Amnesia - common side effect of a baby after infertility?

Last night I called a girlfriend. She's the only "real-life" friend I know that has had an IVF. I've known her for twenty years. Met her in college. Was in her wedding. She was the girl who wanted to get married immediately and have a gaggle of babies immediately. They soon discovered she had all sorts of uterus/fallopian issues and that conceiving was going to be a challenge. They went through 6 IUIs, and got pregnant with their first IVF. It was a long, hard journey for them, and I am truly glad it all worked out.

I hadn't talked to her since right after my miscarriage...but I wanted to let her know how all the other IUIs had gone (failed), and that we were scheduled for a retrieval the next morning. I thought she could empathize, give me some encouragement, listen to my fears with an understanding ear. Yet, as soon as she picked up the phone, she started in on how wonderful her life was. How much she loved being a mom - going into details on her son's various accomplishments thus far in life. How cute he was, his feeding habits, the awesome group of women she's met who also have babies the same age as her Sweet Pea.  How they were going to start trying for their second with all their FEs left over from their first IVF.

I was so mad! I was so hurt. I was so disappointed. I thought since she had gone through all of this crap herself, that she had dealt with this world of pain, that she knew first-hand what it felt like to be anxious and nervous and worried. That she knew, above all else, what it felt like to have a baby waived in front of your face. To have motherhood flaunted like a skinny person eating a huge piece of chocolate cake in front of a Weight.Watchers group. But NO! She totally went on and on, unabashedly, for the majority of our conversation. Until she wished me good luck and then excused herself because she had to put her little bundle of joy to bed because it was "way past his bedtime and I don't want to pay the price tomorrow!"

Am I being way too oversensitive here? Did I set my expectations too high? Did I have a false sense of camaraderie? I thought we were a special group of women, bonded by the shear nightmare of infertility. Am I totally off course? Do women who've gone the fertility treatment obstacle course to come out a winner on the other side usually abandon every memory of the heartache, depression, and frustration, not to mention the hurt caused by insensitive mommies?  

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.

Does accupuncture hurt?

Not physically, but if I've never done it before, and I start it, let's say, the day after my retrieval, will it hurt anything?

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.

What was your label?

I went to a very large high school. There were over 700 kids in my class (711 to be exact). In a school of our size (over 2500 students), there weren't just cliques, there were sub-cliques, and even sub-sub-cliques. It wasn't just the usual Jocks, Brainiacs, Band Geeks, etc. It was more like the Jocks-who-were-also-Stoners and the Stoners-who-were-also-Band Geeks. I fell into the Jocks-who-were-also-Braniacs, although oddly enough, I was neither a jock nor a Braniac. I had attempted stardom at both, and failed miserably. It took me several tries to make the tennis team only to sit on the bench the whole year. I took AP English, but struggled my way through general Chemistry. I was definitely not "popular" - but I had enough friends to make High School a bearable part of my formidable years without too many emotional scars.

Part of my high school reunion is tonight. It's the "casual" get together at a pub. As of yesterday, I've re-bailed on the "formal" night. This is a result of my last ditch effort to find something fabulous to wear. Everything I put on made me look like a stuffed sausage. Stuffed sausages are neither sexy nor classy. Unless perhaps you are a purveyor of fine ground meats encased in membranes. Uck. And I am chock full of hormones that make me just weep about every 30 minutes.

So, tonight I will attend the reunion. I will see the other Jocks-who-were-also-Braniacs, and the Stoners-who-were-also-Band-Geeks, and we will compare notes, and see who lives in the most exclusive neighborhoods, who has the best jobs, who has the best looking spouse, and, of course, who has the most beautiful children (or lack thereof). It baffles my mind that many of them are sending their first-born to high school themselves this year.

Perhaps I will tell them that I have 39 holes in my belly where I've been giving myself shots for a week, and that I have approximately 10 follicles that are measuring about 15mm, and that I'm scheduled for a retrieval probably Tuesday of next week and a transfer 3 to 5 days after that. And, that with a great deal of luck, I'll take a test in a little over two weeks that will tell me if I'm pregnant with my first.

But, more than likely, I'll just order a double of something strong, knock it back, and remember the good 'ol days when your label was "jock" or "prep" or "stoner" and not "infertile" or "childless."

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.