Always Somewhere Left to Go

I just heard this lovely song for the first time a few days ago, and it's been in my head since I got the good news yesterday:

Don't let the shadows bend you low

because somebody tells you so.

Believe in what you know you know:

there's always somewhere left to go...

"Always Somewhere"
by Krista Detor with Joe Crookston

IVF Scorecard

The nurse just returned my call. This is the afternoon of Day 5 post retrieval, and I wanted an update before the weekend came. All week I've felt frozen, just waiting in suspended animation for these results.

The nurse's voice did not have that smiley sound that I always strain to hear when someone from the clinic calls. If anything, her voice was on the reserved side of neutral. My right hand, already over my heart as if to calm it down, moved up around my throat. I couldn't breathe.

"Well, it looks like they were able to biopsy one embryo," she began, then brightened. "Oh! That's right, THE embryo—you were expecting just the one."

"Right!" I said, vastly relieved. One AT BEST, I thought.

And now the best-case scenario has happened once again. The nurse couldn't tell me the grade of this embryo, but if it was healthy enough to make it this far...

Now came the wave of gratitude. A whole ocean of it. It knocked me off my feet, rolled over me, and is still (an hour later) leaking from my eyes.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Friends, do you know how lucky I am? Do you know how many embryos don't make it to Day 5, how many eggs don't fertilize at all, how many cycles (especially no-stim cycles) don't produce even one egg? Especially in women with DOR and my awful numbers. Yet somehow I'm 4 for 4. It's astounding. I am astounded.

Type of IVF	No. of Cycles	Results
Stimulated, antagonist protocol	1	2 unfertilized eggs
No stimulation	4	4 embryos, blastocyst stage on Day 5 (1 miscarried, 3 frozen and awaiting PGS)

Thank you all for the good wishes this past week!. It looks like they've helped. :)

Waiting

I love this time of year.

Many people find it hard to love, with its mud and mess, with their impatience to be done with winter already, and what's taking so long?? But other than June, with its maximum daylight and near-maximum heat, I like late winter / very early spring the best.

A friend and I just talked about spring. How, as lovely as it is, it can be a bit overwhelming. We're both introverts who like to take transitions slowly when we can. In the springtime, there's this sudden explosion of flowers and people outside swarming the parks. "Sometimes I want to tell springtime to just calm down a little," she laughed, and I laughed back, surprised and delighted that someone else feels this same way.

For me, a big part of the issue is that the fertility of spring sometimes makes me feel more barren in contrast. There are babies in strollers. Lambs with their mothers out in the fields. Ducklings on ponds. There's no escape from it all.

But February and March ... that's where I fit right now, in that resting space between seasons.

Even though we've had two more snowstorms during this cycle, they didn't interfere with my drives to the clinic, luckily. I can feel the sun gaining strength, this long and grinding winter releasing its hold so that something new can take its place.

Resting and waiting. Holding my breath. That's where I am now, and all of nature seems to be waiting with me.

What's ahead?

In TTC news, the egg did fertilize. A nurse from the clinic called the morning after retrieval, and from this point through Day 5, no news is good news. Each day the phone doesn't ring by 5 PM, I sigh with relief. Today, Day 3, I'm hoping that the embryo is 6 or 8 cells and growing, healthy and strong.

No, I'm NOT Pregnant Yet

No, I'm NOT pregnant yet, and I'm also not playing one of those awful April Fool's Day "jokes" with the positive HPT below. So please don't throw anything at me, OK?

The clinic asked me to test yesterday to confirm that I did Friday night's trigger shot correctly. HPTs measure hCG, a hormone that's present both in pregnant women and in the medication I used to trigger ovulation. A positive test just means that I hit the target.

Plus, well, I get to see a positive test. It's kind of fun to see those double lines even if it's fake, you know? OK, it's really fun; I probably enjoy it way too much.

May  I see a REAL one someday soon!

So we went ahead with egg retrieval this morning. They retrieved the expected single egg, and they'll call tomorrow with the fertilization report.

This is the part where I really hold my breath.

Trigger Shot Done

It's hardly the first time, but shooting up tiny amounts of expensive white powder still feels strange (as in, maybe I should keep an eye out for the police).

When so little of something costs so much, it can't be legal, right? Here's what $70 worth of hCG looks like. No, look closer. See a few flakes on the bottom of that one vial?

Maybe if you zoom in...

All these meds are expensive; it's just more obvious when I'm reconstituting powder meds and see how little of the active ingredient is there. And I say this just because it made me laugh tonight to see those tiny, lonely flakes down there. Overall, I'm really not in a mood to complain. 

With a no-stim cycle, this is the ONLY shot I need to do, and it went fine. I'm always extra careful with this one. What if I lose track of time and do it late? What if I don't hit quite the right spot (which, after all, requires a mirror)? God forbid, what if I drop and SPILL the stuff?! I've never had a problem, though (well, except for that one pair of pajamas).

The nurse told me to do the trigger at exactly 12:45 AM tonight—later than usual because the egg retrieval on Sunday will be a little later than usual. No problem. I'm just happy that it will be on a weekend, when there's much less chance of traffic delays.

It's getting real now. I'm excited.

ICLW

If you're here as part of ICLW, welcome! (If not, you're still welcome! And you might want to check out the ICLW list, since it includes a lot of great blogs.)

It's been a year since I participated. Last time, I was new here and still reeling from a miscarriage late in the first trimester, after TTC for a while. I'm still trying. This past year, I've tried IVF both with and without stimulation. In fact, I'm in the middle of a no-stim cycle now. The Timeline page has more details, and the Index page has a list of posts that may be a good starting point.

Whenever I start listing the TTC facts, a rebellious feeling kicks in. But wait, I want to say. There's more to me than lab results and treatment lingo!  Except ... there hasn't been much more lately.This is all so draining, important, and time-sensitive that it's easy to forget how I also love reading, photography, spending time outdoors ... and some other stuff I can't seem to remember right now.

These past few years, mindfulness practice has helped me to maintain some balance. So has gentle exercise. So has connecting with other people, even (especially) when I just want to curl up into a ball. Really, anything that gets me out of the worry-loop in my head and out into the world tends to help.

Lately I've realized what a habit it's become to rein in my dreams and shut down my feelings. You know—it's the idea that if we don't acknowledge our desires, we won't be disappointed when they're not fulfilled; if we don't let ourselves feel joy when it's here, we won't miss it when it ends. But avoidance doesn't work. It just sucks the energy and motivation out of life. Instead, I'm exploring ways to stay open to hope without clinging to one specific outcome.

Anyway, feel free to look around, make yourself at home, and comment on anything old or new. And best of luck on your own journey!

(source)

More Motherhood Dreams

I'm going to do it. I'm going to dare to picture more things that I'd love to do someday with my someday-child.

The list below comes from a journal that I kept for the baby during my short pregnancy last year (which is why it's all addressed to "you"). That journal has been sitting unopened since last March, until this week.

Things I want to do with you:

• Welcome you and your family back home to Thanksgiving dinner when you're all grown. Yes, this is the first thing that comes to mind—you as an adult. I wonder who you will become.
• Enjoy you as a baby, too. Feel your fingers close around mine, and watch your legs kick when you laugh. Rock and feed you in the stillness of the night.
• Share the people I love with you, and you with them. Watch your grandpa sit you on his lap and tell you stories. Make Christmas cookies with your grandma. Take you to play with my best friend's daughter. She's already in school now (see, it took me a while to have you!), but I know she will be patient and kind.
• Savor the ordinary things that I wondered if we'd ever do together, like going to the petting farm nearby. For years, I've driven by it several times a week, watched happy families going in and out, and never stopped.
• See your face light up when you touch the softness of an animal's fur, and teach you to care for small things that are dependent on you.
• See your confidence grow as you learn to walk, tie your shoes, and ride a bike. Bite my tongue and smile when you tell me, "Mom, I can do it myself!"
• Give you my favorite books. Happily read you that one special book 500 times.
• Take you to my favorite places, from the city park two blocks away to the national parks I've loved. We'll go on walks, and you can sit on my shoulders when you get tired.
• Do seasonal things: sniff the spring flowers, turn cartwheels in the summer grass, chase fireflies, go swinging at the playground and swimming in the pool, jump in piles of autumn leaves, carve pumpkins at the park, go ice skating and sledding, and catch snowflakes on our tongues.
• Do creative things: color on the sidewalk with chalk, put your art up on the fridge, build forts inside the house on a rainy day, and sing silly songs in the car. I'll clap at school plays and when you master playing "Three Blind Mice" on the recorder.
• Talk casually about the most important things while we do household chores or ride in the car side by side.
• Listen while you chatter about a new interest that excites you—something I'd know absolutely nothing about, if it weren't for you.

(source)

The Zen of My Clinic Commute

With each cycle I spend commuting there, the far-away clinic seems less far away.

I've learned how early to leave home (by 5AM), which route to take (the one that's longer but less congested), which lanes to avoid (the ones that end abruptly, and the ones where the buses hang out), etc. I've found emergency bathrooms and alternate routes. Of course, I know most of the clinic staff and their routines, too. It's a relief, because the more automatic these things become, the less space they need to take up in my brain.

Today I thought back to how very close I came to ruling out this clinic after my first consultation there. That first day, the round-trip drive took five hours. It was also the day that I saw the boldest move I've ever seen in traffic, anywhere. Picture a big downtown intersection. Two lanes are waiting at a red light to turn left. Then a woman turns left from the far-right lane (illegal), through the red light (illegal), to make a U-turn (illegal), all while blabbing on her hand-held cell phone (yep, that's now illegal, too). I shook my head and said, "Forget it. No way am I doing this every day!"

Now here I am starting a fourth cycle there. As I drive down busy but now-familiar streets, I think of the women whose clinic commutes involve plane flights or even passports. Mostly I think about the goal: being a mother ... someday ... if I'm lucky. The small stuff has a way of sorting itself out.

Yes, every drive has the usual irritations opportunities for practicing mindfulness. Really. I've been trying to say some standard loving-kindness phrases (May you be happy, May you be healthy, May you be safe, and so on) to any drivers who annoy me. It works surprisingly well. It short-circuits that instinctive—and totally pointless—Oh no you don't; I'll show YOU response.

If I can't get through the phrases without extra commentary ("May you be safe ... you asshole, because clearly you need help with that!"), I start over again. I haven't had to do it more than two or three times yet.

If all else fails, there's bubble wrap!
(source)

The Daughter of My Dreams

This week I've been reading Hyperbole and a Half: Unfortunate Situations, Flawed Coping Mechanisms, Mayhem, and Other Things that Happened.

Isn't that an awesome title? The part about "flawed coping mechanisms" can't help reminding me, though, of my last post about habits of avoidance.

I've been taking it for granted that my desire to be a parent was obvious. Otherwise, why be here at all, right? But I'm feeling the need to clarify: the avoidance that I battle sometimes is NOT a sign of losing interest in motherhood, or of feeling that the path there won't be worthwhile. It's just my own type of "flawed coping mechanism." After all, it gets hard to stay focused on things that hurt.

Years ago, I did do all the "right" TTC things: kept up a positive attitude, did fertility yoga, exercised... but not too much. I ate a low-sugar, low-dairy diet … but not dairy-free, because that one study suggested that some whole-fat dairy might be a good thing. I took all the CCRM-recommended supplements (still do). And I carefully visualized things I hoped were happening each cycle: healthy eggs growing, embryos implanting.

I always struggled, though, when it came to picturing a baby. Was that allowed? I wanted to daydream about it, of course, but hesitated to get attached to any one image of gender, age, or race. I knew from the start that odds were bad, so I needed to stay open to fostering and adoption. Who knew what my child would really look like? It wasn't as simple as picturing my eyes and my husband's chin combined.

So I stopped picturing anything. Eventually, I stopped bothering with the myriad of diet and lifestyle rules, too, and just did the best I could, which is pretty good on most days. But sometimes I need the motivation that comes from actually picturing my dreams.

The image came when I was talking with a counselor two years ago. She was saying something about welcoming the child who was meant to be when the time was right ... and although I don't believe in "meant to be," the part about welcoming that child opened something in my heart.

In an instant, there it was: an image of me standing on the sidelines of a soccer game with a little girl right in front of me. Maybe ten years old, mousy brown hair, lean body tense with concentration. My hands resting on her shoulders.

Maybe it wasn't a soccer game but field hockey or some other sport instead. It doesn't matter; I know nothing about sports. And that's kind of the point. I was there for my daughter.

Even today, two years later, I can't picture this scene without crying. (There's not much that makes me cry anymore.) It's not the image of the girl that touches me, because it's not really about this particular dream-child. It's the way my hands rest lightly on her shoulders.

Is she tense because something happened and she ran back to the sidelines for comfort and support? Is she tense because her whole focus is on getting back into the game? Either way, I'm there right behind her, hands ready both to welcome and, when needed, to let go.

I don't know why I haven't let myself picture even this one vision lately. (OK, yes, I do: fear of more disappointment.) But I need to let it back in, to allow myself—in the midst of worrying about the what, when, and where of treatments—this one lovely reminder of why.