46 chromosomes and healthy.
Also, as someone aptly pointed out in the comments, only 10 toes. (Sheesh, can you tell how nerve wracked I was?).
And it looks like we have to change Junior's name to something a little more, um, girly.
Bring on the little pink ski helmet and rhinestone-studded goggles.
Good lord, what is Cowboy going to do with two of us?
Deepest rechaka. Ever.
Friday, December 14, 2007
Thursday, December 13, 2007
CVS update
The CVS drama went well yesterday. I won't have preliminary results until tomorrow (Friday) and official, official results until Dec. 24 or 26. Perfect timing as we will be on our ski trip and most likely out of cell range somewhere in some mountain valley.
The reason they give you 2 results is that they grow a short term culture and then a long term culture. They test each one to ensure that they didn't accidentally grab maternal tissue in the sample, which would throw off the results from the first culture. The genetics counselor explained it better, but that is all I remember from what she told me. I was a little focused on the forthcoming procedure by that point.
In nearly all cases, the result does not change from the short term to the long term culture. So I should be satisifed with tomorrow's result. But, knowing me, I probably won't be.
The procedure was easy and relatively pain-free. If you've had an HSG, a CVS is a snap. On a pain scale, a CVS is a 1 compared to 6 or 7 for an HSG. They used a catheter to go in vaginally due to the position of the placenta. I made Cowboy go with me because I am gradually getting him used to seeing my feet up in the stirrups.
The risks for a CVS are 1 in 200. Miscarriages - if they happen from the actual procedure - generally happen within 48 hours. I have another 20 hours to go.
We also had a pretty detailed ultrasound. Junior was positioned exactly sideways with its face and belly towards my backbone. As such, we got a terrific view of the spine and all of the little ribs. Plus, it's feet were tucked up so that the soles of the feet were pointed towards my belly, giving us the opportunity to count - and marvel at - two tiny little feet and 20 toes. It is about 4 inches long now. Measuring right where it should be with a FHR of 167.
The ultrasound techs at the Maternal Fetal Clinic I went to are strictly trained to be diplomatic. There is only, "this is an arm," "here is a leg." No modifiers or descriptors. No, "this looks perfect." She pointed out the major organs, too. I guess no news is good news at these things. And when the doctor only comes in to perform the procedure, I am taking that as a good sign, as well.
If we want to, we can find out the gender, too. I think that I will find out if everything is OK. If not, I won't.
The reason they give you 2 results is that they grow a short term culture and then a long term culture. They test each one to ensure that they didn't accidentally grab maternal tissue in the sample, which would throw off the results from the first culture. The genetics counselor explained it better, but that is all I remember from what she told me. I was a little focused on the forthcoming procedure by that point.
In nearly all cases, the result does not change from the short term to the long term culture. So I should be satisifed with tomorrow's result. But, knowing me, I probably won't be.
The procedure was easy and relatively pain-free. If you've had an HSG, a CVS is a snap. On a pain scale, a CVS is a 1 compared to 6 or 7 for an HSG. They used a catheter to go in vaginally due to the position of the placenta. I made Cowboy go with me because I am gradually getting him used to seeing my feet up in the stirrups.
The risks for a CVS are 1 in 200. Miscarriages - if they happen from the actual procedure - generally happen within 48 hours. I have another 20 hours to go.
We also had a pretty detailed ultrasound. Junior was positioned exactly sideways with its face and belly towards my backbone. As such, we got a terrific view of the spine and all of the little ribs. Plus, it's feet were tucked up so that the soles of the feet were pointed towards my belly, giving us the opportunity to count - and marvel at - two tiny little feet and 20 toes. It is about 4 inches long now. Measuring right where it should be with a FHR of 167.
The ultrasound techs at the Maternal Fetal Clinic I went to are strictly trained to be diplomatic. There is only, "this is an arm," "here is a leg." No modifiers or descriptors. No, "this looks perfect." She pointed out the major organs, too. I guess no news is good news at these things. And when the doctor only comes in to perform the procedure, I am taking that as a good sign, as well.
If we want to, we can find out the gender, too. I think that I will find out if everything is OK. If not, I won't.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Quick Update
I am so sorry I have been a slack blogger of late. I am sorry I haven't been reading, commenting or offering support.
My work is fever pitch from now until March. The nausea and vomiting have not ceased. I am at 13w3d. Will it ever go away? I have not had an ultrasound or Doppler since before Thanksgiving. Deep breath. My genetics counseling and subsequent CVS is tomorrow at 10 pdt.
Although I want to know. I am so very freaked about it all. Assuming I don't miscarry from it, I will not have the results for another week.
The stress is palpable.
My work is fever pitch from now until March. The nausea and vomiting have not ceased. I am at 13w3d. Will it ever go away? I have not had an ultrasound or Doppler since before Thanksgiving. Deep breath. My genetics counseling and subsequent CVS is tomorrow at 10 pdt.
Although I want to know. I am so very freaked about it all. Assuming I don't miscarry from it, I will not have the results for another week.
The stress is palpable.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Blog you very much
JJ at Reproductive Jeans had just the best idea to post a shout-out to the blogs that inspired you to start yours.
I exactly remember the day I found Stirrup Queens a few weeks after my first miscarriage last November and clicked on a few blogs and started reading. I would read someone's blog from start to finish in one sitting. Before then, I had only heard about blogs on NPR. Here are a few I connected with immediately, sustained me through the dark days and inspired me to begin my own.
So blog you, ladies. Blog you very much.
Apron Strings. Known then as The Oneliner, Christina was (still is) funny and honest. At the time she was still trying to figure out why the basic baby making business wasn't happening for her. In her, I saw another professional woman - similar to myself - struggling. She honestly wrote about ovulation sex fights and being happy one day and beyond sad the next. About being dedicated to her career but wanting (and deserving) so much more. I knew exactly what she was going through. And she made me feel not so alone. I will cry tears of joy the day that Christina becomes someone's mom.
My Dear Watson. Infertility can be such a sad journey. But Watson got sassy with infertility and made it her bitch. She used self-deprecating humor and her terrific writing skills to make it seem not so sad. Each post was a big middle finger in the face of infertility. And then pregnancy. Now I can't wait to see what she writes about motherhood.
Sticky Bun. Have you ever read someone else's post and thought, "that person has been inside my head!" Nearly every one of Sticky's posts were like reading a page from my diary. If we didn't live on opposite sides of the country, I am sure we'd be dragging our husbands to dinner parties together. From hyphenated last names to miscarriages to a strained relationship with the religion in which we were raised, Sticky and I have so much in common. And when our paths were different, Sticky's posts always gracefully reminded me of what the other side might be dealing with.
With much love and thanks to you each.
I exactly remember the day I found Stirrup Queens a few weeks after my first miscarriage last November and clicked on a few blogs and started reading. I would read someone's blog from start to finish in one sitting. Before then, I had only heard about blogs on NPR. Here are a few I connected with immediately, sustained me through the dark days and inspired me to begin my own.
So blog you, ladies. Blog you very much.
Apron Strings. Known then as The Oneliner, Christina was (still is) funny and honest. At the time she was still trying to figure out why the basic baby making business wasn't happening for her. In her, I saw another professional woman - similar to myself - struggling. She honestly wrote about ovulation sex fights and being happy one day and beyond sad the next. About being dedicated to her career but wanting (and deserving) so much more. I knew exactly what she was going through. And she made me feel not so alone. I will cry tears of joy the day that Christina becomes someone's mom.
My Dear Watson. Infertility can be such a sad journey. But Watson got sassy with infertility and made it her bitch. She used self-deprecating humor and her terrific writing skills to make it seem not so sad. Each post was a big middle finger in the face of infertility. And then pregnancy. Now I can't wait to see what she writes about motherhood.
Sticky Bun. Have you ever read someone else's post and thought, "that person has been inside my head!" Nearly every one of Sticky's posts were like reading a page from my diary. If we didn't live on opposite sides of the country, I am sure we'd be dragging our husbands to dinner parties together. From hyphenated last names to miscarriages to a strained relationship with the religion in which we were raised, Sticky and I have so much in common. And when our paths were different, Sticky's posts always gracefully reminded me of what the other side might be dealing with.
With much love and thanks to you each.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Melt Down
Today marks my first (and hopefully last) mini-meltdown on my OB's office. Subject: my ability to get an appointment for genetic testing before I hit the 13w6d cut-off.
The Wednesday before Thanksgiving I had my first regular OB appointment. No fancy u/sound, but I did hear Junior's heartbeat on the Doppler. I am approaching the end of the first trimester (11w2d today), which means time for first trimester genetic screening and testing. I have always been very clear with my OB that I would like a CVS. She supports my decision given the following factors: my age (late 30's) and someone genetically related to us has a child with Trisomy 21.
Much like miscarriage or even infertility, most of us might consider that having a child with the kinds of chromosomal or neural tube issues that can be revealed in utero as something that happens to "other people." And then it happens to someone very close to you. And your perspective changes. Immediately.
As such, I researched all the options available for genetic screening and testing, including the pros and cons, before I ever got pregnant. Additionally, Cowboy and I had discussed and agreed upon our choices and the subsequent decisions given the outcome, again, before we achieved a pregnancy. I don't refer to myself as Ms. Planner for nothing. It was a pact from which neither of us wavered.
Until this pregnancy. Which was so hard won. I found myself wavering. And thinking more about just having the nuchal translucency screen, with no risks of miscarriage, and hedging our bets.
So I talked to the person who has the Down's Syndrome child and pointedly asked which tests she had done. This is not something I wanted to do because, for me, asking sounded a little like blaming. What had she done or not done to determine the risks before the surprise delivery of a baby with Trisomy 21 who had to be airlifted to a bigger hospital minutes after birth because she wasn't breathing and underwent total reconstructive surgery to build a fourth chamber in her heart at age 2 months.
She had done the nuchal translucency test. And was given a 1 and 4,999 chance of having a baby with Down's Syndrome.
Hell, I'd have played those odds, too.
But I'm not going to. If only the maternal-fetal clinic I've been referred to would let me schedule what is my right to request and have: a CVS.
For some reason, the referral from my OB only requests first trimester screening, which is the nuchal translucency screen and genetic counseling. I tried explaining to maternal-fetal clinic that given our family history, I would not even believe the results of an NT screen, so please, just schedule the fucking CVS. That way I can either make the heartbreaking decision or finally bond with this fetus.
But noooo. I had to call my OB's office and outline - in tears with my voice wavering in a high octave - to the nurse-on-duty very clearly why I would like a CVS:
1. I am in my late 30's.
2. This is my third pregnancy and I have no living children.
3. My XXX has a child with Trisomy 21. She had an NT screen, which gave her very low odds of carrying a child with Downs.
4. I am not letting myself bond with this baby until I have answers.
I mean, for fuck's sake. It is not like I just heard about CVS in a blurb in USA Today and decided this was the test for me. My - our - decision is the result of thoughtful primary and secondary research and subsequent discussion. Well, I discussed. Cowboy, in his cowboy-like way, listened and said, "Have the test. The first test you can have."
Thank goodness the nurse was an open and understanding soul. She completely agreed and said she would change and re-fax the referral to the maternal-fetal clinic.
So now I wait for the maternal-fetal clinic to call. Again. I'll have to stop myself from having a little edge of "I told you so" in my voice when I FINALLY schedule the appointment.
I know the subject of genetic testing (amnio and CVS) versus genetic screening (NT scan and quad blood markers) is so deeply personal and scary. With testing, you know absolutely, but there are very clear risks. With screening, there are no risks, but you are only given odds with no guarantees. The decision seems even harder when you factor in the effort taken to even have the privelege to make such choices.
I sometimes wish I didn't think so much. That I was carefree and confident. That I was a happy, bubbly pregnant woman. But that's not me today. I have let this entire process rob me of so much reproductive confidence that I am angry with myself.
I just want to get past this test and the first trimester so I can start to live a little again. Why is that so hard for me right now?
The Wednesday before Thanksgiving I had my first regular OB appointment. No fancy u/sound, but I did hear Junior's heartbeat on the Doppler. I am approaching the end of the first trimester (11w2d today), which means time for first trimester genetic screening and testing. I have always been very clear with my OB that I would like a CVS. She supports my decision given the following factors: my age (late 30's) and someone genetically related to us has a child with Trisomy 21.
Much like miscarriage or even infertility, most of us might consider that having a child with the kinds of chromosomal or neural tube issues that can be revealed in utero as something that happens to "other people." And then it happens to someone very close to you. And your perspective changes. Immediately.
As such, I researched all the options available for genetic screening and testing, including the pros and cons, before I ever got pregnant. Additionally, Cowboy and I had discussed and agreed upon our choices and the subsequent decisions given the outcome, again, before we achieved a pregnancy. I don't refer to myself as Ms. Planner for nothing. It was a pact from which neither of us wavered.
Until this pregnancy. Which was so hard won. I found myself wavering. And thinking more about just having the nuchal translucency screen, with no risks of miscarriage, and hedging our bets.
So I talked to the person who has the Down's Syndrome child and pointedly asked which tests she had done. This is not something I wanted to do because, for me, asking sounded a little like blaming. What had she done or not done to determine the risks before the surprise delivery of a baby with Trisomy 21 who had to be airlifted to a bigger hospital minutes after birth because she wasn't breathing and underwent total reconstructive surgery to build a fourth chamber in her heart at age 2 months.
She had done the nuchal translucency test. And was given a 1 and 4,999 chance of having a baby with Down's Syndrome.
Hell, I'd have played those odds, too.
But I'm not going to. If only the maternal-fetal clinic I've been referred to would let me schedule what is my right to request and have: a CVS.
For some reason, the referral from my OB only requests first trimester screening, which is the nuchal translucency screen and genetic counseling. I tried explaining to maternal-fetal clinic that given our family history, I would not even believe the results of an NT screen, so please, just schedule the fucking CVS. That way I can either make the heartbreaking decision or finally bond with this fetus.
But noooo. I had to call my OB's office and outline - in tears with my voice wavering in a high octave - to the nurse-on-duty very clearly why I would like a CVS:
1. I am in my late 30's.
2. This is my third pregnancy and I have no living children.
3. My XXX has a child with Trisomy 21. She had an NT screen, which gave her very low odds of carrying a child with Downs.
4. I am not letting myself bond with this baby until I have answers.
I mean, for fuck's sake. It is not like I just heard about CVS in a blurb in USA Today and decided this was the test for me. My - our - decision is the result of thoughtful primary and secondary research and subsequent discussion. Well, I discussed. Cowboy, in his cowboy-like way, listened and said, "Have the test. The first test you can have."
Thank goodness the nurse was an open and understanding soul. She completely agreed and said she would change and re-fax the referral to the maternal-fetal clinic.
So now I wait for the maternal-fetal clinic to call. Again. I'll have to stop myself from having a little edge of "I told you so" in my voice when I FINALLY schedule the appointment.
I know the subject of genetic testing (amnio and CVS) versus genetic screening (NT scan and quad blood markers) is so deeply personal and scary. With testing, you know absolutely, but there are very clear risks. With screening, there are no risks, but you are only given odds with no guarantees. The decision seems even harder when you factor in the effort taken to even have the privelege to make such choices.
I sometimes wish I didn't think so much. That I was carefree and confident. That I was a happy, bubbly pregnant woman. But that's not me today. I have let this entire process rob me of so much reproductive confidence that I am angry with myself.
I just want to get past this test and the first trimester so I can start to live a little again. Why is that so hard for me right now?
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
How?
How can I nicely tell my friend to take me off her email list of her exciting pregnancy news? Yes, the same one who spam emailed her 9-week sonogram picture to a dist list of friends & family has recently emailed news announcing she has a daughter in utero to the aforementioned list. I should point out that this friend has no idea I am pregnant. As far as she knows, I am the same person who has had two miscarriages - and nothing more - since TTC a year-and-a-half ago.
How can I nicely tell my other friend that I really enjoy our chances to get together and talk over coffee, but why does she always have to bring her 6-month old? I feel she only plans things with me when her husband is out of town and she therefore brings her son along. This was all but confirmed last weekend when she canceled last minute because her son was sick. And her husband was out of town.
How can I nicely change my attitude so I can accept that my friends lives have changed. That while we may have meant something to each other when we were ensconced in grad school and the years pre-husband-and-family immediately after, that perhaps we don't mean that much to each other now.
Because, in my view, if we did, I would make mental adjustments to embrace and empathize with what they have going on in their lives. And they would do the same in consideration of me.
How can I nicely tell my other friend that I really enjoy our chances to get together and talk over coffee, but why does she always have to bring her 6-month old? I feel she only plans things with me when her husband is out of town and she therefore brings her son along. This was all but confirmed last weekend when she canceled last minute because her son was sick. And her husband was out of town.
How can I nicely change my attitude so I can accept that my friends lives have changed. That while we may have meant something to each other when we were ensconced in grad school and the years pre-husband-and-family immediately after, that perhaps we don't mean that much to each other now.
Because, in my view, if we did, I would make mental adjustments to embrace and empathize with what they have going on in their lives. And they would do the same in consideration of me.
Friday, November 16, 2007
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Graduation Day
Two important milestones today:
First, my beloved golden, Gus, turns 13 today. A teenager. Whoa. I've had Gus since he was a 7-week-old little ball of fur and sharp teeth. He's celebrating the usual way: with a hamburger from a local fast food chain that only uses free range, grassfed beef. How Portland. He always eats the bun first. I am not kidding. He picks his hamburger apart and eats the top then the bottom bun then the meat. Gus loves carbs.
Second, I graduated to the regular OB. Whew! We had ultrasound #2 today at 9w4d and the kid was having a party in there. Moving all around. Cowboy maintained "he" was boxing (I suspect he wants a boy, ya think?) and, indeed, that is what it looked like. I said it was dancing, proving that boy or girl, I expect it to be able to get down with the get down. In other notes, its heartrate and measurements were all exactly where they should be.
By the way, I'm feeling a little horrible because I still refer to Junior as "it". Probably some sort of linguistics defense mechanism.
In a terribly cute, awwww moment, Junior's hand was on his/her/its face and the RE speculated that he/she/it was sucking his/her/its thumb. Which would make it exactly my kid since I sucked my thumb until I was, like, 8 or something.
Criminy, the he/she/it thing is gonna get old. I can't even use the term baby yet. I know, I am horrible. For now, I'll just keep it at "it" and we'll all just deal with my detached callousness.
By the way, if your fur babies want to give a shout out to Gus on his birthday, please do so in the comments. I will read them to him.
First, my beloved golden, Gus, turns 13 today. A teenager. Whoa. I've had Gus since he was a 7-week-old little ball of fur and sharp teeth. He's celebrating the usual way: with a hamburger from a local fast food chain that only uses free range, grassfed beef. How Portland. He always eats the bun first. I am not kidding. He picks his hamburger apart and eats the top then the bottom bun then the meat. Gus loves carbs.
Second, I graduated to the regular OB. Whew! We had ultrasound #2 today at 9w4d and the kid was having a party in there. Moving all around. Cowboy maintained "he" was boxing (I suspect he wants a boy, ya think?) and, indeed, that is what it looked like. I said it was dancing, proving that boy or girl, I expect it to be able to get down with the get down. In other notes, its heartrate and measurements were all exactly where they should be.
By the way, I'm feeling a little horrible because I still refer to Junior as "it". Probably some sort of linguistics defense mechanism.
In a terribly cute, awwww moment, Junior's hand was on his/her/its face and the RE speculated that he/she/it was sucking his/her/its thumb. Which would make it exactly my kid since I sucked my thumb until I was, like, 8 or something.
Criminy, the he/she/it thing is gonna get old. I can't even use the term baby yet. I know, I am horrible. For now, I'll just keep it at "it" and we'll all just deal with my detached callousness.
By the way, if your fur babies want to give a shout out to Gus on his birthday, please do so in the comments. I will read them to him.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Fun with Cucumbers
I am not going to complain about being nauseous. Instead, I'm trying to have fun with it. I mean, after a fucking month of daily sickness reminiscent of the feeling you get the day after a "beer-before-liquor-never-sicker" college party, you gotta do something to find a little humor in it. Or you start to pout. And no one likes a pouter after the cuteness wears off.
After years of carefully crafting our weekly household menu (including vegetarian night, which Cowboy hates), I find I can no longer plan anything because I have to indulge in whatever I feel like I might be able to keep down RIGHT THEN AND THERE.
If I don't, I turn ravenous, which quickly turns to nausea and the cycle starts all over again. Leaving me munching on graham crackers at the edge of the bathroom door.
Which means a lot of last minute trips to the grocery store where I buy something completely practical, like, say, 5 cucumbers.
I was feeling horrible on Sunday when the thought of cold cucumber slices popped into my head. Without hesitation, I drove to the store and could not think about anything other than buying cucumbers. I didn't really think about what I was doing, how this might look to the average New Seasons shopper until I was piling them into my grocery basket.
I suppose I could have saved face by buying some other grocery items but thinking about cucumbers was THE ONLY THING that kept me from feeling like I was going to hurl.
Grocery stores are hard enough with all the smells. I needed to get the damn cucumbers and get the hell out.
I also suppose I just could have bought my cucumber stash without looking up and slinking out of the store. But I was so darn sick of feeling sick that I decided I would control this party. It was not gonna control me.
So, just for fun, I shoved my wedding band into my jeans pocket while waiting in the check out line. And for more fun, I picked a guy checker. A cute one.
And to amuse my pathetic self further, I replied, "Oh I will," with arched eyebrows and a little grin when he bade me to have a good day.
At least I was the story du jour of the girl-who-bought-five-cucumbers-and-nothing-more rather than the girl who threw up in the produce department.
After years of carefully crafting our weekly household menu (including vegetarian night, which Cowboy hates), I find I can no longer plan anything because I have to indulge in whatever I feel like I might be able to keep down RIGHT THEN AND THERE.
If I don't, I turn ravenous, which quickly turns to nausea and the cycle starts all over again. Leaving me munching on graham crackers at the edge of the bathroom door.
Which means a lot of last minute trips to the grocery store where I buy something completely practical, like, say, 5 cucumbers.
I was feeling horrible on Sunday when the thought of cold cucumber slices popped into my head. Without hesitation, I drove to the store and could not think about anything other than buying cucumbers. I didn't really think about what I was doing, how this might look to the average New Seasons shopper until I was piling them into my grocery basket.
I suppose I could have saved face by buying some other grocery items but thinking about cucumbers was THE ONLY THING that kept me from feeling like I was going to hurl.
Grocery stores are hard enough with all the smells. I needed to get the damn cucumbers and get the hell out.
I also suppose I just could have bought my cucumber stash without looking up and slinking out of the store. But I was so darn sick of feeling sick that I decided I would control this party. It was not gonna control me.
So, just for fun, I shoved my wedding band into my jeans pocket while waiting in the check out line. And for more fun, I picked a guy checker. A cute one.
And to amuse my pathetic self further, I replied, "Oh I will," with arched eyebrows and a little grin when he bade me to have a good day.
At least I was the story du jour of the girl-who-bought-five-cucumbers-and-nothing-more rather than the girl who threw up in the produce department.
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Vote!
Hopefully you voted today if you live in the U.S.
Today means that there is officially only one year left in the presidential administration of He-Who-Shall-Remain-Nameless-on-this-Blog. Thankfully it is almost over.
Even if you don't live in the U.S., you, too, can vote today. Click here to vote for Stirrup Queens as the best medical-related blog. Having one of our own win this award would really shine the spotlight on the issue of infertility. You know, experts estimate that within a few years infertility will affect 1 in 8 couples. That puts the pervasiveness of infertility in the ranks with breast cancer.
Plus, Mel - quite simply - rocks. She's Jewish, but I'm calling her Saint Mel. Because finding Stirrup Queens literally saved my soul in the darkest days after my first miscarriage. Please go vote for her!
Today means that there is officially only one year left in the presidential administration of He-Who-Shall-Remain-Nameless-on-this-Blog. Thankfully it is almost over.
Even if you don't live in the U.S., you, too, can vote today. Click here to vote for Stirrup Queens as the best medical-related blog. Having one of our own win this award would really shine the spotlight on the issue of infertility. You know, experts estimate that within a few years infertility will affect 1 in 8 couples. That puts the pervasiveness of infertility in the ranks with breast cancer.
Plus, Mel - quite simply - rocks. She's Jewish, but I'm calling her Saint Mel. Because finding Stirrup Queens literally saved my soul in the darkest days after my first miscarriage. Please go vote for her!
Monday, November 5, 2007
Lemon!
Not only is it one of my favorite U2 songs, but I recently looked up - and only because I was absolutely desperate - tried this remedy for nausea:
Suck on slices of fresh lemon sprinkled with salt
Yes, it makes your face contort in a manner that has your "supportive" husband making fun of you AND tastes vaguely like the lemon-flavored Sour Patch kids candy (not a bad thing in my book). But, I swear, try 2 or 3 of these slices of goodness when you are feeling at your lowest and it gives you some temporary relief.
Word of caution: remedy does not work when you are starving and therefore caught in a cycle of nausea and low blood sugar. It just makes you retch more quickly.
Any other tried and true remedies out there?
Suck on slices of fresh lemon sprinkled with salt
Yes, it makes your face contort in a manner that has your "supportive" husband making fun of you AND tastes vaguely like the lemon-flavored Sour Patch kids candy (not a bad thing in my book). But, I swear, try 2 or 3 of these slices of goodness when you are feeling at your lowest and it gives you some temporary relief.
Word of caution: remedy does not work when you are starving and therefore caught in a cycle of nausea and low blood sugar. It just makes you retch more quickly.
Any other tried and true remedies out there?
Friday, November 2, 2007
Freakin' Fertiles (volume 1)
Since I promised I would not be ingrateful and complain about pregnancy stuff on this blog, I have another thing to complain about: fertiles.
I’m gonna be mean. Because I’m cranky. So if you are looking for some nice, sweet post - you ain’t gonna find it here.
Freakin’ Fertile story #1: Early in October, before I knew I was pregnant, I was perusing Craig’s List because I was posting a few big ticket items I didn’t sell during my tag sale. Just for kicks, I typed in the name of a baby high chair I've always imagined we’d have. You know, just to see if anyone was selling one used and for what price. Mere curiosity. Well, apparently some fertile was into this brand, too, because she had posted a "wanted" listing for a crib. Only she didn’t need the item until she was due. In May! This was early October. She was due in mid May. You do the math. Uh-huh. I mean, I hope it works out for her and all, but how’s that for getting carried away with your preggers self?
Freakin’ Fertile story #2: I am helping with invitations for a baby shower for a friend. The shower is a "white of winter" themed fete and guests are asked to bring a white-themed gift. The mother-to-be – who requested the white theme – asked me to include a line on the invitations requesting that guests not bring disposable diapers as a gift. (I guess chances are pretty high that someone would bring the proverbial cake o’ diapers to a white-themed baby shower.) Instead, I am asked to include something to the effect that the new parents are – and I quote – "saving the environment by using gdiapers." As fucking if. A little self righteous, eh? If you really want to save the environment use cloth.
Okay, enough from little Miss Cranky Pants for today. If you have a fun Freakin’ Fertile story, please do share.
I’m gonna be mean. Because I’m cranky. So if you are looking for some nice, sweet post - you ain’t gonna find it here.
Freakin’ Fertile story #1: Early in October, before I knew I was pregnant, I was perusing Craig’s List because I was posting a few big ticket items I didn’t sell during my tag sale. Just for kicks, I typed in the name of a baby high chair I've always imagined we’d have. You know, just to see if anyone was selling one used and for what price. Mere curiosity. Well, apparently some fertile was into this brand, too, because she had posted a "wanted" listing for a crib. Only she didn’t need the item until she was due. In May! This was early October. She was due in mid May. You do the math. Uh-huh. I mean, I hope it works out for her and all, but how’s that for getting carried away with your preggers self?
Freakin’ Fertile story #2: I am helping with invitations for a baby shower for a friend. The shower is a "white of winter" themed fete and guests are asked to bring a white-themed gift. The mother-to-be – who requested the white theme – asked me to include a line on the invitations requesting that guests not bring disposable diapers as a gift. (I guess chances are pretty high that someone would bring the proverbial cake o’ diapers to a white-themed baby shower.) Instead, I am asked to include something to the effect that the new parents are – and I quote – "saving the environment by using gdiapers." As fucking if. A little self righteous, eh? If you really want to save the environment use cloth.
Okay, enough from little Miss Cranky Pants for today. If you have a fun Freakin’ Fertile story, please do share.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Barren Bitches Book Tour #7: Happiness Sold Separately, by Lolly Winston (Group B)
#1. On pages 51-52, Elinor discusses her abortion experience. She says choices are a fairytale and that she had always been pro-choice but now realized she had no choice. Has your stance on abortion changed at all since you began suffering from infertility?
Since I learned the difference between pro-life and pro-choice, I have always supported a woman’s right to control her reproductive destiny. As we considered our options down the road – ART versus adoption – I tended to lean more toward the adoption route. While I thought my beliefs on abortion might change the further we walked down the adoption path, they never did.
I remain steadfast that no one has the right to tell anyone what they should so with their body. The way my logic sees it, you if allow one to meddle in a women’s right to end her pregnancy, then we also have to put up with meddling in all sorts of other reproductive capacities, from donor eggs, freezing, donor sperm, surrogates, etc. And that kind of meddling, in my opinion, will lead us back to the dark ages.
#4. One of the parts of the book that brought me to tears was when the oak tree that Elinor loves is chopped down. The tree had become a solid source of support for her, something that gave her comfort following the failure of fertility treatment and the separation with her husband, so its loss was devastating. Have you found something inanimate that has provided you with such support? What happened (or what would happen) when you lost that support?
I loved this question because I almost cried, too, when the Elinor’s oak tree is chopped down. We have a lovely old black walnut tree in the park right behind our house. It shades our house in the summer and has grown wide branches that obscure our backyard and porch from the park’s playground. (As you can imagine, I sometimes get sad looking at the playground).
When they were building the park, I used to have nightmares that I would come home from work and find the tree gone. I would not love my house so much if that tree were not there.
A few weeks ago, my husband trimmed back the tree’s lower branches in preparation for winter. We get big wind storms off the Pacific Ocean in the fall and the branches often break off, hitting our windows. This season, however, he trimmed them back so far that I can see the playground and the other houses across the park. Upon seeing this, I nearly went into a rage. He thought I was being a possessed bitch (and probably with good reason) but I felt so exposed with those branches gone. I still miss them and wish they would grow back quickly. I could not imagine how depressed I would be if the entire tree, like Elinor’s, was gone too.
Now that I have almost gotten over the branch-removal-episode, I must admit that it is fun to watch the squirrels jump from our fence to the now-higher branches. Quite the little athletes they are.
5. At the very close of the book, having discovered her balanced translocation, Elinor likens herself to a screwed up silverware drawer. "Yet there's solace in discovering something is tangibly wrong. A diagnosis rather than you're old" Have you ever felt like this? Do you have a diagnosis for your fertility problems? Was it a relief? If your problem is unidentified, or age is against you, do you wish that you did have a reason?
After my second miscarriage, I had the recurrent pregnancy loss panel done. Mercifully, my doctors generally begin testing after two miscarriages. I vividly remember the first day at the RE’s office. I felt a little giddy because I thought they would find something (a HA!), I would just take a magic pill and viola! baby. Turns out it never is that simple, is it? And even when you do have something tangibly diagnosed – as I know from reading these blogs – the path from diagnosis is often a tough road, too.
I was both relieved and pissed to find out that nothing was really wrong except for my age (I am in my late 30’s but my FSH was in the normal range) and that my progesterone was low. The well-your-age-is-a-factor was the toughest pill to swallow. I blamed myself for waiting. My husband for wanting to wait. And sat by dumbfounded as friend after friend – not to mention celebrities – in their late 30’s and beyond got pregnant with little problem.
I am newly pregnant again. And while I am on 600mg of prometrium a day, my progesterone has hovered around 26 for my entire pregnancy thus far. I can’t help but believe that my low progesterone levels (no matter what the differing studies say) may have complicated my earlier pregnancies when I wasn’t getting any progesterone support. If this one makes it, I will be so relieved. I will try not to be bitter about the other ones and be thankful for what I have, but I will always wonder…
# # #
Like what you read here and are intrigued to see what other's thought about Happiness Sold Separately? Hop along to another stop on this blog tour by visiting the main list at http://stirrup-queens.blogspot.com/.
You can also sign up for the next book on this online book club: The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood.
Since I learned the difference between pro-life and pro-choice, I have always supported a woman’s right to control her reproductive destiny. As we considered our options down the road – ART versus adoption – I tended to lean more toward the adoption route. While I thought my beliefs on abortion might change the further we walked down the adoption path, they never did.
I remain steadfast that no one has the right to tell anyone what they should so with their body. The way my logic sees it, you if allow one to meddle in a women’s right to end her pregnancy, then we also have to put up with meddling in all sorts of other reproductive capacities, from donor eggs, freezing, donor sperm, surrogates, etc. And that kind of meddling, in my opinion, will lead us back to the dark ages.
#4. One of the parts of the book that brought me to tears was when the oak tree that Elinor loves is chopped down. The tree had become a solid source of support for her, something that gave her comfort following the failure of fertility treatment and the separation with her husband, so its loss was devastating. Have you found something inanimate that has provided you with such support? What happened (or what would happen) when you lost that support?
I loved this question because I almost cried, too, when the Elinor’s oak tree is chopped down. We have a lovely old black walnut tree in the park right behind our house. It shades our house in the summer and has grown wide branches that obscure our backyard and porch from the park’s playground. (As you can imagine, I sometimes get sad looking at the playground).
When they were building the park, I used to have nightmares that I would come home from work and find the tree gone. I would not love my house so much if that tree were not there.
A few weeks ago, my husband trimmed back the tree’s lower branches in preparation for winter. We get big wind storms off the Pacific Ocean in the fall and the branches often break off, hitting our windows. This season, however, he trimmed them back so far that I can see the playground and the other houses across the park. Upon seeing this, I nearly went into a rage. He thought I was being a possessed bitch (and probably with good reason) but I felt so exposed with those branches gone. I still miss them and wish they would grow back quickly. I could not imagine how depressed I would be if the entire tree, like Elinor’s, was gone too.
Now that I have almost gotten over the branch-removal-episode, I must admit that it is fun to watch the squirrels jump from our fence to the now-higher branches. Quite the little athletes they are.
5. At the very close of the book, having discovered her balanced translocation, Elinor likens herself to a screwed up silverware drawer. "Yet there's solace in discovering something is tangibly wrong. A diagnosis rather than you're old" Have you ever felt like this? Do you have a diagnosis for your fertility problems? Was it a relief? If your problem is unidentified, or age is against you, do you wish that you did have a reason?
After my second miscarriage, I had the recurrent pregnancy loss panel done. Mercifully, my doctors generally begin testing after two miscarriages. I vividly remember the first day at the RE’s office. I felt a little giddy because I thought they would find something (a HA!), I would just take a magic pill and viola! baby. Turns out it never is that simple, is it? And even when you do have something tangibly diagnosed – as I know from reading these blogs – the path from diagnosis is often a tough road, too.
I was both relieved and pissed to find out that nothing was really wrong except for my age (I am in my late 30’s but my FSH was in the normal range) and that my progesterone was low. The well-your-age-is-a-factor was the toughest pill to swallow. I blamed myself for waiting. My husband for wanting to wait. And sat by dumbfounded as friend after friend – not to mention celebrities – in their late 30’s and beyond got pregnant with little problem.
I am newly pregnant again. And while I am on 600mg of prometrium a day, my progesterone has hovered around 26 for my entire pregnancy thus far. I can’t help but believe that my low progesterone levels (no matter what the differing studies say) may have complicated my earlier pregnancies when I wasn’t getting any progesterone support. If this one makes it, I will be so relieved. I will try not to be bitter about the other ones and be thankful for what I have, but I will always wonder…
# # #
Like what you read here and are intrigued to see what other's thought about Happiness Sold Separately? Hop along to another stop on this blog tour by visiting the main list at http://stirrup-queens.blogspot.com/.
You can also sign up for the next book on this online book club: The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
In praise of median
Ultrasound #1 at 6w4d = median.
Median meaning that Junior (and there is only one of them) measured spot on the median for everything: crown-to-rump size, gestational sac size and heartrate.
Hurdle #3 cleared. Deep exhale.
At this point, being in the center of the bell curve is good. Normal is comforting. The fact that Junior is entirely average brings me a few days of peace.
My progesterone. That's another story. Even with supplementing 600mg a day, it is only at 26.9. So I am still on suppositories 3x a day. Good thing our local coupon book (you know, the kind your neighbor kid suckers you into buying for $20 so their school can buy rock climbing ladders for the playground) had a page - a whole page! - of coupons for Naturelle organic cotton pantyliners. I think it was meant to be, but still, ugh, gross.
I am so sorry that I did not post on Thursday. You see, immediately on the heels of my ultrasound was a business trip. And I was so nervous and focused on the ultrasound that I forgot to pack my laptop (!) and my toothbrush. By the time I returned last night, I was so tired I went immediately to bed (um, that would be at 8:30 on a Friday night - LAME). This morning, I just recovered from several hours of I-must-lay-here-very-still-because-I-feel-like-I-am-going-to-hurl-at-any-moment.
Ultrasound #2 is November 15 at 9w4d. At this point, let's just assume I get there. Like ultrasound #1, this one takes place on the birthday of someone I love: my dog's 13th birthday. I can't believe I have a teenager! Lordy. Ultrasound #1 was on the birthday of my best gal, JZ.
Between now and then I have to figure out how I am going to get Cowboy there. See, until Thursday, Cowboy had not attended a single lady-bits-appointment with me. We both liked it that way. But this time, I am a mean wife because while I informed him we were going for an ultrasound, I neglected to include the word "transvaginal" in front of ultrasound. I will never forget the trapped look in his eyes when the nurse asked me to disrobe from the waist down.
Nor the amused grin he flashed when I gestured to the condom-covered dildo cam in the center of the room.
"I wonder if those are magnum sized," were his only words.
Median meaning that Junior (and there is only one of them) measured spot on the median for everything: crown-to-rump size, gestational sac size and heartrate.
Hurdle #3 cleared. Deep exhale.
At this point, being in the center of the bell curve is good. Normal is comforting. The fact that Junior is entirely average brings me a few days of peace.
My progesterone. That's another story. Even with supplementing 600mg a day, it is only at 26.9. So I am still on suppositories 3x a day. Good thing our local coupon book (you know, the kind your neighbor kid suckers you into buying for $20 so their school can buy rock climbing ladders for the playground) had a page - a whole page! - of coupons for Naturelle organic cotton pantyliners. I think it was meant to be, but still, ugh, gross.
I am so sorry that I did not post on Thursday. You see, immediately on the heels of my ultrasound was a business trip. And I was so nervous and focused on the ultrasound that I forgot to pack my laptop (!) and my toothbrush. By the time I returned last night, I was so tired I went immediately to bed (um, that would be at 8:30 on a Friday night - LAME). This morning, I just recovered from several hours of I-must-lay-here-very-still-because-I-feel-like-I-am-going-to-hurl-at-any-moment.
Ultrasound #2 is November 15 at 9w4d. At this point, let's just assume I get there. Like ultrasound #1, this one takes place on the birthday of someone I love: my dog's 13th birthday. I can't believe I have a teenager! Lordy. Ultrasound #1 was on the birthday of my best gal, JZ.
Between now and then I have to figure out how I am going to get Cowboy there. See, until Thursday, Cowboy had not attended a single lady-bits-appointment with me. We both liked it that way. But this time, I am a mean wife because while I informed him we were going for an ultrasound, I neglected to include the word "transvaginal" in front of ultrasound. I will never forget the trapped look in his eyes when the nurse asked me to disrobe from the waist down.
Nor the amused grin he flashed when I gestured to the condom-covered dildo cam in the center of the room.
"I wonder if those are magnum sized," were his only words.
Friday, October 19, 2007
Half Pregnant
Have you ever heard the saying, "you can’t be half pregnant." You either are. Or you aren’t.
I am living proof that you can indeed be half pregnant.
I am pregnant. I have 7 HPTs in my desk drawer and 2 decent HCG betas to prove it. But I am not letting myself feel pregnant. I don’t want to re-join the club unless I am certain I won’t be kicked out of it. Again.
My two week wait went by amazingly fast. Even when I suspected I might be pregnant ("hmmm, why am I ordering a milkshake? I never crave milkshakes."), I didn’t dwell on it. Since seeing two lines two weeks ago, time has slowed to a crawl.
My first ultrasound is on Thursday, Oct. 25. A day of which I am terrified. And a date that can’t get here fast enough.
I have symptoms, I try to rationalize to myself. My boobs are sore and feel denser by the day. I literally conk out at 2 in the afternoon. Luckily, no one minds. Today I feel like I have a hangover: tired, a little nauseous, blah. I am not complaining. In fact, I secretly delight in these feelings.
And that’s when I start to feel like a fraud. What if this is all one big, cruel rouse? I go around acting like I am pregnant and feel like I might be called out at any moment: "You! Yes, you, over there. Not pregnant anymore! Please leave the room."
Yesterday, another symptom started – light cramping. Not really cramping but more like a stretching or pulling horizontally across my lower abdomen. I hate this symptom. It has me on edge. I read somewhere that this is normal. That the uterus is stretching. But in my experience, cramping of any kind = very bad. So I am nervous.
And I promised myself. Absolutely promised that I would not complain. I knew that the early stages of being pregnant would be the toughest for me. To that end, I am disappointed in myself that I'm even posting this. But these thoughts, they need some place to go.
So every day I wake up and say my mantra, "Today, I am pregnant."
And I so want to believe it and embrace it. But I haven’t quite figured out what kind of grasp to use.
I am living proof that you can indeed be half pregnant.
I am pregnant. I have 7 HPTs in my desk drawer and 2 decent HCG betas to prove it. But I am not letting myself feel pregnant. I don’t want to re-join the club unless I am certain I won’t be kicked out of it. Again.
My two week wait went by amazingly fast. Even when I suspected I might be pregnant ("hmmm, why am I ordering a milkshake? I never crave milkshakes."), I didn’t dwell on it. Since seeing two lines two weeks ago, time has slowed to a crawl.
My first ultrasound is on Thursday, Oct. 25. A day of which I am terrified. And a date that can’t get here fast enough.
I have symptoms, I try to rationalize to myself. My boobs are sore and feel denser by the day. I literally conk out at 2 in the afternoon. Luckily, no one minds. Today I feel like I have a hangover: tired, a little nauseous, blah. I am not complaining. In fact, I secretly delight in these feelings.
And that’s when I start to feel like a fraud. What if this is all one big, cruel rouse? I go around acting like I am pregnant and feel like I might be called out at any moment: "You! Yes, you, over there. Not pregnant anymore! Please leave the room."
Yesterday, another symptom started – light cramping. Not really cramping but more like a stretching or pulling horizontally across my lower abdomen. I hate this symptom. It has me on edge. I read somewhere that this is normal. That the uterus is stretching. But in my experience, cramping of any kind = very bad. So I am nervous.
And I promised myself. Absolutely promised that I would not complain. I knew that the early stages of being pregnant would be the toughest for me. To that end, I am disappointed in myself that I'm even posting this. But these thoughts, they need some place to go.
So every day I wake up and say my mantra, "Today, I am pregnant."
And I so want to believe it and embrace it. But I haven’t quite figured out what kind of grasp to use.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
8 More Things About Me
The lovely, always artistic, Von at Murphy is a Bastard recently nominated me for the 8 things about me theme. Since I love writing about myself more than anything in the world, I was thrilled to receive this task. We now interrupt our regularly scheduled programming of beta results and progesterone levels* for
8 Things About Me.
1) Similar to Miss Von, I have never had a one-night stand. This fact is the God’s honest truth but I only put this in here because my mom reads my blog.
2) I snowboarded for 12 years before I started skiing. Usually it’s the other way around.
3) For our honeymoon we went to Tasmania and New Zealand. Most of my honeymoon was spent sleeping in a tent or backpacker’s cabin with the exception of a glorious B&B we were surprised with in New Zealand. In Tasmania, we backpacked to the summit of this obscure peak called Frenchman’s Cap. This was of Cowboy’s choosing. Getting there required us slogging through 5K of mud bogs. And slogging it was. I was three days into my marriage and up to my thighs (no joke) in mud. I will tell you about the leeches another time.
4) While on our Frenchman’s Cap trek, we had this huge backpacker’s cabin to ourselves. We wrote in the cabin log that we were there on our honeymoon and, hence, gave every bunk platform a go. But it was all a big lie. After hiking through mud bogs and leeches on Day 1 and a 12-hour summit and back on Day 2, we were too tired to touch each other.
That is Cowboy in his technical hiking knickers. He will love that I published this photo on the internet. Note clothes drying above from aforementioned mud bog foray.
5) I grew up in Texas but am from a family of flaming liberals. They exist in that state. For real. I can prove it.
6) I have been practicing Ashtanga yoga for five years (practicing religiously for about 2) and still have one more pose – supta kurmasana – to go before I master the Primary – yes, as in first – series.
7) When I was a little girl in Texas we had a tornado warning in our town. We were scared to go to bed so our parents put us in our pajamas and let us pick 2 small items from our room that we could hold on to in case we had to take shelter in the bathroom at the center of the house. I choose my stuffed bunny – which I still have – and my poster of Parker Stevenson of the Frank Hardy "Hardy Boys" television show. Because the poster was big and my rescue item needed to be small, I folded the poster into a thick, small square and STUFFED IT DOWN MY UNDERPANTS lest I lose it. Sadly, I no longer have the poster of Parker.**
8) It may sound shallow, but one of my absolute most favorite possessions is my wedding band. I hope I have a child or maybe even a grandchild to give it to one day.
* Today's chocolate milkshake was divine.
** My sister chose her Shaun Cassidy as Joe Hardy "Hardy Boys" poster. So even if our house had been reduced to smithers, we could have taken solace in our matching set of Hardy Boys posters.
In turn I nominate these ladies for the 8 Things About Me theme:
WordGirl at Blood Signs
Liz at Missed Conceptions
Amy at Waiting for…?
Cannot wait to read what y'all write. Many thanks to Von for helping take my mind off the oh-my-god-am-I-still-pregnant-? train for a brief while.
8 Things About Me.
1) Similar to Miss Von, I have never had a one-night stand. This fact is the God’s honest truth but I only put this in here because my mom reads my blog.
2) I snowboarded for 12 years before I started skiing. Usually it’s the other way around.
3) For our honeymoon we went to Tasmania and New Zealand. Most of my honeymoon was spent sleeping in a tent or backpacker’s cabin with the exception of a glorious B&B we were surprised with in New Zealand. In Tasmania, we backpacked to the summit of this obscure peak called Frenchman’s Cap. This was of Cowboy’s choosing. Getting there required us slogging through 5K of mud bogs. And slogging it was. I was three days into my marriage and up to my thighs (no joke) in mud. I will tell you about the leeches another time.
4) While on our Frenchman’s Cap trek, we had this huge backpacker’s cabin to ourselves. We wrote in the cabin log that we were there on our honeymoon and, hence, gave every bunk platform a go. But it was all a big lie. After hiking through mud bogs and leeches on Day 1 and a 12-hour summit and back on Day 2, we were too tired to touch each other.
That is Cowboy in his technical hiking knickers. He will love that I published this photo on the internet. Note clothes drying above from aforementioned mud bog foray.
5) I grew up in Texas but am from a family of flaming liberals. They exist in that state. For real. I can prove it.
6) I have been practicing Ashtanga yoga for five years (practicing religiously for about 2) and still have one more pose – supta kurmasana – to go before I master the Primary – yes, as in first – series.
7) When I was a little girl in Texas we had a tornado warning in our town. We were scared to go to bed so our parents put us in our pajamas and let us pick 2 small items from our room that we could hold on to in case we had to take shelter in the bathroom at the center of the house. I choose my stuffed bunny – which I still have – and my poster of Parker Stevenson of the Frank Hardy "Hardy Boys" television show. Because the poster was big and my rescue item needed to be small, I folded the poster into a thick, small square and STUFFED IT DOWN MY UNDERPANTS lest I lose it. Sadly, I no longer have the poster of Parker.**
8) It may sound shallow, but one of my absolute most favorite possessions is my wedding band. I hope I have a child or maybe even a grandchild to give it to one day.
* Today's chocolate milkshake was divine.
** My sister chose her Shaun Cassidy as Joe Hardy "Hardy Boys" poster. So even if our house had been reduced to smithers, we could have taken solace in our matching set of Hardy Boys posters.
In turn I nominate these ladies for the 8 Things About Me theme:
WordGirl at Blood Signs
Liz at Missed Conceptions
Amy at Waiting for…?
Cannot wait to read what y'all write. Many thanks to Von for helping take my mind off the oh-my-god-am-I-still-pregnant-? train for a brief while.
Friday, October 12, 2007
My Milkshake Brings All the Boys to the Yard
Today's beta at 18dpo (4wk6days since LMP) = 2049
I hope this is good. The nurse indicated it was.
Originally my paperwork today read that they were not testing for progesterone. I asked the gal who takes the blood in the office if she would kindly ask the nurse, who would ask Dr. Stretch, if they could test for progesterone. She said she would. But I wouldn't be Ms. Planner if I didn't cover all my bases, so I called the clinic before I even exited its parking garage and asked Dr. Stretch's nurse to please, please, please test my progesterone level.
I just had this feeling, this strong intuition that my progesterone needed to tracked. And good thing I asked for it because my progesterone level actually went down (yikes!) to 25.9 and so now I am on 200mg of progesterone 3x per day.
From what I have read I know there is a lot of mixed opinions about progesterone supplementation. And you can bet I'll be researching it all this weekend. Hello old friend, Dr. Google.
Some argue that a healty embryo would be producing adequate amounts of progesterone. And low progesterone is indicative of an unhealthy embryo. Others supplement with progesterone, monitor their levels and viola! healthy baby. I know which hypothesis I want to believe.
If anyone has any beta on progesterone supplementation, anecdotally or whatever, I would really appreciate hearing it. Because, of course, I am relieved with the 2049 HCG level, but completely freaked out about my progesterone levels.
You can bet I'll be calling my RE next Friday begging for another progesterone test. I've already got it in my calendar.
First u/s is scheduled for Thurs., Oct. 25 (assuming we get there). Tomorrow I am at 5wk0day, which is when I lost Junior #2. Making it past then will be a milestone of sorts. I hope I will be celebrating with a milkshake.
I hope this is good. The nurse indicated it was.
Originally my paperwork today read that they were not testing for progesterone. I asked the gal who takes the blood in the office if she would kindly ask the nurse, who would ask Dr. Stretch, if they could test for progesterone. She said she would. But I wouldn't be Ms. Planner if I didn't cover all my bases, so I called the clinic before I even exited its parking garage and asked Dr. Stretch's nurse to please, please, please test my progesterone level.
I just had this feeling, this strong intuition that my progesterone needed to tracked. And good thing I asked for it because my progesterone level actually went down (yikes!) to 25.9 and so now I am on 200mg of progesterone 3x per day.
From what I have read I know there is a lot of mixed opinions about progesterone supplementation. And you can bet I'll be researching it all this weekend. Hello old friend, Dr. Google.
Some argue that a healty embryo would be producing adequate amounts of progesterone. And low progesterone is indicative of an unhealthy embryo. Others supplement with progesterone, monitor their levels and viola! healthy baby. I know which hypothesis I want to believe.
If anyone has any beta on progesterone supplementation, anecdotally or whatever, I would really appreciate hearing it. Because, of course, I am relieved with the 2049 HCG level, but completely freaked out about my progesterone levels.
You can bet I'll be calling my RE next Friday begging for another progesterone test. I've already got it in my calendar.
First u/s is scheduled for Thurs., Oct. 25 (assuming we get there). Tomorrow I am at 5wk0day, which is when I lost Junior #2. Making it past then will be a milestone of sorts. I hope I will be celebrating with a milkshake.
Monday, October 8, 2007
Plan A lives to see another day
I want to thank each one of you for leaving your optimistic comments on my blog. They are helping me tremendously right now.
I really, really appreciate your thoughtfulness and good wishes. I will be thanking each of you personally and apologize to those I have not gotten to yet if I don't post a thank-you right away. You see, on top of all of this, I have another business trip and a huge market research project due this week. At least that will keep me from obsessing over beta levels. Yeah. Right. I didn't convince you either.
Speaking of beta levels, at 4wks2days mine are = 210
Progesterone = 26.9
I don't know if these are good or bad. My first pregnancy, I didn't know what an HCG beta was. My second one, by the time I received my beta it was a 9 (and taken after a positive HPT so I knew which direction we were headed). My progesterone test for the second pregnancy came back a 2. Not so great.
Dr. Stretch's cheery nice nurse said 210 was "very good" for where I am in my cycle. And they like anything over 20 on the progesterone scale. I don't know. Shouldn't my progesterone be higher? I am to continue with 200 mg of progesterone suppositories 2x daily.
I go back in on Friday morning for another beta and will update. I couldn't make it any earlier because I will be in Salt Lake City.
Also went to a new acupuncturist today. She is a naturopathic doctor who is also a licensed acupuncturist specializing in OBGYN issues. I liked her because she had read my medical file from my RE (unlike my previous shaman who said she wouldn't even understand a Western doctor's medical notes. WTF!?). This new one also does not do herbs, which I like because I think the herb concoction made me a bit looney. I haven't taken herbs since August and honestly feel like everything is a little bit clearer without them.
The new acupuncturist/ND gave me a quick treatment used for recurrent miscarriage. I felt okay, a bit relaxed, but not blissed out. She wants me to come back once a week but I don't dare schedule an appointment beyond one week's time.
So Plan A lives to see another day. The next part of the plan is to make it to Friday at 4:00-ish PM, which is when Dr. Stretch's crew will call with beta results.
I remember I once wrote that getting pregnant was just half my battle. Now I am battling like my life depends upon it.
Please, please, please let it be a good result on Friday.
I really, really appreciate your thoughtfulness and good wishes. I will be thanking each of you personally and apologize to those I have not gotten to yet if I don't post a thank-you right away. You see, on top of all of this, I have another business trip and a huge market research project due this week. At least that will keep me from obsessing over beta levels. Yeah. Right. I didn't convince you either.
Speaking of beta levels, at 4wks2days mine are = 210
Progesterone = 26.9
I don't know if these are good or bad. My first pregnancy, I didn't know what an HCG beta was. My second one, by the time I received my beta it was a 9 (and taken after a positive HPT so I knew which direction we were headed). My progesterone test for the second pregnancy came back a 2. Not so great.
Dr. Stretch's cheery nice nurse said 210 was "very good" for where I am in my cycle. And they like anything over 20 on the progesterone scale. I don't know. Shouldn't my progesterone be higher? I am to continue with 200 mg of progesterone suppositories 2x daily.
I go back in on Friday morning for another beta and will update. I couldn't make it any earlier because I will be in Salt Lake City.
Also went to a new acupuncturist today. She is a naturopathic doctor who is also a licensed acupuncturist specializing in OBGYN issues. I liked her because she had read my medical file from my RE (unlike my previous shaman who said she wouldn't even understand a Western doctor's medical notes. WTF!?). This new one also does not do herbs, which I like because I think the herb concoction made me a bit looney. I haven't taken herbs since August and honestly feel like everything is a little bit clearer without them.
The new acupuncturist/ND gave me a quick treatment used for recurrent miscarriage. I felt okay, a bit relaxed, but not blissed out. She wants me to come back once a week but I don't dare schedule an appointment beyond one week's time.
So Plan A lives to see another day. The next part of the plan is to make it to Friday at 4:00-ish PM, which is when Dr. Stretch's crew will call with beta results.
I remember I once wrote that getting pregnant was just half my battle. Now I am battling like my life depends upon it.
Please, please, please let it be a good result on Friday.
Saturday, October 6, 2007
Plan A & B
Two lines. 13dpo. Second one is thicker and darker than yesterday. Since you asked, here are the pics. 12 dpo is on the bottom.
No one knows but you. And Cowboy. Who congratulated me on my, well, pee. We're both so cautious right now.
Woke up at 5:18 AM this morning. That would be on a Saturday. To POAS. Lame.
Plan A and B are squarely on my mind. Plan A is calm elation. Just get through today only. Pregnant. Plan B - engaged if the line goes away - is to go for a long trail run. Followed by yoga.
After two miscarriages in less than a year, I can't believe I feel this, umm, well, okay right now. Perhaps I think I have the confidence that I can get through whatever happens this time. I've done it before. And I've watched those who have faced much, much worse get through the really bad parts, too. Maybe we don't return to our old selves. But we survive.
I will POAS tomorrow and Monday. If I still have 2 lines by Monday, I will call my RE's office for a beta. If I don't, I will call my OB for a shot of RhoGam. That is the plan. That is as far as it goes right now.
Friday, October 5, 2007
A Hypothetical Situation
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?
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?
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