The Second Hurdle

Today was the second beta, the real test for us since I have never had a good second beta before. And the results?

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My levels more than doubled, which is more than we could have hoped for. I feel that this was a major milestone and I am ecstatic. Baby so far is doing well! I have a final beta on Tuesday and hopefully a first sonogram on Friday. My DH leaves for 6 weeks for officer training next Sunday, so we want for him to be able to see the first sono.

Another good day. We are thankful.

Hang On, Little Bean

After a whirlwind two weeks of holidays, in-laws, emotional turmoil, and road trips, I have wonderful news to report. I. Am. Pregnant. Yes, it's true. I know, I know - I can't believe it either. But, the bloodwork doesn't lie and yesterday I had a solid beta count of 460. I was quite happy with this, compared to my last beta of 6 after the 3rd IUI. The real test comes tomorrow when I have a repeat to see if it doubled. We are of course scared to get too excited at this point, but honestly it has just got to be our turn. Right? Surely this is our long-desired child.

Symptoms so far:

Huge swollen painful breasts, which have apparently drawn up some sort of treasure map in blue veins. DH is fascinated with them of course.

Morning lightheadedness and middle of the night nausea. No vomiting yet, but I'll be sure to report if that happens.

Struck down with the sleepy stick. ZZZZZZZZZzzzzzz........

I am convinced something is rotten in my refrigerator, and after having several people go in there to sniff around, have been told there is no smell whatsoever in there. Also almost gagged from the smell of DH's starched shirt the other day, and I have never noticed that smell before.

Light cramping and weird stretchy pains when I stand quickly, cough, sneeze, roll over, just about anything. This is freaking me out and making me think I'm dislodging the baby. Will ask nurse about it tomorrow.

So there you go. Four weeks and 4 days down, many many more to go. Mission in life is to keep this one growing and thriving.

The Eight Celled Wonder

Alot has happened this week, and of course new challenges were thrown our way. Things were going too well I suppose. On my daily visits to the stirrups, the doctors continued to rave over my gorgeous follicles, and my E2 levels rose nicely. We scheduled the egg retrieval for Monday, dreaming through rose colored glasses of 16 perfect eggs from my 16 follicles, and having our choice of perfect embryos to transfer with plenty left over to freeze. Ha! How naive of us.

Fast forward to the hazy demeral laced moments when I woke up in recovery. My husband was there, and I was aware of people coming and going. I also noticed one of those mauve kidney-shaped puke pans resting on my chest. Had I been throwing up while I was still out of it? And more importantly, if I were to throw up now, how am I supposed to ensure it goes into this tiny little container?

In comes the nurse, and in her very sweet and compassionate voice she tells my husband they only retrieved 4 eggs. Four. Out of 16 follicles. What the fuck? Cue the tears. I am beyond frustrated. How did this happen? The doctor comes in and repeats the news, adding that he was quite surprised with the outcome and basically has no answers as to how or why it happened. But he reminds us not to give up hope. There is still a chance with the 4 we got.

We go home. I puke. Sleep most of the day. Feel hopeless and pathetic. The next day does not go much better. I refuse to get out of my pajamas until I hear the fertilization report from the doctor, as I'm afraid he'll call if I get in the shower or dare to leave the house. He doesn't call until after 3 pm. Report: only 1 egg fertilized. We will have to wait and see how it does over the next 24 hours before deciding about transfer. Still, he has no answers as to what could have caused this, and in my mind I hear him saying the words "donor eggs" in a future conversation. I am crushed.

Wednesday brought better news. Our one embryo was thriving and looking great. Transfer would take place the next day. We're still in the game! Meanwhile I am in constant excruciating pain and am worried about OHSS. The nurse assures me what I'm feeling is probably normal and not to worry too much. Still, it hurts like a bitch and I was stupid and overdid things that day, only making it worse.

Thursday morning the embryologist comes to meet with us before the procedure and says our embryo is perfect. Eight tiny cells, great quality. Here - see for yourself.
Isn't that the most adorable ball of cells you've ever seen? I was thrilled when they gave me this picture. They also let us keep the petri dish, though I'm not quite sure what to do with it....

So, our one perfect little embryo has been safely returned to its rightful home, where hopefully it will nestle in for a long stay. The dreaded 2ww begins!

When We Need the Bull, We Need the Bull

My doctor visit went well today. I told him I am getting pretty uncomfortable; he said it's normal and that it's going to get worse. Yay. He then oohed and aahed over my glorious follicles, giving me that proud mother bear feeling I like so much. I have eight beautiful follies in there, growing on schedule, almost ready for picking. Two more nights of stims, and yet another dosage increase. I go back tomorrow, but we're hopefully looking at trigger on Friday and retrieval on Sunday. My husband has recently joined the Air National Guard (a whole other story that begins with him graduating from the Virginia Military Institute in 1999 and ends with him going away to officer training in Tennessee for 6 weeks in January and us being sent to Texas for 7 months any time after that for intel training - sigh.). Anyway, he has a drill in PA this weekend and is concerned about the timing of all of this. My doctor's response to his scheduling questions: "When we need the bull, we need the bull." This is possibly the funniest thing I've ever heard my doctor say, though I realize it indirectly refers to me as a cow. Now, as much as I feel like a bloated cow right now, I'd prefer if others didn't refer to me that way.

In other news, I am part of an IVF message board on BabyCenter.com, and I am pleased to say that every single woman on that board who has completed their IVF cycle this month is pregnant! It is the best run of good luck I've seen in a long time, and I am terrified that I will be the one to break the streak. It would be just like me. I am famous for having rotten luck, which makes times like this even more stressful. Medical science cannot always overcome such karma, so it is entirely possible that this will all fail simply because that is the kind of thing that happens to me. I know it sounds like I am being overly pessimisic, but seriously it is almost comical the way things work out sometimes. But I will take my chances. Things have to turn around sometime, right?

Life Goes On...and on...and on..Until Your Head Spins

It has been a long time since I've posted here. There is a lot that has happened and a lot yet to happen in the near future. Thanksgiving came and went without a morsel of turkey hitting my lips, though that was the least of my concerns that day. My father, my amazing, inspiring Daddy, lost his 31 year battle with multiple sclerosis on Friday, November 24. The day after Thanksgiving. When my dad was 27, the same age I am now, he was diagnosed with MS and was told he had roughly five years to live. He decided to live life to the fullest and never took a day for granted. My mom was pregnant with my sister at the time, and three years later they brought me into the world. Daddy was a true fighter, and he fought and he fought as long as his poor body could fight, outliving doctors' predictions by 25 years. He died a young man of 58 with his family by his bedside. We should all be so lucky as to go peacefully and quietly with those we love standing over us. It was one of the more poignant moments of my life and I will never forget it.

I am now trying to find meaning in my father's death and am truly hoping that he is up in heaven watching over me, and that he will help to send us a baby. I know that when we do have a baby my dad's spirit will shine in his or her eyes, and I can't wait for that day. So, as he would want me to, I am pressing on with the IVF, hoping to create new life where one was lost.

I am on day 7 of stims and hoping the egg retrieval will be very soon. The doctor increased my dosage of follistim from 50 to 125 last night and tonight, so hopefully tomorrow's ultrasound will show vast progression. I am getting impatient, not to mention uncomfortable. My stomach is full of red dots where I have been jabbed repeatedly every night, and my arms are back in heroin addict mode, with new track marks just about every day. I've always been told I have lovely skin because it is so fair and white. Not so pretty now when every stick leaves a fresh mark. Oh well. This isn't about beauty, right? Although, my RE did say yesterday that I have beautiful ovaries, and I'll have to say I've been feeling awfully smug ever since.

Anyway, as the Christmas season gets in full swing (yikes) I am feeling bittersweet. I am feeling such an overwhelming mix of sadness and grief and hope and love and admiration and, well, just plain exhaustion. As my daddy would do, I will power through.