herveryown

No Partum Depression

My due date has been ticking down relentlessly like an overused plot device in an action movie.  The significant difference is that it won't be stopped at 00:03.  There won't be a deux ex machina.  Nobody is going to save Good Embryo at the last minute.

My due date is going to come and go, and in the space of twentyfour hours I will be changed from a woman who was supposed to be pregnant right now to a woman who was supposed to have a baby right now.  But I don't.

My mom, who is very kind, always tells me that I am a good mother.  She has been doing this since we started IVF, regardless of how things have been going.  I'm not going to call my mom a liar, but I don't feel like a mother.  'Mother' implies 'child.'

Just to make it entertaining, I've spent almost my entire Imaginary Third Trimester knowing that my father was dying (shortly), so every twinge or spasm of grief I've had for Good Embryo (or Better Embryo) has been overshadowed by the accompanying feeling of "Don't be an asshole.  He's dying right in front of you, this whole real person that you love very much, and you're crying over somebody who was never even born?  Over somebody who isn't even 'somebody'?"

It's been, to put it mildly, a little trying.  I'm performing dimestore alchemy on my own heart, transforming grief into guilt effortlessly.  Rumplestiltskin need not apply.

Because I am away from home and caring for my father, I am also away from Sam.  In case you're wondering what it's like to spend your Imaginary Third Trimester 750 miles away from your partner in reproductive crime, the only other person in the world who feels the same loss you do, your husband and the person you desperately want to see at the end of the day, every day...look, it's fucking rough. 

I have no idea how much easier this might be if I were home and Sam could hold me every night and of course I never will, because there's no undoing the situation.  I am choosing to be here.

When you lose a person, you don't lose what you had, you lose what you didn't have yet.

Every experience I had with my father is still mine to keep and I feel very lucky in that my relationship with my father didn't have many 'If only's except for the big one.  Good Embryo, by contrast, is markedly short on haves and interminably long on didn't haves.  My relationship with Good Embryo consisted largely of wandmonkeys and horrible news and being very, very ill.  Here is a short list of things I did not get to do with or for Good Embryo: Give birth, breast or bottlefeed, change an awe (and insipid post) inspiring diaper, dress him in anything cute or funny, show him to my parents, put him in school, embarrass him in front of friends, hold his hand, hold him at all.

It's not the actual embryo I am mourning, but all the things, both great and terrible, that that embryo was supposed to become (and never will).

People in my life frequently tell me that everything will be okay once we have a baby.  I, of course, always mentally convert 'baby' to 'baby that lives', and remain deeply skeptical (and somewhat offended).

"If your dog dies, get another."

Good Embryo wasn't a dog. 

In all fairness, I do think it would have been better if Better Embryo hadn't been chemical.  If Better Embryo had been on the way to being a bouncing baby anything, Good Embryo's absence wouldn't be as glaring, but s/he isn't, and it is.

"If your dog dies, get another."

This grief, instead of being arrested by another baby, by another cycle or a success or anything positive, has simply been compounded by death and illness and the way time can stretch out in the most uncomfortable ways when left to its own devices.

This grief has come full term.

Fuck

Normal.

The first normal thing about this entire process, and it has to be Good Embryo?  What the fuck is that about?

Yes, yes, I know.  I can hear it now.  "But that's good.  It means you and Sam make healthy embryos."  Okay, sure. 

But Good Embryo died anyway, so that means what, exactly?  That my body is capable of offing perfectly normal embryos?  That my body is so fucking incompetant that it can't even keep a healthy embryo alive?  That now we have absolutely no explanation for what happened?  That now we have no reasonable expectation of anything being different during the next cycle?

Yes, all of the above.

It was true, what I said.  Good Embryo ain't getting any deader.  But now I know that the baby we were supposed to have in December would have been healthy, at least from a genetic standpoint. 

I am the only variable in this equation that failed. 

I feel wretched.

Murphy's Uterus

"Akeeyu, your uterus is just laughing at me at this point, isn't it?"

I nodded at Dr. BrightEyes.  "Pretty much, yeah.  I did the Misoprostol in the evening on Friday and in the afternoon on Saturday, and it did absolutely nothing.  No cramps, no bleeding, nothing.  I might as well have been shoving SweetTarts up there."

Dr. BrightEyes giggled, then quickly regained his composure.  "Well...Let's try it again, but every four hours for three days.  That dose is shown to be very effective in studies.  Of course, these studies involved, er-"

"Normal human women?" 

"Normal women, yes, and I think at this point we've proved that you don't respond to most drugs like other women."

So now we're on to Round Two of Miscarriage: The Home Game.  I'd say the safe money is not on success.  I have a recheck appointment with Dr. BrightEyes on Friday, and if I haven't successfully offloaded The Mystery by then, I get another D&C.

I'm hoping it doesn't come to that, if for no other reason that it seems positively ridiculous to go through two rounds of drugs and two D&Cs when I was only pregnant once.

Now With 100% Less Embryo

Well, that pretty much sucked.

Sam and I requested karyotyping.  I said "Look, I know you don't usually do this for, er, I don't know what to call it, Barbie's 'My First Miscarriage' and all, but I just want to know if we should worry for next time."

The D&C itself was not too bad.  Dr. BrightEyes and Nurse Sweetie were there, and were both very solicitous and kind.  "You won't feel anything," Dr. BrightEyes assured me.  "You'll be sedated.  It'll be just like your retrieval." 

You know, except without the cool prizes at the end.

Well, to be fair, Nurse Sweetie brought me Fentanyl and extra Vicodin and a warm blanket afterwards, but those aren't quite as good as say, eggs.

I still have morning sickness, which is kind of annoying.  I didn't mention the morning sickness before, did I?  Yeah, it wasn't so much "morning sickness" as it was "every goddamned waking minute sickness."  Last week, I had started throwing up into my mouth whenever I burped or hiccupped.  Still, every time it happened, I would think "Just so Good Embryo is okay, I can do this."  As it turned out, Good Embryo was not okay, but I still have Ironic Morning Sickness.  Oh, what fun.

Dr. BrightEyes assured me that it will go away very soon.

I think yesterday was actually worse.  Most of my waking thoughts consisted of "Holy shit, there is a dead embryo inside my body."  Eventually, I would wear myself out and sleep fitfully, and then I would have nightmares.  Sometimes I dreamed I was still pregnant, and then I would wake up and cry, because I knew Good Embryo was gone.  Well.  Not gone.  I knew exactly where s/he was, but s/he was definitely gone in the sense of being dead.  Then I would start thinking about the fact that there was a dead embryo inside my body, and...well, you get the picture.  Lather, rinse, repeat.

Psychologically, I feel better now that it's over.  Emotionally, I still feel like eight flavors of crap that have been dragged through a sewage treatment plant backwards, because you know what?  It's not really over.  I told Sam that what we lost was an embryo, but what we're mourning is the baby that Good Embryo was supposed to turn into. 

I want that baby, that theoretical baby, back.

Keeping The Tail, Losing Everything Else

Yesterday marked eight weeks, the day when the tail was supposed to disappear.  Sam and I made an awful lot of jokes about that tail.  I wondered whether or not Good Embryo could wag the tail.  When the calendar said it was gone, I was a little sad.  "No more tail," I told Sam.  "Well.  We hope no more tail," he corrected.

As it turns out, Good Embryo got to keep the tail, because Good Embryo died last week.  If the measurements are any indication, it happened about eight days ago.  It doesn't really matter when it happened, though.  What matters is that it did.

Dr. BrightEyes was remarkably human and kind about it, which is the reason that I insisted on seeing him for my ultrasounds.  I had a hunch that he would be a good person in a pinch.  He kept saying that we didn't need to make any decisions right away, that we could think about it and talk about it and take our time to process it, but I told him that we didn't need any time, that I wanted a D&C, and that I wanted it as soon as possible.  Sam lied and said we'd already talked about the possibility of this, and that we were sure that this was what we wanted.

We did talk about it, of course, on the way home.  I said "I just don't want to have a miscarriage on the bathroom floor."  Remembering Julie, I thought 'Really, our bathroom floor just isn't clean enough,' but I said "I don't see any value in experiencing this 'naturally,' in waiting around and carrying a dead embryo, in going through pain for no purpose.  The round ligament pain had a purpose.  Labor would have a purpose.  This doesn't."  Sam agreed, saying "And we wouldn't know when.  It could be at work, or when you're alone."

Dr. BrightEyes is going to do a D&C, or as he very gently said, "a completion of the pregnancy," on Friday.  It doesn't sound quite right, as this pregnancy feels very incomplete to me.

On the drive home, I looked at the trees, at the construction, at the industrial ass end of Puget Sound, and thought "Right now, I would give anything in the world to have Good Embryo back."

Unfortunately, there is no bargaining table available to make the trade.

Condition: H.S.

The followup Beta was 631.

Considering that the goal at this point is to have the numbers double within 48 to 72 hours, I'm going to cautiously upgrade this from 'good' to 'Holy Shit!'

Beta

The Beta was 201 at twelve days past a day three transfer, which is good.

The next one is Friday morning.

Taking the 'Care' out of HealthCare

Going back to Evil Insurance Company, Inc., after dealing with Dr. BrightEyes and Nurses Sweetie and CutiePie was like being handed a can of Spam after dining on Filet Mignon for weeks.  Actually, it was more like having a can of Spam lobbed forcefully at your head.

The pre-prenatal appointment was...interesting, (and yes, for the record, I think it's absurd to have a pre-prenatal appointment before a Beta, too, but frankly, with the typical lag time for OB/GYN appointments with Evil Insurance Company, Inc, I figured I should get into the system as soon as possible, in case of disaster.  "Oh, you're hemorrhaging?  And you don't have an appointment?  I see.  How's June?")  The nurse was very nice (and naturally, since we all know that I am the Pied Fucking Piper of Infertility, she was infertile), but knew absolutely nothing about IVF and had a really hard time trying to calculate my due date. 

Nurse Wellmeaning: "So, your last period was when?"
Akeeyu: "I don't know, but I can tell you exactly when I ovulated.  We had a Day Three transfer on the seventeenth."
Nurse Wellmeaning: (fiddling with little wheel) "So fertilization was on the seventeenth..."
Akeeyu: "No, that was transfer.  For the purposes of this cycle, let's say that ovulation and fertillization were on the fourteenth."
Nurse Wellmeaning: "So...your period was...when again?"
Akeeyu: "I really have no idea.  January sometime, maybe?  But we did a frozen embryo transfer.  On the seventeenth."
Nurse Wellmeaning: "Of March?"
Akeeyu: "Yes."
Nurse Wellmeaning: (continues frantically fiddling with little wheel) "So, um, did the doctors give you a due date?"
Akeeyu: (deciding to tell a teeny little white lie and give her the due date off that IVF calculator website, even though the only 'doctor' that gave it to me was Doctor Google, because come on, people, I would have been watching her spin that wheel forever, and I was starting to feel like Pat Sajak) "December 5th."
Nurse Wellmeaning: "Ohhhh...so...fertilization was on March fourteenth."
Akeeyu: (deciding not to tell her that, okay, technically fertilization was on January thirteenth, because I think her wellmeaning head would have exploded) "Yes."

She had me fill out a passel of paperwork, including (I kid you not) release forms for when I am admitted into the hospital.  You know, to deliver a baby?  I kind of did a doubletake, but I resisted the urge to say "My goodness, y'all are optimistic if you think everyone who's eleven days pregnant gets a baby in the end," and just signed it and pushed it back across the desk.

Well, okay, I pushed it back across the desk after I showed Sam the little box that said "Is your current condition the result of an accident or injury?" and we both snickered and he whispered "'Oh, no!  You got surgically retrieved ova in my sperm!'  'Hey, you got sperm in my surgically retrieved ova!'" like those old Reese's commercials, and I shoved him and hissed "Shut up!  We're in a doctor's office.  You're supposed to be serious" and checked that no, my condition was not the result of an accident or injury.

They gave me a prenatal information packet that had babies all over the cover, and I shuddered and thought "God, do they have to put babies on everything?" and then I thought "Hey, dumbass, it's a prenatal information packet." and I thought "Oh, riiiiiight" and felt kind of crazy, and then I realized I was having a very long conversation in my head while Nurse Wellmeaning was going over the contents of the packet, and that was when I knew I was crazy.

Still.  To me, they seem crazier.  Everyone just seems to draw the conclusion that pregnancy = baby, every time, guaranteed, no problem, here, sign this additional release form to admit the baby into the hospital (no shit), when everyone knows that it doesn't necessarily work out that way.  Yes, I want to believe that everything will work out, and yes, you better believe that I want (more than anything in the world) to take home the big version of Good Embryo, but I just can't bring myself to make assumptions.  I don't want to take things for granted.

Evil Insurance Company, Inc., (or rather their appointed minion, the PersonalityFree Phlebotomist With the Gentle Touch of a Charging Rhinocerous) took several vials of blood.  I assumed one of them was a Beta, but then I also assumed that I'd get the results sometime around Easter, so I really didn't care.  PF Phlebotomist WtGToaCR was pretty annoyed when I told her that no, I couldn't give her the urine sample she wanted.  As she waved the little cup and vial at me, I just shrugged and thought "Riiiiiight, I'm going to hold it for the hour drive down here, the half mile hike from parking to the hospital, the twenty minute check in upstairs, the hour and a half with the nurse, the half mile hike back to the lab, and the twenty minute wait in chairs?  That's like, 78 in Akeeyu's Bladder Years!"  She glared at me and begrudgingly said that she supposed I could bring in a sample later.

Today I went back to Dr. BrightEyes' office and told Nurse CutiePie that I'd tested early and that it was positive and she hugged me and said "But hon, don't get your hopes too high, okay?  We still have to see the real numbers from today," and I just wanted to kiss her, because she got it.  She totally got it.

She drew my Beta, and results should be in between one and two, Pacific Standard Time.  Sam has promised to post them here for you as soon as he gets the call from Nurse Sweetie, as I will be at work.  Working.  With my mind 100% on my work.  Hahaha...yeah.

Peace In The Panic

The lines are still appearing.

I'm still in mostly in shock.  People keep asking me if I'm excited, and I just don't know what to say.  Excited in the "Oh my God, two lines!  Let's go out and buy a crib!" way?  Not so much.  Excited in the bitter infertile "Hey, two lines...I guess I might have a baby.  Or not.  Who the fuck knows?  But maybe!" way?  Yeah, pretty much.

I read and loved every one of your comments, and I have just one thing to say: Hallmark really missed the boat on this one.  Instead of those happy sappy "Congratulations on your pregnancy" cards (which they do make, by the way), they should be selling cards that say "Holy shit!" by the twenty count box.  Apparently they'd make a killing.

I don't feel pregnant.  Of course I don't.  I mean, it's only been eleven days.  Also, I don't have the traditional behavioral markers that the average fertile woman has. 

"Oh, gosh, now that I'm pregnant, I'll have to...

• start taking prenatal vitamins
• watch my diet
• cut out alcohol and caffeine
• get lots of medical devices shoved up my hooha
• stop mainlining heroin and smoking crack, or at the very least, limit myself to only one small rock per day
• figure out who the daddy is"

I've already been doing the first four for the last year, so nothing has really changed.  As far as the last one goes, I'm not too worried about it.  In the picture, Good Embryo is small and round and sedentary and therefore already looks just like Sam.

Yesterday I called Evil Insurance Company, Inc, and said "So, apparently I'm pregnant."  The bored receptionist/gatekeeper said "Well, you have to see a nurse before your first prenatal appointment, but...wait a minute, has your pregnancy been officially confirmed by Evil Insurance Company, Inc?  Because before we can even see you, we need to--"  I cleared my throat.  Last year, I would have obediently jumped through their hoops and wasted half a day trying to convince a receptionist that I actually knew which end of a stick to pee on.  This year, I find that I'm just not in the mood.  "Look, I just did IVF and every test I've taken for the last two days has come up positive.  When can I come in for the initial appointment with the nurse?"  "Um, how's tomorrow?"  "Tomorrow's fine."

I'm not expecting much from the appointment.  It's an HMO, for God's sake.  I'll be lucky if their idea of a Beta doesn't involve an actual rabbit.  Also, although I am incredibly attached (both literally and figuratively) to Good Embryo, I find that I have little faith in the idea that I am pregnant.  There's still an awful lot of shit that could go wrong, here.

I still look at the picture of Good Embryo and I still say "Please stay," but I say it a little louder now, and my voice doesn't shake quite as much.

Yeah, Listen, Remember Yesterday?

A funny thing happened on the way to the peestick. 

Apparently babydust is not as white as I originally thought.

So yesterday, I was so sure that the stick was negative that I barely glanced at it.  I mean, for a second there I kind of thought I saw a line, and then I rolled my eyes and said "Bitch, please," tossed it onto the counter and cavalierly blogged about its pristine whiteness.

After a few minutes, I picked up the stick.  Hmm.  I squinted.  I held it at a different angle.  I frowned.  I held it up to the light.  I put it down.  I picked it up again.  I carried it into the other room and looked at it under different light.  I put it down.  I picked it up.  I compared it to the previous day's test.  I put it down.  I picked it up.  I looked at it reeeeeeeally hard for about five minutes.  I decided that way too much time had passed, and the test was invalid, anyway.  I put it down and went back to bed.

I dreamed of water and sharks and woke up having terrible cramps.  I thought about the test and tried to go back to sleep.  After several hours, the PIO alarm roused me from my crampy, imaginary-line obsessed stupor.  I got up, peed on another stick, and had Sam poke me in the butt with a big pointy needle.  Oddly, I did not say anything to him. 

I looked at the second stick.  Hmm.  Same imaginary line.  Interesting.

I emailed and IMed a friend of mine, a veteran of the Infertility Wars, seeking advice on possibly imaginary lines.  We discussed the color (or lack thereof), placement and arrival speed of the lines at length.  She demanded that I run out and buy a fresh supply of tests, a different brand this time, and report back to her, posthaste. 

At this point, I called Sam in and said "Um, honey, come look at this."  He said "I don't see it."  I said "You have to squint really hard and look at it from an angle and hold your mouth just so."  He said "Okay, I kind of see it, but it probably doesn't mean anything."

I IMed my friend and said "Boys are dumb."  She said that husbands are all like that.

Anyway, to make a long story short ("Too late!") I went out, purchased and peed upon the recommended stick, and waited.  At two minutes, I was seeing the same perhaps-not-so-imaginary line.  At five minutes, it was still there.

"Holy shit," I said.  "Hey, Sam, come look at this."

"Hmm.  I see it, but it probably still doesn't mean anything," he said.

My friend was very excited.  Sam was very concerned.  I was mostly just kind of surprised shocked as shit and didn't say much other than "There's a LINE."  Then I made Sam take me out for ice cream, in case it turns out to be chemical.  I figured I might as well enjoy it while I can.  Also, ice cream is never a wrong decision, especially when it has fresh raspberries and brownies smashed into it..

"This is weird," I said.  "I had a post in mind for when it came up negative, because I was so sure it would be, but I don't know what to say about this.  I think I'll wait until tomorrow to see if it goes away."

I hardly slept last night.  This morning, at nine days past a day three transfer, the line was a little bit darker and showed up a little bit faster.  It is still very faint.  But it is there.

There is a LINE.