Let The Stress Begin

Okay, so I jumped the gun with the last post. And the Facebook and the phonecalls. Now I am starting to regret it. What if something goes wrong? What if I have to break the news to a whole slew of people who have congratulated me. Am I completely out of my mind?

The reason for the excess of happiness and early telling of just about everyone was the phone call with the beta numbers. The beta numbers are the level of pregnancy hormone (hCG) in the blood which is tested a number of times here when you have had miscarriages and the like before. These numbers are everything. 

First off, Doc B said my number was 11. Not too great. Especially since I had had the expensive shot of hCG in the butt two weeks' earlier and residual could have been in the system. So, two days' later I am back having blood taken to see if there has been a rise. Double is good. So we were hoping for a nice 22.

I wait all day Thursday, staring at the phone with laser beam eyes. I don't dare call the doc's office (I feel desperation leads to bad news) so I would much rather put my body through a whole slew of stress and pain that will ultimately end in a 50-50 chance of bad news. Makes sense.

So, finally I can't wait any longer. I crack and call up. The doctor's office is CLOSED. I start to freak out and call Dr. B on his cell phone (a good reason to have this doctor is his cell number). He hasn't been in the office all day. I put the phone down and burst into tears. I won't have the information on my level until tomorrow and by this point I am breaking down. God knows how women go through this for year after year. 

Anyway, in a desperate attempt to calm my frazzled nerves I drive to Blockbuster to pick up a couple of calming DVDs. I pick two that I know Z won't really be bothered about missing (of course he is working late) and I wander aimlessly staring at the boxes wondering "who the hell IS that person?" as I examine the covers.

As I am at the cashier, my phone rings. Dr B. "What medication are you on?" he asks. "Erm,  Lovenox, progesterone, prednisone, baby aspirin..."  I stutter thinking this is just a medical question for when we next meet. "Okay, stay on it. Your level is 49. You're pregnant" he says and with that, I screech at everyone in Blockbuster and burst into tears. Dr B had gone into the office for my results!!!! Gone back there for me!!! I was thrilled.

I immediately tell the lady behind the counter and fall out of the store crying uncontrollably.I cry past groups of people and just about make it into Starbucks for a calming hot chocolate. 

I try to call Z, phone off. I call my pregnancy-hell buddy Robyn and she is laughing her ass off as I cry.

I try and try and try Z. About 50 million times. I call all his work mates. I call work mates to call work mates. I eventually tell him via iChat when I get home.

So that's what happened. A good old case of getting carried away. And boy am I feeling it may have been too soon.

Next visit Tuesday at 12:15 p.m - I almost made the 12:30 appointment for old times' sake but I need to be in there early. Levels need to rise again - they must be in the 100s now. Keep EVERYTHING CROSSED.

OMG BFP

Okay, I'm not going to keep it up with the acronyms but suffice to say that oh my God it's a big fat positive!

As far as the rest goes, I know it is completely wrong to jinx things by telling everyone but I just don't care this time.

What will be will be. I don't even have a snarky comment to leave.

In fact, here's a poem.

My Idea of Family 

When I grow up I'll have 20 children

The last will be called Jesus

I told my mother,

When I was six

Even then I knew had ideas above my station

"Where will you keep them?"

She asked, perplexed, relaxed, amused, nonplussed

"Under the table in the dining room, of course"

"And who will care for them?"

She added.

"You, and dad"

"And who will the father be?"

She continued, perturbed, smirking

"Oh, there won't be one" I shot back. 

Blink and you'll miss it, they say.

When they say funny things, when they do stuff too incredible to deal with

Superhuman babies.

Even then I was smarter than I am now

2WW

For anyone who understands fertility parlance, 2WW is THE single most scary phrase of them all.

While you could be forgiven for thinking it means World War II, those three, seemingly harmless characters loom large over the head of any woman who is trying to get pregnant. And it is where I am right now.

The 2WW is in fact the acronym for the "two week wait", that horrific, stress-film yawning chasm of time between the excitement of finding an egg, to the getting on the horse to the finding out whether anything actually happened.

The 2WW is evil.

Every single woman I know who has had to wait those two long, long, looooooong weeks will tell you that they stretch interminably on and on. There is no end in sight. There is only the pregnancy test. The pregnancy test that tests 5 days early. And we all know where that leads.

So yes, I am currently nearing the end of my 2WW and I am just about losing my mind. I have tested but the faint line could be the hCG hormone that was injected into me at the docs who knows.....so please, please, please keep your fingers crossed.

Back On The Proverbial Part III

As you know from my previous posts, Dr Z and I have named the making of the baby "getting back on the horse". Or maybe we don't actually say that, but I think it a lot. And I blog that a lot, so maybe I just created it and wish we had such a cutesy, jokey, things-we-do-together type of life with in-jokes. 

Anyhoo, not to put too fine a point on it, we are getting back on the horse, part III. It's official. The horse is back in the running and we are at the starter's gate, champing at the bit and trying NOT to put all our eggs in one basket. Or sperms in one egg. You understand.

The final part of this particular part of our baby-making journey ends this month, today, tonight to be completely honest. Ew, so now you know.

The day finally came today to see Dr. B and to get the green light to get going again. It feels like I waited months for this, even though it was actually only the other day - when I made the appointment. 

I went in (it wasn't 12.30pm but I got nervous as usual and arrived ridiculously early - something I realize now is to my advantage) and waited in the living room/entrance hall and immediately felt sleepy in someone else's warmth in the comfy chair he has in there.

I was just getting started on an article in Tricycle - the Buddhist's magazine that I love to read - and I was called in. The article I was reading was all about not telling anyone that things are going badly for you when you feel crummy. So, basically, you just had two miscarriages and lost your job. You are 8000 miles from your family and the friends you left behind without many friends and someone says: "Hey Freda, what's going on? How are you? Looking a bit down in the mouth there old girl." and you are supposed to say (in a monotone, with a smile) "I'm good, good, yes I'm just fine."   Because, apparently, no one wants to deal with your shit when they have their own stuff to contend with which is just as bad as yours. Never mind that poor old Freda is going to walk away and bang her head against a brick wall for lack of someone to have a good chinwag with.

I mean, REALLY! Whatever happened to the Isenberg method of just blah-ing it all out to whoever happens to be nearby? I say, get it off your chest, have a nice cup of tea and maybe three Cadbury's Flakes (especially if you are my friend Carolyn) and a good laugh at something else (or someone else - depends how bad it gets).

Anyway, not to drag this on like the endless cycles of Samsara, but I do love that magazine and it has some brilliant articles. Well worth the read if only for being totally gobsmacked.

So I am back on the chair that never fits my ass. But, before that I was weighed. I am not telling how much I weigh but Zach - the scales at home LIE - LIE I say! Once that is done I get off the clothes, get on the teeny chair and I'm ready for my close up. 

Dr B sweeps in, rolls the condom on the stick and off we go. "Ah ha!" He says, overjoyed, "Perfect, perfect- just what we wanted". My follicle/cyst thingy is gracing the screen and is a knockout. It is the Heidi Klum of follicles - flawless at a eye-catching 25mm and just ready to be the host to a lovely egg. We hope.

Excitement ensues on my part and I actually manage to make the whole trip without crying. No tears at all! A quick chit chat about dates, prescriptions and the like and I am dispensed to the dispensary to pick up the HCG shot to make sure the egg makes an appearance for sure between now and the next three days.

Only my prescription card isn't in my wallet (of many wallets that I carry). I am panicked but decide to apply the lessons I have just learned in Tricycle and only get mildly irrationaly angry at my blameless husband who is sitting in his office in Santa Monica. "Yes, I have looked in the wallets," I snarl. Though this is probably all my fault as I am the only person who ever gets prescriptions.

After a minor debacle I end up paying for the shot - $75 ch-ching! And it's back to the office. 

I go in and ask the nurse which arm. Silly me, it's in the butt. Of course, I have to make a joke about injecting $75 in my backside but it didn't hurt a bit (the injection - paying $75 for it was mildly painful). But, it was nothing like the tetanus injections I remember getting when I was a kid that just killed.

Next, Dr B is in to give me the 101 in injecting myself with Lovenox, the blood thinner that I may or may not need. Since my dad died of a blood clot and other family members have had issues it's a just-in-case. If I do need it, it could be for just the first trimester (if, indeed, there is a first trimester) or it could be for the whole 9 months (if, indeed, there are 9 months).

But ugh, ugh, ugh. Injecting myself was very weird.  I have to say though, once you are past the flabby bit of the stomach, the needle slides right in and it doesn't hurt much at all. Thank God, though I still wouldn't want to be a heroin addict. The needle goes beneath the belly button into the fat. It just occurred to me why I have all that blubber - my body knew I would need it one day.

So, we will see what we will see. And so will everyone that is reading this. But for now, like a good Dicken's novel, this one'll be a cliffhanger.

And Breathe....

Ha ha ha, the universe was listening. So, the day after that post I got my period. Figures. I go to see Dr. B and drop almost $200 and next day? Of COURSE, the period starts. But, I have to say I was pretty darned happy to see it turn up.

Never in my life, except maybe a few, frantic days in my youth when the big P was a little shy to arrive, have I ever waited so impatiently for something. And that is saying something as the good Dr. Zaius will tell any one of you. Repeatedly. If you ever come to our house.

So, since the arrive of big P, things are most certainly looking up. I immediately phoned Dr. B (seriously, the amount of doctor's in my life - real and imaginary - is getting a little out of hand), and woke him up I think. Dr. B said, great, great make an appointment for Saturday. That's right. This is why my doc is better than all the rest. I mean, who gets to see their OB-GYN on Saturday for heaven's sake?

Saturday comes and I am raring to go. Dr. Z is working in the afternoon, but can take me to see the real doc. He checks me out, likes what he sees. The follicle or cyst is diminishing so I am happy about that as it means I am on my way to ovulating again.

Just as an aside. Could the words follicle and cyst BE more complicated if they tried? Isn't a follicle something to do with  your hair? Aren't cysts nasty growths on your head? (ask Dr. Z about THAT some day). The whole follicle/cyst debate will rage in my head for a long time. Basically they are the same thing. Only a follicle is what grows in the ovary to be released as an egg. Though it is also called a cyst. Okay, I give up. The main thing we need to know is that when I saw Dr. B for the expensive, unnecessary visit, he saw that my period was on the verge and that I had a cyst that needed to go away before it would come. When I arrived two days' later, the period HAD come, and the cyst was much smaller. Which is a good thing.

So, now here I am at Dr B's being told many, many good things.

Good Thing number 1

I am back to being "regular" in my cycle

Good Thing number 2 

Z and I are on the way to trying again. I have to go back next Wednesday (May 6th) to check that I am about to ovulate

Good Thing number 3

Once the ovulation is a green light, I get a shot, we try on nights 7, 8, 9 (and 10 for good measure)

Good Thing number 4

This will all be checked by Dr. B

Good Thing number 5

If it all works to plan we might - just might - just please, please, please, please, pleeeeeaaaasssse, be on the way to a baby.

And then we will have world peace.

Or at least I will have a new set of things to worry about.

And I am now trying to relax, which, for those of you who know me really well, is hilarious. I am currently trying to work part time - 7am to 3pm is NOT part time by the way. The way that I do this is to work in the mornings until lunch time, take the dogs out, get home, check email a few million times and then go down stairs and try to force myself to watch something on TV. Only I get irritated with the commercials and my mind starts to wander. OR the dogs want love, or I start to think of all the things I should be doing but am not.

Then I start to guilt myself about not having more clients. Or searching for them. I start to want to work. So, eventually, I get up, go back to the computer and start to work again, or look for work or do something at least.

If anyone has a great way to relax for mums-to-almost-be then please let me know. Because the waiting is killing me, and if that doesn't do it, the stress will.

 

Life On Hold

It has been ages since my last post, but there have been two major reasons for this. Let me explain:

First, I had a hysteroscopy and the fab doc found it was covered in fibroids that had to be scraped off to give my uterus a face lift - if that isn't mixing my body parts up too much.

The best part about the whole affair was that my beautiful nurse Betsie was there to hold my hand and to giggle with me before and after. She took down my particulars (oooh, nurse - that's for the Brits btw) and asked me if I had "evacuated", I thought she asked if I had farted and said, "nooo of course not!"

After the op I came round, saw the lovely Nurse B and promptly burst into tears. Z came to get me and they wheel chaired me out.

Second reason: That was the last time I had a period.

So since March 20th I have basically been waiting for my flowers (that's for Zach) and nothing is happening. I keep getting the signs and then...nothing. It's like thinking you are going to sneeze and then nothing happens. So disappointing.

I just keep waiting and waiting and waiting. Which for me is like torture as it is. I mean, I don't go in a shop if I have to wait to be served so I guess this is the universe trying to teach me something about patience. It isn't working universe. Now I am just totally pissed off.

So, I have bugged Dr B enough now to warrant me going in. I want to know when this bloody period is going to happen or I will lose my mind.

I am so tired and over this, now. If I had kept the first baby all those months ago, it would be born next month.

Oh, and I really want to tell the baby food makers, diaper companies and every other baby-related consumer goods company to STOP sending me stuff. Enough already.

The Down Low on the Down Belows

The doc says I need to rest after having the hysteroscopy on Friday but, of course, I am bored just sitting doing nothing. Of course, I am awake early, because I am going to bed at 10pm. But, I tried to get up yesterday to change my hair color and I had a pain that brought me back home. So here I am, writing more and wishing to be up. With different-colored hair.

The operation went great. It turns out my uterus was covered in fibroids which have been delicately removed. Apparently, Doc B has the photos which will be framed as the most expensive fibroids in the world.

The lovely nurse B - my friend and helper on my baby adventure - was there to greet me at the doc's offices on Friday morning where my nil by mouth was really starting to bug me.

After a few mix ups with my REAL birthdate, okay, I was stressed that first day at Dr. B's office and wrote my DOB as 6/1/2009 which would officially make me -3 months' old at the time, I was fitted with my baby arm band and sent in.

I got to put on my hairnet and booties alone, though Nurse B came in to check on me and we had a laugh about the fact that I am and was, her first ever friend/patient. Weird. The changing room/bathroom had scales or "a scale" as they say here so of course I hopped on. Yay 13 pounds - GONE! Take that mother f-ers! Just 10 more to go....! 

Anyway, back to the more important baby situache...I sat in my bed with legs dangling off the end. I swear to God, they don't make medical equipment for my body. Either the seats are too small or the beds are too short. I feel like Gulliver stamping around with tiny furniture just waiting to collapse around me.

So, with legs-a-dangling I sat and whiled away the time reading stories of women who lost half a ton of fat and looking at pictures of smiling women exercising. They should definitely show the reality which is more like the image of a woman swearing at her trainer and sweating like a pig in mismatched workout clothes. I would buy that scenario way more than Miss Perfect grinning while doing some ab work.

Anyway, as usual, I digress. I lay and lay, waiting for my big moment of sleep. I hear another patient coming round, slurring her words. I vow that won't be me. Yeah, right.

The lovely anesthetist comes in and preps me for the IV. I will NEVER be a heroin addict. I'm JUST SAYING. I mean, yuck, yuck, I loathe it when they make you make a fist, the tap and flick at the vein. Ugh, so gross. But Doc Anesthetic was very sweet and I am being wheeled in in no time.

Next thing I know I am coming round, with the lovely Nurse B, waking me up, I have no idea if I slur, but I do burst into tears. I am sure it is all the drugs, but a bit of me knows it is sheer relief that I'm one step closer to the boom boom of big, flat Isenberg feet.