Friday, December 22, 2006

Just relax...

I just got back from an appointment with my RE, and all I can say is, you know you're prospects are limited when your RE tells you "just relax and it'll happen."


Sunday, December 17, 2006

Unwelcome predictability

One thing that it's probably important that you know about me is that I'm essentially a control freak at heart. I haven't always been this way--I can remember being young, fearless, and carefree. But, as I've gotten older and gotten control over a greater number of aspects of my life (driving myself, paying my bills, getting my own job, etc., etc.), I've come to realize that I am. I like to know what's going to happen next; I'm a planner. I was one of those 20-somethings who dated, but very rarely had what she would call a boyfriend, so I prided myself on doing for myself. When I got a flat tire, I changed it myself. I had my own power tools. I moved heavy furniture on my own (or with my best friend--another independent single 20-something). I came to realize in my 20s that I was in control of my own fate, so I stopped waiting around. I took control of my career and my life, and I realized that I was pretty good at taking control.

So, you'd think that when my body acts exactly on schedule, I'd like it. Nope. Like all aspects of my own sub-fertility, I hate it. I posted yesterday that my temp dropped precipitously. So, right on schedule, AF reared her ugly head this morning. Just as I predicted. Of course, yesterday I was trying to run every possible (though mathematically improbable) pregnancy scenario through my head: maybe it's a late implantation dip? Maybe I was sleeping with my mouth open? Maybe I took my temperature wrong (??). But, on schedule, my temp dropped again, and thar she was.

So, no Christmas sticky bun. And, now we really really must face the almost inevitable proposition that there is something clinical causing my subfertility. I was actually hoping there wasn't. I was sort of hoping that it was just that I was stressed, and if I only did cut out the caffiene, wine, and just generally got more zen, a baby would result. Even though I hated all of the "just relax" and "it will happen when you least expect it" comments, I was hoping they were true, and that I'd surprise myself not with AF this morning, but with a positive pregnancy test.

Sidebar: The "it will happen when you least expect it" are my favorite comments these days for a couple of reasons, but mainly because we're actively trying to have a baby. So, while I will fall right out of my chair if I ever again see a positive pregnancy test, it won't be because I was chilling out and forgetting about it.

So, we have our appointment on Friday with our less-than-friendly RE. I've been charting since the first time we met him, so I'll be able to bring the last 4-5 months worth of charts--charts that I think suggest that I do in fact have some sort of luteal phase defect. (PS--if that's what I have, and I take progesterone and get pregnant and live happily ever after, I'll be ecstatic, to be sure, but I'll also be more than a little pissed for putting off the follow-up appointment for 4 months.) To say the least, I'm really not looking forward to whatever the next round of tests is. I really, really wanted to go the low-tech route, and I'm not happy about looking towards expensive treatments and tests. And, I'm not looking forward to becoming a human pincushion again. But, as a control freak planner, I guess I can no longer sit idly by and watch AF crash my TTC party every 24-26 days.

Saturday, December 16, 2006

The most wonderful time of the month

I know this sounds counterintuitive, but I'm beginning to think that the two week wait is the best part of the month. It's really the only part of the month when you have the faintest hope that hoping and trying might indeed shortly turn into being and having. Sadly, I'm in the tail end of my 2ww; my temp dropped precipitously this morning, and hope is on her way out the door to make room for what now looks like an inevitable visit from AF. Bitch. Needless to say, I'm really upset. Hubby and I were really really hoping for a Christmas sticky bun.

What's worse, I'm only 11dpo today, so the precipitous temp drop on 11dpo for the second month in a row makes it look more and more like I might have some sort of luteal phase issues. We'll have to see. We're meeting with our RE next Friday. Now that we're 10 months post miscarriage, I hope that he's less dismissive of us than he was last time. If not, we might have to look into a nicer doc, because I'm not happy about this whole process to begin with, and the last thing we need is a casually dismissive doctor.

Bah. Humbug.

Wednesday, December 13, 2006

Losing the baby race

Every three months or so I get an update email from the class co-chairs of my alma mater. I always find the letters ridiculous and even a little maddening. Ridiculous because the "class update" is really nothing more than a play-by-play from the lives of the two people that actually write the letter and the five friends they actually keep in touch with. Maddening because, other than the two people who write the letter, the only people who send in updates are the pretentious snobs who insist on signing "MD" at the end of their names. Come on folks, I saw you kiss the maintenance man after losing a horrible game of Beirut and throwing up on a flea-infested basement couch; don't "MD" me.

In any case, in an obvious response to the pathetic summer class letter that, I kid you not, included three measly updates, one of which was "XX is still the assistant innkeeper in Maine"--I'll tell you what, we'll assume you're still the assistant innkeeper. Don't send in another greenslip until you've been promoted to the coveted "innkeeper"--a good number of the 98% of our class who has remained silent for the past 10 years finally sent in legitimate updates. What was particularly disturbing, if not at all surprising, about this class letter was that the "recent wedding" announcements have been surpassed by the number of "recent births." The number of my fellow classmates who have 1, 2, or 3 children is growing exponentially. And, sadly, it's no longer the "I can't believe she got married so young and already has three kids" variety pregnancies. Instead it's the "aw, I sure wish I had a birth to announce this round, especially given the fact that my "due date" would have just passed last week." Humpf.

Unfortunately, though, the in-your-face pregnancy announcements were the least irritating part of the class letter this round. The worst part was when my dear friend and former roommate called to commiserate about how far behind everyone else we are. Nevermind that she doesn't have kids yet because they have chosen not to start yet, whereas I don't have kids because I a.) can't seem to get pregnant and b.) couldn't manage to hold on to the one we were finally able to achieve. But, yeah, thanks for the "we're losing the baby race" analogy. That's helpful.

Double humpf.

Anyhow...AF has scheduled her arrival December 19. (Although all signs seem to be pointing to her coming even earlier. Bitch.) I guess the good news is that I'll be able to drink all I want on Christmas. The bad news, though, is that I was really hoping to be pregnant by Christmas. In fact, I was really hoping to be far enough along at Christmas that we'd be able to tell everybody and be happy and cheery. That's clearly shot to hell...and while there isn't zero hope for this cycle, let's just say I'm already buying a bottle of my favorite wine for the day. But, the good news is that, to give me some semblance of control over this situation before Christmas, I've made an appointment with our RE for the 22nd. Hopefully that will take the edge off AF's arrival, which, again, I'm taking as a foregone conclusion. I'm really excited for Christmas this year. Really.

Monday, December 11, 2006

A little something about me

I guess it's customary to give some context to a new blog by giving a short personal history. In a nutshell, I am a 31-year old woman who recently moved to back New England from Washington, DC, where I had been living since the day after college graduation. I have a wonderfully giving and patient husband, an adorable, fluffy, and well-behaved dog, a nice house on a quiet street, a good job, and a loving family. I am extremely lucky.

This year, however, has been a tough one for my hubby and me. We closed on our new house in late January, got pregnant in March, had a miscarriage in April--the same month we got a dog that had to be almost immediately put to sleep (long story!). My father was diagnosed with prostate cancer in August. And, we are now 9-months post-miscarriage with no hope of a baby in sight. Needless to say, I'm beginning to lose my sense of humor about the whole thing.

I guess the purpose of this blog is really to give me an outlet to "talk" about my fertility issues. As anyone who's had difficulty conceiving or staying pregnant knows, it's just not the kind of thing you want to talk with just anybody about. Mostly, I don't want people to know that we're having trouble because I don't want the syrupy false sympathy or pity. (I am an extremely strong-willed, independent woman, and just about the worst thing you can do is feel sorry for me.)

The other tricky thing is that I know I do not yet have the infertility issues that many have struggled with, so I feel guilty getting as down as I do. We got pregnant in just under a year the first time. Unfortunately, now that I'm 9-months post-miscarriage with no positive HPT, I'm beginning to realize that for us the consequence of a miscarriage is another LONG stretch of pregnancy-free living.

And, of course, like all other fertility-challenged couples, I feel like the only fertility treatment anyone else needs is to just stand near us. I swear it seem like everyone we know gets pregnant by looking at each other. My cousin got pregnant the MONTH her husband's vasectomy was reversed. My best friend from college has two children under 2--the second of which she conceived so quickly they couldn't really figure out what the due date was at first (since she had barely had a normal period after her first). Another friend explained to me that the secret to getting pregnant was charting your temperature for three months before you wanted to conceive, because that would tell you the right day to have sex. Have sex that day and, poof! insta-child.

Needless to say, we've gotten to the point where we've exhausted all of the "normal" things that are in our control. I've temped and charted, used OPK, had sex everyday during my fertile period, every other day, twice a day. We've gotten the most basic fertility testing--all of which seems to be "normal." I appear to ovulate every month, my luteal phase seems to be fine. I just can't seem to get and stay pregnant. I've had one confirmed miscarriage, and two suspected chemical pregnancies. I've cut down or cut out my two favorite things: caffeine and my one glass of red wine a day. We take two daily relaxing walks. We're eating healthy. We're drinking green tea. We're taking our vitamins. We're running out of ideas...

So, now, in the spirit of the holiday season, hubby and I have one simple Christmas wish: a bun in the oven. Only this time, we're hoping it will stick.

Starting fresh

I guess you could call this my second attempt at a blog. My first attempt came days after I got my first positve HPT, but ended abruptly after my subsequent miscarriage. I have thought a lot about continuing the old one, but everytime I went back and reread my first entries I felt so foolish for having been so naive-- I thought that a positive pregnancy test naturally meant that, 9 months afterwards, you'd have a baby. Well, 9 months later would have been December 4, and let's just say that on Dec. 4 I was sharing a bottle of wine with my old college roommates celebrating not a newborn, but another 30-something birthday (my friend's, not mine).

So, now I'm older, wiser (ha!), and trying my luck at a second blogging attempt. Let's see how it goes.