What are my plans for April?

Well, it's funny you should ask.

I'm going to take enough pills and shots to tranq a large horse.
And I'm going to take two tests. (three if you include the beta)

Try to hide your jealousy, please.

The longest post in the history of infertile whining.

So it seems I've gotten a little bit behind! My most sincere apologies.

I had my retrieval on Tuesday, and it went pretty well.

We started off by meeting with one of the nurses, who taught us how to do the Progesterone in Oil shot. Call me crazy, but this does not look like good times. Leave with my giant bag o' giant needles and head back to the operating area to get ready for the retrieval.

I get back to the room, get nekked under my lovely gown, and begin answering a million questions. While answering questions, a nice nurse comes over and says, "I'm going to get your IV in while you're finishing up with these questions."
I'm forever having problems with IVs. What can I say? I'm a delicate flower. Here is a recap:


Nice Nurse: OK, Jen, I'm just going to try to find a vein here. So let your arm hang down and make a tight fist.

Jen: You should know, I'm kind of a passer-outer.

Nice Nurse: No big deal. Keep making that fist...just don't punch me!

Jen: I'm not making any promises.

Nice Nurse: *laughs* (she was so innocent)

Nice Nurse: I'm going to try your hand here...

Jen: Oh, shit.

Nice Nurse: Hmm...this doesn't seem to be working. Hmm...OK, I'm wussing out.

Jen: Oh, shit.

Eventually it was all OK, and the anesthesiologist had to come and save the day.

After that it gets blurry. I went back into the OR, verified my name for the embryologist, and lay down on this crazy table where your arms are out to the sides and your legs are in these giant padded stirrup torture device things. The last thing I remember saying is, "I'm having trouble focusing." (No shit, dumbass, you're drugged.)

As you know, we got 13 eggs. If I'm being honest with you? I was kind of disappointed and thought it would be way more. But I suppose beggers can't be choosers, and I suppose I'm being a greedy whore. An honest greedy whore.

When I woke up I felt fine and was ready to get home and get some sleep. First I ate some Burger King, because yum.

The next two days, we found out that we made 9 embryos, and they looked great. On Thursday I got the call saying that we would be doing a day 3 transfer for Friday.

I was really excited about the transfer, until I started to mentally torture myself over why I wasn't doing a 5 day transfer. Were my embryos not strong enough to go to blast? Was this just a shot in hell at this point? Am I being set up for a major disappointment?

It really sucked, because since IVF started, I've felt good. I've not been focused on getting pregnant, which sounds crazy. I was taking shots, yes. But it just felt like something I was doing. I felt really disconnected from the entire process - going through the motions, doing what I had to do, suffering through the side effects. It was fine.

But after the retrieval when I knew we had embryos, it felt more real and I started to feel invested. So when I made the mistake of googling "Day 3 vs. Day 5 Transfer" I was in for a ton of unnecessary worrying and turmoil. And anxiety. And just general bitterness that I've been keeping tamped down and not showing anyone.

At the transfer, we found out that we had four perfect 8 cell embryos - two to transfer and two already in the cooler (our possible fututre babycicles). Five more are playing in the lab and if they reach blast, they will go to freeze.

The reasoning, according to the doctor, for the 3 day opposed to the 5 day - we had 4 that were clearly the strongest and didn't need to wait to go to blast because they were perfect. They already knew. The others were still developing well, but they were not the strongest and they needed to wait until day 5 to see if they were going to make it to freeze.

Day 3 does not = gloom and doom, apparently. I was assured by the doctor, the embryologist, and the nurse that the embryos looked great.

I got to see the embryos on a big screen, and got to watch the catheter place them in my uterus. It was so amazing. We got pictures of the embryos, and of the catheter. We also got the petri dish. But I don't know if I'm into the petri dish thing...it seems weird. "Hey kids! This was your first crib!"

After the transfer I was put in my room and told to wait 20 minutes then get up and go pee. Now, this was scary to me because I was hurting really bad, and the prospect of waiting 20 more minutes to pee made me want to pee my pants, but I couldn't pee my pants for obvious reasons.

I waited 15, then absolutely had to get up. I was having really bad stabbing pains in my bladder. My bladder was so full that I couldn't sit up, and Mark had to pull me up like Frankenstein. I ran down to the bathroom and sat on the toilet, expecting sweet relief.

Nothing....

I couldn't pee! I couldn't pee at all. I started to cry. It was embarrassing. Finally, a little bit came out and then I was completely nauseated and had to run back to the room and lay down. The nurse came in to scold me for getting up before my 20 minutes, and saw that I was crying and decided to take pity and get me some cool towels for my head.

A few minutes later, I tried to pee again. A little more, but mostly just pain. I kept telling the nurses, and I was getting looks. Looks like, "Welp, we've got a crybaby here who is nervous about the transfer."

Looks like they weren't realizing that FREDDY KRUGER was stabbing my bladder, and Edward Scissorhands had just left, and I couldn't give a shit about my embryos at this point because I would never pee again and would die from bladder-related complications. Fuck.

I was so pissed (heh...) that I went back to my room and started to get dressed, because if I had to be in pain and cry, I wanted to do it at my house. I couldn't stand up straight without having knife pains in my bladder while still feeling like my bladder was overfull.

I was half hunched over, walking down to the bathroom again when I think they finally realized that yes, I was in pain, and no, I wasn't just anxious or nervous. The doctor said that I was probably having bladder spasms, and that I needed to let them put in a catheter or I would end up in the ER.

10 minutes and one catheter later, I was lighter a few ounces of pee, but still in pain. Again, I decided to give up and go home. I was told to take two Tylenol 3 and relax.

I was in severe pain all night. I did feel better when I woke up this morning. And I didn't want to write about this, because it's all so negative. And the transfer is supposed to be positive and exciting! And it was, sort of.

Today I feel good. I'm definitely enjoying the bedrest!

More positive posts to come (probably)...I promise (sort of).

Another Quickie.

We have 9 embryos!

Update, real quick-like.

ER went pretty well. IV was a nightmare, but the procedure was easy.

13 Eggs. Fert report will be today between 9 and 11.

I have class tonight so I'll probably post a triple update on Thursday after the second fert report.

Kthxbye.

Don't be a jerk. Delurk! (And, Tootsie Rolls)

Ok, well, maybe jerk is a little strong. The problem is that my rhyming skillz are a bit lackluster, and what else rhymes with lurk that fits the sentence?

But Mrs. Higrens asked what everyone could do to make my two weeks go by more quickly. And I could think of a lot of things:

1. Send money. For shoes.
2. Send cookies. For nom nom nom, Cookie Monster Style.
3. Send nachos. For obvious reasons.
4. Send comments. Delurk. Make your self known, and whatnot.

It seems like # 4 is most realistic, no? (Now anyone compelled to comply with 1 - 3 should go for it.)

I know people are reading...but not posting comments. So leave me a comment! Tell me how you got here. Or what you're infertility situation is. Or hell, tell me you love me and want to marry me!

That would make me feel better.

Now, on to other things. (Other things being me, making an ass of myself and totally oversharing.)

I feel really shit-tay today. I was suffering through work, and I skipped class tonight because I couldn't see getting through it without falling asleep. Or without having my abdomen explode and covering everyone in follicle goo.

Back when I was still seeing Dr. Fabulous, I went to their required IVF informational meeting. It was...informational? Yes. It was.

The speaker at the meeting said something that didn't mean much to me at the time, but hit me like a ton of bricks today. Apparently, when you normally ovulate, your ovaries are the size of the tip of your thumb. And, apparently, when you're stimming for IVF, your ovaries become the size of your FISTS.

And really, that seems appropriate. Because before I remembered that, I was almost thinking that there was some sort of mini-hulk taking lodge in my abdomen. Making me bloated and punching me right in the ovaries (Right in the babymaker, if you will).

I keep wondering if it is the size of your own fists, or the size of, say...the fists of Arsenio Hall? Because my fists are not impressive because I have freakishly small hands. Carnie Hands. (Not! that there's anything wrong with being a carnie...)

Yesterday when I went for my super pleasant and painless ultrasound, my ovaries looked all cattywhompus. There were so many follicles, that instead of being round, they were kind of square? I guess they were more rectangular. Dr. Goldfarb called them oblong.

I think they looked like Tootsie Rolls.



I've never been a huge fan of Tootsie Rolls. I think they're a piss poor excuse for chocolate. Impostors! Plus, they make my jaw all hurty when I eat them.

But ever since yesterday, I've been really hungry for a damn Tootsie Roll.

Killing Me Softly…With the Wand…

Today I had another check-up and I got some very much fabulous news:

Trigger is TONIGHT! Egg Retrieval is TUESDAY!

Am EXCITED – EXCLAMATION POINT!

My estrogen level was 2909, I had tons of big follies, and so now I'm done with stims and moving on to the next phase of this madness.

There were no run-ins with Teeny McShortarms today, as Dr. Goldfarb, himself, in the flesh, did my bloodwork and ultrasound. And you know what? He was a little rough with the wand during the ultrasound!

First of all, I'm fairly certain he didn't use much lube on the wand. Not cool. It hurt really bad going in.

Second, he gets the wand in, and starts flinging it around like a fairy princess! He goes, "Here's your left ovary, uterus, right ovary." Moving the wand to all three just as quickly as he was saying the words. So I'm all "Uh huh" but in my mind I'm all "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH I know where they are GAWD OUCH!"

I forgave him when he said my uterine lining was beautiful and my estrogen level was fantastic. What can I say? He knows how to cut to the heart of me.

Another exciting thing is that my new friend Katie will be doing her trigger tonight and her ER Tuesday. So I'll have company in my 2 week wait misery! YAY KATIE!

I would love to bore entertain you with more pointless details, but I've got a TON of school work to do.

More about my hairy legs and underwear.

Where on earth is this blog headed? I'm completely fixated on underwear and leg hair and pretty much ignoring the fact that I'M DOING IVF!

IVF = BIG DEAL

UNDERWEAR AND LEG HAIR = NOT SO MUCH

But still. Let me tell you about my leg hair and underwear.

Today I broke down and shaved my legs. I wasn't sure if they would be willing to do an ultrasound on a sasquatch, and I really wanted to get my ultrasound so I figured I would take one for the team and get up 15 minutes early (yep, that hairy). And guess what? It was the best decision I've ever made in my entire life. Because guess who was doing ultrasounds again today?

Yep: Teeny McShortarms.

Today, Teeny McShortarms got on my bad side a little bit, and I was kind of wishing that I had NOT shaved my legs, because that would've really shown her. First off, Teeny McShortarms took me back into the ultrasound room and made me go pee. I know to you it doesn't sound like that big of a deal, but to me it was because surprise! I find really stupid things to be a really big deal.

I hate peeing when people can hear me. HATE it. This means that I avoid peeing in public restrooms unless it is an emergency, and if I must, I find the stall that is the farthest away from anyone else peeing in the same bathroom. I am so lucky at work right now because our floor is empty except for our office, so we practically have a private bathroom. I even keep my tampons in my stall. Keeping my tampons in the bathroom is really convenient because: 1. I work in an office with 7 men, and 2. I have to leave the office and walk ALLLLLLL the way to the other end of the building to go to the restroom. Which means that I have to carry my tampon ALLLLLLL the way down the hall in plain sight of all of the men in the office. No thanks. I value my privacy whilst carrying my tampons and peeing.

(Yes, I realize that I am saying how much I value my privacy at the same time as I talk about my hairy legs, underwear, and vagina. Believe me, the irony is not lost. Am walking contradiction.)

Given my hate for public peeing, I always go to the restroom down the hall from the infertility suite before I check in so that I can pee in peace. (peece, if you will) About 10 minutes pass between my peece and my date with the ultrasound wand. Logically, 10 minutes is not long enough to make generate new pee. It's just not!

Teeny McShortarms was having none of this logic.

She made me go in the bathroom and go pee, and I literally peed one little drop and then had to wash my hands with the horrible soap that dries out my hands. Annoying. Followed by more annoying leg-rubbage due to the short arm sitch. At least it was Venus smooth for this appointment.

To make matters worse, I wore a dress with no pantyhose today. So I had to shove my underwear in my purse…I had no choice. Then I was weirded out all day that my underwear had touched all my stuff in my purse, and all the stuff in my purse touched my underwear. It was almost like I took everything out of my purse and rubbed it on my crotch. It's really an unattractive thought. Aren't you glad I've shared that thought? I know you are.

After my ultrasound, I went to the waiting room to wait for my consult with the nurse (Sally, my FAVORITE!) and to check Perez on my yummy iPhone. Guess who was in the waiting room? Jennifer A from last Friday's appointment!! Can you guess what happened in the waiting room today? Hmmm…can you?

Well, if you said, "Yes, Jen, you are sadly predictable and I bet you stood up like an asshole when they called Jennifer, and they had to say Jennifer A, and then you had to sit down and feel awkward just like last Friday," then you were right! That happened! Again!

The follies are growing nicely. I have lots and lots of them, average size is about 13mm, and I go back again on Sunday for another ultrasound and bloodwork. I'm really hoping to trigger on Sunday and have ER Tuesday and ET Friday. I think Mark is pretty nervous about the PIO shots. Just Mark, not me…

Don't worry – on Sunday, I will be able to wear jeans (good for underwear hiding) and will have Mark with me to be the safe keeper of the underwear. And I will be able to sleep in until 7 so shaving my legs won't shouldn't be a big deal.

My Ovaries: The Clown Car

Let this be the sequel to My Vagina: The Revolving Door.

I'm considering a trilogy. But I'm running out of orifices* and let's face it, people, I'm afraid of the direction in which we're heading here.

Since a bunch of people emailed me, complaining that I didn't update after my Wednesday bloodwork/ultrasound appointment** I am taking time from my busy, important life to update the Internet.***

Yesterday I had an ultrasound and another round of bloodwork. Lots of really interesting things happened (natch).

First: the important stuff… I went from 4 big follies on Monday, to TEN big follies and lots of small ones on Wednesday. I would make an excellent hen, bitches! You totally never know how many eggs are going to be in there! I bet I'll go back Friday and there will be 50!

 

I have no idea what my e2 level is because to tell you the truth? I'm kind of scared of the nurses. Here's how my follow-up phone call goes:

Me: YELLLLLLLOW?!

Nurse: Hi-this-is-Nurse-from-the-doctors-office-with-your-new-protocol.

Me: OK

Nurse: Do this and don't ask me any questions

Me: OK

Nurse: Do you have any questions?

Me: Um…no?

Nurse: Damn straight

 

I don't know why I am afraid of the nurses. I need to grow up. I mean, I can get blood drawn 4 times in one week, I can deal with Nurse Rushy-Rusherson, right?

Two other problematic things happened at my appointment. Both of them my fault (natch).

Problem #1:
The Underwear. Again.

I am so bloated that I have to wear dresses every day. So bloated, in fact, that I know there are people at work who literally think I am pregnant and are discussing it. I believe it goes something like this: "Boy, Jen has really tanked up lately." "Yea, what a hoss." "Do you think maybe she's been eating a lot of nachos?" "Maybe, I heard she loves nachos. Maybe she's pregnant, too! I mean, she has been married for two years now – she's not getting any younger! Tick tock!"

Back to my point. I am wearing dresses, which means that underneath I am only wearing underoos and pantyhose. This causes a dilemma in the whole underwear-hiding crusade. Pantyhose are see through, so they don't cover up my underwear to my comfort level like a nice pair of pants. I thought about getting a paper towel from above the sink in the ultrasound room to cover up my underwear. But really, isn't that sort of neurotic? Even just thinking about getting a paper towel to cover up your underwear when you will be showing YOUR VAGINA to the ultrasound tech is neurotic. Why do I care? I just do. I'm weird. It's kind of how I roll.

So, another day, another indecent exposure of underwear and vagina.

 

Problem #2: Hairy Legs and Short Arms.

I believe that Winter exists partly to provide me with an excuse to only shave my legs once a week (maybe) and partly to give me an excuse to wear my tall boots with dresses and skirts. So what the hell good is Winter when you have to shave your legs every other day for daily meetings with the dildo cam ultrasound wand? What good, I ask you?

In my ongoing quest to be a rebel without a cause, I did not shave my legs because hello?! I just shaved them Monday, and it is only Wednesday, and it is WINTER people! WINTER!

I figured it would not be a big deal, which should've been the trigger in my mind that it would be a big deal (in my mind anyway). Am a bad judge of what will and will not be a big deal, apparently.

The regular ultrasound lady is on vacation (In Paris. Am jealous) so there are a few different ladies filling in. I've seen a different one every visit, all of them are pretty nice. The lady I saw on Monday was slower than fucking Moses, and made me 15 minutes late for work. The lady yesterday was fast and I was out of there by 7:10 (my appointment was at 7). So, as you can imagine, I was about the ask the Wednesday lady to be my new best friend.

However, I have one slight complaint: her arms are short. NOT that there's anything wrong with that! I'm clocking in at 5 foot nothing, and my legs are as long as most people's arms, so I am down with the vertically challenged. So the problem with the short arms is that it interfered with my plan to get away with not shaving my legs.

My plan was foiled, Scooby Doo style.

Since her arms were short, she was rubbing against my HAIRY ASS leg while moving the wand around and looking at the ultrasound screen. I'm sure she came away with severe gashes on her right arm. Because seriously, I could've used a shave. Lesson learned (maybe. Unless I want to sleep in next time…).

 

I can't wait to see how my clowncar ovaries are looking tomorrow! It would be so fun if I got to trigger. But I seriously doubt it.

 

*Right? What the hell is the plural of orifice? Whatever.

**I made that up.

***I actually took time from sitting on my ass and watching Scrubs reruns. "Busy" and "Important" are relative terms, I think.

0 w 0 d

Using my "best case scenario" from the nurse, if ER is 4/2, then today, I am 0 weeks 0 days pregnant.*

Which means tomorrow, I will be 1 day pregnant.

Yes, I am accepting gifts. Thank you for asking.

*http://www.ivf.ca/calcu.htm

Dear Tylenol,

Today I was really feeling like crap. I was feeling like crap not only because I'm giving myself daily injections of Lupron, but also because I got my period. I was crampy and exhausted and feeling the beginnings of a migraine. That's when I gave you the opportunity to be the hero and save the day but NO! You did not save the day.

Now, Tylenol, I would never normally buy you and waste my time with taking you. But apparently you are the only pain reliever that I can take during my month-long IVF party. So I gave you a try because I was in pain and was seduced by your promises of pain relief and fever reducing. You liar.

Let me share some of my thoughts on you, Tylenol, in list form:

• Acetaminophen? Hmph. More like Ashitaminophen.
  
• Tylenol, don't quit your day job.
  
• Hey Tylenol! You suck at life and your ass looks fat.
  
• Tylenol: I fart in your general direction.
  
• Suck it, Tylenol.
  
• I HATE TYLE..zzzzzzzZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
  

 

I'll have you know that I came home, looked at my dirty sexy bottle of Aleve, and cried giant crocodile tears for at least two minutes.

You are a disgrace.

Hate,

Jennifer Knepper

Assault by mail.

You know what's worse than your first IVF shot?

Getting a baby shower invitation on the day of your first IVF shot.

Be Prepared: this is an infertility-fueled rant that will make me seem like a baby and will probably make you not want to read this blog anymore. You've been warned.

So I got an email from this person on ChristmasfuckingEve to announce her pregnancy. From someone I haven't talked to in, oh, 13 months? And never got an email about anything else from this person, ever. But I am on the giant list of people on this email announcing a pregnancy on ChristmasfuckingEve!*

I emailed her back and gave my congratulations, and also asked how she was doing and what she's been up to (other than, you know, having sex and conceiving and just generally stealing my thunder). She never responded.

Fast forward to NewfuckingYearsEve: I get ULTRASOUND pictures and a poem or something. Christ Almighty! 2007 sucked until literally the last day! Again, I emailed my congratulations and never got a response. Whatever.

So I think it was almost like kismet that I receive the invitation to her shower on the day of my IVF shot. It would have only been better if I could have gotten it on my birthday or maybe our anniversary in two weeks. Maybe she can show up at my house on the day of my Beta and stick her tongue out at me right before I get my results?

*Please note that ChristmasfuckingEve sucked for me anyway. Because Mark's cousin just had her baby AND Mark's sister had a baby last year). And I was going to have to spend ChristmasfuckingEve with people with babies, who want to make me hold their babies, and who want to tell me how I should enjoy my sleep and my ability to do whatever I want (WTF?!). And also: when are you guys going to have babies you're not getting any younger have some girls please thankyou. Good times.