The Junkie is Back.

I return. I return from the land of spouting geysers, bubbling mud pots and ornery buffalo. Yellowstone done me good. I challenge you to stay in a wifi-free cabin surrounded by mountains and wild flowers and to remain hung up on your shit. You basically can't do it, at least for most of the day. To be honest, I still laid in bed at night with thoughts of infertility dancing in my head but that's apparently unavoidable. A little bit of that baggage clings on wherever you go. Regardless, it was a true vacation. I barely worked (a victory) and my evil brain spawn stayed largely at bay. Yellowstone and the Grand Tetons are awe-inspiringly, spectacularly gorgeous. I've been lucky to spend time in a lot of beautiful, natural spaces but this one knocked my socks off. You must go. You simply must. I am committed to going back because after a week, I feel like I didn't even crack the surface of what those two national parks have to offer.

I title my post "The Junkie is Back" because in every sense, I am. Back from Yellowstone and, significantly, back to elbow crook track marks and pinpoint belly bruises. For the first time in quite a while, the universe did me a solid and held off my period until I returned from vacation. (The park ranger first aid cabin surprisingly does not provide ultrasounds and blood work unless a rabid bull elk stabs you in the uterus. Fortunately, I did not incur this wrath.) On Monday, the flood gates opened, the angels sang, and I got a real, normal period for the first time since the longest miscarriage ever. That's just shy of three months since confirmation of fetal demise if anyone is counting. I was due for some bleeding. Yesterday I went in for my baseline ultrasound and blood work. All normal, good to go. I started stims last night.

This cycle, my meds are wildly switched up. For my first IVF, I was on a very standard protocol: 3 weeks of birth control pills, followed by Lupron, then Follistim & Menopur before trigger. The results were solidly meh: 11 eggs, 7 mature, 5 fertilized, 2 sorta-kinda-decent embryos, 1 frozen blastocyst, 1 lackluster BFP and 1 miscarriage. Let's do better, shall we? This go round, no birth control pills so as not to over-suppress my cranky reproductive system. Yay! Day 2 of my cycle started with stim drugs Follistim and Menopur. I'll shoot up with those for the whole cycle. Next Monday I add in Human Growth Hormone. I expect to get taller and more beautiful. Then, when my follicles reach 14mm or so, I add in Ganilrelix to prevent premature ovulation. Soon after, it's party time. This protocol makes so much more sense to me. In the long Lupron protocol, you shut down your hormones (Good morning, menopause!) until you no longer have the will to live. I slept through my days, typically in a pool of sweat. Then you kick your hormones directly into high gear until you're ready to burst. Apparently this works well for people. Not my cup of tea. With the Ganilrelix protocol sans birth control, you take your natural hormonal low point - onset of period, progesterone dropped off, estrogen just beginning to climb - and add in the stimulants then. At least conceptually, I like this. We'll see if my body likes it too. Dear God, pleeeeaaaase. Mama's getting tired of all this shiz. 

Stim Days 9 & 10 - Follicular Vocal Therapy Success Rates

Someone needs to conduct a new study here. Singing works. Scientific facts:
A) On Wednesday I sang to my follicles.
B) At my Thursday ultrasound, they were bigger and more plentiful, my uterine lining was thicker and my estradiol level had doubled. You may think it was the carefully monitored doses of medication but I believe that my crystalline voice and heartfelt, awkward lyrics greatly contributed to my ova-uterine accomplishments.
I realize that I am a small sample group of one but I'm convinced there's something to what I shall call Follicular Vocal Therapy. Yesterday the head IVF nurse called to tell me that things were looking good and that we would most likely do retrieval on Sunday. I can't believe I'm almost there. I thought I'd be shooting up at my kitchen table forever. I did not have the 20+ follicles that I've heard about women growing but instead 9 lovely plump follicles at or above 10mm and 5 of those were over 14mm. I went in for another ultrasound today and hopefully, one or two more will scoot over the 14mm mark. Quality over quantity. What would I do with 20 children anyways? I live in a small, 2 bedroom apartment. There is simply no room.
In order to ensure another dazzling show at today's ultrasound, I continued my Follicular Vocal Therapy this morning. This time, J chimed in. We sang and sang in the bathroom. Our lyrics were impressive, the accoustics impeccable.
Scientific fact "C": It worked again. The nurse just called back. I now have 12 follicles at or over 10mm, 7 of those are over 14mm. And my uterine lining is 10.5mm. That is huge. My uterine lining has never gotten over 7.1mm and that was with medication. I usually roll in the 5-6mm range which, in bagel terms, is the endometrial equivalent of a "shmear." Embryos do not like to nestle into a mere scraping of lining, they like to cozy into something nice and cushy. And today, ladies and gentlemen, my uterus is cushy.
My apologies to any gentlemen reading this. It is highly unladylike to speak so freely about one's uterus. You know what else is unladylike? What I'm about to tell you. I'm embarrased. My leading side effect of the medication has been fatigue. All day, all night, can't get out of bed or spell my own name fatigue. My ultrasounds take place in the morning before work and I am typically less than chipper. I have gotten way too used to lying in that ultra-exposed position. Today I was exceptionally tired with 18 days of Lupron and 9 days of Follistim and Menopur stored up. As I lay on the paper-covered exam chair, my feet in stirrups, my head on a foam pillow, and a wand up my hoo-hah, I started to fall asleep. I didn't actually fall asleep but definitely started heading in that direction. With a stranger with a foreign object probing in my lady bits. This is a new low. So low. Pretty horrifying, completely embarrasing, and now for you to ponder and me to forget.

Retrieval is officially scheduled for Sunday, St. Patrick's Day. May the luck of the Irish be with me and may it actually be true that everyone is Irish on St. Patrick's Day.

Stims, Day 8 - Sip that medicine up, girls!

 

 

I have hit a new high. Or low. Not sure. This morning I sang to my growing follicles. I have either reached a new height of adorableness or creepiness. Hard to tell. It sounded like a children's song. I urged them to grow and invite their friends, to have a party, yada yada. "Yada yada" as though one could guess the trajectory of a follicle-growing song. My refrain, though I didn't song it at the time, should be "Sip that medicine up, sip that medicine up!" Doo-wop girls will sing it. Or possibly the Andrews Sisters. I digress.

I started a journal in a notebook but honestly I handwrite too slowly to accurately get my feelings down. The slog of it makes me anxious and then I write sad, sad things. Anyone who read it after me would remark what a wonder it was that I didn't commit suicide mid-cycle. That's not really how I feel at all. Yes, I have many moments of sadness, fear, uncertainty, etc but I have just as many moments of cautious excitement, pride in my near mastery of my injection protocol, and twinklings of "it could happen..." And that it might not. Ay, there's the rub.

I am on Day 8 of my stims - a cocktail of Follistim and Menopur with a dash of Lupron. The meds have the effect of replacing my once reasonably quick-witted brain with cat food. I also would like to nap at least twice a day. I might cry a little while I nap just for a little extra release. What a freaking emotional roller coaster. I am so ready to get off and get on with things. God forbid this medicine should have the side effects of making you feel energetic and extra witty. Perhaps a heightened sense of self. "I am an incredible dancer and am shockingly pretty!" That would be really sweet. Like cocaine, so I hear. Yet another thing that's verboten during my cycle. That and alcohol, caffeine (tragic), sex and exercise. But please, enjoy yourself! I do dabble in the caffeinated arts. I can't help myself. One indulgence a day usually in the form of black tea. Yeah, I know, I live right on the edge.

Sidebar - there's a completely amazeballs dress at Topshop right now. Writing this as I ride the bus to work along Michigan Avenue. Street of "you probably shouldn't buy that because babies are expensive and one day there's a possibility that you might get pregnant via petri dish. Save your money indefinitely."

 

Tomorrow I go in for another blood test and ultrasound, my third this week! The lab and ultrasound techs totally know me. I am an excellent patient. I do, however, annoy the ultrasound techs every single time I'm in when I ask to see my print out with the promise that I expect no interpretation on their part. I'd just like to see it so that I can see roughly the number of follicles I have growing and my uterine lining thickness. Otherwise I have to squirm while I wait 3-4 hours for the blood work to come back and the nurse to call me. They never say yes. It's against policy to look at images of your own body, apparently. "The nurse will call you and explain everything later!" They tell me this every time. I know that the nurse will call me. She always does. I would, however, like to leave the clinic without a giant question mark hanging over my head. I excel in pessimism. I am always sure that I either have ovarian hyper stimulation syndrome or have grown absolutely zero quality follicles. It's never anywhere in between. I go straight for the worst case scenario. It's a gift. This could all be avoided if I could just see that damn print out. Perhaps tomorrow I'll go all AA and "let live and let God" and not ask to see it. I'll just patiently wait for the call back, smiling beatifically. I'll let you know how that goes.