How FET works

There isn't a whole lot to tell about my FET transfer but I figure I'll talk about it anyway while suffering the eternal wait ie chewing through my cuticles down to the bone. The FET transfer is very much like any old IVF transfer, you just show up and have what feels like a pap smear and in ten minutes it's over. I have to say that I love ova girl's label for it as "squirty up the clacker day," a perfect name for what it amounts to. A lot of build up to what is basically a glorified pelvic exam with a mini bonus.

There is a most bizarre aspect to an FET that differs greatly from a typical IVF transfer. It's odd to swallow but you basically don't know until you show up if you'll have any embryos successfully thaw and if they do thaw well you won't know what condition they'll be in until about five minutes before "the clacker squirt." This whole aspect of the FET made me nearly vomit with anticipation when the receptionist said "go have a coffee and come back in thirty minutes (and we'll tell you the future of your entire family lineage from here on out)" Seb was very pleased to be allowed to go have a coffee and be freed from the waiting room where he always hates sitting anyway. I always bug him wringing my hands and make gibberishly, nervous wife talk (as he thumbs through a magazine tuning me out). So while he was very casual and enthusiastic about taking this little coffee break and had skipped off to get some money from a bank machine in the parking lot, I was beside myself, stunned in fear. Oh my god would they even thaw at all? Would both thaw? Would they both die? Yes they'd probably both die. They were probably dying right this second! If they died would I cry there on the spot or could I hold it until we made it to the car? I couldn't say one way or the other. Maybe I'd stay stoic for a few minutes or maybe I'd immediately burst into tears. What if they both thawed but were both awful quality. What if they were just these grade D cellular blobs and I had to wait the two weeks knowing that I hadn't a snowball's chance in hell. That could be worse! I sat there and thought. Which of the two would be worse, no chance or slowly squandering hope? I couldn't decide. Seb looked up from his coffee and Little S was holding up a Giant Kit Kat bar he'd helped himself to from beside the cash register, much to the dismay of the grumpy patron, and then suddenly it was time to go back and get The News.

"Messieur and Madame..." my heart stopped and I tried hard to take a deep breath where one wasn't available and became a little panicked at my sudden lack of oxygen. We sat down at a desk in a small office and a young, female lab assistant wearing Puma sneaker and jeans (it never ceases to amaze me how health care professionals in France get to dress) pulled out our file and pretended to review it a little so she wouldn't seem rushed and then announced dryly, "okay well you have two six day embryos and one is not doing so well and it's on the decline...(long pause) but the other is just beautiful! It's dividing and growing. It's lovely!" I eyed her suspiciously. She was glossing it over. One was shit and the other was kind of shit but she didn't want a sob scene. The standard "deliver the bad news in a good way" spiel. I wasn't buying it. Okay "whatever" lab chick. Give the same speech to the next couple. Deliver it twenty times today if it make your life any easier.

As we returned to the waiting room to await the transfer of our one "mediocre" embryo I felt that familiar sense of doom encompassing me. This was all a fiasco. A total waste of time. We'd driven to Lyon at four a.m. on a Saturday morning to complete an administrative step required by the hospital, not to have a baby. Not to get pregnant. I felt my morale sinking where I had tried so hard to keep it afloat and I asked Seb to please take Little S for a short walk around the hall so I could sit alone undistracted. He said something to me but I barely heard him. I was so lost in my thoughts I couldn't hear anything but a faint buzzing of what was probably the fluorescent lights or perhaps my brain, I wasn't sure anymore. Meanwhile Dr. Dieu strolled by, white lab coat, long, brown hair slicked back and that cunning fox grin. He regarded me slyly and slowed his step a pace and then he winked. I'm not sure why he winked or what it meant. It annoyed me though because he was obviously trying to cheer a hapless patient out of her misery and I was in no mood for it. I always think guys who wink are weird anyway. Movie stars wink. Brad Pitt winks. I don't want winks while I'm this vulnerable. It irked me this wink thing.

A few long minutes later we were called in and Dieu sat us down and asked us about Mexico. He then turned to our file and said "it's a very nice one!" and I did a mental eye roll. Not him too, please. Then he asked me to disrobe, move to the examining table and assume the position while we waited for the embryo. It's going to be a little Mexican isn't it! You leave in June right?" Seb responded enthusiastically but I stayed silent and Dieu said "what's wrong? You seem very odd today." And I couldn't answer him without a string of words and explanations followed by tears, so I kept it to myself and said nothing.

A few minutes later another lab tech came in to pass off the embryo and he said "it's a really nice one, great quality" and I closed my ears to it because I didn't want to hear that it was good quality because when it failed it would be my fault. It would be something I did. I killed off a beautiful embryo, me the mother. Oh the guilt of it.

On the way home from the transfer we stopped at Ikea and I was tired but we worked our way through the entire store and only stopped once for tea and coffee. Then we stopped at the French Home Depot and then another Home Improvement store two more hours later where I had to stop and pee because I felt a gush. The gush was likely progesterone leaking, but I was fearful that it was blood and I had reason to be fearful because it was. I was spotting and there were clumps of I don't know what on the toilet paper. My heart sunk and I felt like I had the answer already five hours after the transfer. The rest of the eight days would pass with me accepting the inevitable. At least all this was over and at least we'd be able to go on to IVF three.

And so that's why I was shocked last week. And I still can't believe the turn of events, honestly.

A spring in my step

My third beta has gone all the way up to 2953. That's a doubling time of every 30 hours. Anywhere from 24-72 hours is considered normal so I'm really pleased with those numbers. I was so nervous calling the lab again. Each time I call my heart climbs up into my throat my when someone picks up the phone.

Dr. Dieu's nurse should be phoning me tell me that I'm "doing well." For the last beta level I actually forgot that I was supposed to phone them and the nurse called me at 4:30 with a sort of annoyed tone in her voice. I guess they're used to women who don't understand the meaning of the levels. I find it odd how prompt they are with calling women for positive beta news when they are so lax about calling back for things like injection amounts and protocol during treatment. Anyway I guess I will have to call them to make sure I'm still pregnant *rolling eyes*

The next step is to make the appointment for an ultrasound around the 7-9 week mark. I'm at 5 weeks now so it will most likely be in two weeks time, not that far off. That's the next big hurdle to get past. All those looming questions. Is there a sac in there? Is it in the right place? Is the heart beating? Another few weeks of holding my breath until I can find out. I hope it passes event free.

Seb called promptly after I called the lab to ask me for the results of the beta. He's as much of an expert as anyone on HCG levels by now so he was really happy when I told him the number. I was pleased that he could finally let himself enjoy the news a little but I felt a twinge of fear in my gut when he said "so everything's going to be okay this time" I said "well, there's still the ultrasound to get through" and I asked him to hold off telling his parents until we could get past that appointment. I don't know if he'll respect my wishes because I think he's eager to tell them but I hope he can. I just hate that anyone wants to say "Wow! congratulations!! We're so excited for you!!" and his parents will surely be telling us that when I'm not quite ready to hear it.

By the way as soon as I had mentioned that the spotting had stopped on that last post I went to pee and guess what, spot! Since then there's just been a bit of brown blood, you know old blood. All this spotting isn't implantation spotting because we are well past that. And it's fresh so I guess it must be some sort of hemmorrage or further burrowing of the embryo. Who knows what causes bleeding in IVF pregnancies. It's very scary though.

I never got a chance to talk about the FET and transfer day. I'm also eager to get on the camera and do a video. Since my mom has gone I can finally get in front of the camera. With her here it was hard. I'll do that soon so you can see what a woman who has been through hell and back actually looks like.

Helplessly hoping

I'm moving cautiously even though everything so far seems to be okay. My boobs still hurt so that's reassuring and I'm definitely starting to get a little on the tired side. And the bleeding has stopped as of today. Whew! (I repeat that there is NOTHING worse than the bleeding after a positive beta...it's been grueling!)

I'll have another beta on Monday morning to be sure that everything is doubling okay. That will be the last beta before the first ultrasound.

I'm nervous. I really hope we get that far. I have to say that making the ultrasound appointment is scary. Last time I was pregnant I lost the baby the day after I made the appointment. Now I'm kind of creeped out by having to make the call again. I think I may go in and make the appointment in person. That way it's a little different and not like a whole scary deja vu thing. That is IF Monday goes well.*

The odd thing is that Seb is just as cautious as I am about it all. I didn't expect that. When I first told him about the positive beta he just said "oh really, hmm that's good" and then he just went right on with telling me about his day. I said "did you hear me?" and he said "yes but you know we'll have to see." He still hasn't showed much enthusiasm yet. I think he doesn't want to get excited because he knows it will goad me on. He's right. I have a hard time not thinking about the "what ifs" and I'm talking about the good "what ifs" if you know what I mean. For now I'm just trying to take it one day at a time, and if at all possible push it all to the back of my mind and forget about it. That seems to work well and lets face it I've had a lot of practice in that past at doing just that.

*furiously rubbing fertility doll and chanting all the while

Ten nerve wracking minutes

I have ten minutes before I can call the lab for the results of my second beta and you could say I'm tense. I haven't had a positive beta in quite some time but I clearly remember that moment way back when Little S was just a wee first beta and the way I paced around the kitchen wringing my hands. Not much has changed.

My boobs hurt and this is a good thing.

The bleeding has slowed and it only happens when I wipe. I have begun to hate the trip to the toilet. I have such a fear of seeing RED. Bright Glaring RED. I try not to look sometimes. I'd rather just live in a n extended bliss.

It does seem to be getting better though.

Okay only ten minutes. Probably almost time by now. Maybe I should wait ten more just to be sure. No I don't think I can. This is an eternity. Where's my reference number? That will probably take ten minutes to find!

Be right back for better or for worse...(ouch my boobs really hurt)

update: good news! beta was at 343 after 44 hours

The call at 16dpo

There's nothing worse than this. You have to go to a blood lab to get a beta test to confirm what you already know. Your period has started. Your latest ART effort has failed and you really don't want to wait the extra two days for the real beta test day to come around. The quicker to the chase the better. Oh and besides all that the RE's secretary won't give you a next appointment until you've had the putain beta.

And strangely enough you question whether the splotch on the toilet paper wasn't orange tempura paint from your son's craft session earlier that day. It was all over your hands. You look down at your orange finger nails. It was dried but it could have soaked through when you wiped. Wait was that orange or pink? You go again just to be sure. Pink, yes definitely pink. In fact nearly red.

The lab is empty because it's a random hour of the day, four o'clock. The usual crew is there. The glasses guy does the blood draw. The one who loathes toddlers. "Hi glasses guy. It's me Miss Hopeless. Pull up a chair. I'm an easy one. No cringing and I even like to look when you put the needle in. I'm such a regular." And as you leave the lab glasses guy says in a monotone voice "you can get the results in a few hours because we aren't so busy" And you are tempted to say, "like I care..."

And so two hours later you make the dreaded call.

The lab secretary fumbles around. "Okay, okay...all good" And you sit there on the other end of the line. You're still waiting. What is she doing? And she sounds like she's tapping on a keyboard all the while.

-"Madame?" Uh I said all is good. Did you hear me?"

-"What?!"

-"It's all good. It's positive."

-"But it's not possible! What's the level?"

-"It's 197"

-"It's impossible...really you have to be kidding"

-"No not kidding. You're pregnant."

And so yes there is something worse. It's the wait in between betas while you're bleeding. And it's scarier than running a butcher's shop in a lion's den. It's scarier than hell realizing that you actually have to step up and react and lay all those emotions out on the table. The damn sheild is crumbling. The freaking hope shield.

Okay maybe it can stay up for a few days but who's kidding who here? That sucker will be at ground zero in two days.

Holy hell!

*my computer has been out for two weeks because of the work in the house and I've been going mad without the ability to Google!

Tracked down

I am paranoid. While trying repeatedly* to call the nurse hotline at Dr. Dieu's it actually crossed my mind that maybe I'd never get through. Maybe they were all on vacation. Maybe I'd finally get through next Tuesday and hear a message saying they'd moved the entire facility to another location because of a bomb threat from a disgruntled cycler. A lot can run through your mind when you hit redial 32 times in one morning.

I was calling to discuss the last cycle. I had a few threats in mind and I hoped to sound like someone with attitude and a don't f*uck with me tone in my voice but the unfortunate reality is that I'm not very threatening on the phone in French with my laughable American accent, and I have no ammunition in the way of "if you screw this up again I won't come back EVER!" I think I actually would have made them happy if I'd said that. After all there was one less whiny patient to deal with. Good riddance.

When I finally got through I was all out of gumption. I couldn't work up the energy to scream. I was just relieved to hear a human voice on the end of the line. I told the nurse my story, or rather repeated it to her because she remembered me from last month and interrupted me midway to tell me "I remember you" so she wouldn't have to suffer through my sad tale a second time. She tried to ease my worried mind by saying repeatedly "don't worry" but I told her I was worried anyway. I waited while she sighed and grumbled to herself. Then I swear I heard a pencil scratching as she probably scribbled "paranoid, high-maintenance patient!!!" next to my name. And then she sighed again and said "Okay well, I guess we'll do an early controle on day nine"

I sat there on the phone a little befuddled. Hmmm early controle!? Is this a good thing or not. Wow that sounds like they're really on top of this! But after I got off the phone I reflected a little more. Early controle isn't jack.

Early controle is obviously some sort of shut me up compensation of the I don't even know what variety. What will happen on day 9 doesn't concern me much at all. It's days 11-15 that I'm worried about, and specifically day 12, last month's surprise O day. This month it falls on a Sunday when all the clinics and hospitals in France are closed. Saturday, the day before is hard too because most clinics and blood labs close early and are poorly staffed. I've said it before and I'll say it again. Weekend treatment in France is a scary thing.

So I got an early controle. What I really want is hourly blood draws on day 11, 12 and 13. Don't they realize that?

Call me ungrateful. Go ahead. I know, I know. At least I got something...(what I really want is some real pretty embryos and a baby. Is that too much to ask? grrrrrr)

*I've been calling them since last Thursday

CD 2

Well here we go again. I'm feeling slightly blasé about this cycle. Cancellations are awful. Nobody likes waiting in line and getting turned back right at the last minute. You get to tell everyone else things like "hey last time the coffee was better and there were donuts" or "that lady is nice but that one, watch out. What a wench...!!"

Hopefully this time we'll at least get SERVED.

Next Friday I have an appointment with Dr. Stonehenge for a scan. After then I'll be Miss Vigilant right along with them and I'll be demanding daily blood work. Notice though how my crucial day 10 appointment is on a FRIDAY and if the cycle works out like last time I'll likely ovulate around Monday. The hospital doesn't do transfers on Sunday and no one works on Sunday. Weekend IVF treatment is scary in France.

Gulp.

I will point this out to them in a lengthy and annoying phone call today.

Time is passing quickly

We aren't so far away from starting the next FET. Lucky me and my short cycles, right. Anyway I should see AF sometime at the end of this week and I'll start the treatment the following week.

I got a funny comment on You Tube from a pharmacist in the states. He seemed to think I was a know it all and was very rude to the pharmacist in my Visit to the Pharmacy video. He said I should leave the job of filling prescription to the professionals. Anyway the funny thing is that last time I went into my pharmacy the woman was really nice to me and she said "you know it's good that you knew your treatment because it's a complicated one for us to understand!" I don't want to be a know it all but if the treatment gets screwed up it's my body who suffers. I already have the case of where I was afraid to question the nurse who injected me with 900IU's of Gonal-F and sent my body into shock. I lost the cycle and almost landed in the hospital for emergency transfusions. After that I decided it was best to pay closer attention to my treatment and not be afraid to question what doesn't look right. I think this is true of any treatment. After a while the patient does become an expert and confronted with an intern or someone in training she may actually be the one who knows better.

Video diary - "The FET that Wasn't"

Here's the video I posted on You Tube about my latest news. It's pretty much what I already talked about here but I figured I'd better explain because if you don't read the blog and just follow the videos, well...

It really helps to talk to the video camera! I felt a lot better after making this video. I guess seeing myself on camera helps me laugh about it all.

It doesn't surprise me

I ovulated. How on earth does this happen? Incompetence that's how.

I love how the nurse when she called told me I have very short cycles, as if it were my fault. I don't have short cycles. I ovulate on day 14 and once in a very blue moon on day 13. I have never, ever ovulated on day 12. I have a whole collection of charts that will prove this too. I feel like faxing them to her.

It seems that she was thinking she was talking to someone else. Someone who thinks that you ovulate by tripping over a doorstep or sneezing after smelling flowers. Ovulation as if the egg slipped out, oops! No, it's clearly incompetence on their part. I wish they would just admit it. "Listen we're completely incompetent and we're sorry. We can't do much about it but we feel really bad over here."

Dr. Stonehenge seemed surprised to see me this morning. "You're back?" "Yeah, I was told by the hospital to continue the Gonal-F for two more days." He looked confused "okay.." When I pressed him he backpedaled and said, "oh well they know best." After the ultrasound he was somber. I think he knew but wouldn't tell me.*

Someone dropped the ball, or in this case the EGG! My estradiol levels two days ago were at 276 which to me seems like ovulation considering ovulation is anywhere from 198-693. We were definitely in the zone. This morning my estradiol levels were at 137. No longer in the zone. Leaving the zone.

The nurse said "oh don't worry. We'll try it again next month." I hate it when they say that. And why the heck don't they ever say "I'm really sorry but..." or "I know this is hard to hear but..." or "you may want to grab a box of kleenex and sit down misschris because..." Why do they just act like they're delivering normal news instead of devastating news. WHY?

Okay, gee I don't even know why I'm worrying because after all there's always next month!

*I'm going to ream him for this next time. I will no longer be the passive patient. He could have let me know, creton!

The update and the great debate

I got the call from the nurse yesterday and yes she was cheery and nice. She explained that we would have to go a few more days on the Gonal F to help my levels rise but that the lining is indeed fine and I have no need to worry about that. I go in tomorrow morning to see Dr. Stonehenge for another scan and then of course to the lab for another blood draw to double check everything, but it looks very much like we'll trigger tomorrow night.

After the trigger I need to wait six days for the transfer of the embryos because they're six day blasts. So on the day I trigger I call the lab to tell them I'm nearly ready and they begin the thaw process. I have no idea what the thaw process is but my mind is running amuck with images of a rusty old freezer with surfing stickers stuck all over it and clingy plastic wrapped around aluminum pie tins. I would love a little tour to see the technical end of all of this in person. It all seems so bizarre to me. Freezing future people. Weird.

I did a video update but it's not that interesting. It's odd but I get a lot of funny e-mails from people who watch my You Tube videos, random people not ttc people. They seem to spend a lot of time trying to convince me not to donate my embryos to stem cell research. It's a hot topic these days.

Don't sweat it folks. I'm very possessive of my two little guys. Nobody gets them but me. There's hardly enough to go around anyway.

One person wrote me and asked what I would do if I had about fifty embryos instead of just the two. My response was, well after donating about half of them to my various friends and using another part myself, I really don't know what I'd do with the rest. I do feel attached to them, naturally but I'm not so radical as to think they are little people until they are actually inside of me and connected to my body. But I have strong feelings about the fact that they have the potential to be little people.

I was talking to a friend recently about donor eggs, a subject which she's becoming an expert on, and she said that in her opinion and apparently her doctor's opinion, the people who donate eggs don't really see themselves as actually donating their DNA for reproduction. They just treat the whole egg donation process as casually as one would treat donating blood or sperm. The majority aren't really alert to the fact that there will be a little Jennifer or Melissa running around who has their eyes, nose and smile. I think unless you do IVF or are emotionally invested in reproductive medicine, you don't see these embryos as eventual people. It's completely normal to forget about that too (...a very large check can make you forget a lot of things).

I am torn on the issue. I think the fact that I'm torn means that I'm really thinking about it and not just jumping on one or the other bandwagon. It means I see both sides, right? I definitely see the need for research and I really feel for the people that this sort of research can help. I know it can do a lot of good for people suffering in pain and may eventually save lives. Like I said I'm not radically attached to my embryos, well maybe a little, okay well maybe a lot. But I definitely don't see them as adoptive children needing homes. I am still emotionally invested in them though. That you can be sure of. I wouldn't want them being destroyed or dissected.* So I guess my early conclusion is that I'm against it for me. But I'm not against allowing others to do it. Does that make sense?

This is a very difficult issue. Who would have thought humanity would ever have to debate such a thing?


*or dropped from the freezer by a clumsy French lab tech

The sun will come out tomorrow people...smile

Dr. Stonehenge was in a foul mood this morning. He did my scan not saying much of anything, just sort of grunting while I made small talk. When I asked him what my lining was he mumbled "on est la" (we're there). I took from his tone that I wasn't supposed to know what that number was, or maybe that my pretty little head wouldn't know what to do with that information so it was better not to waste the breath in telling me.

After the scan as we sat in his office he scribbled off some paperwork sighing the whole time, continuing his snarky doctor zen mode while I mulled around the question I had in my head.

"uh should we at least try to have sex because there's a perfectly good egg there ready to release and why waste a ..." He interrupted me "it's lost...you can have sex after release but nothing will happen" "Well I just thought you know, why waste a perfectly..." "It's not worth your time" he said dryly.

Uh okay.

In the lab the phlebotomist-in-training was in no better mood. When he called my name to go back for the draw Little S trailed behind me slowly. Suddenly he spied the coffee machine and started whining. "Meemee! meeeee!" He wanted water to come out like in the grocery store water machine. He pushed the oversized button. He showed me the cup. The cups were the same as in the grocery store machine. He always gets water while I shop the vegetable aisle. "It's just for coffee sweetheart. It doesn't have water." It took me an extra thirty seconds to get back to the clinic room because getting a two year old away from a water/coffee machine that does not produce water is not an easy task. "He thinks we're at Cora where they have a water machine." Silence. "It looks almost the same. " Silence. Arms crossed and scowling, Phlebo-boy was clearly not amused by confused toddlers and their water machine hang ups.

As we sat down to do the bloodwork I made myself comfortable while Phlebo studied the paperwork. I'd be doing the annual bloodwork too, HIV, chlamydia the works and also my estradiol levels. It was a lot of vials. Phlebo laid out all his supplies on the right even though I had already lifted the sleeve of my left arm indicating my distinct preference for the arm where you have a small chance of seeing some veins. I tried to be polite rather than pushy. "They always tell me this arm is easier." Silence. He went about searching for the vein in my right arm anyway. He wasn't going to change. He started digging and searching. "Ouch!" He dug in deep and pushed and pushed. "Putain!" he cursed. "It's not a vein."

Putain! should have been MY remark. Putain* indeed as I rubbed my sore arm.

He changed arms, digging around on the left now, a rookie. I'd have two lovely band aids and two lovely bruises, lovely. "Merci" I chirped as I left. Grunt. He didn't even say goodbye.

So there we are. The hospital will call me to tell me what my next step is this afternoon. I certainly don't expect any royal treatment but hopefully I'll get some reasonably cheery person calling me who isn't trapped under fluorescent lights for eight hours a day and taking it out on me!

*Putain in French is literally translated as prostitute but translates roughly to son-of-a-bitch. While cursing is a little more accepted/freely used in French than in most languages I think it's considered lowbrow to use it in a work setting and usually a sign of bad education/upbringing.

Whatevah

Okay now I get it.

Now I know why they say that women if given free financial reign will generally only do on average three IVF cycles. It's the feeling of doom that overtakes the entire process. It's the negativity. I'm feeling completely weighted down with cynicism.

Here I am just bumbling along. I'm doing the meds. I'm making the phone calls to my doctor. But I'm really just going through the motions. I haven't reached the breaking point yet but I'm not all that involved either.

I'm unenthusiastic. I'm very cynical. I can't help it.

I'm wondering if it's normal and okay to feel so battered. I question whether it can work, whether I can actually get pregnant without Positive!! Thinking!!

I am not feeling one ounce of Positive!! Thinking!! right now.

I don't think I can even muster an iota of Positive!! Thinking!!

Well okay about three days after the transfer I may feel somewhat hopeful and positive but right now and then the days after the three days after transfer, day four through thirteen and a half I'm a big giant Archie Bunker, grumpy, angry

PESSIMIST

Is this normal? I mean I have two five day embryos sitting in a freezer in Lyon with my name on them. Shouldn't I feel a bit more involved?

Just dawdling along

This cycle is so dull that I really don't even know what to say. Two clicks on a Gonal-F pen after dinner and I'm done. That's about all there is to it. Monday at the crack of ..no wait, BEFORE the crack of dawn, I'll be in Doctor Stonehenge's office staring at sunset photos of his him and his wife.

I really need to ask him where those were taken one day. It's bugged me for over a year now.

As if we'd ever make small talk. Who am I kidding.

Maybe I could ask as I'm writing my check and he's filling out prescriptions.

I have a right to know personal stuff. I see him more often than half his family.

In other news...

And yet still MORE women are pregnant on my TTC board. Another one this week. Did I say I was staying? With comments like "See You on the First Tri DB!!" I'm finding it really tough to stick around. What kind of a putz write something like that? First of all she's jinxed herself majorly and second of all...well, *tears* have a heart, jeez.

And third of all she made the comment to my good friend A who's been through three miscarriages. I don't really think A is up to popping over to the first tri board tout suite.

Truly a putz.

Cycle day three but who's counting?

This all just seems too easy. As I called the clinic and sat there with pen and paper ready to jot down all the complicated instructions the nurse was about to rattle off I was stunned by the simplicity of it all. Only eight days of injections? Just one scan and blood draw? No need to combine meds? No need to phone the clinic for further instructions several times along the way?

Where is the stress? Where is the drama? Why do I only have one phone number on this page?

I felt a little let down. Her voice tone said it all. You're a less worthwhile customer. We have some very important clients here...and you're not necessarily one of them. I feel strangely demoted. I think I like all the complication of IVF. It's comforting. I mean how can something so simplistic actually work. Shouldn't I have to suffer more? I think I should.

Afterwards I called Dr. Stonehenge's office for an appointment for my one measly scan. A different voice answered the phone, a new secretary.

-"Mr. Stonehenge is on rounds Mondays and does not take appointments on..."

-"Um, well he usually does in the mornings see...he always does for patients who do IVF. I've been a patient for a few years now and..."

-"Who do what? What did you say? I'd have to ask him that. I highly doubt that's the case."

And I just sat there stunned that I'd been doing this so long that I had outcareered one of Stonhenges long-standing bitchy secretarys and would now have to suffer the retraining of a new bitchy secretary. And that kind of made me sad.

I guess I'm feeling a little sensitive. Over the weekend my ttc support board exploded with pregnant women. I'd become kind of excited because the board had recently filled with a lot of women who were wildly supportive, a little burnt out but motivated to get pregnant. A real rah-rah-rah atmosphere. Suddenly in one weekend half the board was pregnant. It was kind of exciting to follow along but at the same time I couldn't help but feel sorry for myself. I thought about this. How many times had this happened in the past two years? I began to feel like Tertia, and while I'm too lazy to link the post from her archives I remembered her talking about being a long time ttc-er and and how she found herself stranded alone on so many support group boards year after year that she began to feel pathetic. Finally the boards were abandoned completely and she aligned herself with a small group of battle weary ttc-ers. I shouldn't be so sensitive and I'll probably stick with my board because I've met a few really cool women in there but I can't help but to feel like crap when these pregnancies crest in one giant wave and I have to duck to avoid getting soaked by all the hormonal enthusiasm. I really prefer when everyone gets pregnant the old fashioned way, one by one. I can handle that soooo much better.

Oh the irony of it all

Normally I'd be pleased if AF was late, you know with the relentless TTC and all. This month though it would be nice if I got a delivery on time. However, someone is a whopping two days late.

No I'm not pregnant.

No I did not travel.

No I'm not stressed out...

just very impatient.

Get here already would you! Agh!

New stuff

I'm just sitting here waiting. Yep, that's what we do here at casa conception, we wait. However the time is drawing near. Cycle day one is on her way. It will soon be be time to start the FET.

I'm a little nervous this time around. FET is all new territory to me. It's a medicated cycle so I'll have to do a few injections. I'll also have a few ultrasounds to check my lining. And then I'll have to call the storage bank where the embryos are stored to keep them abreast of when to do the thaw. I hope I don't screw that step up *gulp* It's funny how we can get used to a certain treatment and how nervous we can become when something pops up that's outside the routine.

I'm sure to have more to write about this week. I'm also going to start the video blogging again. Stay tuned to this space!

Just wishes

I have no resolutions. I will not be eating better or drinking less or writing more or even becoming a better this or that. I hate resolutions. I'm terrible at them.

But I have a few wishes:

...my husband stops feeling sorry for me and telling me that I was different before all of this,

...my son learns to speak better so I can try and help him through his tantrums,

...this FET somehow miraculously works and I never have to enter "Pavillion K" again in my entire life,

...I stop having realistic baby dreams because it just adds insult to injury

...I learn patience and trust

The power of dieu's blue eyes

Dr. Dieu: So Misschris how are you feeling, honestly after the last failure?

Me: Ummm...seemingly uncaring doctor is asking about my feelings ...must not seem surprised and above all must not respond in woman-who-recently-hid-under table-manner...ummm...

Seb: butting in...
She's not been taking it so well Dr. Dieu. She's been hiding under the table...a lot actually (okay so he didn't say that but he may as well have, jeeez)

Me: glaring at Seb with gritted teeth Yes Dr. Dieu it's been pretty difficult. I'll admit that it's been hard. I had a difficult time. (do NOT go into details...do NOT go into details...warning call...warning call...going into details will cause the system to crash and tears will immediately be released...WARNING generalize at all costs)

Dr. Dieu: Yes it's always hard when the second one doesn't work. You start to question the whole process after the second failure. I see it with every patient who fails the second time. You shouldn't feel alone. Sometimes it's just a question of having the strength to continue. It's not everyone who can do this even once.

Me: staring into doctor Dieu's eyes, hypnotised. Hmmm...he has very interesting blue eyes. Incredibly clear. Maybe he has a point. Isn't it supposed to be easier to believe people with blue eyes? Wait maybe this is all a sham!

Dr. Dieu: picks up phone Damnnit I TOLD them I want it TODAY!! What is wrong with you people!! hangs up phone ARGHHH! Those people are such idiots! stares back at me Now where were we? Oh don't worry. You have a good profile. You just have to hang in there. Are you feeling okay? Do you feel like you want to go on?

Our twenty minutes with Dieu. The gentle tone. The pep talk stance. The thrashing of his office personnel in front of us. And the briefest of brief explanation of how the FET will work. It was over before I could blink.

I left his office with a little bit of hope, a little more respect for his humble stab at humanity and a little less respect for the upcoming FET which he described as having a 20 percent chance of working IF the embryos even survive thaw. In other words treat it like a prize at the bottom of a cereal box. It's not a real toy. It might be good but don't expect it to be much more than something strung together with rubber bands. Get prepared to do IVF number three.

We talked about IVF three as if it were a certainty. We did everything but get the paperwork for it. Bah humbug.

The FET will begin at the end of next month. Dieu said if I were to start my upcoming period next week I could start the FET treatment now, but having it come this week would throw me into the holiday season and wreck the planning. As luck would have it I started my period last night, phooey. That blew any treatment plans out with the January wind. In a way I guess it's good. I'm at least going to be able to spend the first New Years in four years with the liberty to eat and drink whatever I want. I felt like it was my body's way of saying "hey lady we could use a freaking vacation you know!" Okay, okay I get the message!*

*my friend dee will be happy to read this

FET here we come

I have my appointment with Dr. Dieu tomorrow to discuss the upcoming FET. Since I've never had any frozens in the past this is all new territory to me. I'm not really sure what to expect. All that I do know is that it's much easier than a regular IVF.

Part of me is kind of hoping that we won't start the treatment until January but I think we'll end up doing it now. Another alcohol free New Years, sigh. And if there ever was a New Years I really need to let loose it would be this one. I'm so ready to forget about our house, the move, the medicine, the IVF, my mother in law, my husband's job...all of it! I need a break!

Oh well wish me and my little embryos *merde. I need some merde.

*merde is how you say good luck in French

The preggers

Is it just me is everyone on the planet suddenly pregnant? It's like it's in the drinking water. Some are great events worthy of a celebration Henry VIII would be proud to attend. For example the fact that my friend L just got pregnant. It's been a really hard haul for her, we're talking several years, so I'm really pleased for her and her husband finally getting there. I won't link her blog because I don't think she's to the part where she wants everyone to know just yet. L though restores my faith that if you are tenacious enough it will eventually happen. You may not be sure how it will happen but it will somehow.

In the realm of normal, everyday people the pregnancy flu is raging! It's been a running joke among the expats here in France how everyone is suddenly expecting and you better be careful because it seems contagious. Like I said it's positively floating in the air here. As if that weren't enough to leave me with a huge question mark over why I'm immune to this disease, I just visited a favorite blog this morning, that of a young, unmarried twenty-something who lives in Paris. I really enjoy her obscure little blog because she's smart and funny and has a really interesting job. Guess what? She just found out she's pregnant. It was an accident and she has been in the realms of trying to decide what to do. I'm not lamenting her being in the awful decision making place she's in, but it is extremely hard to read her words, the words of someone writing about an accidental pregnancy struggling with trying to decide whether or not to keep the baby. I was aghast as I sat there following her saga. I mean it was not the casual morning coffee read I was looking for. Even if I have no qualms about her choices, I am after all staunchly pro-choice, I do get an involuntary ringing sensation in my ears when I read about her reactions. When she writes that she is not really sure what week she's in and that will have to be figured out as she goes on. And when she tells how she was told that the beginning of the pregnancy was supposed to be what she calls "the difficult part of it all," just seeing her call it a "part" and not a "trimester" makes me say ARGH! I have a hard time preventing my brain from exploding with the unfairness of it all. I who am obsessed by beta numbers and all the minute details of getting and keeping a child am just completely bowled over when I am reminded that some people can get there without really even trying, and then they can not even want to be there when it does happen. All I can say is "why can't we just change places?"

Anyway, I'm not feeling sorry for myself, ...okay well maybe a little bit, but I am in shocked amazement. And I will always find accidental pregnancy stories difficult to digest. I'm sorry but I think I have a psychological condition that fires off all these funny neurons making it nearly impossible to not slap my hand to my chest and scream in a shaky voice"Hey universe!! this is not even remotely funny!."


***

Please readers do realize that my adverse reaction to this blogger's pregnancy is just because I am warped not her. I know this, trust me. I'm a basket case when it comes to stuff like this. Plus we all know that she probably has an ovarian reserve I'd give my eye teeth for. So trust me when I say I' m not taking issue with her at all. She is just a normal twenty-something who got pregnant. She's apparently decided to keep the baby which is a very brave choice I think. That somehow makes me feel calmer about it all. You see, infertility is tuning me into a conservative! Ewww...

Because life should never be kept on hold for IVF

In July we're moving to Mexico for Seb's job. It's just for three years. It's not forever. I was scared when he first told me he'd been proposed the job. I had a panic attack. I was in the car with my mother-in-law taking the huge breaths that get me through these moments. She was monitering it all clearly thinking "my son is an ass to stress his wife like this" I felt horrible for her thinking this. I just wanted to be alone until the attack passed. I wanted to deal with my issues alone and she was there passing motherly judgement. It was really horrible.

Seb didn't actually accept the position right away. We had a long discussion about the implications it would have on our trying to have a baby and how it might work if the IVF failed and then he said yes. We calculated ahead that out next two attempts could probably be done by summer. Well that they would have to be done by summer. I mean if the sperm donor is in another country how does that work? I could take time off to stay behind but he couldn't. No, it would all have to be neatly wrapped up by summer.

The IVF failed. Panic attack number two.

Any more attempts than four are paid out of our own pocket. We aren't that far yet but circumstances are forcing us to think ahead to just-in-case scenarios. Mexico for all we know could be as good a place as any to do a fifth attempt. Why not?

I really hate to think of five attempts or six, but if Brooke Sheilds can do seven than surely I can too, right? I mean who is she anyway? If you've ever read Tertia's diary "So Close" and dug through her archives you will be inspired to read that it was on her ninth attempt that she finally succeeded with her twins. Reading her story how can I throw in the towel so easily after so little effort?

I have to admit though that there is an added dimension of stress I hadn't really counted on. It's difficult to think of leaving France without a small bundle tucked away somewhere. I pray that it will happen before we leave. Besides there's the practical side to it. What on earth do I do with the boxes of baby things? Do I sell it all? Take it? That decision alone has to be made soon. Selling it will probably hurt too much. Packing it will hurt too if the four attempts fail. There is no easy answer.

I hadn't thought of all this when we said yes to leaving. It's only just now floating around in my brain.

Madame G's words

I have been feeling better, especially since receiving the report from the laboratory about the two frozen blasts. I feel like a proud mother. I almost don't want to use them. I'd just like to keep them with me my whole life and know that they're mine.

Tacked to my refrigerator I have a few things. There is the payment request for my son's emergency visit to the hospital in July. Its a menial sum of about 7 euros and I have no idea why it's still not paid. Billing in France is strange like that. Bills pop up months later. The other paper is a scribbled note from a neighbor who lives a few blocks away. He hit our car one night with his moped. He was drunk. It was during the World Cup game and he said he'd borrowed his sons bike to go for a spin. We never asked him to do the repairs. Our car is a piece of crap anyway. Another paper has the date for the next appointment with my RE, December 18th at 3:40. I have placed that one in the middle. I'm not likely to forget it but I just want it there to remind me that there is advancement. There is some hope. The last piece of paper is from our friend in Normandy, Madame G. Madame G is a silly extravagance of ours. She's a clairvoyante. We feel particularly attached to her because she was someone my husband went to when he was very down and having serious relationship problems over seven years ago. What she predicted for him was so right it was scary. At the time he thought she was full of it. Two weeks later I dropped into his life. It's goose bump scary the things she tells us each year when we go see her. I won't list them all here but suffice to say that she put our meeting on the map down to the month. She has been so right about so much that when she says something our ears prick up and we listen intently because as surprising as some of the things sound at the time they almost always come true.

We often write to Madame G and most recently in August we wrote her to get some advice about a financial matter because she's never been wrong yet. In her letter she wrote us back and said "please do not worry one bit about having a second baby. I see another IVF bringing good results and you will have that little girl I keep telling you about." She has always assured us of this from the beginning. For the record so have other people through our past. Madame G though has that rock solid record to back her up. Even if you don't believe in this sort of stuff, understand what comfort I find in looking at that piece of paper and feeling like someone other than me believes that this will eventually happen. That piece of paper and her confident words motivate me to continue. It makes me feel like "yeah, what if someone is waiting for us?" It motivates me because I feel like we can't give up until all of our IVFs, all four of them and then some have been exhausted. We're only halfway there. We still have a long way to go but I'm sure we'll get there.

The two frozen blasts

I don't know if it was a prank call or not but I got a message from Dr. Dieu's lab folks last week informing me that I have two frozen embryos. Apparently I have two blastocytes on ice. I almost dropped down on my knees when I heard. It didn't even occur to me that any had survived. In the past I've been so riddled with the bad egg moniker that I just assumed all of them were going to go bad again. I always roll my eyes when I get the permission form for freezing the eggs. "Yeah like I'll need this!" This time I even forgot to fill it out and the nurse had to chase me down the hallway to remind me to sign it.

Am I wrong to be feeling a slight spark of hope? I know the success rates for FET are not fabulous but I'm just so happy that two of my little guys have pulled through. I'd just like to sit there and stare at them for a few hours, admiring.

This really means a lot to me. It means I had a good stimulation and good eggs. It just means that they didn't attach for some reason. It's just a simple technical problem. It's not like the entire system is en panne.

Meanwhile the reason the embryos won't attach continues to dog me. The successful birth of our baby boy throws nearly all physical problems out the window. The uterus is apparently in good working order and the birth wasn't that long ago. So why isn't this working? Am I just hanging out in the bad statistic crowd?

The day after failure - a backdated post

Here is another backdated post. Sorry if all this is depressing. I really have gotten beyond all this by now and I'm feeling a lot better. I feel like keeping these unposted is unhealthy somehow. I guess it's necessary like emotional vomit.

And thank you so much for your comments. I'm really touched.

Tuesday, November 21st

Today, one day later and another night of restless sleep. It is very hard getting out of the bed. My legs feel like weights were attached to my feet as I slept. The effort at swinging them over causes me to actually groan out loud. Little S comes and offers me two broken potato chips, food left over from last night impromtu dinner. He looks at me remarking with his soulful little baby eyes that something is not quite right. Maybe all that strong holding, hugging and kissing yesterday had something to do with it. Definitely the tears and puffy eyes were something un-mommy like. I am a bad mother. I find it impossible to dash off into another room and let my emotions pitter patter out onto a kleenex. Everything is raw and right there. I am in no shape to hide behind the bathroom wall for ten minutes, every ten minutes. It's just too much and it comes up too quickly. I don't often see it coming until it hits me like a runaway train.

Little S and I stumble through breakfast and still the tears flow, dripping into a cup of coffee I make to give me something to do. Why is it that everything is so much more painful in the morning? Why is so much amplified upon waking?

The storm is bringing thunder and overcast skies. I feel utterly despondant. My neighbor fraps at the door and I jump, startled at the sound. I am so damned jumpy. "Can he borrow the key for our mutual outdoor passageway so he can move some furniture?" "key..." I think staring off absently. He is asking me something nearly impossible. He is asking me to think. He is asking me to interact. We both look down at a fat blackbird delivered on my doorstep by one of my cats. "How fitting" I say to myself. I give him the key trying to remain composed but knowing full well I look like a refugee suffering through a war. He must have noticed. I do not really care.

Later I call the doctor's office. Can I get the beta a little earlier? Yes I am sure it's not just spotting. Yes it's requiring me to use more than a pnty liner. Can I please have the test a few days early. Thank you. My heart and mind need to put this whole thing to rest. I'm relieved for the opportunity for closure.

Seb calls me back. "You know I was thinking, and I don't know how you feel, but I think we shouldn't give up so quickly." Something inside of me flickers a little. "I think if it's worth having than it's worth fighting for" He says warming my frozen heart just a little. Throwing me the tiniest food pellets of hope. I quickly scarf them down and digest them before he has time to throw any more. "That is unless you want to stop." His voice lowers when he says this and I am quick to say "No, we can't stop." What I feel like saying is "...it won't let me stop" but if I say this it will be necessary to explain the it. The it which is elusive and difficult for even me to understand. The it that is in the heart of every woman who ever longed for a child. The it that is causing all this pain right now.

IVF two has failed - a backdated post

This post is backdated from Monday. Like I said I kept a diary even though I couldn't post the entries. Writing is such a natural form of therapy in infertility. It really helps clear the heart and mind.

Know that I feel a lot better than I did when this first happened. It is very bad and then it gets slightly better. I know the pattern now. At the end of two days the total darkness lifts and there is small shaft of light. At the end of two weeks it's still blurry but images start coming into focus. At the end of two months you feel like a slightly altered version of your old self.

Monday, November 20th

I guess I had need to worry about the weekend. Call it foresight, I mean if you believe in that sort of stuff. We women are so tense and turned inward during all this cycling that it would come as no surprise that there would be some inner female voice whispering the outcome. And so to make a long story well, even longer, the weekend played out very much like I hoped it wouldn't and feared it would. Somehow it still caught me completely off guard.

It's Sunday night and I run for a quick last pee before tucking myself into bed. I sit there, hurrying due to the cold, and when I glance down I am suddenly stung by fear. I feel the familiar pang of suffocation as the walls of the toilet close in tightly around me. The sight of pink. Pink spotting is not good. Pink is never good as anyone will tell you. Brown blood is okay, it's old blood probably from an earlier implantation, but pink dear ones is the kiss of death in many a well documented failing IVF or pregnancy. Still the optimistic hope villain wears on and I coax myself out of the toilet with a story. "Maybe it's just some really new implantation spotting." I try telling myself. But another part knows too well that the guillotine is about to fall. I am doomed to seek refuge for the next few days in that place I've gotten to know a little too well this year. The very awful brainstorm is about to blow back in.

I climb into bed and Seb must have seen the look on my face, white and ashen I suppose or maybe wide eyed and resigned. I don't know which it was but it prompted him to ask if I was okay. I look away from his eyes because I know I am about to lie and say flippantly, "oh I'm just having some low back pain you know and it has me worried." lie. lie. lie. His reaction is a stunned silence, followed by an exasperated sigh. I suddenly feel relieved that I didn't tell him the truth about the blood. Besides there was that whole possibility of implantation spotting and why get him worried for nothing, right?

I lie there in the bed staring up at the ceiling unable to sleep. It is pouring rain outside and the winds were blowing hard making the timbers in the old attic creak. I study the sounds, mind on hyper speed. What am I going to do? Oh my god what am I going to do?

On Monday morning the bleeding is worse, a bright shiny red and frighteningly glaring from such a dizzying altitude of hope. The crash. The plunge. A floodgate of tears that will not stop. An overwhelming feeling that any contact with the outside world would burn like the touch of an open flame. I stay inside all day. Invisible razor blades continue to slash at bits of my soul each time I am forced to go in the toilet. The grief process is neatly turned on. Almost with a click of a dial and the buzz of a power current ground zero of a long and intricate healing process starts all by itself. I don't control it. It controls me, leading me through the steps.

For at least now it is truly as if someone has died in this house. Little S doesn't understand. He doesn't talk but he looks confused. Why is mommy crying? Why is mommy sitting under the table so long? Is this a game? The day wears on and each task seems insurmountable. Loading the dishwasher and washing the laundry are beyond comprehension. Making the bed seems futile and the bed and covers offer a comforting alternative to coping with the task of standing up and dealing with living. I can cover my head. I can disappear.

The day ends with a power outage. How fitting the outage of the telephone and internet is. The lights flicker off and on and it is as though the shortage of electricity ebbs and flows with my own inner tide of emotions. The internet and phone stay out of service and I have to admit that I am pleased to have an excuse not to answer the phone and act the part of someone mildly disappointed but coping just the same. I am not mildly disappointed. I am devastated. It's impossible to hide.

Later in the evening I call Seb and tell him finally, "It's over. I'm bleeding." Silence. He is so overwhelmed with shock that he says nothing for what seems a whole minute. "Are you still there...honey?" He does not answer. Can not. Finally a peep of a voice filters through. "Why were we able to have one baby and now this?" the angry words tumbling off his lips before he has time to think of the implication to my fragile well being. It seems he too has invested far too much hope in the cycle. He too was blindsided. He didn't see the negative results coming any more than I did. To him it was just a question of would it be twins? Maybe it would just be one child and we'd be a little disappointed. We always wanted twins. What infertile couple doesn't dream of that? The delicious bounty of two perfect children. It wasn't twins. It wasn't anything. He would have to accept that it was in fact nothing at all.

The bomb

My telephone and internet has been disconnected for four days and you can't imagine how difficult that has been. No internet. No Google. No nobody. It's been a very lonely four days.

Maybe it was a good thing to be cut off from the world. I think I needed the solitude. Today was the first day since Sunday that I left the house. Yes, as you can imagine the second IVF has failed. I never made it to the beta. I got the news Monday morning, special delivery from The Splotch Lady herself. It seems my name was on her *#@&! clipboard after all.

I still felt the need to write over the past four days and I kept a diary. It's pretty raw so I'm not sure if I will want to share it. Then again it probably would have all been posted here anyway. I'll consider putting it up over the next few days. It may help someone else to realize that they aren't so alone if they read about my feelings during this whole thing.

My mailbox was wonderfully full. Thanks you all for your concern and for being there. I really wish I could have read them earlier.

Whiskers on kittens

“Patience is bitter, but it's fruit is sweet.” --Jean Jacques Rousseau

I'm not very god at this waiting thing. The dreaded weekend is upon us and I am in a state of depression bordering on anxious hand wringing hope. I am still having the cramps, soreness, mood swings and vivid dream scenarios, last night's particularly disturbing because I dreamt that I was delivered The Splotch while going to pee. There it was all over my lucky IVF underwear.* Having vivid dreams made this all seem so real. I woke up severely depressed feeling like it had actually just happened. I recovered thinking "whew just a dream". I got out of bed to eat breakfast and shake it all off but the lingering feeling stayed, pulsing through my nervous system with disgusting vigor. After all the dream was so incredibly real it was difficult to shun.

I will not do an HPT. I'm not that eager to get all this over with. If you know anything about astrology I'll just say I'm a Pisces. We're the ones who like to avoid reality and live in a nice little cushy dream world of our own making. I think that about sums it up. At least without the HPT there is still hope and I can stay in my little fantasy land and imagine that it's working. If I do the test then it will be like last time. I can remember I had to sit there and reread the stupid box all weekend that says "99.9 and 9/10th's accuracy." Then when I scanned the instructions for the 1/10th percent inaccuracy, because you never know!! I read that it's only there because some people are really stupid and pee on the box or the receipt from the drugstore or some other I'm-a-nervous-wreck-teenager-and-I-think-I-hear-my-mom- coming thing. And then panic set in and I spent the entire weekend very miserable instead of wistfully hopeful. Julie Andrews turns Joan Crawford at the shake of stick if you will.

I asked the ladies on my TTC board to do a survey about getting pregnant with their IVF's since so many of them have fallen pregnant in the last year. I posed symptoms questions asking them if they kew they were pregant before the beta. They all said no. Only one person said they sort of "knew" beforehand. I felt better. I have almost forgotten what pregnant feels like but I definitley do not feel pregnant at all this time. I feel more unpregnant than ever. If anything I just feel slightly premenstral. I'm usually way more premenstral than this so even old reliable AF is off kilter. What a freaking mess this all is.

So meanwhile, anyone wanna go on the roof and pelt progesterone tablets at the neighbor's cats with me? I'm sure they'll eat them and we can see what kinds of symptoms they get. Come on it will be fun. I so need a diversion.

Okay the very least you can do is invent a diversion for me. What wacky things can I do to while the weekend away?

*Yes I actually have a set of six IVF underwear. They're practical too because the progesterone is harsh on rayon and silk undies and I take a lot of pride in my beautiful underwear collection!

Video diary - The horrors of a two week wait

Okay here I am with nothing but time on my hands. Maybe if I worked it would be better. Then again if you work how do you concentrate? I can barely concentrate on my morning toast right now.

Here's my latest video. That paper that I have in my mouth is stapled to the bulletin board by my computer. It's my prescription for next Thursday's beta test. I can't stop staring at it. It's making me insane.

The splotch lady and her clipboard

Okay so here I sit bloated like a beluga, crampy and grumped out to the max. My boobs are incredibly tender on the sides but we all know that if my ninety year old granny takes progesterone she'll have these same symptoms. Grandpa has been gone an awful long time so I doubt she'd declare herself pregnant with baby number eight.

Progesterone is an evil boyfriend-stealing bitch. I hate almost everything about it. Notice I said ALMOST.

The cramps are pretty strong and right now it feels like aunt flo is absentmindedly tapping a pen on a clipboard. I'm getting visions of what might happen in a few days:

"Next please!"

"me?" *pointing to myself and glancing around nervously*

"yes you! Who else? Are you stupid or what? You in the black sweater. Come on will you."

"But I wasn't supposed to...they said...you were supposed to...uh, be ...next week I have a be ..."

"...HEY...it says on my list you're next and that's what they pay me to do read your name and give you this giant red splotch. I am not here to babysit the masses lady. I have a lot of other women to visit and some of them actually LIKE me and welcome me into their homes. Some of them greet me with big bouquets of roses. One lady last week baked me chocolate chip cookies she was so happy I called her name."

"Pleeze lady. You are just a fat, ugly, smelly old skanky HO. And your mama before you was a fat, ugly, smelly, skanky Ho. And you can take your clipboard and your giant splotch and shove it up your big, old hairy... "

"Well I never! There is always a reason we have an X by certain names. I can certainly see why yours has one. One of the difficult ones!" *blows whistle* "Guard! Guaaard! It's one of those IVF ladies. She's being rude to me. I told you I will not even deal with these people anymore. Take her to the back room. Give her the splotch please!"

"Nooo...not the splotch!" *fighting the straight jacket*

I'm so on edge I feel like my eardrums are going to explode. That could be the lack of caffeine. It could be the lack of human contact. Where is everyone this week? Even the cyber world is absent.

Hopefully this will all end soon. My beta is on Thanksgiving day next week. I couldn't imagine a more fitting day one way or another. If it's a negative the irony of the whole thing will make even me laugh, reminding me that the universe does have a sense of humor. Otherwise if it's a positive I'll be able to produce a helluva "Chicken Soup for the IVFer's Soul" story now won't I.

Giddy enthusiastic infertiles and me before the blog

Okay I'm so incredibly bored and nightmarishly jittery that I can't stop fidgeting with search engines of every dang sort imaginable. I was so bored last night that I started digging through old posts from my old TTC board. If you're any kind of veteran infertile then visiting old web boards you used to post on like this is the equivalent of looking through a high school yearbook because all the posts are really dorky and you read remarks that say things like "OMG Misschrisc I hope that embie sticks like superglue! Good luck to you!! Baby dust to everyone!!" And then you know, the cycle turned out to be a bust and later you stopped asking for baby dust because you were pretty much sure it was lethal and should be labeled as a Class A drug.

I still keep in touch with some of the women from my TTC board and I think those that I do keep up with have crawled through enough mucky trenches with me that I'm pretty sure they wouldn't wish any baby dust on me or anyone else for that matter. I'm pretty sure in their early days they like me were naieve and seemed confident that perfect "embies" came along each cycle, that we all ovulated on day 14 and that baby dust should be bottled and sold in Walmart because it was just so freaking wonderful. It's refreshing to have moved beyond all of that. Thank god for that reality check.

In digging around I found this old post which I found rather funny. I wrote this in January 2004 a few days before my first ever positive beta. A positive beta that was realized after an awful lot of muck: two years of natural ttc, two clomid cycles, two injectable cycles, five IUI's and one bittersweet cancelled IVF. Five years of trying to make a baby using all the ammunition available. That positive beta rocked my world! (and for the record he's still rocking it as we speak).

Pay close attention to theory number two because that's exactly what happened, little devil.

****

"I went to pee last night and lo and behold there was a glob of cm with a tinge of pink streak through it. My bathroom microscope may not have been adjusted to the right setting so I'm not really so sure about the grade levels...but, it was like yellowish ewcm. This is weird. I mean cm I have in ALL forms and if you've ever dealt with progesteron suppositories you'll be shaking your head along with me. We're talking concrete underwear at the end of the day people! (sorry for the enthusiasm) But progesterone leaves a "certain" trail I've come to affectionately know and this was not that. I have no idea WHATS going on. I just have three warped theories. Here goes:

Theory 1: AF is knockin' on my door with her basket full of goodies. Pushy broad that she is she is knocking at the WRONG time and is very uninvited. She has lost her key (my locksmith named Progesterone--good guy) and she's leaving her calling card and this lovely glob of ewcm as a gift because she knows I always have liked finding that. How sweet of her. I'm doomed.

Theory 2: The little tyke is implanting really late. He's going to be quite a handful when he gets here and he's showing that stubborn side now. "Hey...you WERE always late mister and don't give me that attitude!! Wipe that smirk off your face. This is your mother talking!"" He's going to cause me to have a really low beta which will just give me more even stress. Kids...golly the troubles and worries they cause us little devils!

Theory 3: The stress from the 2ww has caused a large HOLE to form in my stomach which is currently eating through my uterus in its second stage. The blood is slowly trickling and I will die just five minutes before my beta on Thursday. "How tragic!" they'll say "...she was pregnant with twins.." DH will surely get defensive and say "I told her not to stress but she didn't listen!"

And then there's the Conspiracy Theory where the Taliban came in and tampered with my toilet paper but I don't want you all to think I'm paranoid or anything. Pessimist that I am I'm sticking with theory one. Tragic Dissapointment has become very comfortable in my old age."

Two weeks of hope...why me?

I awoke this morning with cramps. They were what you might call mild, very mild in fact, almost barely not even there. Maybe even so slight that you might not even call them cramps, but more like heaviness. So there I have noted it. I have taken it down in the notepad and submitted it for consideration. The committee is adding it to their pile of information which they amass during this type of thing. You know, the little mental committee that discusses these things by conference calls thrice daily and then abruptly convenes near at the end of the two weeks for the massive summit, that massive summit where The Great IF gets decided.

Meanwhile I wait *drumming fingers*

I have polished all of my copper pots in my kitchen. Usually I just toss them in the dishwasher once a month to get them relatively splotch free, a lazy girls way of taking care of a pretty little set of pots, but yesterday I polished them with gusto using a product that's been sitting in the basement for a few years. While I was down there I grabbed our enormous box of photographs, an overwhelming visual melange of my previous life and Seb's, intertwined in a massive array of ski photos, French weddings and Florida sunsets. I decided that it was the perfect week to tackle this little organizing project seeing as these next few weeks will leave me with so much head scratching and pondering. In one of the first batch of photos were pictures of Seb's ex girlfriend, Kay and I imagined how his life may have been different, or mine had he stayed with her. Well actually I imagine she would have driven him to mental institution and I have probably singlehandedly rescued him from that judicious fate, but that maybe they would have had a few kids along the way, the easy way, and he would have found that part of life so much simpler. You can't help but wonder these things when faced with the ex-files.

Okay I'm rambling. Bear with me.

I had a really strange water dream last night, or maybe it was just what my mom calls pee dreams. I just remember wading through these murky, flood waters to get to this parking garage where I was supposed to meet the semi famous, amateur video maker Brookers. The strange part was at some point I reached under my long skirt and pulled out from between my legs a jar with two babies stuffed inside. I said to myself "damn it's probably too early to have pulled these out because they're still processing." They looked quite silent and still. I tried to put them back but I couldn't figure out how. I can remember wondering if there was a third baby in a jar up there somewhere and what state it was in. It was such a bizarre and vivid dream and I have no idea why two babies were in one jar and the other baby was presumably in another jar all alone. I also couldn't figure why they appeared to be near full term babies and not embryos. I have no insight into what it could mean but I think fertility dreams are always very telling. I welcome any armchair analysis you might want to add to it.

I'm going to get back to my photo organizing, a fun little project to do with the help of a toddler. He is ready and willing to aid in any way he can, black permanent marker poised. I'm going to let him file all the photos of "daddy and the ex." I'm sure he'll be very helpful.

Video diary - The egg retreival

Well as you can see I'm back from the egg retreival and the egg transfer. I had lots of things to talk about so I threw it all together in a video. This video thing is just too easy. I think I'm inclined to abuse it.

I'll be back on the writing bandwagon for a while here. I think the writing helps me think things through a little better.

Meanwhile for all those who were curious about how things went...enjoy.

Video diary - Back from egg retreival

Well as you can see I'm back from the egg retreival and the egg transfer. I had lots of things to talk about so I threw it all together in a video. This video thing is just too easy. I think I'm inclined to abuse it.

I'll be back on the writing bandwagon for a while here. I think the writing helps me think things through a little better. The videos are fun to make and edit but they don't clear my head out in the same way that forming the ideas in my head and then putting them on a page does. Isn't that funny?

Meanwhile for all those who were curious about how things went, enjoy my telling of all the gory details.

Video diary - panic attack!

Boy oh boy was yesterday stressful. I hate the idea that the entire hospital shuts down on the weekends and staff is only reachable by cell phones. Cell phones are completely unreliable pieces of crap, ask me because I know. Having that as your only liaison between certain ovulation and the next step is scary. Being in that position when you're choosing between croissants and pain-au-chocolat at the bakery is one thing "honey, which do you want? The raisin bread looks good too...", but when it comes to creating my potential children I'd really rather have something more reliable to depend on like say... real people standing right in front of me and real secretaries manning a huge switchboard!!

I'll explain it all in my little video. It was a quick one made as I just got out of bed, which is why my voice is so odd and congested. Seb happened to mention that maybe I should put some makeup on before I do videos I put out for the world to see, but I told him that if I get rich one day I might hire an anchorwoman with bobbed hair and a Nancy Reagan suit to do all my videos for me. I never was very good on the other side of the camera. It's much more fun to be in the editing room if you ask me.

Oh dear why does it have to be on a weekend?

So I kinda sorta have a retreival date on Wednesday but of course nothing is sure yet because there is still the dreaded weekend to get through and weekends in France are pretty much the time when it might be best to commit murder or rob a person at gunpoint or do whatever crime you have to get off your chest because it's fairly certain that even if the police are working, they're most likely standing around a coffee machine making fun of their boss or trading crass jokes about women in short skirts. So yeah, the weekend.

The last few scans in IVF are the most important ones and the last scan, the big deciding scan is the MOST important. If any of the information is screwed up, the dosage not regulated well, a dose is missed or any other type of miscommunication occurs, the IVF patient can quickly ovulate and the whole cycle will be shot to hell. So, my last scan is Saturday. Yeah, the weekend!

Yesterday when I talked to the nurse she explained to me what I needed to do to get throught the weekend and gave me the cell phone number of the on call doctor at the hospital who will be my liasion after my all-important Saturday scan. The secretary and nurses are not there on Saturday and I assume most of the doctors are gone too so after I see Dr. Stonehenge Saturday morning and he e-mails my result to the hospital I am to hear from this on call doctor before six. If by around six he doesn't call then I'm to call him directly on his cell phone and scream somthing like "HEY, where the @¤%! F*CK ARE you asshole...it's one damned minute past SIX ALREADY!!" because I can't stop picturing him sitting in a café at six drinking a glass of beaujolais and staring annoyingly at his ringing phone, trying to decide whether he should pick it up or not..."no eet will be jeest zee woman ahmereecan which eez very annoying wiss her accent..ouf!"

So yeah, the weekend.

It's looking like I'll have my next scan tomorrow, which is Saturday and then perhaps continue the drugs through Sunday, and then trigger the eggs to release late Monday. This means I will have my retrieval in Lyon on Wednesday if all goes well.

I'm going to be so angry though if these beautiful eggs are wasted on the French penchant for the 36 hour work week. I have worked too hard to get here only to have it lost in some weakly constructed chinese telephone labyrinth, and heads will roll right up to Chirac's oversized feet if this cycle fails because of that.

***

Okay yeah, so that's what a Gonal-F rant sounds like. You just don't want to mess with me right now. I am a volcano of destruction. Watch out weekend shift!

Video diary - "The latest scan"

I talk about the results of my latest scan.

Big scan day

Tomorrow I get another scan and bloodwork. This is the big scan though which will most likely tell me whether or not I stay on the stims, whether I trigger soon, or as in the case of an old cycle from three years ago whether I already ovulated and all is gloom and doom. I don't think I'll be sleeping very well tonight. I want to get tomorrow over with.

I hate the last weeks of IVF treatment. It's a lot of melodrama and it's really hard to handle melodrama when you're all hopped up on hormones and without caffeine or sugar.

I really do need a good night's sleep though otherwise I'll blame that if this cycle is a bust.

Video diary - "starting stims"

Video diary - "my first scan"

I should have posted this two days ago but finally here I've finished it and Blogger is cooperating. The news is a little old.

I already have another video to add to this so I'll probably put that one up soon.

A fully stocked freezer would be nice

I saw Dr. Stonehenge today for my little scan to see if the follicles are all sitting nicely and playing together well, not pushing to get ahead of anyone or any bullying at the playground. It seems like everything is okay from what I saw. All the follicles are measuring between 5-7mm, sitting pretty and waiting for their call to duty. Dr. Stonehenge is a man of few words so it was hard to say but I think everything is going well from what I could glean from him and from my many years of past experience with this sort of thing.

When I came into his office this morning and after our greeting each other I gave him the rundown, "it's day 14 of Décapyptyl, everything's going well so far...no major snafus!" I think I probably threw him off kilter from his usual speech because he responded with "don't you have any frozen embryos?" I just gave him a blank stare and then shook my head no. What kind of question was that? Of course a million curt comebacks ran through my head as I lay waiting in the dim romantic ambiance of the sonogram room.

"Yeah, we just wanted to do another cycle of injections for old time's sake doc. Humor me and do the scan..."

"Frozen Schmozen we're all natural. No way we'd accept frozen! Get out of here!"

"You mean they can FREEZE them?"

"poor wittle cold baby...awww"

"Umm...somebody forgot to plug...the unit...back...in. They all THAWED!" *sob*

"I just wanted to see you again. I'm madly in love with you Doctor Stonehenge! For god's sake don't tell my husband!" *runs at doctor with flailing arms*

"Oh f*ck I totally forgot. Where IS my head these days!"

"Jeez nobody tells me nothin' no more! I bet they called you first and told you. I AM always the last to know..."

I talked with a friend about this recently because she has the same set of doctors, this bee-zar phenomenon of French infertility doctors not sharing loads of information with their patients, and of the patients sitting back and complacently accepting the ignorance. We talked about French spouses and how they kind of want us to go with the flow and how this is probably part of the norm here, or so it seems. It's something I don't accept and never will. It gets me in lots of little tussles, but it usually gets excused by the fact that I am after all "l'americaine" and I have to know now don't I. Yes, I do. It's my body and it's my right. It's also my habit. I'm sorry if that bugs the caretakers in this country.

***
Of course I had no frozens and was well aware of it, of course I know my protocol before he even asks me, of course I call the drugs by name and know my cycle day, and of course the fact that my follicles are measuring on target puts me at ease even if he doesn't feel the need to share it with me.

I'm still laughing though. Does he really think I'd have been stupid enough to come in for a suppression scan if I were doing a frozen cycle? Does this actually happen from time to time? I really hope not but the fact that he asks makes me feel like it probably does happen.

Video diary - "Planning the future"

There is no hope for the hair but here is the latest update anyway.

Remember that if you click on the YouTube icon in the bottom right corner you can have a scaled up version of the video.

Sharing

The in laws are here and we really didn't want to tell them about the IVF, or at least I didn't want to tell them about it. Seb doesn't really mind if they know, but then he doesn't resent the probing as much as I do. I don't even tell my own mother about the IVF's and I like to keep a low profile during the whole procedure, at least where real life friends and family are concerned.

The last few times we've done ART crap Seb's parents have tended to hang on to each event like it's a really good soap opera that they're dying to see the last episode of. I know from experience that they share details about our personal lives with friends and family and I hate that our news is travelling in circles of people we will one day come across at a wedding or Christmas meal where I'll be the focus of a sympathetic aunt or the fodder for comparison between a cousin who couldn't have a baby for a whole year but finally gave birth because she just relaxed and stopped worrying. Probably the worst thing is that they tend to call a lot with the probing demand of "soooooo...what's the news?" and when the news is bad, we really don't want to share it. When the news is good we don't want to share it either because we know they'll all say "oh that's great!" and it makes me nervous to hear people becoming overly excited about what we see as a fragile success in the venture, and to be honest I feel like it jinxes the whole thing worse than if we'd gone out and bought a lace covered baby bassinette and half a dozen pink onsies with "Angel" scrolled across the chest.

This weekend though there was little way to get around the IVF news what with our tiny living quarters and the fridge being the focal point of all these French stomachs, because whenever something comes out of the fridge all eyes turn toward it like it's some kind of totem god. And so I had to admit that the ziplock baggie was not full of some kind of lavish little imported snack, but was quite simply an antiovulatory cocktail that I'd soon be plunging into my flabby gut, exteriorment. After that admission it didn't even seem worth the effort to mount the dark stairs to mix the drugs in my son's cramped bedroom, so I simply laid it all out and mixed on the dining room table like I do each night while curious eyes followed my every step, darting and saying nothing. I hid in the wc for the actual injection, but when I came out I had injected badly and blood was pooling on the little cotton ball at a somewhat alarming rate so it looked as if every night must be as painful and messy as this. Mother-in-law said nothing and changed the subject to something sunny and cheery and father-in-law started another solitaire game on the computer while I cleaned up the debris of needles, syringes and bloody cotton and tucked all the products back in the fridge.

It's always hard sharing IVF with family and friends who haven't been there already, explaining the details and losing them in the jargon, conveying emotions and dodging the hurtful but apparently well-meant comments of the "I hope you don't end up with quadruplets!" genre. I've heard them all, glossed over them all and decided in the end that it's probably best not to share the news with anyone at all except a select few who have been down the road before. Sometimes though it's unavoidable and I know next week we'll get the same question "sooo...what's going on with the IVF?"

Maybe mother-in-law should just start reading my blog.

Video diary - "A problem at the pharmacy"

Okay I know I have really bad hair here. Please don't think badly of me for it because you know this is reality here and I'm a mom to a toddler. It's the information that's key anyway.

I'll try to be more glamorous next time.

Video diary - "Hey it's that blog lady"

Those little vials

I have accidently smashed about six of my little Décapyptyl vials by mistake when I've loaded something into the fridge. That should tell you just how long I've been waiting for the next IVF. I'm going out to get a refill today so everything will be all lined up for the next big step. Oh fun I hear you say. Yes, wading through paperwork for another IVF in France is always fun.

I'm starting the treatment in six days. I can't believe we're finally back in the game and ready to begin another one. It seems like I've been waiting months. Hey wait, uh I have been waiting months. Okay that would explain it.

Did I mention how pleased I am though? Did I also mention how scared I am? I bet I already did. Okay let me repeat it. I'm scared.

In other fun news, I hope to do a good portion of this IVF in a video blog format, yes VIDEO. I thought that it would be interesting to document an actual IVF by talking about it. It may be boring but then again you may actually get to see me throw things and cry so that would be entertaining, right? And you'll also get to see the werewolf-esque evolution of a woman all hopped-up and stressed-out on hormones. I guess this means I'll have to brush my hair before I get on the computer. Crap.

Stay tuned because I think I may just paste the first video up this week if I can wade through all the technical crap.

There is hope and there is fear, but I repeat that there is hope

The appointment with Dr. Dieu went very well, much better than expected. I discovered something about him. He’s got a sort of softer side, well um, kind of. I suppose it's soft in the way a german shepherd lets you scratch his belly but you better-be-on-guard kind of way. He was kind to me last week. He let me scratch his belly and rub his ears. I’m pretty sure it’s because I failed the first round. He‘s treating me more delicately. I’m not really comfortable with it because I know it’s not his real persona, but hey it was nice and I needed to be treated with some kid gloves. I enjoyed it immensely.

Not much has changed. I’ve been put on an increased dose of Gonal F, gently augmented from 110 IUs to 215IUs. Not a huge increase. We start the treatment on October 9th. A fresh start. A new beginning. Another chance at greatness, maybe? I’m excited and well, scared witless from all those pesky things that have to do with IVF. Yeah, scared and yes there I said it. I feel like it’s a sort of here-we-go-again grape leaf tightly wrapped around a densely compacted rice ball of emotions. There are those little grains of frustration that try as we might we can‘t ever get this damn baby thing right, teeny grains of doubt, grains of that harbored fear that the drugs will lead to cancer and kill me before my son is grown, and the slightly overcooked fear that our couple will be destroyed beyond repair from all the emotional stress. All these emotions that most people don’t ever get the opportunity to experience but oh so typical of my breed, that fertilly challenged female.

All that fear and all that loathing that tries so hard to block the good stuff.

So, what is the good stuff anyway? That’s the thing you never get to actually see until you have a successful IVF and deliver a beautiful healthy baby boy, or you don’t get to touch until you adopt or until you get there. We know because we got there a few year back and it was divine. And now we find strength in this. We know that there is an enormous vat overflowing with very, very good stuff just there beyond our reach. If only we’re a bit more patient we can get to it. It’s very likely just around the corner. Every once in a while we see it. We catch a fleeting glimpse of it but hey, lately it’s been pretty evasive and each time we think we catch a glimpse it disappears leaving us with the impression that we didn’t really see anything at all and that it was just our mind playing tricks on us. But deep down some whispering chant calms us. We were like this once, afraid and unsure and then with an explosive « kapow » there we were, wife flat out on the back, ultrasounds while holding hands, listening to a swooching heartbeat, measuring the circumference of a little head and experiencing the ultimate, caressing tiny fingers and soft, little feet, bliss.

It wasn’t so long ago. It happened when we least expected it. Why should it be any different this time?

Ovulation you say...what ovulation?

I just glanced at my FF calendar last night and realized that yes, I had already ovulated seeing as it was cycle day 15 and all. I didn't even notice.

I think I have a deep rooted fear of repeating last year's events: getting pregnant right before the IVF scheduled LAST November, losing the pregnancy, having the IVF cancelled because hey, I'm now fertile! Then of course not getting to do IVF again until well, now actually, one year later.

On the other hand I hear this very loud ticking. Do you hear it too? It's positively deafening. I can't believe I let another cycle go down the tubes.* WHAT ... I CAN'T HEAR YOU OVER THE TICKING? I said "I CAN'T BELIVE I LET..."

Nevermind.

Too much time on my hands

I hate the wait between treatments. It feels like an eternity to that next appointment, an appointment to discuss the next step. The conclusion will most definitely be IVF number two, we all know that. Why can't we just say this over the telephone? I know the good doctor won't change my protocol. He'll blame statistics on my first failure. He's probably right but I don't want to hear it.

But why not a simple telephone call and a faxed prescription. It could all be so simple and we could get started now.

Instead I'll go in next month and we'll talk about American politics for twenty minutes. He'll print out a prescription for my dosage to start treatment after my next period in October. I'll stim in early November and maybe into December. And then . . .hmm, well we don't know that part yet do we, the really fucky part of it all.

I'm ready to get started now. Why can't we start today?

Round two in the Fall

I'm slowly feeling better. The weekend helped me gain perspective and I had Seb here too. I think it was hard not having him here to cushion the blow when I got the official news last Tuesday. I really needed someone to give me giant ten minute bear hug after hearing it. I finally got that on Friday afternoon and of course I sobbed into Seb's shirt until he had a giant wet spot on his chest. We talked everything through and agreed that maybe we were being a little too optimistic to think it could work the first time. We both agreed that now was not the time to give up, in fact on the contrary it was time to get to work. Our diet needs tweeking and we need to try to get more rest and build up our energy reserves. I think we both are a little battle worn from the past few months and it hasn't helped our chances going into IVF with an already weary mind and heart.

So I have my appointment for September 20th, the consultation to discuss the next step. I'm pretty sure the discussion will involve another try without changing much, except maybe just a tiny change to the dosage of Gonal-F. I hope so because I was only taking 112 IU's this time as compared to 300 IU's with my very first IVF! I think I'll ask some questions about my progesterone levels. I'd like to know if I can have my progesterone closely monitered next time. I spotted so much during this cycle that I felt like something wasn't holding back my period. I don't think it's normal to spot so early on while taking progesterone. I also want to know why they don't measure my lining before the transfer. If they are measuring it, they aren't telling me. I'd hate to think that perfectly good embryoes are just sitting there with no cushy place to attach themselves. It will at least ease my mind to know what the thickness is.

I can just see Dr. Dieu rolling his eyes right now. He'll run his hands through his thick whisped hair, lean back in his chair and smirk saying something snarky like, "Oh you American's always have to know everything don't you." Then he'll look at my husband and say "women always have to take charge of everything don't they...I guess it's the same worldwide." That's Dr. Dieu. I can't complain though because it was his team of doctors and biologists who gave us our lovely little boy. How can you argue with such perfection? I don't think you can. Come on Dr. Dieu make me another beautiful babe!

*Thank you to all my friends for your sweet messages and phone calls. It helped to hear those voices and get those e-mails and messages on my blog. You're wonderful.