and headed back home.

On the drive home I consoled myself with thoughts of taking the Bronco to Whole Foods (a.k.a. Whole Paycheck) to buy dinner. That’s when the rain started. Since the Bronco’s bikini top has several strategically placed holes that allow water to pour in each and every time you accelerate, in the garage it will stay.

Aaahhhh, back to bitching about life. Ain’t it grand?

I'm feeling much better than my car is.

Cycle day 7. Turns out I have a lot less to blog about when I’m not depressed. Sorry for the breaks between posts.

Stopped birth control pills on Wednesday, and dropped the Lupron dosage by half yesterday. The nausea seems to be gone, and as warped as it sounds, I’m sorry it left. I actually managed to lose a few pounds, which in turn helped to elevate my spirits further. I’m not overweight per se, but I do carry a few extra pounds in my belly region. My stomach is still not flat (and probably never will be again) but now I look like I’m three months pregnant, versus the five months I’m usually imitating.

Overall, I have to say I’m in a damn fine place, especially given what a shitty place I was in just two weeks ago. There are some clouds on the horizon, true. Most notable this week is the imminent death of my car. In addition to the stubborn Check Engine light (why won’t that damn thing just stay off?) the car now hiccups and gulps and loses power...then recovers. Each time I leave the house I wonder, “will this be the trip the car dies for good?” It gets extra exciting when I’ve got the dogs with me, or some perishable groceries, or have to drive through an especially sketchy part of town - which sadly, includes my own neighborhood.

I know, I know, take the car into the shop before it dies. A novel idea, but not one I’m going to be able to execute for awhile. See, sad as it is, I only have one friend I can call to give me a ride home from the shop, and he’s out of town for another ten days. Cabs cost a fortune in Atlanta, and public transportation goes nowhere near where I’m going or where I’m coming from. I do have other friends, but they all have children and busy lives and I can’t ring them up and say, “hey, I haven’t seen you in months, but would you mind dropping what you’re doing to come give me a ride home from the mechanic’s?” It just doesn’t feel right to ask.

If I get stranded, so be it. Worse things have happened to me, that’s for sure.

It's going swimmingly.

Cycle day 3. So far, so good. My only complaint would be a low grade headache that comes and goes, most likely from the Lupron.

B. is out in the field again this week, which means he has no cellphone. Just when things were starting to improve in our communication, too.

I’m struggling a bit with my mother. Her understanding of the IVF process is negligible at best, misinformed at worst. It’s difficult to find the right amount of information to feed her; too much and she’s confused, not enough and I’m worried she’ll feel left out. Not that that would be unreasonable, considering her lack of support during my miscarriage.

I am also worried about staying with my sister while getting through the nuts & bolts of this cycle. We’re close, no doubt, but she seems a wee bit uncomfortable with the IVF process. Add to that our proud family tradition of never expressing strong emotion in front of each other, and you’ve got a potentially difficult situation. I don’t know what’s going to happen in LA. I do know that there’s a good possibility that things won’t go as hoped, and I’ll have to handle being upset while being a guest in her house.

That’s about all I can worry about today. I am happy to report though, that although I have plenty to stress out about, and I’m sad that B. and I will be out of touch all week, I’m still feeling markedly better than I had been for the past month or so. Any day above water is a good day.

And we're off!

Cycle day 1. This morning I injected myself with Lupron and made a neat X in the box on my calendar to indicate I had completed said task. I will take my first dexamethasone pill tonight before bedtime - another X in the box. Only a gazillion more boxes to X out!

Things have improved dramatically between B. and I, thankfully. I actually had a good day yesterday. A genuinely good day. Shocking, I know. After so many bad or mediocre days in a row, yesterday was like a gift from the gods, a breath of fresh air, all those cheesy cliches come to life. I’m holding out hope today will be its equal.

Congrats to Suz on her positive beta!

KABOOM!

B. and I had it out last night. It was not pretty, not pretty at all.

If you recall, we hadn’t been talking since earlier in the week. He was still calling once a day, but they were only the briefest of phone calls, consisting of little more than “hello” and “goodbye.” Still, I wasn’t sure if B. was actually aware that we officially weren’t speaking, or if he was just waiting for me to take the lead and initiate a conversation - which I wasn’t doing.

I cannot accurately describe the awful, empty, longing I would feel during the few short minutes when we would be on the phone together. As angry as I was at him, part of me was still hoping that he’d magically transform into the supportive, understanding, loving husband I needed him to be. I just couldn’t take that feeling anymore last night, so the floodgates, they opened.

I can say with confidence that last night was the worst fight we’ve ever had. I was absolutely crazy, just insane, and B. was defensive and irritated, and ultimately angry enough to hang up on me and turn his phone off.

Well, it’s not a good idea to make an already insane person feel powerless. B.’s Blackberry is linked to his government email account. Normally I am very, very cautious about what I communicate to him that way - it’s not intended to be used for private matters, or at least that’s my understanding. It’s also very important (to B. and I, at least) to always present a unified front of stability, sanity, and control to his coworkers and to the Army at large, irregardless of what’s actually going on behind the scenes.

I sent emails I shouldn’t have. Let me excerpt some of the choicer morsels for you, in the order they were sent:

Answer the phone, or I’ll bombard your email until you do.

Alright you toddler...What's the matter? Don't like being held accountable? You've been absent from this relationship for months. Step up to the plate and admit it.

I’ll keep sending ‘em all night. I don't care if it is your government account. Answer the phone.

Be a man and talk to me.

And the coup de grace:

Forget it. It's not worth it. You win. I'll crawl back into my hole and leave you alone. I will be in touch about the blood draw you need to get Saturday. Beyond that, I guess I'll talk to you when you decide you're mature enough to answer your phone.

I need you now, and you're abandoning me.

Oh, the shame.

I felt bad pretty much immediately. I kept trying to call - no answer. I finally gave up and went upstairs to take a shower to try to calm down.

He called, finally, and the first words out of my mouth were, “I’m sorry.” He apologized too, and we had some constructive talk for the first time in awhile. I am still frustrated with him, and I’m sure he’s more than irritated with me, but at least we’re talking.

I’m not sure if anything is going to change or not. I’m still terrified about doing this IVF cycle alone. B. is still overwhelmed with work and school. We’ve never done particularly well on the phone, and that’s going to be our primary means of communication for the next two months.

I might be right back where I was next week at this time, but I do feel better for having lost my shit last night. It’s possible (but no less maddening) that B. was just completely clueless about the deterioration of my mental state. I hope this is a turn in the road for him, for us.

Silence.

Monday night B. and I had another exchange about the crappiness of the cellular connection from San Antonio. This one, like the last, ended with us pretty much just hanging up on each other. I was upset enough that I couldn’t sleep afterwards. I finally dragged myself out of bed, long after midnight and sent B. the following email:

Since the quality of the connection on our phone calls has been abysmal (on more than one level), and I'm obviously just completely irritating, maybe we should only communicate via email. There's not much I have to say to you anyway that you'd be interested in hearing, just the same old stuff.

Later in the week I'll let you know the details for the blood draw you'll have to get done this Saturday. If you could pass along the dates for your Emory finals, that will help me make my travel plans.

I am very sorry that you have so many frustrations in your life right now.

We’re officially not speaking now. B. did call late last night to say good night, and that he loved me, but that’s been the extent of our communication.

If he were to ask me what’s wrong, what happened, I wouldn’t even know where to begin.

I wonder how I’m going to get through this by myself. It occurred to me that not only do I have to go through the IVF process alone, I’ll also be alone when I get the results of my beta - if I make it that far, that is. Negative or positive, either way, having to hear the results on my own adds a whole new level of anxiety to this process.

Am I crazy for doing this by myself?

I wonder what will be left of me, of us, when the dust settles.

Come eat dinner at my house!

I found this in my cupboard yesterday. Yes, you’re seeing that date correctly, my Campbell’s® Healthy Request® Creative Chef™ Herbed Potato with Roasted Garlic & Fresh Onion (boy, that name is a mouthful - a potentially toxic mouthful) expired in June of 1998.

I am fascinated and freaked out at the same time. I’ve moved twice since 1998, which means I’ve packed and unpacked this can of soup multiple times. Amazing. I guess I was pretty connected to the idea of being a Creative Chef.

I recently had a can of artichoke hearts burst open in my pantry and that sucker was only a little over a year old. This guy is a nuclear bomb just waiting to detonate, but I’m gonna hang on to him. I’ve had him this long, he deserves a far better fate than the trash can.

Botulisum, anyone?

Oh hey, wait! We can make our own Botox! Fun!

Gearing up and breaking down.

Tell me this isn’t insane:



I’m not sure you’ll be able to decipher the tiny print, but this is the schedule for my IVF cycle. I am shocked at the amount of drugs I’ll be taking, shocked! Not just the quantity of stims, but the variety of other drugs too.

Receiving this has overwhelmed me a bit. Just a tad. I am going to have to manage this all by myself. Totally doable, I know, and I love how well organized the schedule is, but I had no idea I’d be such a self-contained pharmacy.

The challenge this week will be to procure all these drugs. Fortunately, I already have the Follistim and Repronex, which are the real money burners. I’m hoping to be able to get the rest through my local pharmacy that specializes in infertility meds. They’ve been great at getting Tricare to pay for my prescriptions in the past, let’s hope that holds true for this stuff.

B. is back on base in San Antonio after being out in the field all week. We’ve talked a couple of times, but it has been predictably awful. This morning I tried to describe the IVF schedule to him and he seemed about 0% interested. Then, when I complained about the crappy quality of our cellphone connection he said, “well, there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“I’m not suggesting there is! Go eat breakfast, I’ll talk to you later.”

Click.

I’m so frustrated with him that a large part of me just wants to tell him I don’t want to talk to him on the phone any more than necessary. Our phone calls just upset me, so what’s the point? All I really need to discuss with him over the next few days would be the arrangements for him to get some bloodwork done. If we don’t talk above and beyond those details he won’t have to listen to me talk about my IVF cycle and I won’t have to hear him bitch about the school he’s in and his grad school work. Speaking less will spare us having to be supportive of each other when we clearly are not able to.

God, that sucks, doesn’t it?

I could suggest that we only communicate via email. The only problem with that would be that he only has access to his government account, which means we would be limited on what we can or should discuss. Maybe that’s not such a bad thing...

I’ve been carrying around this weight in my chest all week. I’ve been unable to cry, which is highly unusual for me. My acupuncturist did her best to break this “dam in my lungs” (as she called it) yesterday, and I have to say, it’s lessened. But now I’m crying again.

Did I mention that the birth control pills are leaving me alternately nauseous and ravenous? Nothing like feeling sick to your stomach and then starving!

Today? Not so good.

Got my day 3 bloodwork results back, my fucking FSH has climbed yet again. My previous high was 12.0, this month it’s 13.8. SIRM will accept me into their two cycle plan with anything under 15.1, thankfully, but it’s still a worrisome sign.

I did finally hear back from SIRM and got confirmation that yes, I’ll be using an estrogen priming protocol, and yes, taking birth control pills with such a protocol is standard operating procedure. They will have a full cycle schedule to me in the next week or so. I feel a bit more relaxed knowing I’m on the right track.

Today’s other craptacular event is that the Check Engine light in my car came back on. We paid over $500 earlier this month to get the damned thing “fixed.” The light was off for all of two weeks, just long enough to pass emissions.

Did I mention that said car’s value is probably, oh, say $500? And that if it dies, I won’t have a vehicle I can drive in the rain? Not that our other vehicles are so precious. B. took our one reliable car to San Antonio. That leaves me Check Engine Light That Won’t Stay Off, two motorcycles (one of which I can’t even kick over), and a shitacular rustbucket of a 1972 Bronco with no top. Fun, yes; practical, no.

Fuckity-fuck-fuck.

Tomorrow is another day, right? I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

One of these days I’m going to have a happy, cheery post. I promise.

Sweet jeezus, someone just give me some answers, please.

Okay, so it’s not all smiles and love and puppy dogs wagging their tails. It must be something about me (cause you know, it’s all about me) and IVF clinics, but I’m having difficulty getting a response from SIRM. I sent the intake nurse a large, informative email on Friday answering several of the questions she had asked and raising a few of my own.

No word back.

I called on Monday, not to nag, but to ask how to fill out a form for some bloodwork I’m having done here, and more importantly, to ask if I was supposed to begin taking birth control pills. When I spoke to the nurse on Friday she said I should start Monday or Tuesday, depending on when I got my period. Since it started pretty much right as I hung up the phone with her, I assumed that I was to start them Monday, so I did. Sure hope that’s right…

And still, no word back.

This makes me a wee bit nervous. Okay, a lot nervous. I want to do an estrogen priming protocol with them - it was a major reason I chose SIRM, since they pretty much developed it. I’m unsure if birth control pills are even part of that plan. What if we’ve had some giant miscommunication and the nurse was starting me on an entirely different protocol? What if my starting birth control pills has screwed up the whole thing?

This is way too much like Walter Reed. The difference there was that I knew what my protocol was going to be like - the microdose flare protocol is common and well documented. There’s just not that much information about the specifics of an estrogen priming protocol out there, and so far, what I’ve found says nothing about using birth control pills.

I’m also slightly aghast at the amount of money I’m spending to have tests done. Almost $800 for two, in fact. Ouch.

Some answers will make me feel better. I hate to keep calling, and will hold off on calling again until later this afternoon, if for no other reason than the time difference.

Come on phone, ring.

Rose colored glasses: off.

I’ve been deluding myself. In the midst of all the static between B. and myself earlier this year, it was noted that B. is very Zen-like about things he can’t control, i.e. my infertility. Very calm, very able to let things go and not get bogged down with the details. On the other hand, he gets overly stressed and angry at smaller irritants in his life such as traffic, or his computer.

This observation is false. B. does get stressed and angry at other things he can’t control. In fact, B. gets stressed and angry about everything else in his life except my infertility. If we are to judge by his reactions, then my infertility is a walk in the park compared to his schoolwork, or his job.

What does this mean? Why did I not realize this until today? Why was I deluding myself this way?

I don’t think this is necessarily a major issue, it’s just freaky that I didn’t accurately view B.’s behavior.

Our phone calls lately have been miserable. He spends the majority of the conversation complaining, and most of the time completely forgets to ask me how I'm doing. He’s under so much stress. I wish I were able to be more supportive, but it’s difficult to be there for him when I’ve felt so neglected this year.

I know I’m not the only one struggling with these issues. Jen expresses much the same feelings.

I think I would feel better if B. would show some emotion regarding our (my, really) infertility. Doesn’t it deserve the same level of response as his schoolwork, or his job?

!

My head is spinning. It’s delightful! Progress is good.

I’m going to sound like a broken record here, but for the umpteenth time, let me just comment on what a difference there is between a civilian IVF clinic and Walter Reed. It’s so foreign to me to be treated like an actual person that I’m in shock. I feel special, I do! I know I’m not particularly special in their eyes, but they’re returning my phone calls, and stranger still, they seem to remember who I am.

They like me! They really, really like me!

I feel like a total dork for being so excited about receiving what’s probably just industry standard customer service. Still, between my local RE that I love (wish I’d been able to see him all along - talk about wasted time) and SIRM in L.A. I feel like I’m finally getting the care and treatment I should be. And I’ve not even started cycling yet!

I apologize for the overuse of exclamation points. I’m very excited!
Sheesh, there I go again.

I will start birth control pills on Monday or Tuesday, I believe. My period did full-on make an appearance yesterday afternoon, so my local RE was kind enough to draw blood for my FSH and E2 today. Apparently it’s better to do it on day two versus day four, and for some reason, day three wasn’t an option. Keep your fingers crossed that my FSH isn't astronomically high - it could be the end of the road if it is.

The only cloud on my horizon today is the absolute lack of social activity planned for this weekend. I am in hermit mode, do not disturb. Not that I want to be a hermit, but my social options are sadly limited. Thankfully it’s not so much that I’m lonely, more that I’m bored. I’d take bored over lonely any day.

I have been quite productive today. Borderline manic, actually. I did some fairly vigorous (for me) manual labor in the yard, thinking, “I’d better get this done now, I’m going to have to take it easy in a few weeks.” I sure hope that’s the case, anyway.

Two arrivals.

It’s here. The Magic Checkbook has finally arrived, and boy, did I pop its cherry in grand style. On my desk is a FedEx letter containing signed consent forms and a check for $13,625.00, ready to be shipped to SIRM in Los Angeles. So that it wouldn’t get lost in the FedEx packaging, I put the check in a smaller envelope and wrote “CONTENTS: The Largest Check I’ve Ever Written” on the outside. Hope they have a sense of humor.

I’m all aflutter. I’m having hot flashes, my palms are wet and sticky, and I’m stupidly nervous. They’re hoping to get me into the August cycle, which would be ideal. As I write, I’m waiting for the nurse intake coordinator to call me back so we can discuss what bloodwork and tests need done before I can cycle.

To further add stress to the timing and coordination of everything, it appears I’m getting my period today. It’s right on schedule, day 28, a nice return to normalcy after last cycle’s 39 day weirdness. The one piece of information I know I’m going to need for SIRM is a fresh day 3 FSH, which I’ll hopefully be able to get done on Monday. Sunday is technically day 3, but it isn’t a full period just yet, so hopefully stretching it one extra day won’t matter. I’m worried they’re going to need a stack of other cycle-related tests and I won’t be able to coordinate everything on such short notice. Hopefully most of the information they need to know can be gleaned from the test results I had to have together for May’s failed IVF attempt at Walter Reed Army Medical Center.

Oddly, the major emotion I’m feeling as a response to today’s forward progress is fear. Yup, fear. I’m scared this is all actually happening. One of the most difficult aspects of May’s IVF attempt was the planning & coordination it took for me to be able to pack up my life and leave home for that amount of time. With SIRM I’ll be able to do the bulk of my cycle here in Atlanta, but there still will be a nice chunk of time I’ll have to spend in L.A. I tend to agonize and worry over the details, so I’m already freaked at the planning that lies ahead of me.

Why, oh why, won’t that nurse call me back? More hurry up and wait. I could use some patience right about now.

Pretty different.

I miss being pretty.

Shallow, right? It’s not that I’ve grown ugly as I’ve aged. Sure, there’s a few more pounds on the frame, but nothing outrageous. I’ve got the random gray hair and a wrinkle or two, and my muscle tone is a thing of the past, but overall, I’d say I’m holding up relatively well.

Still, something is very different now from how I viewed myself in my younger years. When I was in my early twenties and living in Manhattan, being pretty was a pretty big part of my life. I remember walking into a restaurant after a photo shoot (yes, I modeled, but only majorly B-list type stuff - frankly, I’m not at all photogenic), wearing full makeup and having my hair up in a rather glamorous french twist.

People stared. A lot. I felt special.

Maybe I’m deluding myself. My fly could have been down, for all I know. All I do know is that it was a remarkable feeling, to think that there was something about me that merited attention.

I’ve never been much of a fashionista or anything, but I’ve always had my own style. Unfortunately, it’s evolved into some sort of lazy tomboy uniform. I feel like I should dress more femininely, then feel like an imposter when I do. No matter what I wear, something feels off. I’m not at home in myself anymore. Rather than enjoy other’s eyes on me, I’d prefer just to fade into the background.

I can’t blame this all on infertility, can I?

If I get pregnant will I magically be comfortable in my own skin again?

It makes no difference.

I can’t believe it’s only been a little over a week since B. left. Man, time is going by so slowly.

Do I miss him? Yeah, in some abstract sense. Do I wish he were here? At times. At other times I’m glad for the break. If he were here he’d be studying all the time he wasn’t working. I’d have to tiptoe around him, and he’d be grouchy and not much fun at all.

He’s probably glad to have a break from me. I would be too if I were him.

I do feel bad for him. He was lonely and bored yesterday, the 4th of July. He had nowhere to go and no one to do anything with. He had worked all weekend long on his schoolwork, and wanted to take a break, but couldn’t come up with a good way to fill his time.

I'm feeling rather blah today, with a general low buzz of anxiety hanging over me. Not specific to anything, really, just a tension in my chest. I suppose I should do some sort of relaxation-type thing. I know that stress can directly affect fertility. At the same time, I feel like I’ve tried every other suggested fertility enhancement and it hasn’t made any difference, so why would reducing my stress?

I started seeing my acupuncturist again last week. I really enjoy the process, but as I was laying there being a pincushion I had to ask myself, “what the hell am I doing?” I religiously kept each weekly acupuncture appointment for months before my IVF attempt at Walter Reed, and it didn’t make a whit of difference in my response.

It doesn’t seem like there is much I haven’t already tried to "fix" my infertility. Which in turn makes everything I have tried up to this point seem futile, since none of it worked. And here I am, getting ready to attempt IVF again, but feeling tired and overwhelmed at the thought. I know all the pieces have to be in the best possible shape for the whole puzzle to come together, but I’ve been there and done that and it didn’t help. Where am I supposed to get the strength to be at my best, when it seems doubtful that it will make a difference?

A question answered.

In response to an earlier comment, my wait to get into Walter Reed was about six months. I submitted my paperwork in November of 2004, attended orientation at WRAMC in March of 2005, and was in the April/May 2005 cycle.

Commenter, here’s two good resources, just in case you don’t already know about ‘em. One is the IVF in the Military board at IVF Connections.

The other is Yahoo’s Military IVF group.

You’ll have to join both groups, but they are an invaluable resource for military-related IVF information.

Cleaning house.

I’m scared to death to have children. Oh yes, I’m a mass of contradictions.

I cleaned house today, top to bottom. I did a more thorough job than usual, and it took over five hours to complete. While I was cleaning I thought to myself, “how am I ever going to be able to clean like this if I have a baby?” Even a quick clean takes two or three hours, and I know enough about babies to know I’m not likely to get that stretch of time until they’re of school age.

Do it in bits and pieces, right? Sounds unappealing to me. You’d never get that sparkly clean house feeling if it wasn’t all done at the same time. B. is already far to busy to be relied upon to pitch in. And you can’t have a baby in a dirty house, right?

A minor issue, I know, but typical of the worries I have about becoming a parent. Fact is, infertility aside, I love my life just the way it is. Yes, I feel like I’m missing out on something huge. I also know that my friends that are parents are envious of my free time, my flexible schedule, and my ability to do what I want when I want to. I am able to see the value of life without children, maybe a little too well.

What if I look back and think, “why did I try so hard?”

What if I regret becoming a parent?

Maybe I’m so frightened that it will never happen that I’m trying to talk myself out of wanting it to. Maybe I’m just preparing myself for the disappointment when all our efforts fail.

Or, bottom line, maybe I’m just not cut out to be a parent and my infertility is a message, a blessing, a gift.

I drive myself crazy.