Think (+) Positive

A New Begining

2010-09-20T08:00:00.000-07:00

This isn't really the end, just a transition.

Two and a half years ago, I started this blog to document what I thought would be the fairly short journey to starting our family, but I had no idea what I was in for.

We'd already been trying for a year, and had pretty much been ignored by every doctor we saw because we were healthy, we were young, and apparently sometimes it just takes longer for some people to get pregnant than others. But I always knew in my heart something was wrong, and we fought like crazy to find out what it was.

We spent the wide gap between the beginning of this blog and our present day affair learning to grow physically, mentally and-most importantly-spiritually. We've questioned God, searched for answers, suffered through two failed IUI's, received a diagnosis of male factor infertility, attempted three unsuccessful IVF's and experienced the crushing heartbreak of feeling absolutely lost and hopeless in our given situation, even knowing all along that God was in control.

And finally, in the midst of our fourth and final IVF, God answered our prayers.

It wasn't a simple feet, either. God chose to display his marvelous works throughout the course of our entire last cycle, dropping one miracle after another in our laps week after week, proving his sovereignty through negative home pregnancy tests, extremely low beta numbers, and an obsessive compulsive girl who just needed a little more faith.

And when we saw that heart beating away at a day short of eight weeks, we praised Him again for yet another miracle.

It wasn't always easy, and it's still difficult at times. We've struggled with the downpour of multiple failed cycles and are constantly finding it difficult to accept this gift as a reality while we continue to deal with the scars of infertility and the fear it brings. And being that it's still so early in the pregnancy, I'm daily fighting a never ending battle that can only be conquered through fervent prayer and increased faith as I wait on the Lord to bless and grow our precious little one.

Because this child does not belong to us, it belongs to God.

And as we push through this new journey, this new chapter of our lives, I've decided it's time to find a new place to document our growing family. Think (+) Positive has been an incredible outlet for me to share my thoughts and feelings while struggling with infertility, but I want to be able to start fresh, sharing the next several months freely without fear of saddening anyone who may still be struggling with their own battle of infertility.

However; though my body is now pregnant, my mind and heart are still very much infertile. For those of you still fighting, please know that I really do understand what your going through and I want to continue to support and encourage you, and this blog will stay open so that I can still come over and document my feelings about infertility and share the blessings God's so graciously given me.

Because what started off as a blog to document my attempt to grow my family quickly became my venting place, my support system, and my sanity. So when-God willing-our precious miracle is born, I'll come back. We've been blessed with two miraculous frozen embryos, so there is a FET in our future, along with the possibility of more IVF's if God provides and leads our hearts in that direction.

So for now, this isn't really goodbye, it's more of a transition. And now that we'll be less concerned with keeping this overwhelming journey a surprise from our closest friends and family within the next few weeks, we'll be making Think (+) Positive a public blog once again and I'll be sharing our new journey over at our newest soon to be public blog, Paper Airplanes.

I'd love for you to all join me as we praise God for finally growing our new little family in His perfect timing; but before I go, I want to leave you all with my long awaited acceptance speech.

Seriously.

I've been planning this for years. And after seeing nothing but negative pregnancy tests my whole life, finally being able to hold a positive pee stick in my hand feels an awful lot like I'm holding a massive trophy at a global event.

The only thing I'm missing is the ball gown.

So first and foremost, I'd like to thank my Heavenly Father for this precious miracle, and for the struggle of infertility that accompanied it. The second heart beating inside of me at this very moment wouldn't be nearly as precious to us had it come easily. We know that You alone are able to create new life, and You chose this broken road for us for reasons that we may never know, but what we do know from this journey is that You are merciful, faithful, and awesome.

You've made my dreams come true, this child belongs to You.

Next I'd like to thank my gorgeous husband, who without his generous donation of sperm and DNA, this wouldn't be possible. You've seen more mood swings than any man should, yet you love me unconditionally despite them. You've been my partner in crime, my best friend, my shot giver, cervical mucous analyzer and second line squinter. You've pushed your own personal needs aside to conform to our endless months of cycling, and I'll never forget the way you insisted on talking to my stomach the day you found out we were finally pregnant.

I pray this baby is as beautiful as you.

And my parental units, the main financial contributors to this precious child, the most expensive grandchild in the history of the world. It's because of you that we were able to use the medical intervention that God allowed to bring us our miracle, and we'll never be able to repay you for this priceless gift. Your love, support, and faithfulness in raising me up to know the Lord has kept me sane, I couldn't have done it without you. I pray that I can be half the parents you guys were to me.

I can't wait to share this baby with you.

To my never-even-met-before-blog-friends, they don't have the words in the English language to explain such an immense love for a group of women I've never seen in real life. You've been my prayer partners, my google, my venting crowd and a never ending support system that's forever accessible twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. I wish I could call you all out by name, but I'm afraid that wouldn't be appropriate given this will soon be a very public internet blog once again.

It's ridiculous how good you've been to me.

And finally, to Dr. Greene and his staff over at SIRM. God made this baby, but you were the tools. You put up with my continuous line of obsessive question emails regarding the newest infertility experiments, my ill-equipped body that acts like it has PCOS when mixed with Follistim but doesn't, and even catered to my insane requests for a freakish amount of betas and early ultrasounds.

You guys clearly wanted this baby as much as we did, and that means the world to me.

I hope I'm not forgetting anyone. We love you all, and we are so very thankful not only for this unspeakable gift, but also for the broken road that God orchestrated that led us straight to our miracle; the road that we were blessed to have been able to document and share with you all.

A road that we still haven't reached the end of yet.

So this isn't goodbye, it's simply a new beginning. A clean slate, a brand new start to a fresh chapter in our lives, one that we pray is filled with love and blessings as rich as the last.

And we can't wait to see what God has in store.

"What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from."

-T.S. Eliot

{7w6d}

2010-09-16T23:49:00.000-07:00

It was probably the most terrified I've ever been.

After marvelling at a full week free of spotting, worried only about the fact that I'm still not really experiencing any pregnancy symptoms, I was not so pleasantly surprised to see the brown discharge covering my pantyliner. However, if my body was going to choose this very moment to start spotting again, it couldn't have been a better time or place to do so.

I was in the bathroom at the R.E.'s office, waiting to go into my second sonogram to see if I was still growing a little miracle. Up until that point during the day, I'd been pretty calm. Spot free-and with no painful cramps-most likely meant that everything was going to be OK.

But then there was the spotting, which meant everything was all wrong.

As soon as I walked out of the restroom-before I could even share the bleak spotting news with my husband-we were ushered into the sterile ultrasound room and prepared for what would either be one of the most amazing moments of our life, or quite possibly the worst.

As Dr. Greene positioned me in the stirrups and prepared the machine, I couldn't breathe. I wasn't able wrap my mind around the fact that we were about to see a heartbeat in the next sixty seconds, and the anticipation was almost too much to handle, because at that very moment I was one hundred percent sure there was no longer life inside of me.

And then we saw it.

The tiny, flickering flutter of a heart.

And at that moment-for the first time-I knew I was pregnant. The beta blood tests, the positive home pregnancy tests, even the previous sonogram of the gestational sac and fetal pole; none of it seemed real. None of it was moving or breathing, it was all an illusion; just a memory.

A possibility.

Everyone assured me that hearing the heartbeat would make this child real; but for me, it was seeing the small, subtle movement that woke me up to reality. For the first time, I was staring at a screen that was showing me something alive; something that couldn't be printed out on a sheet of paper, couldn't be captured unless you were actually standing there, staring at that tiny little heart, beating away at 165 beats per minute.

What in the world did I ever do to deserve this.

After another quick scan around the lady parts, we were assured that everything was progressing just as it should and measuring right on schedule. We were on our way to a very healthy pregnancy, and our possibility of miscarriage had just dropped to less than ten percent. I was given the green light to stop all shots and medications, ween myself off the dexamethasone and schedule an appointment with my regular OB like a normal, pregnant girl should.

But as I listened to Dr. Greene's instructions and congratulations, all I could think about was the picture I had taken in my mind of the second heart beating in my body, the quick, steady thump and whoosh sound strumming like a soundtrack to an old film.

We aren't out of the woods yet, it's still very early and we have a ways to go. I'm nervous about stopping my medicine after all this time, and I'm horrified that being a normal, pregnant girl means I won't get to see my baby again for a whole month at the OB office. But I'll just keep reminding myself that God brought us this far, and He has no intentions of leaving us hanging here alone.

He'll take care of us.

All three of us.

And in the meantime, I'll keep replaying that image over and over in my head, the solid proof that miracles really do manifest. One of them is in fact developing inside of me right now; forming limbs and organs, loosing it's little tail and looking less like a reptile and more like a little person every day.

And from the moment this little one enters into this world, he or she will know how extraordinary they are, and how amazing their life story really is. I hope there's never a day that passes that I don't praise God and glorify Him for this miracle, so full of gratitude for the opportunity to grow an answered prayer.

And a second heartbeat.

Making the decision to have a child - it's momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking outside your body.

-Elizabeth Stone

{7w0d}

2010-09-10T10:33:00.000-07:00

They say seeing is believing.

And not being able to see is probably contributing to my unbelief. It's the oddest thing, knowing that there is life growing inside of you but not being able to feel it, touch it, or see it; I suppose that's what makes it so hard to believe that I'm seven weeks pregnant today. Maybe if I could have an ultrasound done every day, then my mind would begin to comprehend this tiny little being that's taking over my body once and for all.

I don't have any symptoms. I'm not nauseated, I don't have cravings, I can't feel my uterus growing and I haven't gained any weight. I don't have trouble sleeping at night, my bladder hasn't taken over my world and I don't smell things any stronger than usual. I'm not exhausted, plagued by heartburn, overemotional or even extra irritable.

But my chest sure has it's own agenda.

If it weren't for this last little detail, I really wouldn't believe the second line on the pregnancy test, or the picture of a tiny little sac and fetal pole that I carry around with me. I used to just assume the growth, tightness and fullness of my already too large chest was due to the progesterone shots, but lately the girls just feel different. It's a small symptom, I know, but at least it's something.

So naturally, I've become obsessed with it.

Having given up on checking for spotting every morning, I just grope, grab, and poke myself instead; only satisfied if my morning ritual is followed by an aching sensation. There was an episode last week when I woke up to a pain free chest and panicked at the thought of a miscarriage just because I wasn't feeling a thing; but to my relief, just a few hours later the ladies were swollen, full, and hurting once again.

Sounds desperate, I know, but it's really all I have to go by for now.

I could see how some girls would love this pregnancy induced side effect consisting of a growing chest and a fuller silhouette, but I'm having my doubts. Already a full D-sometimes DD-prior to pregnancy, I just can't see this ending well, especially after reading that the average woman will jump up two to three cup sizes during and after pregnancy.

Do they even make unmentionables that size?

I always thought that at this point, I'd have a scrapbook in full force. There would be a belly picture starting at four weeks and continuing every consecutive week, along with all of our organized beta numbers, ultrasound pictures, and receipts showing the date and time we purchased our first pregnancy test.

Instead, I'm sitting here at my desk grabbing my chest- just to make sure it still hurts-and wondering if it will be safe to start documenting in the form of belly shots after we hear the heartbeat next week, or if I should wait until that coveted twelve week mark before I get too serious.

Curious as to weather or not I should be thankful-or worried-that I'm not feeling any symptoms of pregnancy; preferable in the obvious form of puking my guts out, and contemplating the impossible size that my chest could very well swell to in an unnaturally short period of time.

I know that every pregnancy is different, and I should be thankful for the fact that I'm not hugging the toilet right now, despite the fact that google states that if my baby's heart really did begin to beat last week, I should be feeling sick.

Oh, google.

So instead of driving myself crazy with assumptions regarding the state of my uterus, I'm forcing myself to give this baby up to God on a daily basis. Every morning-after checking my chest of course-I lie in bed after snoozing my alarm and spend the next five minutes thanking God for the life growing inside of me, praising Him for our little miracle and promising Him once again that I know this baby doesn't belong to me, it belongs to Him.

I know He is orchestrating every little detail, from the amount of blood flow traveling to my uterus to the tiny hands and feet that are emerging from developing arms and legs this week-although babycenter says they look more like paddles at this point than the tiny, pudgy extremities I'm picturing in my head-and He's in complete control of every single step.

And although I'm doing my best to fuel my body with the nutrients it needs by obsessively becoming a flexitarian, only God can grow this child. He's blending the eye color, skin tone, hair and other countless details that will make up our child, and I just have to trust that He knows what He's doing, and be thankful that I'm able to experience this miracle at this very moment.

I'm still terrified that we won't see a heartbeat an next weeks appointment, and after several unprofessional cervical position checks seemed to indicate that my cervix is lowering, I'm frustrated at my constant inability to just let go and let God. But after almost four years of infertility, I've been severely traumatized, and I have to realize that while it's normal to feel fear at this stage, I just need to give it up at some point. I've waited way too long to get here to ruin everything by stressing about things that are out of my control.

So while I can't promise that I'll stop grabbing my chest randomly throughout the day, I just may have to take that first belly shot tonight, preferably after my flexitarian dinner so it looks like something is actually going on down there.

It's time to get this party started.

“Being happy doesn't mean that everything is perfect. It means that you've decided to look beyond the imperfections.”

-Author Unknown

{5w5d}

2010-09-01T22:51:00.000-07:00

Today, at five weeks and five days pregnant, I saw my baby.

As I sat on that paper covered cot, I couldn't keep my legs from shaking. I'd been here before, in this same room, with these same people, but it had always been to count follicles. We'd all smiled and pointed out the big black holes on the screen, documenting their rate of growth and dreaming about the future, wondering which ones would develop into healthy embryos that would become babies that I'd be holding in my arms someday.

But this time, everything was different.

After a miraculous cycle full of twist and turns, never ending surprises and heart stopping moments, I was finally looking at a single, misshapen black circle on the dark, grainy screen. And although the number of black blobs I was observing was much less then what I was used to seeing at the follicular monitoring appointments, my love for this one perfect little sac was more intense than I'd ever even felt for those countless precious follicles.

Because this was no longer a follicle holding the promise of a possible baby.

It was a developing baby.

At only five weeks and five days along it was deemed too early to worry about not being able to see the heartbeat, but we were thrilled to locate the gestational sac, yolk sac, and fetal pole that had collectively snuggled in and began to develop in the perfect uterine location. I'll never be able to explain the relief I felt at seeing the tiny little miracle that was growing inside of me, this precious little being that until this point was only visible as a second line on a pregnancy test.

But despite the intense joy that consumed me upon seeing this perfectly formed sac, I felt an unexpected surge of grief follow quickly behind. What about the other two beautiful embryos that we placed in this same spot a few weeks ago? Why am I only seeing one of them here today, where there should be three?

I realize it's normal to feel a sort of loss for the embryos that didn't survive, just all the ones before that were placed inside my womb yet never resulted in a pregnancy. I suppose I just thought it would be different this time, that my gratitude for the baby growing inside would be enough to erase the pain of the other lost embryos that will never become my children here on earth.

But it wasn't.

And in the half a millisecond that it took for these thoughts to collect in my head, we saw what can only be assumed to be a vanishing twin. Another precious sac, this time far too small and much to empty to be considered healthy and viable.

And suddenly my grief made sense as I realized that even with the ridiculously low beta numbers that we'd been given these past few weeks, I always felt in my heart that God had another miracle in store for us and we were going to have twins. I never told anyone of course, but the thought never left the back of my mind, a secret desire tucked away, waiting to emerge when the time was right.

Medically we'll never really know the truth, unless the mass continues to grow a bit and becomes more obvious for our next ultrasound, but it's more likely that my lining will envelope it and use it to grow the more developed sac instead.

I knew all along there were two miracles inside of me, thought I never spoke it out loud. And when the Dr. showed us that one perfect sac on the ultrasound, I still feel guilty as I remember my eyes wondering across the screen, searching for the second sac and fetal pole, unable to find it and contemplating why I wasn't just satisfied with the one we'd already located.

Right now, I'm pumped full of hormones. I'm pregnant, and extremely in love with our little one, but I'm still struggling with accepting it, because what I saw on the screen today became slightly more real to me, but also managed to break my heart. I was relieved to see development, but sad to see only one of them considered healthy. I was thrilled to see our baby, but scared because it's heart still isn't beating. Thankful for the almost guaranteed simplicity of carrying a single baby to term, but disappointed to miss out on the drama and excitement of multiples.

As an infertile, I'm still having trouble recognising that I'm pregnant. Rising betas, middle of the day positive pregnancy tests and declined spotting may never be enough to ease my mind after almost four years of battling with my body to reproduce. I feel like there's always another milestone to hit, always one more step to reach before I'm safe, and I won't be able to breath until I hear a fluttering heartbeat, because my my infertile past instills fear and holds me back from celebrating every completed step to the best of my ability.

I suppose this is something I will always struggle with, a pile of baggage I'll always carry around, fight with, and attempt to conquer.

But while infertility has managed to scar me, it's still not enough to completely strip me of the hope and joy that emerges when I place my hand on my stomach and know that there is life growing inside me, weather I can feel it or not. It's time to start practicing the faith and patience that God's been teaching me over the past few years, using it to calm my heart and continue to pray to Him for wisdom and guidance throughout this new journey.

I'm sad for our other baby that didn't make it-and the other embryos that have been lost over the last year-but I'm still amazed and in awe of God and how He's managed to create life in me despite this long, broken road. I'm growing more and more excited about the months ahead, and slowly allowing myself to open up to the realization that I could be holding my very own child in my arms next spring.

It's been a long three and a half years, and it still doesn't quite feel real.

But this time, it is.

"God blessed the broken road that led me straight to you."

-Rascal Flatts

{5w0d}

2010-08-27T12:30:00.000-07:00

And I thought getting pregnant was supposed to be the hardest part.

Today, the calender tells me I am five weeks pregnant. I've been waiting literally for years to get here, but now that we've been blessed with this crazy roller coaster of a pregnancy, I'm more anxious than ever.

I wake up every morning and grab my chest, just to see if it's sore. Some days it's more sensitive than others, but I'm never happy unless my touch is accompanied by a bruised-like sensation. Then I run to the bathroom, checking for any sort of spotting so I can categorized the color as dark yellow, brown, pink, red, or a mixture of them all, followed by a quick pregnancy test, and the realization that I sort of wish I was a boy.

Because my husband has no fear of colored bodily fluids.

And no uterus to over analyze.

On Wednesday, I woke up to a little pink spotting and some very tiny, almost invisible clots of red. They were so minuscule, I almost thought I'd imagined them, but I still emailed my nurse in a panic, requesting one more beta lab slip just in case. Understanding how I operate-and still feeling horrible about our second beta mix up I'm sure-she obliged and sent me our fourth and final beta request which I printed out and drove down to the lab to immediately fulfill.

314.

My beta's are still more than doubling. I know it's normal for most girls to spot a rainbow of colors during the first few weeks of pregnancy. And I understand that every little twinge I feel in my uterus, every morning I wake up and realize my chest is less sore than it was yesterday, and every time I see a tiny bit of pink in my underwear does not mean this pregnancy is necessarily over.

So why can't I just feel relief? Why am I more anxious today then I was last week when thought I had already experienced a chemical pregnancy? Why are high rising beta numbers not enough to ease my mind? Why do I feel the constant need to remind everyone who knows about this pregnancy that my betas are low and it may not last, as if I'm preparing them-and myself-for bad news?

Because I over analyze, and I know way too much. Because I've seen and heard more sad than happy stories from low beta numbers like mine, more than doubling or not. Because I know that spotting is never good, no matter the shade.

And because google is the devil.

No joke.

I'm incredibly frustrated with myself, because I know the real deal is that I'm experiencing a lack of faith. I'm ashamed to have had God show me so many amazing feet's in the past few months, yet I still question Him-and my situation-even when all signs are pointing to something worth celebrating. I almost feel like He'll end up punishing me for my unbelief in His ability to provide even more miracles instead of just trusting Him to have His way.

I do trust Him, I do know that God is powerful and omnipresent and capable of taking these low numbers and turning them into triplets. I know that He is watching over us and He has a great big plan for our lives. I know He can take this spotting, these low betas, and show the world His glory and power through this pregnancy.

But I also know that He may not choose to do that.

Fittingly, I'm reading through the book of Job right now, and I cringe as a follow the story of a faithful and righteous man who was robbed of his family, his riches, and his health yet still chose to follow the Lord and never once became angry with God or his situation. God allowed satan to utterly destroy Job's life, just to prove that Job would remain faithful; to show us all that it's possible to glorify God even in the worst of situations, leaving us no excuse to shake our fists at God when we get scared or angry.

I'm certainly not as faithful and righteous as Job was, but I can't help but compare myself to the possibility of his situation. No, God hasn't stripped me of my friends, family, earthly possessions or my health, but at times I feel so close to loosing the one thing I've wanted for years, and it terrifies me.

Although I haven't finished reading the chapter yet, I've read it before and I know how the story ends. After Job proves himself, continuing to praise God despite all he's endured, God restores all he had to start with, and then some.

I know that right now, I should spend more of my time praising God than worrying about what could happen with this pregnancy. I know I should be excited and hopeful, instead of leery and fearful. I should think freely about the possibility of holding a child in my arms this coming April, instead of the possibility of seeing nothing on our first ultra sound next Wednesday.

Right now my body is pregnant, but my head and heart still feel infertile, and it's a nasty place to be.

I understand that it's in my nature to worry, and that with low beta numbers that are still more than doubling-but slightly slowing down-coupled with random spotting, most girls in my situation would be feeling the very same things right now.

But I want more.

I want to celebrate and embrace this pregnancy. I want to wake up every morning and thank God for this gift, this enormous blessing, instead of fretting over symptoms and bodily secretions. I want to get crazy excited over a positive pregnancy test, instead of analyzing the darkness of the line or how fast it showed up as compared to the previous days test. I want to find that balance between being cautiously optimistic and ridiculously giddy, because we've waited so very long to get here.

I want to spend more time in prayer, and less time in fear.

Next Wednesday, I'll be five weeks and five days pregnant at our first ultra sound, and I'm anticipating seeing at least an appropriately sized gestational sac, yolk sac and a fetal pole at that time, since they should be visible between five and six weeks. By then, we'll know if this pregnancy is progressing as it should.

Some days are harder than others, and I've been told that it never really gets any easier. As the pregnancy progresses and each new milestone is crossed off, another rises and you hit a whole new level of anticipation. I also suspect this fear only increases once that precious child is birthed and placed in your arms, as your permanent responsibility for the rest of your life.

So I figure if I can't beat it, I may as well embrace it.

Today, I am a mother of a five week old fetus. My chest is sore to the touch, my beta levels are rising beautifully, my home pregnancy tests are turning positive for the first time in my life, and I've got more people praying for this tiny little blessing than I even know what to do with.

Last night, after our family pictures were over and everyone else had left, my husband and I stayed behind to capture a few shots of us holding our positive pregnancy test; which is something I've had my heart set on since two years ago. I already have a donated jogging stroller sitting in my garage, and I even know what brand of cloth diapers I want to use.

Despite my uncontrolled fear, it seems that God is right in the midst of making my dreams come true. It's way past time for me to bow out gracefully and let Him take it from here, trusting that He has this under control.

Because He certainly doesn't need my help.

Just my gratitude.

"Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today, and creates a vision for tomorrow."

-Author Unkown

One More Miracle

2010-08-23T20:05:00.000-07:00

God works in mysterious ways that I may never understand.

Wonderful, miraculous, unexplainable ways.

This morning, I woke up and decided it was time to clean up all of our IVF things. As I readied myself for work, I took the time to place our embryo pictures back in the drawer, shove the rest of the meds and needles into the closet, and even pulled out my thank you cards to send out to everyone who prayed fervently for us.

I spoke with God on the way to work, asking Him to continue to give us the grace and strength to move on, and to guide our next steps and give us wisdom as we continued on to our FET cycle. And as I sat at my desk a little while later, I began to make a list of all the questions I needed to convert into an email to send to Dr. Greene, seeking as many answers as possible to ease our mind about this chemical pregnancy and everything surrounding it.

Because that's the only way I know how to deal, OCD style.

But before I could transfer my sticky notepad full of scribbled words into a full email, my phone rang. It was SIRM, presumably calling me to set up a phone consult concerning the FET, and saving me the trouble of constructing an extremely long email that would probably have frustrated me anyway and brought up tears that still hadn't found their way out yet.

But my assumptions were wrong. The nurse wasn't calling me to set up a phone consult, she was calling to tell me that the lab had left a message on her phone explaining how they had messed up our second beta results on Saturday and were going to have to run them again, just in case.

And before I could stop it, hope crept in.

Then it faded just as quickly as it appeared as I realized I had already began spotting heavily, an I knew the original negative beta just had to be correct. Besides that, I was just mentally and physically exhausted, and had finally found peace with this chemical pregnancy. I was grateful to have been pregnant, thankful for the opportunity, but so incredibly ready to just move forward and see what God had in store for us next.

Little did I know that what God had in store for us next was yet another miracle.

37.

My beta was in fact not negative on Saturday, it had more than doubled-it had tripled-and then some. But as the excitement hit, so did the fear, born mostly from the realization that I'd been starving my body of the necessary hormones and medication that was so vital during this stage of and IVF pregnancy for the last forty-eight hours. Was my current spotting a result of a possible chemical pregnancy-again-or the result of a lack of PIO shots? I was in fact pregnant on Saturday, but was I sill pregnant today? And although thirty seven was a tripled number, wasn't it still low for a beta at fifteen days past ovulation?

I had to stop myself before I went crazy, and instead soak up the fact that God had shown favor on us, and was blessing us with this new possibility. And if this new life that was still growing in me on Saturday was in His will, there was no stopping it; the lack of medicine, major spotting, or any other obstacle would never get in the way of His plan coming to pass.

Within minutes I was faxed over another lab slip for a beta blood draw and had rushed over to the nearest LabCorp to end this madness once and for all. Then I had my father stop by my house to pick up my bag of meds that had been shoved in the closet, and had my mother come to give me a much needed PIO shot after I quickly applied estrogen patches, praying I hadn't done any damage to the unborn life that could very well still be growing inside of me.

And just a few short hours and a million prayers later, we were given our third beta number.

114.

I was told not to stress over the spotting, continue with my meds and wait for an email tomorrow that would schedule my first ultrasound. And even though it made me nervous, the nurse told me I also wouldn't be needing any more betas, the tripling numbers were enough for information for them.

It was all so surreal; like I was on the outside looking in. I suppose I'd feel the same way if someone told me that I had just won a million dollars after filling for bankruptcy. This morning, I was coping with a chemical pregnancy that I had finally come to accept, but this afternoon I was rejoicing for the blessing still growing inside of me.

And God had this planned all along.

He knew they would mess up my beta and give us the negative results when our real number had in fact tripled, and He knew we would be devastated. But maybe He was waiting to see how we'd react after receiving the news. Maybe it was all just a test that He was giving us, one to teach us even more patience and endurance to prepare us for difficult times that may lie ahead.

Either way, I wouldn't change a single second of the last forty-eight hours.

I hope that God continues to grow this life inside, and that our story will bring hope and peace to so many others out there that are struggling with infertility, loss, or any other trial and tribulation that life brings. We serve an awesome God who is capable of anything, and He's shown us today that He truly has no limits, He hears our prayers, He is faithful, merciful, and still just as capable of miracles today as He was over a thousand years ago.

We are still cautiously optimistic and will continue to be until we see a healthy heartbeat or two on that fuzzy black screen that has only brought us pictures of growing follicles and plump linings in the past, because we know that although we've experienced a true miracle today, God may not choose to allow this pregnancy to continue. He may have already proven Himself and shown us His power and glory, and it may not be in His will for this blessing to continue.

But no matter what happens, we will still praise Him, giving Him all the glory. Because it wasn't the acupuncture, the medicine, the yoga or the doctors that made this possible; they were merely tools He used to bring this to pass. God heard the prayers we've all been sending up for the last three and a half years, and He chose to answer them in His time, not ours.

And as always, His timing is perfect, His ways are perfect.

I can feel God working, and I suspect He hasn't shown us everything quite yet. I'm still trying to grasp the full effect of what has taken place here today, ashamed to be so amazed by what He's done for us when I knew He was capable of this all along. I feel humbled to be a part of this experience, and I'm so excited to start this new journey and to continue glorify Him for the many more miracles that He has in store for us and for this new life; waiting and watching for Him to continue to blow us away.

I'm so unworthy of this gift. So undeserving of this latest miracle. So in awe of God and how He continues to work in my life despite my stubborn, selfish ways, choosing to show His power and glory through my very own broken story in a way that can only be described as miraculous.

Thank you God, for this precious gift.

"I say to my child, I will explain to you as much of life as I can, but you must remember that there is a part of life for which you are the explanation."

-Robert Brault

{Beta Day, Part II}

2010-08-21T20:37:00.000-07:00

I waited on pins and needles for nine hours for good beta news.

Nine hours.

I kept telling myself to just relax, because I was pregnant. I could feel the tiny twinges and twitches of a growing uterus, and I was already lighting up with that healthy pregnancy glow. I was careful not to pick up anything weighing more than ten pounds for fear of putting my unborn child in danger, and I had finally brought out my collection of pregnancy clothes to stare at longingly until I was large enough to have to wear them.

They've been stuffed in the back of my closet for years; along with the pregnancy books, baby blankets, onsies and stuffed animals.

This entire cycle was an answer to prayers, this pregnancy was a miracle, and I just knew God was going to show us-and everyone else-great things through this little blessing. Because after two IUI's, four IVF's and a little over three and a half years, I was finally pregnant.

But then it was gone almost before it started.

I didn't know what to say when my nurse told me that she was calling with bad news, and I wanted to hang up the phone and make her call back when she had good news for me. I had almost forgotten how to receive bad news at this point, I was finally getting used to all of the good news for once, and I almost threw the phone down like it was a poisonous snake.

I asked what the number had dropped to, and she said it was already negative.

I didn't ask her out loud, but I couldn't help but wonder what this meant. Did I miscarry? Was this a chemical pregnancy? With a beta of eleven only thirteen days past ovulation, did that really count as a pregnancy?

I never even saw a positive pregnancy test; my numbers were never high enough to turn a second line pink.

It's almost as if it never really happened. If we wouldn't have had our blood drawn as early as we did, we would have never known we were pregnant at all. And it felt like someone was playing an awful, cruel joke on me, telling me I was pregnant and then taking it back less than two days later.

But I was pregnant, even if it was for a very short time. I really was. My beta of eleven was proof of that. Somewhere along the line, we were successful in attaining an embryo or two that God allowed to hatch and attach, snuggling into my uterus, and I was pregnant.

I have no idea what this means, and I have fifty-million questions to ask the doctor about when I get all of my thoughts in order; and of course I haven't forgotten that we still have two frozen embryos on ice and one more chance that we are so very grateful for. But I'm also scared because I know the odds of a frozen embryo transfer working are only about half of the odds of a fresh IVF cycle working, and we all know how well fresh IVF's have worked for us so far.

I also know the three best embryos were placed inside of me almost two weeks ago, so that-along with the realization that some embryos never make it through the thaw, let alone with out cell damage-makes me nervous as well.

But I'm trying my best to push these thoughts away and just move past this.

I know God has a plan, and He chose to give us these two embryos that were able to be frozen, so I know we have a chance. And I may never understand why our most perfect cycle and short lived pregnancy ended almost before it began, but I'm still praising God that we were able to get pregnant at all.

Even if it was only for a few days, it was still our miracle.

The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.

Job 1:21 (KJV)

Dear Heavenly Father,

Thank You for this cycle, and thank You for this pregnancy. Although our hearts are breaking right now, we still give You the glory, honor and praise for this miracle that was only with us for a short time.

Please continue to give us the grace and strength to move forward, and please bless the two precious embryos that You've allowed to survive and be frozen. Give us wisdom to look to You and do Your will, and please guide and direct us in the way that You'd have us to go.

Amen.

“The dream was always running ahead of me. To catch up, to live for a moment in unison with it, that was the miracle.”

-Anais Nin

{Beta Day}

2010-08-19T13:05:00.000-07:00

Beta days have never been easy around here.

It all started last night when I could no longer handle the anticipation, and begged my husband to take me to get a pregnancy test. He wasn't thrilled with the idea because he feels like what he refers to as are pee sticks are as close as it gets to the devil, but he knew better than to start an argument over it, so to the closest store we went.

Less than ten minutes later I was in the guest bathroom with my cup and test stick in hand, knowing this was definitely not a good idea. Especially since I had just urinated less than two hours prior, it was 10pm, and everyone knows first morning urine works the best.

I picked apart that test, staring and searching for any sign of a second line until well after the ten minute time limit had elapsed; after which I was finally able to turn the test sideways under the harsh florescent light and squint hard to locate a very faint pink line.

And after much convincing, my husband was able to see it too.

My heart was breaking, but I tried to hold out hope until the next morning, because I knew that would make for a more accurate-and much more conclusive-test. I tossed and turned all night, unable to fall into that much needed deep, REM sleep, instead drifting in and out of restlessness until my alarm set me free at 6:15am.

At which time I marched sleepy eyed back into the guest bathroom to pee in a cup for the second time in less than eight hours. And as I set the capped test back on the sink and watched the control line deepen, I tried my best to locate the faint pink line I thought I saw last night. And finally, well after the allotted ten minutes had again passed and I had prayed over the toilet that God would please just let me be pregnant, that faint, hardly visible line forced its way into my line of vision as I twisted, manipulated, and glared at the test.

I pulled out last nights test from the trash for the millionth time to compare the lines, and it didn't take me long to make a conclusion about the lack of a darker shade of pink. I felt like breaking down in tears, but I just couldn't.

Instead, I tossed both tests into the trash-this time out in front of our house to avoid repetitive, obsessive dig through for re looks-and proceeded to get dressed, put on my makeup, and get ready for the day. And as I waited for my 7am blood draw in the cold, hard chair, I texted the few people that knew about this cycle and shared my somber news.

Work was bearable until a sweet elderly lady that I had been working with for the past few weeks came in to drop off some samples to our showroom. After doing my best to make the usual small talk, she bid me a nice day and turned to leave, but stopped just before reaching the door. She slowly turned around and asked me if I had any children.

I fought back the tears as I told her I didn't, but I sure would love too.

She stared at me a little longer, then smiled and told me she'd pray for me as she drifted gracefully out the front door, leaving me sitting there in hot mess of complete shock and self pity. I barely reached for a Kleenex in time before I lost it, running to hide in the bathroom as the dam broke loose and I realized for the first time that I was really, really, disappointed that this cycle didn't work.

I just knew I'd be pregnant this time, and I couldn't grasp the fact that I indeed wasn't.

And after a short but necessary sob fest in the bathroom, I wiped my face, adjusted my hair and headed back out to my desk, already feeling so much better just for letting my pent up emotions run free, if even for a few seconds.

And then my phone rang, and it was SIRM.

My original plan of action was never to answer it, I would have much rather allowed the bad news to run straight through to voicemail. But something inside me told me that I could handle it, so I picked up the phone and assured her I was doing well when the nurse asked me how I was. Then I politely asked her in return how she was, and she let me know that she was also doing well.

Then she told me my beta was eleven.

I don't remember how long of a pause there was after that, but I know that a million thoughts were running around as I contemplated what this meant. It could have been two seconds, two minutes, or even two hours, but it felt like an eternity to me.

She was giving me my beta number.

Because I am pregnant.

It felt like someone had just quickly stitched up my broken heart, placed a band aid over the wound, and then riped it right back open again before I even had a chance to enjoy the mend. Almost like that pure moment of bliss as they lay that warm, soft wax onto your body that's quickly interrupted by by an excruciatingly painful rip of both flesh and hair.

I asked her if realistically a baby could come out of this, and she assured me that she has indeed seen babies from beta numbers this low before. And of course after scouring the Internet for most of today I feel like I may have done more damage than good, but the overall consensus is that as long as the beta rises, doubling every forty-eight to seventy-two hours, it doesn't matter what your starting number was.

We could be in the middle of an early miscarriage, or we could have a late implanter.

Right now, all that matters is that there is life growing inside of me. God has heard our prayers and He's answered them; though it may not be the way I would have planned it-Lord knows I would have loved a positive pregnancy test and a super high beta-but for the first time in my life I am truly pregnant.

I'm not going to lie, this is hard. It's devastating to be so close, but so far away at the same time. We are rejoicing in our hearts for this new life, but we are also apprehensive to celebrate our long awaited pregnancy for fear of loosing blessing is as quickly as we found it.

God has shown us so many miracles in the last few months, giving us far more than we ever asked for when we found out that after a wildly successful final cycle, we even had two of our embryos make it to freeze. There is no doubt in my mind that He is watching over us right now, longing for us to trust Him and continue to understand that this blessing was never really ours anyway, this life inside of me belongs to Him.

And despite the anxiety and nerves of the unknown, something tells me that this newest adventure will cause our faith to increase and show us once again that God is deserving of all the glory and the praise. And what could be more special, more miraculous, than an extremely low beta that turns into a beautiful gift nine months later? After all we've witnessed this past month, how could I not be excited to see what He has in store, how He will answer this next wave of cries from us and everyone else involved?

It encourages me to hold on tight and stick around for the ride.

And pray for one more miracle.

Thou art worthy, O Lord, to receive glory and honour and power: for thou hast created all things, and for thy pleasure they are and were created.

Revelation 4:11 (KJV)

Dear Lord,

Thank you for this new life, this tiny miracle, that you've created. We know it wasn't the doctors or any other modern medical marvel that led to this pregnancy Lord, but that Your hands alone fashioned this life and placed it exactly where it should be, when it should be.

I know You have a plan, God, and that everything happens for a reason. Please help me to glorify You, even in the midst of something this difficult, because I know that You are capable of growing this miracle and we praise You for that; weather You choose to do so or not.

But please Lord, we are asking that You do help this miracle grow, and allow us to bring a new life (or two) into this world and teach them to be a blessing to You. Thank you for all You've done, and all You are about to do,

Amen.

"Out of difficulties grow miracles."

-Jean De La Bruyere

{Day 30} Speechless

2010-08-12T20:05:00.000-07:00

I can't find the right words to say.

And I've tried, believe me.

I could go in to a lengthy story about how I woke up on retrieval day with an eerie calm. Tell you all about how I was more concerned with making it to the acupuncturist down in Sacramento in time than I was about my precious embryos and their development. About how natural it felt to walk into the doctors office and know that everything would be perfectly fine, even before I knew if we had any embryos left to transfer.

But the truth is, I can't find the words to put it all together.

Yesterday, my husband and I were in Dr. Greene's office being told that out of our fourteen little fighters, three of them had developed into beautifully expanded blasts. Our two rockstars were a grade two, and our overachiever had actually spent the last twenty four hours defying science by developing from a grade two to a grade one.

The recommendation by Dr. Greene, Dr. Sher, and their two personal embryologists was that we go ahead and transfer all three of our expanded blasts. Given our history of transferring beautiful blasts-although less than this quality-but never achieving a pregnancy made the decision fairly easy for everyone involved, although a triplet warning was still set in place.

We were then shown a chart of our remaining embryos, and Dr. Greene pointed out that four other beautiful, excellent looking embryos had reached the blast stage but had not yet expanded, so they would be watched for one more day. If they were still healthy and happened to expand within the next twenty four hours, they would be frozen. And of course if any of the remaining seven embryos happened to do the same, they would be frozen as well.

I'd been in this office a million times before. I'd been in that exact chair, holding the exact same floppy piece of paper with pictures of our embryos on it, grateful to have any make at all after our first cycle was cancelled for a reason we may never know.

But this time was different.

Besides our first cancelled cycle, we'd never sat in those chairs having been told to be anything less than hopeful. Ironically, Dr. Greene would always smile, pat my leg, and tell us to think positive, but I never really could. I was too nervous about the little details, about the less than stellar quality of the embryos, or about the rocky road that led us to them.

But sitting there, holding that grainy photo of my babies and being told that we'd most likely have some to freeze, I was overcome with a million emotions. I had no idea it was possible to feel so much love for a group of cells, so much gratitude for a situation, and so much awe for God and His miracles.

Less than fifteen minutes later I was laying on the cot, legs up in stirrups with my mom, mother-in-law, husband, two nurses, two doctors, and two embryologist all crammed into a tiny room to watch our three precious blasts transfer from a petri dish into my womb. I know most people would think it strange, but I couldn't imagine the beginning of our babies lives happening in a more loving way.

And after one more post transfer acupuncture session was complete, the four of us-and the triplets-headed back to the hotel where I rested while the mothers stocked up on magazines, Ben & Jerry's, and fiber gummy bears.

While resting in the car on the way home the next day, I realized that even if this cycle didn't result in a pregnancy and none of our remaining embryos made it to freeze, I would truly survive. Of course I'd be devastated and incredibly sad, but I would no longer look back and wonder what if.

This last cycle has been so full of undeserved blessings, moments of absolute bliss and countless miracles, erasing all doubt and obnoxious head questions in the form of, maybe it would have worked if only we'd done this, or I wish I would have tried that. Sitting there in the car at that very moment, I knew without a doubt that we'd done all we could, the doctors had done all they could, and all that was left was a strong feeling of peace and completion that I'd never felt before.

The rest was in God's hands, and I wouldn't want it any other way.

They say that when your a child of God, we never really know the right words to say. We can't ever really petition to God with the correct phrases, and we certainly don't know exactly how to give Him the glory that He's due. But the Bible also says that the Holly Spirit takes our groanings-our inner thoughts and feeble attempts to do so-and brings them to God in a way that properly praises Him. So even when we don't have the words to say, God sees our hearts.

That's how I felt at that very moment. Like I was thankful, but at a loss for words, unable to truly explain to God how much gratitude I had bubbling up inside. I wanted to come up with some beautiful prayer that praised Him and thanked him for my precious babies, but that also asked Him for His will to be done but for that will to be a child or two or three in my arms in less than nine months; but I couldn't get the right words out without sounding selfish and shallow.

In the midst of this realization, this peace, this utter and complete awe for everything that I'd been blessed with in the last four weeks, God decided to add to my speechlessness even more with a phone call from my nurse.

Telling us that we had two frozen embryos.

And everything changed.

This cycle was no longer it. Up until this point, everything had gone right, everything was perfect, and everything was a blessing; and that was a good thing because this was our last attempt at our biological child. But with the news of two frozen embryos, our world has changed; because even if this cycle doesn't result in a pregnancy, we still get one more try. And if this cycle does result in a pregnancy, we'll still get one more try.

This cycle is no longer our last try.

I don't know why I was surprised by that call. There's nothing God can't do, and history shows that embryos with more than six cells on day three, healthy expanded blasts on day five and frozen blasts on day six are mild in comparison to parting a red sea, turning water into wine and raising the dead. And although God doesn't necessarily manifest showy miracles like He did back in the day, He's still just as powerful.

And I don't know about you, but a perfect on paper expanded blast and two frozen embryos are miracles in my book any day. So much so that I think this is going to be the shortest week of waiting I've ever had to face. I know God can make me pregnant, but He may not choose to do so. Either way, after watching all He's performed in the last three weeks, the three little ones inside of me, and the two precious ones waiting for us in the future, are nothing short of miraculous.

And even for a girl of many words, it leaves me speechless.

Give unto the Lord the glory due unto his name; worship the Lord in the beauty of holiness.

Psalms 29:2 (KJV)

Heavenly Father,

I'll never find the right words to say to properly praise You. I pray that You'll see my heart and that You'll know how grateful I am for the many blessings You've given me-none of which I deserve-even though I'm unable to utter the words in a way that truly glorifies You for all You've done. I want to shout from the rooftops and tell the world every single miracle You've performed for us throughout this cycle, but I struggle with putting my awe into words that are worthy of You.

We know that without You, Lord, none of this would be possible. We know you are the father and creator of all life, and we give You alone all of the praise, the honor, and the glory for the wonderful works that You've done in our lives. Remind me daily of Your awesome power and never let me forget the blessings I've been given in this life, teaching me to praise You with adequate words even when I'm left speechless,

Amen.

“I asked God for strength that I might achieve. I was made weak that I might learn humbly to obey. I asked for health that I might do greater things. I was given infirmity that I might do better things. I asked for riches that I might be happy. I was given poverty that I might be wise. I asked for power that I might have the praise of men. I was given weakness that I might feel the need of God. I asked for all things that I might enjoy life. I was given life that I might enjoy all things. I got nothing that I asked for, but everything I hoped for. Almost despite myself, my unspoken prayers were answered. I am, among all men, most richly blessed.”

-C.S. Lewis

{Day 28} Practicing Patience

2010-08-10T12:08:00.000-07:00

SIRM was calling with my embryo report, but I couldn't answer it.

It was just after 10am and I was right in the middle of a meeting to finalize cabinetry for a clients new home, so it would have been more than inappropriate to excuse myself into another room for what would most likely be a lengthy conversation, possibly followed by tears.

I would just have to wait.

I tried my best to keep my mind off of the voicemail waiting for me on the cell phone tucked away in my desk drawer, but it wasn't easy. Because no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't clear my mind of the fact that I just let one of the most important phone calls of my life fade off to voicemail while I helped some clients view their new kitchen in 3D on my computer screen.

Embryos development trumps wood and stain color any day of the week.

The anxiety was almost overwhelming. The only thing I can think of to compare it to is when your playing hide and seek, and it's your turn to hide. You find the perfect spot, settle in, and then realize you have to go to the bathroom. And as you see the feet of your seeker coming toward you, you can hardly stand it any longer. It takes everything in you to hold still and await your fate, hoping they'll pass by and not hear your heart beating like a drum in your chest.

That, and getting pulled over by a cop, all at the same time.

But I managed to finish out the meeting just under two hours later, hardly containing my bundle of nerves as I pulled my cell phone out of my desk and grabbed the nearest pen and paper to document the results waiting on the voicemail.

And then another set of customers strolled in just seconds before my first appointment had shut their car doors, asking to take a look at an estimate I'd done for them last week on the computer to discuss a few changes.

About thirty minutes and at least ten deep breaths later, I had the front office all to myself. And before anyone else could walk in the door, I had my code typed in my phone and was listening to the voicemail with pen in hand, ready to write down the amount of embryos still alive, their cell counts, and their grades.

But instead of the usual report, I was given instructions to call my nurse back and we'd discuss the embryos and our transfer time, so I did.

But no one answered the phone at SIRM.

For two more hours.

And when they finally did, I was told that my nurse was unavailable at the moment but that she would return my call as soon as she could.

I spent the next few hours debating what the voicemail meant, listening to it several more times before I finally erased the darn thing out of fear of a mental breakdown. Was that pity I heard in her voice? Why wouldn't she just leave the information on my voicemail like she has in the past? Does she want to give me the bad news over the phone instead? But if it's such bad news, then why would she also be setting up my transfer time for Wednesday?

And after driving myself mad with unanswered questions for another hour or so, I called the office again, to make sure the secretary had passed along my message.

But no one answered the phone, again.

By that time, my work day was over. I figured the only way to ease my mind-and my severely bloated stomach-was to immediately locate some Sundried Tomato and Basil Wheat Thins and Garden Herb Cream Cheese. So I headed to the store and told myself that everything would be fine as long as I got my hands on as much sodium as possible, pronto.

And somewhere between the canned soup and taco sauce, my phone rang.

We have fourteen embryos still alive as of yesterday.

And eight of them have six cells or more.

I'm pretty sure that everyone in WINCO could care less about my embryos well being, because they were more concerned that I was blocking the isle and digging furiously in my purse to find a scrap piece of paper and a pen to write down the good news.

I was so enamored with the fact that all fourteen of our embryos were still alive and that two of them had eight cells, one had seven cells, and five had six cells-all grade two-that I actually told the nurse I didn't need the details on the other six embryos. I just kept blabbering to her that I'd never had more than six cells on day three, and that the middle grade of two was perfectly fine with me because I'd never had more than six cells on day three, and that I was so thrilled with this news because I'd never had more than six cells on day three.

I think all of WINCO was aware that I'd never had more than six cells on day three.

By the time I'd checked out and shared the good news with the few friends that know about this second secret cycle, my mind started over analyzing the situation, traveling back to the past and comparing this cycle to the three others.

Sure I'd had more eggs retrieved, more embryos fertilized, and more cells on day three, but I had no rockstar grade one embryos this time. Did that mean that none would make it to the coveted blast stage? Or that they would make it there, but continue to drop to the lowest grade three before reaching their destination?

It was ridiculous.

I quickly reminded myself that our news, our long awaited embryo report for our final cycle, was amazing. Wasn't our goal to retrieve more mature eggs? Wasn't it also to produce healthier embryos that held more cells on day three? Isn't that exactly where we were today? How could I be anything less than awestruck at this point?

I went to bed last night with a peaceful feeling, void of worry for our precious fourteen embryos. They are still alive, and they are thriving in culture, and God has blessed us beyond what we ever thought would be possible at this point.

Miracles have occurred, and hope has been restored.

And today, as we continue in this waiting game that never really ends, I received the news that the acupuncturist recommended by Dr. Greene is out on vacation and most likely even his associate won't be able to come to the office tomorrow and perform the pre and post transfer Paulus protocol on site that I've had my heart set on for the last few months.

It was that easy for my heart to sink again, and for my brain to become frazzled.

I know acupuncture is not what has brought on these miracles, and acupuncture will not be responsible for bringing us our babies. But today's events made me realize how frail my heart still is, and how desperate I am to make this perfect.

But it's not my job to make it perfect.

I'm still learning to give up control of this situation and let God handle the details. You'd think after all this time, and after all He's shown to us, I'd have learned my lesson, but I just haven't. I'm still struggling every day with trusting Him to take care of our every step, forcing myself out of the equation and instead attempting to sit back and just watch Him work.

So the waiting continues. I must wait for a call back from the acupuncturist office to find out if they can work with me. Wait for a phone call from my SIRM nurse to set up an exact time for transfer tomorrow. Wait to find out if my best friend's husband will be able to get us a room at the Sheridan at his crazy discount rate for a much needed vacation tomorrow night after the transfer. Wait until tomorrow to find out if we have any healthy blasts to transfer.

Then wait to find out if we are pregnant.

I don't think the waiting really ever ends.

So while I wait, I'll sit here at my desk and down an entire pint of Ben and Jerry's Oatmeal Cookie Chuck, enjoying the last day of eating ridiculous concoctions before they give me my babies back tomorrow and everything goes back to organic goodness. I'll trust that God knows what He's doing, and that He'll continue to bless us like crazy.

And I'll wait for it.

Therefore turn thou to they God: keep mercy and judgment, and wait on thy God continually.

Hosea 12:6 (KJV)

Dear Lord,

When everything around me feels like it's falling apart and wrecking havoc on my perfect plans, remind me to turn to You. I know You control every situation and hold the most amazing plan for our lives, I just need to wait for You to manifest it all into place while I do my best to wait as patiently as possible.

Teach me Your ways, hold my precious embryos in your hands, and bless everyone who has taken the time to pour their hearts out to You on our behalf,

Amen.

"As you put into practice the qualities of patience...you will have a better opinion of the world around you."
-Grenville Kleiser

{Day 26} Holding On

2010-08-08T13:29:00.000-07:00

It's been a crazy few days, but I'm still holding on.

I was woken up on Friday morning to several texts and missed phone calls from the few friends that actually know what's going on. These girls-most of which have never even met me in real life-were throwing out scripture, words of encouragement and prayers like it was no body's business. So while I was still a bit anxious for what was to come in the next few hours, my heart was too full of love and thanksgiving for the unbelievable support I was undeservedly receiving to be anything less than hopeful.

And as I started to get nervous while in the clinic bathroom, swapping out the perfect retrieval day outfit for my fourth over sized SIRM shirt, booties and cap, another quick out pour of texts to my girls delivered me several responses that once again calmed my heart.

I sat on the small cot, getting my blood pressure and temperature taken, when the newest IV nurse came in to do her thing. Having sat through this before, with three different nurses previously, my mind raced back to all the times they've said I've had beautiful veins, but because I'm not allowed to eat or drink anything for 10 hours prior to surgery, looks can be deceiving. I was relieved however when this nurse, with her bright orange lipstick, decided to torture a vein in my forearm instead of my hand. She tied the giant blue rubber band above my elbow, wiped me down with an alcohol swab, and marveled at the size and availability of my best vein.

Things were looking good.

But as she stuck me with what felt and looked like a much larger than normal needle that she called the "old school" method, nothing happened. She then proceeded to turn and twist the needle several times, attempting to hit my rolling vein that refused to cooperate.

She then broke the cardinal rule of blood draws when she admitted she was nervous, she'd been running late this morning, and she'd already downed two highly caffeinated monster drinks prior to sticking my arm with a large needle.

And just as I was about to scream desperately for help, she somehow managed to twist the needle in enough of an awkward position to bring on a fountain of blood that was meant to be controlled, but was instead spurting out of my arm and saturating everything in sight; turning my tiny cot into what looked like a murder scene.

And instead of trying to stop it, she just looked at me like it was my job to take care of this mess, exclaiming that I had a huge, healthy vein and she didn't have enough free hands to fix this.

It's a good thing I don't pass out when I see blood, especially when it's my own and it's all over the place.

Eventually, the nurse had completed her task and my IV was pouring a liquid diet of sodium, potassium, and other concoctions I can't pronounce into my blood stream as I waited to be wheeled into the room. And as my nurse continued to talk about her kids, her job, and everything else under the sun, my chest began to tighten and I began an extremely dramatic coughing fit.

My husband and I have had a chest cold for about a week now, but I'd never experienced anything like that before. I immediately thought that something in my IV was causing a reaction, but the nurse insisted that she was most likely the cause because she lived with several cats and I was probably allergic to cats.

So in between my painful coughing bursts, she continued her life story from a few feet back so that my cat allergies that I don't really have wouldn't be disturbed. In her defence, she was a very sweet lady and she's not the first nurse to bleed me out as they attempt my IV on retrieval day; it's actually a regular occurrence around these parts.

And she did say we were a beautiful couple several times, and flattery always fairs well with me when I'm in an unattractive outfit and a hair net while coughing my lungs out.

So with all of the drama going on in the back waiting room, I didn't have time to be nervous or over think our situation. And after a quick kiss goodbye for luck-as instructed by our nurse-I was sent into the tiny retrieval room and placed on the table, shifted around several times, and given a sleeping potion. I remember verbalizing that the walls were awfully pink in the room and arguing with the nurse when she referred to them as violet, because they were most definitely pastel pink, until my eyelids grew heavy and I drifted off.

I woke up alert as usual, and Dr. Greene was right there to let me know that we retrieved twenty six eggs. I remember giving him a high five, and asking how many were mature before he ran off to find out.

He came back with the news that we had fourteen M2's (mature eggs), six M1's (almost mature but not quite) and six that were no good.

Even in my loopy state of mind, I could comprehend that there was a possibility of up to twenty fertilizable eggs in that equation, and I was thrilled.

Never one to have a week fertilization report, I slept well that night, and was woken up to a phone call from my nurse then next morning. She informed us that out of the eighteen eggs mature enough to fertilize, every last one of them took.

100% fertilization.

However, two of them fertilized abnormally, and two more didn't survive. But we were left with fourteen perfect, precious, seemingly healthy and miraculous embryos growing in culture, and the most we've ever had before was eight.

But here's the problem. While I was amazed, full of awe and so very thankful for our fourteen embryo blessings, I was still slightly disappointed. Sad that we already lost four, and terrified of loosing more. These are already my babies, and while I know that God is holding them in His hands, I'm scared to death of the past repeating itself.

Tomorrow I'll get the call that in the past has brought us some bad news. Where they like to see embryos developed to at least six to eight cells by day three, we've never had more than a six celled embryo, and very few at that. And while a logical part of me is hoping and praying that our accusations a few days ago were correct and I've been producing over mature and less healthy eggs the past few cycles that very well could have led to our slow growing problems, I'm still scared that it will happen again.

I have no idea how my precious little ones are growing today. They won't look at them until tomorrow, for fear of disturbing an already unnatural process any more than necessary, but I'm trying to remain optimistic. This has been an amazing cycle full of countless blessings and numerous little miracles along the way, and I'm ashamed to be anything less than ecstatic at this point.

Because it wasn't the vitamins, the yoga, the diet or the acupuncture that gave us fourteen embryos this cycle. It wasn't coincidence that Dr. Sher was visiting and chose to stick around for our specific case, providing one more head to evaluate our every step. And it wasn't luck that every single one of our mature eggs fertilized.

It was God's plan.

And while I'm still very much aware that everything going perfectly this cycle certainly doesn't guarantee a pregnancy, I have to let go of my fear and understand that we have been amazingly, wonderfully, and miraculously blessed. No matter that this wasn't in my plan, that infertility has been a thorn in my flesh and that we are on our fourth and final cycle of the most evasive medical procedure imaginable after almost four years.

None of it matters.

All that matters right now is that we have fourteen of the most prayed for, loved, and desired embryos developing in culture, and even if this cycle doesn't result in a pregnancy, we've already been blessed beyond measure. We've seen the power of prayer, we've felt God's love, and we know He is faithful to continue the work He has began in us.

I've been told that God understands my fear, and that He accepts it. He knows I'm only human, and that not only am I pumped full of hormones and drugs that can have a major altering affect on my brain wave capacity, but that it's alright to be scared of what the future holds because those are my babies that are fighting for their lives in a petri dish right now.

As long as I hold onto a childlike faith. As long as I glorify Him for all He's done. And as long as I understand and believe that God is holding every single one of our precious embryos in His hands.

So as I wait and pray to hear tomorrows report and do my best to grasp desperatly at faith, I'll remember that my body is not my own. I am not my own. And these embryos do not belong to my husband and I; they belong to God. And if He allows them to flourish and develop inside of this vessel, I will still acknowledge that they are His, not mine. And if He allows them to be born onto this earth, to grow and experience life here with us, I'll still know that they never really belonged to me.

They always have been, and always will be, His.

Is any among you afflicted? Let him pray. Is any merry? Let him sing Psalms.
James 5:13 (KJV)

Dear Heavenly Father,

As I struggle with fear of the unknown, help me to glorify You instead, praising You for the miracles You've already performed. Give me that perfect balance between being afflicted and merry, pouring my heart out to You in prayer for our embryos, and thanking You for the miracle that they are at the same time.

God, I know these potential babies are not mine, and that they belong to You. You have your hand over them and are protecting them every step of the way as You implement Your plan. If it be your will, Lord, please allow them to develop into healthy blasts that can be transferred back inside of my body, and turn them into beautiful children that we can raise up to honor and glorify You.

And if it isn't Your will Lord, please prepare our hearts and strengthen our faith as we continue to look to You and Your plan for our lives as we wait on You,

Amen.

"When you come to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on."
Franklin D. Roosevelt

{Day 22} Overflowing

2010-08-04T15:12:00.000-07:00

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill) & Ciprofloxacin (500mg, oral pill): Still holding steady-surprisingly-at the weight I started at; though it does fluctuate a bit given the fact that I'm growing multiple follicles and am already building up fluid. So that, plus the introduction of another antibiotic today and two pints of Ben and Jerry's over the last six days will no doubt lead to a shift in the scale sooner or later.

Lupron (5units, subQ injection): Today was my last Lupron shot, Monday was my last Follistim and Luveris Shots, and I'm still amazed that I have yet to experience even one bruise.

It's a miracle.

So is that fact that it's already time to trigger and retrieve.

At our first monitoring appointment on Monday, I was thrilled to discover that Dr. Sher himself-the guru of all things IVF-was visiting the Sacramento clinic from their previous annual protocol meeting and had chosen to stay behind for a while longer, specifically to oversee our more difficult case. And after my permission was granted, Dr. Sher was ushered into the small room and joined our large group as we stared at the fuzzy black screen, counting and measuring little black holes.

He was impressed with my lining, thrilled with my stimulation results, and bursting with compliments on my various follicular sizes and the amount of them present.

And because he was thrilled, I was thrilled.

As I finished dressing and met them out in the hallway, I was sent into the nurses office and given the instructions to continue with my stimming meds for one more night, and to come back in the next day for what would most likely be my final monitoring ultrasound. Everything was growing beautifully and right on track, so the prediction was that my trigger shot would be given Tuesday night and Thursday would be the retrieval.

Then my nurse turned the follicular monitoring paper towards me so I could take a look. Having worked with me in the past, she knew I'd be anxious to write down the amount of follicles, including which sides they were on and how large they were for my own personal records. But I surprised both her and myself when I simply glanced over to see that my largest follicle was at 18, turned the sheet back to her and let her know that I wouldn't be needing a copy this time.

She just sort of stared at me like I was nuts.

And I probably was.

But who in the world needs any more assurance than two of the most prestigious doctors specifically studying her case telling her that everything is going wonderfully? I knew the last thing I needed to do at that moment was take home a copy of my follicular count and obsessively compare it to my last three cycles, assuredly creating a recipe for disaster.

Or at least a mental breakdown.

Neither one of which I was interested in achieving at the time.

So instead, I told myself over and over again that God was in control. He's shown us several times already that He has His hands in this cycle, never failing to amaze us with little miracles and blessings along the way. And if Dr. Sher and Dr. Greene thought everything was fine, then it was, and I needed to leave it alone.

But by the time I had dropped my husband off at his parents and made the drive back home to attend another acupuncture session and yoga class, I had already decided that taking a quick peek at my past cycles follicular monitoring sheets wouldn't be such a bad idea after all.

You know, just in case Dr. Sher and Dr. Greene had missed something.

And sure enough, after flipping through my old files, I found that on my first day of monitoring in the past, I have always had at least three follicles ranging from 18 to 21. More specifically, my very first cycle I had four of them above 18mm, and we triggered the next night.

That cycle was cancelled due to a lack of mature embryos.

So as I made the drive back to Sacramento the next morning-with my mother this time-I shared my concerns and practiced the argument I would hold with the doctors if they insisted on triggering me that night; ready and rearing to go for a debate if necessary.

But as we all crammed into the tiny monitoring room for the second time, my heart softened as both Dr. Greene and Dr. Sher delighted over my progress on the grainy black screen once again. I was calmed by their genuine excitement over the vast array of gorgeous follicles, and soothed by Dr. Greene's assurance that Dr. Sher had been around the block a time or two and was never one to pass out compliments often, so I truly was an impressive responder with a rockstar lining.

If I wasn't already lacking modesty for being half naked with my legs up in stirrups in a tiny room with a large group of people staring at my lady parts on a small computer screen, it may have been enough to make me blush.

Until I was told to get dressed and meet back in the office for the final verdict.

Because as I pulled my panties back on and collected my things, I caught a glimpse of my blue folder containing my last three cycles worth of monitoring sheets, and I was reminded that I came here today on a mission. It was my responsibility to make sure that everyone in that building remembered that I had been triggered too early a year ago, and it cost me everything.

Including my passive aggressive attitude.

I was ready to break out the big guns as the nurse sat me down and told me that I wouldn't be needing to inject any more Follistim or Luveris. And I was about to pull out my sheets and let her have it, but Dr. Greene showed up instead, smile on his face and excitement in his voice. He told me that we wouldn't be triggering quite yet, but that it would be best to stop feeding my follicles and let them have one more day to just grow a little bit on their own, instead.

And knowing I had at least one more day, even if it was without injections, was enough to settle the crazy person in me down.

Dr. Greene assured me that they have definitely been looking back at my past cycles, but the fact is that what we've done so far just hasn't worked. I very well may be one of the small handfuls of rare women that are extremely high responders, similar to patients with PCOS, but without actually having PCOS, because my hormone receptors are super sensitive. And in the past we've pushed harder and longer, retrieving slightly more mature eggs in the process, but the quality of our embryos just hasn't improved by doing so.

So there is a very real possibility that by pushing me longer, we were actually retrieving some overly mature eggs instead of healthy ones.

But that's all in theory, of course.

Part of me was thrilled to hear the Doctor's exude excitement and optimism about the subtle changes in protocol, and the results of those changes that were apparent in our follicular monitoring. In all reality, these Doctors have seen it all, and if they say that this is the best way to go about getting me pregnant, then I have no reason to argue with them, their walls full of diplomas, or their years of expertise.

But there is still another part of me-though it is a smaller part-that is scared to death of the past repeating itself. Worried that the Doctors aren't looking at the bigger picture and doing all they can to make this work. Terrified that Friday's retrieval will produce a low number of mature eggs and our chances of having a biological child will be over.

So long story short, I'm no longer numb.

I'm definitely feeling the tug of war inside of me, and I'm torn between amazement at how God has worked everything out perfectly so far, and paralyzing fear that something will go wrong at any second; feeling extremely grateful yet overcome with anxiety, and my emotions are overflowing; running over and spilling out all over the place.

But the most important thing for me to remember right now is that I am,without a doubt, blessed. And if I could simply calm my head and heart long enough to stop living in the past and really look at how lovely the view is from where I'm sitting right now, I would be able to appreciate and accept that more often.

God's timing is perfect. People are praying. Extra doctors are consulting. Follicles are growing. Lining is plumping. Patience is being learned. Emotions are overflowing.

And God knows what He's doing.

When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee.

Isaiah 43:2 (KJV)

Dear Heavenly Father,

As this cycle draws to an end, give me the grace I need to bring my fears to You instead of wallowing in the past and looking back instead of forward. Help me to trust the doctors and know that You are always in control, constantly leading and guiding them to make the right decisions on our behalf.

Remind me that no matter how crazy our circumstances get, You won't let the waters overflow me; I'm safe in Your arms,

Amen.

"Don't be afraid of showing your feelings; be afraid of regretting it when you didn't."
-Laura Springer

{Day 16} Finding Balance

2010-07-29T15:01:00.000-07:00

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): I'm done saying that I'm done with the scale. It's just one of those things that I have to accept about myself, because I'm always going to be curious about how much weight I gain while consuming large quantities of drugs.

Lupron (5units, subQ injection): Still no bruising; it's amazing.

I'm pretty sure I've broken a record.

Follistim (150units, subQ injection) & Luveris (50units, subQ injection): I'm officially a horrible documentor.

Just like everything else this cycle, I'm struggling to find the perfect balance between forcing myself to write a post even though I don't have time, and learning to let go of my obsessive perfectionism. But now more than ever, I want to be sure to keep up with this journalism process as the cycle progresses and the pace begins to elevate.

After considering our hectic schedules lately, my husband and I determined it would be for the best to administer these stim shots close to bedtime. So for documenting purposes, I'll always be a day behind, unless I choose to write these posts after 10:30pm, which we all know isn't going to happen.

Especially since I can barely manage to write a regular post-on time-during the day.

So for now, although I am perfectly capable of giving myself these shots, it's my husbands only true drug responsibility and I don't dare strip him of that position-and his manliness-just to simplify my life. So instead, I try my best to mask the pain I feel when his somewhat unsteady bear claw of a hand accidentally lifts up on the shot after it's stuck in me. Because despite the small amount of discomfort I feel, it's always worth it to see the proud look on his face after he completes his task of administering the ever important egg growing hormones.

And I'm thrilled to report that even after two full days worth of this new juice in my system, I'm feeling great. The lupron still causes a few headaches, but the insomnia has worn off and my energy has leveled off to a normal obsessive pace and I'm pretty much back to my old self; which I'm trying to take advantage of as the Follistim will soon make me look and feel three months pregnant.

In the meantime, I'm doing my best to keep up with my usual workout routine, while preparing myself for the possibility that mild to moderate lower abdominal pain and bloating may soon make it difficult to continue with all of the twisting and stretching that both Yoga and Centergy classes require.

Again, trying to find that balance.

I want to continue with my routines as much as possible, both to keep my stress levels down and keep my body feeling healthy. But in a few short days we'll be traveling back and forth to Sacramento for our follicle checks, and going to the gym every day but Sunday will no longer be an option. And being that we are only about a week away from a possible egg retrieval and just as close-hopefully-to a transfer, it's time to start cooling it down and learning to just set still for a while.

Not so easy for me, since go go go has been keeping me sane these past six months.

But it's not about me anymore. The yoga, acupuncture, vitamins, and attempt at a healthy lifestyle that I've administered for the last half of the year has all been leading up to this point, and now it's time to balance it all out. It's necessary for me to accept that I've done all I can at this point, and now I just have to set back and enjoy the ride, and watch how God chooses to bless all of the preparation that we've applied.

So tonight, I'll head to my hair appointment in attempt to look as good as I can before this process really begins, and then straight out to the gym for my Centergy class where I'll put my all into warrior squats and sun salutation combinations; because if these next few weeks bring us the blessings we've been praying so hard for, there will be no serious squatting or full fledged sun saluting for me in the next eight months.

Unless I can find an amazing pre-natal yoga instructor, that is.

For I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content. I know both how to be abased, and I know how to abound: everywhere and in all things I am instructed both to be full and to be hungry, both to abound and to suffer need. I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.
Phillippians 4:11-13 (KJV)

God,

Teach me balance, both in service to You and in dealing with infertility. Remind me that I can't always do it all, but through You, anything is possible. Calm my anxious heart, and give me the grace I need to be content with whatever comes my way,

Amen.

"Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance you must keep moving."

-Albert Einstein

{Day 13} Sharing The Love

2010-07-26T15:18:00.000-07:00

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): I know I claimed to have the willpower to stay off the scale, but it's just too much a part of my routine to completely disregard. So I still stepped, but more so for documentation than for the vain glory of watching the number drop to a more desirable outcome.

Organic green tea is attempting to replace Ben & Jerry's, and Doritos are no longer allowed in our home; so in implementing those two changes, I should be good to go even though the stim medication that begins tomorrow will begin to rob me of my comfort, causing a reduction in workouts.

Lupron (5units, subQ injection): These shots are still going smoothly. So smoothly, in fact, that I really have nothing quirky or quick witted to comment about; which may be part of the reason I skipped the last two days of documenting this glorious process.

I think it may be part of my my learning-to-let-go phase really, fighting to go with the flow and not against it. But it still drives me bananas that I didn't write a post on Saturday or Sunday, and it saddens the perfectionist in me that I won't be able to look back at a complete, day by day play book of how this cycle went down. I debated my options in my head over and over again, contemplating writing the posts late and still publishing them, but that just seemed so forced and it pretty much defeated the purpose.

And it was sort of nice to break out of my usual obsessive compulsive behaviour, to try my patience with myself in areas that I feel like I fail because I just can't keep up with. I still plan on documenting this process to the fullest of my ability, and as the next few days come into play it will definitely get more eventful, but for now it was nice to just have a break to stop and think, without having to come up with a post title or quote at the end.

And think, I did.

As I spoke with on of my favorite customers at work today about my infertility and how it's affected my life, I was reminded that everything happens for a reason. I know how often I repeat that God has a plan and He knows best, and that I truly am thankful for all infertility has taught me, but today I realized that my trials and tribulations are not always just my own.

Everything I go through-infertility related or otherwise-is an opportunity to share God's love with someone.

I often feel guilty for being a child of God, saved by His grace, yet seemingly unwilling to share the gospel with the world. Knowing that I should be out there, spreading the story of Jesus and how He died for us so that we wouldn't have to fear death and hell, but I've never been one to shout about it from the rooftops for fear of rejection, among other things.

But my story-my infertility-can be my witness.

I'm experiencing something difficult. Something frustrating, mentally and physically exhausting, and emotionally draining. But through this blog, and through the conversations with people that I encounter on a daily basis, I'm given an opportunity to share Christ by showing the love and strength that He gives, enabling me to make it though these trials.

I'm often complemented on how well I'm holding up, praised for how strong I am and told how amazing my attitude is; but the truth is that I'm not these things. I'm weak, imperfect, broken and-more often than not-faithless. But God is made perfect in my weakness, and I know that if I try my best to glorify Him in every situation, He is able to heal my infirmities and lead me right where I need to be.

I've always considered infertility as a blessing because it's helped change me, mold me and grow me into a better individual and a more competent future mother. But the truth is, I've always desired an answer to why I'm really here, experiencing infertility, unable to escape.

And I think I've found one of them.

Because even if this cycle doesn't result in the pregnancy I've wanted for so long now, God may simply have intentions to use me to help someone else.

Maybe God knew that I wouldn't be the most comfortable spreading the gospel in a more traditional form, but He knew that I'd be able to write a blog that would attract someone who needed to hear something He had laid on my heart. Or maybe He knew that I'd meet people every day on my job, individuals who would ask if I had any children, opening up doors for me to share my story and how I'm dealing with it by trusting in God to take care of me.

Everyone has something in their life that they have trouble dealing with. We all face trials and tribulations of a drastic nature, and I always find comfort in knowing that my situation could be worse. But these past few days have really put things into perspective for me, and I just feel like God really has something amazing planned for my life. Right now, I'm praying that I become a mother, and that my husband and I have the family we've waited so long for; but I have to accept that God my very well have other plans.

So in the meantime, while I'm stuck here on this bumpy road, I may as well glorify God and do my best to share His love with others while I still have the chance. Not everyone can empathise with infertility or even fully understand the depth of it, but if I can show someone-anyone-that God can give you what you need if you just trust Him, then maybe this journey will have been worth it in the end.

Whether I'm blessed with a baby, or not.

Because in the end, it's really not about me. My desire should be to tell others about Jesus, to strive to be like Him and to share Him and His love with the world. And without infertility, I may never have been able to do anything with my life that would have shown the example that infertility has given me the chance to display. And while I'm certainly not perfect, and most of the time I probably do more damage than good as a child of God, it's still an opportunity that I have to share Him with everyone that I come into contact with.

So now, among other things like desperately attempting to become impregnated, I'm on a mission to spread the love anyway I can. I'll think twice about being rude to the nurse who can't find my vein, have more patience with the doctor who won't email me back, and sympathize more for others going through physically demanding situations. And while I may not be good at walking around the mall and asking everyone I come in contact with if they have a personal relationship with Jesus, I'm still more than capable of using my story in attempt to come to the same end result.

And if He chooses to bless me with a child in the process, I'll make sure my pregnancy is used as another example of His miraculous grace; because pregnant or not, I am blessed.

And it's time to share the love.

And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses for Christ's sake: for when I am weak, then am I strong.
2 Corinthians 12:9-10 (KJV)

Dear Heavenly Father,

Just like Paul, You've given me a "thorn in the flesh", and just like Paul, I've asked for it to be removed over and over again. But just as You told him so long ago, I'm reminded in this verse that Your grace is enough for me, too.

I know You won't give me anything I can't handle, so please help me to learn to praise You in my infertility, and to be thankful that when I'm weak, You are strong. Give me the wisdom I need to share Your love with others through this trial, and the grace to allow You to work miracles in my life for the world to see,

Amen.

"You can complain because roses have thorns, or you can rejoice because thorns have roses."

-Ziggy

{Day 10} Surrender

2010-07-23T15:17:00.000-07:00

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): Stepped on the scale right before bed tonight, after consuming massive quantities of snacks, and found that I've suddenly become heavier despite the fact that I've upped my workouts to match the rise in my caloric intake.

So, for the sake of my own sanity, no more scale.

It's for the best, really.

Lupron (5units, subQ injection): Not the most perfect of injections this morning, but it was bound to happen eventually. After an unsuccessful attempt at stabbing myself on the right side failed miserably, I simply moved on to the left side, refusing to become frustrated and brought low by such an unimportant matter.

That seems to be the theme of this cycle so far.

In the past I've panicked over weight gain, obsessed about timing, and become frustrated to tears over the strangest, most unimportant details of an IVF cycle. Unable to control even the smallest portion of my body on so many different levels, my type A personality became frantic on a daily basis over issues that were out of my control.

And when my nurse sent my official packet in the mail just a few short weeks ago letting me know that our cycle would be pushed down one week due to some annual protocol reviews and a visit from Dr. Sher himself, I didn't freak out. I didn't panic over the schedule change, fret about the dates I'd be gone from work or worry about how I'd rearrange my white lies to cover the reasons for my absence from town during this final, secret cycle; opting instead to be thankful for one more week of vitamins, yoga, and preparation.

That's the moment I knew I was capable of remaining calm where I normally would pee my pants with anticipation and drama over something as slight as a schedule change.

And I was rewarded when-after the said annual protocol review-my nurse called to let me know that they had specifically talked about my husband and I in their meeting, and decided to make a few small changes to my dosages just to ensure we were received the best possible chance at developing the most healthy, mature eggs for this final cycle.

I was so very grateful; because without that delayed scheduling, that protocol change never would have taken place.

So when I woke up this morning in pain and instead of my expected period found a large, fleshy mass on the toilet paper, the controller in me still memorized the measurements of the said object but didn't run frantically for my cell phone to call my mother and ask what in the world just came out of my girl parts. Instead, I wrote a detailed email to my nurse and asked her if this was normal-a clot perhaps-and waited patiently for her to email me back.

And after a few hours had passed and still no email had returned about my mysterious and completely disgusting dilemma, I began to think about my missing E2 results as well. I considered calling up the clinic and asking someone-anyone-why I didn't have my Estrogen level yet, and was even a few moments away from looking up the number to LapCorp and investigating the matter on my own; especially since it's Friday and I didn't know if I could make it through the weekend without knowing the answer.

But before I could even reach the tool bar for Google, I decided to let it go.

This was my chance to exercises my faith, and to show God that I am indeed trying my best to give up taking control of matters on my own and that I am capable of waiting patiently for His timing, especially on matters this minuscule. You know, drop it like it's hot, learn to pick my battles. I knew the nurse had received my emails, I knew my E2 levels would be fine just as they always have been, and this was my chance to prove I'm capable of being something other than an obsessive compulsive control freak.

And just as I made up my mind to sit this one out, relinquishing all control out of my own hands and back into God's, the little mail box in the upper left corner of my screen popped out a tiny yellow envelope and shot up it's little red flag.

My heart immediately became full; I knew exactly who it was from.

My nurse's perfectly timed returned email let me know that while it's possible I could have passed a fibroid, most likely it was just my shed lining as my period begins. She offered to bring me down for an ultra sound just to make sure, but I opted instead to just check things out when I go in for my regularly scheduled follicular monitoring ultra sound in a little more than a week instead; because even the thought of finding something wrong growing in my uterus after a week of stims wasn't enough to phase me and my new found confidence if the nurse wasn't terribly concerned with it either.

And at the end of the comforting email, she included the answer to the other question I had struggled to patiently wait for, confirming that my E2 level was nice and low at 23, the best it's ever been.

Amazing.

I know these examples are seemingly insignificant, and it's not really some huge feat that I was able to practice a bit of patience in the light of such small things going wrong. But in my eyes, today was a fabulous example of how quickly God swoops in to care for us when we truly surrender to Him. I literally received an email with the answers I had been seeking just moments after calming my heart and taking my burdens to the creator of the universe in a simple, short prayer.

And I know that wasn't just a coincidence, either.

The issues will become more difficult to deal with as this cycle continues. Soon I'll be watching a fuzzy black screen and counting follicles, waiting for them to grow, wondering if they are mature enough and questioning the doctors ability to extract my precious follicles at just the right time to ensure I get the slew of mature eggs we've been praying for. And then I'll be waiting for the phone call letting us know how many of our precious eggs were fertilized, followed by how many are still growing and wondering if we'll have any strong enough to transfer five days later.

And of course there's the week after where I'll spend every second of every day over analyzing my symptoms, wondering if God chose to allow the life inside of me to implant and develop a beautiful strong heartbeat or two, or if He decided to bring them to live with Him in Heaven instead.

Yes, the waiting, practicing patience, and giving it up to God will all become close to unbearable as these next few weeks fly by, that's pretty much guaranteed. But I plan to hold on to today's events and do my best to remember that no matter how much I worry about a situation, I have no control over the outcome, and if I'm trusting in Him like I know I should, it will always make more sense to just let God work His miracles.

And learn to let go.

"Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin: And yet I say unto you, That even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. Wherefore, if God so clothe the grass of the field, which today is, and tomorrow is cast into the oven, shall He not much more clothe you, O ye of little faith?

Matthew 6:28-30 (KJV)

God,

I know that You are in control. You showed me today in a simple, quiet way that You are listening to my prayers and that You truly are the rewarder of them that diligently seek You. Thank You for always blessing me despite my constant lack of faith, and continue to draw me closer to You as this cycle progresses.

Continue to remind me that I have nothing to worry about, I can always rest assured that You will care for me. Teach me to surrender to Your will, constantly giving my burdens to You and trusting that You will supply my every need because I am even more precious to you than the lilies,

Amen.

"There is only one way to happiness and that is to cease worrying about things which are beyond the power of our will."

-Epictetus

{Day 9} Waiting

2010-07-22T15:16:00.000-07:00

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): I was doing so well.

Where most people drowned there worries in alcohol, I was drinking in massive quantities of baby friendly H2O. I've been keeping up with my workouts, taking my vitamins, even managing to to deflate a few pounds.

Until Ben and Jerry's with all of their dairy sinfulness came into the picture and joined forces with classic nacho cheese Doritos-courtesy of my husband-and in my weakness I downed at least two days worth of my caloric intake.

But tomorrow is a new day.

Lupron (5units, subQ injection): These little bee sting shots are still going smoothly; I'm currently bruise free and still waking up early without a hitch, despite my new physco productive night owl status.

It's glorious.

And amidst my usual filled daily work schedule I made my way over to get my E2 levels drawn, and the waiting began; because even though I made my blood draw my first stop this morning, the lab in town doesn't run that test STAT so I knew I most likely wouldn't get the results until tomorrow, which of course messes up my documenting process.

It's certainly not the most important number of this cycle, but it's the first one; thus marking the beginning of the next few weeks of waiting restlessly for phone calls that will either make or break my day.

And as we draw closer to the frantic schedule of multiple injections, traveling back and forth to out of town Dr. appointments, and the daunting task of hiding the fact that my abdomen is three times the size it should be as my body tries so desperately to produce ten times the amount of follicles it normally would, I'm suddenly reminded of how hard it is to simply wait.

So as I sit here now, waiting for my E2 results, the period that should have been here by now and a child or two to occupy my womb, I'll continually remind myself of yesterdays observance of God's perfect timing.

And try to practice patience as I hurry up and wait.

Wait on the Lord: be of good courage, and He shall strengthen thine heart: wait, I say, on the Lord.

Psalms 27:14 (KJV)

Lord,

You know my heart, all of my strengths and my many, many weaknesses. You've used infertility in attempt to teach me patience over the last several years, but we both know that I've failed those trials miserably. So I'm coming to You tonight, asking for the strength to trust in You again as the string of waiting games begin.

Thank you for this verse that reminds me that if I keep my eyes on You, my heart will be encouraged and my faith-and patience-will grow as I seek Your will and perfect timing in all areas of my life. Teach me to wait on You,

Amen.

"Learn the art of patience. Apply discipline to your thoughts when they become anxious over the outcome of a goal. Impatience breeds anxiety, fear, discouragement and failure. Patience creates confidence, decisiveness,and a rational outlook, which eventually leads to success."

-Brian Adams

{Day 8} Perfect Timing

2010-07-21T14:16:00.000-07:00

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): The insomnia threatened on the side of the pill bottle came out in full force last night, but it was sort of a blessing in disguise after yesterdays endless complaints about exhaustion.

Right around nine o' clock sharp I received an unexpected second wind. After showering and reorganizing the bathroom, I headed out to watch some mindless reality shows and eat the newest after dark indulgence as requested by my dexamethasone cravings, of a bowl-or two-of cereal. But instead of winding itself down amidst my normal bedtime routine, my body decided that sleep was an absurd and unnecessary waste of precious time.

I've never used recreational drugs before, but I'm pretty sure I was operating as though I was snorting crack cocaine in large quantities; or maybe even speed.

I'm not sure what the difference is, really, or if there even is one.

Anyhow, even after having to force myself to lay quiet and motionless at the ungodly hour of one in the morning, I woke up bright eyed and bushy tailed at six thirty on the dot. And believe me when I say that even after ten hours of sleep, bright eyed and bushy tailed are the last two adjectives I would use to describe myself on any given morning, so this was completely bizarre.

Bizarre, yet somehow productive.

Lupron (5units, subQ injection): Having teamed up with the tiny steroid pill, my lupron injection put me more on a high today then I've been in a long time. My sluggish movements and aching head were suddenly replaced with a frantically sleep deprived yet seemingly giddy individual, and I'm thinking that as always-just as I began to fall weakly under the pressures of my circumstances-God's grace and strength have been perfected again.

As I've taken the time to reflect back on this long journey, I've been amazed at His perfect timing over the last few days, months, even years. If I had my way, I never would have been infertile. I would have been pregnant just months after marriage with at least three children by now; and although that was always my dream, I'm finding myself thankful that God had other plans.

Without infertility, I wouldn't have been as grateful for the small yet brilliant things that fall into place all around me every day. I've been on my knees more in the last few years than I have been in my entire life, and God has made His presence known time and time again, weather I've chosen to recognize it or not. Without this thorn in the flesh, none of these much needed changes would have been possible.

I count myself blessed to be here, going through my fourth and final IVF. God's timing has always been nothing short of impeccable, and I'm filled with awestruck wonder at the way He is able to control even the smallest situations and place people and events right where they need to be in attempt to draw me closer to Him. And even when I'm in too much of a hurry to stop and recognize His hand in everything I do, He still sustains me and performs miracles on my behalf without ceasing.

And I feel strongly that this next cycle will be no exception, and He'll prove His sovereignty in ways my weary and medicated mind can't even begin to fathom; blessing me even more than He already has despite the circumstances.

And no matter the final outcome, His timing will be perfect.

He hath made every thing beautiful in His time...
Ecclesiastes 3:11 (KJV)

Heavenly Father,

Thank you for all of the many times that You've intervened on my behalf, right on time. And forgive me for not taking the time I should to give You the praise and glory for Your numerous daily miracles, both great and small.

Remind me always that Your timing is in absolute perfection. Your plan will always be far better than the one I've created on my own timetable, so give me the wisdom to understand that You most certainly can-and absolutely will-make all things beautiful, someday.

Amen.

“Time is too slow for those who wait, too swift for those who fear, too long for those who grieve, too short for those who rejoice, but for those who love, time is eternity.”
-Henry Van Dyke

{Day 7} Exhaustion

2010-07-20T15:47:00.000-07:00

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): It's been exactly one week of digesting these steroid pills, and even though some days are worse than others, I'm still feeling thankful to be taking them.

Lupron (5units, subQ injection): Another perfectly painless injection complete, and I'm enjoying the simplicity before we add several more into the mix next week.

As far as we can tell, my body does it's job fairly well in the reproductive department, so I've always been on the lowest dose of meds possible. But it never ceases to amaze me how strongly they still manage to affect me, both physically and mentally.

Only one week into my meds, and I'm already exhausted.

I normally wouldn't complain, because I'd much rather focus on the blessings and miracles that will transpire during this final cycle, but I also want to make sure that I'm being completely real and sharing as much as I can about how I'm coping with these changes. So as I begin to indulge in a bit of whimpering, rest assured that I'm still very much thankful for every step along this glorious path.

But I'm tired, my head is killing me, I can't stop eating, and I'm tired.

Did I mention I'm tired?

It's not so much of a desire to go to bed and never wake up tired, it's more of a feeling of being physically and mentally drained. I'm having trouble focusing at work, finding the energy to keep up with my daily list of things to do, and even making an effort to continue with my beloved yoga and synergy classes take some major self pep talks.

It's easy enough to get up in the morning, but as soon as the early afternoon hours roll in, the constant battle to kick my own butt into gear becomes a full fledged war.

My brain and my heart want to be superwoman and keep up with my old routines, but my body is aching for the hot bath that I know I can't have. My stomach has gone crazy, churning and wriggling inside of me; making me slightly nauseated yet insanely hungry at the same time. My inner "chi" wants to do set after set of sun salutations, down dogs and cobras, but my head aches and throbs for an extra strength Tylenol and a pillow instead. And of course my legs are begging me to let them jog, pleading to push and tone them a little bit harder while I still have the chance, but the one-hundred-plus-degree California weather outside threatens to join forces with my lupron hot flashes to officially kill me.

So there you have it. I haven't even started my stiming medications yet and I'm already a hot, cranky mess.

But I promise, I'm still thankful. Thankful that these changes mean my body is doing its job to prepare for a future pregnancy, and thankful that I have a massive support system to carry me through. Thankful that the majority of these ridiculously high cost meds that are driving me crazy were donated to me, and thankful that I'm healthy enough to be on such a low dose. Thankful that I'm blessed enough to even have the opportunity to be experiencing a fourth IVF cycle in the first place.

Tired, but thankful nonetheless.

Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.

Matthew 11:28 (KJV)

Dear Heavenly Father,

Thank you for the simple promise that when this world and all it holds exhausts me and wears me down, You are only a prayer away. Remind me to come to You daily with my physical, mental and spiritual burdens, always trusting You to lift each of those extremely heavy-and completely unnecessary-burdens from me, just as You've said You would; and keep me from engaging in a tug-of-war game just moments later, when in my weakness I decide that I'm strong enough to take care of them on my own again.

Please be patient with my inconsistency. and teach me to cast my cares upon You, drop them like it's hot and leave them there; because I know that's the only way I'll find true rest in You,

Amen.

"Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better."

-Samuel Beckett

{Day 6} Comprehending

2010-07-19T16:28:00.000-07:00

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): Today was a really great controlled eating day, especially since I administered my most recent anti-snacking plan that consists mostly of drowning myself in fluids to avoid a growling stomach.

I figure if I can manage to force myself to consume two times the amount of water necessary on a daily basis, my insides will be too full to devour everything in site, and I just may finally be able to show this little blue pill who's boss.

And become best friends with the bathroom, of course.

If this brilliant routine continues as planned, this may very well be the easiest-and cheapest-solution to the steroid induced hunger binge problem ever invented.

Lupron (5units, subQ injection): Given the fact that my sluggish, lazy behavior and throbbing headaches had been steadily increasing at night, I was happy to finally be able to cut my dose in half this morning.

Today is also my last day of birth control pills, probably for the rest of my life. Obviously I don't need them to prevent a pregnancy, but the doctor does like to make me take the tiny estrogen pills a few weeks before I cycle just to be sure that my lady parts cooperate and land on their specific clinical schedule, and to sort of calm down any mischief going on inside before they introduce more potent drugs into my system.

I'm just happy to have one less man made hormone wrecking havoc inside my body.

But just like I have to trust in the Lord and His plan for my life, I have to trust that my doctor is giving me exactly the right medicine at exactly the right time, even if I don't understand everything that entails. Because it's not really my job to comprehend everything anyway, and I'm starting to realize that calmness seems to follow when I let go of needing all the answers and allow myself to trust in the experts to guide me in the right direction.

Finally.

God thundereth marvellously with His voice; great things doeth He, which we cannot comprehend.

Job 37:5 (KJV)

Lord,

When things don't go according to my own plans, it's so easy to try to come to my own conclusions and complain along the way. I often find myself getting lost trying to pave my own trail, blocking out Your voice as I push forward hastily instead of looking at the bigger picture and trusting You, waiting patiently for Your will to unfold.

Remind me to listen for Your voice through the chaos of infertility. You are a mighty and powerful God, and I trust you to do great things in my life. Use this struggle to strengthen my faith in you, give me patience to wait on You, and wisdom to follow You so that I can fully accept the amazing plans you have in store for me,

Amen.

“Man must be disappointed with the lesser things of life before he can comprehend the full value of the greater.”

-Edward G. Bulwer-Lytton

{Day 5} Rejoicing

2010-07-18T20:36:00.000-07:00

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): I've tried my very best to stay away from the scale this cycle, knowing the mental and physical damage that small piece of scrap metal can bring, but I can't help but feel it mocking me every morning as I pass it by to start my day. So I stepped up this morning onto the cool, firm glass and waited for the black flashing digits to tell me the truth.

Is it really possible to gain five pounds in two days?

It sure is.

But I didn't panic, because as long as I'm doing my best to eat well and give my body the proper nutrients that it needs right now, the scale really isn't much of an issue. Besides, isn't the desired ending result of this madness to gain weight anyway?

There. Totally justified.

Lupron (10units, subQ injection): It cracks me up to think back to last year when I insisted that resting an ice pack on the injection site for at least five minutes before injecting this little guy was an absolute necessity. Now I just push and go, and the thought of being slowed down by a chilling attempt to numb my pooch in the early morning hours seems like a complete waste of precious sleeping time.

And while we're on the topic of numbness, I'm pretty sure that I'm still being blessed with a sense of peace and calm that I didn't have in my previous cycles. I still want a baby, I still get excited at the thought of this working and a little scared at the thought of it not, but mostly I'm just afraid of what will happen when the flood gates open and the emotions that I'm hoarding inside break loose.

Hopefully this will be our blessing cycle and we'll get the miracle we've always wanted, but there's always the possibility that it won't work and I'll experience that mental breakdown every one's been waiting for me to have.

Or maybe, if I have a little faith, I'll be fine either way.

I know I keep referring to this feeling as numbness, but there really is an even larger piece of my heart that just knows this is right. I'm confident that this is where I'm supposed to be at this exact moment, and have this strange, calming sensation that something really big is coming. And even though I can't be guaranteed a perfect cycle and happy ending, I'm thrilled to not be my usual obsessive compulsive self with a slew of backup plans and detailed lists, just in case.

This is our last try, and feel like I should be freaking out.

But I'm not.

And it feels amazing.

The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusted in Him, and I am helped: therefore my heart greatly rejoiceth; and with my song will I praise Him.

Psalm 28:7 (KJV)

Dear Lord,

I know that this cycle is just beginning, and that we'll soon be picking up speed where satan will do his best to use the stress of it all to break me down; but for now I just can't help but recognize how incredibly blessed I am to have amazing friends and family lifting me up in prayer, pouring there hearts out to You on our behalf. I believe those very same prayers are protecting me now, enveloping me in Your mercy and causing my heart to rejoice in Your perfect peace.

I truly am blessed.

As this cycle progresses and the darkness begins to outweigh the light, help me to trust You and Your perfect plan. Remind me that You are the source of my strength, and the only one able to shield me from satan's fiery attacks. Gently turn my heart back to You as many times as it takes for me to give You the praise and honor You so rightly deserve,

Amen.

“He who loves, flies, runs, and rejoices; he is free and nothing holds him back.”

-Henry Matisse

{Day 4} Holding Still

2010-07-17T20:35:00.000-07:00

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): Today, for the first time in my life, I experienced what I was told was heartburn.

I always imagined heartburn, well, burning.

Instead, I felt a steady pressure on my breastbone and a dull, aching sensation. It certainly wasn't pleasant, but it wasn't crippling, either. Just uncomfortable, and nothing a few Tums couldn't fix.

And since I've never felt it before, I'm blaming the little blue pill.

Lupron (10units, subQ injection): Just like this same time last year, we left town for the Invasion, a sort of state youth rally for our northern California churches. But unlike last year, I'm a week behind schedule, so I wasn't forced to give myself several stim injections while hiding in an industrial fridge during services, panicking when I thoroughly botched my first Luveris shot and had to call my doctor after hours.

But I did have to shoot up my lupron injection in the corner of the hotel room early in the morning before anyone realized what I was doing.

Not quite as exciting, but adventurous, nonetheless.

Be still, and know that I am God...

Psalms 46:10 (KJV)

Heavenly Father,

As the chaos of secret injections, traveling chronicles of IVF, and the craziness of new symptoms swarm around me in full force, I'm reminded by this verse that You are sovereign. While I can't seem to catch up, keep up, or even give it up, You are always constant, never changing, always steady.

Hold me still, Lord, and show me Your mercy when I need it the most,

Amen.

“To have a quiet mind is to possess one's mind wholly; to have a calm spirit is to possess one's self.”

-Hamilton Wright Mabie

{Day 3} Rediscovering Thankfulness

2010-07-16T10:45:00.000-07:00

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): It's amazing just a few days of this tiny little blue pill burrowing into my system can turn me into and eating machine.

And how suddenly-after several months of being frappachino free-all I can think about is that sugary poisen topped with whip cream and carmel drizzle.

Lupron (10units, subQ injection): Another almost perfect injection paired with a small bits and pieces of hope, excitement, worry, fear, anxiety, and a tiny bit of numbness made me thankful that my life is anything but boring.

I feel like I've been caught somewhere between ignoring the fact that we're on our final IVF-blocking out as many emotions as possible to ensure the safety of my damaged heart-and finding reasons to be thankful that I'm in the midst of this amazing miracle.

Despite our disappointment in finding ourselves so far gone into this mess of infertility, medical treatments and the possibility of never having our own biological family, I really am thankful for the opportunity given to me to be able to try, especially when there are so many others out there that don't have that same opportunity given to them.

It really makes my complaints about shots, steroid pills and cravings seem pointless.

Even if it is our fourth try, and I'm tired, broken hearted and somewhat permanently damaged by pieces of our past and the long, hard road we've been traveling on the way to our happy ending, I am still thankful. There's absolutely nothing wrong with feeling all of the emotions that come along with the added hormones and crazy pills being pumped into my body on a daily basis, but it's imperative that I remember that I have been given an amazing chance to glorify God and possibly even get the pregnancy I've always wanted at the same time.

And if that's not a blessing, I don't know what is.

Be careful for nothing; but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God.

Philippians 4:6 (KJV)

Dear Heavenly Father,

Thank you for allowing me to come freely to you with every need, every anxious request that I hold in my heart. You already know every single one of my deepest desires, but I know You take joy in me coming to You daily to share them with You so that You can calm my anxious heart and remind me that You are always available to listen if I'm only willing to come to You in prayer.

Thank You for never tiring of hearing my pleas, and for reminding me to not only come to You as often as necessary with my every worry, but to also take joy in the many blessings I've been given; coming to You in the very same desperate, pleading prayer with plenty of thanksgiving, too.

Amen.

“We are often slower to recognize blessings than evils.”

-Titus Livy

{Day 2} Finding Faith

2010-07-15T14:53:00.000-07:00

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): It may very well be a figment of my imagination, but I did indulge in a random case of snacking last night as I rummaged around my parents kitchen like some sort of rabid animal.

A handful of pretzels, a couple bites of peach ice cream, a few potato chips, one organic strawberry yogurt bar and three quarters of someones left over hamburger later, and I was finally able to talk some sense into myself.

Lupron (10units, subQ injection): Thrown off guard by the ease of yesterday's injection, I was little disappointed at the unsteadiness of my more than capable hand this morning. Still nothing to complain about-the needle swiftly broke the skin and left no sign of damage behind-but it was definitely enough to let a little discouragement sink in.

And then I panicked at the realization of emotion breaking through; which meant my numbness was disappearing more quickly than I'd previously anticipated.

But before I could shake it off completely, my husband started talking about how we would tell our families and friends the good news of our long awaited pregnancy. He dreamed up plans of a large BBQ-because that's what country boys think is necessary to have a good time-and even asked if he could be in charge of the ever-expanding guest list and all the glamorous specifics of the festivities, since I would be tired and nauseated from my pregnancy, of course.

And although I wanted to tell him it wasn't safe to start planing something yet, remind him that it's better not to get our hopes up and gently shatter his dreams of the perfect coming-out-of-the-pregnancy-closet-BBQ, I just gave in and granted him my permission.

And since I'm a type A personality by nature, I even began to form a mental picture right along with him, contemplating how long we would wait to announce our precious blessing, and what time of the year this massive BBQ would take place in. And before I knew it, thoughts of where we would have it, how we would decorate, and where we would come up with the money to put it into action took up at least an hour of our regularly scheduled bedtime conversations.

I still can't bring myself to do the math required to figure out the estimated due date of our miracle baby if this cycle happens to actually work, and I definitely will not take part in any sporadic baby purchases this time around. I realize I'm guilty of holding back in attempt at protecting what's left of my heart that hasn't been stained with infertility, but it doesn't mean I can't still live.

And it most certainly doesn't mean I can't pretend plan a BBQ, either.

And the apostles said unto the Lord, Increase our faith. And the Lord said, If ye had faith as a grain of mustard seed, ye might say unto this sycamine tree, Be thou plucked up by the root, and be thou planted in the sea; and it should obey you.

Luke 17:5-6 (KJV)

Dear Lord,

When things get hard, when I feel overwhelmed by the madness around me, remind me that with you, all things are possible. I can let down my guard because You are the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow; and the advice that was given so long ago to the apostles still stands true against the trials and tribulations that I face today.

Lord, increase my faith, especially when a mustard seed seems so much bigger than it really is.

Amen.

"The battles that count aren't the ones for gold medals. The struggles within yourself-the invisible, inevitable battles inside all of us-that's where it's at."

-Jesse Owens

{Day 1} Fighting Fear

2010-07-14T14:30:00.000-07:00

And so begins IVF, Part 4.

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): In the past, this has been my section to complain about the usual bloat and weight gain that accompanies any normal IVF cycle, but I'm going to try to keep that to a minimum this time around.

Although I wish I were just a few pounds lighter going into this cycle and possible pregnancy, I'm happy enough with my progress at the moment and I refuse to let this tiny pound-packing steroid pill crush my dreams.

Lupron (10units, subQ injection): As I stood in front of my bathroom mirror this morning-slightly freaking out at the realization that I forgot to order a sharps container and extra alcohol wipes-I was amazed at the numbness I felt about the actual debacle of epic proportions that lie ahead.

For our first IVF, I couldn't sleep the night before; I was much too excited to jump into the world of shots, ultrasounds and new life. For IVF #2, I was more confident, but still scared to death because of our previous failure. By IVF #3, I was a professional shooter; excited again by the swiftness and smooth sailing of the previous cycle, yet cautiously optimistic because of the negative ending result. But as I stood there at the starting line of our fourth and final IVF, wearing my mismatched pajamas and gazing sleepily at the tiny needle that defines the beginning of the end, I couldn't seem to feel much of anything in the emotions department.

And I was sort of...relieved. Not paralyzed by fear, giddy with excitement or even over thinking how I would document today's events for the world to see; just relieved to be numb, more concerned with what I was going to wear to work today then with the fact that it was time to embark on our fourth and final IVF.

And of course grateful for the current peace being had before the unstoppable dam of hormone laced emotions breaks loose and I have to spend my days fighting fear.

And as I stopped contemplating my odd state of mind long enough to slip that tiny bee sting needle into what's left of my always present stomach pooch, I was encouraged by the ease and painlessness at which it entered the first few layers of the epidermis.

And I felt a little bit of hope creep in.

And the Lord, He it is that doth go before thee: He will be with thee, He will not fail thee, neither forsake thee: fear not, neither be dismayed.
Deuteronomy 31:8 (KJV)

Dear Heavenly Father,

Thank you for your word; for the simple, yet powerful reminders you have hidden inside that let us know that you are always walking closest to us when we need you the most. Your promise in this encouraging verse wipes away absolutely any reason I've ever had to fear the future. Please help me to hide these words in my heart and bring them to my memory when I'm discouraged and afraid by the uncertainty of the next few weeks, because-although I'm feeling fairly calm right now-I have no doubts that the hormones being reintroduced to my body will wreck havoc on my peaceful state at any moment.

Thank you for your faithfulness, thank you for your promises, and thank you for removing all of my feeble excuses to be afraid,

Amen.

"In order to succeed, your desire for success should be greater than your fear of failure."

-Bill Cosby

Behind The Scenes

2010-06-25T14:45:00.000-07:00

And so begins the drama of our fourth and final IVF.

In preparation the big show, I've started working on a new layout to accompany my daily documenting of all things IVF, and not just because I've pretty much exhausted every title that has anything to do with the word "shot" or "shoot", either. I'm just going to take it day by day and spend this last cycle really examining every step, trying my best to find the beauty and miracles hiding behind every aspect of this glorious process.

And to get myself stage ready, acupuncture and vitamins have given me the energy to tackle what used to be the daunting task of yoga and jogging, and have helped me to come just a few pounds short of my goal weight. Granted I'm weighing myself early in the morning after emptying my bladder and stripping down naked, but numbers are numbers nonetheless. And while I'm aware that stressing over the number on the scale is anything but healthy, I've come to a place-as on obsessive compulsive individual-where there is very little in my life that I can control.

And so far, the scale is (the only) one of them.

As for hair and makeup, I needed to go for something big; something of epic porportions. So I broke every one of my self inflicted organic only rules and poisoned my scalp with hair dye to transform my twenty-seven year old sun kissed California blond locks into a vibrant, fiery auburn mane instead. It was a huge and unexpected variance from normalcy, but I love the bold, dramatic new color.

And as far as costumes go, I start birth control pills tomorrow, which means it's also time to sport the precious "twin pin" that my dear friend gave me. She donned the tiny little hand print- about the size of a 10 to 12 week old fetus-every single day of her third IVF cycle, throughout her pregnancy, and even on her hospital gown the day she delivered her precious little boy and girl twins. And as soon as those babies had safely entered this world, she surprised me by sending that pin in all the way from Minnesota to California for my own personal use during my fourth cycle.

Sort of as a good luck charm, though we both know luck had nothing to do with it conceiving her delicious twins, and God had everything to do with it.

Still, the sentimental value behind the tiny trinket and the precious memories of hope that she has invested in it makes me so honored to wear it myself as a reminder that I'm not alone. There are so many wonderful, beautiful people out there praying for me and cheering me on as we take the stage this one last time.

So from the outside, everything looks perfect. I'm healthy, happy, excited and ready to get this party started. My lines have all been rehearsed, roles have all been cast, and we're ready for production. But even though we've been preparing for opening night for at least five months now, behind the scenes shows a whole different story.

Behind that thick curtain-waiting to go onstage-I'm freaking out. I thought I'd be calmer then ever, because this time, it just has to work. There is no way that God would test me and let me go through so much fear, anxiety, pain, and suffering, and then not let my final try work. He just wouldn't do that to me, to my husband, to my entire family. Not when we've invested so much time praying, thinking positive, and trying our best to trust His perfect plan.

Would He?

I don't know His plan, I can't predict His will, and the fear of the unknown is overwhelming at times. I try to find comfort in practicing what I preach, in remaining positive and knowing that God has a perfect plan for us all that's bigger and better than we've ever imagined, but sometimes that truth is a far cry away from enough to snub the pain and fear of possible failure. I'm much to aware that the last five months of acupuncture, vitamins, yoga, weight loss, organic living and other insane preparations don't guarantee me the pregnancy I've been yearning for, years in the making.

But I guess that's where faith comes in.

I know better than anyone that God is good, He will provide, and He wouldn't have brought me this far if He didn't think I could handle it mentally, physically, and spiritually; but sometimes I'm just...so tired.

Tired of trying to look so perfect on the outside, while I'm falling apart on the inside.

I really am happy, I really am blessed, and about 90% of the time my outside reflects my inside. But there's still that 10% that questions why I'm here, why I have to go through this, and why God hasn't watched my heart break in a million pieces and chosen to intervene on my behalf yet. Why He hasn't given me what I want, when I know it would be so simple for Him to do so.

Actually, who am I kidding. It's more like 60%/40%.

But as I lay out my fears, concerns, and desires in the midst of this post, I remember why I'm here. And it's not only to get pregnant, to receive the long awaited title of a mother, and certainly not to always appear perfect on the outside.

It's to glorify Him.

However that may be.

For some reason He wants me here, broken on the inside, in this exact place. He specifically chose me to be on my fourth and final IVF with almost four full years of trying to have a baby under my belt, and He wants me to be still and know He's God. To listen for his still, small voice even when I feel like I'm drowning in the darkness of uncertainty and blinded by doubt. And to know that even if this cycle doesn't bring a baby-even if my dreams have all died-I will still praise Him with all my heart and I will survive.

He wants me to have faith.

And I've been through this before-three times, actually-so I know what to expect, and I know how to handle it. I've dealt with a canceled cycle, a perfect cycle with a negative result, and a not-so-perfect-cycle with a negative result. I've pretty much been through it all, and by the Grace of God I've survived and come out on the other side in one piece; and this time will be no different.

So it's time to roll my shoulders back and take on that strong mountain pose, the starting pose that begins all yoga goodness. God already knows how this cycle will end, and He knows the next steps, even if I can't see them yet. So instead of being fearful, tired, and brought low by fears of the unknown, I'll continue to set the stage and prepare my mind, heart and body for this last cycle.

Because I'm blessed to be here.

And if I acknowledge my fears instead of hiding them, if I can manage to confess them and give them back to God, then He will bless me and I will be able to walk through this performance knowing that the show will go on weather I receive a standing ovation at the end or not. I know deep down in my soul that I need to stop trying to control the future and just trust God to have His way because He is faithful, He is just, and He will provide.

Even if it's not the way I would have wanted in the end, it will all turn out perfectly because God isn't just sitting in the audience watching as we get ready to begin this cycle.

He's with us, behind the scenes.

"Even if the hopes you started out with are dashed, hope has to be maintained."

-Seamus Heaney

Backwards

2010-05-10T15:28:00.000-07:00

I know they say you should never look back, dwell on the past, or move in reverse.

But I think they're wrong.

It's been a little more than three months since my unplanned exit from the blogging world, and every day since then your kind words and continued prayers have amazed me. You have all been such a blessing, but now I realize that while the silence was much needed, it's time to break free from my over thinking and obsessive over analyzing and get back to the business of using my storms to glorify God the only way I know how.

Documenting my feelings, laying them all out completely exposed and then slowly, methodically working backwards to find the blessings in disguise.

Norbet Platt once said that "The act of putting pen to paper encourages pause for thought, this in turn makes us think more deeply about life, which helps us regain our equilibrium".

I need to find my equilibrium, that precious balance once again, so back to blogging I go.

But my new view on life and the good that can be found in looking backwards doesn't have to mean resurfacing the sad parts of the story of my life that's past; I'm just thinking back to times when life was simple. The days when nothing else in life mattered besides having Jesus in my heart, family to love, friends to lean on and plenty of hope for a beautiful future. Those were the days when life was easy, and I'm convinced it's necessary to get back there before I can officially move forward.

I'm pondering life back before three failed IVF attempts, and the realization that my slow growing eggs may very well be failing us despite their perfect-on-paper diagnosis. Times when a prenatal vitamin was enough, caffeine wasn't self diagnosed as a poison, and the future held no fear of a biologically childless family for my husband and I. Those days really aren't buried that far behind me, and I've spend the last few months trying desperately to dig them up and restore them in my mind.

And while completely erasing the past few years of ugliness that comes with trying to conceive isn't an option-or even my desire for that matter-I'm finding myself learning to become transparent to God, acknowledging the fears and emotions that I've tried so hard to sweep under the rug in attempt to pretend to myself-and everyone else-that I'm perfectly fine despite the circumstances, and bring them out into the open by confessing them to the only one who is able to wash them away.

It's a battle every day, but I finally feel myself starting to open up.

We have one more try at IVF before we have to move on, and some days I still fall apart under the pressure of left over scar tissue born from fear of failure, comparisons of other girls cycles, envy of their successful embryos, a lack of faith on my part and questions surrounding everything I've ever believed.

But what's most important is that underneath the debris of it all I'm finding a raw, clean slate full of new possibilities. As someone who used to be completely apposed to adoption as a way to start my family out of pure stubbornness and fear, I'm beginning to allow God to open up my mind to let go of all my past expectations and desiring to fill that void in my heart with whatever He's prepared to give me.

And while I'm still praying that His will is for us to have our own biological children through IVF or any other miracle, at least my heart is beginning to soften towards alternative possibilities, and I know that's a huge step in the right direction for me. Because it means I'm successfully stepping backwards to times when life was easy and I trusted God to take care of me, free of fear, selfish stubbornness and determination to have things my way and in my timing.

I think I'm finally realizing the difference between wanting God's will while hanging on for dear life to what I want for myself, and just wanting God's will, period.

Because there is a huge difference.

And it doesn't mean we have to dismiss the idea of doing everything we possibly can to prepare for our final cycle, either. It just means we know that God is the Creator of life, He alone holds the ability to allow me to become pregnant, and although it may not be in His will to do so, He most certainly can. And because of that possibility, I'll continue to do all I can to bring myself to Him as a clean vessel for this next IVF, mentally, spiritually, and physically.

That means life now consists of a crazy cocktail of yoga, vitamins, acupuncture, random contemplative thoughts on adoption, and a lot of looking backwards to find that lingering peace from better days. Yoga is doing wonders for my hectic mind, acupuncture is supposedly rotating my stagnant blood flow and increasing my Chi, and CoQ10 mixed with Pycnogenol is attempting to strengthening my lady parts and keep free radicals from damaging my slow growing eggs so that when we attempt our final try, we know we did all we could.

I still desperately want to be pregnant; to feel my belly grow with a child that is half mine and half my husbands, interconnected with our very own DNA and blood. But I also have a deep desire to be a mother, however God plans for that to happen, and I'm certain that God wouldn't let that desire burn in my heart unless He had intentions of fulfilling it.

Some days, life is perfect. I don't really mind the struggle that infertility has brought, because I know without a doubt that it's all for the best; especially given the decline in the economy, deaths in my extended family, my husbands recent job loss and countless other setbacks. I don't always feel envy when I see a pregnant belly or attend a baby shower, and it doesn't really bother me that another mothers day has passed me by, once again.

But some days are still hard. Because the secret to my success over infertility is that I've never once doubted that I'd become a mother someday, to my own, biological children-more specifically, four of them-and that doubt is finally starting to creep in as I come to terms with the fact that even the most evasive medical procedure possible hasn't helped us conceive after three attempts, and we are officially marching onward towards our forth and final try.

And it just doesn't make sense.

In my lacking faith, I want answers. I want to know why I manage to produce a bounty of beautiful follicles, yet they never yield a high number of mature eggs. Why the mature eggs we do have fertilize perfectly, yet are slow to develop and change into blasts. Why I'm not pregnant after all these years and all this medical intervention. Why God chose to make a girl who's wanted babies since she was a baby herself completely barren in the first place.

But I know that I may never have those answers. And honestly, it's probably for the best. Maybe God's wanting us to get our money's worth, and He's simply holding out for our last try to give us our miracle. Maybe He's preparing my heart for something larger that will come to play in the future, strengthening my faith and testing my patience. Maybe I've done something wrong and this is my punishment, or maybe I've done something right and this is a blessing.

Or maybe, just maybe, the world doesn't revolve around me.

So for now I'll just look back, and remember when life was simple, perfect, and easy. A time when I didn't have so many questions that I demanded answers for, because I had too much faith in God, too much trust in Him to worry so much about the details. Back when what I had was more than enough, and the mystery of the future was the most exciting part.

I appreciate your prayers, encouragement, and patience with me now more than ever. And with your continued support and a little more faith on my part, I'm hoping to find that perfect balance once again.

The one somewhere between looking back, and pushing forward.

"One's first step in wisdom is to question everything - and one's last is to come to terms with everything."

-Georg Christoph Lichtenberg

Finding The Silver Lining

2010-02-09T11:20:00.000-08:00

It's not always easy to do.

The day before our beta, I knew I would be working and didn't want to receive a call while in the office, so I hastily left my cell phone number in an email to my nurse and asked her to leave a message for me when the beta results came in. I spent the entire day dancing around the office, with my spirits high and my heart prepared for the best, but still hadn't received a message come early evening.

After I had left work and attempted to occupied my time with grocery shopping, my theory that no news is good news started to dwindle and I began to worry that something was wrong. I finally gave in and made the call to the office, where I got the receptionist because my nurse was in a meeting with another patient, but she did pass along the information that a message was indeed left earlier at the number that I had emailed her.

I thanked the receptionist and tried to calm my nerves as I hurriedly checked back at my email to see what number I had sent to the nurse.

Sure enough, it was off by one digit.

Unable to wait any longer, I frantically dialed the incorrect number I had given the nurse, and was answered by a sweet older gentleman. After I explained myself as quickly and sanely as possible, he assured me that he had indeed received a strange voicemail earlier in the afternoon, and put me on hold to find the details for what felt like an eternity.

Upon returning to the line, he repeated bits and pieces of the message that he'd heard, but didn't understand.

Your number was less than 1. I'm sorry, you can stop your suppositories...

And that's how my cycle ended, from the mouth of a complete stranger who had no idea how devastating his mysterious message could be on my fragile, broken heart.

It was a hard day, although the tears I shed were few and far between. I suppose I was in a state of denial, and still am to an extent. My husband pulled into the driveway just as I received the news, and he could tell the outcome of our cycle by the look on my face through the dirty, rain streaked windows.

We didn't talk much about it, but it was heavy in the air for the rest of the night. We picked at our dot cake, but neither of us had the heart to eat it all. We tried to make a pizza for dinner, but somehow managed to break the door lock which disabled the oven, so we headed over to my parents house to finish cooking it and attempt to break the silence that was clouding our heads and slowly suffocating us from the inside.

Being around family eased the pain, and we returned home late that night feeling almost normal again. As I crawled into bed I thanked the Lord for making the pain bearable, and asked him to give all of my babies a kiss goodnight for me.

I woke up in the middle of the night to my husbands shallow, uneven breathing, and a few sniffs that confirmed he wasn't taking the news as well as he had earlier. I felt somewhat emotionless as I held him and comforted him, wondering why I wasn't crying with him.

Why I couldn't let myself feel the pain just yet.

Since then, I've made my way slowly through to acceptance, as well as the usual roller coaster of emotions and questions. By nature I'm a planner, so I immediately did all that I could to help "fix" the situation. I threw away old drugs, hid the schedules, heating pads, and pictures of our precious embryos, started looking up acupuncturists and purchased DHEA vitamins. Bought some new workout shoes, rid the house of all sugars and white flour, and prepared a list of questions for the follow up appointment that will be scheduled soon.

But there was one burning question that I knew the Dr. couldn't answer.

If God really has no intentions of giving my husband and I our own biological children, then why in the world would He not have instilled in either of us the desire to adopt?

I don't believe for one second that God intends for us to be childless; the Bible is full of verses and bits of wisdom about family and the importance of children and what a blessing they are. But I've struggled for a while with the fact that so many couples-fertile and infertile alike-hold the desire by either one or both parties to adopt children. Yet for us, although we believe that adoption is an amazing and wonderful act of selflessness, it just isn't something that speaks to our hearts.

Now I could argue that this could be because we haven't opened our hearts to it, but I just don't think that's the case, especially after praying profusely about the matter. Both of us so badly want our own biological children, that there is a very real possibility that we could be pushing away the idea of adoption, looking at it as a sort of settlement for the failure of what our true desires are.

Or it could just be that settling for adoption would mean giving up, and I can't do that yet.

We still have one more try. I still have hope that God has something amazing in store for our lives. And while at times the possibility of the future can be so terrifying that I have to fight off a panic attack, the fear still isn't strong enough to stop me from moving on.

From finding that silver lining.

More often than not, this entire situation seems insane. Although our first cycle was canceled and in reality doesn't count as a full try, we've attempted IVF a total of three times so far with nothing to show for it besides some grainy black and white photos of some precious embryos that were too beautiful for this earth. It's still hard for me to believe that we've come this far, and even the most evasive medical procedures available to us in this day and age aren't able to produce a valid pregnancy for us.

A normal, healthy, young couple.

It just doesn't make sense.

But my silver lining in this dark, menacing cloud is that where medical miracles may fail, God never does. And although we have no idea what the future holds, we know who holds our hands. And although it may be strikingly painful right now, I know He is in control and He has a plan for us, one that we want to follow, no matter where it takes us, because we both trust fully in Him and we want what He wants.

I've found that it's near impossible to stay frustrated and depressed about this unwelcome situation when I believe this to be so true. It's almost as if focusing on God's promises, and knowing that with Him, anything is possible brings alive a part of me that is just too excited to be overcome with fear of the unknown.

It's like I'm caught in the midst of a horrible storm, but floating safely on a life raft. And even with no idea where I'll land or how long it will take me to get there, being on this raft is far better than drowning in a raging sea.

That, mixed with the countless prayers, support, love and encouragement from the few family members that know about this cycle and the community of women that I've never met but have grown to love, is what keeps my hope alive.

And that's my silver lining.

“Clouds may come, but clouds must go, and they all have a silver lining.

For behind each cloud you know, the sun, or moon, is shining.”

-Author Unknown

Waiting For Our Shot

2010-02-04T13:08:00.000-08:00

Monday, 2-1-10 (Day 34) 4dp6dt

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): Still taking them, still on the diet, albeit at a standstill in weight loss.

PIO (1ml, IM injection): Easy.

Progesterone (50mg suppositories): Just the usual; small amount of pinkish red discharge when I wake up, and a tiny bit throughout the day.

4dp6dt-At four days past my six day transfer, the implantation process should continue as my morulas bury deeper into my lining.

I'm experiencing some very dull cramping, and I just can't decide if that's something to be excited about or something to loathe. I know every pregnancy is so different, I just wish someone could respond-when I tell them that my back is aching and that's not normal for me-that I'm for sure pregnant for that reason alone.

But we all know it doesn't work that way, so I'll just try to ignore the twinges, cramps, and dull aches, and not look too far into them.

Because they could be growing babies.

But they could also be from my body preparing to start my period.

Tuesday, 2-2-10 (Day 35) 5dp6dt

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): Check.

PIO (1ml, IM injection): Because of earlier events, tonight's injection was hard to take.

Progesterone (50mg suppositories): Remember how I said that despite my morning and mid day spotting that was most likely related to these nasty suppositories, I would remain calm?

That all went out the window-or flushed down the toilet-today.

Amidst a busy day at work, I rushed to the bathroom late afternoon for a quick potty break and found that my pantyliner had completely soaked through with a pinkish red discharge. Not quite blood, but not quite not, either.

Just enough to assume that despite the insane amount of PIO I'm consuming, my body was still attempting to start my period. And even after contacting the nurse just to ease my mind, all I was left with was a nurse that was just as apprehensive and confused as I was. Oh, and instructions to continue all meds and keep her updated.

Fast forward to several neurotic trips to the bathroom later, and it's still there, along with a very light, dull cramping that I may not have noticed had I not been leaking pinkish red fluid like a stuck pig.

5dp6dt-At five days past my six day transfer, my morulas should be completely implanted into my lining, and have developed their placentas and fetal cells.

God, I trust you.

Wednesday, 2-3-10 (Day 36) 6dp6dt

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): It's day eleven of a twelve day diet, and after holding steady at an unideal weight for the past few days and feeling discouraged, this morning brought the loss of two more pounds.

PIO (1ml, IM injection): Check.

Progesterone (50mg suppositories): After the unwanted blood tinged discharge made it's major debut yesterday afternoon, I spend the rest of last night drinking water like a fish and praying for a miracle.

This morning, I didn't wake up to the usual pink and red tinted gunk that's haunted me the past few days, I simply found a dark yellow mess instead.

6dp6dt-At six days past my six day transfer, the placentas cells should begin to secret HCG into my blood.

Technically, I could have tested this morning like most girls would. But after yesterdays bleeding scare I much more prefer the blissful state of ignorance that I'm floating in as of late, and I can't bare to spend the money on a home pregnancy test anyway.

I'm slightly crampy, accompanied by a very dull back ache, and the constant flutter of nerves paired with a heartbeat that suggests I'm about to die.

Other than that, I'm good.

Thursday, 2-4-10 (Day 37) 7dp6dt

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): And I'm down one more pound on the last day of my diet, bringing the grand total of weight loss to seven pounds, which I'm very happy with. Tonight, I will make myself a dot cake with dot frosting and refrain from licking the spoon and the bowl, and come this time tomorrow I'll be eating that entire cake out of either sorrow, or pure bliss.

PIO (1ml, IM injection): It makes me sick to my stomach to think that this could be my last PIO shot. I'd much prefer to continue them for months to come, despite the pain, the bruising, and the hard lumps that have formed all over my behind.

Progesterone (50mg suppositories): I should have known yesterday was too good to be true.

I remember waking up sometime in the middle of the night to an extreme burning sensation where I knew my suppository was setting inside of me. I took it as a good sign, assuming that meant that my cervix was indeed being irritated and drifted off back to sleep.

I woke up again around four am and drug myself into the restroom, praying I wouldn't see red, so when I looked down and saw the pinkish discharge in such a small quantity in my underwear I was actually grateful.

Until I looked in the toilet and saw pink water.

And then at the toilet paper that was soaked with the color red.

I sat there for a few minutes longer, until I decided that it was best to go back to bed. I crawled in, curled into the fetal position and fell asleep as I fought back the tears and prayed over and over again that the morning would bring better news and less blood.

When I woke up this morning to get ready for work, I found a clean pantie liner but still experienced blood in the toilet and on the toilet paper. As the day had progressed, I've seen less and less on the toilet paper every time I use the restroom, but it's still there.

I'm not entirely convinced this is my period, because it just doesn't feel the same, so I'm praying that it's irritation, although my mind is telling me that just doesn't fit either. I know that spotting is normal after IVF, and even throughout the first trimester of a pregnancy.

But this isn't spotting. It's bleeding.

7dpt6dt-At seven days past my six day transfer, more HCG should be produced as my fetus(s) continue to develop.

And so begins the end to my oblivious state of purposed pregnancy. Come tomorrow, I will know the final outcome of this cycle, and the present state of my uterus.

For those of you who are curious as to how I'm holding up, I'd say I'm simply holding on right now. Following this weeks numerous bleeding scares, I'm just so torn. I know I serve a God that can make anything happen, so I'm wishing, hoping and praying continually that He will choose to bless us with a pregnancy despite the strange and disturbing pink and red discharge issues. I know I have a sensitive cervix, so the simple explanation of irritation causing the bleeding would make sense if it was a small amount, but it just seems like too much to be justified as irritation.

Meanwhile, my heart and mind are kicking themselves into survival mode. All I've ever known is negative results from any kind of infertility treatment you can possibly think of, so while I have faith, it's still so hard for me to wrap my head around seeing blood and picturing a positive result after tomorrows beta blood draw all in the same brain wave frequency.

I want to believe so badly that this is our time. I want to imagine myself receiving a phone call tomorrow that includes a super high beta number, a congratulations, squeals and happy tears. I want to know what it feels like-for the first time in my life-to truly be pregnant and know that inside of me is growing a child that is half mine, and half my husbands.

I want to look for baby cribs, diaper bags, walk into my own baby shower and decorate my own nursery. I want to see an ultra sound screen that holds a heart beat or two, instead of multiple follicles and a rock star lining.

I want so badly to be pregnant.

But I know that all the positive thinking in the world won't will that to happen, it has to be God's will, not my own. I want God to want me to be pregnant, I want Him to will me to be pregnant, I want Him to let me be pregnant.

All of the above, please.

I could just leave work, purchase a home pregnancy test, and bring all of this mindless waiting and billowing anticipation to an end here and now, but I just can't do it. Because if I take the test and it's positive, I'll be ecstatic, but still won't be able to believe it until the beta numbers come back nice and high. And if the test would come up stark white and negative, I'd still hold on to the hope that it's defective, because I'd fall into denial.

All signs point to wait until beta.

God, I trust you.

“If you spend your whole life waiting for the storm, you'll never enjoy the sunshine.”

-Morris West

We Still Have A Shot

2010-01-31T23:50:00.000-08:00

Friday, 1-29-10 (Day 31) 1dp6dt

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): Four pounds down, a lot more to go. But I'm starting to wonder if this change in diet is actually working, or if I'm just finally loosing some water weight from the retrieval.

Dostinex (.5mg, oral pill): Last one.

PIO (1ml, IM injection): Despite the pain, I hope I have to continue these for a very long time.

1dp6dt: Today, at one day past my six day transfer, the blastocysts should be hatching out of their shells.

As a sort of disclaimer, I should mention that the above information is actually used to describe what happens one day past a five day transfer instead of a six day transfer, but I'm still using this description because technically, my embryos reached the expanded blast stage a day later than normal, so there a little behind anyway.

Unlike last cycle I spent today at home, on the couch, doing absolutely nothing. I felt lazy and a bit spastic do to a lack of movement, but I'm taking advantage of the second half of my forty-eight hour rest to ensure I give these little ones all the time they need to settle into their new home.

The plan is to resume life as normal starting tomorrow, and trust that I've done all I can to rest my body in preparation of this pregnancy.

Pregnancy.

How weird is that? I keep forgetting that unless God has decided to take these little ones home to be with Him already, I really am pregnant.

Although I trust Him and His will for my life, I can't help but selfishly pray that He let's me keep them.

Saturday, 1-30-10 (Day 32) 2dp6dt

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): According to this Mayo Clinic diet, I should be dropping about half a pound every day, but I'm not budging.

Oh well, I'm pregnant, so it doesn't really matter anyway.

PIO (1ml, IM injection): I'm starting to enjoy my nighttime injections now that we're settling into a sort of routine. Every night I prepare my injection, shower and get comfortable, receive my injection, then relax on the couch with my heating pad for about an hour with my husband while watching mindless TV.

The whole process is actually pretty enjoyable.

Progesterone (50mg suppositories): :::sigh:::

I was supposed to start these awful, nasty, messy suppositories last night, but I completely forgot. So when I realized my mistake early this afternoon, I ran to the bedroom, inserted the oily, rocket shaped suppository, propped up my legs and read for about an hour.

But as soon as I stood up to jump in the shower, gravity pretty much pushed out everything I had worked so hard to put in, so I'm not sure how successful this endeavour really was.

2dp6dt: At two days past my six day transfer, the blastocysts should be attaching to a site on my uterine lining.

Sunday, 1-31-10 (Day 33) 3dp6dt

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): Since the diet itself doesn't seem to be working, I took our precious embryos for their first brisk walk today. It felt so nice to get out of the house and enjoy the sunshine that's finally made it's debut after weeks of rain, rain, and more rain.

PIO (1ml, IM injection): Tonight's injection was followed by a heating pad, a glass of diet root beer and the girls of Wisteria Lane.

Progesterone (50mg suppositories): Last cycle, I experienced some spotting that was linked to these suppositories, but it didn't begin until almost a week into taking them.

Yesterday, I experienced a small amount of light pink spotting, and today, I woke up to a few streaks of bright red blood.

I would love to panic, I really would, but I'm not going to.

Instead I wrote my nurse an email explaining our predicament, and I'll do my best to stay away from the message boards and google about this matter until I hear her take on it all. I'll also try not to worry that the brisk walking I did this afternoon very well may have interrupted the implanting process that my time chart tells me should be happened today.

The reality is that this same spotting happened last cycle, and even though I didn't believe it was the suppositories at the time, as soon as I received my negative beta and stopped taking them, the spotting stopped. So this time I have to trust that it's just the suppositories, nothing else.

And that my body is simply a freak of nature.

3dp6dt: At three days past my six day transfer, implantation should begin as the blastocysts begin to bury into my lining.

I feel like a plastic yo-yo, all wound up one second, and then released the next. My drama induced over analytical self is telling me to be realistic and keep my hopes low, because the embryos that we transferred were slow-growing, low-graded, and a day late.

But then there's a still sensible yet optimistic side of my heart that just can't forget the happenings of the past few days, and the reality is that weather this cycle results in a pregnancy or not, a miracle has already taken place.

When the clinic called with our day three embryo reports, I was sure this would end up being another canceled cycle all over again. I started to put away my paperwork, plan my schedule around no longer having to leave town for a transfer, and start thinking about the next cycle and what I'd do differently.

I even refused a PIO shot.

But despite my sullen attitude, God chose to grow two of our precious embryos and bring them to an expanded blast state even when it seemed impossible. He hand picked these two miracles, molding and shaping them into exactly what He wanted them to be, making a six day transfer possible even when it shouldn't have been, and that's a kind of hope I choose to hold on too.

These two miraculous embryos that I pray are still thriving inside of me were given the lowest grade possible, but after what God has done for us this past week, what does it really matter? How dare I limit God in saying that they probably won't stick around, or that they have any less of a chance of survival then two perfect grade one embryos would have?

So I'm trusting God and trying my best to keep a healthy balance, knowing that He can make a pregnancy out of this, but keeping in mind that He still may not choose to do so.

But He can.

"Lord, I don't know where all this is going,

or how it all works out,

lead me to peace that is past understanding,

a peace beyond all doubt."

-Anonymous

Transfer Day {Part II}

2010-01-28T23:54:00.000-08:00

Thursday, 1-28-10 (Day 30)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): Starbucks and I are good again, because I finally found something I can have that doesn't make me feel guilty one little bit.

A sugar free, caffeine free passion fruit ice tea.

Now only if they could make it organic.

Ciprofloxacin (500mg, oral pill): Last one.

Dostinex (.5mg, oral pill): Second to last one.

PIO (1ml, IM injection): Tonight, I gladly excepted this injection, so much so that I almost opted to get shot twice just to make up for the skipped shot last Tuesday.

Egg Transfer: After packing our bags and heading down to my in-laws late last night to be closer to the clinic for this mornings possible transfer, the sheer panic and fear of loosing our remaining embryos resulting in a canceled cycle began to slowly diminish.

God, I trust you.

The more I contemplated yesterdays events, complete with the surprising news of three struggling life's still growing in a petri dish, the more I began to find peace in remembering that God is in control.

I knew this all along, but I finally began to really trust it.

And as we woke up early to make the hour long drive to Sacramento, I still felt a slight pang anxiety every time I caught a glance at my phone, mentally willing it not to ring and bring us news that none of our babies made it through the night and our transfer was off.

God, I trust you.

As we arrived at the clinic and opened the doors, a rush of peace came over me. And then as we sat down in the waiting room and waited to hear our fate, Dr. Greene himself came out to greet us and assure us that we still had two beautiful expanded blasts ready to transfer; they would have called first thing this morning, but they didn't want me to see them on the caller ID, think the worst and fall into cardiac arrest, so they decided to wait until we arrived.

I love that they know me so well.

We were then taken into his office and shown the pictures of our precious little ones, and reassured that although they were graded at a three, that doesn't mean they are hopeless. It just means they wouldn't be freezable, because only the highest grades are frozen as they are the most capable of surviving the stressful freeze and thaw process, but they were still miraculous.

Slow growing and fragmented, but miraculous fighters nonetheless.

And as we watched the Dr. and his team place our babies inside of my uterus on the fuzzy black screen, the past few days flashed through my head, playing like an old black and white film that only I could see.

I watched the follicles dance on the ultrasound screen, and felt the disappointment of an unchanged response, followed by the pride of being told we should expect around fifteen good eggs. Then I was in the recovering room, upset and crazed by a low number of the five thought-to-be-mature-follicles, followed by the gratitude of finding that in fact nine had been mature. And then I was at my desk at work, receiving the call that eight had fertilized, but the majority of our embryos were low celled, low grade, and not showing appreciable change even after day four, followed by the sense of hope that came with knowing on day five that we may still have a chance at transfer.

God, I trust you.

And then I was back in the room, laying on the sterile table once again with my husband by my side, watching conception take place on a gritty screen and being told that as of right now, we're pregnant with two flashing white spheres.

The most beautiful flashing white blurs I've ever seen, ever.

And so begins the week long wait to see what God has in store for us. By this time next Friday, we'll know if He has chosen us to carry two of His littlest angels and raise them here on this earth, or if He's decided to take them back to His Heavenly home to join our other embryos that were just too beautiful for this earth.

God, I trust you.

"Sometimes when we're waiting for God to speak, He's waiting for us to listen."

-Martha Bolton

Embryo Growth Report {Part III}

2010-01-27T21:47:00.000-08:00

Sunday, 1-24-10 (Day 26)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): Operation get skinny is in full affect as of today.

Well, not get skinny, since I'd really rather get fat with child, but you know what I mean.

My husband and I started a quick fad diet today called the mayo clinic diet that consists of only twelve days of eating a combination of meat, vegetables, salads and grapefruit juice. I'm in no way a fan of quick fad diets, especially shady ones like this that seem to good to be true and involve no fruit, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

If done properly, the diet claims to give me the exact jump start I need by enabling me to loose approximately ten pounds in twelve days.

We'll see.

Ciprofloxacin (500mg, oral pill): Still just a big, expensive, nausiating white pill.

Dostinex (.5mg, oral pill): Other than the obnoxious consitipation that I've never experienced in previous cycles, this pill has done an amazing job of making me feel better after the retrieval.

PIO (1ml, IM injection): The heating pad is my best friend.

Monday, 1-25-10 (Day 27)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): Check.

Ciprofloxacin (500mg, oral pill): Check.

Dostinex (.5mg, oral pill): Check.

PIO (1ml, IM injection): Check.

Embryo Report (Day 3): I'm sorry for the above lack of whitty remarks on all of my pills and PIO injection, but I'm just not feeling up to trying to be funny today. I'm having a hard enough time just sitting here at work, trying to hold it together, pushing back the tears that are threatening to spill out at any minute.

Just a few minutes ago I recieved the call that out of the nine mature embryos, eight of them did in fact fertilize, and that's great news. But what's not so great is the grades and amount of cells that each of them hold. As of today, we have:

(1) 6-celled grade 3
(1) 5-celled grade 2
(1) 5-celled grade 3
(1) 4-celled grade 2
(3) 4-celled grade 3
(1) 2-celled grade 1

Keeping in mind that a grade of three is the worst grade possible, we realize that more than half of our embryos probably won't make it. And with at least 8-cells being ideal by day three, our highest graded embryo is only at 2-cells, which suggests that it may have arrested and is no longer growing.

Even though the embryologist doesn't like to disturb the embryos unless absolutely necessary, the lab will make a special exception for us since we live several hours away and check on them all tomorrow, letting us know if we have any quality embryos left for the transfer on Wednesday.

Our hope is that our 5-celled and 4-celled grade two embryos make it to the blast stage and don't lessen in quality while doing so. And if our little 2-celled grade one embryo would start to grow, that would be greatly appreciated.

I know God has a plan. I know with Him, all things are possible. I know I should remain optimistic and hopefull for a miracle, and greatful that I even have embryos growing at this point. I know that all things work together for good to those who love God, who are called according to His purpose.

But sometimes I just don't understand.

Tuesday, 1-26-10 (Day 28)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): After yesterday's not so good news of our slow growing embryo report, I threatened several times to kill our diet by making a delectable Betty Crocker Rainbow Chip cake with matching frosting, with full intentions of consuming the entire thing myself.

But I held strong and decided not to give in; at least not until drastic measures like the possibility of finding out our cycle is canceled come into play.

Because if that's the case, all bets-and diets-are off.

Ciprofloxacin (500mg, oral pill): Skipped it.

Dostinex (.5mg, oral pill): Took it.

But only because it helps me to heal, and has nothing to do with the transfer process.

PIO (1ml, IM injection): It's hard to take these massive injections when you're not sure if you still need them or not.

So I skipped it.

My husband tried his best to talk me into it, but there was no way I was letting him stick me with this long, thick needle tonight. And after he saw my face-and knew I was serious-he put away the PIO and left the matter alone.

Embryo report (Day 4): Sadly, today's news is hardly better than yesterdays. Currently, the embryos we have in culture have made what our embryologist has called "no appreciable change", which basically means they just aren't growing, although they haven't yet arrested.

Alas, we are scheduled for a six day transfer on Thursday, in hopes that one extra day in culture will give the embryos we have the time they need to reach the coveted blast stage.

And if they don't, our cycle will be canceled.

Again.

Wednesday, 1-27-10 (Day 29)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): Now on day four of our new diet and down a surprising four pounds, my theory that this little blue pill is the devil is proving to be wrong.

Ciprofloxacin (500mg, oral pill): Just a few more left.

Dostinex (.5mg, oral pill): Easy.

PIO (1ml, IM injection): For the first time ever, it took three attempts to make this shot happen, mostly due to the fact that I tried to be a tough girl and ditch the ice pack before the injection.

That won't be happening again.

Embryo Report (Day 5): Oh ye of little faith...

God must have spent the past few days looking down on me from up in Heaven, slowly shaking His head back and forth in disappointment, mumbling this famous biblical line while watching me struggle, loose faith, and almost give up.

Yet somehow, despite my lack of faith, He didn't give up on me.

After waiting on pins and needles all day, we received the call that three of our precious embryos were still growing, with two of them at the blast stage and one of them still fighting to grow but stuck at the stage just before becoming a blast.

They are all a grade three, but I don't care.

As long as our three remarkable, slow growing fighters hold on and make it through the night, pushing as hard as they can to become expanded blasts in the next twelve hours, our six day transfer is set for 9am tomorrow.

So with a humbling sense of amazement at God's faithfulness, mixed with a renewed faith and hope for what tomorrow may bring, I'll continue to pray for the development of our remaining embryo blessings.

And wonder why I ever doubted miracles in the first place.

"When you feel like giving up, remember why you held on for so long in the first place."

-Anonymous

Fertilization Report {Part III}

2010-01-23T21:30:00.000-08:00

Saturday, 1-23-10 (Day 25)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill):I know we've established that this pill probably isn't the sole reason for my infertility weight gain, but since we are down at my in-laws house I took advantage of the scale in one of their guest bathrooms.

The digital number I saw flash on the screen knocked the air out of me.

I'm aware that I'm fresh out of a surgery that left my insides swollen and full of fluid, but what I saw on that scale was beyond water weight. I've officially gone ten pounds beyond my I-will-never-weigh-that-much-again-weight, and although I knew I was feeling a little heavier than normal, I had no idea the extent to which I'd, well, blossomed.

Not good.

Ciprofloxacin (500mg, oral pill): Still making me nauseous, but obviously not enough to affect my appetite.

Dostinex (.5mg, oral pill): As I examined the label today, I saw a tiny yellow sticker in the upper right hand corner warning that this medication may cause drowsiness. I have been feeling extra drained lately, so I'm going to start taking it at night with my second Ciprofloxacin instead of in the morning with my Dexamethasone and hope that my energy picks back up.

PIO (1ml, IM injection): This time, I made sure my husband switched to the smaller needle before shooting.

So much better.

Fertilization Report: For some reason I wasn't as anxious as I remember being last cycle, waiting for the call to let us know how many of our eggs had fertilized and now become embryos. And since our retrieval wasn't until later in the afternoon yesterday, I thought it would be safe to jump in the shower this morning, unconcerned about missing a call I wasn't expecting until after twelve.

I enjoyed a long, hot shower and tried to relax my throbbing, swollen ovaries with steam and organic bath products. And when I was done, I took my time with my usual lotion and hair product routine, wanting to look good for the long awaited phone call about my babies. And then, as I stepped out of the bathroom and over to the bed to get dressed, I glanced at my cell phone sitting on the dresser and caught sight of the missed call from SIRM.

And my heart stopped beating.

My fingers felt thick and clumsy as I typed in my pass code to listen to the voicemail, and it took three times to get it right. As soon as I hear the nurse's voice on the line, I immediately analyzed her tone in anticipation of what was to come.

Nurse: Good morning Tabitha, I was just calling with your fertilization report...

Me: Oh, I'm going to throw up.

Nurse: I don't normally like to leave this news in a voicemail, but...

Me: That doesn't sound good, here we go.

Nurse: From what Dirk saw this morning, it looks like we have nine m2's...

Me: Wait, what does that mean? WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?

Nurse: And three M1's...

Me: (Freaking out)

Nurse: With five GV's and one abnormal one...

Me: What is a GV? And why is one retarded?

Nurse: And out of the nine mature eggs...

Me: Nine mature? Not twelve, but better than five...and how many fertilized? HOW MANY FERTILIZED?!?

Nurse: Seven have fertilized normally

Me: Okay, seven is good.

Nurse: And the other two are still being watched for fertilization, they just may need a little more time in culture.

Me: Wait, maybe NINE?!?

Nurse: So we have a potential fertilization rate of 100%, which we are very pleased with...

I erased the voicemail and breathed a sigh of relief before realized I was pacing around the room naked after dropping my towel during the climax of the call, so I quickly got dressed and headed to the computer to activate a google search on M2's, M1's, and GV's.

It turns out that M2's are indeed fully mature eggs that have reached the meiotic competence stage (which we have nine of), M1's are not quite mature enough to fertilize (we have three) and GV's are at the germinal vesicle stage and are immature (five), and I later found out that our one abnormal egg had actually split, so it was useless.

So out of eighteen eggs, half were mature, and that beats our previous rates in our past two cycles (thirteen retrieved with three mature for the first cycle, and twenty-two retrieved with seven mature for our second cycle). And while our fertilization rates have always been impressive (two out of three for the first cycle, and six out of seven for the second cycle), the possibility of 100% fertilization is absolute perfection.

And I'm feeling really good.

Thank you all so much for your prayers. I feel the peace and calm they have smothered me in, and I see them being answered in the results attained thus far. We still have a long ways to go, and our patience will once again be tested as our clinic won't disturb the embryos again until day three, so we will continue to hope and pray for some rockstar, high grade, multiple celled embryos to emerge for Monday's update.

Until then, we're praising God for our seven-possibly nine-miracle embryos growing in culture.

And thinking (+) positive.

“For myself, I am an optimist - it does not seem to be much use being anything else”

-Winston Churchill

Retrieval Day {Part III}

2010-01-22T21:10:00.000-08:00

Friday, 1-22-10 (Day 24)

Ciprofloxin (500mg tablet, twice daily): Since I couldn't eat or drink anything after midnight due to today's retrieval, my nurse coordinator allowed me skip my Dexamethasone. So besides the introduction of the E2 lowering Dostinex, this was my only pill of the day.

Clindamyacin (150mg suppository): Good thing this was the last one, because documenting these vaginal suppositories seems almost inappropriate.

Dostinex (.5mg, oral pill): I really don't mind adding another pill into the mix when it holds the capability of deflating bloat like this one does.

PIO (1ml, IM injection): I was trying to figure out why this injection was more painful than I remember it being, when my husband removed the shot and vocalized that he forgot to switch from the massive 22 1/2 gage needle that's included on the 3mL syringe to the smaller, less evasive 18 gage one before injecting.

Yeah, that would explain why.

Egg Retrieval: Since this was my third time going through the retrieval process, nothing was new. I was extremely comfortable and not in the least bit anxious, because I knew what to expect and I was thrilled at the thought of receiving an amazing number from the doctor as soon as the anesthesia wore off.

I was wheeled into the operating room welcoming the nice long nap I was about to take, scooting myself down the table and raising my wrist for the doctor without even being asked to do so. I smiled as I felt the cool rush of the anesthesia and the urge to cough that always follows as I start to drift off into a state of bliss, excited to get this party stated. And then I woke up quickly-as usual-alert and asking how many eggs were retrieved and how many were mature.

The nurse or the doctor-I don't remember which one because I was still a little loopy-smiled and congratulated me on my eighteen retrieved eggs with five thought to be mature, and seven still being watched.

I can't remember who told me, but the numbers bore into my brain and they still haven't left.

I remember thinking to myself that they must have mixed me up with someone else. I even passed a sharp glance over to the bed on the left to be sure I was the only one in the room to receive this news, because it just couldn't be right, it wasn't meant for me to hear. Because last I heard the doctor was thrilled with my response, beyond elated with my thirty-something follicles. I asked him how many he expected to retrieve, and he responded with a number between twenty-five and thirty, with around fifteen expected to be mature.

Fifteen, not five.

How did we retrieve less follicles and end up with even less mature eggs than last cycle?

I'm not going to lie; I was pretty upset. Disappointed, angry, saddened and confused don't even begin to describe the horrendous mix of emotions that ran hot through my body, burning and boiling inside of me. I wanted to strangle the news deliverer, tell them there must be a mistake and wipe that perky grin off their face.

I don't remember who it was, but I remember them smiling, and I wanted them to stop.

I was not the best patient after that. I got snappy with the new strange and slow nurse when she started to go over the instructions for the next few days with me, because I've heard them all before. I even waited until she left the room and started removing my IV, ready to escape that cold, sterile room, still holding a grudge from earlier when she did a horrible job of inserting it in the first place. It's a good thing she came back before I could finish removing the tape, or I probably would have made a mess of myself. I ignored her hand as she tried to help me to the restroom, because I was steady enough on my own. And after I got dressed, I rolled my eyes when she made me wait for the wheelchair.

And as she turned around, I walked myself out.

I feel completely horrified and embarrassed that I'm documenting myself being a less than desirable patient, and I'm not proud of how I was acting or how I took the news of my less than stellar meatball count. Now that a few hours have passed and I've calmed myself down, I realize that I should still be praising God through this storm and thankful for the blessing of my five precious eggs. God is still in control, and how I responded today did nothing short of exude a childish behavior and severe lack of faith.

I reacted like a spoiled brat, and in my disappointment I limited God.

There is still a part of me that wants to call up the doctor right now and discuss the matter, inquiring about the false hope I was given. Ask him why in the world he led me to believe we were expecting around fifteen mature eggs when he only managed to retrieve about five, and if he were to smile and tell me that it only takes one I would throat punch him. I want to know what happened to the thirty two follicles we were staring at on the screen last Wednesday, and why my otherwise noted healthy body happens to be a freak of nature when it comes to all things IVF.

I want to know if this is my fault because I messed up the trigger shot.

But then there's another part of me that refuses to give up hope. A piece of my heart that feels a deep and unconditional love for my five precious meatball eggs, and the other seven that just may reach maturity and fertilize after all, despite my bipolar negativity and uncharacteristic rudeness to all medical professionals involved. A part of me that knows despite today's setback, the doctor and his medical staff are doing all they can to impregnate my otherwise sterile womb; and for that I should be grateful.

Maybe this is just a test, one that will force me to relinquish control and pass all unnecessary worry on to my God that created the universe in less than a week. Because if He can part the Red Sea, heal the blind, and turn water into wine, He's certainly capable of blessing us with twelve mature, fertilized eggs by tomorrow. And although I'm still slightly irritated with this afternoons results, I'm still very calm; because I know this much to be true.

With God, all things are possible.

"What seems to us as bitter trials are often blessings in disguise."
-Oscar Wilde

When Shooting, Less Is More

2010-01-21T18:05:00.000-08:00

Monday, 1-18-10 (Day 20)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): Have I successfully conveyed how happy I am to not have a working scale in the house right now?

I'm just saying.

Lupron (5units, subQ injection): I'm starting to wonder if it's truly pregnancy brain I'm experiencing, or if I'm just over exhausted from the events leading up to this point. In attempt to keep this cycle a secret, I'm doing my best to keep all appointments and previous engagements as to avoid sparking any curiosity, and so far it's working.

But it's starting to ware me out, and beginning today we'll add in several hours of traveling a day and no doubt numerous false explanations as to why I'm not at work or able to meet someone for a quick get together at the last minute or a trip to the gym.

And so begins the excitement of Follicle checks, E2's, traveling chronicles and little white lies.

Follistim (150units, subQ injection): By now, I should be feeling more than the slight comparison of my ovaries to small water balloons, but I don't. When I walk, I can feel a sort of swishing pressure, as if the tiny water balloons were sloshing inside of me, but it's not necessarily painful, just slightly uncomfortable, so I refuse to complain.

Luveris (1/2ml, subQ injection): I really hope that the addition of this drug a day earlier will show vast improvements in egg quality, and in just a few short days until we'll find out for sure.

Ciprofloxin (500mg tablet, twice daily): After receiving my instructions to begin this antibiotic in the evening, I couldn't find it. I dug through my bag of extra needles, my purse, my car, my closet, and made a frantic phone call to my mother who assured me that it was only an antibiotic so it wasn't a big deal if I didn't start it tonight.

But I didn't want to pay another $60 for a new prescription, so I kept digging.

Finally, after a few hours and a trip up to my work, I found them sitting in a tote next to my desk, keeping company with my church clerk binder, my iPod, and a granola bar.

I was too excited about finding them to contemplate the how's and why's.

E2 & U/S: Because my husband needs to work right now and I'm the one with the ovaries, today my mother and I made the three hour drive south to Sacramento to open up my crock pot and watched intently as the Dr. counted out twenty-three beautiful follicles, a number far higher than we were expecting at this point.

Yet somehow I was still disappointed.

This cycle has been amazing so far. I've felt more peace and hope and joy then any previous cycle of any previous fertility treatment. But the moment the doctor started measuring all of those sporadic follicles ranging from 10 to 20mm in size, I could feel my heart drop.

Because my dose of Follistim was cut in half; yet somehow my rockstar ovaries ignored that fact and produced the same amount and the same size follicles as it had in the past. And while that wasn't necessarily a bad thing, it wasn't the change I was hoping for, and I was instantly terrified of the past repeating itself.

Because the past sucks.

But while I was feeling sorry for myself on the hard table contemplating what this meant, the doctor was busy commending me on responding better to half the dose of medicine and marveling that less-in my case-is indeed more. He confirmed that we need to come back in tomorrow to see the growth progress, because he's determined to push us a little farther this time so we can achieve our goals of more mature embryos.

He then looked up and read my slight disappointment, and I could see his facial features change from excitement to curiosity. I informed him that I understand that producing that many follicles on such a ridiculously low dose of stims was indeed wonderful, but I was expecting less follicles closer in size at this point.

Even as the words came out I knew I was being dramatic, and I assumed the stress of traveling and failed expectations had me all wound up and crazy in the head. But nonetheless, I was in need of reassurance that this was a good thing and that's exactly what I was given. And when I asked him if there was anything I could do to improve my lining, he looked at me like I was insane, so I reminded him that for my last cycle I was sitting at a cushioned 15mm, and seeing that 13.3 on the screen today was a little disheartening.

He just laughed and told me to stop bragging, so I left it at that.

Tuesday 1-19-10 (Day 21)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): As of today, I'm still hot chocolate free, and I plan on continuing that pattern throughout the remainder of this cycle.

Lupron (5units, subQ injection): Easy.

Follistim (150units, subQ injection): For whatever reason, I'm feeling amazing today. I expected the water balloon feeling to expand and become more and more uncomfortable, but that just isn't that case.

I literally feel like I could go jogging right now.

But I won't.

Luveris (1/2ml, subQ injection): Another perfect measured draw and injection, so Luveris and I are still good.

Ciprofloxin (500mg tablet, twice daily): I don't remember this from my previous cycles, but this horse pill is sort of making me nauseous. I'm going to try taking it a little later in the day from now on to see if it helps; maybe one around lunch, and another at dinner.

E2 & U/S: I'm not sure what caused the 360 in my attitude, but after seeing the multiple follicles growing on the screen today coupled with the excitement in the doctors voice, I was transferred back to my old positive self. Maybe it was the doctors amazement at my stellar response to half the meds that was so contagious, the findings that my E2 levels were right on track despite the large amount of follicles, or the sight of my mother standing behind my head trying to count out the follicles that she thought were the "good ones" and loosing count, but it finally sank in how wonderfully this cycle is progressing.

My body was made for this.

Most girls are thrilled to obtain more than five or six follicles from each ovary, and here I am complaining because I received an overachiever response on a low dose of medicine of sporadic follicles numbering over two dozen, and I was ashamed of that disappointment. So what if I don't have twenty follicles that are all maturing at the same exact rate and size?

I have to remember the God that created the universe is in control of my body and it's response to all of this medication and stimulation; He's working behind the scenes to make sure every follicle is growing just as it should, and that's the ultimate reassurance for me.

Even as an overachiever.

Wednesday, 1-20-10 (Day 22)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): Well, that didn't last long.

On my drive home from Sacramento, I somehow ended up with a hot chocolate in my hand. But if it counts for anything, I didn't finish all of it, and I'm justifying it by saying it was necessary to keep me awake.

Lupron (5units, subQ injection): I didn't know it at the time, but this was my last shot. I'm praying that this cycle brings us our pregnancy and maybe even some frozen embryos for future siblings, so although it was nice while it lasted, hopefully I'll never use Lupron again as long as I live.

Ciprofloxin (500mg tablet, twice daily): Note to self: taking this ginormous pill with food makes a big difference.

Clindamyacin (150mg suppository): And so begins the awkward intra-vaginal inserts.

E2 & U/S: As I lay there with the flimsy pink crepe paper napkin blanket over my exposed girl parts and watched the screen full of too many tiny black holes to keep up with, my heart swelled up with pride and excitement. All of the traveling exhaustion, excuses as to why I wasn't at work and pain from the IVF process was pushed aside as I stared in wonder at the fuzzy black screen and it's contents.

After another long trip down to Sacramento, today's ultrasound showed even greater improvement in growth patterns and the addition of even more follicles, I was given the instructions to stop all shots and trigger tomorrow morning at 1:30am. Knowing how much I wanted to avoid our previous cycles mistakes of under mature eggs but knowing we'd already responded better and given ourselves an extra day, the doctor seemed prepared for an argument that I just didn't have the strength to give him.

Dr: You'd be pretty hard pressed to get me to stim you for one more day, but if you want to push we'll talk.

Me: It's Ok, I trust you. You're the Doctor; I just grow the eggs.

Dr: And you do an amazing job of that.

Me: Thank you.

Thursday, 1-21-10 (Day 23)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): Check.

Ciprofloxin (500mg tablet, twice daily): I've officially switched over from a shooting fanatic to a pill popper. So until I begin my PIO shots on Friday, my cocktail of shots has been replaced with a rainbow of pills.

Clindamyacin (150mg suppository): These little rocket shaped suppositories are never fun, but I'll do whatever it takes at this point.

Ovidrel Trigger (1/2mL, subQ injection): Having to wake up at 1:30am to administer a trigger shot is never a good thing; especially when you are absolutely exhausted from a week of traveling in and out of town every single day.

Instead of the usuall HCG intramuscular injection that you have to mix before administering, a lovely donator gave me this much easier Ovidrel prefilled syringe for a less painful subQ injection. I was thrilled with the ease at which I would be able to wake up, open the syringe, push out the air, inject in my pouch and drift back to sleep.

Except it didn't happen that way.

When my alarm went off at 1:28am, I forced myself out of bed and to the cooler I had next to it that held some ice packs and the prefilled injection. I carefully peeled back the plastic casing, removed the syringe, and attempted to pull back before pushing the air bubbles out just to make sure. I'm not sure exactly what happened because I was exhausted and it was an ungodly hour, but I somehow managed to loose liquid out of the syringe and panicked as I watched it drip down my arm.

And to make matters worse, being a prefilled syringe it had no measurable markings on it. Sure, the syringe is printed with the information that it holds 0.5 mL, but I had no way of looking at the syringe and telling how much I had lost for sure. So in a flurry of frustration, I took a picture of what I had left with my cell phone and then injected as quickly as possible, followed speed dial phone call to the clinic's answering service to see how much damage I'd done.

As soon as the nurse answered, she took down my name and number, asked what my problem was and-to my utter and complete horror-promptly transferred me to Dr. Greene himself at what was now almost 2:00am. I will never be able to convey the embarrassment that I felt at waking up the Dr. in the middle of the night, but he sounded perky nonetheless. And after frantically explaining my situation, he simply stated that I should be fine, because some patients are triggered with only half the amount anyway.

That kept me sane for the next few minutes, but since I'm an over analyzer coupled with ever present OCD, I had to do some research of my own. After a few moments of Google pictures of prefilled Ovidrel syringes did no good, I was forced to compromise with an experiment. To ease my mind, I pulled out a 1mL syringe and filled it halfway with water. Then I pushed that water out into the smallest plastic container I could find, and then sucked it back into the empty Ovidrel syringe, leaving 1/2mL of liquid inside the syringe.

As I sat there at 2:30am at my kitchen table, comparing what exactly 1/2mL of Ovidrel in the syringe should look like with the picture on my cell phone of what I had actually injected myself with, I realized I may have lost more than half of the trigger shot.

But I tried to remind myself of our motto this cycle, less just happens to be more because my body is a freak of nature. Hopefully that same theory applies to the trigger shot, because I'm not going to be able to find another trigger shot at 2:30am.

I just have to trust that the Dr. is right, and that God is still in control. I'll try to look back at these past few days and find the will to laugh at the mishaps rather then dwell on what they may mean for the future, and by tomorrow, we'll see the results of a slow cooked cycle involving a super low dose of meds and triggering with slightly less than half of the final maturation hormone.

I'll make an effort to go to bed early tonight, catch up on my sleep, and prepare myself for tomorrow's retrieval; allowing the worries of today to drown in the midst of hope for the future.

Because only half a trigger shot is perfectly fine when less is more anyway.

"A good laugh and a long sleep are the best cures in the doctor's book."

-Irish Proverb

Shots and Shenanigans

2010-01-17T23:40:00.000-08:00

Thursday, 1-14-10 (Day 16)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): Three days in a row, seriously?

Starbucks and I are not okay. Not only are they taking all of my money and making me fat, but they are messing with my head. All I can think about is creamy carmel hot chocolate with sweet whip cream and decatant chocolate drizzle.

:::sigh:::

Lupron (5units, subQ injection): There's a new issue plaguing me now, one that started just a few days ago. I tried to brush off, but it just keeps coming floating back up to the surface and I can't help but wonder if it's related to this tiny little bee sting shot.

Pregnancy brain.

It's getting me into all sorts of shenanigans. I locked my keys in the car, drove past the freeway exit on my way to work, and even left my cell phone at home two days in a row. I've always been slightly clumsy despite the fact that my name means graceful gazelle, but forgetful? Not so much. I'm the queen of organization and thoroughness, so this new and awkward state of mind is starting to drive me bananas.

Maybe I'm overreacting, this could all just be a side effect of the high fructose corn syrup and hot chocolate overload.

Follistim (150 units, subQ injection): My husband, the master of the Follistim pen was granted permission to leave last night to work on a side job down south, so I was on my own tonight.

I was a little worried at first, but as soon as I held that bulky blue pen in my hands and turned the dial, it just felt right. No stinging, no burning, and no uncomfortable tugging feeling.

Don't tell him I said so, but I'm way better at it.

Luveris (1/2ml, subQ injection): All I had to do was put on a fresh needle, tap out the bubble, push up the syringe and use the left over injection from last night.

I could get used to this.

Friday, 1-15-10 (Day 17)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): I've stopped the madness, and refused to grant my stomach's request for Starbucks. It was difficult, but that's to be expected I suppose.

The first step is always recognizing the problem.

Lupron (5units, subQ injection): I can't believe I'm actually documenting this, but I locked my keys in the car again today.

It was late, I was tired, and Target was closed, so I just had to run to Walmart to complete my living room decor at the last minute by picking up a few more mirrors. I stepped out of the car, manually hit the lock button and slammed the door shut. And then-just as I walked through the ginormous electronic sliding glass doors-I realized what I had done; although I couldn't figure out why I'd done it.

Luckily my little brother likes to stay up late and play video games, so he was able to run over to my duplex, pick up my extra set of keys, and drive them back into town to his ridiculously forgetful sister who was stranded at Walmart at 11:00pm.

He's going to be an amazing uncle.

Follistim (150units, subQ injection): It's amazing to me how simple this injection is when it's self administered.

Luveris (1/2ml, subQ injection): Another perfect mix, draw and shot. I even had the exact amount needed left over for tomorrows injections. I'm just so pleased with how well this cycle is going, it's almost too good to be true.

I almost miss the drama of it all.

Almost.

Saturday, 1-16-10 (Day 18)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): One more day free of the bonds of Starbucks.

And one more day of staring at my yoga mat in the corner of the room.

Lupron (5units, subQ injection): My bruise is finally starting to deteriorate. It's almost weird to look down and see flesh colored skin instead of a rainbow.

Follistim (150 units, subQ injection): I know I keep talking about how carefree this cycle has been, how little I've been stressing and how blessed I feel to be a part of this. But today I amazed even myself when I returned home from a long day of shopping in town and realized that it was almost 10pm and I had forgotten to take my shots.

Completely forgotten.

I'm in the middle of my third IVF attempt, so of course I'm used to the meds, I know how my body is going to react, and I can handle pretty much anything that comes my way. But to be so unstressed and unconcerned with a cycle that I completely forgot to take my stimulation and quality control meds until it was almost too late?

Now that's impressive.

Luveris (1/2ml, subQ injection): Is it weird that I'm almost disappointed at the lack of problems I've ran into so far with this drug? The absence of strange shooting places and crazy traveling stories? Is it odd that I feel slightly boring in the face of my almost perfect cycle?

I'm pretty sure it is.

Sunday, 1-17-10 (Day 19)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): I'm finally starting to feel the fullness of the drugs kicking in, now that my tiny little meatballs are growing; so it's time to stop worrying about a lack of yoga and brisk walking, and concentrate more on eating right.

Lupron (5units, subQ injection): The pregnancy brain has worsened.

After church this afternoon, a group of us decided to head to Red Robin for lunch. When it was over and we were all headed back home, I walked with a set of friends out to their car since they parked beside me. After saying our goodbyes, I got in the passenger seat, started the engine, and waited patiently for my husband to join me.

And then I saw him pull up next to me.

In his truck.

I had completely forgotten that due to the fact that I'd left my cell phone home again, we had taken two separate vehicles to lunch. And it's a good thing he pulled up next to me, or I would have sat there in the rain, with the car running, for a very long time.

Follistim (150units, subQ injection): Even though my husband is back home with me, I found an excuse to give myself the Follistim injection again tonight.

I sort of feel bad about it, since he's been labeled as the Follistim mater and all. It really is his only major contribution to the process-besides the sperm, of course-and I think it helps him to feel needed and more useful.

Luveris (1/2ml, subQ injection): I'm feeling really good about the addition of this drug a day earlier this cycle; and I'm praying that it really helps to boost the quality of my little meatballs.

Just a few more days, and we'll know for sure.

Tomorrow I wake up bright and early and leave town with my mother to check out what we have cooking inside my crock pot ovaries. We'll find out if the change in protocol has improved our sporadic egg sizes or dramatized them. We'll speak with the doctor and spend the next few days deciding trigger times, retrieval schedules and transfer dates.

And I can't believe it's already time.

But I am so ready.

“Miracles come in moments. Be ready and willing, always watching for distractions and shenanigans along the way.”

-Wayne Dyer

Birthday Shots

2010-01-13T22:25:00.000-08:00

Tuesday, 1-12-10 (Day 14)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill):No brisk walking and still no attempt at yoga today; it's my birthday and I'd rather eat amazing food, go shopping, and see a movie.

Maybe have a Starbucks.

It's OK though, because one of my amazing blogger friends suggested the brilliant idea of enjoying a grande hot chocolate with a pump of carmel or gingerbread instead of a frappachino. You know, just enough to satisfy the sweet tooth, but without the guilt of poisonous caffeine.

The result of this new endeavor was simply amazing. I'm pretty sure that in just one night, I've conquered my frappachino cravings for good. It's really a remarkable feet too, because not only is a hot chocolate just as satisfying as a frappachino, but it's also less expensive, so my Starbucks gift card will last longer and my eggs will have a shot at developing free of mutilation by caffeine.

I know I just turned twenty-seven, but I feel smarter already.

Lupron (5units, subQ injection): Every morning that I wake up and start my day off with a little blue steroid pill and a tiny bee sting injection, I'm reminded that I'm not normal. But instead of feeling sad, I feel blessed. How amazing is it that I get to experience a process this medically intricate? That I get to watch and see what my body is capable of doing both inside and out? That I can admire a process that usually happens inside a women's body under a microscope, and take home pictures of cells dividing, growing and thriving?

Every injection, every bruise, every twinge of pain; it's all so amazing to me. And when I wake up in the morning and see that shot and pill sitting on my nightstand, I feel so blessed to be a part of this process, a part of a plan that God has for my life that's only just beginning. And when I see the bruise on my stomach that just won't go away, I can't help but admire it despite it's vulgarity.

Because my mom used to always tell me, as I sat backwards gripping the porcelain lid of the toilet while she ripped the brush through my tangled hair, that it's painful to be beautiful. This wisdom was passed on to her from my grandmother, and I plan on passing this truth down-Lord willing-to my own daughter someday.

And pregnancy is a beautiful thing. A painful thing to achieve in my experience so far, but a beautiful thing nonetheless, and I want it.

So I will endure the pain.

Follistim (150 units, subQ injection): I don't consume alcoholic beverages-mostly for a mixture of religious and personal reasons, coupled with the fact that I'm clumsy and obnoxious enough on my own without being intoxicated, thank you-but I know that on birthdays, it's normal for even the non-drinkers to let loose and consume a few shots. So in the spirit of all things festive for my twenty-seventh birthday, I gave in and went straight for the hard stuff.

Follistim.

That's right, there's nothing like kicking off your birthday by shooting up, turning on your ovary crockpot to simmer and slow cook some little meatballs.

This may just be the best birthday ever.

Wednesday, 1-13-10 (Day 15)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): The whole hot chocolate switch over operation was brilliant, but I'm not sure how productive it will be if I continue to enjoy one every singe day. It seems as though my obsessive compulsive disorder isn't my only flaw, I've also been blessed with an addictive behavior of sorts.

They're no longer in danger of caffeine mutilation, but my poor little meatballs are trying to slow cook and I'm probably drowning them in high fructose corn syrup as we speak.

Lupron (5units, subQ injection): No new bruises, dull needles, or shooting troubles, but last weeks monster is still imprinted on my flesh, changing color and shape every day.

It's fascinating, really.

Follistim (150units, subQ injection): For my first two cycles I was given a low dose of 300units of Follistim for the first two days, then dropped to 225units for the remainder of stims. I was never really affected by the drug; I never felt uncomfortable, bloated, or unable to resume my light and sporadic exercise sessions. I was almost oblivious to the two dozen little eggs that were growing inside of me, and I'm sure this time will be no different.

And now that we've started off by cutting that already low dose in half, I'm pretty much out of excuses when it comes to signs, symptoms, and sympathy for administering this stuff. I'm just praying it does it's job and my girlie parts use this stimulation drug to plump up some slow cooked eggs for us to view during next week's appointment.

Luveris (1/2ml, subQ injection): Also new to the protocol this cycle is the addition of Luveris a day earlier than normal. Since Luveris serves the purpose of improving the quality of the eggs being produced, I'm more than happy to comply, even if it means receiving an extra shot that has given me so much trouble in the past.

The first cycle of Luveris left me in tears on a hotel floor, followed a trip to the hospital and then a late night house call to my sleep deprived doctor. The second cycle had me practically hyperventilating, scared from the previous cycles mistakes and frustrated by the lack of precision that comes with drawing out such a small amount from such a tiny little vial with such a large needle.

This cycle, however, I was determined to conquer my fear of Luveris and become more courageous in the face of the one drug I've never been capable of defeating. I laid out my directions, set out the appropriate needles, and attacked the tiny vials with a fierceness I never knew I had; a determination that can only result from two previous cycles of trial and error.

And even though the directional email my nurse wrote assured me that it's perfectly normal to have less than the recommended 1/2 ml left in the syringe for the next days injection, I somehow managed to do it, and do it right. I drew, I shot, I conquered; and I am no longer afraid of Luveris.

Gratitude, hot chocolate and a surprisingly successful Luveris injection.

This just keeps getting better and better.

"I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear."

-Nelson Mandela

Shots & Crock Pots

2010-01-11T23:48:00.000-08:00

Saturday, 1-9-10 (Day 11)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): No walking, no yoga. But I did clean the house like a mad woman, so I still got my groove on.

Lupron (5units, subQ injection): Since lowering my dose last week I haven't had any more sleeping troubles, so Lupron and I are good.

My dramatic E2 blood draw bruise was spotted today, and I was left ungracefully flailing and stuttering as I tried to answer my grandmas question about the colorful bruise nestled in the crook of my left arm.

I couldn't come up with anything creative or quick witted, so I just resorted to the truth and awkwardly explained that I'd had some blood work done. She seemed satisfied with that answer and left it at that, but I was pretty disappointed at how quickly I was caught off guard.

I could have said that I donated blood; it would have made sense, it would have sort of been true, and it wouldn't have been awkward.

If I'm going to survive this dramatic secret cycle, I'll have to be quicker next time.

Sunday, 1-10-10 (Day 12)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): :::sigh:::

I just love to eat.

Lupron (5units, subQ injection): My needle must have been dull today, because I stabbed myself but was unable to actually puncture the skin past the first layer of flesh. After a few grunts and pushes, I had to withdraw and resort to another location, leaving some blood and a freshly developed bruise behind.

You'd think I'd have this down by now, but no.

Monday, 1-11-10 (Day 13)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): After dogging a very close encounter with a craving for a frappachino, I resumed my twenty minutes of brisk walking today, even though it was horribly overcast and freezing cold outside. I was the only one present on a usually busy trail, but it was still nice to get out and be active.

Lupron (5units, subQ injection): This morning, I enjoyed my last one-shot-a-day routine; because starting tomorrow, we're doubling up and adding in a new, personalized stimming routine.

Given my perfect blood work, flawless test results, and outstanding health, the results we've been getting from the eggs grown in my rockstar ovaries these past two cycles just aren't good enough, darn it. I should easily be obtaining a large amount of eggs with the majority of them being mature, and they should fertilize and divide like crazy. Instead, we're retrieving a decent amount of eggs with only a minority of them being mature.

Which is precisely why-starting tomorrow-Doctor Greene's new protocol is attempting to turn my insides into a crock pot, slow cooking our eggs by using an even lower dose of stims for a longer period of time, with intended results somewhere along the lines of producing a much larger amount of more mature eggs.

I'm really hoping this is our solution, because Lord knows I haven't been doing what I should to increase our odds on my end. Sure, I've stayed away from nail polish and continued to use my own organic cleaning products. But I've also highlighted my crown, used in-organic shampoo for a week, and even consumed a few frappachinos along the way.

The crazy-compulsive, organic-obsessed, scale stepping IVF-psyco that I was a few months ago slightly deteriorated when I realized I wasn't pregnant. I guess I figured that a few drops of caffeine aren't going to completely dissolve my eggs, and the evil paraben chemical that exists in just about every body product available won't destroy my uterus forever as long as it's used in moderation.

Yet I still panicked when I ran out of organic hand soap and had to use Dial.

I've tried telling myself that I just put on the team green front to grow me some fabulous eggs, but the truth is that I really do love organic products, and I want to continue to be a green freak, IVF or not. And with master discount stores like Ross and T.J.Maxx offering up crazy deals on organic cleaning and body products these days, why not?

So there you have it; my pre-stimulation confessions. I haven't been doing all I could have or should have for this cycle to end up as perfectly as it may have in my more organic, more neurotic past, but I think God can still make this work, because I'm counting on the fact that my own interpretation of perfection is perhaps overrated.

Maybe my new idea of perfection should just include crock pot ovaries, brisk walks and frappachinos.

That sounds perfect to me.

I do the very best I know how - the very best I can; and I mean to keep on doing so until the end.
-Abraham Lincoln

Big Shot

2010-01-08T23:18:00.000-08:00

Thursday, 1-7-10 (Day 9)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): My daily walk was cancelled today by the pouring rain and my mother-in-law, sister-in-law, and grandma-in-law coming into town. However, I did rush around the kitchen for about an hour preparing homemade potato soup, salad, and garlic french bread, so I'm hoping that counts under the category of brisk walking.

But then I ate a whole lot of it; so it probably doesn't count after all.

Lupron (5units, subQ injection): I spoke too soon about my lack of bruising.

As I injected my self today, my skin quickly turned the color of a dark, menacing shadow. By the time I finished brushing my teeth, the dark spot had expanded and became a deep purple blue around the outside edges while remaining pink and fleshy in the center. And by the time I made it to work, the area was covered in raised goose bump style spots with an even deeper maroon surrounding it all.

How did I get from absolutely no bruising to the ugliest bruise ever in less than twenty-four hours? And who do you know besides me that would proudly describe it in excruciating detail?

It's actually kind of pretty to be honest, and I'm slightly disappointed I can't share it with everyone. I guess that's pretty good though, if the absolute worst part about this secret cycle so far is not being able to proudly display the self inflicted battle wounds.

E2: Today was my baseline E2 blood draw, and the first time ever that my family full of medical professionals wasn't able to assist me with some black market blood work care.

It's OK though, because my favorite faux hawked phlebotomist was present and pleasant to work with today; he even gave me an envelope to take home in case the lab messes up again and bills me like they usually do every singe time I go to the lab, no matter how many times I point out that the lab slip specifically says to bill my doctor in Sacramento.

I wanted to let him know that what I was really looking for was an amazing E2 number to start with, followed by a nice high beta number in in a few more weeks. But instead, I politely accepted the prepaid postage envelope and sat in the squeaky chair as his assistant quickly drew my blood. As the needle made it's exit and I held the cotton ball on the pressure point, I prayed that I wouldn't develop a bruise large enough for people to notice and ask about.

Because the bruising on my stomach is easy to hide, but a ginormous bruise in the crook of my arm? That's going to take some serious creativity, especially for a hot blooded girl who wears sleeveless shirts in the dead of winter and can't seem to talk with out using large, animated hand gestures to conclude her stories.

So I walked out almost as quickly as I walked in, with a freshly formed dark spot on one arm and a prepaid postage envelope in the other, and smiled as the drama of it all started to rise to the surface.

Let the little white lies begin.

Friday, 1-8-10 (Day 10)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): The rain was pouring down again today, so my brisk walk was cancelled once again. But this time I helped my almost sister-in-law set up for my almost-nephews birthday party until well after midnight, dancing and singing to Miranda Lambert, as I rolled Oreo cookie balls, salami-cream-cheese-peperchini appetizers, and stylish deviled eggs.

One for me, one for the tray.

Two for me, one for the tray.

I suppose It would be easier just to go the the gym, but this was way better.

Lupron (5units, subQ injection): Despite the ugly, menacing bruise on my right side, I was fearless in today's injection and everything went perfectly; so it looks like we've reverted back to the simplicity of a nice, smooth lupron injection once again.

E2: Results are in, and we've landed nicely at a cushioned 31.6.

This is very good news; last cycle I was at a a 33, and the cycle before that I was at a 67 a day later. I'm not sure of the exact number, but ideally they like to see the number below 50, so I'm satisfied, as is my nurse coordinator.

I can't believe how fast this happening; in just a few short days I'll no longer be shooting solo, my husband will help celebrate my twenty seventh birthday by resuming his duties and injecting stims, forcing my ageing ovaries to hopefully produce some high quality embryos before it's too late. But for now, everything is developing wonderfully; and despite my extra large dexamethasone pouch, bruised extremities and somewhat bipolar exercise habits, I'm at ease. I can say with full assurance that I'm happy, I'm excited, and I'm ready for whatever God has in store for us at the end of this cycle; whatever that may be.

But for the record, it feels like something big.

"Do not anticipate trouble, or worry about what may never happen. Keep in the sunlight."

-Benjamin Franklin

Shot of Hope

2010-01-06T22:12:00.000-08:00

Monday, 1-4-10 (Day 6)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): I did it.

I took the first step to recovery from my recent addiction today and purchased a very soothing leaf patterned yoga mat instead of a frappachino.

I can't drink it, but it sure looks good.

Lupron (5units, subQ injection): My dose dropped down from 10units to 5units this morning, and I'm excited to hopefully rid myself of the sleep deprivation that's been haunting me for the last few nights.

Tuesday, 1-5-10 (Day 7)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): I still haven't used the new yoga mat yet, but I have completed my second day in a row of at least twenty minutes of brisk walking.

It's amazing how wonderful I feel when warm blood is pumping through my body in the cold winter air. It really clears my head and gives me a chance to look around at the sights, sounds, and smells of everything that God's created, and to know that if He can make all of this in less than seven days, He can make me a baby easily; if it's in His will to do so.

It's truly breathtaking.

Lupron (5units, subQ injection): It's been a whole week of these injections and I've experienced very minimal bleeding and absolutely no bruising so far. The few side effects I've been plagued with are no longer in sight, and I'm feeling good.

Really good.

Wednesday, 1-6-10 (Day 8)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): The yoga mat that's setting unused, rolled up in the corner of my living room floor isn't doing anything to defer my cravings.

They're getting worse.

Tonight, as I sat down on the couch and spread out my turkey and cheese Lunchable, 60 calorie pudding cup, bag of Flavor Blasted Xtra Cheddar Goldfish, celery sticks filled with cream cheese and my bottle of Minute Maid Blueberry Pomegranate juice, my husband asked me if I thought the little steroid pill was really causing my cravings, or if there was any possibility this was all just in my head.

I didn't know what to say, so I just shot him the dirtiest look I could manage without interrupting my feeding frenzy. He stayed pretty quite about it for the rest of the night, but I could still see him evaluating me out of the corner of his eye every once in a while; silently judging me and my untamed appetite as I indulged.

It didn't help that we were watching The Biggest Loser, either.

Lupron (5units, subQ injection): Everything is going so smoothly. I'm not stressed, worried, or obsessive about the process or it's ending result-possibly because I finally let God take control, or maybe because I know we purchased a two cycle plan so I still have a shot even if this time doesn't work-but either way, it's so very nice.

No restrictions, no scales, no worries.

Just hope.

“In all things it is better to hope than to despair”

-Johann Wolfgang

Shots, Secrets & Symptoms

2010-01-03T23:58:00.000-08:00

Saturday, 1-2-10 (Day 4)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): I'm starting to feel those strangely familiar and completely unstoppable hunger cravings that sneak up on me when I least expect it. And in the way of confessions, I may as well come clean and admit that I gave in today and had a gingerbread frappachino, and it wasn't caffeine free.

Caffeine free frappachinos do exist; but they have a strange cream base that just doesn't taste right. And the bottom line is that I had full intentions of starting off the new year right by taking charge of the cravings this little blue pill drives me insane with, yet somehow I only managed to make it to the second day of the new year.

I don't suppose Starbucks will grant my plea for a great tasting organic caffeine free frappachino, so I'll need to find a new outlet for frustration that doesn't come in the form of a high cost, high calorie, egg polluting drink.

Maybe I'll look into yoga.

Lupron (10units, subQ injection): For my first IVF cycle back in July, I proudly displayed my army of pills and potions on the bathroom counter for all to see, waking up extra early to administer the injections and pop the pills. Then, for my second IVF cycle I turned it down a notch by still proudly displaying my colorful collection of drugs, but waking up just in time to inject the pre-filled syringes I'd prepared the night before out of pure laziness, usually still in a sleep induced coma while doing so.

And now, for my third attempt at IVF, I've resorted to hiding everything. Nothing lines the bathroom counter on display for all to see. Needles, vials, pills, suppositories and cartridges are all hidden in secret compartments with locations planned and laid out precisely so that no one sees them, but I still remember to take them.

It's really starting to sink in that this is a secret cycle.

Other than my parents and my wonderful blog readers, no one in real life knows what we're up to. Right now it's fairly easy to hide, especially since I'm only taking one pill and one injection in the early hours of the day, but in a week or so everything will change. I'll start stims injections that are taken in the early evening-often when we are out and about-and then the two-and-a-half hour trips to and from Sacramento will begin. I work at the family business, so taking time off work without a proper explanation will be completely doable but hard, and hiding the location of our destination will be even more difficult, especially since the trips will be fairly sporadic according to my intense follicle count and monitoring schedule.

But instead of feeling stressed and overwhelmed by the upcoming chain of events that will include secret, out of town doctor appointments, hidden injections and no doubt numerous white lies, I'm actually thriving from the future drama and pure excitement of it all.

Sneaking around just may be a fabulous addition to an otherwise redundant routine after all.

Sunday, 1-3-10 (Day 5)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): The plan is to keep only healthy, guilt free foods in the house so that when an attack comes in to play, I won't mess it up.

Starting tomorrow, of course.

Lupron (10units, subQ injection): Lupron supposedly comes with a whole slew of side effects to make life difficult, from nightly hot flashes and sweats to hard core migraines, and even disrupted sleeping patterns coupled with fatigue. But my nurse coordinator swears I'm on a super low dose, and therefore shouldn't be affected by any of this madness.

Despite the warning that any symptoms I experience would most likely be in my head, I remember feeling slight exhausted almost constantly during my first IVF, and for my second cycle I had a few hot flashes and an occasional headache. But this time around I've hit a new little mountain of a symptom, where I find myself waking up all night long.

I don't like it.

Sleep and I have always been best buds; I've never had trouble falling asleep nor have I had any problems staying asleep. But lately I'll be dreaming away, holding a frappachino in one hand and juggling a baby in the other, but just as I get the baby settled and reach over to take a drink of that carmel poison, suddenly it's all over. I'm wide awake-with no baby and no frappachino-and I can't go back to sleep.

I really shouldn't be complaining though, any symptom I've ever experienced throughout this process has been nothing more than super mild and short lived, certainly nothing I haven't been able to climb over. And besides, starting tomorrow I'll no longer be on birth control pills and officially cut my Lupron dose in half, most likely ending the insanity of our first mountain range once and for all.

At least until it's time to climb the next one.

"That first peak is the best place to pause and look back, to learn the lessons from the first climb. And it is the best place to examine the terrain ahead, to change your plans and goals, to take a deep breath and begin climbing again."

-Michael Johnson

New Year, New Shot

2010-01-01T23:54:00.000-08:00

Friday, 1-1-10 (Day 3)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): So far so good; the perfect way to start out 2010.

Lupron (10units, subQ injection): Exactly six months ago today, I gave myself my first injection. I'm not saying it feels like yesterday; but it certainly doesn't feel like it was half a year ago, either.

I still remember everything. My mother came over the night before and helped me practice on a tangerine, while a few of our close friends looked on in wonder and fear. But not me; I was excited. Nervous of messing up my conversion of units and injecting the wrong amount, but still excited nonetheless.

After all, this was going to bring us our baby.

Other than the expectation of a perfect cycle and a pregnancy, we had no idea what the future held for us. But I can say with full certainty today that I never would have guessed I'd be sitting here, officially in 2010, holding another Lupron syringe instead of a grainy, black and white sonogram photo of our little one(s) growing inside of me.

In a way, I guess I'd say we've lost our innocence. We were slightly naive to expect our first IVF cycle to go perfectly and result in a pregnancy, but not crazy in our efforts, because in reality it does happen. People with far greater fertility handicaps get pregnant in the midst their first IVF attempt every day.

But not us.

So this morning, as I gave myself the first shot of the year, I couldn't help but notice the lack of excitement that I used to stick myself with. Every day was new, and was filled with first times for everything. My first injection, my first bruise, my first bleeder; and I was so very proud of each of them. I documented them with exact details, intending to help anyone else going through the same process by smugly showing them that IVF was not only doable, but easy and enjoyable at the same time.

Something that would be well worth the time, money, and effort in the end.

But I don't feel that same excitement anymore, because this process is no longer bright, shiny and new. It's full of unexpected twists and turns, disappointment, craziness, guilt, and loss. Loss of time, loss of money, loss of innocence.

Loss of embryos.

But I'm happy to report that although that initial excitement is somehow missing, it's been replaced with a new, pure, more vibrant kind of excitement. Although I know the process and the trials and tribulations that lay ahead, I also know so much more.

I know the secret to avoid bruising is to inject slow and steady, holding pressure to the site for a few seconds afterward. I know that if you don't want your PIO shots to feel like you've been hit by a semi the next day you have to set on a heating pad for at least a half hour. I know that Lupron burns, Luveris stings, Dexamethasone makes me eat and Follistim makes me feel full.

I know that I've taken more shots in the last six months that I've ever had in my entire twenty-six years, and it amazes me. I know that my husbands clumsy bear claw hands turn steady and smooth when it's time to inject Follistim, and it makes me smile. I know that my body is capable of doing and producing some really amazing things, and it give me hope.

I also know medical science isn't perfect but we've got a good shot, my parents really don't mind spending the money to help us even though it makes me feel guilty, and with God, all things are possible.

But sometimes it's still hard.

Especially since we also know that perfect cycles go wrong, some embryos don't grow, and not everyone gets pregnant. No matter how hard you pray, the answer may always be "no".

But that's not going to stop us from asking.

Because even after all of the drama that I try to make my life out to be, I'm nothing short of blessed; my life is so incredibly beautiful. I have the most supportive family and friends ever; we have no doubt they want this new life just as much as we do. We have good jobs that pay the bills, a great duplex that fits us just right, and even our worst days are filled with health, happiness, and hope.

So despite the past, I am still excited for what the future holds.

Today is a brand new beginning and I can feel it deep inside of me; something wonderful it going to happen. This may be my third IVF cycle, but it's my first cycle of a brand new year, and all bets are off. The past is in the past-right where it belongs-and I have a fresh opportunity to thank God for all He's given me, and to reflect on the past instead of live in it, focusing more on the endless possibilities He has in store for us in our future. And if infertility, IVF, and injections are the worst of what I have to go through to somehow bring honor and glory to God this year, then I'm a happy girl.

I often fall short and forget to look at all I've been blessed with, blinded by the hurricane of fear that surrounds this evasive medical procedure that we hope holds the answer to our dreams. But even when the sky is dark and the clouds are heavy above me, there's still one thing I know; a piece of information far more important than secrets to the success of IVF injections and organic well being.

There will be an end to this storm.

And If I look hard enough, I can already see the rainbow.

"When it rains on your parade, look up rather than down. Without the rain, there would be no rainbow."
-G.K. Chesterton

Third Shot's A Charm

2009-12-31T11:19:00.000-08:00

And so begins the documentation of All Things IVF, Part 3; where I'll share my experiences of our third attempt at starting our family using the most evasive medical procedure possible.

We're praying that the third shot is our charm.

Wednesday, 12-30-09 (Day 1)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): Let's try to avoid ravenous hunger and excessive weight gain this time around, shall we?

Lupron (10units, subQ injection): My first injection of this cycle was not lacking drama, that's for sure.

I've been extremely blessed in the past to have received most my meds for free through a donation program that's saved me thousands of dollars. I had my best turn out by far with this third cycle, having every last one of my expensive indictable drugs donated and leaving me a mere $50 worth of antibiotics and suppositories to purchase.

Amazing.

Among those drugs was a last minute Lupron donation, just in time for my cycle to begin. My sweet donator took the medication to the post office and set the delivery date for Tuesday, exactly one day before my cycle began, and paid extra shipping to guarantee it's arrival. However, on Monday I checked the tracking information to make sure the delivery was on schedule, and found that that the package was in fact on it's way back to Pennsylvania where it started.

So after a very large frappachino, an e-mail and a few phone calls, we had verified that the shipping address was indeed correct, everything was on track, and the package would be delivered as promised on Tuesday afternoon. I breathed a sigh of relief and then scolded myself for drinking caffeine this close to the start of my cycle.

Then Tuesday arrived, and instead of my Lupron package I received an email from my donator letting me know that the package was instead back in her hands in Pennsylvania, less than twenty-four hours away from my first scheduled injection here in California.

So I had myself a panic attack, followed by an even bigger frappachino.

My donator was stuck, completely unable to go to the UPS store to sort things out because she was an hour away from one without a car, and couldn't leave work. She called them several times, explaining our unique situation and asking them to send out a truck to come pick it up from her and get it to California, but the best they could do was have her bring it to them by 6:30pm so they could send it out and guarantee delivery by today at 10:30am.

It wasn't ideal, but it was the best we could do; in fact at that point it was all we could do, because even if I ordered it from my pharmacy and paid for it myself, it still wouldn't have arrived any earlier.

Luckily the Lupron arrived around 9:45am this morning, and I was still able to give myself the injection on the appropriate start date, although it arrived in the middle of a meeting I was having with some clients. I had to ask them as politely as possible to look around the showroom while I excused myself to the restroom, mutilated the package while trying to open it, and stuck myself with a little 1/2" needle that burned and itched like crazy. Then I had to try to hide the evidence since this is our first secret cycle, shoving it under the bathroom cabinet and hoping no one would find it before I could retrieve it again and hide it in my trunk.

It's a good thing I'm a pro at these awkward, untimely injections.

I succeeded, and as far as I know my customers had no idea I was shooting up in the bathroom. And even though I polluted my otherwise organic well being with frappachinos and stress, the bottom line is that the medication arrived just in time and my injection was given only a few hours later than it should have been. God provided and everything worked out wonderfully in the end.

And if today was any indication of how the rest of the cycle is going to be, The Documentation of All Things IVF Part 3 is going to be full of twists and turns around every corner, never a dull moment.

But perfect in the end.

Thursday, 12-31-09 (Day 2)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): Being the very last day of 2009, I'm resorting to a medical resolution. I will not beat myself up over the type and amount of foods that I disperse into my body, but instead I will remain gracious and continue to be thankful for this amazing opportunity, trying my best to take care of myself but also enjoy every moment of this blessing to the fullest.

Oh, and absolutely no frappachinos.

Lupron (10units, subQ injection): Today's injection was much less dramatic. I simply woke up, loaded the syringe, and gave myself the tiny injection.

I shouldn't be surprised, even after all of yesterdays craziness. After all, this is my third cycle of injections, and the odds are that this will be the smoothest set of shots yet. I don't even have to look at a calendar any more in fear of messing up a dose or giving the wrong injection on the wrong date. I can mix vials with ease, I've finally mastered the sharps container (I swear that first one was defective) and I can pretty much convert a mL into form of measurement possible.

I can even give myself an injection just about anywhere, anytime.

For this cycle Im trying my best to have no fear of mistakes. I know the possibilities, I know that stats, I know the process; and all of this just leads me to spend more time praying for God's will, and less time trying to design a path to reach my own. God holds the future in His hands and He is completely in control of the situation, leaving me with the one task of letting go of my need to be in control at all times and give it all over to Him for this next cycle.

One day at a time.

"The greatest mistake you can make in life is to be continually fearing you will make one."

-Elbert Hubbard

A New Beginning

2009-11-23T13:47:00.000-08:00

Today, I realized I'm officially a "multiple IVFer".

A title usually reserved for couples who have more severe problems than slight MFI, it basically means you've undergone several IVF attempts. As in more than one. Derived from our original thinking that it would only take us one try at IVF to become pregnant, the intensity of this role hit me hard.

I contemplated how in the world this happened, how we managed to get here. Questioning how we became that couple, the one in their mid twenties with perfect health and non-alcohol, smoke free rockstar ovaries, still un-impregnated after almost three years and two full IVF cycles.

Well, one and a half to be exact, but still.

After the trauma of today's realization settled, I deemed it necessary to treat myself to the only drug that ever works for me. I purchased a previously denied, much deserved, caffeine laden Frappachino that I enjoyed immensely until I remembered that I was sipping poison into my veins.

Because come December 30th we'll secretly be moving on to IVF number three-holding tight to our freshly earned title of multiple IVFers-and caffeine is thus far still forbidden.

So now you hold the key to the largest part of the reason this blog has officially become private. It all started about a month ago when my ridiculously generous parents let us know that they were ready when we were to try again, mere seconds after the results of our negative beta was released.

At the time we respectfully declined, but not because we weren't physically or mentally ready to try again. The truth was that we just couldn't bring ourselves to accept even more money from bank of mom and dad again, especially on the eve of our previously failed IVF.

I could practically see their money getting flushed down the toilet as I threw the negative HPT into the trash, and it killed me.

However, my father isn't one to take no for an answer, and he spent the next few days reminding me that they can afford it, they are willing to do it, and I'll understand their logic and undying suport when I have my own children.

And the fact that he-and my eggs-aren't getting any younger.

Mostly due to our unfeigned desire to attain a biological child, it didn't take long to break down our defenses. And while I'm still struggling with pride and guilt ridden thoughts of being the most expensive child ever as my parents once again pay out an extremely large sum of their own money in a crappy economy to fix a problem that isn't even their own, I'm trying instead to focus on the gratitude I feel for this blessing that God has provided for us.

But this time, we're following through with this new chapter of our journey in a more secretive form. Although I'd never change the past-and the fact that everyone we knew and their mother supported us throughout these last two cycles-we've decided to change things up. No one besides us, my parents, and the blog sphere will be made aware of our endeavours this time around.

This is our chance to shed the label of infertile and be somewhat normal for once. Under our current circumstances, we now have a unique opportunity to advance through this next cycle in secret, soaking up the prayers that I know are still going up for us, all while being able to do what we've always wanted to do.

Become pregnant, make it through the first trimester, and surprise everyone with our news.

So that-mixed with a slight change in our med regimen that I'll talk about in an upcoming post-is our new plan. We'll embrace our controversial title of multiple IVFers and stand proud, excited for what is to come and ready to take another shot at our own version of faith mixed with medical intervention.

This is our new beginning, complete with a new ending.

"Nobody can go back and start a new beginning, but anyone can start today and make a new ending."

-Maria Robinson

Coming To Conclusions

2009-11-09T13:59:00.000-08:00

It's official; Think (+) Positive is going private.

Blogger only allows 100 readers when you switch your blog to private, so I'm going to give everybody one more week to request an invite before I make the official switch. As of right now, I there are only a handful of spots available and I'm first-come-first-serving, so if you want an invite e-mail me soon at Tab2710@aol.com before time-and spots-are gone.

I would really love to continue sharing this journey with the entire world, but we know without a doubt the best thing for us is to make this blog private, at least for a little while. Thank you so much for your continued prayers and support, we need them now more than ever as we venture back to the beginning of our journey where times were easy, life was simple, and we had all the hope in the world that we'd be parents someday.

Because now, after almost three long years and a roller coaster of emotions, we are back to square one.

Presumably, right where God wants us to be.

So if there's anything I've learned

From this journey I am on

Simple truths will keep you going

Simple love will keep you strong

Because there are questions without answers,

flames that never die,

And heartaches we go through are often blessings in disguise

So thank you Lord,

How could I ask for more
- Cindy Morgan Lyrics

Private Practice

2009-11-02T11:25:00.000-08:00

In light of our second failed IVF cycle, I'm considering setting my blog to private.

When I started this journey, I didn't think twice about displaying my life for the public to see. Friends, family members, and fellow blogger's that I've never met in real life have given me encouragement and feedback that have helped me out tremendously, with the exception of a few weirdo's and their crazy comments.

But my life isn't the only one on display.

Although I'm abnormally indiscreet about all things infertile and medical, out of respect of my very discrete husband I'd like to try a private blog for a few months, just as we struggle with decisions that will lead to our next steps in the future. He didn't ask me to do this, and in fact he knows nothing about this, but close friends and family members follow this blog that place my husband and our life out on display for the world to see. And although I brought this upon myself by choosing to share our journey with everyone, sometimes it's hard to live under a microscope.

Even when you created the microscope yourself.

There is nothing secretive going on, and we aren't trying to hide anything from our loved ones and good friends. We still don't know what the future holds, or what our next steps will be, and I'm not sure if I'll even follow through with making this blog private. In fact, I may just take a nice long break and focus on my God, my health, and my husband. But either way, I want each and every one of you to know how much your prayers, support and love have meant to us.

I don't want to loose any readers, so I hope that everyone will send me an email at Tab2710@aol.com to request to be added to the list that can access my blog if I do choose to make this a private practice. If I know you in real life, I probably won't be granting you access during this time, but please know that I love you and appreciate your prayers. I'm just trying my best to make this blog as real as possible, and that may require some honesty that could possibly be difficult for me to convey properly knowing that people we love interact with on a daily basis are reading.

Please know that I love you and I thank God for you every day; but I need to try something different.

“Privacy and security are those things you give up when you show the world what makes you extraordinary. And when you want them back? Good luck with that one.”
-Margret Cho

Our Last Shot

2009-10-26T00:48:00.000-07:00

Thursday, 10-21-09 (Day 36) 8dp5dt

Beta #1: negative. I really hate that word.

It doesn't fit a celebratory 100th post on a blog titled Think (+) Positive.

Even though it was almost a full week ago, the memory of that day is still so vivid and painfully clear. I remember brushing my teeth while my husband stared at the digital, waiting for that beautiful word "pregnant" to show up. I remember the look on his face and hearing his voice tell me that it doesn't matter, it's probably not right as my eyes focused instead on the "not pregnant" flashing on the tiny screen. I remember crying as he held me, whispering over and over again in my ear that we just need to wait for the beta, the test is probably wrong anyway, even though I knew it wasn't.

I remember numbly sitting in the cold, hard chair as our favorite faux hawk phlebotomist tried to joke with me as he fought with my vein. I wanted to yell at him to stop, to stop trying to poke me because I wasn't pregnant anyway, and I could no longer stand the sight of needles, I was just so tired of being poked, prodded, and stuck. I remember hating my body. My ugly, distorted, bruised and hormone filled failure of a body.

I remember texting everyone that knew of our situation, because I didn't have the heart to call them and tell them in person, or the ability to do it without crying. I remember getting the beta results back-zero-and telling my husband, only to watch the tears stream down his cheeks as the reality of our situation finally became truth to him, courtesy of a blood test.

I remember feeling like my life was over.

It just wasn't fair. It's all wrong. All of the signs along the way added up, and this was supposed to be our time. I saw a lady bug yesterday, the symbol of hope, and I knew this was it. My last posting just happened to fall at 99, leaving this post as my 100th, and it just had to be a positive one, literally. There were so many praying for us. People I've never even met in real life were pouring out their hearts to God, praying for our pumpkins, our miracles.

We put in healthy embryos. Two of them. Two beautiful, healthy little expanded blasts that were going to be our little girls. And third, not so healthy one that we just couldn't bear to leave out and try to make it to freeze, because he probably wouldn't survive. He was our little boy. He was supposed to survive in my womb better than in that darn petri dish. I was supposed to be pregnant. I am supposed to be pregnant right now. I'm supposed to be a mother, it's what my body was made for.

Then I woke up the next day, and I was still breathing.

I was very much alive. And I looked over, and saw my beautiful husband lying there next to me. And I thought about all of my friends and family and loved ones who had sent hundreds of text messages, e-mails, voicemails, phone calls, cards, gifts, and flowers, letting me know that they cried as we cried and prayed for comfort and peace for the both of us.

And I couldn't help but feel blessed, despite my empty womb.

My initial feelings of fear were brought on by the realization that this was it for us. After almost three years, two IUI's, one and a half failed IVF attempts, I would never be a mother. I would never have my own biological child, and I felt as if someone had erected a giant wall right in front of my face, and I couldn't move. I was suffocating. I had no where to go. I was being crushed.

And then, something changed. My husband and I decided that we couldn't change our circumstances, but we could change our attitudes. Worse things have happened. It wasn't over, it couldn't be; we refuse to let this be the end for us.

We refuse to give up.

We have absolutely no idea when or how, but we will try again. After a tearful conversation, God gave us peace with the mutual decision that we will allow ourselves-someday-one more 2-cycle try. If after than point we still aren't successful, then we will move on, fully accepting the fact that we tried our best and did all that we could. But until then, until we find a way to do this again, we aren't done.

And now I have something else to look forward too, to hope for, and I'm healing and thinking positive again. I'm feeling grief, but I know in my heart that God hasn't let us down. Just because He didn't give us the answer we wanted from Him, doesn't mean He doesn't love us or hear our prayers. He heard every last one of them, and He answered them just as it should be. We trust that He has something amazing in store for us, and we can't help but feel excited again for the future, and the blessings that we know He has in store for us, whatever they may be.

It's not normal, I know. It's probably strange to everyone reading this that I'm really doing alright, and I have been since less than twenty four hours after receiving the news that our perfect IVF cycle was a failure. But for me, it's impossible to look around at every thing that God's given me and feel hopeless. To feel lost. To feel like it's all over, and I have nothing left.

A dear friend of mine reminded me that in the Bible, it's documented that every single woman that prayed for a child received one. Every single one of them. It may not have been in their time, but it was in God's time, and I really do believe that if God gives you the desire to be a mother, He will indeed fulfill that desire, someway, somehow.

How could I believe all this and not be hopeful? How could I trust that God is in control and not praise Him for all He's given me, and all He'll continue to give to me in the future?

Our first full attempt at an IVF failed. It didn't work. I still have a million questions, I'm still fighting the disappointment and sadness, and sometimes I still reach down to my stomach to feel the life inside of me. When I remember suddenly that those tiny lives no longer exist, I quickly pull my hand away as the grief hits me like a thousand pounds of dead weight.

The sight of pumpkins breaks my heart.

But I know that I'll keep breathing; I have no other choice. I know that God has a plan for us bigger than we could ever dream of on our own. I know that He is holding our little ones in His hands, and I know they are praising Him right now, in a place that's a far better home than my womb and this world ever could have been for them.

And for that, this 100th post is still a positive one.

"I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I intended to be."
-Douglas Adams

Keep On Shooting

2009-10-20T20:30:00.000-07:00

Saturday, 10-17-09 (Day 32) 4dp5dt

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): I remember the days when my only concern was how much weight I was gaining from this little pill.

Now all I want to do is get fat; really pregnant fat.

Ciprofloxacin (500mg, oral pill): Last one, praise the Lord!

PIO (1ml, IM injection): Tonight, I showed off my behind bruises to a few choice friends.

I'm pretty sure they were impressed.

4dp5dt-At four days past a 5 day transfer, the implantation process should continue as the morula buries deeper in the lining.

Sunday, 10-18-09 (Day 33) 5dp5dt

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): You'd think that after more than a month straight of taking these, I wouldn't forget to take them anymore.

But I still do.

And I'm blaming it on pregnancy brain.

PIO (1ml, IM injection): The heating pad is my friend. When placed on my backside after an injection and left on for about an hour, it completely stops the muscle soreness that I would normally experience the following day.

5dp5dt-At 5 days past a 5 day transfer, the morula should be completely implanted in the lining, and has placenta and fetal cells.

Monday, 10-19-09 (Day 34) 6dp5dt

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): I don't think these ever really affected my appetite after all. Now that all of my other pills and shots are complete, I no longer have headaches, crazy cravings or fatigue.

PIO (1ml, IM injection):Now if only I could find something to stop the bruising, I'd be set.

6dp5dt-At 6 days past a 5 day transfer, the placenta cells should begin to secret HCG in the blood.

I had full intentions of testing for that precious HCG this morning, but when I woke up to see some pinkish red blood mixed in with the nastiness of last nights PIO suppository residue, I chickened out.

I'm not going to lie; I'm pretty scared, and desperation has set in.

I have the reassurance from fellow IVFers and my doctor that some light bleeding can be completely normal. I also know that I serve a God that is the creator of life, and He is hearing the prayers that are going up today; He is more than capable of perfoming a miracle on our behalf.

But that doesn't mean that just because He can, He will.

Tuesday, 10-20-09 (Day 35) 7dp5dt

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): It's probably just stress and nerves, but my appetite for regular food is pretty much non-existent.

PIO (1ml, IM injection): As much of an inconvienience and bruise maker this shot is, I'm praying that tonight won't be my last one.

7dp5dt-At 7 days past a 5 day transfer, more HCG is produced as the fetus develops.

I was really hoping not to find any scary pinkish-red discharge this morning, but that's exactly what I found. My heart immediately dropped as I realized I was destined yet again to spend the day chugging water and checking my panties for spotting.

Just like yesterday, the majority of the pinkish-red discharge found it's way out early this morning, with just a few episodes of a bit of pink residue on the toilet paper throughout the rest of the day. My doctor asked me not to look to far into the situation, because it's not a full flow and therefore could simply be vaginal irritation brought on by my suppositories, but I know it could also be much more.

Part of me wants to give up now and be realistic-seeing fresh blood is never a good thing-but there is still another piece of my heart that just can't let go of hoping this is our time, no matter how hard I try. I'm still struggling to hold on to the possiblity of a positive outcome, but somewhere deep inside I still feel peace.

I'm hoping this is just another bump in the road to show how powerful God and prayer can be when overcoming the odds seem utterly impossible. And until my beta tomorrow comes and puts an end to this strenuous waiting game, I'll keep doing the only thing I know how.

I'll just keep shooting.

"Courage is the discovery that you may not win, and trying when you know you can lose."

-Tom Krause

One Shot Deal

2009-10-16T22:24:00.000-07:00

Wednesday, 10-14-09 (Day 29) 1dp5dt

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): I'm eating like a bird during the day, and hogging like a heifer at night.

You know it's bad when you use a pig and cow in the same description.

Ciprofloxacin (500mg, oral pill): Still swallowing these big guys, two a day. One in the am, and one in the pm.

PIO (1ml, IM injection): If only it were appropriate to take a picture of my behind and post it for the world to see, then maybe you'd all feel my pain.

Progesterone (50mg suppositories): I know I'm all about the honest daily documentation of all things IVF, but recording this one is going to have to remain a one shot deal.

These rocket shaped suppositories have to be inserted vaginally every night for the next thirty days, and I just can't imagine what in the world I'd be able to write about that wouldn't be borderline inappropriate about something this messy, that's going into such a private place, for such a long period of time.

So I'll spare you the details that you really don't want to hear anyway.

1dp5dt: At one day past a 5 day transfer, a blast is expected to hatch out of it's shell.

Freeze Report: I never received a call letting me know if any of our remaining pumpkins made it to freeze, so I'm praying that no news is still good news.

Thursday, 10-15-09 (Day 30) 2dp5dt

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): Since I'm treating my body like it's already pregnant, I'm trying my best to only eat what I want the life inside of me to be eating, and I'm finding it a lot easier to be held accountable for good food choices when your feeding more than just yourself.

Ciprofloxacin (500mg, oral pill): Still taking them.

PIO (1ml, IM injection): Still getting shot.

2dp5dt: At 2 days past a 5 day transfer, a blastocyst is expected to attach to a site on the uterine lining.

Freeze Report: After sending numerous e-mails regarding the state of my precious remaining pumpkins, I was finally informed that none of our left over little ones reached a freezable state.

I'm saddened because I feel like they were already my children and I'll never get to know them. But I have to trust that God will take good care of each one of them, and I'm praying even harder for the life that's inside of me now.

Friday, 10-16-09 (Day 31) 3dp5dt

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): I found a new recipe for some delicious oatmeal pumpkin chocolate chip cookies today, and immediately ran to the store to purchase the ingredients for a double batch of them.

It's OK because they're pumpkin, guys.

Ciprofloxacin (500mg, oral pill): Only one more day. After tomorrow I'll be back to where I started, with only one pill a day.

I have no idea what I'm going to do with myself.

PIO (1ml, IM injection): Amidst all the complaining about the array of pills I'm taking, I've forgotten to acknowledge how very nice it is to only be receiving one shot a day.

3dp5dt: At 3 days past a 5 day transfer, implantation should begin as the blastocyst begins to bury in the lining.

With the completion of the majority of my meds, the feelings of sickness, nausea, bloating, and headaches are slowly subsiding, and my previous belly bruises are almost completely faded. The worry and fear have also mellowed as the stressful wait for follicle counts, retrieval dates, fertilization reports, embryo statuses and transfer day have all passed.

On the day of the transfer, all I could think about was the life inside of me. I just knew this would work, and I was praising God all day long for the blessing of being able to make it this far, no matter what the outcome. And now, at a mere 3 days past transfer, I find myself forgetting to pray and thank God for the miracle of what's inside of me.

Because it may not last, and today should be a day of celebration. These precious few days I have left with the innocence of assuming I'm pregnant are ticking away faster then I ever imagined, and I don't want the joy I feel or the attachment I have to the life inside of me to fade away.

I'm spending more time dreading next weeks test then looking forward to it. I'm not in a huge hurry for next Wednesday to come, because in my mind I'll remain pregnant until something tells me otherwise; and I'm trying so hard not to think about that. I want to enjoy today, this very minute, and praise God for the blessing of this entire journey, no matter the outcome next week. I don't want to forget that I'm pregnant today, and I don't want to loose hope that I'll continue to be pregnant tomorrow.

And for the next nine months.

Because I've done my part, and the rest is up to God. There is nothing more I can do than to pray and give everything to the Lord, allowing Him to turn my fear of the unknown into joy and praise for the blessings I have already experienced. This cycle has been full of ups and downs, but our prayers have been answered with miracles and I know that people are continuing to pray fervently for more miracles of the pumpkin variety.

And for that, I am grateful.

"Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life. It turns what we have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, chaos to order, confusion to clarity. Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today, and creates a vision for tomorrow."
-Melody Beattie

Transfer Day

2009-10-13T23:58:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, 10-13-09 (Day 28)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): Because of nerves and swollen girl parts my appetite isn't what it used to be, so this little guy is back to it's original job of simply prepping my body to accept-and not reject-the new life that will soon be inside me.

Ciprofloxacin (500mg, oral pill): These are still ridiculously big.

Dostinex (.5mg, oral pill): Tonight I took the last of my little estrogen dropping pills, and I'll remain grateful for their ability to keep my bloating and swelling in check. I wasn't in nearly as much pain as I was last time, and I'm just about back down to my normal pooch.

PIO (1ml, IM injection): I'm pretty sure having to ice an entire side of my cheek hurts worse than these shots, because I'm trying so hard to numb the area that I end up with freezer burn.

And my husband is disgusted that I don't sanitize the ice pack afterward.

Egg Transfer: Completely uncharacteristic of early October weather in California, a perfect storm was raging today. I woke up to dark, clouded sky's pouring down the heavy rain, and blustery wind raging through and destroying anything in it's path.

It was beautiful.

I'm not a huge fan of the rain; mostly because it messes up hair and clothes and makes driving difficult, but I've always loved the first real storm of the year. There's nothing more cozy then listening to the rain bounce off the windows while your snuggled up and warm, especially right after a dry, hot summer. So when I woke up this morning and saw the gloomy weather, I couldn't think of a better day to do an egg transfer.

Every minute that drew closer to my appointment time without a phone call telling me not to come was a good thing, because that meant I must still have some little embryos growing. My heart was still beating faster than it should, but I took my time getting ready and calmed myself with prayer and my iPod playing inspirational songs. I wanted to enjoy every moment of this day and try my best to remain positive, all while trying to look good for the first introduction to my embryos.

As our in-laws drove us through the storm and partially flooded streets of Sacramento, I started to get anxious. Not only because it was about 15 minutes until our appointment time and we were late because of the traffic caused by broken tree limbs setting in the middle of the freeway and partially flooded streets, but because my phone was ringing.

And it was the doctors office.

My heart skipped a beat or too, and I felt light headed. As I answered the phone, I prayed they weren't calling to let me know that they just checked on my precious pumpkins and found them all arrested, canceling today's transfer and our last shot at our own biological family. We were so close, and I just couldn't imagine it all ending now.

But despite my constant lack of faith, God continued to bless. The nurse had no information on the amount of embryos remaining or the status of their stages, but she did let us know that the embryologist just checked on them and the transfer was still on; and she was just calling to make sure we were safe in the storm.

And I could finally breath again.

Since we got the the office about 20 minutes late with a more than full bladder, they allowed me to release it and then start drinking again. There was only one other patient doing a transfer that day and she had arrived early, so they simply switched our appointments. And as I sat there drinking water to painfully overstuffed my bladder for the second time that day, all I could think about were my tiny little pumpkins and how many of them had survived.

Shortly after, we were called back to set in doctor Greene's office and told he would be with us in just a minute. We were both nervous as we waited for him to come in, having no idea what to expect. The room was silent as we sat perfectly still, contemplating the possibilities and scenarios of what we were about to jump into.

After the longest 30 seconds of my life, Dr. Greene entered the room and sat down in the chair across from us. He opened up his folder, and started pulling out pictures of our single grade 3 blast and our two grade 2 expanded blasts, all while explaining to us that the other three were still being watched closely for the possibility of reaching the blast stage and freezing.

I was shocked.

All six of our pumpkins were still alive and well, and half of them were blasts, with a third of them reaching the expanded blast stage. That is pretty amazing, given the statistics; and I could pretty much hear God in my head saying Oh ye of little faith, I told you so!

Or maybe it was the Dr. I was hearing, because he was shaking his finger at me and telling me I shouldn't be surprised. I had sent him a few e-mails to which he responded by telling me not to worry because everything was progressing well. He let me know that if there was cause for concern, he would have been truthful with me, but he insisted I relax and remain positive.

But I never listen, and now I was getting lectured for it over a picture of my beautiful blasts.

We spent a few minutes going over the details with the doctor and deciding our next steps. He gave us his recommendation of how many and which ones to transfer, and then left the room to allow my husband and I to make the final decision. We disputed for a few moments, contemplating the possibilities of our situation with open hearts and minds, and after another question or two my husband reached the decision that we were both most comfortable with. The doctor then informed the embryologist of our choice, and I was given a small yellow pill and whisked away into the transfer room.

I was told to remove my clothing from the waist down and set on the table. As I started to undress and my husband took his seat to the right of the bed, I tried to take a mental picture of the room and my surroundings, because I never wanted to forget any of this. And then I started to worry, realized how fast things were moving, wondering if the freshly taken Valium would kick in on time.

As I finished undressing and sat on the table, my husband peeked his head out to let them know we were ready. But as the team came in the room and took their places, they let me know that I was sitting on the wrong end of the table.

And I was still wearing my panties.

So after a quick and embarrassing switch up that I wished I could blame on the Valium (but couldn't because I'd only taken it five minutes prior), we were in position and ready to begin. I warned the nurse I may pee on her because my bladder was so incredibly full, but she ignored me and pressed hard on my pooch with the sonogram wand, trying to find my jelly bean shaped uterus, and the doctor assumed his usual southern position and and let me know that the nurse must like me, because she warmed up his speculum.

She must have liked me a lot, because it felt like a curling iron was being slid inside of me.

I knew the Valium hadn't kicked in yet because I could feel everything and I certainly wasn't relaxed. First I was flushed out with a cleaning liquid to remove all cervical mucous, and then a small catheter was inserted into my uterus, just like in an IUI, only this time I was able to watch the entire process on the computer screen. As soon as everything was in place, the embryologist was called in to finish up the process, bringing in his very own tiny catheter and placing it inside the larger one. We all watched as a tiny spark showed up on the screen where new life was placed inside of my womb for the very first time ever.

After the procedure, my bladder was drained using a small catheter. Let me tell you, there is nothing more embarrassing than an entire room listening to you pee for more than 5 minutes, while your feet are still up in stirrups and an awkward silence fills the room.

Oh, but it felt so much better.

For the final step of the process, I was left lying somewhat upside down as a precautionary. The doctor said that it wasn't necessary, but it just gives everything a chance to settle in and relax. He turned on some soothing music and my husband and I were left in the dim room for about an hour, hoping, praying, and of course texting.

And then it was over. I was given lab slips for my HCG betas, instructions to avoid strenuous exercise and lifting more than 10 pounds, and the assurance that as of right now, I'm pregnant. Bed rest wasn't necessary, but taking it easy was, so we headed to lunch and then back to my in-laws. I felt giddy the entire time, knowing that at least for the moment, there was life inside of me.

I swore that if we ever made it this far, I wouldn't be able to handle the wait, wondering if the Lord chose to bless us with a pregnancy. But to be quite honest, I've never felt more peaceful. The majority of the difficult waiting is over; the eggs have been grown and retrieved, they have lived and thrived, and God has allowed the doctor to place life inside of me. A mixture of my husband and myself is setting inside of me at this very moment, and I realize we've done all we can possibly do. We are secure in our decision of the amount transferred, and the rest is up to our Heavenly Father, there is nothing more we can do.

God has been with us and this process every step of the way, even during the times when I spent more energy worrying that trusting and believing in Him and His abilities. Our family, friends, and even some whom we've never met before have poured out their hearts and prayed for us and our precious pumpkins, and I know that God heard every single one of those prayers.

And He'll continue to hear the prayers as we wait to see what will come of this cycle, praising Him and hoping for a positive outcome.

Literally.

"Hope is like a bird that senses the dawn and carefully starts to sing while it is still dark."
-Anonymous

Embryo Growth Report {Part II}

2009-10-12T15:21:00.000-07:00

Saturday, 10-10-09 (Day 25)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): It's hard to consume large quantities of food when your ovaries are the size of oranges.

Ciprofloxacin (500mg, oral pill): I've transformed from a shotaholic to a pill popper.

My bathroom counter looks like a pharmaceutical center.

Dostinex (.5mg, oral pill): Check.

PIO (1ml, IM injection): Ouch.

This afternoon, we headed to the pumpkin patch with our nieces and nephews. As usual, my husband and I were the only couple present not toting an adorable baby or toddler, but we had a great time all the same. It was sort of therapeutic to watch all of the little ones stomp around the humongous pumpkins, ride in the cow train, and play with the animals.

And not being able to ignore the symbolic-ness of hanging out in a pumpkin patch, I picked out 5 small pumpkins for our 5 precious embryos that I hope are still growing.

And then I found a tiny 6th one, because I'm not giving up hope that our 6th little egg may still fertilize and grow, catching up to the rest.

Sunday, 10-11-09 (Day 26)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): I know they aren't inside of me anymore, but I'm still eating for the 6 of us, possibly 7.

Ciprofloxacin (500mg, oral pill): Why in the world does this pill have to be so big, when all the other ones are so small?

Dostinex (.5mg, oral pill): I wonder if this little guy will thin my lining? I better start drinking more POM juice, just in case.

PIO (1ml, IM injection): My poor behind is covered in little blue bruises and tiny red dots, and it feels like someone literally kicked my butt.

Or punctured it several times with a large needle.

Embryo Report: I don't think I've ever been as nervous as I was today. I sat through Sunday school and church services, checking my phone every few seconds, waiting for it to light up and bring me the news I've been waiting for.

But we all know a watched phone doesn't ring.

The only thing keeping me sane was the constant reminders from friends and family, via text message, e-mail, and in person, letting me know that they were praying so incredibly hard for our precious 5-possibly 6-embryos. I spent the entire morning and early afternoon shifting through moments of peace, and moments of wanting to puke. Moments of knowing God is in control, and moments of the blinding memory of what happened the last Sunday I was impatiently waiting for a call.

I tried to decide in my head what state of news I would be OK with. Which phone call outcome would qualify as a success, which would be just average, and which would bring me to my knees. Would 3 embryos growing be enough, or would I only be satisfied if all 5 of them were growing? And if all 5 were in fact growing, would the amount of cells they housed determine my happiness?

And then I realized I don't even know how many cells there supposed to have on day three anyway.

So I had to stop and catch my breath several times. Remind myself that God is watching over them, and He loves them even more than I do. Deep down I knew that over thinking and over analyzing weren't going to make my phone ring, and they certainly wouldn't help my little pumpkins grow and divide cells.

I had to remind myself to drop it like it's hot.

Even though it wasn't easy, I managed to keep my sanity until the phone rang at 2pm on the dot. But the second I heard that metal maroon communication device ring and saw the screen light up with the 916 area code, I lost it. And just as I was afraid the long awaited call would be transferred to voice mail I picked it up.

I don't remember how the conversation started, but I do remember feeling the knots in my stomach and looking down at the white of my gripped knuckles. I also remember trying to wrap my head around the miracle of the 6 embryos the nurse was saying that we had growing in culture. And before I could think to ask about their grades and amount of cells, I was speechless.

And that does not happen often.

I had already concluded that if we had all 5 of our current embryos survive, it would be a miracle. But God is good and he answered our prayers, and not only did He decide to keep all 5 of our pumpkins growing, but He allowed the 6th little one to catch up to the rest, blessing us far beyond our expectations.

It started to sink in as the nurse continued with the report and scheduled our five day transfer for Tuesday. 3 of our embryos are 4-celled and grade 2, 2 of them are 6-celled and grade 2, and our little rockstar is 6-celled and grade 1 (on a scale of 1-3, 1 is the best).

We are still fervently praying, because we aren't completely safe yet. With only one of our embryos graded at a 1, and only having 6 cells as our highest count, we aren't completely out of the woods. Conflicting reports say that by 72 hours after retrieval a healthy embryo should have anywhere from 6-10 cells, and we are at the bottom of that "should-be".

But God has blessed so far, and I have no doubts that He can do even more with these precious little pumpkins that are hopefully continuing to grow and divide cells in culture. There is a possibility we'll get an update on the status of our embryos tomorrow, but the nurse doesn't think we'll be getting another report until the transfer on Tuesday morning.

And so begins another two day wait, hoping and praying that these little ones make it to the blastoycte stage with out arresting.

It just never ends.

Monday, 10-12-09 (Day 27)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): Now I'm officially eating for 7.

Ciprofloxacin (500mg, oral pill): This horse pills are getting harder and harder to swallow, but I'm hanging in there.

Dostinex (.5mg, oral pill): Only one day left.

PIO (1ml, IM injection): This better be worth it.

The nurse called to verify my transfer appointment for 11am tomorrow, but not to give me another embryo report. The embryologist said it's best to leave our little pumpkins alone as much as possible to help them grow, because the oxygen and light required to check them out may damage them.

And we don't want to risk that.

Even though I have no idea how my sweet little embryos are growing right now, the way I'm feeling is like night and day from yesterday. On this cycle day last time, we received the call that we had no remaining embryos. Although that could still very well be the case tomorrow, I have such a sense of calm after hearing yesterdays results-which I'm classifying as nothing short of a miracle-and we are still praising God for showing us again that with Him anything is possible, and the power of prayer is still so very real.

God has a plan that is bigger than me, and although He may not choose for these little embryos to grow and thrive, He has blessed us so far and I just need to trust that He will hold them-and me-in His hands throughout the duration of this process.

And I'll just keep praying for miracles.

"Take a deep breath, count to ten, and tackle each task one step at a time."

-Linda Shalaway

Fertilization Report {Part II}

2009-10-09T23:23:00.000-07:00

Friday, 10-9-09 (Day 24)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): I'm so bloated and swollen right now, I can't even imagine how I complained about my little pooch before all of this.

I couldn't suck it in even if I tried.

Ciprofloxacin (500mg, oral pill): This big guy makes me sick to my stomach, but so does the stress associated with IVF, so it's not the only culprit.

Dostinex (.5mg, oral pill): I'm not in quite as much pain as I was after the retrieval last time, I haven't even taken any pain meds or Tylenol yet. I'm pretty sure this little pill, and it's hormone regulating powers are to thank for that.

PIO (1ml, IM injection): Even though it's the big one, it's my only shot left, and for that I'm grateful.

Clindamycin (150mg vaginal suppository): Tonight was my last one, praise the Lord.

Fertilization Report: Of the 22 eggs retrieved yesterday, they were able to performed ICSI on 7 of them (where they take an individual sperm and shoot it directly into the egg). As of today, 5 are fertilized and doing "well" and 1 is still being watched for possible fertilization.

One one side of the equation, 5-possibly 6-embryos out of 22 retrieved eggs seems pretty unsatisfactory. But on the other hand, it's far better than the 2 embryos we had to work with last time, especially since they were made presumably from only slightly mature eggs.

I was sick to my stomach all morning-partially from the pain of retrieval but mostly from nerves-waiting for the fertilization phone call. Last time I was woken at 8am by the call, this time I had to wait until after lunch time to receive it, and the anticipation was almost more than I could bare. The worst part was that after the phone call was complete, I couldn't decided if I was happy or sad.

And then I felt horrible.

Absolutely terrible.

Because I was more upset about the lack of mature eggs and fertilized embryos than I was grateful for the 5-possibly 6-precious pumpkins that I had. I wanted to be extremely excited, but all I could feel was a numbness that was quickly replaced by a fear that still hasn't gone away.

God always has been and still is in control; I know this. But the blinding anticipation of waiting until Sunday to hear how my precious little ones are growing is enough to drive me insane with completely unnecessary worry and fear.

These precious embryos could very well all grow and thrive and divide cells, and I really have no reason to believe otherwise. Except the fact that last time, they didn't. Neither of my two fertilized embryos made it past 3 cells, and that falls far short of the 8 they are expected to be on day three. So how am I to believe that this time will be any different?

In my head exists a jumble of emotions, mixed with desperation and a tiny bit of hope. I'm slightly upset that less than a third of our eggs were mature again, because I always had the nagging feeling that we should have waited longer this time. I'm disappointed in myself for struggling so hard to hold onto faith and believe that trusting in God is all I can-and should-do at this point. I'm tired of feeling sick to my stomach over these precious little embryos that I can't help but worry about, and I'm ashamed to be so selfish as to complain about something that could very well be the answers to our prayers.

But deep down, I still have the unwavering hope that I'm trying so desperately to hold onto. No matter the outcome of this cycle, I still have my God, my husband, my family and my friends.

And as of right now, 5 little pumpkins.

"I can complain because rosebushes have thorns, or I can rejoice because thorn bushes have roses."

- Author Unknown

Retrieval Day {Part II}

2009-10-08T23:58:00.000-07:00

Thursday, 10-8-09 (Day 23)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): Because of today's retrieval and it's crazy no-eating-or drinking-after-midnight-the-night-before rules, this pill wasn't taken until this evening. I hope it's insomnia doesn't rob me of the sleep that both my mind and body are lacking.

Ciprofloxacin (500mg, oral pill): Quite a bit larger than it's tiny co-workers, this horse pill is harder to swallow than the rest. But it's an anti-biotic, and I'm desperate to do anything I can to keep my body ready for implanting in just a few short days.

So until then, bigger is better.

Dostinex (.5mg, oral pill): So far I haven't experienced any side effects of this tiny white pill; in fact I think it's E2 reducing powers are keeping me from swelling and bloating, and for that I am grateful.

PIO (1ml, IM injection): And we're back to the big shots.

Hopefully these stick around for the next few months this time.

Clindamycin (150mg vaginal suppository): It almost feels inappropriate to be writing about this little rocket shaped suppository that is shoved into a very private place, but for the sake of daily documentation of all things IVF, I must continue for one more day.

Egg Retrieval: After forcing my brain to shut down and try it's hand at sleep last night, I woke up with a peace and joy that can only be attributed to all the the prayers of our dear family and friends. My brain still struggled and debated, gently swaying between fear and happiness, but there was a present calm amidst the storm.

As we packed our bags and left for Sacramento for the third time this week, I kept praying and selfishly asking God to work His magic in today's retrieval. And then I would feel bad, because I realized I should be asking God to help others, like Noelle as she has her second beta today, and Summer as she struggles with receiving a negative result from her latest IVF, and Robin as she grows her precious miracle inside of her, just to name a few. So I'd stop and ask God to intervene for others and their needs, but then I'd find my self heading right back to my own again, going boldly to the thrown and making my requests made known to God.

Because praying is really all I can do.

As soon as we arrived at the office, we were promptly asked to sign papers, and my husband and I were immediately taken in two different directions; his to make his contribution to our precious pumpkins, and mine into the restroom to empty my bladder and change into the appropriate garb. I was then rushed into the pre-op room where my temperature and blood pressure were taken, and my IV was inserted.

Before I could ask if I would see my husband before being put under, I was whisked into the operating room and felt a surprising gust of cool air hit my naked behind as the anesthesiologist lifted up my gown and sat me on the end of the hard, sterile table. Suddenly I was surrounded by nurses and the doctor, all pulling at different parts of my barely clothed body, scooting me down on the table and lifting my legs into the stirrups.

I remember feeling embarrassingly exposed in a rare moment of modesty, and then I was out.

I woke up asking how many eggs were retrieved, and when the nurse said 22 I thought I was still dreaming. I must have asked her and anyone else in the room several more times, but I kept getting the same answer, until it finally sank in that really, truly retrieved 22 precious pumpkin follicles.

And then I started crying.

At that point the doctor walked in and immediately rushed to my side, disturbed by my tears and asking if I was in any pain. I assured him I was feeling fine, I was just so incredibly happy. Everyone was staring at me like I was insane, and all I could manage to do was cry and babble about the surprising number of follicles that were removed from my once shamed but newly reclaimed rockstar ovaries.

God is good, and although He proved again today that He is in control and in the business of answering prayers, we still aren't out of the woods yet. The doctor said that out of our pumpkin patch of 22 follicles, 7 of them seem to be mature, but he's keeping his eye on 4 or 5 others. We won't know the true amount of mature and fertilized embryos until tomorrow morning though, so once again we're doing our best to hurry up and wait.

The pain of last times results are still fresh in my mind, and there is still a piece of my heart that is just waiting to be broken by a sudden change in direction from tomorrows phone call. But I'm continuing to pray that God blesses and holds our precious pumpkins in His hands, ripening them and maturing them and allowing as many to fertilize as possible, as only He can do.

Because in Him, anything is possible; and pumpkin growing is a piece of cake.

"To hope is to risk pain. To try is to risk failure, but risk must be taken because the greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing."
-Author Unknown

Shotaholic

2009-10-07T22:50:00.000-07:00

Monday, 10-5-09 (Day 20)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): I didn't have much of an appetite today, so maybe this pill's hunger making magic is wearing off.

Lupron (5units, subQ injection): After all this time, I've finally figured out the best place to shoot is directly under the belly button. My skin is tougher and tends to bleed a little bit more to the left and right, but I hardly feel a thing when that needle hits right down the middle.

Follistim (225units, subQ injection): I finally used up all of my Follistim cartridges, so now I'm using the old fashioned vials of Follistim, for which I have no needles or knowledge of how to draw up. Luckily my nurse coordinator did the hard work for me and hooked me up with a couple days worth of pre-drawn Follistim injections.

Luveris (1/2ml, subQ injection): Since she's the expert, I also had her draw up my next two Luveris injections, since I can't seem to get them right anyway. I watched-impressed of course-as she followed her own directions, gently mixed the liquid, and drew out the exact amount for the first shot.

But when it came time to draw the second half, she was confused as to why she was coming up short of the 1/2ml that she needed, turning the syringe in her hands and staring at it like she was waiting for it to tell her it's secret, just like I've been doing.

I couldn't help by say it.

I told you so.

Follicle Count Ultrasound and E2: As I sat on that cold, sterile table again, I was feeling positive, but slightly more apprehensive than last time. I tried my best to make small talk with the doctor and my nurse, but it was a little difficult to do as I watched him lubricate the wand that would show us a glimpse of my freshly grown pumpkin patch, or the lack thereof; since-once again-I wasn't feeling a thing.

In it went, and the measuring began as I carefully kept track in my head of the numbers and sizes he was calling out. First was my uterine lining, which he praised at a 15, once again labeling me as an overachiever for extending far past the 9 he was hoping to see. I tried to share his enthusiasm over that high number, but my heart dropped a little as I realized that 15 is great, but its still 1.5 smaller than last time.

And then it picked itself up off my uterine lining and jumped right back into my chest as the Doctor started measuring and counting my beautiful pumpkin follicles. I lost track around twenty, mesmerized by the incredibly gorgeous black blobs on the screen. The perfect, precious round circles that could very possibly be a portion of my future babies. But knowing more than I did at this point in the game last time, I quickly became less concerned with quantity and more concerned with matching sizes.

During my last cycle, the sizes of my follicles were all over the place. I remember the doctor calling out random numbers between 10 and 21mm, all ranging in size and shape. This time the majority of the follicles sat around 14, 15 and 16mm; which is excellent because that means we can focus on that particular group and make sure they grow mature and ripe, hopefully avoiding last cycles lack of mature eggs due to a too early trigger and retrieval.

This is exactly what we were hoping for.

After I was once again vertical and sporting panties, the doctor assured me that he was incredibly pleased with my response this time and set me up with another sonogram tomorrow. And as he marched off to visit the next patient, he smiled sheepishly at me and pumped his fist into the air in victory, excitedly telling me to "think positive".

You have no idea, doc.

No idea.

Tuesday, 10-6-09 (Day 21)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): Check.

Lupron (5units, subQ injection): I didn't know it at the time, but this was my last Lupron shot. I just may miss the drama of it all, but now my stomach will finally have the chance to recover and de-bruise for the first time in three weeks.

Dostinex (.5mg, oral pill): My E2 level landed higher than they liked yesterday, so we're adding another pill into the mix for the next eight days.

HCG Trigger (1ml, IM injection): When we found out that we would be triggering tonight-a few days earlier than we expected-my husband packed up and drove back down to his parents house and me, towing the necessary extra clothes and trigger shot that I needed for tomorrow.

Before I knew it, 11:45pm arrived and I was icing my behind and planning our shooting location. My husband stood above me, ready to pierce a 22 1/2 Gage needle through my ice cold flesh and into my muscle and tissue, sending a final dose of raging hormones meant to release my organic pumpkin patch.

And I just kept praying that they'd ripe enough this time.

Follicle Count Ultrasound and E2: I was experiencing such an insane mix of emotions as I sat there on that table, watching the fuzzy black screen lay out the rest of this cycles agenda for me in the form of round, dark blobs.

As I sat up and tried to cover myself with the flimsy pink paper that is supposed to act as a blanket but offers no such coverage or warmth, the doctor smiled and stated that we are on for a trigger tonight and retrieval tomorrow. I tried incredibly hard to get excited, but my emotions froze solid as I realized that last time, we did the exact same thing at the very same time, with the same amount of meds, on precisely the same cycle day.

And the heat rose uncontrollably to my cheeks as I considered what that meant.

I wanted to remind the doctor that last time, my eggs ended up not being mature at this stage of the game. I wanted him to remember that I endured weeks and weeks of shots, pills, suppositories, bruising, emotional insanity and tears only to have my precious follicles taken from me too early. I needed him to recall that last time he took my follicles from me, he never gave them back.

This time, I want them back.

But instead I smiled politely and sat through the rest of today's instructions and the trigger shot lecture, falling apart on the inside. To keep myself from breaking down in tears, I repeated in my head that God is in control, and the doctor knows what he's doing. He knows me, he knows follicles, and he knows what happened last time; and I have no doubts that he wants to avoid the disasters of last time just as much as I do.

Every cycle is different, and just because last time resulted in failure doesn't mean this time will yield the same results. And my E2 level was slightly higher than they like to see yesterday, so I'd like to think that means that my little pumpkins are larger in size and more numerous in quantity this time around, and that could be a very good thing.

I need that to be a very good thing, because I can't do last time again.

Wednesday, 10-7-09 (Day 22)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): Massive amounts of sugar were consumed today, in order to ensure the sweetness of my little pumpkins, of course.

Dostinex (.5mg oral pill): I'm not sure exact what the purpose of this medicine is besides holding or lowering E2 levels, the bottle says it may cause upset stomach, headache, and nausea.

Pretty much everything I'm already experiencing, so I wouldn't know the difference.

Clindamycin (150mg vaginal suppository): These are always fun.

Tonight, I'm dancing dangerously close between excitement and insanity. I realize that focusing on the dates and methods of last cycle aren't going to help anything other than to feed my over analyzing obsessive compulsive nature. The doctor is the expert, if he feels that now is the appropriate time to release my precious follicles then I need to accept that, trust him, and move on.

I serve a God that is bigger and more powerful than follicle counts, lining sizes, and retrieval dates. It's still hard knowing that God is more than capable of allowing this to work, but it may not be in His will to do so. He knows the desire in our hearts, but that doesn't mean our prayers will be answered just as we ask them to be.

But I do know it will be OK. I'm holding onto faith that no matter what the outcome is tomorrow, God will bless us in one way or another. Instead of focusing on the mistakes of the past, I'll remember the victories, no matter how small; like free birth control pills, donated medicine, easy shots, and the simple fact that we're able to be on this journey in the first place.

And I'll expect a miracle.

Or maybe two.

"Be miserable. Or motivate yourself. Whatever has to be done, it's always your choice."
-Wayne Dyer

Triple Shot

2009-10-04T23:15:00.000-07:00

Thursday, 10-1-09 (Day 16)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): Grapes.

I can't get enough grapes.

Lupron (5units, subQ injection): Easy.

Follistim (225units, subQ injection): Tonight I agreed to watch my two nephews for a few hours while my sister and brother-in-law ran around town. So with two under the age of two and my injection schedule falling dangerously close to bath, bottle and bed time, everything was a little crazy.

Just how I like it.

As my husband and I tried as quickly as possible to set everything out and get the injections going, the youngest was crying and drooling on the kitchen floor-wanting to be picked up-and the oldest was trying to create a mural on my walls and linoleum flooring with his crayons.

It made us seriously think twice about what we were about to do.

Luveris (1/2ml, subQ injection): I was scared. Petrified, actually. After last cycles craziness where I inadvertently administered a super concentrated dose of this medicine for lack of paying attention-twice-I was terrified of messing up again. So my heart was racing as I pulled apart the first tiny box and set out my vials, the directions, and an alcohol wipe.

And that's when the trouble began.

The e-mail from my nurse coordinator called for a 3cc syringe, but all I could find was a 1cc syringe. Knowing it would work but wanting to follow the directions to a "T", I dug in my excess needle bag and found a 3ml syringe.

And then I had a brain fart.

For some unknown reason, someone decided that a ml should be the same thing as a cc, but with a different name. This I knew, but I was scared and nervous and being completely ridiculous, so I froze. I called my mother, then my sister, and after neither of them answered, I called my friend Jenny (who's also a nurse) just to make sure a ml was in fact equivalent to a cc.

After my frantic phone calls confirmed what I already knew, I read the directions another twenty-million times and finally drew out the 1ml of dilutent and inserted it into the powder vial, gently turning it between my fingers until it was completely dissolved. As I watched the powder liquefy and turn perfectly clear, my paranoia faded to relief.

And then it was time to draw it out. This freshly mixed vial full of 1ml of liquid was enough for two of my 1/2ml shots, so all I had left to do was draw out half with one needle, and half with another, which of course ended up being much easier said than done.

By the time I was finished fighting with the tiny, air tight vial and the clumsy, bulky needles, I had more than half of the mixture in one syringe, and less half in the other.

Never a dull moment.

Friday, 10-2-09 (Day 17)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): We left for my in-laws today, so I'm pretty sure I'll be eating nothing good for me this weekend, because I'm lacking the self control to make good food choices while away from home.

Might as well just accept it now.

Lupron (5units, subQ injection):I'm just amazed at how proud I am of the amount of bruising covering my belly from these injections.

Follistim (225units, subQ injection): Even after four full days of stimulation drugs, my hard working ovaries are still feeling amazingly normal. Absolutely no twinges, pains, cramps, soreness or bloating.

My body was made for this.

Luveris (1/2ml, subQ injection):Tonight's injection was practically foolproof because I was just using the leftovers from last nights injection.

If only it were always this easy.

Saturday, 10-3-09 (Day 18)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): Still taking them; still eating.

Lupron (5units, subQ injection):When I ordered my medication for this cycle, I didn't have to order any more Lupron because someone graciously donated all that I needed, and I still had enough left over syringes from my first batch to get me through.

Or so I thought.

Of course I waited until I was down to the last syringe to go and look for more in my bag of extra syringes, and I found that I was indeed lacking the small ones measuring in units that I use for my Lupron injections.

Because having the right amount of needles would be too perfect right now.

Follistim (225units, subQ injection): Because we don't know how many day's this week I'll be driving to Sacramento to be monitored, my husband and I decided that it would be best for him to go home tonight and I'll stay here at his parents house, which is much closer to the doctors office. That way, he won't miss anymore work than he has too, and I won't have to drive as far.

So tonight, he resumed his duties one final time and gave me my Follistim injection. He's always been in charge of the Follistim Pen, so I was instructed to watch very closely to avoid a probable disaster as I inject myself tomorrow night, completely unattended.

It's fairly easy, but it's just always been his contribution to this process, and I couldn't help but feel slightly overwhelmed as he walked me through the steps of loading and injecting the medication. After he was sure that I had it down he packed his bags and left, leaving me standing there with a new bruise and another injection to manage.

Then my hormones kicked in, and I fought back the tears.

Which is pretty ridiculous because after all, I'm the one that cooked up this crazy idea in the first place. This bright idea came into play when I figured it only takes one of us to attend the follicle check on Monday, and I happen to be the one with a vagina and a pumpkin patch.

But he's the one with the Follistim skills.

Luveris (1/2ml, subQ injection): After my mini breakdown, I had to suck it up and finish my injection duties. Still slightly paranoid about messing up this delicate mixing of medicine, I reread my printed out instructions another fifty-million times and followed them exactly.

But I still ended up with more than half in one syringe, and less than half in the other.

Sunday, 10-4-09 (Day 19)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): I just hope this tiny little pill does it's job and holds up it's end of the bargain, keeping my body from rejecting those precious embryos that we'll be implanting in the next few weeks.

And I hope my follicles hold up their end of the bargain and we make it that far.

Lupron (5units, subQ injection): My mother saved the day and raid the hospital for enough unit syringes to hold me over until tomorrows appointment.

Follistim (225units, subQ injection): Once again, I'm at my in-laws church that happends to run an hour later than ours does at home, and I'm forced to shoot up in the kitchen as the clock strikes 6:30pm.

Only this time, I'm doing it alone.

Without my husband in tow to manage the lookout, I resorted to opening the industrial sized fridge door and attempting to hide behind it, all while nervously handling my very first Follistim injection. With my left hip acting as a door stop, I reached over to the counter and put together the pen. Then I opened the alcohol swab and lifted up my dress, trying in one swift motion to swipe and stick.

But when you don't let the alcohol dry, that sucker burns.

Luveris (1/2ml, subQ injection):Then it was time for the luveris. Luckily, this was another left over of a two part injection, so it was already mixed and in the syringe, ready to go. But because I was bleeding from my Follistim injection, I had to take a few seconds to clean up my pooch before bringing more damage to the site, all while still indecently exposed and propping open the ginormous fringe door.

And just as the Luveris cap was off and ready to inject, I heard someone coming.

Faster than I ever thought I could move while half naked and wearing 3" stilettos, I dropped my dress-and the injection-slamming the fridge door and casually leaning up against it like it's normal to hang out by the fridge while everyone else is sitting in church services.

And I waited.

But no one came. because It turns out I had mistaken the ice maker for someone stomping down the hall, on their way to expose me and my floral panties. So after I pulled myself together-and picked my injection up off the floor-I opened the fridge back up, repositioned my self and my dress, and finished the job.

Simple and easy are overrated anyway.

"Life is filled with a lot of stuff, you know. There should never be a dull moment."
-Bea Arthur

Double Shot

2009-09-30T23:30:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, 9-29-09 (Day 14)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): Fall has officially come to Northern California, and I couldn't be more blissful. This morning, after taking my little steroid pill, I opened up all the windows and let the crisp Autumn breeze fill the house for the first time in months.

Ravenous appetite or not, today will be a good day.

Lupron (5units, subQ injection): I barely even noticed as I pricked myself for the fifty-millionth time this morning, because I too was busy contemplating which candle scent I should purchase to celebrate Fall.

Pumpkin Spice seems the most fitting.

Follistim (300units, subQ injection): Tonight the double shots begin, and my husband resumed his duties by officially administering the medicine that will be growing the organic pumpkin patch in my insides to contain beautiful, strong, mature squashes for our retrieval sometime late next week.

Wednesday, 9-30-09 (Day 15)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): I haven't had much of an appetite today, and my stomach has been a little upset.

This could be a very good thing.

Lupron (5units, subQ injection): After two full weeks of Lupron shots, my belly button has a permanent black, blue, green and yellow upside down rainbow below it.

Follistim (300units, subQ injection): Instead of finding someone to babysit our toddler and me fighting the fatigue of what would have by now been my second pregnancy, my husband and I spent our third anniversary rushing through a quick dinner to be back home by 6:30 for my time sensitive Follistim shot.

Because after three years of trying, two IUI's, a late MFI diagnosis, one failed IVF and another shot at one currently in progress, we're still not pregnant.

This isn't what I had in mind.

As I sat across from my husband at dinner, I couldn't help but feel blessed, barren womb and all. I may not have the two children I expected to have by now; I'm standing instead right in the middle of our last shot, bruised and battered by needles and infertility. But as I sat in that booth, staring at the other half of my family of two, I realized just how much I have to be thankful for.

And tonight, I can't think of one single reason to complain.

"Be content with what you have, rejoice in the way things are. When you realize there is nothing lacking, the whole world belongs to you."

-Lao Tzu

Sharp Shooter

2009-09-28T22:30:00.000-07:00

Saturday, 9-26-09 (Day 11)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): Today was a celebratory birthday lake bash for my sister-in-law where I was confined to a bathing suit all day long, extra five pounds, Dexamethasone love handle lard, bruised pooch and all.

I wasn't as self conscious as I was expecting to be, and I was really proud of myself for letting go and just having a good time. So proud, in fact, that I decided to treat myself to a cream soda. As I ignored the sugar content and began to drink in the creamy vanilla goodness, I looked down to see the bad words written on the side of the golden can:

Contains Caffeine.

And I had to drop it like it's hot, dang it.

Root beer is caffeine free, so I just assumed that cream soda would be too, but I was wrong. And as soon as I realized what had happened, I yelled over to my unsuspecting husband that he'd better ditch that cream soda before he kills any chance of good sperm that we have left, paying no mind to anyone else within earshot of my frantic warning.

I know. So dramatic.

Lupron (5units, subQ injection): Despite the intense caffeine laden cream soda incident, my only other lake issue was the fact that I was still on my period and had to sport a tampon, against my better judgement. And since I'm experiencing a light flow and not used to wearing one anyway, it wasn't until 5pm when we were back safely on the dock that I just had to change it.

I hated that there was no privacy of a bathroom around for at least 45 minutes, but I hated the possibility of toxic shock syndrome-after more than ten hours of use-even more. So for fear of contaminating my pumpkin patch of organic follicles, I did what only I would do and squatted behind a large white pickup truck and made the exchange as quickly as possible.

Then I buried the evidence.

Sunday, 9-27-09 (Day 12)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): Our friends took us out to Mexican this afternoon to celebrate our upcoming anniversary. The restaurant we went to is one of my favorites, mostly because they serve a small plate of delicious re-fried beans and feta cheese with your salsa and chips.

And they just keep refilling it.

I was enjoying it so much, that it took me about three refills to realize I was hogging the tiny plate and no one else was getting any. But even after several more refills, they still weren't saying anything.

They were probably too scared.

Lupron (5units, subQ injection): The hot flashes, slightly throbbing headaches, and episodes of waking up several times a night are finally in full force, but it's nothing I can't handle.

Monday, 9-28-09 (Day 13)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): Since I took this pill a little later than normal yesterday morning, I finally experienced a little of the insomnia the bottle warns you about. And since I don't always function the best in the am anyway, I was so out of it that I accidental chewed my Dexamethasone thinking it was my baby aspirin.

It wasn't good.

And then-while still in a daze and on my way to work-I tried to use my duplex's garage door opener to open the front door of my office building.

It didn't work.

Lupron (5units, subQ injection): This is the end of the road for just one shot a day; because starting tomorrow I'll be doubling up and adding Follistim into the mix, and then just a couple days after that we'll be doing triple shots with the addition of Luveris.

I can't believe how close we are; in exactly one week I'll be lying in the doctors office finding out how many follicles are growing in my very own pumpkin patch, kicking off the beginning of what's beginning to feel like the story of my life.

Or the start of a new one.

"If you want a happy ending, that depends, of course, on where you stop your story."

-Orson Welles

Blood Shot

2009-09-25T22:21:00.000-07:00

Thursday, 9-24-09 (Day 9)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): I did a little more research today and found out this tiny pill isn't the only culprit responsible for my cravings; apparently Lupron causes ravenous hunger as well.

Lupron (5units, subQ injection): Other than the disappointment surrounding the realization that this drug has joined forces with Dexamethasone on operation Make Tab Fat, I'm really impressed with how well everything is going. The shots are smooth, the bruising is at a minimum, the headaches are few and far between, and the need to take naps are nonexistent. And check out these crazy good statistics:

Tab-9, Sharps Container-0.

E2 blood draw: Despite last cycle's hardships with this simple little blood test, today's blood draw was fairly easy. The scene was set a little differently since the phlebotomist wasn't the usual family member of mine, but she was nice enough and she removed my blood just as well.

I did sort of miss the special treatment though.

Especially when the white coated guy behind the counter with a five-o-clock shadow and a fuzzy faux-hawk lazily scanned my lab slip and reminded me that this city doesn't have a hospital or lab that will run this test STAT, because it's just "not that important" of a blood test.

I don't think he necessarily meant it to be rude, but since I was already slightly distressed at the somewhat snarky attitude he gave the old lady in front of me, I was less than impressed by his dismissal of the importance of my blood test results.

Or his hair.

I wanted to to tell him it incredibly foolish to be even remotely rude to a girl that's spent the last nine days being pumped full of hormones, but instead I settled for letting him know that it was indeed important to me, but we'll let it slide this time since he'd be able to get me the results by tomorrow afternoon.

Or else I'll shave his head.

Oh, and just in case it hasn't been made obvious yet, my period arrived right on time today, just like my med calendar's red letters said it would.

That poor guy never had a chance.

Friday, 9-25-09 (Day 10)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): In a rush to leave for work on time today, my elephant memory shut down and I forgot-for the first time ever-to take this pill.

I wonder if that was a subconscious action brought on by my love handles.

Lupron (5units, subQ injection): Also caused by my rushing around this morning was some severe pain that was brought on by my not-so-smart injection tactics.

It's really not a good idea to brush your teeth with one hand and shoot yourself with the other.

E2: My favorite lab coat wearing, five-o-clock shadow sporting, fuzzy faux-hawk phlebotomist delivered on his promise today and I was given an E2 level of 33 on day 9 of meds, an excellent, low number landing at less than half of last cycles 67 on day 10 of meds.

So, no worries. God is good, I've received an amazing number that surpassed my expectations, the sarcastic phlebotomist will keep his hair, and I have learned not to judge people based on their appearance and slightly snarky attitude.

He just may have been anxiously waiting for something too.

"Events will take their course, it is no good of being angry at them; he is happiest who wisely turns them to the best account."

-Euripides

Just Shoot Me

2009-09-23T10:24:00.000-07:00

Monday, 9-21-09 (Day 6)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): I think it's time to break out the Spanx.

Lupron (5units, subQ injection): My dose was officially cut in half today, dropped down to a mere 5 units. I don't feel as sleepy as I did during the last cycle, but my head has been aching since this morning and I refuse to put anything-even Tylenol-into my body unless I absolutely have to because I am that stubborn and determined to stay chemical free.

It's really too bad that my husband doesn't have the same mindset.

Ironically, as I ran outback to give him the vitamins he forgot to take this morning that are supposed to improve his sperm, I was shocked to find him lighting up a cigarette that was killing his sperm.

We are right smack in the middle of the IVF process, presumably necessary due to male factor issues, and my husband was found guilty of voluntarily harming his precious and necessary contribution by way of a nasty, disgusting, sperm murdering cancer stick.

I don't remember what I said to him; the situation is a bit of a blur caught up in smoke by my white hot anger and that ridiculous cigarette, but I can guarantee it wasn't very nice and he looked kind of scared.

I'm pretty sure I put the fear of God-or me-into him.

In his defense, my husband is not a "smoker", and I'm by no means concerned that he's been smoking behind my back for the last few months. I have the nose of a hound dog, and his knowledge of this sixth sense of mine keeps him in check for the most part. But back in his carefree younger days before me, he did carry on the male family tradition of casually smoking a few times a year because it just wasn't a big deal.

But that changed when he met me and my freakishly sensitive nose, and since then I've only caught him serving his nicotine fix a handful of times during our three years of wedded bliss, and usually only in the wake of a very stressful event for him. But today, disregarding our healthy living style and compromising the fertilization results of our possible pumpkin patch was just not acceptable, stress or no stress.

I'm going to need a large batch of God's grace to deal with this in a decent fashion that does not involve not speaking to my husband from now until the day I need his sperm extracted in order to make our children.

And possibly a burrito from Taco Bell.

Tuesday 9-22-09 (Day 7)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): *Sigh*

Lupron (5units, subQ injection): I'm pretty much over yesterdays smoking extravaganza. The reality is that my husband is a good man. He puts up with so much from me and that's enough to drive anyone to nicotine I suppose. And after yesterday's ranting post, He immediately and sincerely apologized, showing immense apathy and regret for his actions, along with a what may have been a possible fear for his life.

I'll take it.

He may not be perfect, but he's perfect for me. Besides, everyone messes up, and I'm pretty sure that Taco Bell is just as toxic to my body as that puff of smokey goodness was to his anyway.

Wednesday, 9-23-09 (Day 8)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): I broke down and stepped on the scale today, pleasantly surprised to find that I'm not doing too bad.

And then I remembered it's only been a week.

Lupron (5units, subQ injection): I wonder what it is about Wednesdays that brings me bruises. Just as my battle wound from that very first shot last week started to fade from black and blue to green and yellow, I've gained a new purple and gray one.

It's OK though, they're kind of pretty.

"We come to love not by finding a perfect person, but by learning to see an imperfect person perfectly."

-Sam Keen

Nice Shot

2009-09-20T11:15:00.000-07:00

Friday, 9-18-09 (Day 3)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): I had no idea it would be so hard to keep myself off the scale. Breaking this obsession has proved harder than my attempt at eating right.

I obviously have issues.

Lupron (10units, subQ injection): Right side injection went well. I had a little bit of trouble getting the needle through the tough skin of my fatty pooch today, but it helps to take a deep breath and push through the pain, slow and steady.

Saturday, 9-19-09 (Day 4)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): So far I'm doing well controlling my appetite, but I'm constantly craving Costco's beef hot dogs and their Kirkland signature organic low fat chocolate milk. And at only $1.50 for a hot dog and drink, I'm starting to find reasons to stop at Costco every day.

In fact, it's lunch time and we're almost out of stamps.

Lupron (10units, subQ injection): These injections are much less stressful this time, probably because I've already been through this and it's almost like riding a bike. Unlike last cycle, I'm fearless when it comes to drawing up the wrong amount, and sticking myself is as convenient as getting dressed in the morning.

Almost.

And my zen attitude must be contagious because tonight, my husband-without any prompting at all on my part-asked if he could draw up the Lupron for me. He even knew the appropriate amount to units to draw without asking or consulting the calender, which means he must have been seriously paying attention these last few nights. He meticulously filled the syringe with a steady hand and a new found confidence that mirrored my own.

Just the fact that he volunteered so eagerly to contribute without me asking is enough to make me tear up with pride.

Or maybe it's just the Lupron.

Sunday, 9-20-09 (Day 5)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): And so it begins.

All day long I've craved-and ate-anything salty that I could get my hands on. Top Roman, Cheddar Goldfish, Bacon, English Muffin with tons of butter, Salad with olives, cheese, peppers and ranch, corn chips with Tostito's Salsa Con Queso cheese dip, and French Onion Sun Chips.

There's more, but I'm just too embarrassed to share.

Lupron (10units, subQ injection): Other than the tiny lingering bruise I received from the very first injection, you'd never know I'm getting shot. This is getting more and more simple every day.

I love it.

And tonight, after almost seven weeks on birth control pills, I consumed the last one. No more cell phone alarm screaming at 10pm and reminding me of my nightly estrogen fix, and no more tiny pink pills. Now we just wait for my Uterus to do it's thing and get to shedding that lining, so we can start growing some good looking follicles to be harvested in October.

I'm hoping for an entire pumpkin patch this time.

"If you can find a path with no obstacles, it probably doesn't lead anywhere."

-Frank A. Clark

Let The Shots Begin

2009-09-17T14:29:00.000-07:00

Daily Documentation of All Things IVF, Part II.

Wednesday, 9-16-09 (Day 1)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): It's time for round two, and I have some new self-inflicted guidelines to follow. Rule number one; there will be no scale stalking this cycle.

I have come to terms with the fact that I am at a perfectly healthy weight for my height and build, right where I should be. Of course I'd love to change certain aspects of my body, but now is not the appropriate time to obsess over it.

Instead, I will focus my energy on overcoming this tiny steroid pill by making healthy food choices and not beating myself up when I slip.

Because most likely I will slip.

And it will be often.

Lupron (10units, subQ injection): I've decided the best method for delivering this bee sting-ish injection is to draw up the meds the night before. No more fumbling at 6:15am with a tiny glass vial and a dangerously sharp needle while only partially awake.

Simply remove the cap, and administer the burn.

And to add to my list of new methods this cycle, I have ditched the ice; it takes up too much time that I don't have in the mornings. Besides, I've been pricked so many times that I'm officially over the shock of stabbing, stinging, bruising and bleeding that accompany the injections anyway.

Oh, and that sharps container that just about drove me bananas last time?

Piece of cake.

For now.

Thursday, 9-17-09 (Day 2)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): No ravenous hunger binges yet; but we're just getting started. Let's let the drugs fully penetrate my system before we jump to any conclusions.

Lupron (10units, subQ injection): Today's left side injection went well. I did notice a small bruise from yesterdays injection that I welcomed, embracing the possibility of what it may bring in ten more months.

And then I got scared of what it may not bring.

Because this time around things feel a little different, and unfortunately my bi-polar attitude is my constant companion. I'm still excited but apprehensive, hopeful but leery, prepared but distant, and my defense mechanisms are in full gear.

But luckily, so is Operation Green.

Although I haven't been eating as organic as I planned, I'm more green than ever before thanks to organic hand, body, and face wash, shampoo, conditioner, laundry and dish washing detergents, and homemade cleaning products.

That's right, homemade. Move over, Martha Stewart.

I've also been nail polish, hair dye and caffeine free for about two months now, and even after IVF and pregnancy, I don't think I'll ever go back to my old unearthly ways.

Well, I probably should go back to getting highlights.

And I do miss toe nail polish.

In the mean time, I'll remember that my God is bigger than my worries and I've done everything possible to prepare myself this time around without giving in to what I'm starting to really think is an honest to goodness obsessive compulsive disorder. I've also lightened up on myself and decided I'm OK with being a little distant this time around, because it's normal to be scared after experiencing failure.

As long as you pick yourself up and give it another shot.

"You have to go through the falling down in order to learn to walk. It helps to know that you can survive it. That's an education in itself."

-Carol Burnett

As The World Turns

2009-09-03T09:36:00.000-07:00

So continues the soap opera that is my life.

The countdown is on, with less than two weeks left before I begin daily documenting for all things IVF part II. This time around I have full intentions of enjoying every minute of the process, loving my long and strong lupron nails and proving I can be more powerful than my ridiculous dexamethasone cravings.

Always the optimist, I'm excited to try again, hopeful for a better turnout this time and so very sure this will work. But there's also another darker, more bitter side of me that is terrified of history repeating itself and with a lack of desire to adopt in our hearts (no matter how much we pray for God to give it to us) this very well may be our last chance.

The future is a terrifying place, but I know who holds tomorrow, and as long as I continue to trust that my life is ultimately in God's hands, fearing what may be is really a waste of my time. I'm focusing instead on the present and all I have to be thankful for, and I'm learning that fear is not only pointless, but can cause you to miss out on the best things in life, paralyzing you and holding you back from experiencing the joy that's right in front of you.

I've spent the last three years watching the people I love most dancing around me, cradling their babies and growing precious little ones in their super fertile wombs. I've made the choice to dance with them, holding their children's hands and admiring their growing bellies instead of despising them. I've happily conversed with them about bath times, lack of sleep, teething, and the latest baby products. I've shared their first words, attended birthday parties, hosted showers, smothered them with kisses and joyfully watched them grow, all the while knowing deep down that someday, someway, this will be my life.

But until then, this is my life.

As the world turns, I find myself grateful that my friends and family love me enough not to hold their tongues when I'm in the room, eliminating any awkward silences when a conversation turns to babies, because they know their children are the next best thing to my own. It makes me feel more normal and less infertile when they comfortably share their lives with me, even when it consists of something I want but can't have. It's refreshing to know they love and care deeply about me, but they don't pity me, because I'm still a lucky girl.

I'll probably never be able to avoid the sting of failure when I hear them speak about their plans to expand their family, and I'll always feel like someone punched me in the ovaries as I anticipate their upcoming pregnancy announcements. But thankfully those feelings are pleasantly overpowered by the harsh reality-and my infertility motto-that the world can't stop procreating just because I'm not pregnant.

Babies are a way of life, even if it's not my life.

There's just too much I could have missed through the years if I'd chosen to be so wrapped up in despair that I didn't enjoy today. No matter where it takes us life will go on, and I don't want to spend so much time in envy that I forget to look at what's right in front of me; even if all I can see are children and loved ones pregnant bellies staring back at me.

I'd much rather dance.

"I'd rather spend my time amongst the birds than to waste it, wishing I could fly."
-Author Unknown

These Days

2009-08-10T10:59:00.000-07:00

I haven't been blogging much these days.

Mostly it's been difficult making the switch from daily documenting of all things IVF, back to regular blogging of all things infertility. It's also strange not having to produce a post title involving some form of the word shot; almost as strange as not receiving or giving myself scheduled shots or taking a pill of some sort.

I really am doing well, despite the fact that our first IVF-although expected to be our miracle-was just one more failure. So well in fact, that I've actually wondered if something were wrong with me.

The grief does come in waves, but not like I expected it would. It surfaces rarely, and more in the form of endless questions, irritation or self-pity. I'd love to blame the birth control pills for this hot mess, especially since it hit me just last week as I was a few days into the pack, but I know better than that.

I'm only human, and I know it's normal to feel sad or upset when something doesn't go my way. I'm also aware of the need to let myself feel the pain of a failed cycle, while still struggling to keep my mind, body and soul healthy and ready to try again. Is there really a way for both to coexist?

Absolutely.

I'm avoiding all things caffeine, eating more organic, ditching nail polish, canceling hair appointments, and attempting to making my own cleaning products. My vanity may suffer, but I'll do whatever I can in the next six weeks to avoid as many unnecessary chemicals as possible, taking the best care of my body and in turn giving myself the best chance at success with IVF part II.

These steps are certainly helpful, but they won't guarantee a pregnancy or promise me a life of happiness. They are simply a great distraction from satan doing his best to throw doubts and fears in my head, jumbling my thoughts into a mass of questions about the future that I just can't answer, kicking my obsessive controlling nature into full gear.

The real antidote is slightly more challenging.

I'm trying my best to constantly remind myself that God is in control, and it's my job to fully depend on Him-not myself, doctors, their medicine, or google-and not worry about what tomorrow holds.

Not so easy for a control freak like me.

But worry is pointless, really; what benefit does it hold? What will it help to achieve, what good will ever come of it? I can spend my days getting my body healthy and my heart ready for our next try, or I can be severely bummed out because God's plan and my plan just didn't match up this time.

Being sad and disappointed is normal, but dwelling on the past and fearing the future will get me absolutely nowhere. So on a bad day when I feel discouraged and bitter-because the bad days will come-I'll do my best to take my fears and burdens to Jesus and lay them down. Let them go, give them up.

As Snoop Dogg said, drop it like it's hot.

God is the only one that knows my future, the only one that I can truly depend on to never disappoint me. If I trust that He is by my side and will never ever leave me-focusing on the many promises He gives us in His word-I'll be able to bring glory and honor to Him through any situation, and praise Him through any storm.

So that's what I'm doing these days.

"God knows when something glorious in the future necessitates something difficult in the present. Because He knows the glory will be worth it, God will risk being misunderstood."
-Beth Moore

When At First You Don't Succeed

2009-07-31T13:08:00.001-07:00

Be thankful you get to try again.

It's been exactly one week since we received the phone call letting us know that only 3 of our 13 retrieved eggs were mature enough to attempt to fertilize. We knew at that moment our chances of conception at the end of the cycle were diminishing rapidly, but we never completely lost faith.

And now, even after an early conclusion of our first IVF attempt has come to pass, we are still praising God for his faithfulness and mercy, thanking him continually for the chance to try one more time.

During our post IVF phone consult with Dr. Greene this afternoon our conclusion remains the same, as does our optimism for the next cycle in September. He still feels that I responded perfectly to the protocol and medication, so the only change taking place will be the timing of our HCG trigger shot. If administered at a more appropriate time, we should be able to produce more mature eggs and eliminate all of the drama and disappointment that yielded from our last failed cycle and replace it with plenty of healthy, viable embryos.

As my bruises heal and our hearts mend, we're excited to see what our next try in September brings; fighting fear and doubt brought on by last weeks loss with our optimism and hope for our next try. We know our chances of success are even higher next time, but there is always the possibility that something different could go wrong. Even a perfect cycle may not lead to conception.

But it could, and that's good enough for us.

"How long should you try? Until."

-Jim Rohn