Irony

Ahh the irony of picking up birth control pills. Of settling the ring of pills in the plastic clam shell. Of thinking that it has come to this. Birth control. As if.

Rain

It is raining really hard today, and the sky is dark with heavy clouds. Last night it snowed for a while first, the tiny flakes that look like sand. And then, near midnight, I heard the rain hammering on the roof, and against the windows.

fertilityfriend says I ovulated on cd8 ferchrissakes. maddening. and yet. somehow I feel I should have seen that coming.

Via email Nancy the sweet coordinating nurse said we can extend BCPs as necessary for scheduling around D's January training so not to worry about this early ovulation.

I'll be away on business next week. And when I get back, I'll either have a cd1 to call in or a miracle may have occurred. Here's hoping. 'Tis the season.

An update and a new link

As for me, cd10, temp up halfway yesterday and fully today-- Alas and WTF. So much for making the most of one more natural cycle. I did not even start testing for LH surge until last night which apparently was too late. After being on clomid one last time last month, I suppose I should have expected an unusual cycle. I am still having wondrous hot flashes, especially in the morning. But this feels discouraging. Like someone stole a week I really wanted to have. And it also pushes up the whole schedule for our IVF right into a week D is not available unless I can do something fancy with the BCPs. I'll write to Nancy, our wonderful coordinating nurse, for advice.

I am battling a little with sad and disconnected. Not a Battle, just a battle-- aware that I am dodging and weaving. Not sure about all that I am sad about- but I know many ingredients. Know the unfortunate confluence of several things is magnifying the things that feel difficult. But once again, rationalization is not the way to peace. I wish it were. I could cogitate and SHAZAM all would be in place, orderly and well. Not so fast, Kate. Yes well. I know. I know. And for all that I don't know, or can't know, or that I do know but knowing does not help one bit, I feel. I feel.

On that note, surprising perhaps no one but me, I realized after last night's post that I probably have a lot to write about and work though with the quite difficult subject of suicide survival. Since I am not sure how it would mesh with what I am working on here, I decided to make a new blog to focus on that particular subject until I run out of things to say-- Letters to Will.

Quiet

So very happy for the boho family, who just welcomed their baby boy into the world, born last night.

A quiet day, busy with house stuff and errands, like yesterday was. Then collapse. A very tired kate. Not yet done with this bug.

I lay in bed yesterday (finally having slept a full night) and watched the clouds fly by, listened to the wind. Instead of being peaceful, my mind raced around, touching on all sorts of hard things.

A dear friend recently lost his wife to suicide, which brings up so many of my old emotions for me, from losing Jeff.  I have been very careful not to get Involved since what this has done has been to rake the coals, bring up a lot of very difficult feelings I'd carefully stowed away. I feel off balance and pulled to help somehow, offer something substantial in terms of support. But my own emotions are so raw, even this many years later, that I am holding myself back from being as present as I feel I should be for him. I am being very careful with myself. Trying not to be reactive.  And when we do talk, I feel raw for days. 

So I just lay there in a swirl of emotions- of sadness, of hopefulness, of some sort of brutal and persistent questioning about how smart we are to even try IVF when our chances are so low. 1/6 about- at such a high cost in terms of our finances, my body, our emotions. But I also know if we do not try, we will always wonder if it would have worked. So, there I was, tangled in a mess of things I cannot solve, things I wish were different, or unnecessary, or simpler.

Since then I have been dealing with the emotional influx like I often do: through avoidance. Through busy-ness. Through distraction.  I know that if I go to bed and cannot sleep quickly enough, or if I wake in the middle of the night or too early it will come back in a flood. It does that. I know its habits. It favors the dark quiet hours when my guard is down.

Dress rehearsal: details, so be warned.

Relieved.
I guess that is what I am, mostly. Yesterday was hard- so much anxiety, and the things I was most scared of really were not that bad. And the things I knew would be hard -- well, they were hard. I am a little concerned about the eventual transfer should we be so lucky- worried about the pain of that. And the emotions. And losing my shit. But, as it was, should you need a sonohystogram, it is weird and uncomfortable with moments of real pinchy pain, but if you have done an HSG, it is not nearly that bad. But it is different, odder, slower, more careful, with many more objects up your fine self and much less intelligible images on the monitor.

If you are lucky, you will get an ultrasound person who is as nice as mine was. (Thank you Sheila). If you are lucky, you will get the information you need about what is going on as it is happening, how things look, what to expect, and the outcome. I was lucky in the first way, halfway lucky in the second.

The mock transfer was bizarre. First, you need a full bladder, then when you arrive, pee 3 drops (but keeping your bladder full) in order to test for pregnancy. I get that. But it is a nearly super human feat to keep your full bladder full.

A resident did the driving-speculum, cervix cleaning/swabbing, catheter up through the cervix (ultrasound on belly) which is the whole point of this exercise. To see how and where to go when the time comes. A dress rehearsal. I admit, I wanted the doctors to be talking more to me than each other... I learned a lot from listening, but felt nearly secondary to the process. But that is how we learn-- by doing, by listening, by watching. The catheter thing, for me, is a crampy totally uncomfortable process with moments of pain so sharp it left me breathless and teary. So that sucked.

Then, when it is over, measurements and notes have been made, they let you pee! ahh bliss.
Then, sonohystogram.

Speculum, cleaning, catheter (ferchrissakes) still shitty, but this time! with transvaginal ultrasound! So, speculum out, wand in. My first time. Not nearly as bad as I had feared (the thing is HUGE and DAUNTING and really? not a big deal. Much less ferocious than a speculum. Then lots of wagging of the wand. And then flooding of the uterine cavity with saline (cramping! and bizarre-not-pleasant sensations). And more wagging. And then, catheter out, more wagging as ovaries are checked out, measured, mapped.
Then, finally, wand out. Praise the gods/goddess/all-that-is.

Yes there is spillage afterwards. Yes there is spotting and gooping and ...
But then I was done.

Secrets? 2 advil 2 hours before, 1 more about an hour before... I am not sure it helped but it sure did not hurt. And full bladder does not mean BURSTING, just full. Like you would really like to pee. Not like you must pee. And bring your own pad of choice (they provide some but they are hospital issued big pillowy things). Actually bring two. The first gets used up pretty quickly.

***
That done (legs shaky, oh man, I'd been so scared)
I then met with the coordinating nurse. Nancy, know that I think you are wonderful should you ever stumble across this. My partner and I are financing this ourselves, with no insurance coverage. And to the kind person out there who donated their unused medications, I can only say thank you. Your generousity will help so much-- it is about 1/3 of all we will need. and that is so substantial that I cried. Which I hate doing. And am so grateful.

So last night, emptying the bag of lupron and follistim and .. into the crisper, I look and realize all of that will be emptied into me. One small vial at a time.

TRUTH, yes, the kind with the capital T

Run, do not walk to this magnificent post:
http://ordinarycourage.squarespace.com/my-blog/2008/11/18/happy-birthday-to-me.html

...

Today was not what I expected- a monday to be sure. Came home headachy and sore-throated and feeling depleted the way that makes you imagine sleeping until tomorrow when it is not even noon.

So a day of rest, occasional tea, some foggy thinking, a very short nap, some watching of the sky through the skylights... and tonight I am moving toward better. Feeling more like myself. Less dizzy. Less empty.

I did make some progress- called the clinic since I had a day 1 to report. Thursday morning is the sonohystogram, the mock transfer. The last two tests. I am anxious. Worried about the cramping I always get with the catheter. Worried about my guts and whether they will let me be that day, let me get it over with.

I realize that so much of this feels out of my control, each decision is made because of The Decision-- the choice to do IVF makes a million other choices. Tests to be run, places to prod, skills to acquire. It is as if once you say Yes to this, and you have to say yes to things that you would ordinarily do only under the most extreme duress. And it is odd to think of this desire for something wonderful -- that this choice somehow equates to something unimaginable where you submit to crazy things because you have to, with language you wish you did not have to learn. Like entering a foreign land. This land of hysto that and catheter this, and oh, hsgs and hcg, and lupron and injectables and transvaginal ultrasound.
What is this language??? What is this country???