Flotsam

When it became obvious that there was no kitten in my immediate future I hied myself to IKEA and bought a plant. I generally stay away from plants due to my extraordinary ability to render them withered and lifeless, but perhaps this specimen will be heartier. The Actually has two plants already, Planty and Sal Mineo, both of whom are years old, so I am hoping some of his superior plant-tending skills will rub off on me. I have named my plant Hugh Laurie, and here is a picture:

Note the cat on his way into the frame, intent on mayhem.

I have a lot to say about the past few weeks, but no idea yet how to say it.
Here is the abbreviated version:
I am in the odd position of having too much on my plate and yet feeling unable to relinquish anything because to do so would cause a cascade of changes—not just for me, but for the Actually. It is as if I am carrying a house of cards on my back, a house of cards that is precisely one card too heavy. If I remove a card, they all tumble. If I don’t, chances are that I’ll eventually collapse, sending the metaphorical cards fluttering into the street.

It’s a pickle.

I’m sure in a day or two I will be back, moaning unattractively about the details of said pickle, but for now I am busy drinking gin fizzes and watering Hugh Laurie while I mull things over.

1. I went back to work today. I couldn’t sleep, so I was at my desk by six a.m. Work was good in that it kept me occupied and out of the house, bad in that I was constantly this close (fingers held barely apart) to crying, which did not go unnoticed. Also, my co-worker thought today would be a good day to bring her grandson in for show and tell. I could hear him in her office saying “BabaBAba! BabaBAba!” in the way that babies do. Then she brought him into my office and he gave me a suspicious look. I don’t blame him one bit.
2. The Actually says we can try again right away but I don’t want to. I’m sure I will change my mind once the constant, thumping anxiety dissipates, but right now I want nothing to do with pregnancy. Babies and I are through. Whose bright idea was it to have children anyway? After my last miscarriage I couldn’t wait to get myself knocked up again, and now even the thought makes me sick with nerves.
3. While I was waiting for the phone call yesterday, I was nearly retching with anticipation. I would stand in the bathroom, waiting to be sick and listening to my heart clunk mightily against my ribs. When the nurse gave me the result, I felt something shockingly like relief. Relief that the ordeal was over, that I wouldn’t have to face days and weeks more of anxiety over betas. Then I was overwhelmed with guilt and self-loathing. Then I cried.
4. I have been cramping since last night, but still not so much as a spot of blood.
5. I can’t seem to eat anything. Personal tragedy, or best diet ever? And crying jags count as exercise, if they’re strenuous enough. Miscarry your way to a size six!
6. Last night I had the worst panic attack I have had in a long time. I couldn’t stop shaking—the poor Actually put his arms around me while I cried and babbled and tried to breathe. I want to believe that this weird resurgance of panic is hormonal. Almost all of my worst panic attacks have been just before the start of a period. I know I was barely even pregnant, but my falling hormones could still be causing this whirlwind of crazy, couldn’t they?

(That was NOT A RHETORICAL QUESTION. I’d like to know if I am losing my mind.)

p.s. I think I need a kitten. Are four cats too many?

Well, I am still pregnant. No spotting, and tests remain positive. Not terribly dark, but positive all the same. I am feeling surprisingly calm, and actually had a lovely weekend with the lovely Schnozz. Really, it was the best time a girl could have while waiting to see if she will miscarry, and I will tell you all about it when my faculties return—at the moment, complete sentences are somewhat exhausting.
In the meantime, a few things I learned during her visit:
1. Caramel rolls and bacon make the best breakfast ever.
2. Rory and Dean stayed together for FAR TOO LONG.
3. I am not the only person who fondly remembers the commercials for Windsong perfume.
4. When landing a plane, it is important to remember to ARM THE FLAPS.

Tomorrow, finally, is my follow-up beta. There will have been 114 hours between blood draws, and in order to be doubling within 48 hours tomorrow’s beta would have to be 82. Which never fails to make me laugh, because 82? At 4w5d, or 19dpo, 82 seems preposterously low. But that is what I am hoping for, fervently.

I am not expecting this to work out, but for now I am trying a new tactic–I don’t know that I would call it optimism, but it is something like not-getting-ahead-of-myself-ism. Today I am pregnant, and while I may very well not be tomorrow, I know from unfortunate experience that assuming the worst will not make it hurt less. So I decided on Saturday not to assume anything, and it is working out nicely. I can’t know anything until Tuesday, so until then I am thinking only about the present. I can’t imagine getting anything but bad news tomorrow, so I am choosing to imagine nothing at all. You would be surprised how effective this is.

I think the Actually is having a difficult time. He is very sad, and I wish there were something I could do. He is taking tomorrow off to wait with me by the phone and plead with our embryo to step up the HCG production. I have been doing my best to bribe it into staying. I hope it likes macaroni and cheese and progesterone suppositories.

Beta= 15.7 at 14dpo

Progesterone=13

I am cautiously pessimistic.
No repeat beta until Tuesday because of the holiday weekend.

This cannot possibly end well.

*Update*
So, I just went to slap in some Crinone, just in case, and when I removed the applicator, there was brown on the tip. Apparently, I’m spotting, somewhere. This just looks better and better.

Thursday the Actually and I have an appointment with a psychologist at our fertility clinic. This appointment is required before we can proceed with IVF. The initial 60 minute session will cost $160, and should the psychologist feel further sessions are necessary, she can insist upon up to two more. Alternatively, she may decide to require us to complete poorly written psychological tests for another $150.
Is it just me, or do you find this offensive?

I have nothing against fertility clinics retaining psychologists; in fact, I think it is a fine idea. IVF is stressful, and having a psychologist available at the clinic may make couples more likely to seek counseling if they need it. I might not even object to a mandatory meeting with said counselor, for the purpose of discussing coping skills and stress-reduction techniques, or just to let the couple know what services are available. Unfortunately, the content of my clinic’s psychological consult has little to do with helping couples manage the stress of treatment. From what I have heard from my own therapist and other patients of Really-expensive Medicine Center, the staff psychologist is “obsessed” (their words) with “family of orig!n” issues. In other words, whether or not your father yelled at you, your uncle drank too much, your second cousin once removed liked to slice herself with boxcutters. You know, all of the issues most pertinent to my decision to seek medical treatment for a medical condition.

I know it is in my best interest to remain calm and not call the woman a nosy cunt, and so that is going to be my goal. I aim high, you see.

Also on Thursday is the Actually’s updated semen analysis. His results last time were very good, but in the past month or so he has had a testicular issue that has necessitated multiple visits to an urologist. I haven’t written much about it and don’t intend to, as it isn’t really my business to post about other people’s genitals on the Internet. Not everyone has the shameless lack of boundaries I have, you know. Suffice it to say that I am very, very nervous about the outcome of this test.

While we are on the topic of things that irk or frighten me, the other day I bought one of those wee vanilla ice cream cups only to see printed on the top “WARNING: CONTAINS MILK PRODUCTS.” I was, frankly, insulted. Have you met anyone stupid enough to benefit from this warning? Because if such people exist, I feel that we should not be preventing them from being winnowed out by putting warnings on ice cream. Let natural selection do its work. Perhaps if we get rid of these people we can also get rid of those who necessitate the “NOT FOR INTERNAL USE” warnings on pregnancy tests.

And speaking of pregnancy tests, in case my tone hasn’t tipped you off, I am not pregnant. Not at all. I even went out and bought some more expensive test sticks, in case the only thing separating me from a positive result was $10. Ok, $20. The tests all agree, my temperature is sliding downward, and my mythical “symptoms” disappeared as soon as I saw the first negative. Except for my sore left breast, which I actually BRUISED by poking it so often. I would post a picture, but I need to retain a little mystique, right?

UPDATE: So, this morning I took my temperature and it had jumped almost a degree to an all time high of 99.2. Naturally, I then proceeded to take two more pregnancy tests, which were negative. I am 13 days past ovulation, and suspiciously free of spotting. This can not possibly be good. I don’t know what to do–wait and see what happens tomorrow? Go in for a beta? Drink myself into happy oblivion?

Believe me, I’m just as tired of thinking about my Lady Cycles as you are of hearing about them, but alas things keep happening. If you want to stop reading now I will understand, and I promise to post something non-Lady-Cycle-related tomorrow.

***

Late last week, on cycle day 20-something, my temperature shot up. I ignored it at first, but by yesterday it had begun to look like an actual honest-to-goodness oocyte had been released from my usually stingy ovary. I cannot know for certain, as I had only been taking my temperature for a few days prior, but based on experience I am 98.7% sure that I am now five days past ovulation.
I am ashamed to admit that while my initial reaction was thrill, it rather quickly morphed into annoyance. And even a little anger directed at my reproductive organs, after which I am sure my uterus threw up her fallopian tubes like exasperated hands and said “Fine. I guess I just can’t do anything right. I thought this was good news—but then who am I to say? I’m just your Uterus, that’s all.”

The weary annoyance was because we had JUST settled on a plan. I’d JUST started to relax into the idea that we would be beginning IVF, and while it would be lovely if this rogue ovulation resulted in pregnancy, what is more likely is that it won’t. That next Thursday, the day our IVF pre-screening begins, I will be getting my period and the only spawn of this egg will be uncertainty. As in: If I am going to start ovulating spontaneously, maybe we should cancel our IVF appointments and see what happens. Maybe it will become a regular thing, occurring every month or so, you know, in a cyclical pattern. Of course according to the IVF coordinator, if we do cancel the appointments, we will not be able to get a slot in the April-June IVF series, and would have to instead wait at least until August, maybe longer, between the clinic’s schedule and our own.
What to do, what to do.

Luckily I have the Actually, who put a stop to my hand-wringing quick-like.
“We’re not cancelling the appointments,” he told me firmly.
As he sees it, we might as well have the prescreening done, and even if we get as far as the $3,000 deposit and then get pregnant on our own, $3,000 is much cheaper than the $14,000 we would be spending on our warranty program.

But what we will do, besides keep our prescreening appointments, is try Letrozole with no IUI and as little monitoring as possible in the next few months, just in case my body is belatedly responding to the Metformin. And Letrozole should only cost about $50 a month, not counting monitoring, so it is worth a shot, and won’t bite too deeply into our insurance money. And if this was a fluke, well, we’ve got an IVF cycle all teed up for May.

I have a call in to Dr. Doctor to apprise her of new developments, and we’ll see what she says. In the mean time, my good mood is restored, and I am even a little pleased with myself, ovulating like a real live girl. I feel like the Velveteen Rabbit, or Pinnocchio.

There are about a zillion other things I want to write about, not the least of which is a possible career development (I’ll have to password protect that post, I expect), and I have papers due this weekend, which means I’ll be procrastinating, which means I will be blogging my lazy, lazy heart out. I must tell you about the wedding cake we picked out on Sunday, and my resolutions for the New Year, and the fact that the Actually finally revealed what he will be wearing to our wedding. And I did order some pregnancy tests online, as I am too pessimistic about my chances this month to spend $20.00 at a drugstore when I could have them for 41 cents apiece. If the tests arrive before my period does, I’ll start taking them sometime next week, and you can console me when they are inevitably negative.
A good time will be had by all, I’m sure.