Au Naturale this Christmas

Into the second week of the 2ww. It's much easier this month. I think because I don't honestly think we had much of a shot at anything since we're going solo without any heroic efforts by us or our doctors. Dear husband still woke me up at 5:30 every morning to take my temps, and I peed faithfully on the Ov Predictor Stick. Both gave us clear direction on when our "optimum" day(s) were, and we dutifully performed as required. But, it just seems, that without loads of additive hormones coursing through my veins, that there isn't a lot of hope.

As bleak as that sounds, it's been really refreshing. I'm not nearly the crazy lunatic I've been in the past months (still crazy, just not as intensely crazy), and I don't have my panties all in a bunch wondering if it all "took." We're just trying to slow down and enjoy the spirit of Christmas. We'll get back on that horse next month, or even the month after, and proceed with caution.

Oh What Fun it is to Postpone #2

Our next IUI was scheduled for the 2nd or 3rd of December - which would mean we'd find out if things "stuck" right before Christmas. So, we've decided to take the month off. No sticks to pee on, no early morning ultrasounds, no waiting and worrying. We're trading it for lots of champagne and merryment and generally enjoying the season.

Just Enjoying

Over the turkey holiday, one of our parents who will remain nameless, told us that God wasn't going to allow us to get pregnant until we got out of debt - that He wants us to be able to afford a baby.

I had NO comeback. I couldn't even comprehend what was being said. Maybe that's true, I don't know, but I would hope there's a different way to deliver that message. Because that one was really horrible. Not only are we depressed because we can't get pregnant, but now we're also depressed because we're in debt with no way to get out of it in the near future.

What do I do what that little tidbit of info? "Oh, thank-you for your divine wisdom. We'll start praying for the winning lottery ticket instead of a baby." Not that God can't do both - why put a limit on his power? He could decide to give us the cash to pay off our bills and give us a baby. He is, after all, God. But, I have to believe that He isn't basing one on the other - "pay off your bills and the next month you'll get a baby." That just isn't the God I know.

Super size it, please

Pulled out the Target brand Super Absorbancys last night. It's true.

I guess all I can do is chalk that one up to experience. I mean, really. There's a 10-25% chance that an IUI will actually work. I really didn't think it would - but in my heart-of-hearts, I sure did hope and pray.

Today I actually feel semi-normal. There's a brief respite before the copious amounts of hormones begin coursing through my veins again causing weeks and weeks of emotional tidal waves. For most of last month I sobbed at virtually every sight of a baby or child - online, on TV, at church, on the street. At the stoplight downtown, sobbing, snot running down my face with a big billboard of a baby in front of me. Quite a site, I'm sure.

SO, to feel a little normal is nice. It's good, too, just to know one way or the other. The waiting and waiting and waiting is horrible. Nothing you can do but wait. And obsess. At least I know for sure - at least for two more weeks.

No New News

It's never a good sign when your specialist greets you with, "so, what are we doing today?" You're asking me?

So, chalk it up to me not understanding IUI protocol, or maybe her assistant not clearly explaining it, I was a few days premature with my appointment. They want me to WAIT until I get a period or a positive on a stick. Technology people! Take advantage of it! It's called a blood draw! Come on...really.

They didn't pass the opportunity though, to stick the wand up my hoo-hoo and take a gander. They couldn't see any developing lima bean shaped items, but they gave me the double thumbs up for another round of Clomid (a.k.a. The Witch Inducer) if the need be. Then they slapped me on my rear and said, "giddyup on outta here - we need the exam room. Go home and wait, just like the olden days."

Two Negatives Could Make a Positive

I held out as long as I could and didn't pee on any of my tests until Saturday morning. There was no double line. Disappointing, but it could have been too early, really. I'm learning that there are different types of tests: sensitive, normal, and super-fast-results. My Costco 4-pack are the super-fast-results kind, which mean it'll give results in one minute versus three. So if you're really anxious, you'll know a whole two minutes earlier! Wow! But, my understanding is that the rapid-result-types aren't very sensitive, either.

I retook the test on Sunday morning. Still no double line. I also invariably left the stupid test sitting out on the bathroom counter while our out-of-town visiting house guests all took their turns taking their morning showers. Hey! Everyone! I'm not pregnant! See! There's proof! Sitting on the counter! Right next to the hand soap! What an idiot.

I'm not feeling particularly pregnant. So I have a funny feeling that those pre-tests are accurate. But, I head into my dr's this afternoon for my first "beta test." This is a blood pregnancy-test and tells how much hcg is in your bloodstream - this time created naturally from being being knocked up, not from the stuff from some other pregnant lady that was injected into my derriere that made my body think I was preggo. I guess they check it a few more times over the course of the next few days to see if the hcg level increases - which means you're really truly pregnant.

I've Come Unbuttoned

As I sit at my computer, my pants are unbuttoned. Not because I'm some weird sicko, but because I am so incredibly bloated that nothing but the elastic-banded-sweatshirt-type of pants are fitting right now. I guess the fertility meds and the IUI/trigger thingies make your ovaries swell up like a balloon.

So, I sit here at work, hoping no one can tell that I've failed to button my suit pants, but have instead, folded the unhooked bits over, and then pulled my shirt over that.

In addition, my suit jacket is really being tortured. It's stretched oh-so-unflatteringly across my midriff. If I leave it unbuttoned, it's a dead-giveaway for the aforementioned compromised pants.

I'm pretty sure I'm fooling no one. They just politely stare at my chin, refusing to look anywhere near my mid-section for fear my zipper may fail altogether and my pants will end up around my ankles.

Only Eight More Days

It's five days past IUI, so probably four or five days past ovulation - if I ovulated at all. I don't think I did. Or, if I did, it wasn't until two full days after they ejected my hubby's essence into the black abyss. That means that maybe there were a few little men still swimming when the queen made her grand entrance. By then, they were probably so tired, they were like, "hey, how are ya, nice to see ya, excuse me while I take a long terminal nap, zzzzz."

But then again, I have been having tons of cramping in the groin area. It's kinda like I'm going to start my period - or maybe I've eaten some bad chicken. One or the other.

At our tour de Costco this morning, I saw lots of baskets full of baby wipes and diapers. Ours had a 4-pack of pregnancy tests and a case of Coors Light. One step at a time.

More Pee Ponderings

I'm still stuck on this whole human pee thing.

Where does it come from? How do they collect it?

Is it a little check-box on your form at your obstetrician's?
"Would you like to donate your urine so infertile women can have a shot at motherhood? BTW - it's injected INTO THEIR BUTT. Yes or No. Check the box.

I don't think any of my girlfriends have ever donated pee while pregnant. I'm definitely going to ask. Geesh - maybe I could get it at a discount rate? Maybe even FREE!

I guess it's touted as a weight loss injection, too. If I have to get the pee shot again, maybe I'll ask for an extra couple dozen so I'll lose all that marble on my rump.

It looks like men even use it to counteract the side-affects of steroids along with Clomid.

A vile of pee, please

human chorionic gonadotropin hormone

On one of my little internet binges, I stumbled across a definition of hcg - that lovely shot they injected into my butt.

PEE! Human pee! Human pee from a pregnant woman!

Wait a minute. Some pregnant lady, somewhere, peed in a cup, and it ended up in a little vile that was then injected into my upper left cheek. No wonder they don't tell you what it is.

"So, Mrs. Barnes, we'd like to give you a shot of some random woman's pee. Who was pregnant. We'll put it right into your butt. How does that sound?"

"Oh, yes! Please! I've always wanted pregnant-lady pee shoved into my derriere. Sign me up!"

I think my body is rejecting the pee. It's been 36 hours since my shot of knocked-up urine, and my butt still hurts like a banshee. Perhaps I'm allergic to other people's pee. "Are you allergic to penicillin, Mrs. Barnes?" "Oh, no, just pee."

So, how was YOUR weekend?

Friday was the start of a really strange weekend. I had to go in to the clinic so they could take a looksie at my fallopian tubes and see if any follicles were waiting in the wings. They weren't quite up to par yet. 18 mm is the magic number. Mine were just under. So, the PA sent me away with orders to come back on Sunday. Yes, Sunday.

It still seems so strange that a clinic would be open on the weekends. But then again, ovaries wait for no man. So, it was off to the fifteenth floor of 1101 Madison for an 8a.m. appointment. The ultrasound revealed two follicles that were ready to rumble. One a woppin' 20 mm, and the other just breaking the minimum at 18. We were in business.

The PA revealed that, lucky me, I had to have a shot of HSG (human chorionic gonadotropin hormone). This is the hormone that makes the follicle burst and shed its priceless little egg. I had to ask where they were going to give the shot to me - butt or arm? I don't think I've had a shot since I stepped on a rusty nail in college and the big health clinic nurse gave me a tetnus. Lucky me, this time my arse was the target. Then it occured to me that I had no idea what position I was supposed to be in for this little proceedure - when was the last time someone gave me a shot in my butt? When I was four? I'm sure at that time they strapped me down and hoped I didn't bite. I was instructed to bend over the exam table. I sure was glad I wore my fancy underwear. I feel so close to her now - maybe she'd like to be my friend.

Oh, yes, one more visit the next morning to Pill Hill. This time with hubby in tow. We had to be at the office at 7 am where DH gave his contribution to the affair to the gray-haired nurse who didn't bat an eye at the little cup filled with, um, junk. We went off for breakfast while we waited for my turn. A few hours later I got to hop up on the exam table for my first turkey-baster-slash-IUI experience. Seriously two minutes later it was over. I leaned over and asked Brian if it was as good for him as it was for me, oh, and did he have a cigarette.

It was seriously anti-climatic. I waited all weekend, drove 15 miles and fought traffic three times, got multiple ultrasounds with a big wand shoved up my wahoo, and then the moment that is supposed to be my infertile salvation was over in 60 seconds.

They shooed us out the door and told us to come back in two weeks. Either for a pregnancy test, or to start another round of clomid.

Second Round

Friday we got the green light to start another round of Clomid. They did a little ultrasound, and made sure a huge tumor hadn't grown from last month's dosage. Nice, huh?

So, we spent part of our Friday evening at the drugstore. I make my poor, poor husband go with me. If I have to wait around in a dingy Rite-Aid on a Friday night, why shouldn't he? Plus, it gives us the opportunity to peruse the aisles. There are so many things you forget that you need until you have 20 minutes to kill while waiting for your prescription. Here's a few of my favorites:

Frownies - Eliminate deep expression lines while you sleep.

Wet n' Wild Cosmetics - $0.49 for lip liner!! Love it!

As Seen on TV products - too many wonders to behold!

Where do you hide yours?

Speaking of the evil one, I just went to the bathroom, hiding my little white torpedo in the sleeve of my jacket. I absolutely HATE taking my purse to the bathroom with me -it's like announcing to the world, "hey! guess what! I'm on my period and I'm taking my purse with me so you can't see my little arsenal of cotton feminine products!" So, I choose to hide mine in the sleeve of my arm. I just slip it up inside, while no one is looking - then hustle to the ladies room.

The only tale tell sign I can think of is the crinkly sound the wrapper makes. It's a dead giveaway. I wonder if anyone can hear it? I'm not sure which is worse, the paper kind of wrapper or the plastic.

I'm SURE one day I'm going to have to waive my arms unexpectedly (maybe a hornet or something) and the little white paper-wrapped missle is going to come shooting out of my gaberdine wool suit jacket and hit somebody square in the kisser. What do I say then? "Whoa! Where'd that come from?" Or, "what the...?" It'd be fine if it was my office mate Julia - but what if it was my 60-year-old male boss?

So, where do you keep yours?

Evil Aunt Has Arrived

Minutes ago, spurred on by countless cups of herbal tea, I visited the ladies room. There, in the most god-forsaken restroom ever, Aunt Flow knocked on my stall door and announced her arrival. "yoooooo-who! I'm heeeere!" I could hear her evil cackle - rivaling any Haunted House side show.

I wanted to lay her out on the cold, grey, industrial-tiled floor.

New Yoga Pose

Our Costo-bulk sized pregnancy kits came with a great picture to help you test:

Apparently you strike a Yoga Tree pose, then just hold the stick somewhere in front of your thighs.

Sleep, Please

It's 3:30 a.m. and I'm sitting on my couch, crying. No, my period hasn't arrived yet. But neither has a full-night of sleep. In the last week I don't think I've gotten more than 3 hours in one night. It's starting to really get to me.

This isn't anything new, I've had problems with insomnia since I was a teenager, but with the added stress of waiting to see if I'm pregnant, I'm just a huge emotional train wreck.

On top of that, I've had a cold for two weeks. I just can't kick it without sleep. All the elements for The Perfect Storm. I should probably wear a big sign around my neck that says, "Keep clear - 10 feet in all directions."

Of course, with nothing else to do at this ungodly hour, I've been surfing the web, reading all the postings by women, wondering if they're pregnant, too. Some of them have been trying for so long, and doing such crazy things to make it happen. I sincerely pray I don't have to go that far.

Then of course there's the 14-year olds who wonder if they're pregnant because they french-kissed their boyfriend...

No Double Line

Pulled out the first P-test this morning. I suppose it was a little premature. I pee'd on the little stick, and we both waited in our tiny, cramped bathroom to see if a second line would appear.

This particular test, only takes one minute, so we didn't have to wait long. I felt like I was standing in front of a slot machine going, "joker, joker...." and just waiting for the third one to appear to win the jackpot. There was just one line, and we needed one more - but it never appeared.

We waited an extra minute just to be sure. But no damn second line.

There's still hope. I suppose. I guess sometimes it takes a few days until your body has created enough hCG hormones to trigger the test. My basil body temperature is still high, and my monthly visitor hasn't arrived, so we'll see what tomorrow will bring.

This morning we went to a pumpkin patch with friends. They have four kids under the age of eight. They are really great kids - well mannered, sweet, considerate, and cute as buttons. My mind wandered more than once, thinking that maybe we would be watching our kids tromp through muddy fields in a few years.

To be, or not to be, that is the question

Today is the day my period is supposed to start.

I'm trying not to get my hopes up. I keep telling myself that I'm not pregnant so that I wont be completely crushed when Auntie F shows up on my doorstep.

I thought the game was over yesterday when Brian took my temperature (6:00 a.m. - every day!), and it had dropped from 98.6 to 98.1. But, this morning it was up to 98.8. SO, maybe, just maybe...

I've been having a few crampy feelings, but nothing major. I feel a little feverish, but that could be from my body trying to recover from the bad cold I got last week. Some women say they got a cold right when they became pregnant. Others say their sense of smell went off the charts. Really, who knows.

I guess I will in the next few days.

T-2, Or so.

I don't know what everyone gets all worked up about! Geesh! It's just two weeks! In fact, I should know this weekend if my eggs and DH's junk got the party started. Who's counting days? Just because my every waking moment has been CONSUMED with wondering, "Am I?" "What if I am?" "What if I'm not?" "I'm not puking and my boobs don't hurt - does that mean I'm not?" "My boobs hurt and I feel like I'm going to vomit every time I open the fridge - does that mean I am?"

I tried using the prego excuse on Brian this weekend..."Honey, I can't possibly help paint the house, I might be pregnant! You wouldn't want your little peanut exposed to fumes, would you?" Yeah...that went over like a ton of bricks.

But, we were at Costco, and I couldn't help lingering over the baby clothes. I said to DH, "Just think, honey, a year from now our baby could be wearing this little jumper, just like a million other babies across the nation with mommy's and daddy's who buy everything from this megamart." Ahhhh. "Let's go get a big slice of pizza!"

In all honesty, though, I keep recalculating the days and planning when I'm going to take the HPT. We even bought a bulk-size carton of them at Costco.

2WW

We're in the 2WW (Two Week Wait) period. It's the two weeks between the day you ovulated and the expected arrival of your next visit from Auntie Flow. I basically spend every waking moment thinking about the possibility of being pregnant. I also spend a lot of time on the internet googling for "early signs of pregnancy" and then attributing every little ache and pain to it.

I honestly felt lots of pings and spasms and cramps during the few days post "o." I kept quietly cheering my husbands little swimmers onward and upward - "get in there you guys!" Go for it! You can doooo iiiiit!" I'd like to think there was a little party going on in my fallopian tubes - a beautiful egg (or maybe two) sitting in the middle of a bunch of little guys who keep coming up and giving her the wink and nod and their best pick-up line: "how YOU doin'?" One little lucky sucker hopefully scoring the winning ticket to paradise.

The little twinges and stabbing pains have stopped for the most part. Now my boobs hurt - which is supposed to be one of the first signs of being prego. I think it must be how a marathon runner feels and then decides to put vasaline on them to keep from chaffing.

In Search of Mommyhood

I remember getting a lecture from some theological-type leader in my teens telling me that if I ever had sex before marriage, God would strike me pregnant because I had sinned. Now that I'm married and we want to start a family, we're begging God to bless us with a positive sign on a pee stick. It's quite a switch to WANT to get pregnant, vs. trying not to get knocked up - a whole different frame of mind.

We've been trying for seven months - according to fertility experts this puts us in the fast track to "fertility problems." After you turn 35, they don't mess around much. They give you six months and then you're sent off to the fertility experts.

We met with the FE (fertility expert- as they're called in fertility chat rooms) last month and she quickly diagnosed me with PCOS and a uterus with a bunch of scar tissue. Put those two together and you have a recipe for an unlikely place for the swim team and the eggs to get together for a happy hour mixer.

So, this is our first month on Clomid - the starter step for all gals condemned to a wear the letter "I" on their chest (infertile). It's just five little pills that you take day 5-9 of your cycle. It basically stimulates FSH and LH hormones that help produce the big "O" - in this case ovulation. Since I rarely ovulate on my own, Clomid could be my ticket to mommyhood.

Clomid, by the way, makes you CRAZY. I swear, I was a basket case for those five days. I yelled at my husband about every hour on the hour. Thankfully, it was just for five days. However, Hubby was all for the sex-every-other-day romp n' roll regime prescribed by the doc for that "fertile window." I'm pretty sure he'd rather we had to go through this a few more months to get the bonus frequent flyer miles - even willing to endure the Clomid-induced, two-headed crazy bitch who comes to live in house.