her voice, so soft, so distant
across phone lines
and miles
called ocean
“the contractions are minutes apart. I’m minutes from changing,
from becoming the she that I will be.”
(the she that i will never)
in a moment before tomorrow he will be and you will change into mysterious and beautiful
cradling life in your arms
who can understand that I (though I know that I am not the center) could be so fraught, jealous, grateful for you,
sad,
and hiding,
could swim alone in so much love and pain?
we are brought forth with blood and screaming
tearing violence
(how could this be?)
that I was though I should not have been
and you, my love, my child,
will never be.
(bad blogger), and “Everything you never wanted to know about Sassy but didn’t care enough to ask”
I know, I know.
Ever have one of those moments in life that is so full, so intense, so packed with meaning that you don’t know what to think about it and certainly not what to write about it?
For me, December was that moment.
I’m sorry, I know I should have updated, to tell you things were okay… to reassure you after that last, melodramatic post.
But the truth is, I didn’t even know what things were myself.
I don’t know how to write about it. I think I need to digest some more. Oh and just so you don’t get all getting curious, it’s really just psycho-brain stuff that was spurred from the visit I had with my dad and the first time I have ever spent ‘real time’ with him. And some other stuff. I’ll write about it, at some point, I think, but I just need a little more time to process…
And I’ve been busy as all get out with classes. I don’t know what I thought I was getting into, but people, these Frenchies have never heard of No Child Left Behind and I do believe their goal is, in fact, that I be left behind. So I’m working my arseneck off just to keep up.
So I’ve been away, not knowing what to write when I want to avoid the thing I want to write but don’t want to write and that makes me avoid even writing at all, and well, that’s where I was until this morning when-
Miss Lollipop Goldstein published something on Facebook that made the copycat in me come out to play!
Here’s the deal, I’m having a hard time writing, so I really would appreciate any help you have to offer, my dearies. (That is, if there is actually anyone that still reads my piss-poor little blog…)
Let’s call this game “Everything you never wanted to know about Sassy but didn’t care enough to ask.”
Can you help me, pretty please, overcome my bad-writers block??? All you have to do is click on the link, and… well, there is NO TABOO. Ask ANYTHING you want and I promise to be 100 percent honest
Again, you guys are the best.
Thank you for writing, and commenting, and emailing. There are so many of your words that I have saved, fully intending to write you back. You have touched me, and I wanted to tell you.
I just haven’t had the strength.
I’m sorry, I hope I don’t sound ridiculous. I’m just exhausted. I didn’t get the swine flu, despite many nights spooning and having the back of my neck coughed on. Manboy is getting beter. He returned to work today after either days absence. He’s got a minor lung infection but the fever is gone. Contagion lasts seven days. I guess I won’t be getting sick this time. I guess I lucked out in one department.
Shit.
I would have taken the swine flu for a baby.
Tomorrow’s my birthday. I’ll be 34. I know that is young for some of you. I know you will tell me I still have time. But I’m not sure about that. My FSH isn’t getting any lower. Face it, after 5 years of TTC I’m not getting pregnant on my own.
That’s just how it is.
Two rounds of IVF brought us two subsequent chemical pregnancies. I just wonder sometimes, is my body killing these little embies off?
That kind of happens sometimes with endometriosis. I wonder if that’s happening to me. I can’t tell you the nightmare it is, being inside my brain, and asking this question to myself over and over again.
I don’t want to have a birthday. I don’t want to have a reminder that this isn’t working. I don’t want a milestone. I don’t want another year to have passed.
I don’t want to have to pretend like everything is alright.
Hi.
I’m still alive.
Thank you for stopping by. Thank you for your emails, and you comments.
I meant to make it back here quicker, honestly. But Tuesday night, after Monday’s disheartening news, we had another curveball. Manboy kept me up most of the evening, feverish, sweating and shivering. The next morning he went to the doctor and was sent home with medicine and orders to rest. After four consecutive days of fever and chills that followed we returned to the doctor, only to have swine flu and the beginnign of a lung infection confirmed. He’s on antibiotics now, and starting to get better, but as you can imagine it’s been a helluva week.
I’m tired.
I guess it’s good I wasn’t pregnant, as a virus such as this one would have only put the beginnings of a baby at risk. I guess it’s good, to have lost so early in the game, again. I guess.
I haven’t gotten sick. I just feel numb and empty.
However, I think taking care of my man has pierced a maternal abcess, allowing me to grieve actively. Sometimes it’s better to forget.
We have an appointment with my RE on December 10th. We’ve already signed up for our next IVF, which will begin in February. I don’t know if any of this is worth it, or if it is going to work, but I don’t want to have any regrets.
In France, the state insurance covers four IVF cycles for infertile couples. I’ve done two, and two are left. We might as well do them all. Part of me wants to in order to give us every possible chance, the other part of me just wants to get this all over with. Maybe then our lives can move forward. With or without the children we so desire.
I have the lab results. My beta HCG is 7.
We’ve been down this road before. Last time, we hoped, clinging to a positive… retesting… hoping the levels would rise again, desperately wanting to will our dead embryo back into existence.
This time I won’t do that. I’ve already called my doctor, already been given permission to stop the progesterone, to let my period come. I asked her if I could get drunk with my man tonight and she said yes.
It’s over. We lost. Again.
I will wrap myself in this icy blanket of reality. I will pull it tight around my, letting it’s frost burn through my thin, naked skin.
I don’t feel anything at all.
Tomorrow is beta day. Egg retrieval will have been 15 days before… transfer 13 days before. I don’t have my period… yet, but it’s awfully quiet in there. I don’t ‘feel’ like anything has happened, like anything is different. It doesn’t really seem possible to believe that any of this has worked.
Needless to say, I’m terrified.
I believe there is a great chasm separating me from different family members and friends that haven’t gone through this thing, infertility.
I also believe that there are bridges, that, should they choose to cross over, or only come closer, they can. And if I choose to cross, and come closer to them, give them grace for well meaning but ill informed comments or try to help them see how things really are, I have the choice.
I have been blessed, in real life, these past weeks. I have a family that is very supportive, most of them. I let them know what is going on, and with the exception of my mother, who isn’t speaking to me and couldn’t give a fried egg how retrieval, or transfer went, they’re really, truly there.
But that doesn’t mean that they get it.
It’s a delicate balance, opening this subject to people who haven’t had the experience. Part of it is purely technical, almost pedagogic, like explaining several times that 4 mature eggs is different that 4 embryos, and exactly what that difference is. Or that there isn’t a hospitalization for transfer, it is done rather quickly, the worst part being the cold pinch of the speculum and that the husband and I had lunch with friends afterward.
That part is almost cathartic, impersonal, albeit slightly frustrating at times. (Like when my father called my brother telling him we had four eggs, and my brother thought that meant I was pregnant.) They are well meaning, but I am beginning to feel like a health teacher.
But like I said, I can handle that part, because it is peppered with innocent error, and care. I don’t mind gently correcting them and helping them form a correct idea about the procedure.
What is difficult is the abstract, and the preconceived.
Last night I was on the phone with my father. He asked what the next stage would be.
I explained that I am doing progesterone suppositories, and a HCG injection last Thursday, this Sunday, and next Wednesday, to keep my ovaries a chugging. I told him that supposedly because of the shot, should I do pregnancy pee tests, they will undoubtedly be positive, whether I am pregnant or not, and that I must wait until November 23rd, at which moment I will do a blood test.
He seemed to think that was the goal, the positive test, but I reminded him of last time and explained the concept of doubling betas, and how with infertility and IVF we are never really out of the game until that baby is healthy and breathing, in our arms. And even then…
I explained to him as well the high rate of pregnancy loss, crossing one of those little bridges, trying to help him understand, when my words were sharply cut off -
“You will be alright.”
Silence.
“Dad, I don’t know. I don’t know if I’ll be alright. If this doesn’t work -”
“YOU will BE ALRIGHT.”
The words choked me. Will I? Will I really be alright?
I softly left my bridge, and returned to my designated side of the chasm.
He looked at me from his side of the divide with love, however, not comprehending. “You will be alright. G-d will not give you more than you can handle.”
I choked on my words. I know he meant well. I know he wanted to comfort me, to help. I know he needs to believe what he is stating with such unweilding conviction.
I just don’t agree with that.
And I’m terrified.
Egg retrieval was two days ago.
Today, we transferred.
One five cell embie (my doc called it an ‘overachiever’) and a two cell (late bloomer?).
No frosties; all of our hope is riding on these tiny cell blobs.
Dig in little ones. (Please.)
We got a call from the lab today.
Two of our four eggies have been fertilized. One day after retrieval, we have a zygote and a two cell embryo.
Tomorrow morning, we will have them both transferred.
Set alarm at 5:45pm.
Shower in Betadine. Ew.
Put on the sexy drawers.
Accompany hubby to lab.
Give paperwork and ID’s to secretary.
Rub eyes in wonder (no coffee… grrrr…) as secretary informs you that the biologist and your doctor would like to do ICSI, since last time results were not that great, with only one embryo.
Rub eyes again, say “sure, whatever, oui oui” and sign paperwork.
Accompany hubby to tiny room with paper on a bed.
Go to bathroom. Wash hands. Wash man-parts.
Return to room.
Wipe hands and man parts with moist towelettes.
Show hubby the hawt drawers & recent brazilian wax. Meow.
Close eyes and pretend doing it this way is normal.
Take sterile cup out of paper bag.
Aim. Fire.
Return spermy cup into paper bag.
Return spermy cup papefr bag to secretary.
Go to car, drive to clinic.
Check in. Change into paper gown that shows your butt off.
Wait.
Wait.
Wait.
Ingest nasty liquid that makes you see pink elephants.
Have your bed wheeled down to the operating room.
Tell your RE she looks cute in her scrubs. (It’s the drugs talking, really.)
Up, on the table.
Wooh, the room begins to spin.
OUT.
Wake up, asking “How many?? How many??” to a recovery room filled with nurses who have no idea what you are talking about.
Wait.
Wait.
Get wheeled back up to room.
Wait.
Wait.
Eat something, (hospital food… gross) just to prove to them you don’t need to throw up.
Wait.
Wait.
Pee.
Wait.
Wait.
“Okay, (4:30pm) you can go now.”
Stop by RE’s secretary.
“How many?? How many??”
The telephone rings.
Wait.
Wait.
Wait.
Mme Fancypants, the doctor was able to retrieve a total of 8 eggs.
Scream “We have WON the LOTTERY PEOPLE!!!!!”
Secretary gives blank stare, gently asks you to calm down, explaining that of the 8 eggs, 4 were mature and ’survived’ through the ICSI manipulation and sperm ingection.
4, you tell yourself, that’s wonderful.
That’s double what we had last IVF.
And they’re all mature. All injected.
4 eggs.
Freck, that’s the most you could have hoped for.
Ride home with hubby.
Tell hubby you’re such a good wife that he’s going to cook dinner.
Hubby orders pizza.
Wait.
Wait.
Wait.
We will know Wednesday if and how many embryos are kicking.
