So, hypothetically speaking, of course:
If one were to see 2 lines on - for instance - 12 dpo but one of them was pale pink, does it count?
Or would that just be, say, getting one's hopes up only to have them squashed in the gutter?
Showing posts with label The fabulous 2WW. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The fabulous 2WW. Show all posts
Friday, October 5, 2007
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
Early for October, eh?
Oh my, is it October already?
Travel for some of my work projects has gotten the better of me the past week-and-a-half. And I am still running at a breakneck pace.
Big news in my neck of the woods is that there is a REAL LIVE snow advisory in the Cascades. For serious. Up to a foot of early season snow. Yeeeeeee! Cowboy and I are going to buy our season passes soon. 'Cuz then I will for sure get pregnant, right? I can handle the valley rain as long as I know it is snowing in the mountains. I have to drive to the east side of the mountains later this week and never, ever have I packed snow chains this early in October. As I said earlier, "Yeeeee!"
Yoga. Been back at it for about 2 months now. I go in the mornings but have started practicing at 6 A.M. instead of 5 A.M., which makes all the difference in the world in terms of how much energy I have at the end of the day. Here's a big middle finger to my former acupuncturist who warned that Ashtanga was not so good for my fertility issues. Yeah, and not doing Ashtanga was not so good for my mental stability. So there. Gosh that feels so mature. Suffice it to say that despite that last comment, I am in a much. better. place.
Tag Sale. Last Saturday, held my annual tag sale (garage sale), a tradition that I love and look forward to all year. Am trying to decide what to do with the proceeds. Rule of thumb is that the money goes toward one or two "investment" items. In past years my tag sale has funded (1) everyday dishes, (2) a Karastan Oriental rug and runner and (3) an antique pine armoire for our house. I try to stay away from clothing, shoes, accessories because I know that I will usually end up selling them in another tag sale someday and it will make me feel like my purchase that year wasn't such a good investment. Any suggestions? Oh, sadly, I didn't make enough to come close to funding an IVF or adoption.
Cycle. Three days to go in the Summer of Love. Although I am not expecting to be pregnant because I made a deal with the-powers-that-be-up-there that I would forego a BFP if it meant that Von would get one instead.
By the way, nothing makes the 2WW fly by than a spate of travel and a tag sale to boot.
Anyway, that's my random life. Props out to my best gal JZ for letting me stay at her house in Colorado. I heart you!
Boo! to my friend from the wedding who emailed pictures of her 9-week sonogram to announce she was, yes, in fact, expecting. In all fairness, she did call me in advance of the email to tell me the news. Which was very nice for her to do. But, c'mon people. Is nothing sacred?! Maybe I am just too old fashioned about stuff like that? It is one thing to share early sonogram pics with someone who asks or a caring community, but to email them out to a dist list? Seriously.
Travel for some of my work projects has gotten the better of me the past week-and-a-half. And I am still running at a breakneck pace.
Big news in my neck of the woods is that there is a REAL LIVE snow advisory in the Cascades. For serious. Up to a foot of early season snow. Yeeeeeee! Cowboy and I are going to buy our season passes soon. 'Cuz then I will for sure get pregnant, right? I can handle the valley rain as long as I know it is snowing in the mountains. I have to drive to the east side of the mountains later this week and never, ever have I packed snow chains this early in October. As I said earlier, "Yeeeee!"
Yoga. Been back at it for about 2 months now. I go in the mornings but have started practicing at 6 A.M. instead of 5 A.M., which makes all the difference in the world in terms of how much energy I have at the end of the day. Here's a big middle finger to my former acupuncturist who warned that Ashtanga was not so good for my fertility issues. Yeah, and not doing Ashtanga was not so good for my mental stability. So there. Gosh that feels so mature. Suffice it to say that despite that last comment, I am in a much. better. place.
Tag Sale. Last Saturday, held my annual tag sale (garage sale), a tradition that I love and look forward to all year. Am trying to decide what to do with the proceeds. Rule of thumb is that the money goes toward one or two "investment" items. In past years my tag sale has funded (1) everyday dishes, (2) a Karastan Oriental rug and runner and (3) an antique pine armoire for our house. I try to stay away from clothing, shoes, accessories because I know that I will usually end up selling them in another tag sale someday and it will make me feel like my purchase that year wasn't such a good investment. Any suggestions? Oh, sadly, I didn't make enough to come close to funding an IVF or adoption.
Cycle. Three days to go in the Summer of Love. Although I am not expecting to be pregnant because I made a deal with the-powers-that-be-up-there that I would forego a BFP if it meant that Von would get one instead.
By the way, nothing makes the 2WW fly by than a spate of travel and a tag sale to boot.
Anyway, that's my random life. Props out to my best gal JZ for letting me stay at her house in Colorado. I heart you!
Boo! to my friend from the wedding who emailed pictures of her 9-week sonogram to announce she was, yes, in fact, expecting. In all fairness, she did call me in advance of the email to tell me the news. Which was very nice for her to do. But, c'mon people. Is nothing sacred?! Maybe I am just too old fashioned about stuff like that? It is one thing to share early sonogram pics with someone who asks or a caring community, but to email them out to a dist list? Seriously.
Friday, August 3, 2007
About that job thing
They packed up our office today.
I worked right through it. A lot of people, well, the people who haven’t moved on or haven’t moved to the new state where my company is setting up shop, left for the day. I worked at my desk with its gorgeous view of the Willamette River and Forest Park and tried to ignore the movers.
It has been almost a year since the governor of another Western state stopped into our booth at a trade show and announced, "Welcome to (insert state here)!"
Those of us who witnessed it had to keep our mouths from dropping open.
We’d been told in June of 2006 that our company, which was purchased by a new parent firm in 2005, was staying in our hometown.
The official announcement of our company moving did not come until Friday, Oct. 13. The day before the business section ran a front page story announcing the decision. And the day before I received our first BFP.
We all worked and waited diligently for the next month, wondering who would get move packages, what would they look like, when would the move happen, what would the severance packages be? It didn’t help that it was our busy season. After weeks of anxiety, we were worked in more ways than one.
I had BIG things on my mind. I didn’t breathe a word of my news to anyone in the office. My company is great. It is very family-friendly. If, by family-friendly, you mean that you are guy with young children and a cute stay-at-home wife. In sales and marketing, where I work, there are exactly two working moms. There were a lot of women during my six year tenure who became mothers. They just no longer work there.
I was petrified that they would put me on the severance package track if they learned of my news. That they would make my decision for me. Not that I wanted to move. But it mattered that I was invited to go.
At one time this job was my dream job. It is in sports. Very cool sports. A vocation that is as much about lifestyle as anything else. I couldn’t believe I had landed such a sweet gig right out of graduate school. More times than I care to admit, I put this job before everything else. Once, while on a flight to Europe, we started counting how many weekends we had worked that year. We had to stop at April because it started to make us bitter.
It was demanding and challenging and – more often than not – beyond fun. Until this whole move thing happened. And then it got all fucked up.
A month later, you are sitting in your boss’ office. The door is closed. He has been meeting personally with your whole department, one-by-one, all day long. It’s 5 o’clock on a Tuesday. It is dark out. He is glassy-eyed. You wonder if he is stoned. Or just holding back tears.
He is talking about how they haven’t made any decisions about what the marketing department will look like in the new structure. How they want to keep you in the organization. But they have no offer to give yet. He is sorry. He knows this has been a tough time for everyone.
You don’t really hear much, because you are having deep, painful cramps.
The day before you had gone to your first pregnant lady appointment. The OB asked how you were feeling. Cheerily you said, fine. "Sometimes I don’t even feel like I am pregnant."
With that she pulled out the dildo-cam. Junior was measuring small for the gestation period. At that moment, you have no idea how bad that is. What that means. She chalks it up to a last-menstrual-period calculation error. You told her you chart. You use OPKs. Your chart dates are spot on. She shrugs and orders a more powerful ultrasound for the following week.
And now you are cramping. In a chair. In your boss’ office. With your back to the river. And it is taking all that you have not to cry. To smile. To say it is okay, you are patient. You understand that these things take time. December for a definitive answer on your role in the new organization? Before Christmas? Sounds great. Thank you for explaining the situation so thoroughly.
You walk back to your desk. Calmly tuck the cell phone into your pocket. You walk quickly to the bathroom. There is red.
You take a free tampon from the dispenser in the women’s room. You wash your hands. Still you are not crying lest someone walks into the bathroom. You work in an office with mostly guys. In sports. Beyond everything, you do not cry in the office. Instead, you dash into the stairwell across the hall and call Cowboy.
I don’t have a move offer. No, I don’t have a severance package either.
When will you know.
I think I am miscarrying. (Begin crying.)
Hang up the phone, your husband says, and get home now.
Later that night you lay in bed cramping. And bleeding. And crying quietly so you don’t wake your husband. You don’t take aspirin or Advil for the pain because you are, after all, pregnant. But you know. Though they haven’t said it, you feel like you have lost your job. And though they haven’t confirmed it, you are pretty certain you are losing your baby, too.
In 3 days the cramps and bleeding stop. You go to work every day. You take Advil now to control the pain.
Four more cycles, Christmas, New Year’s, a month where you are home for only four days out of 30 and Valentine’s Day go by before you receive word of a promotion, a new job and a move package.
By then, you don’t really care anymore.
And so you elect not to get on the bus going to the new state. A majority of your colleagues decide the same. A new regime. A new mission. You stop getting meeting requests for next year’s planning sessions.
It feels awkward. You could leave. But the retention bonus and severance package are good. And, by the time it starts to really suck, you feel that you have earned every bit of them.
After the movers left. I walked around the empty office. The framed magazine covers of athletes are packed. All of the products scattered around that I write marketing plans for are gone, too.
I start to cry. But it is OK this time. Because no one is around to see me.
I worked right through it. A lot of people, well, the people who haven’t moved on or haven’t moved to the new state where my company is setting up shop, left for the day. I worked at my desk with its gorgeous view of the Willamette River and Forest Park and tried to ignore the movers.
It has been almost a year since the governor of another Western state stopped into our booth at a trade show and announced, "Welcome to (insert state here)!"
Those of us who witnessed it had to keep our mouths from dropping open.
We’d been told in June of 2006 that our company, which was purchased by a new parent firm in 2005, was staying in our hometown.
The official announcement of our company moving did not come until Friday, Oct. 13. The day before the business section ran a front page story announcing the decision. And the day before I received our first BFP.
We all worked and waited diligently for the next month, wondering who would get move packages, what would they look like, when would the move happen, what would the severance packages be? It didn’t help that it was our busy season. After weeks of anxiety, we were worked in more ways than one.
I had BIG things on my mind. I didn’t breathe a word of my news to anyone in the office. My company is great. It is very family-friendly. If, by family-friendly, you mean that you are guy with young children and a cute stay-at-home wife. In sales and marketing, where I work, there are exactly two working moms. There were a lot of women during my six year tenure who became mothers. They just no longer work there.
I was petrified that they would put me on the severance package track if they learned of my news. That they would make my decision for me. Not that I wanted to move. But it mattered that I was invited to go.
At one time this job was my dream job. It is in sports. Very cool sports. A vocation that is as much about lifestyle as anything else. I couldn’t believe I had landed such a sweet gig right out of graduate school. More times than I care to admit, I put this job before everything else. Once, while on a flight to Europe, we started counting how many weekends we had worked that year. We had to stop at April because it started to make us bitter.
It was demanding and challenging and – more often than not – beyond fun. Until this whole move thing happened. And then it got all fucked up.
A month later, you are sitting in your boss’ office. The door is closed. He has been meeting personally with your whole department, one-by-one, all day long. It’s 5 o’clock on a Tuesday. It is dark out. He is glassy-eyed. You wonder if he is stoned. Or just holding back tears.
He is talking about how they haven’t made any decisions about what the marketing department will look like in the new structure. How they want to keep you in the organization. But they have no offer to give yet. He is sorry. He knows this has been a tough time for everyone.
You don’t really hear much, because you are having deep, painful cramps.
The day before you had gone to your first pregnant lady appointment. The OB asked how you were feeling. Cheerily you said, fine. "Sometimes I don’t even feel like I am pregnant."
With that she pulled out the dildo-cam. Junior was measuring small for the gestation period. At that moment, you have no idea how bad that is. What that means. She chalks it up to a last-menstrual-period calculation error. You told her you chart. You use OPKs. Your chart dates are spot on. She shrugs and orders a more powerful ultrasound for the following week.
And now you are cramping. In a chair. In your boss’ office. With your back to the river. And it is taking all that you have not to cry. To smile. To say it is okay, you are patient. You understand that these things take time. December for a definitive answer on your role in the new organization? Before Christmas? Sounds great. Thank you for explaining the situation so thoroughly.
You walk back to your desk. Calmly tuck the cell phone into your pocket. You walk quickly to the bathroom. There is red.
You take a free tampon from the dispenser in the women’s room. You wash your hands. Still you are not crying lest someone walks into the bathroom. You work in an office with mostly guys. In sports. Beyond everything, you do not cry in the office. Instead, you dash into the stairwell across the hall and call Cowboy.
I don’t have a move offer. No, I don’t have a severance package either.
When will you know.
I think I am miscarrying. (Begin crying.)
Hang up the phone, your husband says, and get home now.
Later that night you lay in bed cramping. And bleeding. And crying quietly so you don’t wake your husband. You don’t take aspirin or Advil for the pain because you are, after all, pregnant. But you know. Though they haven’t said it, you feel like you have lost your job. And though they haven’t confirmed it, you are pretty certain you are losing your baby, too.
In 3 days the cramps and bleeding stop. You go to work every day. You take Advil now to control the pain.
Four more cycles, Christmas, New Year’s, a month where you are home for only four days out of 30 and Valentine’s Day go by before you receive word of a promotion, a new job and a move package.
By then, you don’t really care anymore.
And so you elect not to get on the bus going to the new state. A majority of your colleagues decide the same. A new regime. A new mission. You stop getting meeting requests for next year’s planning sessions.
It feels awkward. You could leave. But the retention bonus and severance package are good. And, by the time it starts to really suck, you feel that you have earned every bit of them.
After the movers left. I walked around the empty office. The framed magazine covers of athletes are packed. All of the products scattered around that I write marketing plans for are gone, too.
I start to cry. But it is OK this time. Because no one is around to see me.
Friday, July 27, 2007
I Told You So
Actually, it wasn't me, but LJ recently posted an article about chemicals in cleaning fluid impacting fertility - and not in a good way. And a few others (Exile in Kidville and Max's Mommy) have touched on the subject of familiar household objects wreaking havoc on both our bodies and the environment.
It's not like we're a bunch of crusaders. But we are highly tuned-in to our bodies and what we put in them.
Yesterday I received my Vogue subscription. I know, I know. What does someone living in the land of Danskos, Hunter wellies and Gore-Tex have any business reading Vogue? Not sure, but I have been a fan for years.
Anyway, the feature story in this month's issue (besides the re-surfacing of Winona Ryder, which reminds me to put Heathers into my Netflix queue. Again.) is "An Inconceivable Truth - the Link Between Infertility and the Environment."
Ha! I have long suspected that the messy, messy environment in the 70's -- when most of those reading this blog were either in utero or little girls -- and the fact that our parent's generation was the first generation raised on a daily diet plastic toys and processed foods is impacting both male and female fertility today.
I don't have proof. But when three of the four randomly-invited couples (all ranging from early to late 30's) at a dinner party I recently hosted has had some sort of reproductive intervention to start their family, I go, "hmmm."
The article in Vogue is okay. I wonder if the editors stripped out a bunch of facts in order to make it more like a Vogue-y observation/conversation. It is written by a guy who seems more concerned with his son's sperm count than anything else (who wouldn't be). It does give, however, some great jumping off points for Google searches on this subject. As if we all needed more reasons to Google. Unfortunately, the Vogue website is not linking to their feature story, so if you are interested, you might have to drop $5 at your nearest newsstand.
But the fact that Vogue is calling attention to this issue is amazing to me. Cheers to the editors. It is about time that this issue gets out beyond the natural living magazine section.
Here are some interesting facts gleaned from the article:
Actually, no, he won't be surprised at all.
* * *
Two other quick notes...
I am headed out of town on some busy work travel so I won't be blogging for a few days. I am attending a shoe preview trade show and promise to post some pics of next spring's hot numbers (as long as I don't get wrestled to the floor taking pictures at the Jimmy Choo booth).
Cowboy found a large frog on the side of our house yesterday. Aren't frogs fertility symbols?
It's not like we're a bunch of crusaders. But we are highly tuned-in to our bodies and what we put in them.
Yesterday I received my Vogue subscription. I know, I know. What does someone living in the land of Danskos, Hunter wellies and Gore-Tex have any business reading Vogue? Not sure, but I have been a fan for years.
Anyway, the feature story in this month's issue (besides the re-surfacing of Winona Ryder, which reminds me to put Heathers into my Netflix queue. Again.) is "An Inconceivable Truth - the Link Between Infertility and the Environment."
Ha! I have long suspected that the messy, messy environment in the 70's -- when most of those reading this blog were either in utero or little girls -- and the fact that our parent's generation was the first generation raised on a daily diet plastic toys and processed foods is impacting both male and female fertility today.
I don't have proof. But when three of the four randomly-invited couples (all ranging from early to late 30's) at a dinner party I recently hosted has had some sort of reproductive intervention to start their family, I go, "hmmm."
The article in Vogue is okay. I wonder if the editors stripped out a bunch of facts in order to make it more like a Vogue-y observation/conversation. It is written by a guy who seems more concerned with his son's sperm count than anything else (who wouldn't be). It does give, however, some great jumping off points for Google searches on this subject. As if we all needed more reasons to Google. Unfortunately, the Vogue website is not linking to their feature story, so if you are interested, you might have to drop $5 at your nearest newsstand.
But the fact that Vogue is calling attention to this issue is amazing to me. Cheers to the editors. It is about time that this issue gets out beyond the natural living magazine section.
Here are some interesting facts gleaned from the article:
- There has been a 42% jump (from 1985-1995) in women in their 20's experiencing fertility problems.
- In the medical industry, medicines are tested extensively before they are approved to put on the market. In the chemical industry, compounds are considered safe until proven dangerous and only then are they banned. By the way, if you do PR for the chemical industry and happen upon this blog, please do not comment (this is a miscarriage blog afterall) and kindly go fuck off.
- An estimated 1,500 to 2,000 new chemicals a year are brought to market, rarely even listed as active ingredients on your shampoo bottle, lipgloss or floor cleaner.
Actually, no, he won't be surprised at all.
* * *
Two other quick notes...
I am headed out of town on some busy work travel so I won't be blogging for a few days. I am attending a shoe preview trade show and promise to post some pics of next spring's hot numbers (as long as I don't get wrestled to the floor taking pictures at the Jimmy Choo booth).
Cowboy found a large frog on the side of our house yesterday. Aren't frogs fertility symbols?
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
I Scream, You Scream
In my effort to stay more positive (read: think happy thoughts), I am going to spend my 2WW-from-hell by posting a few of my favorite new finds. A girl has gotta find pockets of happiness somewhere and hunting, gathering and then sharing surely rank high on my happiness barometer.
In the past couple months I have made a serious effort to stick to my TCM diet as perscribed by my shaman (aka my acupuncturist). My indications are kidney yin and yang depletion with a little liver qi stagnation thrown in for good measure. Fabulous. Different indications are mitigated by different diets in TCM. An excellent read on the basics of TCM and IF & recurrent miscarriage is The Infertilty Cure by Dr. Randine Lewis, who is schooled in both Western and Eastern reproductive medicine.
Part of my diet is easy and fun what with all the organic and local food shopping - two tasks that are easily accomplished in my town where we practically have more organic farmer's markets than churches. But two of my most difficult diet restrictions are (1) no refined carbs (such as pasta, whole wheat tortillas, etc.) and (2) no dairy. No dairy in the summer - quiet frankly - sucks.
But, even my diet-restrictive shaman embraces this little gem: Luna & Larry's Coconut Bliss. Ice cream made from coconut milk. Brilliant!
I bought a pint of the Naked Coconut flavor expecting it to taste like crappy Rice Dream (ugh what a g-a-y name) and was blown away by how good it was. Seriously good. Like frozen Mounds bar good. Even Cowboy gave it 2 thumbs up after asking for chocolate chips to sprinkle on top. I swear, he eats like an 8-year-old sometimes.
And it costs about the same as the other more-nationally recognized designer ice cream pints (think hippies from Vermont brand). Plus, the label featuring Ganesh is super cool. Did I mention I am a sucker for great packaging?
The only bummer is that I just realized Coconut Bliss lacks distribution beyond Oregon, Washington and some random festivals in NoCal. However, for those of you TCM-ing and advised to eschew dairy and want to try this, I promise I will figure out a way to Fed3x a pint to you.
But you have to let me know before Aug. 31, so I can use my corporate Fed3x account.
In the past couple months I have made a serious effort to stick to my TCM diet as perscribed by my shaman (aka my acupuncturist). My indications are kidney yin and yang depletion with a little liver qi stagnation thrown in for good measure. Fabulous. Different indications are mitigated by different diets in TCM. An excellent read on the basics of TCM and IF & recurrent miscarriage is The Infertilty Cure by Dr. Randine Lewis, who is schooled in both Western and Eastern reproductive medicine.
Part of my diet is easy and fun what with all the organic and local food shopping - two tasks that are easily accomplished in my town where we practically have more organic farmer's markets than churches. But two of my most difficult diet restrictions are (1) no refined carbs (such as pasta, whole wheat tortillas, etc.) and (2) no dairy. No dairy in the summer - quiet frankly - sucks.
But, even my diet-restrictive shaman embraces this little gem: Luna & Larry's Coconut Bliss. Ice cream made from coconut milk. Brilliant!
I bought a pint of the Naked Coconut flavor expecting it to taste like crappy Rice Dream (ugh what a g-a-y name) and was blown away by how good it was. Seriously good. Like frozen Mounds bar good. Even Cowboy gave it 2 thumbs up after asking for chocolate chips to sprinkle on top. I swear, he eats like an 8-year-old sometimes.
And it costs about the same as the other more-nationally recognized designer ice cream pints (think hippies from Vermont brand). Plus, the label featuring Ganesh is super cool. Did I mention I am a sucker for great packaging?
The only bummer is that I just realized Coconut Bliss lacks distribution beyond Oregon, Washington and some random festivals in NoCal. However, for those of you TCM-ing and advised to eschew dairy and want to try this, I promise I will figure out a way to Fed3x a pint to you.
But you have to let me know before Aug. 31, so I can use my corporate Fed3x account.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Things I Try Not to Think About
That we are on cycle #3 of the 3-cycle-post-HSG-increased-pregnancy-rate phenomena.
That getting pregnant is only half the battle. My bigger battles will come later.
That the Sperm-Meets-Egg Plan – as fun as it was – and a very, clearly positive OPK will actually work.
That it won’t.
That my friend, who just started trying, will announce she is pregnant any day now. I will be happy for her but it will make me feel like such a loser.
That God and nature could be so cruel that I’ll have another miscarriage.
That Gus is almost 13 years old and is visibly slowing down.
That my job, which I have had for 6 years, will end on August 31.
That I made a mistake in February by turning down a promotion and move package to the new state where my company is moving mostly because I was afraid that we wouldn’t achieve a successful pregnancy along with the stress of selling our house, buying a house, moving, starting a new job and having Cowboy leave his job.
That now I have neither job nor elusive successful pregnancy.
Of course, after having written this, I completely realize that I am SUCH A WHINER. Tomorrow I will try to be more cheerful and hopeful and think of all the good things I should think about. Whatevs. But this is it for today.
Welcome to the hell that is the Two Week Wait
That getting pregnant is only half the battle. My bigger battles will come later.
That the Sperm-Meets-Egg Plan – as fun as it was – and a very, clearly positive OPK will actually work.
That it won’t.
That my friend, who just started trying, will announce she is pregnant any day now. I will be happy for her but it will make me feel like such a loser.
That God and nature could be so cruel that I’ll have another miscarriage.
That Gus is almost 13 years old and is visibly slowing down.
That my job, which I have had for 6 years, will end on August 31.
That I made a mistake in February by turning down a promotion and move package to the new state where my company is moving mostly because I was afraid that we wouldn’t achieve a successful pregnancy along with the stress of selling our house, buying a house, moving, starting a new job and having Cowboy leave his job.
That now I have neither job nor elusive successful pregnancy.
Of course, after having written this, I completely realize that I am SUCH A WHINER. Tomorrow I will try to be more cheerful and hopeful and think of all the good things I should think about. Whatevs. But this is it for today.
Welcome to the hell that is the Two Week Wait
Thursday, June 14, 2007
On Being Angry
Around this time in my cycle, when I am anticipating AF’s arrival, I often experience the emotion of anger.
My anger’s easy targets: me and Cowboy. The subject: being angry that we waited for so long to have children.
You will note on the right hand side of this blog that Cowboy and I met in 2000, did not get married until 5 years later and then, because that wasn’t loooong enough, took another year before I convinced him that it was time. Six years. Sheesh.
To be fair, the first two years of our relationship we were in graduate school and then lived long distance. When we finally ended up in the same city, we shacked up in a small walk-up. Saved to buy a house and paid back student loans with a vengeance.
We luckily bought a place right before the housing boom and continued to pay off our student loans.
For some reason (see earlier post about being raised Catholic in the South), it was important for me to be married before I started a family. So we had a serious talk about getting married and my plan (ha!) to start having children before I turned 35. There were lots of tears – mine. And rationalizations – his.
It went something like this:
ME: But it gets harder to have a baby after you are 35.
COWBOY: But we just bought this house and can’t pay our mortgage, our student loans and our bills on one salary*.
ME: But I really want this in my life.
COWBOY: Who says you can’t have that after we take care of some of our responsibilities.
ME: (Sigh). I guess you are right.
So that was the plan: pay down our grad school debt, manage our mortgage and get secure first.
I went along with it. Willingly.
And you know what? I did not regret it. We traveled. Took ski trips. I bought 3-figure pairs of jeans without blinking. My career propelled forward. I traveled internationally for business often and worked on some stimulating projects. We paid our student loans back in full. Early.
No, I did not regret one bit of it.
Until now.
Actually, I don’t regret all of it. While I would gladly give back every pair of Sevens, the ski trips and other things if I could trade them for a baby, I do not regret that we took care of our obligations. I do not regret that we got secure in our finances. This will come in handy when we have to pay for IVF or adoption. I do not regret the career opportunities I had.
But every month around this time, I can’t help but think we shouldn’t have waited.
Who knows. We could have tried back then and still had miscarriages. We could still be trying.
Or we could have succeeded and one of us would have been at home raising a toddler wondering what might have been. The one whose job took a backseat for the sake of the family might have been frustrated that they haven’t yet seen their post-grad career take flight. Maybe that person would have been me.
Maybe the financial pressures would have split us apart. (Shudder).
And since I couldn’t accept any of those worst case scenarios, I wholeheartedly agreed to wait.
Sometimes, when I get like this, I just want an apology from Cowboy. “I’m sorry I made us wait and now it is so hard for us.”
But Cowboy is not sorry. And won’t apologize for doing the “right” thing financially. He’s just not there. Nor do I expect him to be.
So I try to find comfort that we avoided the worst-case maybes listed above. And I try to reason that we did the right thing for us.
I try to rationalize that maybe this anger is just a few ticks away on the dial from another familiar emotion: sadness.
Perhaps I’m just tired about the sadness and need a new emotion to preoccupy the day. And since everything else feels fake, anger it is.
Whatever it is, I just need to let it go.
What's done is done and can't be undone.
I’m glad I wrote this post and got it out of my head. I am starting to feel better already.
* Note: For various reasons, Cowboy and I decided long ago that if we had children, one person would have their career take a backseat so at least one of us could spend a lot more time with the youngster(s) in the formative years. Since I always wanted the experience of being full-time mommy, I naturally thought this would be me. That being said, Cowboy (despite his nickname) is not one of those the-woman-stays-home kind of guys. He would be perfectly happy staying at home with our child, provided he could take the kid to Snow Monsters day care during winter and that the car seat fit in the boat during summer. Boys.
My anger’s easy targets: me and Cowboy. The subject: being angry that we waited for so long to have children.
You will note on the right hand side of this blog that Cowboy and I met in 2000, did not get married until 5 years later and then, because that wasn’t loooong enough, took another year before I convinced him that it was time. Six years. Sheesh.
To be fair, the first two years of our relationship we were in graduate school and then lived long distance. When we finally ended up in the same city, we shacked up in a small walk-up. Saved to buy a house and paid back student loans with a vengeance.
We luckily bought a place right before the housing boom and continued to pay off our student loans.
For some reason (see earlier post about being raised Catholic in the South), it was important for me to be married before I started a family. So we had a serious talk about getting married and my plan (ha!) to start having children before I turned 35. There were lots of tears – mine. And rationalizations – his.
It went something like this:
ME: But it gets harder to have a baby after you are 35.
COWBOY: But we just bought this house and can’t pay our mortgage, our student loans and our bills on one salary*.
ME: But I really want this in my life.
COWBOY: Who says you can’t have that after we take care of some of our responsibilities.
ME: (Sigh). I guess you are right.
So that was the plan: pay down our grad school debt, manage our mortgage and get secure first.
I went along with it. Willingly.
And you know what? I did not regret it. We traveled. Took ski trips. I bought 3-figure pairs of jeans without blinking. My career propelled forward. I traveled internationally for business often and worked on some stimulating projects. We paid our student loans back in full. Early.
No, I did not regret one bit of it.
Until now.
Actually, I don’t regret all of it. While I would gladly give back every pair of Sevens, the ski trips and other things if I could trade them for a baby, I do not regret that we took care of our obligations. I do not regret that we got secure in our finances. This will come in handy when we have to pay for IVF or adoption. I do not regret the career opportunities I had.
But every month around this time, I can’t help but think we shouldn’t have waited.
Who knows. We could have tried back then and still had miscarriages. We could still be trying.
Or we could have succeeded and one of us would have been at home raising a toddler wondering what might have been. The one whose job took a backseat for the sake of the family might have been frustrated that they haven’t yet seen their post-grad career take flight. Maybe that person would have been me.
Maybe the financial pressures would have split us apart. (Shudder).
And since I couldn’t accept any of those worst case scenarios, I wholeheartedly agreed to wait.
Sometimes, when I get like this, I just want an apology from Cowboy. “I’m sorry I made us wait and now it is so hard for us.”
But Cowboy is not sorry. And won’t apologize for doing the “right” thing financially. He’s just not there. Nor do I expect him to be.
So I try to find comfort that we avoided the worst-case maybes listed above. And I try to reason that we did the right thing for us.
I try to rationalize that maybe this anger is just a few ticks away on the dial from another familiar emotion: sadness.
Perhaps I’m just tired about the sadness and need a new emotion to preoccupy the day. And since everything else feels fake, anger it is.
Whatever it is, I just need to let it go.
What's done is done and can't be undone.
I’m glad I wrote this post and got it out of my head. I am starting to feel better already.
* Note: For various reasons, Cowboy and I decided long ago that if we had children, one person would have their career take a backseat so at least one of us could spend a lot more time with the youngster(s) in the formative years. Since I always wanted the experience of being full-time mommy, I naturally thought this would be me. That being said, Cowboy (despite his nickname) is not one of those the-woman-stays-home kind of guys. He would be perfectly happy staying at home with our child, provided he could take the kid to Snow Monsters day care during winter and that the car seat fit in the boat during summer. Boys.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
I am normal. Damn.
Well, normal when it comes to my reproductive capacity.
Just to recap, after m/c #2 we conducted the following 3 of 4 tests typically given as part of Recurrent Miscarriage Panel:
(1) HSG – to check for abnormalities in the female reproductive organs.
(2) Clomid Challenge Test – to check ovarian reserve
(3) Immunulogical Work-up (on me) – to check for about 12 disorders that are believe to contribute to miscarriage.
I checked out normal on all of them.
Diagnosis: a case of bad luck.
Fuck.
On one hand, I am grateful and relieved that there is nothing wrong. On the other, it is just so frustrating that there is nothing, absolutely nothing I can do or not do that will prevent another miscarriage. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK.
Talk to women who have suffered miscarriages and they’ll tell you that they rack their brains to come up with a reason why it happened. Was it that long run? Maybe I caused the miscarriage because I wasn’t sure we could manage another baby? Maybe I worked too many hours?
If you can pinpoint a reason for your loss, you rationalize that you can control it in future pregnancies.
But in most cases – and it seems, in mine – it is just a matter of letting go and embracing that a lot of the whole thing with miscarriage is chance. It is weird to think that women who have something diagnosed are the lucky ones. They can manage the issue. The rest of us just have to hope and pray that one good egg meets one good sperm and everything goes okay. While I am becoming used to this sort of acceptance of fate and timing, I still have trouble fully embracing it. But I guess I have to start.
So, here’s the plan:
DIY cycles through September. If I am not pregnant by September, Dr. Stretch wants us to come back in and talk about next steps.
Use OPKs each month (as if) and start a regimen of twice daily prometrium 200 mg two days after ovulation. After reviewing blood work from both pregnancies and my BBT charts, Dr. Stretch thinks I may have a progesterone deficiency. He suspects that the first pregnancy may have been complicated by low progesterone. The second one looks like a classic abnormal chromosome issue based on the timing and how quickly the beta dropped.
I asked about using Clomid in the front half of my cycle to boost the progesterone in the back half. Dr. Stretch noted that the complementary relationship between Clomid and progesterone is not always the case and that Clomid can be a detriment in DIY cycles when you are relying on optimal cervical fluid to make things happen.
If I get pregnant and miscarry again, we will have the his-&-hers DNA karotype tests done.
So that’s the plan.
Oh and he also wanted me to take a beta since I was at CD 26.
Yeah so I took a freakin’ official doctor pregnancy test yesterday. Wasn’t expecting that one. But it did save me from buying some HPTs. Screw you, Blue Cross Blue Shield.
It was too late in the afternoon to get the results back so I’ll hear today.
I really don’t think I am pregnant since I don’t have any symptoms except really high temperatures, which – I think – are directly correlated to my Prometrium use. Does anyone have experience with seeing higher temps in the back half of your cycle while using progesterone? I was nauseous last night. But I think that was just nerves.
I have tried to prepare myself for the following in advance of this afternoon's phone call:
(a) I am not pregnant. Even though I think I am not, hearing someone confirming it or having one line stare back at you always brings on a bout of disappointment.
(b) I am pregnant, but the beta is low and the pregnancy is not viable. I try not to dwell on this too much but wanted to plan for this scenario.
(c) I am…okay let’s not even go there.
So, that’s my day. What are you up to?
That and I have an interview for a new job. Perfect timing.
Our trip home to Texas was really great. My parents are so terrific. I will write about it later this week, as I wanted to get the RE stuff out of the way.
Just to recap, after m/c #2 we conducted the following 3 of 4 tests typically given as part of Recurrent Miscarriage Panel:
(1) HSG – to check for abnormalities in the female reproductive organs.
(2) Clomid Challenge Test – to check ovarian reserve
(3) Immunulogical Work-up (on me) – to check for about 12 disorders that are believe to contribute to miscarriage.
I checked out normal on all of them.
Diagnosis: a case of bad luck.
Fuck.
On one hand, I am grateful and relieved that there is nothing wrong. On the other, it is just so frustrating that there is nothing, absolutely nothing I can do or not do that will prevent another miscarriage. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK.
Talk to women who have suffered miscarriages and they’ll tell you that they rack their brains to come up with a reason why it happened. Was it that long run? Maybe I caused the miscarriage because I wasn’t sure we could manage another baby? Maybe I worked too many hours?
If you can pinpoint a reason for your loss, you rationalize that you can control it in future pregnancies.
But in most cases – and it seems, in mine – it is just a matter of letting go and embracing that a lot of the whole thing with miscarriage is chance. It is weird to think that women who have something diagnosed are the lucky ones. They can manage the issue. The rest of us just have to hope and pray that one good egg meets one good sperm and everything goes okay. While I am becoming used to this sort of acceptance of fate and timing, I still have trouble fully embracing it. But I guess I have to start.
So, here’s the plan:
DIY cycles through September. If I am not pregnant by September, Dr. Stretch wants us to come back in and talk about next steps.
Use OPKs each month (as if) and start a regimen of twice daily prometrium 200 mg two days after ovulation. After reviewing blood work from both pregnancies and my BBT charts, Dr. Stretch thinks I may have a progesterone deficiency. He suspects that the first pregnancy may have been complicated by low progesterone. The second one looks like a classic abnormal chromosome issue based on the timing and how quickly the beta dropped.
I asked about using Clomid in the front half of my cycle to boost the progesterone in the back half. Dr. Stretch noted that the complementary relationship between Clomid and progesterone is not always the case and that Clomid can be a detriment in DIY cycles when you are relying on optimal cervical fluid to make things happen.
If I get pregnant and miscarry again, we will have the his-&-hers DNA karotype tests done.
So that’s the plan.
Oh and he also wanted me to take a beta since I was at CD 26.
Yeah so I took a freakin’ official doctor pregnancy test yesterday. Wasn’t expecting that one. But it did save me from buying some HPTs. Screw you, Blue Cross Blue Shield.
It was too late in the afternoon to get the results back so I’ll hear today.
I really don’t think I am pregnant since I don’t have any symptoms except really high temperatures, which – I think – are directly correlated to my Prometrium use. Does anyone have experience with seeing higher temps in the back half of your cycle while using progesterone? I was nauseous last night. But I think that was just nerves.
I have tried to prepare myself for the following in advance of this afternoon's phone call:
(a) I am not pregnant. Even though I think I am not, hearing someone confirming it or having one line stare back at you always brings on a bout of disappointment.
(b) I am pregnant, but the beta is low and the pregnancy is not viable. I try not to dwell on this too much but wanted to plan for this scenario.
(c) I am…okay let’s not even go there.
So, that’s my day. What are you up to?
That and I have an interview for a new job. Perfect timing.
Our trip home to Texas was really great. My parents are so terrific. I will write about it later this week, as I wanted to get the RE stuff out of the way.
Thursday, June 7, 2007
Happy Birthday to TTC
Today is the anniversary of the first time we had timed s3x in order to get pregnant.
I was a complete rookie back then. I hadn’t used an OPK. I still had faith and hope that this whole process would work out. We didn’t even technically time it correctly, since we only did it once during the "good" time. Hey, I was raised Catholic in the South. I had been told for as long as I remember that once was all it took and still kind of believed it.
I was cleaning out my desk the other day and I found a picture taken of me a work event last spring when I had just starting filling out my first BBT chart (cycle #1!).
It was a gorgeous day in Central Park. The company I work for was sponsoring a festival with the NYC Department of Parks. We were at a cocktail reception on the roof of the historic parks building. Tops of trees framed the building skyline that rings the park. My head is thrown back, hair shining in the sunset. This is starting to sound like some soft core porn. I am holding a glass of wine. I am laughing. My mouth is open and curved in a smile. I am so confident and happy.
I want her back.
I suppose I just need to work harder at getting her back. The meditating and breathing exercises seem to help. The yoga helps. Keeping my diet as clean as possible helps.
But I just can’t seem to shake the disappointment that we’ve been at this a year and have gotten nowhere.
Maybe I’ve just unwittingly convinced myself that the happy person I once was will not return until I have a baby. I hate that I have let this be the case. But, again, can’t seem to shake it.
Anyway, Miss Hope, I know that I’ve called you bad things. I'm sorry and I promise not to do so again if you come back around. Just for a little while. Please?
* * *
Quick RE update:
I started on 50mg Prometrium for my progesterone levels. Did anyone else notice big temperature jumps on their BBT charts (I know, I’m still charting – lame!) whilst on Prometrium? I’m in record-high territory on my temps. I don’t have any other side effects. Knock on wood.
I am going home to Texas for a few days and am not sure if I'll have time to post, but will catch up when I return.
Our RE meeting to go over all of the tests is next Tuesday.
I was a complete rookie back then. I hadn’t used an OPK. I still had faith and hope that this whole process would work out. We didn’t even technically time it correctly, since we only did it once during the "good" time. Hey, I was raised Catholic in the South. I had been told for as long as I remember that once was all it took and still kind of believed it.
I was cleaning out my desk the other day and I found a picture taken of me a work event last spring when I had just starting filling out my first BBT chart (cycle #1!).
It was a gorgeous day in Central Park. The company I work for was sponsoring a festival with the NYC Department of Parks. We were at a cocktail reception on the roof of the historic parks building. Tops of trees framed the building skyline that rings the park. My head is thrown back, hair shining in the sunset. This is starting to sound like some soft core porn. I am holding a glass of wine. I am laughing. My mouth is open and curved in a smile. I am so confident and happy.
I want her back.
I suppose I just need to work harder at getting her back. The meditating and breathing exercises seem to help. The yoga helps. Keeping my diet as clean as possible helps.
But I just can’t seem to shake the disappointment that we’ve been at this a year and have gotten nowhere.
Maybe I’ve just unwittingly convinced myself that the happy person I once was will not return until I have a baby. I hate that I have let this be the case. But, again, can’t seem to shake it.
Anyway, Miss Hope, I know that I’ve called you bad things. I'm sorry and I promise not to do so again if you come back around. Just for a little while. Please?
* * *
Quick RE update:
I started on 50mg Prometrium for my progesterone levels. Did anyone else notice big temperature jumps on their BBT charts (I know, I’m still charting – lame!) whilst on Prometrium? I’m in record-high territory on my temps. I don’t have any other side effects. Knock on wood.
I am going home to Texas for a few days and am not sure if I'll have time to post, but will catch up when I return.
Our RE meeting to go over all of the tests is next Tuesday.
Monday, June 4, 2007
It's My Party and I'll Cry if I Want To
So the baby shower went well. The other friend and I who were co-hosting had a fabulous time on Saturday prepping for the fete. We chatted, chopped, mixed, blanched, baked and organized all morning. It was wonderful to hang out with her and put me in a good mood for most of Saturday. We planned an excellent menu and the house looked lovely. I took a deep breath. I could do this.
On Saturday night Cowboy and I went to a charity auction/dinner. No biggie. It was fine until two of the couples at our table began conversations about the wonderful sweetness of their toddler children. After about 15 minutes of guess-what-cute-thing-so-and-so-did-the-other-day, I began to feel really left out. Thing is, one of the women in that conversation just started her meds for IVF! Her first child was conceived via IVF, too. And she knows my situation. I was expecting her to be a tad more sensitive. Ya think? I made a vow that I would never do the brag thing in mixed company if God would please just give me a baby. My mood was getting bluer by the second.
Sunday – shower day – I was busy getting the final details ready for the brunch. I had planned out a play-by-play of the morning (go freakin’ figure) so I went on autopilot, emotionally & physically. Come to think of it, I was on autopilot for most of the shower. I smiled, made conversation, retrieved mimosas for guests, did my obligatory pass the baby hold – all with no problem. I felt like I had my entire being bound up tightly in a corset and a smile plastered on my face. I have never worn a corset, or even spanx, but I imagine that is what it would feel like.
I didn’t loosen the corset until a few hours after the shower. And then I blew my entire TCM diet on my own pity party. I ate nearly every leftover from the refrigerator. Yep, straight from the cold refrigerator: blanched vegetables with yogurt & feta dip, lemon cheesecake squares (more dairy), berries and homemade whipping cream (even more dairy). All cold. I felt like a pig but I couldn’t stop grazing. The entire afternoon and evening. I should have done a little yoga or gone for a light jog. But I completely blew it.
The tears started about 6 PM when (oh so sensitive) Cowboy asked me if we were still going camping with my pregnant-with-twins-on-my-due-date friend and her husband at the end of June. I know he was just being Cowboy, planning the next thing. But I’m just tired of all of this right now.
How empty do I have the feel before I can start to become full again?
Thing is, I am in holding pattern. We don’t have our meeting with the RE to get results (if any) until June 12. I am 4 dpo into my 2WW. Maybe I’m pregnant and a camping trip with pregnant-with-twins will be OK. Will I be beyond sad when AF comes? Will I start crying on the camping trip? Will it be a complete slog? Am I just over analyzing it? Do I just go on it and don’t think about it. If it sucks, oh well. You’ll live. Or do I just succumb to living 2WW to 2WW?
Argh! I hate this. It is so frustrating. I wish someone would invent a pregnancy test that tells you right away.
By the way, did anyone have more pronounced 2WW "symptoms" after a round of Clomid? I swear, I feel more emotional every day. And we are talking only 4dpo here, people. Help us all. And my nipples. Ouch. Good lord. This is gonna be one long ass 2ww.
On Saturday night Cowboy and I went to a charity auction/dinner. No biggie. It was fine until two of the couples at our table began conversations about the wonderful sweetness of their toddler children. After about 15 minutes of guess-what-cute-thing-so-and-so-did-the-other-day, I began to feel really left out. Thing is, one of the women in that conversation just started her meds for IVF! Her first child was conceived via IVF, too. And she knows my situation. I was expecting her to be a tad more sensitive. Ya think? I made a vow that I would never do the brag thing in mixed company if God would please just give me a baby. My mood was getting bluer by the second.
Sunday – shower day – I was busy getting the final details ready for the brunch. I had planned out a play-by-play of the morning (go freakin’ figure) so I went on autopilot, emotionally & physically. Come to think of it, I was on autopilot for most of the shower. I smiled, made conversation, retrieved mimosas for guests, did my obligatory pass the baby hold – all with no problem. I felt like I had my entire being bound up tightly in a corset and a smile plastered on my face. I have never worn a corset, or even spanx, but I imagine that is what it would feel like.
I didn’t loosen the corset until a few hours after the shower. And then I blew my entire TCM diet on my own pity party. I ate nearly every leftover from the refrigerator. Yep, straight from the cold refrigerator: blanched vegetables with yogurt & feta dip, lemon cheesecake squares (more dairy), berries and homemade whipping cream (even more dairy). All cold. I felt like a pig but I couldn’t stop grazing. The entire afternoon and evening. I should have done a little yoga or gone for a light jog. But I completely blew it.
The tears started about 6 PM when (oh so sensitive) Cowboy asked me if we were still going camping with my pregnant-with-twins-on-my-due-date friend and her husband at the end of June. I know he was just being Cowboy, planning the next thing. But I’m just tired of all of this right now.
How empty do I have the feel before I can start to become full again?
Thing is, I am in holding pattern. We don’t have our meeting with the RE to get results (if any) until June 12. I am 4 dpo into my 2WW. Maybe I’m pregnant and a camping trip with pregnant-with-twins will be OK. Will I be beyond sad when AF comes? Will I start crying on the camping trip? Will it be a complete slog? Am I just over analyzing it? Do I just go on it and don’t think about it. If it sucks, oh well. You’ll live. Or do I just succumb to living 2WW to 2WW?
Argh! I hate this. It is so frustrating. I wish someone would invent a pregnancy test that tells you right away.
By the way, did anyone have more pronounced 2WW "symptoms" after a round of Clomid? I swear, I feel more emotional every day. And we are talking only 4dpo here, people. Help us all. And my nipples. Ouch. Good lord. This is gonna be one long ass 2ww.
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