For example, I totally planned to exercise tonight. I packed my gym shoes and my workout clothes and everything. But, inexplicably, I arrived in Denver ahead of my luggage. Delta should deliver it to my hotel by 11pm tonight. I sure hope they do. If not, I will certainly be screwed tomorrow morning.

I needed this trip. It's an easy one, unlike my other Denver trips. One 3 hour presentation tomorrow. Another 3 hour presentation on Tuesday. And then home on Wednesday. No other meetings or deadlines. And no one traveling with me. Thank God.

I desperately needed this alone time.

I have felt like a raw nerve lately. Between trying to process the decision to no longer pursue treatments to have a genetic child and hearing the Jaws theme every time I remember that my 39th birthday (are you shitting me?) is fast approaching, my brain won't shut up and my heart feels like an open sore that I have to protect until it finally scabs over. And just as you start to walk funny when you have a wound that you don't want to get re-injured, I've been emotionally contorting myself in all sorts of strange ways to keep from getting triggered at inopportune times. At some point you start to look and feel ridiculous and I just need some time to breath and cry and find a way to make sense of it all.

I thought I was doing ok enough until I went to the clinic on Friday for my requisite hysteroscopy. I think this was my fourth endometrial biopsy in the last 5 years, the 3rd one with this clinic. The other procedures had been done under anesthesia but since I haven't had any polyps show up since my laproscopy several years ago, my doctor decided it wasn't necessary to put me under. It was physically uncomfortable, much more so than the other unmedicated one I had at a different clinic a year or so ago, but like everything else in this godforsaken journey, it was the emotional discomfort that was harder to deal with.

I got to work early on Friday so I could leave early for the appointment. I finished a deadline, had my one-on-ones with my staff, my one-on-one with my boss, and then made it to the clinic just in time for the procedure. As I waited to be called back into the operating room it suddenly began to dawn on me that the last time I was back on that side of the clinic, I woke up from anesthesia to be told that there were no eggs to retrieve. And the time before that I woke up to hear that we had pushed the medication a day too far and my one and only egg was over-done. But the time before that - well, that was a painfully happy memory. A memory of joking around with my husband in order to distract myself from the discomfort of a much-too-full bladder. Having to relieve myself just a bit in a bedpan on the operating table because the on call doc took his sweet time to arrive to transfer our "beautiful" and "perfect" embryo. And then days later, getting on a plane for a work trip knowing that it had worked. That our beautiful embryo was busy implanting. And then came the deluge of positive pregnancy tests, each one getting darker and darker. There was the joy and the wonder of finally, after all this time, finally something worked. We were cautiously celebrating a pregnancy once again.

But the joy was short lived. The pregnancy did not last. I cried a little. But not too much. I convinced myself it was a good sign. We were finally on the right track. We just needed to try again. And we did. But each try was more and more disappointing.

And then, on Friday, I found myself waiting in the little waiting room where my husband watched the embryo transfer on a screen. And then, later, I found myself on that same operating room table, legs in sterile booties and placed into stirrups, this time to prepare my body for a future embryo transfer. One that will include another "beautiful" and "perfect" embryo. Only this one will be one part my husband, and one part someone else.

I wasn't prepared for the wave of sadness, and anger, and anxiety that came over me. It was a frustrating reminder that no matter how much "work" I do to process and grieve and make sense of all of this, that sadness and anger and anxiety will never fully go away. It will lessen, I'm sure of it. But it will sneak back up on me whenever I hit next steps and new milestones. As much I wish I could have one, good, final cry and then proceed confidently into the future, I know that is unrealistic.

I am encouraged by the stories I read of other women, many of whom have had even longer and more painful journeys than I can even imagine, who have made it successfully to the other side. They describe a deep love and joy and overwhelming gratitude for their post infertility life and their non-traditional family that they fought so hard for. This is what gives me the courage to keep moving forward, despite feeling like a raw nerve. Or an oozing, gaping wound.

I've said it before, I am so grateful to live in a time where this method of family building is even an option. I'm also immensely grateful for the internet and its role in connecting people and sharing of stories.

To bring this long, rambling post to an end:

No, my life did not go as planned.

And I am currently working on the "that's ok" part.

Correction

We are moving straight to donor eggs.

No "one more try" with my own eggs.

It was a hard decision to make in that there is still a chance, slim as it may be, that I could squeeze a gentic offspring out of my tired and scarred ovaries.

And yet, it was an easy choice to make - once I let it sink in that I would no longer have to try to squeeze a genetic offspring out of my tired and scarred ovaries.

There can be such tremendous relief in letting go and giving up.

This doesn't mean that I'm not still grieving. Or that I don't have tearful or angry moments. I am. And I do. But that's nothing new. I've been grieving and angry and tearful for nearly five years. Not consecutively, thank goodness. But enough.

The difference is that now grief and anger and tears are softened by waves of relief. And glimpses of hope. And a hint of what life could be like without constant failure hanging over my head.

But I admit that I'm still struggling to feel any real confidence that this will lead to an actual, living child in the end. That still seems a bit risky of an idea to get too attached to. Though I think that is a pretty normal response. I'm guessing I won't feel confident until, I don't know, the first birthday?

There were a million small steps that led up to this decision. But if I had to point to one thing that got me over the hump, it would have to be the beautiful description of pregnancy below. I don't know who is the original author. It's one of those things that have been shared and reposted a million times on blogs and forums. I'm not even sure where exactly I came across this description for the first time. I just know that it healed my heart a tiny (huge) bit and helped me to feel immense gratitude that I live in a day and age where this is even possible:

Many believe the uterus is simply an incubator. Nothing could be further from the truth. The most important aspect of all pregnancies- including egg donation pregnancies- is that as the fetus grows, every cell in the developing body is built out of the pregnant mother’s body. Tissue from her uterine lining will contribute to the formation of the placenta, which will link her and her child. The fetus will use her body’s protein, then she will replace it. The fetus uses her sugars, calcium, nitrates, and fluids, and she will replace them. So, if you think of your dream child as your dream house, the genes provide merely a basic blueprint, the biological mother takes care of all the materials and construction, from the foundation right on up to the light fixtures. So, although her husband’s aunt Sara or the donor’s grandfather may have genetically programmed the shape of the new baby’s earlobe, the earlobe itself is the pregnant woman’s “flesh and blood.” That means the earlobe, along with the baby herself, grew from the recipient’s body. That is why she is the child’s biological mother. That is why this child is her biological child.

closer to fine

It's been a year and a half since my last post.

A lot has happened in the last year and a half.

And a lot hasn't.

We have decided (I have decided?) to move on to donor eggs this summer, after one last try with my own eggs in April.

S pretty much defers to me on all the child-having decisions. He admits that while he knows he will love our children dearly, he just can't get invested in the idea of them until they are here. He doesn't spend every waking hour thinking of every possible repercussion to every possible decision as I do. And so in this part of our lives, I am the decider.

And I have decided that I want to get off this merry-go-round and get on with my life. I want to be a mom. I want to raise children.

There is so much that has gone into this decision. It hasn't come easily. Maybe I will come back and process it all here.

Or maybe I won't post again for another year and a half.

We'll see.

Please forgive me if I leave you feeling uninspired

I think I found my infertility anthem.

I wasn't looking for it, but there it was.

We just purchased the Iphone 5. Yes, I know. The new one is supposed to be coming out in September.  But after all the problems we had with the 4s (which we bought when they were hot off the presses) we decided we'd rather go with the 5 and let them work out the kinks with the new one.

ANYWAY.

While transferring music to my new phone, I realized I hadn't listened to Eef Barzelay in FOREVER.

And then, there it was.

The song that so succinctly describes my nearly 3 year struggle with trying to have a child.

It's perfect.

The words, so poignant. So depressing.

The music, so upbeat. So rock and roll-y.

It captures the weird dichotomy of living life and accomplishing all kinds of shit while at the same time a constant hum of bitterness and frustration carries on in the background.

Listen, my friends.

And love it.

Didn't take long

'fore I found out
what people mean by down and out

Ah, Led Zeppelin.

They don't exactly take away the pain but they do make good company while going through it.

IVF #1 has been canceled.

Despite my best efforts at going all out with a protocol designed to keep someone such as myself from developing a lead follicle... I still managed to develop a lead follicle. There's a slight chance that if I continued stimming I may have had one or two follicles catch up. But that was a slight chance. And even then, that would be a grand total of two or three follicles which may or may not have contained mature eggs.

I've done a fair amount of crying over the past few days. Partly due to the bad news, partly because there is just no other way to release all this stress... especially if you are not partaking in a stiff drink (side note: I will soon be partaking in a stiff drink). My eyes are heavy and swollen. Emotional hangovers suck.

But how does that Bible School song go? Count your blessings one by one...

• We've only managed to lose out on about $1k and a bunch of gifted meds. We still have the vast majority of money we've saved for the purpose of procreating.
• I've learned that, unless my RE has some kind of brilliant rationale that I'm not anticipating, traditional IVF is just not going to work for me. It does work for some DOR women. And some of those women have even worse numbers than I do. But apparently, my ovaries do not care how much FSH you throw at them. It can be a little or a lot, but they're pretty much going to give you the middle finger and give you one egg. 
• I've also learned that minimal stimulation IVF is way cheaper than I thought. Turns out we have enough money to do two rounds of mini IVF. This is very good news.
• Good news because out of all of my various medicated cycles, I've done the best on low dose clomid. Which happens to be the cheapest of the medications. Like $7 vs. $6,000 cheap.
• So the plan now is to talk with my RE next week about doing two rounds of minimal stimulation IVF with clomid, testosterone priming, and saizen. Then freeze whatever we get and still proceed with doing two months of lupron before transfer.
• Now I'm back to trying to fit all this in around my travel schedule. And time is marching on. 
• But at least I still have hope. 
• For now.

Humor first. Then numbers.

Earlier this week I was at work and on the phone with my doctor's office discussing how I was getting ready to hand over nearly $13,000* to them the following day. Not a fun conversation, for sure. While we were working out the details, S. had already made it home for the evening and ran into a little problem:

When the first text came through, I laughed to myself and thought "Thank GOD I am not home or else I'd be the one dealing with this."

When the second text came through, I couldn't help letting out an audible laugh. He was panicking. I could tell.

And then when the photo came, I lost it. Tears were streaming down my face. I couldn't stop laughing.  For the first time, ever, I was so happy to be the one dealing with medical nonsense and NOT the one dealing with "poop butt."

*************

IVF Update

• Today is Cycle Day 5
• So far I have taken three shots of Ganirelix and Estrace 2xs a day during the final days of my previous luteal phase and into the first few days of this cycle.
• Cycle Day 4 I went in for baselines. Antral Follicle Count = 7 (roughly, there may have been more). Progesterone came back perfectly low at 0.something and E2 was elevated (we knew it would be, due to Estrogen Priming) at 62. I was given the all clear to move forward with this cycle.
• Today I started Microdose Lupron. I will administer that 2xs a day up until Egg Retrieval.
• Tonight I start Dexamethasone and will take that nightly through Egg Retrieval.
• Sunday I will begin Gonal-F and Menopur in addition to the Lupron. I will take this through Egg Retrieval. 
• I am anticipating, due to my DOR situation, I will be a "slow responder" and will likely stim anywhere from 13 to 15 days.
• It's quite possible that by the time this is all done, I will have given myself over 60 shots in the stomach.
• I have two major hurdles to cross due to my diagnoses.
• First, because of Diminished Ovarian Reserve (DOR, due to Endometriosis) I have an uphill battle when it comes to getting enough good eggs to make good quality embryos (hence the complicated protocol). I don't even know how many embryos to hope for. Any would be nice.
• Second, because of Endometriosis, I am opting to freeze whatever embryos I do get so I can do a two month treatment of Depot Lupron (medicated menopause here I come) to shrink the Endo, reduce inflammation that results from Endo, and to take care of any possible missing or reduced beta 3 integrin issues (all of which can effect implantation and/or lead to miscarriage). There are studies that show a drastic increase in pregnancy rates for women with Endometriosis after doing a course of Depot Lupron. Most women with Endo go on Lupron after a failed IVF. I'm trying to avoid failing in the first place since I already know I won't have a huge stockpile of embryos to return to. 
• Current worries: Will my follicles respond to medication? And if they do, how many eggs will there be? And, most importantly, will those eggs fertilize? And make it to day 5 blastocysts? 
• Remember that time when we just had sex and got pregnant? Ha. That was fun.

* Don't be fooled. $13,000 is not the total sum of all these treatments.

Working it out

I'm back in Hong Kong. This is trip number four in case anyone is keeping count. I'm currently curled up in my room at the Crown Plaza, drinking peppermint tea, listening to the thunder and rain, and doing my best to stay awake until an acceptable bedtime hour. Tomorrow begins three days of presentations and then I make the long (24 hours in total) trek back home again.

After four trips, I have finally settled on a few travel essentials:

• A well stocked Kindle
• Socks (since I like to wear flip flops for security line ease, socks for the plane ride are a must)
• An Economy Comfort bulkhead seat (the next best thing to first class if first class isn't an option). After you are safely in the air, you can put your luggage on the floor in front of you and use it to prop up your feet. This makes all the difference in the world on a long flight.
• Peppermint or sweet orange essential oil. This is to periodically rub underneath your nose as an alternative to smelling stale, nasty airplane air.
• Dried goji berries to snack on.
• A reservation for a Thai massage soon upon arrival. Perfect for working out all the kinks you will acquire on the flight.

***

In other news, I am inching ever closer to starting IVF. I finally feel like I have turned an emotional corner and I no longer feel panicked or overwhelmed by the enormity of it all. I think I have researched and prepared myself the best I possibly can and there really isn't anything left to do but let go and trust. It's a lot easier to trust when it's not blind and I think that is what these past few months have been about - preparing myself to jump into IVF with my eyes wide open.

I can sense a palpable shift in my energy. I'm hoping this holds up.