Lady in Red

Red is my favorite color. And I happen to look good in it. Nice contrast with the blue-green eyes and brown hair (or so my mom tells me when I'm feeling a little down: "just put on a little red lipstick, honey. You'll feel better!). When all else fails, I turn to red. I have four pairs of red shoes. A red jacket. A red purse. My kitchen is even red. Although I've never had a red car. Hmmmmm.

Red is not my favorite color when it applies to my skin. Red, hot, angry skin - all over my chest, neck, face, and ears. It started the day after my retrieval. I noticed it as I was getting ready for work - it totally freaked me out. Whaaaaaat is going on? It's like I've been on a Caribbean cruise for a week instead of sitting my lard ass on the couch watching back-to-back episodes of Project Runway.

I haven't told my boss about any of my fertility business. He's totally "old school," just about to retire, and he always wants way too much information. In this case, it would be just too uncomfortable explaining to g-pa boss man how I have my vaginey explored up to three times a week. Thankfully, honestly, SO THANKFUL, that I don't have to explain my whereabouts. I can pretty much skip out for the occasional blood draw or IUI without anyone suspecting a thing. But, I knew I'd be out for the whole day for the retrieval. So, I told g-pa boss man that I was having a "procedure" and that I'd be out for the day. No details. I figured he's a smart enough man to figure out that it had something to do with lady stuff and would just leave it well enough alone.

When I showed up to work the next day (late of course) with a sunburn...I honestly think he believed that I totally lied. I bet he thinks I played hookie and did something super fun involving sunshine and ferries and picnics and frolicking. I eeked out, "I'm having an allergic reaction to one of the medicines they gave me for my procedure yesterday!" He nods, and says, "so I see." Not an iota of sympathy or belief. I wanted to drop my drawers right there and show him my lovely purple bruises across my abdomen, my track marks in my butt, and the needle pricks in my arms. But I didn't.

Back to the rash. I called the lovely clinic and they told me to stop taking the vicodin. Dang. The only medicine that's any fun at all and it gives me a rash. Four days later I'm still lighting up like a neon bulb. I tell this to Saturday Morning Nursing Staff and they think it's the progesterone. Sucks to be me. Thank God I look good in red cuz I've got at least another week and half of this hot flash madness, and with any luck up to another couple of months.

The little Yellow pill that Wouldn't

This morning, according to the incredibly detailed plan for our transfer, I was to insert a little yellow pill of prometrium up into my nether regions at exactly two hours before the transfer. Done. So, I'm wandering around my house in my bathrobe, drinking the five million gallons of water prescribed, when what to my wondering eyes do appear, but that same damn yellow pill laying on the floor in the living room! I blinked, twice even, but it was still there, right next to our puppy's slimy chew toy. Just sitting there, like a brightly colored egg on Easter morning, waiting to be found. What the hell? I picked it up, walked back to the bathroom, and double-checked the prescription bottle. Yep. Just a quantity of one. So, because I am incredible good at deduction, I surmised that said yellow pill had in fact fallen out of my cooter at some point. I was dumbfounded. How does that happen? 

Now - do I wash it off and reinsert? Better not...water is likely to make it disintegrate. So, I just blew on it (10 second rule extended to yellow pill) and rubbed off the dust and doggie hairs, and resumed the position to reinsert. Done. But, this time, I decided to rest a bit on the bed. Make sure it stays in the appropriate area. After five minutes, I feel the thing making its way back out. Again! Whaaaaa? It was having nothing to do with my vagina. No wonder I can't make a baby - I can't even interest a little yellow pill in sticking around for five minutes!

After pushing it back in for the third time (this time with extra oomph and passion), I think it stayed. We made our way to the clinic, and got the report on our four little survivors. Turns out two of them made it to 8/9 cell stage and got a perfect grade, the other two were only to 6, and the prognosis for them was less than stellar. So, we got a picture of the two lucky ones (in color!). I can totally see that the bigger/more advanced one takes after me: totally has to be the over achiever, and definitely looks good in fuchsia. Some kids have ultrasound pictures to look at. We have them at the 8/9 cell stage. And they look good.

They transferred the two, and they'll keep an eye on the other two to see if they catch up. Now, I'm totally sitting on my bum, watching reruns of House, and reading a million blogs. Hey, if you read mine, I'll read yours. Keep the candles burnin'. Lots of prayers are needed in the next week and a half.

eight is enough, or is it

At O'Dark-Thirty we headed out to the clinic. Funny...the appointment was for 7:15, but the didn't bring me back until almost 8:00. If they had made the appointment for 7:45, I could have slept for another half an hour. Sleep is very precious.

The surgery center in a different part of the building from the clinic. Tucked back in the corner. It's the same entrance as where all the boys head off for their, um, self-inflicted extraction. They finally got me into a little recovery area, where I stripped down and donned the incredibly comfortable but equally unflattering. They poked my hand and started dripping some stuff into it. After carting me into the surgery room, they switched my drip to the good, sleepy medicine, and soon I was waking up in the recovery room. It was quick, and easy, and not painful at all.

They got eight eggs. Don't know how many of them are mature...still don't know how many of them will divide. I was hoping there would be enough to freeze a few, but it's not looking too good.

I'm sitting on my couch, watching War Games with Matthew Broderick and Alley Sheedy. I never really thought he was that cute. I was head-over-heels with Rob Lowe. Had him all over my locker at school, and pictures of him on my pee-chees. Just hanging out with my hubby. Recovering from my "procedure," and waiting to hear what the docs say.

Fetch Those Eggs!

We made a mad dash to Costco last night, keeping an eye on the clock which is really hard to do when there's aisles and aisles of all this fantastic stuff that you really really need. The guy at the exit who looks at the receipt (and never your cart) asked us if we were in a rush to get home to watch the Season Premier of Heroes. Duh, yeah! Oh, AND have Mr. B stick a long needle filled with HCG in my tush. At precisely 8:00. Aimed at the middle of a sharpie-inscribed circle in the "upper left quadrant." I was really scared that he was gonna inflict serious pain on me. It's a control issue, I know. If I inflict the pain, it's no big deal. If he does it...I can hardly stand it. I couldn't even be anywhere near a mirror where I might see it all going down.

We tore into the driveway at 7:55. I raced into the "mixing lab" (a.k.a. the dining room) while Mr. B hauled the flimsy boxes of way-too-much-food-for-two-people into the house. He's yelling, "pull down your pants! pull down your pants! We're gonna miss the opening scene! Aaaaarrrrrrg!" He didn't do such a bad job considering all his thoughts were on the Cheerleader-Who-Saves-the-World - other than the slight twisting of the needle back and forth (one hand to hold it still, the other for the plunger, please!).

All that rushing and the first hour was a "pre-party" with scenes from last season. Bah. Who cares about last year.

This morning I peed-on-a-stick. What a waste of a test. I bought the 4-pack (from Costco, of course), knowing I'll have to use at least one in the next few weeks. For as many tests as I've done, I can never remember how many seconds you have to hold it in the pee. Although I prefer the holding it in a cup of pee option because I always end up getting urine all over my hands and worrying that enough of it didn't get on the tiny little absorbent tip. Although they do include a handy little picture which really looks like a yoga pose to me (Sideways Dog with Wand) because there's no pee coming out of the nice pink cartoon lady and it's not spraying all over her fingers.

Retrieval is tomorrow morning at 7:15. I'm a little nervous. Okay...a lot of nervous. I just want it all to work for once. And I want to be excited (this could be it!) but I refuse to let myself be too optimistic. And I don't want to puke all over the nurse when I'm coming out of the anesthesia.

Backing Up and Looking Again

So, we know that in general, we tend to slow down and look at fender-benders on the freeway. Rubbernecking, right? Looking to see what kind of cars, how badly they were damaged, any jaws of life at work. But, we never make a u-turn and look again. Once is enough. But I did. At my reunion, anyhow. Went to the casual night on Friday - it was insane how nervous I was. But much to my relief, I was not the person who gained the most weight, nor the person who had lost the most hair, nor the person who aged the least gracefully. Many gals were trying their darndest not to be tagged with one of those titles. Lots of tight jeans, low tops, and freshly highlighted coifs. The guys were almost undecipherable. Without name tags, I would have been lost. Someone would say "hi" and I'd have to squint at their chest and try to summon any recollection of them from 20 years ago and transfer it to the person in front of me. In many cases, this was tough to do.

I apparently did not get my fill, because I did the u-turn and went back for the second night, too. This time with Big B at my side for moral support. I needed to see more. There was one guy in particular that I had to see. I'd had a massive crush on him for all three years of high school. He was so mean - laughed in my face when I asked him to Tolo. I'll admit there was some satisfaction in seeing his paunch around the middle and his hairline receding to nowhere.

There was also a sense of peace in all of it. 20 years is the great equalizer. We see that everyone has a life, had dreams that failed, medals that have tarnished, grey hairs that have monopolized, and waistlines that have thickened. None of us are the same as we were, or what we might have imagined we would be, and that creates a bond that goes beyond "best dressed" or "most likely to succeed."

I had my last ultrasound this morning. I have around seven follicles that look like they're ready for retrieval on Wednesday. Not as many as I had hoped for, but I know it's "quality over quantity" and that "it only takes one." I'm trying to keep my hopes up (but not too up) and psych myself up for the weeks ahead. My belly may have a nice band of purple bruises all over it, but I have a feeling that the hardest part is yet to come.

Sales 101

Yesterday I took a long lunch and tried to find something to wear to this stuuuupid reunion. I ended up at this little boutique within walking distance of my office. I was wearing sweet running shoes with my capris and suit top thing. I was lookin' GOOD (but it was a glorious day and I am not one to be subject to the confines of fashion). The saleslady was a piece of work. She kept running up to me with all these hideous outfits, "this is cute!" "what about this?" "I love this one." I said to her, "have you even looked at my body shape? How in the world is this sleeveless rayon number going to look good?" She actually responded by saying that the dress would hit my first "roll" and then kind of spill off of it, hiding the rest. Huh? And she wants me to buy something from her? This is a sales pitch?

So...had my Day5 workup this morning. They only found 5 follicles measuring at least 10 whatever units (mms?). Is that bad? I asked the tech and she replied in a semi-automatic way ..."Every woman is different! There's no magic number!" Grrrr. Why can't they just tell me? There's like 10 or 12 additional ones that are smaller. She said she hoped that they caught up with the rest of them. There's hope, right?After all, I was a late bloomer and look at me now!

I got my hair done last night...thought everyone at the clinic would notice. But they didn't. I wonder if I got a Brazilian if they'd notice. Probably not. Everyone at my office loved the new "do," though. It's very sleek. And sassy. And color-ific.