Silence

It amazes me how central London can be more silent at 3 am than our suburban NJ bolthole.

Consequently, that leaves much time to think. More precisely, more time to become nervous about the surgery on the 12th, but if there's something wrong and my fallopian tubes really don't...fallope...then I'd rather it were fixed now.

I started cinnamon instead of Metformin and Soy instead of the carefully hoarded Clomid. We shall see if I ovulate this month. The cinnamon doesn't upset my stomach so I'm taking a higher dose than the Met, and also it makes my burps taste nice.

Should probably call the fertility clinic and tell them I'm away, but it can wait.

Merry Xmas

..or, as it is known now, CD1.

Hate. So much for holiday miracles.

On the 12th DPO my true love gave to me...

...nothing -- I've had my Christmas prezzie already, so there we go.

Seriously, though, my tits are killing me. I've never experienced aches like this before! Ow!

Waiting

The thing about the two week wait...

...is that it is filled with waiting. Which is exactly what I am doing now.

In that, I've been lucky (?) to have so much excess stress to distract me and here we are at 5 days post ovulation. I haven't had time to exercise in over a week and there's no foreseeable relief in sight before going on holiday. I definitely didn't want to approach this holiday as a lard ass, but seems I'll be doing just that.

Given that this is the case, this means that I cannot have the consult at the hospital in London as I'm too far outside of their "acceptable weight" guidelines. I'm not too disappointed, since not exercising is my fault, not theirs. I've been eating healthy -- whole grain bread and peanut butter for most meals -- I can get back on track easily enough after things settle down a bit. It's not just exercise which has slid; I'm two days behind in my writing, I haven't ridden in almost two weeks, and I haven't done any housework so the dust bunnies are forming a union -- I think the dirty dishes are organising it.

Apart from that, no conception news other than my progesterone was low and I had to have another shot of Ovidrel last night. Woo.

Cervix.

F0r some reason, the usually painless IUI hurt today and there was some spotting. Now I'm crampy.

The nurse mentioned something about the speculum being the wrong size. All I noticed was that it was freezing cold, particularly for an object that had just come out of a warming tray...

Early.

IUI today and tomorrow. I don't feel positive about this cycle, but at least I don't feel so negative as I did last time. I was positive that it wouldn't work.

I wish I didn't have so many stress factors right now, but unfortunately life is dealing me quite a bit right now outside of the whole TTC thing! Moving country will do that to you, I suppose. We seem to have gotten it sorted to a reasonable degree, so that by Tuesday it should be behind us.

I don't feel like I've been very healthy this week, despite making more meals at home and eating out less (out of necessity since we're broke!). I had several days off from working out and riding due to air time out of the saddle. I rode Sunday and Monday, did barn work on Friday, and went to the gym on Thursday. I suppose if I go to the gym tomorrow that will mean I did something active four out of eight days, not too shabby. I am doing poorly at losing weight, which is not ideal, and it is actually coming in spite of being a "vegetablist" for most of the week! For some reason meat is not tasty this week and I've only had it three times. I really need to find some vegetablist recipes that are not full of soy. I don't want to eat something that is shaped/textured like meat, I want purely veggie stuff!

Meh. I just feel a bit of a lard ass because all I had to eat today was McDonalds. No more feeling sorry for myself, though!

Finally!

Progress!

I've discovered that going to the RE at 6.30 am gets me in at the same time as going at 5.30 am, and the wait isn't as bad. Go figure. I barely had time to read any of my book.

There is finally an 18mm follicle hanging around. I can finally stop the nasty Follistim injections and move on to the nasty Ovidrel injections, which of course is the Big Effing Needle Of Death. I never thought I'd say this, but thank God!

I felt very positive about this cycle earlier; maybe "slow & steady" will be what wins the race? Who knows? I'm still going to get a second opinion over the holiday, and have to take some time off from this and regroup, maybe come back to it in early Spring. The peaks and valleys of elation and depression are becoming too varied and I need some balance.

So no sleeping in for myself or The Stoat this weekend, it's andrology and IUI for us. At least my arms can start healing up soon.

Tomorrow.

Come back tomorrow. Again. I didn't pay the co-pay today; frankly, after $400 worth of visits I don't feel I should be charged.

The ultrasound hurt so badly I could cry and I look like a heroin addict. All for nothing yet.

Is it coincidence that these "problems" started after we said we wouldn't be doing IVF? You'd better believe I'm planning to let the world know that this is going on.

...

I should be nearly 12 weeks pregnant by now. I would have been out of my first trimester.

:(

Aargh!!!

I feel like I'm banging my head against the wall!!

I have been to the RE so many times this week I'm going broke from the co-pays. This is the fifth or sixth visit in about 8 days and my follicles *still* aren't ready to go. Follistim made a lot of them appear, but they are proceeding along at a snail's pace, having grown one stinking millimeter in two days! Today will be my 11th injection of the fecking stuff.

For contrast, the average time I was on Gonal F was six days.

I don't want any more blood work, either. Six times in the last week is e-freaking-nough. I look like a heroin addict. I have track marks. I am FED UP!!!

I'm seriously looking forward to a vacation now.

Carousel.

The exhaustion hasn't abated, despite going to bed at 9.00 last night.

Being up for an ultrasound this morning didn't help. At least I thought it was a good ultrasound, with three follicles looking like they could be the likely one. 14, 13, and 12mm, respectively.

Of course, now the RE is concerned because there are three whole follicles growing. They've but my dose of Follistim way back tonight and want to see me again tomorrow, which is damned inconvenient and not going to help the exhaustion. I was hoping for at least some sleep between the crazy scheduling this weekend!

Ah well, it's not to be, and if I get a Baby Stoat out of the deal, I'm fine with it.

Ow.

Stingy injection site stings. Ow.

Very exhausted. Wonder if it has something to do with the meds? Probably more related to 5 am wakeups for the doctor. Preparation for parenthood, perhaps?

Zzzzz.

Stress

I wasn't stressed about this whole thing -- until now.

Coming fast on the heels of yesterday's "you should have this surgery" RE visit was this morning's ultrasound. Apparently, my body doesn't like Follistim as much as it liked Gonal-F. The two drugs are supposedly identical, though it looks like one is follitropin alpha and one is follitropin beta.

What that means, who knows. All I know is that it is cycle day 7 and usually by now I'm one visit away from the trigger shot; this time I'm one visit away from maybe actually having some growing follicles. The doctor didn't seem terribly concerned, but then again he didn't seem terribly concerned yesterday when telling me he'd like to cut me open and have a poke around to see what's going on, either. In fact, I'm not actually sure it's possible for this man to be terribly concerned, full stop, he's very...neutral. All I can do is wait for the blood work and hope.

I feel defeated and heartbroken and stressed and not at all like the happy, confident person I should be at this point. And I am dreading the holidays, and visiting friends with babies.

Zydrate comes in a little glass vial...

...but unfortunately I don't think it's on the prescribed drug list for a laparoscopy. Which is what the RE wants to do next.

We did have our meeting with the RE this morning and as predicted, "IVF would be the best thing." Well of course it would, for you, and for your bank balance. Not for us, and we just said no. Actually, The Foxy Stoat said no, thankfully, because I didn't speak up.

So the RE wants to cut me open and poke around a bit to see what is going on, and that is scheduled for January 12th. That means I either get knocked up this cycle, or I go under the knife.

Isn't that a lovely choice?

It's strange, all I can think of is that I'll be out of commission for two weeks with riding and exercise, and how the heck am I going to deal with that? This can't be good. I don't want that to happen just as I'm getting back into shape.

I'm going to have a second opinion at Guys & St Thomas in London, but I think it may be best to go through with it and find out if there's been something all along getting in the way, which would be why Clomid didn't work and why we've had one Big Fat Positive from so many cycles. I've had a hysterosalpingogram to show nothing is blocked, but there could be scar tissue or endometriosis there.

The surgery is scheduled for the week after we get back. I have my pre-op on January 7th and the surgery is the 12th.

Needless to say, I am terrified out of my mind. Do you hear me, reproductive tract? Time to get into gear or there is going to be a scary guy with knives and lasers coming after you, and I won't be awake to save you! Please get it together in the next few days.

Ultrasound and bloodwork tomorrow. I wonder how the Follistim is working and if it'll be any different? It certainly feels different, like I'm going to murder people for no damned reason...

Whinge.

I'm tired, I'm in a foul mood, I'm crying at everything, and I'm having hot flashes.

Follistim is way worse than Gonal-F.

We have a doctor's appointment at 9 am tomorrow, where they'll try to push IVF on us. I might have considered if I didn't already have $40k of student loans hanging around. $40k in student loans and $30k for three IVF cycles = $70k of debt before I even go and buy a house, or a car.

No.

What kind of quality of life could I possibly provide a child if I can't afford to move out of apartment living? That's not how I want to raise my kids. I'm sure there are perfectly wonderful kids being raised in this very complex who lead happy and fulfilled lives and who will undoubtedly grow up to be astronauts or President or something; I want to be able to have a house someday and if it needs to be mutually exclusive with having children, so be it.

My mental picture of how I wanted to raise my kids is already warped enough due to the fact that I'm going to be an old mother, I refuse to allow it to be warped beyond recognition because my doctor wants a new Mercedes. IVF is ridiculously overpriced in this country and I am not going to pay a fortune out of pocket just because some insurance company wanted more money to pay their middle managers. The health care system in this country is broken and I refuse to fund it any more than I already have to. I will go abroad and pay into a system that I feel works much better, if I must.

Of course, it'll be typical -- I'll wind up getting pregnant next week and all will go to hell so I can't cancel my insurance and have to continue paying more than my monthly income in premiums. It's only because I'm defensive, angry, and ready to look elsewhere that I feel positive about this kind of thing happening!

All right, rant over.

Plans.

The week is mapped out in my Day Planner. Ride, gym, ride, gym, ride, ride, gym. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday working at Rose's Gym -- a.k.a. barn chores.

After watching the Stoat's video of my riding lesson and seeing how badly I looked, there was no way I was not going to the gym today (unless it was closed of course). Of course the doctor would have a small cow, possibly even a full sized calf, if they knew my workout routine. Needless to say it's a lot more than their recommended "30 minutes of walking".

Because walking does fuck-all for a 14 stone monster like myself. If I want my weight back to normal, it isn't going to happen by meandering around on a treadmill for a few minutes a day.

First, I tried the elliptical. Now, in the last post where I praised my gym for being small, I forgot to add that they made one rather annoying change. I love the elliptical trainer, it's great for fat girls with bad knees. They had six great ellipticals, but the belts kept slipping, so they replaced them with shinier, newer models, of which my beloved ellipticals had supposedly been the prototypes.

Riiiiight.

I got on one, and nearly died at about 1.20s -- the resistance is ZOMGHOLYCRAP hard on level 1. So I gathered up my iPod, workout journal, and water and headed to the older, crappier ones, to discover that they have no place to put water, journal, or iPod. I tried, and probably could have made it except that I was trying to juggle my iPod and hold onto the swingy-arm bits at the same time.

I barely have the hand-eye coordination to use an elliptical in the first place. Trying to do it whilst juggling an iPod touch was a no-go.

I picked up water, journal, and slightly battered iPod touch and headed over to the treadmill. Stepped on, nearly slid off - apparently my trainers have no tread! I can't win! Gah! I did manage 30 minutes at a light jog, and then somehow managed to lose the rest of my workout...so I improvised. But I did it, and now I feel better.

I *MISS* Holmes Place!

I know I'm supposed to be restricted to walking only. I know I'm subject to OHSS and all of that dandy crap from the drugs. It can't be healthy for me to be gaining so much weight every cycle, though, and I think that in this case exercise is the lesser of two evils.

Besides, I put down that I'm 13st 9lb. on the form for the Assisted Fertility Unit at Guy's in London and now I have to *be* that weight in the next three weeks. Not that this should be difficult. Three weeks to lose five lbs...yeah, that I can do. I just need to avoid my mother, and chocolate.

In some ways I feel guilty about sneaking exercise, but in some ways, it's more desirable now that I'm not supposed to be doing it! How's that for messed up?

Keep Moving!

Stoat is noodling away on his bass over in the ManCave. It's a sign all is right with the world.

There was an early start to the day, despite the fact that since I've announced I am not doing IVF with this clinic (nice that I can trot out the "Pope says no" excuse when necessary) the high level of service and correspondence has gone to shit. I understand it's a holiday weekend and all, but I did my bit by calling in on cycle day 1, the least they could have done is put me on the list for my day 3 bloodwork. The clinic is crowded on these mornings when the other four offices are closed, but the wait wasn't too bad. I had bloodwork and an ultrasound, despite the fact that the Downstairs Dept. looks like an episode of CSI right now.

Afterward, it was time for a riding lesson. Stoat videoed it but none of the photos came out. He was surprised at the intense level of activity, said it was like "riding boot camp". She was going easy on me! While I was on horseback the clinic called to OK my start of the meds. It's the same dose of a slightly different drug, and the pen had to be assembled, which I did not like. They did give me a snazzy carrying case for the epipen thing, though.

On the whole I'm feeling very middle of the road about the whole thing. I should just give up and focus on becoming a better rider, and undoubtedly the day before the Olympic selection trials will be when I get the BFP! For a more serious goal, I've mapped out the week, four riding days and three gym days -- I have the membership, might as well use it. It's times like this when I really miss Holmes Place in London. Of course, it's a crap Virgin Active now and probably not as nice. It had a women-only weight and cardio room, pool, and all manner of classes. My gym now is unpretentious, which I like, but it's small and the classes are few. I could really use a yoga class, but in order to fit my schedule it would have to be at one of my multitude of destinations -- work, barn, gym, or my parents' house. I'd do it at home but I fail at home yoga badly. The class I took, though, now that was good. Wish I could do it again.

So far, though, my plan to get into better shape is going okay. We'll see how I feel after next week's busy schedule. All I need to do is watch that video of me riding, flopping around with all of my chins, and contrast it with the elegant picture some of my barn mates make...that should be motivation enough. This weight HAS to go -- it can only help things.

Mandell's Pharmacy -- Knowing How To Handle Your Patients

Oh, joy. My delivery of Follistim just showed up. Wahoo. I get to learn to use a whole new drug.

Well, shit, now it's just like Christmas.

The up side to this is Mandell's Pharmacy, the place where my new and about-to-be-discontinued insurance has sent me. Not only was their shipment packaged in a nice, tiny little polystyrene cooler as opposed to Freedom's enormous bag (eco points there) they've clearly got their customers in mind. Inside was my drugs and a small bag of Hershey's Kisses.

That's right, Mandell's. Send the menstruating and infertile chocolate, and you've got a friend and customer for life. Just keep it coming. ;)

Where to begin

The fertility journey began in August 2007. It has been a long and horrible road.

I have been told I was too fat, refused help, shuffled along, moved abroad, and subjected to every test in the book. Last month I thought there was a light at the end of the tunnel; unfortunately, it was a speeding lorry -- a miscarriage.

So here I am today, taking the first few steps from the new crossroads we've built. One of those steps is this blog, at a suggestion from Laura. I would consider myself to be a well-connected person, social media enlightened, with three other blogs, a Facebook page, and a Twitter feed which keeps me connected to everyone. Since October 24th, though, I feel isolated from everyone, with the exception of the Foxy Stoat, my husband, the only one who goes through this with me anyway.

Hence, this blog, where I can cry in isolation. I discovered that the hardest part of the miscarriage was the sympathy. I hated it. I just wanted to get on with my life. I did. I bought a horse, went in for bloodwork, did the next IUI cycle...

I still have the horse, the venipuncture bruises, and have just been gifted with another BFN from the cycle I didn't share with everyone else. It is looking increasingly unlikely that I will be going to England for Christmas as a pregnant woman, and all I can think is that I should be in my second trimester while I am there. Joy denied.

I was attempting to write a book about the humor of the journey and even got a chapter or so done. Right now, I'm not feeling much humor. I feel bleak, bitter, and defeated by my own body, which as a vehicle for my soul is roughly equivalent to a rusted out minivan with missing backseats and an engine that inexplicably goes "ping". I hated my body before starting the fertility thing. Now I despise it.

Today felt very bad. I had two panic attacks, bouts of inexplicable anxiety and a sense of impending doom. They were so bad I couldn't even cry out; like in a nightmare, I was frozen. I was not doing anything except enjoying Thanksgiving in the same way I have done for 29 of my 30 years. One attack happened at dinner, one before we left for home. I felt horrible. I think it has something to do with not being pregnant right now, and I don't know why.

We will begin the bloodwork for the final IUI cycle on Saturday morning. Technically, we are two cycles away from the six cycle "suggested serving size", this being only the fourth cycle. I made an executive decision shortly after receiving my Big Fucking Negative pregnancy test results over the phone yesterday. I am getting nowhere, paying $1,200 a month for insurance plus several hundred dollars a cycle for the procedure and drugs. At this point, I need a break. I wanted desperately to be pregnant before my 30th birthday. I wasn't. I wanted to be a mother before I turned 31. I won't be. I will have to deal with being an old mother regardless, so taking a few months off to regroup won't kill me. I need to lose about 2 stone, take care of myself, save money, and we're moving back to England for help. We're calling the private clinic tomorrow and I hope to start in the spring.

I don't feel like sharing. I feel bitter, and angry, and betrayed, and I don't want to talk to anyone about it, so I'll talk to myself, here. Maybe not the best way to start a baby blog, but at least it's honest.