Like Bob Barker Says…

I’m all for helping control the pet population. But I didn’t know I’d feel so guilty.

Here I am struggling to get properly pregnant and what do I send my little 7-month-old Molly off to today?

Laser removal of her ovaries and uterus.

Now I never once considered breeding my puppy. She’s so little. And far to be young to be having sex let alone having sextuplets.

But I feel incredibly guilty that I took away her opportunity to have babies before she could even try or even “knew” if she wanted them.

Yes, I know.

She’s a dog and her motivations to chew my rug or play with her squeaky sock monkey toy are totally different than my motivation to be a mom.

Yet I can’t stop feeling so weirded out by how easily we made the decision to get her fixed when I am appalled at the idea of anyone, any politician, etc., telling me what I can and can’t do with my ovaries and my uterus.

And I’m even more weirded out by the fact, when our vet was explaining the procedure, he pulled out the little book filled with drawings of puppies insides and right there, before me, was a familiar sight – the very same equipment I’ve got inside.

Two ovaries and a uterus. 

So easily, so quickly removed.

Sigh. She’ll forgive me. I’ll forgive me. But right now, I feel so bad.

How Are You?

“How are you?”

I’m convinced it’s the most-asked question in the world. It seems wherever you go, it’s the first question asked.

It’s no different now. It’s just with people who know me, I can see their head tilt to the side and they ask in a softer, more inquisitive tone, “How are you?”

And as of late, those who know me, get the real answer.

“Ok.”

“Fine, considering.”

“I’ve been better.”

I can’t remember the exact combination of answers I came up with on Saturday, when my grandma called to check in.

This grandma has never been the grandma type. Oh yes, she insists on Sunday suppers with the entire family and still gives my 30-year-old sister and I Easter presents. But she’s never seemed grandma-ish. Maybe it’s because we have a special connection, as I was her 40th birthday present, or our love of ballet and theater.

Whatever it is, she amazes me.

We talked about the how development stopped and the drugs I was on prevented me from miscarrying sooner. But, luckily, I had miscarried naturally. She responded with, “Well, you’d rather do that than have to have a D&C.”

I was dumbstruck. Maybe I don’t give my 72-year-old grandma enough credit but she’s tossing out terms like D&C. It brings a smile to my face to think of my grandma talking on the phone with me about D&Cs, while my grandpa is putzing about the house, half listening to the conversation.

I think talking about it though is helping. I mean, it still hurts. I still cry. But it’s good to hear while I may have lost a little hope, others haven’t. She said she will just have to wait a little longer to be a great grandmother.

And I guess I will just have to wait too. I don’t have any choice. I don’t like it. But it is what it is.

Soon, maybe I can answer the question of how I am with a response I want to hear, “Better.”

***
I dug out my steno this weekend to look over all my initial notes on the results of every test we took before we started IVF in August. I don’t know that egg quality is our problem, but I will double check next week with the doc. My FSH and estradiol were fine at 5.1 and 30, respectively. As well, I took the AMH test and my nurse, whom I quoted, said “That’s a great number.” So, right now, it’s looking like crappy luck. Also, each time we have transferred two embies, one has stuck, one hasn’t and the one that stuck was either in the wrong spot or just poopy. I’m thinking of pushing for transferring three. Maybe it will fit with everyone’s “third time’s the charm” crap.

52

I am down to a beta of 52.

Honestly, I was hoping for a bigger drop from whatever level I was at considering all the bleeding and pain I endured.

But I figured I couldn’t drop that fast that quick could I? I mean, really, my luck isn’t what it was when I won a $500 gift certificate to South.west Pla.za mall and the all-expenses-paid trip to Dis.ney Wo.rld. And yes, this was all in a seven-month period in seventh grade when I, apparently, should have gotten pregnant even though my period didn’t start until Christmas of that year, bought a lottery ticket and pursued my dream of marrying Jake Ryan from Six.teen Ca.n.dles.

I was proud though, I didn’t cry at CCRM this morning when the phlebotomist asked, “I hate to ask but why are you here?” I simply responded with the truth, a blighted ovum. She said she was sorry and hoped I was down to zero soon so we could start again.

Me too.

I did schedule my regroup, however. I go in on March 4 for another blood draw and to talk with my doctor about where we go from here. My biggest question is egg quality.

I guess I assumed since my first time resulted in 17 eggs and that I’ve had implantation both times, I figured they were ok. But now I am doubting my eggs.

I don’t know why. Or maybe I do. I want an answer. A concrete something I can put my finger on and something we can fix.

In the meantime, I am going to do everything I can to improve my egg quality and hope that they retrieve ones hidden in my seventh-grade uterus locker.

I just need to remember the combination…

Stuck on guilt and anger

When I last left it with my nurse, I was, am to come in any time this week and get a blood draw for an HCG.

I also was supposed to call them with any questions or if I needed a pain prescription.

I haven’t gone in, I haven’t called.

It’s so final. And I feel foolish for talking just weeks ago with the phlebotomist about pregnancy and happiness and everything else related to glowing, growing baby bumps.

Honestly, I feel stupid for having hope this would work. I know its not right to feel stupid for hoping but I do. I mean, shouldn’t I have seen this coming? What made me think I had successfully made it over the barrenness?

And the anger, yesterday I wanted to bitch slap a friend from Texas.

She was only trying to help, but asking me if we were done trying. Seriously?

It’s my biggest pet peeve with this IVF thing. People think after two times and how many gazillion dollars later, we draw the line at done. Did you stop trying for a baby after two months of sexing? And I continue to hang on to the fact both times we’ve tried, we’ve gotten pregnant. That has to count for something, right? Right?

She also mentioned that I will get pregnant when my body, mind and spirit are ready.

I was livid. Hot tears stinging my cheeks.

I know people have a hard time talking to me right now. I know. I am an utter bitch. And there is really nothing anyone can say that will make my pain go away or me feel better. But I was so offended at the idea that I wasn’t ready and, you know, those 17-year-olds who get knocked up at prom are so ready in mind, body and spirit. 

Here was yet another reason I failed as a woman. I wasn’t ready. I fucked up. Trust me, I already feel like I am the failure and that I killed what was trying to grow inside me, I don’t need another perspective saying that yeah, you did fuck up. 

My hubby tried to talk to me down, saying that she could have meant it in the best of ways and that it got lost in the translation through e-mail.

Maybe. Whatever. And yes, it’s probably true. She isn’t that kind of person to hurt me. But just don’t gleefully tell me it will all work out and I’ll be pregnant when I’m ready, when you got pregnant with your first because you didn’t realize that antibiotics and birth control don’t go together. And you are due in a month with your second.

So, I’ve got the angry bitchy thing down.

I just hope I am well on my way in those other stages of grief thing…

Shock and disbelief? Honey, that is so in the stirrups last Tuesday.

Denial? There was never any denial, just the crushing suckiness of learning there was nothing in that little sac.

Bargaining? I didn’t offer any Gods, Goddesses or devils any deals, I just asked them why I deserved this. And if there is a lesson to be learned, it sure seems like a crappy one (and don’t tell me it’s appreciating my children all the more when I do have them).

Guilt? Oh, I’ve got that coming out my ass. What did I do wrong? It must be my eggs, my uterus, my body.

Anger? That’s obvious. But I really want to not be angry at the world. Although, quoting TuPac seems so much more appropriate and unhealthy. Depression? Yeah, I think that goes with the territory.

Acceptance and hope? I don’t know when I will get there. I’ve accepted this loss, or so I try to tell myself, but the hope? Well, that is a little harder. I obviously wouldn’t be continuing if I didn’t have any hope. But it’s scary. This last time really felt real. And I was excited and then to have it all torn away.

And the next time? Will I worry more? When I do get pregnant, will I be as overjoyed?

I’m trying to hope. And keep faith.

It’s just hard.

No one said it’d be easy, but no one said I’d have to struggle with two losses in six months either.

I’m still here

I am at a loss, no pun intended, to come up with words to describe how I feel, how I am.

I think my father-in-law said it best, shitty.

I am helpless right now, not hopeless. But I only continue to ask the unanswerable why.

I want answers, I want hope, I want faith.

I don’t want to be curled naked in a ball on the floor of my bathroom crying in agony over the loss of a pregnancy and the unbelievable pain I can only liken to menstrual cramps times 1,000 plus the overwhelming pressure of a bowel movement that never comes. Yes, that was my Friday night.

I am physically feeling better. The cramps are far milder today. But the blood continues. I hope it is a good sign that at least my body can do one thing right.

I’m scared though, too. I don’t have a problem getting pregnant. We’re only doing this to prevent our children from having a childhood like my husband’s. So then I second guess. I wonder if I’d be happily pregnant with a child, OI or not, if we were doing this naturally.

Did the thaw cause this? Or is it more? Are my eggs bad? Is this why I have failed twice in six months? Twice in six months. It’s unbelievable to me to fathom the next time I’m pregnant will be the third time I’m pregnant. How is that even right?

I don’t think I’m going to be Jen. The Jen everybody knows until I’m a mom. I don’t know that I’ll be really happy until then. That’s scary. And kinda sad.

I just hope my body does this right. It owes me that.