Half a dozen of the other

I am still here.

I have been in quiet, just living mode.  It’s been somewhat peaceful, not thinking about TTC.   Not feeling for body signs, not counting up and counting down.  Just being.  Problem is, it’s not sustainable, this alternate reality.  Because eventually, the longing will get the better of me and I will remember that this is not a forever break from the all consuming TTC (the way pregnancy felt last time).  I will ache for the baby again.  I will emerge fresh-faced and armed with optimism.  And then I will ride the roller coaster once again.

 But right now, I feel like I have been hibernating.  I am sleepy, content, slow.  I am popping metph*rmin and not suffering too badly (although the headaches the first week was annoying) and have been trying to insert activity into my day (working out at lunch, tromping for hours through the snow this weekend).  I am trying to feel like my body is good, like it is useful even though it’s of massive proportions and not particularly productive in a reproductive kind of way.  I keep imagining my eggs, getting clearer, stronger, better.  I am trying to keep my eyes on the egg quality prize, but also trying to enjoy moving my body around in a non-obsessive way.  Trying to integrate it into my life the way any other self care thing has been integrated (showering, brushing my teeth etc…)  I am one of those people who historically does not enjoy exercise and am trying not to feel like I have to be obsessive about it–  that I just have to do a bit of it as often as I can.  It’s been 2 whole weeks and I am succeeding.  But its just been 2 bitty weeks.  So I am taking it one day at a time and hoping that eventually I will look up and realize its been months.

 I had a wonderful, relaxing weekend at some friends who live deep in the country.  They have a boy, also named an M name, the same age as our little M.  We attended a dog sledding festival (how stereotypically Canadian, eh?) and M became obsessed with Husky dogs.  He asked to buy one of the husky “dollies” (aka a stuffed toy) and we indulged him.  He promptly decided to name his dog Rud*lph the red-nosed Reindeer, and I have no idea why, but I do think its weird and funny and adorable.  Esp because I don’t think he even knows who Rudolph is.  He never saw the movie and we don’t sing Christmas songs.  And at daycare they only speak French so I am sure he didn’t get it there.  Anyway,  I managed to convince him to shorten the name to Rudy (a little less weird, and not to mention it rolls more easily off the tongue.  Our pals then took us on the most amazing ice slides at their friends house (they built these tracks in the snow and iced them over and you sled down them and they are crazy fast and elaborate—going around sharp turns and over bridges and everything) and M had the biggest ball of his life.  We also visited our friends’ “shack,” a little cottage that they built on some land a 5 minute drive away.  The whole cottage is 10×12 feet.  They no longer spend time there but the land is amazing.  And they are building 2 duck ponds (more than an acre large each) and so there was some serious construction equipment there.  The boys were in awe of the massive excavator.  My M can’t stop talking about it.  He is a little man, obsessed.

 I have so many other things I want to say, to type.  Stories, reflections, next steps…  I just can’t seem to get it together right now.  The busyness is part of it.  But the denial and the fear of getting back into that TTC headspace is part of it too.

But I am still reading and responding when I can.  I am thinking about so many of you.  Those on a ttc break, those with little wiggling babes in belly, those with brand new ones fresh outta the oven, and those that are so bravely and patiently awaiting their turn….

I am here.

I have been here, reading, catching up, commenting when I have been able, wishing I was commenting when I haven’t been able.

I have been busy with life and doing my darndest to live my life just a bit more.  Part of that whole “trying to find the non-ttc me”.  And its been working somewhat.

I have been working on a post.  In my head, anyway.  One about our next plans, where we are going with it all now that I am an official IVF flunkee.  But everytime I try and write it up, the post feels too big, too heavy and just not what I want to be doing.  So I haven’t.

But this is what I can say:  we have not given up.  We got some answers and ideas from my RE.  We will not yet be switching uteri.  I will work on improving my egg quality using Metph*rmin (I hate the stuff, but am going there anyway).  I am working out again and that feels good.  I am committed to move more and feel good in my body.  We will not be doing another IVF right now.  We will take a break of a cycle or 2 to let the Met work its magic.  But in a somewhat “one step forward, 2 steps back” approach, we plan to try some IUI’s.  And there is a fancy twist on that one, but the deets, should I decide to share them, will be password protected.

I want desperately to write more about WHY carrying our next child is so important to me, as well as some of the things I learned (aside from all the body stuff) about myself through (failing) IVF.  I need time and emotional energy to do it though, and don’t have much of that stuff these days.

I’ll be back more, soon.  And I am looking forward to it.  For now, just living has felt pretty awesome too though.  Living and not thinking about TTC.

Oh, and I have just heard that a wonderful blog-land pal has recently had her long awaited baby.   Welcome to the world, beautiful baby girl (and she really IS beautiful.  Very much so).  And congrats, proud mamas (you know who you are…)

So here we are.  The craziest AF since my miscarriage is finally winding down a bit (honestly, that was INSANE).  I am feeling lighter, but not in an uplifted way.  Its more like a lightness born of emptiness.  I think that is it– I am feeling empty.

So I failed at the last resort.  Failing IVF is not something I ever imagined I would be adding to my resume.  It feels like I am standing on the edge of the grand canyon, looking across the endlessness of it and feeling like it is so much bigger than me.  And now, its time to have those talks, the ones where we look at next strategies.  The one where I try and find words to express how hard it is for me to weigh my desire to carry another pregnancy against our collective desire to have another child.  The one where I try and put aside these intense desires and feelings so that I am not coming from a selfish place when we are making these decisions about what’s next.  After all, if what we want more than anything is another child, I should be totally and completely open to switching uteri.  I should want to try to do WHATEVER IT TAKES to make this next child, and therefore I should be fine about not being the carrier.

And, for a few moments there, I was.  For the last day or two, I have been mulling the idea over.  Imgining Jen pregnant.  Imagining feeling joy about it.  Imagining not having intense, gut-wrenching regret, but only pure happiness, because another child is on its way.  I actually got myself to believe that I would not be the kind of jealous I am with all other pregnant women (or beer drinking men– see my last post and you’ll know what i am talking about).  That I WOULD be filled with pre-baby happy.

And then today, a woman that looked a lot like my midwife sat down next to me on the streetcar and it was like a rubber band that snapped me back to reality.  I saw her and yearned, literally YEARNED to be pregnant again.  I ached for it.  Tears welled up in my eyes.  I fought it and fought it hard.  The unselfish me was chanting rationalizations into my ears, while the authentic, aching me stuck my fingers in to block it out and shouted “la-la-la-la-I-Can’t-hear-you!”

I am in psychic pain.  Deep, deep psychic pain.  I am overcome with guilt.  All the usual stuff about my body but also the guilt about this longing to carry another child (and for the record, jen is not very interested in the whole pregnancy thing.  I think if she was really excited and wanted it really badly this might be a different experience for me).  I feel guilty because I have been unwavering on this.  I have been insistent that I want to do it.  And maybe I am broken.

Or maybe Pav’s sperm is broken.  And I wonder if he feels the same shame and responsibility and selfishness at not letting Chip (M’s bio pop and the guy that got me pg with the baby I miscarried) back in on the action.  If he feels bad that his sperm can’t seem to get me knocked up.  Although somehow, I just don’t think so.

So tomorrow I go to the RE to talk about why he thinks this didn’t work.  My issues?  His?  A joint problem?  Should we move in to jen?  Should we try another IVF with her eggs instead so i can be a gestational carrier?  Can we EVER get pg with his sperm or should we switch to chip?  If we switch to chip we are back at ground zero, only being able to do fresh cycles at home because we have no frozen goods.  Or else we are forced to lie, and I would have to trot chip into a NEW doctor and pretend he is my partner.  Which freaks me out on a variety of levels.

I am just  so tired.  Tired of hurting.  Tired of longing.  Tired of aching for a baby, and yearning to feel it grow inside me.  Feeling immeasurable guilt at my own failings, both physiologically and psychologically.  Wishing I could wake up and really, truly, not care about being pregnant anymore so that we could be as agressive as possible and have that next baby we all want so badly.

How in the world can I possibly move on from this place where I feel unfulfilled and yet extremely selfish at the same time?  Is there any way for me to feel resolved?  Is there any way that I could feel really and truly comfortable giving up this dream I have?

Yesterday, on my way to the elevators at work, I saw an old colleague in the distance. As I walked closer and saw a big round belly sticking out from under his coat, my heart dropped in that “oh, not another one…” kind of way. And then I realized that Mike was a man and it’s unlikely the belly was the result of more than a fondness for beer.

Yes, that is who I have become. I was, officially, for 3 and a half seconds, jealous of a man’s beer belly.

Sigh.

…  will not be our next baby’s due date.  I am officially bleeding.  As in, “holy cow, so THAT is what 12 mm of lining looks like!”  I took an HPT this am to confim.  One hour later the deluge began.

In some ways finding out so early saved me.  Seeing the BFN and full blood was almost a relief.  I didn’t have to wonder any longer.  I didn’t have to feel worried about hope.  I had already moved on in my mind.  Started mulling over other options.  And without getting into specifics, all I can say is that everything is on the table.  Pav and Chip are in town this weekend and we will have to have a family conference about it all.  Having this lead time, and not finding out on friday (14 days past retrieval), means that I will hopefully be in the right frame of mind.  And hopefully my RE will be able to analyze what went wrong.  Was it the geriatric sperm?  The PCOS eggs?  Both?  just the way the cookie crumbles?  His expert opinion will be helpful in determining next steps.

So, off I go.  On a TTC vacation.  We likely won’t do much before we go on holiday next month.  At least I won’t have to worry during my blue-water Mexican vacation (which is less than a month away!)  We will come up with a new strategy this weekend and then I will step back for a bit.  And unlike in the past, when a TTC break made me feel panicky, I am actually relieved.  My body is tired.  My mind is tired.  My spirit is tired.

I have been thinking about all that a failed IVF has taught me.  And its been some mighty expensive lessons.  But that is a post for another day.

The blood stopped.  The big scary blood stopped.  Now I just have the teaser, faint pink smears, an occasional cramp.  It’s like the distant rumbles of an approaching thunderstorm. My hope is faint.

I try and wrap your stories around me, all your positive vibes, all the tales of seeming defeat, but actual triumph.  I keep telling myself, earnestly, “That COULD be you too!”  But if I am being totally and completely honest, I don’t really think it will be.  My gut is telling me it’s over.  That this pink pain is just the gradual hormone drop.  While I am not an intuitive person, this feels like the truth.  I don’t feel like I am psyching myself out—I just feel like I am being as realistic as possible.  Because the only thing that will make the pain of this worse, is if I somehow convince myself that there is still something to hold onto.  The more hopeful I am, the greater the fall will be.

I had 2 breakdowns last night.  This morning I silently sobbed my way through a couple of songs on my ipod on the streetcar to work.  I wiped my tears away quickly enough I think no one noticed, and while my trembling lip may have betrayed me, those 10 minutes or so were really cathartic.  Jen and I talked about choices.  In some ways we have so many.  And in some ways, really few.  Its going to be really complicated.  I am trying to take charge, to feel in control.  To convince myself that this is not the very end of a long and painful journey.

I spent some of my mourning on the fact that none of these 3 top quality embryos took (they were pretty cute.  I should have posted the pics…)  But a lot of the mourning is for all the NON TTC stuff I have lost these past 2 years (its 2 years in Feb. since we started this again).  The time and energy expended on this which yielded nothing.  Time taken from my family, my existing child, myself.  Time I could have spent exercising, taking care of myself, crafting, doing things that would have made me feel full instead of feeling like I am left empty.  And that, for me is the biggest learning from all this.  If I can’t have what I want, its even worse that I have sacrificed so many of the things that I have loved.  And if I continue on the journey (because there IS an IF there) I guess it has given me a new way to think about things

I want to thank you all for the kind words, the support, the up-beat and positive stories.  They have helped me from descending to the darkest place.  And now I just wait.  

**Please excuse my lack of commenting these days too.  I am reading, I am thinking of you guys, I am trying to send the bits of love I have, back…  I just don’t have lots of energy for commenting right now.  I hope you understand…

Spoke to the clinic and, in their words, “it doesn’t look good.”

My hormones have dropped, and A LOT.  My progesterone is down to 20.  My estrogen is down to 550.  They said that when the hormones drop so much its usually not a good thing.  They are still at levels that could sustain a pregnancy but they are not great.  They told me to come back in 2 days.

The bleeding stopped.  The cramps have mostly stopped.  There is just a hint of pink left.  But really, I am feeling as pessimistic as I can.  I asked about why this would happen– I mean its the equivallent of CD 9 for me. No real answer. Its way too early for the game to be over already.  Or at least it seems so.  But apparently its not. 

So basically, I am still out of my mind.  Analyzing every bit of post-pee TP.  Trying to stay positive and hope, hope, hope, but also trying to stay grounded so that when I fall, and the clinic is proved right, it stings just a little less.  Not sure how much less it will hurt if I am already down on it all though.  Because it is hurting like hell and I am terrified already.

I will try and be a happy, loving soul for the next 48 hours so that hopefully at least one of those littles that were placed in my womb not even a week ago, are not scared off.

I am out of my mind.

Yesterday I had some cramping.  Then a bit of spotting.  My heart soared.  I was 5dp3dt, which is essentially CD 8.  Perfect time for implantation.  I felt really, truly positive for the first time in a long time.

This morning I woke up and peed and on the TP was a smear of bright red blood.  Wipe again?  More.  Probably more than constitues spotting.  Looked on Dr. Go*gle and it said implantation bleeding should be pink or brown.  Everything said bright red was bad.  I shouldn’t be doing this, not yet.  I am only 6dp3dt and its only been 9 days since my retrieval. 

I am freaking out.  Seriously.  The clinic opens in 2 hours and I am not meant to go, but I will be there, lined up at the front door as soon as it opens. 

I can’t imagine how it could be game over already.  I have not even gotten to the place where I analyze every feeling.  I am not even far enough to hold an HPT in my hand and talk myself out of using it.  because its still that early.  All that was supposed to start today and tomorrow.  The waiting game, the hemming and hawing and torture.  But this torture is worse.  I can’t even begin to think what it means.  It can’t be gaime over, not yet.  But maybe it is.

I am freaking out over here.

Lately, I have been thinking a lot about fate.  If that is what we want to call it– you know, that moment, that unexpected moment that turns your life around.  Some of those moments (like the birth or death of a loved one) you know, in that moment, mean you will never be the same.  But then there’s those moments that sneak up, that take you by surpise.  The ones that when you think back, you can retrace all your activity in the hours leading up to the defining instance.  And you can’t believe you didn’t see it coming.

I often take myself, backwards, down the path that is my life— whenever I am amazed of the richness and beauty of what I have I can’t help but think about the unexpected, domino-effect of my decisions, and other people’s actions.  Settle in.  This will be long.

  The year after I graduated from university I decided to take time off.  It was to be a soul searching year, and one that I was determined to make equal parts work and fun.  I went away for my undergrad and by the time I came back to my birthplace city, my life was different.  I came back queer, with a newfound confidence (from living and caring for myself) and a complete sense of independence.  The post-teen boys that had been my best pals for ever weren’t enough anymore.  My parents cut me off financially (it was not as aggressive as that– I basically lost the 50$/week they gave me when I was in school) and I could do, and be, whomever I wanted.  I got an apartment with a friend of a friend, A job that I was happy with, and decided to get involved at a women’s centre at one of the big universities in the city I was living in.

I made friends there, and found myself a new community.  I had just turned 21, and was happy to have a university crowd to hang with (since that was what i was used to, and many of the women’s centre users were older).  We were preparing for a “take back the night” event when I met this girl.  We’ll call her Bella.  She was an occasional user, but I was around enough to notice her.  She intrigued me.  And appealed to exactly who I was back then.  She was broody and intense.  She wore Big Black Boots (that was in my BBB stage– come on, admit it, you have had a BBB stage too…) and her hair was always in a messy gathering of dreads.  She wore things that were torn and black.  And of course, she was a musician.

Anyway, the day I met Bella, we were listening to a song of hers that we asked her to perform at our post-march rally.  She had written a song about abuse and agreed to sing it.  That night came and went, and after that, Bella was around more.  It wasn’t long till I started to hang out with her, and pretty soon, Christmastime was upon us.  She lived in Toronto, and I was headed that way for a new years party (its many hours from where I was living).  I was into Bella (not into  her, but into getting to know her).  She said she would come, but only if she could bring a friend of hers who she already had plans with.  I assured her it was no problem.  The more the merrier.

We arranged to meet a few weeks later at the bus station in Toronto.  I brought a couple of pals with me from home, and Bella asked her friend to meet us there too.  I remember walking in and looking for her.  I remember that wasn’t there yet.  We stood around waiting for her and I noticed this girl in the same area, leaning against a wall.  She was wearing a wildly printed skirt, leggings with some kind of pattern, high top sneakers, a red lunberjacket, a black toque and had bits of blond hair poking out the bottom.  I remember locking eyes with her.  I remember looking away, scanning the room for Bella. 

Eventually she arrived.  The woman from the wall came over.  It was Bella’s friend.  She introduced us to a woman named Jen.  My Jen.

I think back to that moment, and wonder which was the moment my life changed forever.  Was it the day I met Bella?  The moment we put her tape into the boom box (yeah, it was the boombox and tape era) and I heard her voice?  Was it when I asked her to come to the party in Toronto, despite feeling shy about it?  Was it when I locked eyes with that blonde girl in the bus station?  Or was it hours later, after the clock struck midnight, when Jen and I sat on a couch in my friend’s living room, giggling?

I often wonder about all the what ifs.  As in, “what if I had decided to volunteer at a different place when I moved to my home city?” (it was actually the 3rd place I tried to get involved in)  What if I had joined a different committee, instead of the “take back the night” committee?  What if I hadn’t gathered the courage to ask Bella to come to the party? What if I had not decided to go to Toronto, but rather to stay and ring in 1999 with all my friends from home?

And that brings me back to fate.  What else could I call the force that brought Bella to my life?  Because had there been no Bella, there would have been no Alex & Jen.  And if there was no “us”, then there would be no little M.  My world without Jen and M?  A world that is sad, empty and unimaginable to me. 

The magic didn’t end on that new years eve.  On February 3, 2002 at 2:59:53 PM (according to h*tmail, anyway) Bella brought us Pav and Chip– M’s daddies (well, she probably spoke to them before that, but that was our first point of contact).  She took us seriously when months before, we half jokingly asked if she knew anyone who might be into a baby project down the road. At some point, months later, she asked her voice coach, 20 years her senior (who she asserted was a “father figure” to her) if he would be interested in such a venture despite him NEVER mentioning any interest in anything parenting related.  And despite the fact that he was her teacher.  There were many other reasons I was surprised she did it.  Yet she did. 

We often call Bella our “missing link.”

I can’t think about my past, my present or my future without thinking about the role that little choices, mine or others have made in shaping my life.  Being on this TTC journey, both the first, pre-M version and round 2, I have to remind myself that I have no say in the moments that make my life.  All I can do is live, be in the moment as much as possible and be open to all the magic that life has in store for me.  The tiniest most inconsequential moments seem to have added up to much more, while some of the things I have expected to change the course of my life have just faded off to the background.  I can’t know, or guess  who, or what, will drive the next part of my life.  All I can do is hope that I have the wisdom and strength to be patient, not force it, and notice it when it comes along.

0=  Number of embryos that made it to freeze.  As in 0 for 7.  I just got the call.  My heart is breaking.  If the transfer doesn’t work, I don’t know what we’ll do.  I am alternatingly trying to thing positively and trying not to break apart into a million pieces.

1000= The dollars we’ve saved by not having to freeze.  Does this make me feel better?  Not one bit.

1= Number of days I have been back at work since last friday’s ER

3= Number of wicks in the candle we light each night, one for each little embryo spirit.  We light it when we come into our room at the end of the day, as we get changed, into pj’s, read, talk…Its a way of bringing them close and keeping them close.

8= number of days until my beta.  I am trying so hard to keep my eyes on the prize, but todays news has left me feeling defeated.

20= number of years between our ages, and our donors ages

0= number of times I plan to use an hpt to see about this cycle

3= number of beautiful, beautiful embryos in my womb as I type

1= number of beautiful (albeit stomach-fluey and barfy) boys at home sick with Jen as I type

5= number of people that make up my funny little immediate family, all of whom I am love and grateful for (whether or not they are any good at knocking me up)

I am trying to look forward.  To put a foot in front of the others.  To think about the successes of so many of you.  People that sensed defeat before they should have.  I have to remind myself that this is not an omen.  That it’s very normal to lose embryos on their way to blast.  I have to remember that we put the 3 best ones back.  That my womb is every bit as good, if not better, a place to grow my embryos than culture in a lab.  And the most important number of all:

1= the number of embryos it will take to have our next baby.