The blood has been drawn. The usual cheerful phlebotomist remembered that I teach. I am getting well-known at the clinic.
The earliest they have ever called was 10:18. That time has come and passed.
One phrase keeps drifting through my mind. Chemical pregnancy. If the number is over 5, please let it be significantly over 5. Over 100 would be grand. I will not complain with a number over 100.
I have literally done nothing for the last thirty minutes. I have sat on the couch, glancing occasionally at my phone.
Hopefully the call comes soon.
28 July, 2016
26 July, 2016
After the Blood Work
My 2WW is almost over. Thursday at 8:00 am, I will go in for some blood work. There is always a range in when they call with the news. I have been called at 10:30, but I have also been called at 4:45. I am just crossing my fingers that the call comes before my class.
I think I have decided.
After the blood work, I do not think I will do any updates on the result for a week or two. Here is why.
I am (personally) a firm believer in not announcing pregnancy until you are decently along (at least 12 or so weeks). If you do not believe in this idea, that's great. This is simply what I believe. My reasonings:
1. Miscarriages. If 20% of pregnancies end in miscarriage, if you have five pregnancies, chances are at least one of them will end in a miscarriage.
2. The people that announce their pregnancies earlier than other people seem to be pregnant way longer.
3. I think it is exciting, fun, and sacred to have that secret with your significant other. I loved how close I felt to hubby when I was pregnant the first time (for a whopping eight weeks) when we were the only two that knew. (Okay, we told my dad and baby sister. But they found out shortly before the miscarriage.)
Like I said, no judgement if you pee on a stick and immediately post that to social media. That is completely up to you.
Ironic that I am leading you through my extremely sexy story of getting pregnant, right? Here is what will happen (unless I am too overcome by grief or excitement). The beta blood test will be done on Thursday. If I have enough HCG in my blood that I am classified as pregnant, I will go in two days later for a second blood test. They want the number of HCG to grow (double). They may do blood test every two days for a while, depending on the numbers. Then they will do an ultrasound (pretty sure at this point I have had more ultrasounds than most women that have had two-three kids) and graduate me at nine weeks to an OB.
If the HCG test comes back negative, I go off the fun progesterone suppositories I have been taking and go back to birth control. We can do a frozen embryo transfer within a month.
I will update here 1-2 weeks after the beta test.
I think I have decided.
After the blood work, I do not think I will do any updates on the result for a week or two. Here is why.
I am (personally) a firm believer in not announcing pregnancy until you are decently along (at least 12 or so weeks). If you do not believe in this idea, that's great. This is simply what I believe. My reasonings:
1. Miscarriages. If 20% of pregnancies end in miscarriage, if you have five pregnancies, chances are at least one of them will end in a miscarriage.
2. The people that announce their pregnancies earlier than other people seem to be pregnant way longer.
3. I think it is exciting, fun, and sacred to have that secret with your significant other. I loved how close I felt to hubby when I was pregnant the first time (for a whopping eight weeks) when we were the only two that knew. (Okay, we told my dad and baby sister. But they found out shortly before the miscarriage.)
Like I said, no judgement if you pee on a stick and immediately post that to social media. That is completely up to you.
Ironic that I am leading you through my extremely sexy story of getting pregnant, right? Here is what will happen (unless I am too overcome by grief or excitement). The beta blood test will be done on Thursday. If I have enough HCG in my blood that I am classified as pregnant, I will go in two days later for a second blood test. They want the number of HCG to grow (double). They may do blood test every two days for a while, depending on the numbers. Then they will do an ultrasound (pretty sure at this point I have had more ultrasounds than most women that have had two-three kids) and graduate me at nine weeks to an OB.
If the HCG test comes back negative, I go off the fun progesterone suppositories I have been taking and go back to birth control. We can do a frozen embryo transfer within a month.
I will update here 1-2 weeks after the beta test.
21 July, 2016
2WW
The second world war.
Nope.
Two wiley widows?
Nope.
Twice without water?
Nope.
There is an entire world of infertility jargon out there. I'm talking all sorts of things such as AF, BFP, BFN, AH, DE, OTD, EC, ET, FET, the list goes on. I am not the biggest fan of weird jargon acronyms. I would much rather say that I received a positive pregnancy test instead of "OMG! BFP!!!!" (We shall also ignore that I am slightly anti-exclamation point. Ask my students. They know this well.)
The only one I connect with, perhaps because it and I are close friends, is the 2WW. The two week wait. This is the term used to describe the two weeks after ovulation (and hopefully fertilization, implantation, etc.) before you know you are pregnant. These two weeks contain a rollercoaster of emotions for me. Usually I do my best to get my mind off of all things pregnancy related. This works well in the middle of a school year. This epically fails during the summertime. I had an especially rough go of things the last three days when I was on house arrest (bed rest). I sat on the couch, worked on my matter unit for science, read, did homework (aced a midterm), played a little Zoo Tycoon 2 (so glad I just admitted this to you), crafted, and painted.
(Upon sending a text to hubby excitedly declaring, "I'm painting," he promptly called me within twenty-three seconds. "Uh, what are you doing right now?" "Painting." Yeah. In his mind, I was painting our upstairs hallway. We still need to lather on a final coat. Upon realizing I was not breathing in paint fumes, balancing precariously on a chair, and being OCD about painting in a straight line, he was okay. I painted a pencil box for my classroom. It is now blue and beautiful and I have no idea why I painted it in green, pink, and gray last year. Ugly.)
Today I resumed my normal life. I have spent much more of my waking time outside of my house than inside because that is what I do. We purchased an adorable animal alphabet print for a future nursery, for goodness sakes.
Every year we buy one thing for future baby. This is not something we plan to do. ("Let's see. Next week I have scheduled that we need to purchase something for our future offspring. As good parent organisms, we better make sure we fit that in.") I have amazingly soft blankets that I bought from a company I used to work for. I have a car seat cover purchased from the same company. We have an adorable duck we bought in Berlin a couple years ago. Last year we purchased future offspring the most adorable elephant (part of the elephant is made out of a thick corduroy). Now we have the animal print. I love it, but I am starting to get worried for myself.
I am worried that I am getting my hopes up this time. After the first IUI, I received the call, responded with a, "Thank you for calling, have a great evening," told the hubby, and resumed my life. After IUI number two, I was a grump. I decided to answer my phone at school and was not a very nice teacher after that. IUI number three was the worst. It happened the day before baby sister's graduation. I will admit I cried hard enough and long enough that my eyes were still red and puffy at her ceremony the next day.
I have stopped looking up potential due dates.
I have stopped debating over buying slightly larger clothes because, "If I get pregnant, I won't be able to wear this for a long time."
I have stopped planning my future as if life will get more uncomfortable followed by six weeks of maternity leave.
It helps me deal with things when I get that phone call or I wake up to blood or I receive a "not pregnant" on my test.
Am I getting my hopes up?
Nope.
Two wiley widows?
Nope.
Twice without water?
Nope.
There is an entire world of infertility jargon out there. I'm talking all sorts of things such as AF, BFP, BFN, AH, DE, OTD, EC, ET, FET, the list goes on. I am not the biggest fan of weird jargon acronyms. I would much rather say that I received a positive pregnancy test instead of "OMG! BFP!!!!" (We shall also ignore that I am slightly anti-exclamation point. Ask my students. They know this well.)
The only one I connect with, perhaps because it and I are close friends, is the 2WW. The two week wait. This is the term used to describe the two weeks after ovulation (and hopefully fertilization, implantation, etc.) before you know you are pregnant. These two weeks contain a rollercoaster of emotions for me. Usually I do my best to get my mind off of all things pregnancy related. This works well in the middle of a school year. This epically fails during the summertime. I had an especially rough go of things the last three days when I was on house arrest (bed rest). I sat on the couch, worked on my matter unit for science, read, did homework (aced a midterm), played a little Zoo Tycoon 2 (so glad I just admitted this to you), crafted, and painted.
(Upon sending a text to hubby excitedly declaring, "I'm painting," he promptly called me within twenty-three seconds. "Uh, what are you doing right now?" "Painting." Yeah. In his mind, I was painting our upstairs hallway. We still need to lather on a final coat. Upon realizing I was not breathing in paint fumes, balancing precariously on a chair, and being OCD about painting in a straight line, he was okay. I painted a pencil box for my classroom. It is now blue and beautiful and I have no idea why I painted it in green, pink, and gray last year. Ugly.)
Today I resumed my normal life. I have spent much more of my waking time outside of my house than inside because that is what I do. We purchased an adorable animal alphabet print for a future nursery, for goodness sakes.
Every year we buy one thing for future baby. This is not something we plan to do. ("Let's see. Next week I have scheduled that we need to purchase something for our future offspring. As good parent organisms, we better make sure we fit that in.") I have amazingly soft blankets that I bought from a company I used to work for. I have a car seat cover purchased from the same company. We have an adorable duck we bought in Berlin a couple years ago. Last year we purchased future offspring the most adorable elephant (part of the elephant is made out of a thick corduroy). Now we have the animal print. I love it, but I am starting to get worried for myself.
I am worried that I am getting my hopes up this time. After the first IUI, I received the call, responded with a, "Thank you for calling, have a great evening," told the hubby, and resumed my life. After IUI number two, I was a grump. I decided to answer my phone at school and was not a very nice teacher after that. IUI number three was the worst. It happened the day before baby sister's graduation. I will admit I cried hard enough and long enough that my eyes were still red and puffy at her ceremony the next day.
I have stopped looking up potential due dates.
I have stopped debating over buying slightly larger clothes because, "If I get pregnant, I won't be able to wear this for a long time."
I have stopped planning my future as if life will get more uncomfortable followed by six weeks of maternity leave.
It helps me deal with things when I get that phone call or I wake up to blood or I receive a "not pregnant" on my test.
Am I getting my hopes up?
18 July, 2016
Baby's First Picture (Embryo Transfer Day)
Everything I have done in the past month, six months, years(?) has lead up to today. My first embryo transfer!
In the morning, I decided it would be good to get in a short workout because I knew that would be the last time in quite a while. During my workout, I received a call from the clinic. For a second, I panicked. Was I late? Had I forgotten what time they asked me to come in? Instead they asked me to come in slightly earlier.
I arrived at my clinic at 1:00 knowing that I would stay in the waiting room for half an hour. The reason for the early arrival was so that I would take the valium that was stashed away in my bag. I had several glasses of water prior to leaving my house for the appointment and throughout the experience, I definitely felt the consequence. They ask for a full bladder during embryo transfer to make everything easier to see.
Promptly at 1:30, we were ushered back into a room for the transfer. Just like clockwork, one of the adorable technicians greeted me by name which made my day. They asked that I wore loose, comfortable clothes (glad they did not ask for loose, uncomfortable clothes) and socks. I came prepared with some adorable socks adorned with buttons on the side, but when we entered the room, a present was waiting for me. I was honestly very touched at this gesture. (And everyone that entered the room remarked that these socks were amazing.)
As we waited another ten minutes for things to get going, all I could think about was the full feeling of my bladder and the discomfort I felt. Husband was able to get excited and focus on the sacredness of the situation.
Our doctor showed up and gave us all the stats. As of Saturday, we had 16 embryos growing. Today, only five have made it to a nice blastocyst level. Nine of them are okay and we will let them grow another day to see what they do. (The doctor said that probably only 2-4 extra would make it to freeze, making it a total of 6-8 frozen embryos.) She seemed very positive about what everything looked like and how the cycle had gone so far. She handed us a paper with pictures of our five beautiful embryos with the best one (the A+ embryo as the doc put it) big and bold on the paper. Baby's first picture? After verifying that we were going to transfer one embryo, our doctor went out to tell the lab and switched places with a nurse.
It seems as though this nurse's primary job was to see how hard she could press down on my bladder with an ultrasound wand. Holy moley. (Her real job was to show us where the catheter was being placed and to show us the transfer itself.) The doctor did take longer to come back into the room so we played "bursting bladder" longer than I wished.
The doctor came in and we got started! When she started putting all the fun metal pieces in place, I thought I was not going to make it. (Let's see if we can put pressure on her bladder from the inside and the outside! What fun!) I honestly asked her how long she thought it was going to take. The pain was minimal. It was definitely less painful than an IUI (and an IUI is just momentary poking and prodding). I warned the doctor that in the past, the nurses doing the IUIs had problems getting positioned in the correct spot and had to use an alternative catheter. (Apparently there is a slight bend in my cervix. You wanted to know that, didn't you?) It only took a minute to get the catheter in and then at the last minute, the embryo was sent for.
The embryologist once again ensured that we wanted to transfer one and he passed our (hopefully) future child off to the doctor. Obviously the embryo is too small to see, but they put a couple tiny bubbles around the embryo so that we could see where it was transferred and when the transfer took place.
(That my friends is what part of my reproductive system looks like. The black part on the right I believe is my extremely full bladder. Immediately to the left--the part that looks almost folded over--is my uterus. The bright spot would be where the embryo was placed.)
They paused the ultrasound screen when the transfer took place and pointed out where the embryo had been placed. (The embryologist took the catheter back to the lab to make sure the embryo had not decided to retreat back into the tube.) After taking everything back out of me, they cleaned up, helped me get comfortable on the exam bed, and left us alone.
Husband and I chatted. As I was squirming and pinching myself to get over the bladder situation, he was having a wonderful experience. We looked at the pictures of the embryos and the frozen image on the television screen. As we were enjoying our moment, a technician came in to debrief us.
Strict instructions: Not technically bedrest, but "home-rest." I am not to leave the house, particularly tomorrow. Wednesday I can do a bit more, but the first day of freedom is Thursday. I was instructed not to do laundry, dishes, any other household duties. (Ah man...all my favorite things!) On Thursday I can resume regular activities, but no heavy exercise, no lifting anything more than 20 pounds, etc. They even wrote a doctor's note for my strict professor to excuse me from my class tomorrow. (He has a weird absence policy.)
They turned on a recording of chirping birds after the transfer and instructed us that as soon as the recording was over, I was free to get up and use the bathroom!
Blood test is scheduled for July 28.
I'd never been uneasy about receiving a positive blood test before, until talking with a dear relative that has gone through IVF. She received a false positive beta blood test once. Yikes.
Now it is time to wait. And relax.
This weekend I'm heading off on a short road trip with one (or two) of my favorite people in the world to relax with my grandmother and two aunts.
Here's to a calm ten days.
In the morning, I decided it would be good to get in a short workout because I knew that would be the last time in quite a while. During my workout, I received a call from the clinic. For a second, I panicked. Was I late? Had I forgotten what time they asked me to come in? Instead they asked me to come in slightly earlier.
I arrived at my clinic at 1:00 knowing that I would stay in the waiting room for half an hour. The reason for the early arrival was so that I would take the valium that was stashed away in my bag. I had several glasses of water prior to leaving my house for the appointment and throughout the experience, I definitely felt the consequence. They ask for a full bladder during embryo transfer to make everything easier to see.
Promptly at 1:30, we were ushered back into a room for the transfer. Just like clockwork, one of the adorable technicians greeted me by name which made my day. They asked that I wore loose, comfortable clothes (glad they did not ask for loose, uncomfortable clothes) and socks. I came prepared with some adorable socks adorned with buttons on the side, but when we entered the room, a present was waiting for me. I was honestly very touched at this gesture. (And everyone that entered the room remarked that these socks were amazing.)
Our doctor showed up and gave us all the stats. As of Saturday, we had 16 embryos growing. Today, only five have made it to a nice blastocyst level. Nine of them are okay and we will let them grow another day to see what they do. (The doctor said that probably only 2-4 extra would make it to freeze, making it a total of 6-8 frozen embryos.) She seemed very positive about what everything looked like and how the cycle had gone so far. She handed us a paper with pictures of our five beautiful embryos with the best one (the A+ embryo as the doc put it) big and bold on the paper. Baby's first picture? After verifying that we were going to transfer one embryo, our doctor went out to tell the lab and switched places with a nurse.
It seems as though this nurse's primary job was to see how hard she could press down on my bladder with an ultrasound wand. Holy moley. (Her real job was to show us where the catheter was being placed and to show us the transfer itself.) The doctor did take longer to come back into the room so we played "bursting bladder" longer than I wished.
The doctor came in and we got started! When she started putting all the fun metal pieces in place, I thought I was not going to make it. (Let's see if we can put pressure on her bladder from the inside and the outside! What fun!) I honestly asked her how long she thought it was going to take. The pain was minimal. It was definitely less painful than an IUI (and an IUI is just momentary poking and prodding). I warned the doctor that in the past, the nurses doing the IUIs had problems getting positioned in the correct spot and had to use an alternative catheter. (Apparently there is a slight bend in my cervix. You wanted to know that, didn't you?) It only took a minute to get the catheter in and then at the last minute, the embryo was sent for.
The embryologist once again ensured that we wanted to transfer one and he passed our (hopefully) future child off to the doctor. Obviously the embryo is too small to see, but they put a couple tiny bubbles around the embryo so that we could see where it was transferred and when the transfer took place.
(That my friends is what part of my reproductive system looks like. The black part on the right I believe is my extremely full bladder. Immediately to the left--the part that looks almost folded over--is my uterus. The bright spot would be where the embryo was placed.)
They paused the ultrasound screen when the transfer took place and pointed out where the embryo had been placed. (The embryologist took the catheter back to the lab to make sure the embryo had not decided to retreat back into the tube.) After taking everything back out of me, they cleaned up, helped me get comfortable on the exam bed, and left us alone.
Husband and I chatted. As I was squirming and pinching myself to get over the bladder situation, he was having a wonderful experience. We looked at the pictures of the embryos and the frozen image on the television screen. As we were enjoying our moment, a technician came in to debrief us.
Strict instructions: Not technically bedrest, but "home-rest." I am not to leave the house, particularly tomorrow. Wednesday I can do a bit more, but the first day of freedom is Thursday. I was instructed not to do laundry, dishes, any other household duties. (Ah man...all my favorite things!) On Thursday I can resume regular activities, but no heavy exercise, no lifting anything more than 20 pounds, etc. They even wrote a doctor's note for my strict professor to excuse me from my class tomorrow. (He has a weird absence policy.)
They turned on a recording of chirping birds after the transfer and instructed us that as soon as the recording was over, I was free to get up and use the bathroom!
Blood test is scheduled for July 28.
I'd never been uneasy about receiving a positive blood test before, until talking with a dear relative that has gone through IVF. She received a false positive beta blood test once. Yikes.
Now it is time to wait. And relax.
This weekend I'm heading off on a short road trip with one (or two) of my favorite people in the world to relax with my grandmother and two aunts.
Here's to a calm ten days.
16 July, 2016
Day Three Stats
This was the longest Saturday morning I have had in a long time. It was reminiscent of the day I took a pregnancy test for the first time. I could not concentrate on my homework and when I finally blurted out to husband what was up with me, he immediately drove us to Target to grab a pregnancy test and remedy the situation. Sadly, nothing could be done to speed up this morning's proceedings. (We tried. Husband tried calling the clinic and they said the calls on Saturday are made between 3 and 6. Ugh.)
Just after 4:00, I jumped at the the sound of my phone going off. Private number. I knew what that meant. With shaking hands, I answered and ran up the stairs so husband could hear. I frantically searched the bedroom in two seconds, looking for a writing utensil. Yellow highlighter. Perfect.
I was extremely nervous. Throughout the day, I would turn to husband with a look of despair and wail, "What if there are only (fill in the blank with a number less than five) left?"
He was supportive. He always is.
When the caller told me how many embryos I had, I could not hear her straight the first time. Maybe it was selective hearing. I asked her to repeat herself.
"You have sixteen that have made it to day 3."
Excuse me?
Sixteen? One-six?
Sixteen!
Every single fertilized egg has made it. They are all growing. I was so happy I could have hung up and collapsed in an exhausted heap on the floor. However, I knew that even more important information was coming. How big each one of them were.
"By day three, our clinic is looking to have them at least six cells. So here are their sizes:
One is six cells."
At this point, my heart flip-flopped as I realized that she could either be increasing in size or decreasing. Please don't decrease in size...
"One is seven cells."
Okay, so she increased in size. It could still be bad. What if she says the rest of them are small and worthless?
"Five are eight cells.
Four are nine cells.
Three are ten cells.
Two are twelve cells."
Holy goodness gracious. They all made it and they're all overachievers? As the nurse continued to talk, I made sure to find the sum of all the numbers, just to make sure it added up to sixteen.
The last things we talked about were Monday. Monday is implantation day! I'll head over to the clinic at 2:00 and the procedure will be at 2:30. I have to bring a couple drugs with me to take. We'll go over the final sizes with my doctor and cross our fingers that we chose the best one. I did ask if there was an approximate percentage of how many she thought might make it to day five. She said the numbers for that are all over the place (as I was expecting), but we could expect probably at least half.
Wahoo!
And, one more time just because I am so happy (and to make it easier to read):
1 six-celled
1 seven-celled
5 eight-celled
4 nine-celled
3 ten-celled
2 twelve-celled.
Now I can concentrate on my homework.
Just after 4:00, I jumped at the the sound of my phone going off. Private number. I knew what that meant. With shaking hands, I answered and ran up the stairs so husband could hear. I frantically searched the bedroom in two seconds, looking for a writing utensil. Yellow highlighter. Perfect.
I was extremely nervous. Throughout the day, I would turn to husband with a look of despair and wail, "What if there are only (fill in the blank with a number less than five) left?"
He was supportive. He always is.
When the caller told me how many embryos I had, I could not hear her straight the first time. Maybe it was selective hearing. I asked her to repeat herself.
"You have sixteen that have made it to day 3."
Excuse me?
Sixteen? One-six?
Sixteen!
Every single fertilized egg has made it. They are all growing. I was so happy I could have hung up and collapsed in an exhausted heap on the floor. However, I knew that even more important information was coming. How big each one of them were.
"By day three, our clinic is looking to have them at least six cells. So here are their sizes:
One is six cells."
At this point, my heart flip-flopped as I realized that she could either be increasing in size or decreasing. Please don't decrease in size...
"One is seven cells."
Okay, so she increased in size. It could still be bad. What if she says the rest of them are small and worthless?
"Five are eight cells.
Four are nine cells.
Three are ten cells.
Two are twelve cells."
Holy goodness gracious. They all made it and they're all overachievers? As the nurse continued to talk, I made sure to find the sum of all the numbers, just to make sure it added up to sixteen.
The last things we talked about were Monday. Monday is implantation day! I'll head over to the clinic at 2:00 and the procedure will be at 2:30. I have to bring a couple drugs with me to take. We'll go over the final sizes with my doctor and cross our fingers that we chose the best one. I did ask if there was an approximate percentage of how many she thought might make it to day five. She said the numbers for that are all over the place (as I was expecting), but we could expect probably at least half.
Wahoo!
And, one more time just because I am so happy (and to make it easier to read):
1 six-celled
1 seven-celled
5 eight-celled
4 nine-celled
3 ten-celled
2 twelve-celled.
Now I can concentrate on my homework.
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