Saturday, March 26, 2011

Speak To Me Saturday

A quote I came across today, which spoke to me as I struggle between faith and fear.

“You block your dream when you allow your fear to grow bigger than your faith." - Mary Manin


Thursday, March 24, 2011

IUI #7

The deal is done. 22 million sperm are now elbows & tripping their way up my fallopian tubes hoping to find an egg (or two. Eek!)

It went well. I slept poorly and woke early which is unlike me, but I think it was just nerves. Traffic was bad, but fortunately David went straight there while I took Robbie to daycare and since his portion was needed before I was, the timing worked out well.

I still don't just love her new nurse. I mean, she's nice enough, but just not the old nurse. She actually had the nerve to give me the "It just takes one" speech. I HATE THAT SPEECH. First of all, it's simply not true. Second of all, I know how this works, I don't nee the explanation. Lastly, well, it's not true! But whatever. Twenty two million is a great number, particularly for us. There was no pain at all. I laid there letting the swimmer find their way and David mostly grinned.

It really amazes me how bright and hopeful he is about all of this. He just smiled and asked what we were going to name the baby. I couldn't help but smile back. I wish I felt so unencombered by worry.

At this point I don't know if I'm more worried it won't work or that it will. I mean, if it works, then there comes the miscarriage worries, and what if it's twins (or more? OMG.), and then even if we managed to make it to the 2nd trimester with one baby- the point where most people start to breathe a little easier- my worry is just beginning. I never made it out of the 2nd trimester with Robbie. Preeclampsia. Prematurity. The NICU. There's just so much to worry about.

I'm trying very hard to stay distracted. If I find myself with a knot in my belly, trying to plan how we'll care for Robbie and a baby in the NICU, I stop and do something else. I know that worrying changes nothing. But I think the anxiety section of my brain is overdeveloped. I don't know how to just turn it off.

But there is hope, too. I had a vision of me delivering a full term baby, crying as I heard him cry for the first time in the delivery room. This morning when I dropped Robbie off at school, it was early. He was the only student from his room there, so they took him over to the infant room. I watched to see if you had any inesterest in the babies, hoping he'd decide he'd like a little brother or sister. He paid no attention at all, more excited by a room full of toys he's never played with. But at least he didn't cry.

Hoping that in 9 months (not 6, thank you) we'll see how he really feels about babies, but this time in his own house.


Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Smiley Face

Went in for my follie scan this morning. Leftie hurts like a b, but only had one measly 12.5 mm follicle to show for it. Rightie took the lead. Two nice ones, 18 & 21mm. I was in and out in under 15 minutes, awaiting a call with instructions to trigger tonight & IUI on Friday morning.

Came home, used an OPK and SURPRISE! Smiley face. As that's the third surge I've ever seen in in 5 years, I actually said out loud "WHOA! Oh boy!" and went running for the phone. Left a message for my husband and the clinic to advise that our timetable just moved up on its own.

I'm honestly relieved because I really felt like I was closer to Oing than I expected and was afraid we were going to be a day late. I guess I was right, but for once, the tests worked to save the cycle.

Of course, I'm a nervous wreck about 2 good follicles. We do not want twins. Not that I wouldn't love two babies, but risks go up and we're already pretty much maxed out on risk. But here we are.

Crossing our fingers and jumping.


Thursday, March 17, 2011

Staying cool

The cycle is under way. I'm only taking 25mg of Clomid, so I was expecting my side effects to be even easier than last time (and they weren't bad then.) They still aren't terrible, but I feel like a walking sauna. I guess it's a good sign that it's working, but not only am I having hot flashes, but I just generally feel hotter. I've been obsessively checking the thermostat, convinced it's been bumped upward somehow (despite being both eye level and digital), but no. That's just estrogen.

I have been playing chase-the-bureaucrat-by-phone game with the insurance company. Infertility coverage is mandated in the state of Illinois, and I confirmed all coverage at the beginning of the year, but when the pharmacy ran my trigger shot through, it came back denied. Of course, pharmacy benefits tells me to call the regular insurance who (after I trotted out my Angry Trish voice) tells me I need to call a specialty pharmacy who tells me to have the office call, and then they are told to fill out special paperwork which will then be sent to yet another pharmacy who will then (Hopefully!) fill the prescription. The good news is that supposedly if all of this happens correctly, it will actually be covered at 100%, which means I even get to save my expected co-pay. Thank goodness I don't need the shot until next week and have some time to play phone games.

Emotionally I've been okay. Well, okay, as long as you don't count that my temper is definitely short, which I'm blaming on Clomid both directly (hormonal rage) and indirectly (being hot all the time has lead to poor sleep.) It's helpful that work has been pretty crazy. It seems counter-intuitive, but the stress of work has actually helped because it gives me something to focus my hormonal rage on and keeps me distracted enough that I can't google preeclampsia recurrence rates repeatedly all day long.

I wanted to lose 20 pounds before we started cycling again. I've lost 25, and on a good week, closer to 30. (We did some traveling last weekend, which meant eating a lot of crap food, so it's closer to 25 again.) I'm still fat, but it's something. It's more than Dr. Bitchy asked for, and hopefully it can make a difference. It's the only risk factor I have any control over at all, so I'm doing what I can.

We appreciate any and all prayers for a nice, boring, regular-length pregnancy. And if you could pass me a cool rag, that would help, too.


P.S. Don't forget to donate to Team Remarkable Robbie. Our fundraising is off to a slow start and every dollar counts.

Thursday, March 10, 2011

Let the games begin.

Since we ended up not starting ART this month because of a pesky UTI (been clear for several weeks now, thanks for asking.) this was basically our last shot at conceiving on our own. Of course, we haven't prevented since Robbie's birth coming up on three years ago, so I figured the chances of that were nil, but since David had that SA that showed rock star sperm, I think hope seeped in a little.

And to be frank, I don't know what's going on lately, but we've been humping like bunnies. Well, at least by our standards. Maybe I'm hitting my sexual peak or something, I don't know. But neither of us are complaining. So.. you know.. hope, I had it.

Then 4 days after I ovulated this month, by boobs started hurting like whoa! I mean, bring tears to my eyes, cuss under my breath hurt when I took off my bra. They haven't hurt like that since I was pregnant. I started daydreaming about the big brother shirt I'd get for Robbie.

I started testing at 9dpo. I mean, there was some tests in my drawer burning a hole in my.....drawer? They NEEDED to be peed on. Of course, it was negative. As was this mornings. This morning, in fact, it was so negative that the test line was actually whiter than the rest of the test window. Hope is a bully. Today she pointed and laughed, "No, Trish, I mean REALLY negative." By this afternoon, I was already spotting.

Tomorrow should bring CD1, which means a call to the fertility clinic. And thus we begin. I informed David that I was preparing myself for ladybit prodding and he should prepare himself for hormonal rage attacks. He had the nerve to smile like he was looking forward to it, but then thought better and hugged me. I guess we're as ready as we'll ever be.


Thursday, March 3, 2011


For the first time since Robbie was 3 weeks adjusted, he has no therapists. None. Zip. Zero. Zilch. No more 3 mornings a week schedule shuffling, no waiting for late therapists. No more critical eyes picking apart everything he does, giving every quirk a diagnosis. Done.

Last week, his speech therapist scored his evaluation and informed me that at the age of 2.8 years, his receptive language was measuring 2.7 years and his expressive language was 2.8 years. In other words- caught up. Several weeks ago she had confessed that she didn't even know what to work on for feeding. While he still prefers some textures over others, there's nothing he can't or won't eat if he's in the right mood- just like a typical toddler.

His OT never discussed anything with me at all, but her reports home because increasingly obvious she was done, too. "Robbie no longer displays resistance to ____________."

I knew it was time to fly free, but I was still nervous. I asked for our developmental therapist to come out and do a global evaluation to be sure. I was sad when they told me she was out having surgery and then thrilled when she called to set up the appointment anyway. She was the first therapist who ever saw Robbie. She's also the mother of 5 children and has always seemed to have great expertise in her field as well as real, practical experience as a mom. She came on Monday.

He did score a little behind in a few areas. As good as his speech was, she wanted him to be conversing and asking questions more. He still won't jump on a solid surface and mostly parallel plays. But none of those were enough to cause her any alarm. She was amazed at the progress since she'd seen him 6 months ago. At that point, he still tended to tune everyone out, had 7 words, hyperventilated at bathtime and refused to touch any food softer than a piece of bread. Today he uses 3 and 4 and sometimes even 5 word sentences, strips & climbs into the tub asking for a "baff" and demands applesauce and just about anything else if he's in the right mood. She didn't score the evaluation on the spot, but told me her feeling was that he was doing amazing; that the skills he doesn't have are clearly emerging and she was very pleased.

Tuesday was our IFSP. It was the usual reading of assessments. The OT report was a bit of a surprise as she had him listed as not being able to do skills that he definitely has, but most of those were also addressed in the DT report and he had done them just fine for her.

When it was my turn to speak, I asked plainly "My desire is to end services. Does anyone have any concerns about that?" Everyone answered "absolutely not." His SLP said that even if I didn't want to end all services, she was going to discharge us- her work here was done. His DT said that any areas she felt he could use work in were already being addressed by his daycare and by me, and she felt like he was doing amazing. And that was that.

We hugged, I cried. I made cupcakes to celebrate, so we had cupcakes of celebration. And then they were gone.

As of Wednesday, March 2nd, 2011, my son is free to grow and develop like any other boy.

It may not be for good, I know that. He may have trouble in school, he may need some physical help at some point because he's small and wimpy. But for now, we're going to sleep late & laze about snuggling instead of rushing to meet therapists. It feels really good.