I dreamt of a baby

What I really wanted to do was curl up under my desk and cry. But they frown upon that in open concept offices. So I just kept working. My husband called around 5:30 asking when I’d be home. I have a lot of work to do I told him. Actually I didn’t have much to do. The truth was, I didn’t want to go home. I didn’t want to face him. I didn’t want to discuss yet another failure. I didn’t want to talk about next steps. Most of all I didn’t want to face an empty house. What I wanted to do was smash something. Punch a hole in a wall. Kick and scream at something or someone. But you can’t do that at work either. Instead I found a safety pin a carved a small L into my abdomen. L for LOSER.
That was three days ago. I’ve been working late every evening. Focusing on projects and spreadsheets seems easier than having to go home. I haven’t been able to have a conversation with my husband. In fact I haven’t been able to say much at all. I can’t formulate any complete thoughts. I can’t bear to call my mother. I’ve sent emails to my brother and sister asking them not to call me.

I thought I was prepared for this outcome. The HPT on day 9 had come up negative. But there was a little voice telling me ‘it’s too early. There’s still hope.’ The rational side of me knew that the cramps and PMS symptoms were a bad sign. The optimistic side wanted to believe there was a chance. I had steeled myself for the negative result yet when I got the phone call it HURT. It hurt more than the first time, more than the second time. More than all the previous negatives combined.
Because this negative is different.
This one means that I will never have a baby with my husband.

When my nephew was born my brother would send me pictures almost everyday. I wanted so much to be there and hold this wriggling new life. I started having intensely real dreams about Bubba. I could feel and smell him. After a couple of days the baby in this dream began to morph into a different baby. Our baby. It had my husband’s curly hair, my brown eyes, his smile, my long fingers, his perfect toes… I would wake up from these dreams with a vivid picture of what our baby would look like, aching to hold him or her. I thought it was just a matter of time before my baby dream came true.

I thought if I tired hard enough, wanted it enough and did all the right things that I could make this happen. If I tried just one more time maybe the probability gods would favour me. If I just went to the right clinic, did the right procedures, had the surgery, took the vitamins, tried protocol X instead of Y then maybe it would work.

Fuck. I mean FUCK. Just one of those times couldn’t one embryo have stuck around? How could ALL of them be bad? How can other people with endo get pregnant but not me? How can other people with one ovary or one tube get pregnant but not me?
How can my 41 year old lesbian friend get pregnant TWICE with IUIs but I cannot do it even once with 7 tries at IVF? How does my friend’s coke-addict-highschool dropout-living-with-an-ex-con sister get to have FOUR perfectly beautiful babies while I cannot have one?

I am so angry and I am so tired. And I’m fresh out of hope for my baby dream.

can we just get this over with?

I feel like crap. I've had the worst PMS possible for days now. I'm grumpy, bloated and eating everything in sight. I tested this morning and it came up negative.
I feel negative.
I know, I know. It's not over till beta.
Does anyone really believe that?
I think it's over. I'm not holding out much hope that the beta will show anything different.

I've really given this my best shot.
Four clinics, two countries, seven tries, six doctors.
Flare protocols, long protocols, Antagonists, IVM, co-culture, surgeries, HSGs. I have tried them all. It didn't work. I cannot do this anymore. Stick a fork in me cause I am done.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I've been tagged.
A little delayed....but here are six things you didn't need to know.

1. I am not religious but I am superstitious. I am convinced that I jinxed the whole babymaking thing because I bought a baby outfit when we first started trying. I’m always looking for good or bad signs. I don’t wear my bad luck jeans anymore (I was wearing them when my November cycle was cancelled). I could go on…

2. I am way too competitive. And I’m a sore loser. That’s a bad combination.

3. I love buying skincare and beauty products but I don’t use them. I’m a complete sucker for anything that has a ‘gift with purchase’ and will end up buying cleansers, toners, mascaras, lipsticks, lotions etc. which then sit on a shelf. I basically stick to soap & water. Our bathroom is a mini drugstore of unused products.

4. I have a huge collection of shampoos and conditioners stolen from hotel rooms (mostly Aveda…I don’t bother with the cheap stuff). Hey, when they charge me $200 for a hotel room I expect to be able to keep the shampoo. All this gets added to the collection of skincare and beauty products. I'm a little like those old women who lived through wars and then end up hoarding packets of sugar in their old age.

5. I live walking distance from work. On most days this is great since I really don't like to drive. On the days that I walk past the methadone clinic (with its waiting lines of strung out addicts accompanied by pregnant teenage girlfriends) it’s not so great. And if I take the route that takes me past the Baby Gap it’s not so great either. On days that it’s raining, or really cold outside I could do without the walk. Other than that, I love it.

6. I had a high tolerance for pain. I’m always cutting or burning myself because I use my bare hands to flip bacon or reach into the oven. Four of the IVF retrievals I did were without general anesthetic and I was amazed when they put me under for this latest one (had a very nice nap).I get annoyed though when other people are babies about cuts, burns or bruises.

Veni, vidi, vici

Well, not exactly.
But we did make it to NY and now we are back.

How did it go? you ask.
Well...it was alright.
At one point it was very touch-and-go. About two weeks ago I received a call from the clinic saying they were going to cancel. There was no need for me to come to NY. My estrogen was too low. There was 1 lead follicle sucking up all the FSH. They suggested an IUI. But I only have 1 tube and 1 ovary, I protested, and they're on opposite sides.
In that case, the doctor said, IUI is not a good idea.
Thanks for that. That's why he gets paid the big bucks.
I decided to continue stims for another day.
And lo and behold the next day my estrogen had shot up and there were follicles.

We're off to the races, said the doc. And we were.

Despite having to change hotels twice, and enduring daily bloodwork and ultrasounds NY was fine. Of course everytime we stepped out the hotel we were assailed with pregnant bellies, beautiful moms with infants and toddlers. Even restaurants were packed with precocious five year olds expertly eating sushi or shumai and demanding san pellegrino NOT perrier.

We ate lots of great food and went shopping (yeah for the rising canadian dollar!). After the thousands spent on drugs & clinic fees it hardly mattered if we spent a little more.

We returned on Monday.
I am 21 cells heavier.
The embryos?
Ha! Notice how I used the plural? There was more that one. Amazing.
Well, the embryos were beautiful.
'Those' said the doctor 'are very very pretty embryos'.

We all know this. A pretty embryo does not a baby make.
But surely it's better than last time around when I was told 'Well, they're a little odd'.
Pretty: good
Odd: not good

So now we wait.
I'm already preparing myself for the same outcome. It's the only outcome I know.
I don't feel anything.
No twinges, no cramping, no 'heaviness' no spotting (is that implantation spotting business just a crock?). Nothing. My breasts were sore and now they're not. What does that mean?

By now the pretty embryos are either dead or nestling in.
Nothing more I can do at this point.
Fingers crossed. Wish me luck.

What crap

I usually don't comment on these things since I've come to expect a certain level of ignorance and malicious cruelty when it comes to commentary on IVF and DE.
But this time I have smoke pouring out of my ears.

The writer, a doctor, is commenting on the case of a sixty something british woman who is pregnant.
"DR R may well feel that the baby is her own, but the reality is that it was someone else’s egg that had been fertilised by her husband’s sperm, and later artificially implanted in her womb."

Oh...so she may feel that the baby is her own but really it's not. That's what he's saying. Ignorant bastard.