Always an over-achiever

Dr. PacMan whisks into the office.

"Hi. How have you been feeling?"

"Hi Dr. PacMan. I'm okay. I'm still really exhausted on the injectables. I spend a lot of time on the couch. I'm hoping I don't have to take anymore."

"And are you still having pain?"

"Yes. I hope it's because the Follistim is working."

"Let's see what we've got."

I hand him my four tickets to get on the infertility roller coaster.

Feet swing up, head drops back, staring at the familiar ceiling tiles. Part of me doesn't want to look at the ultrasound screen. It's a let down when follicles that look big to me are disappointingly small, but I'm weak. I hopefully shift my gaze right.

Dr. PacMan ponders my left ovary. As per usual, I have six gajillion follicles. Nothing very big. I grip the edge of the exam table as he moves over to the right ovary. Ultrasounds hurt a lot now that my ovaries are stimulated. Dr. PacMan is grimacing and making worried sounds as he studies the right ovary. I dig my fingers into the table and try to breathe through the pain as he applies extra pressure to examine a follicle more closely.

"Hmm...this right ovary...it worries me....so many large follicles..." he mutters while he continues poking me and I continue white knuckling the exam table.

I look beyond the ceiling to the heavens. Jesus, please don't let him cancel this cycle. Don't let all of this have been for nothing. Jesus, I'm not even praying to get pregnant right now. I'm just asking to finish out the cycle. Amen.

I sit up and the doctor says it looks like my follicles are ready. Thank you, Jesus! But then Dr. PacMan shoots me his most serious face and brings up the topic I fear the most.

"Will you and your husband consider selective reduction if you have multiples?"

"We've discussed it. We're praying we don't have to make that kind of decision but, yes, we would consider it for the safety of the babies and myself."

(I should mention here that I debated even posting about this. I'm so conflicted about it and it's such a heated topic. I don't want to even think about it. But this blog is my honest place, so here I am typing. We'll see if I actually post it.)

"OK, good. I'm glad you and your husband have already discussed it. If you had said you refuse to consider it, I would have cancelled your cycle. You will likely release several eggs and multiples is a serious concern." Umm...Jesus, that could be too much of a good thing. Ease up for me just a smidge?

So what's my line??? How do I even respond to the doctor's statement? All I can come up with is swear words. Dr. PacMan keeps talking. He says a bunch of stuff, but one thing sticks out.

"You'd be a great candidate for IVF."

How do I respond to that? Thank you?? Is it a compliment? A sign of things to come? If this fails, do we do another cycle of injectables or is it too risky that I will conceive a litter? I don't ask any of these questions but they are reverberating in my head.

And so, on Friday morning, Mr. Jaguar and I will be in the office. After thirteen months of trying, we've made it to IUI #1.

Why I have a cute new henley shirt

It's finally happening. Tomorrow morning, we will actually have a real shot at trying to conceive. Here's how it all came about...

I started my injectables on the 8th after two needles and an ultrasound determined that it was go time. After eight more needles, it was determined on the 13th that I should double my dose. After ten more needles, follicles had grown to a respectable enough size. Mr. Jaguar gave me my shot of Ovidrel last night and tomorrow morning, it's on. Twenty one total needles does not impress me one bit. My poor little thighs (actually not so little really) are tender. Everybody says, "Oh, the needles aren't so bad." For me, the anxiety about the needles got worse as the days went on. They wore me down emotionally. And while they could be much worse, I wouldn't classify them as good. Getting them every day was tough. By the end, I was desperate to be done with them. The doctors and the books don't really mention that.

The insides of my arms are currently very....heroin chic. I always either have a new, purple bruise or an old, yellow one or, even better, a combination of the two. It's hot, let me tell you. My thighs are a match only not as severe but I don't subject the public to my thighs so it's different. The bruises are just ridiculous. The doctors and the books don't really mention that. I was forced to buy a super cute, kelly green, half sleeve henley to cover up the arms. What choice did I have? None.

I can't write this without mentioning my brave ovaries. They've been putting in countless hours at the office. Right now, they feel like they are about the size of cue balls. It's quite extraordinary. My stomach is disgustingly bloated. It's uncomfortable to push my pee out because everything is so tender down there. And there are twinges- sudden sharp pains down there all the time. The doctors and the books don't really mention that.

The medication wiped me out. I could barely finish a trip to the grocery store. I literally wanted to lay down on the soft, downy mattress of the bread loaves shelf and just take a nap. I'm so grateful that this cycle was during the summer so that my work day was shorter. Otherwise, I would've been fired for napping during math class. And then at night, I had insomnia. The doctors and the books don't really mention that.

With all of that said, I'd do it again. I hope and pray that I don't have to, but I'd do it again if that's what it takes to become a mom.

The flu and other stuff

I have lots to write but no computer to do it on. Apparently, my computer has a touch of a virus and has to go visit my brother-in-law to get cleaned up. Please pray for its speedy recovery. Right now, I'm typing from my public library where every other available computer is currently being used to access MySpace by local teenagers.

So unfortunately, I can only post the highlights for now:

• I finished my two grad courses yesterday. I am officially 20% of the way done my Masters' program. Even better, my next course doesn't start until October 7.
• My ovaries have been spending the bulk of their time kicking and pinching me for the last few days. Apparently, they're angered by the injectables and trying to show me who's boss. It's working; I fully believe that they are in fact the boss.
• I had my first session at the counseling center this past Friday. They let me leave at the end of the appointment which I will take as a good sign. I am not a threat to society.
• I got my teaching placement for this coming school year. I'm working in 5th grade which I am psyched about. My co-teacher....also infertile.

Caravans and predictions

Yesterday morning I went to the RE’s office for my ultrasound and bloodwork. I have a 14 millimeter follicle! I can hardly believe it.

On a funny note, I had to go to my RE’s other office since it’s the only site open on Saturday. I had to be there between 7:15 and 8:30. That’s just disgusting. It’s about 35 minutes away and I have to drive on highways to get there. Ugh. I hate driving, especially when I don’t know where I’m going. So I get off at my exit and am navigating my way through several turns when I realize that the cars in front of me are making all the same turns as well as the car behind me. Next, we all park in the same lot. Then, we all go in the same door. Finally, we all sign in on the same clipboard and then get settled with our magazines, sleepily waiting to be called in for our various tests. There you have it, only infertile people get up that early on the weekend.

Mr. Jaguar and I ordered Chinese last night. After finishing up my meal, I cracked open my fortune cookie to find the following message: “Your present plans are going to succeed.” Hmm…I tucked it behind a magnet on my fridge. Just a little while ago, I noticed that my husband hadn’t eaten his cookie yet, so I decided to steal it. I opened it up and received this message: “You will be pleasantly surprised soon.” Hmm…I tucked it under the same magnet next to its sister fortune. So if I get a BFP this cycle, just remember, the Chinese called it first.

Please excuse my open hostility today

Oh my God. It's going to start all over again.

I had snapped off the light and was staring off into the darkness, willing myself toward sleep. I was thinking about how summer was winding down, school would be starting back up soon and a good friend would deliver her first child next month. Wait, next month?! I quickly did the math. In less than 4 weeks, she will bring home her baby.

And then it hit me, like a truck carrying a ton of bricks and towing a steamroller. It's going to start all over again. All of the friends who have stepped up, an average of one friend every five to six weeks (not that I'm counting), since this past January to tell me they're pregnant...they're going to deliver their babies.

Fuuuuuuuck. Why hadn't this occurred to me sooner? I stared at the ceiling, wide awake now, pondering.

Amy, Kelly, Angie, Kim, Kristen, Julie, Johanna. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 Seven bumps in a pretty little row. All pregnant.

Jacki Jaguar. Not.

I guess I was so wrapped up in processing all of the pregnancies around me that I kind of forgot that, in 40 weeks, they would all actually have babies, like real, live, crying, sleeping, cooing babies. I mean, don't get me wrong. That's good for them. I wouldn't wish it any other way. It's just that they're going to actually have their babies.

Hmm. I'm not gonna lie. I'm not so impressed with this realization.

I'm going to have to meet babies, view baby photos sent to me in e-mails, congratulate new parents, watch other people congratulate them, watch people watch them while they gaze at their new infant and smile because it's all such a beautiful miracle.

And every five to six weeks, I'm going to have to do it all over again.

I have one good friend left who is not pregnant. She will start trying to conceive in November (if I don't jab her with Depo Provera before that). And if the majority of my other friends are any indication, she will have no problems and will be announcing her pregnancy within two months of beginning her endeavor. And frankly, that's how it should be, really. I don't want her to have to deal with any of this infertility bullsh!t. It's just that I don't want to deal with it either.

After that, if I'm not yet pregnant, I will officially be the last woman standing.

That's f#cking bullsh!t. Where's my goddamn beautiful miracle?

After reading this over, this would probably be a good time to mention that I think I found a counselor. We're playing phone tag right now, but if all goes well, I should meet with her on Friday. Hopefully, I will be returning to my regular, reasonably sunny, moderately nice self soon.

A Day in the Life

Injectables Day 1 is complete.

Here's the mandatory picture of the drugs. We received Follistim, the Follistim pen which is a small needle that gives out metered doses, the shot of Ovidrel for when we hopefully get to do an IUI, the sharps container, a bag of Hershey's Kisses, a very thoughtful letter and some other paperwork.

The chocolates and the nice letter made me cry. They meant a lot. The letter included comments like...

The endeavor you are undertaking may be the most important thing you will do in your life!

This is a most stressful time in your life so be kind to yourself...

Our staff is here to aid you during this very difficult process.

It's just nice to know that some people "get it". Even the UPS man was really nice when he dropped the drugs off. The whole thing just made me cry.

Here's Mr. Jaguar's reaction to giving me a shot after coming in the door singing and dancing about it. And he kept saying, "The nurse said to be sure I use a stabbing motion!" while driving his arm erratically through the air. He's clearly all broken up.

Here's my thoughts on getting a shot. I can't imagine why I don't share Mr. Jaguar's enthusiasm. Forgive me for this clearly unphotogenic picture. I was all drugged up on my muscle relaxers and didn't care so much what I looked like.

All in all, it wasn't so bad. The anticipation was the worst part. I popped a Hershey's Kiss in my mouth and Mr. Jaguar went to town. The needle was quick and didn't hurt as much as getting blood drawn. The injection site did ache a bit for a while after but it wasn't bad.

When we were done, Mr. Jaguar was heard saying, "That.Was.Awesome!"

It's the hap-happiest season of all

Me: Hi, how are you? I'm here to start my injectables.

Receptionist: Oh, hi Jacki. Great to see you! How are you?

Me: Good, thanks! I brought my drugs with me. (holds up bag of frozen peas with drugs resting on top)

Receptionist: Super. We'll bring you back shortly.....wait, what's that?

Me: What? (looking around)

Receptionist: That. Right there. (pointing)

Me: Where?

Receptionist: Right there. (still pointing)

Me: Oh, that's my dignity. It used to come in a bigger package but it's smaller now since this whole infertility thing started. (still smiling)

Receptionist: You can't bring it in with you.

Me: What? (starting to panic)

Receptionist: You can't bring it in with you.

Me: Why not? I need it. I'm keeping the little bit that I have left!

Receptionist: I'm sorry. You'll have to check it at the front counter. We'll give it back when you're done with your appointment, but it will definitely be in a much smaller package by then.

Me: (disappointed, begrudgingly hands over the dignity while mumbling damnit under my breath)


I chipped away at a little more of my dignity today. I had an ultrasound on cycle day 3. That's right, day 3. As in, still bleeding (I finally have a full flow). And I know they've done a day 3 ultrasound a million times in that office, and I know they'd reassure me if I appeared uncomfortable, and I know it's not as gross as delivering as child (but, in all fairness, you do get a kid at the end of that and I got nothing). Still, I'm sorry. It grosses me out. When I went back for the ultrasound, they had put the little pad down on the exam table to deal with messes. Ewww.

After bloodwork and the ultrasound, Mr. Jaguar and I received our injectables tutorial by new nurse Cathy. She was very nice and reassuring and nothing seems too complicated about the shots. And I had really read up on injectables prior to this visit, so I was well prepared. There were no surprises. But I had butterflies in my stomach the whole time. And when she finally took the cover off the needles, my eyes grew as big as saucers and her and Mr. Jaguar both laughed. In all actuality, the needle's really not that big.

So why do I feel so emotional about this?

I tried to articulate my answer to this question for a good chunk of the day and finally the right words put themselves in the right order. I'm letting go of another piece of the dream. In our quest to become parents, we're giving up elements of how we envisioned it would happen. First, admitting something was wrong, then going to the RE, then trying the Clomid, and now sticking a needle in my thigh. The ideas of how this was supposed to happen for us keep getting replaced with other stuff like meds...and tears.

And so I'm emotional. I'm moving on to one more intervention. And I'm scared because if the injectables don't work, I know what's next. And if I end up at what's next, there aren't many more options after that. So that whole line of thinking freaks me out, too. Each time we move up a rung on this infertility ladder, I know there's one less rung above me to reach for.

In brighter news, my husband has declared today, "Stick-it-to-the-wifey-Eve" and he has been serenading me with the chorus to "It's the most wonderful time of the year". So I guess he's handling things okay and frankly, the humor does me good.