More info, less answers

Yesterday's news was unexpected.
And very confusing.

A quick recap from my last appointment with Dr. IVF:
I go in for a sonohysterogram (salt water up the hoohoo to take a look at the inside of the uterus) and trial transfer. Within seconds of starting the great wanding, Dr. IVF says I have a large fibroid that's acting like an IUD and that is so disrupting the uterine cavity it will require an abdominal myomecotmy (basically a c-section to deliver my fibroid). He says there is no reason to have the sonohysterogram or trial transfer at this point. We cry and make a bunch of life changing decisions.

A quick recap of the call I received from my general OB yesterday:
I have a 3 cm fibroid (considered small!) on the outside of my uterus. Not touching my uterine lining at all. General OB is not sure why Dr. IVF said it was inside my uterus and required such complicated surgery. Then General OB says that the only way to definitively tell if the fibroid is inside or outside is to have a sonohysterogram (the exact test I was supposed to have in October and Dr. IVF called off).

So.
I called Dr. IVF. Offices closed until Jan 3. WTF!!!
And now I'm so confused.
Which information is correct? Fibroids don't just up and move.
We even drove over to Dr. IVF's office, like total lunatics, because we thought there is no way an IVF office can be closed for a whole week - maybe they just gave the person answering the phones a little vacation. Nope. Dark. Locked. Damn it.

So now we have to wait until Jan 3rd to try to track down some answers.

I don't even know how I feel yet. I mean, I feel just about everything (angry, frustrated, sad, out of control, hopeful, confused). You name it. I got it. Even though there were a lot of tears yesterday, I do realize this crazy-making news also means hope. Maybe what we thought was impossible is possible? Our original plan was to bake one and then buy one (hence the blog). Maybe we can now. I don't know. Despite my fears, I was truly excited about our adoption plans. But despite my excitement, I was truly sad to never carry one of our children.

I am trying to be patient. I am trying not to make plans. I am trying not to make big decisions. I am trying not to freak out. We don't know enough. We don't know anything.

If anyone has a fibroid/pregnancy story, will you share?

PTSD

I went back to the OB today.

This is my regular OB, not the horrendously incompetent OB of the IUIs nor the awesomely talented RE of the IVF that never was.

The reason for the visit was two-fold:
1. I've been having repeated dull aches and excruciating sharp pains in my lower abdomen (fibroid growing? scar tissue from dermoid surgery? random GI issue?)
2. I need one last scan of all the reasons we chose not to pursue IVF. For myself. Hope has been trickling in and I have fantastic fantasies of how maybe they were wrong and maybe I wouldn't need as much surgery as they said and maybe we can do this after all. I need to be sure.

So I went.
Yesterday, actually.
But the U/S machine was broken.
So I went again. This morning.
And it was hard. Pants down. Back on the table. Magic wand up and in.
All the old feelings come rushing back. Fight the tears. I've been here before. It's never good news.

And now I wait. Because the OB didn't have time to see me since they had to reschedule yesterday's appointment. She's supposed to call. At some point. Hopefully today.

And I want to know.
Is the fibroid growing? Is it gone?
Will I *have* to have that surgery we once thought was elective and chose not to do?
Could I ever, ever, ever be pregnant?
Should I put the hope to rest for the last time?
If we were magically cleared for IVF, would we do it?
Am I going to be devastated all over when they confirm what we already knew?

A Giveaway!

This is shameless self-promotion in the name of free stuff.
But you might get a $25 gift card out of it (if you read to the end).

I participated in my first giveaway-review-thingy for Blogher.
They sent me a $25 gift card to Kroger and asked me to purchase Proctor & Gamble products and tell you how much I saved.

A LOT. I saved a lot. What with the sales and the coupons and the giftcard and the good value I paid $.79 for:


Nice, huh?
You can do the same.
If you visit the Blogher P&G Giveaway and leave a comment, you could win a $25 gift card to Kroger.
Good luck!

Have you been traveling (yes I've been traveling)

I've been gone and now I'm back.
The first half of the month was for work. The second half was for family.
I have one crazy family...with a little bit of awesomeness tucked in the corner.
We stayed with the awesome part.
Which is roughly made up of my cousin, his wife, and their 3 girls - D (5.5 years), L (3.5 years), and S (2 years).
We played. We colored. We saw tangled.
L drew an impromptu picture...these are your eyes, this is your hair, this is the baby in your belly, and you are crying. Intuitive kid. No real baby in my real belly, but some real tears. And baby making and adoption and infertility hadn't come up the whole trip. Just one of those moments.

Like how S gave me a long sleeved, v-neck, purple shirt. And I gave her a long-sleeved, v-neck, purple and grey sweater. Weird. I wonder if we're starting to look alike as well. (that's funny. if you know us. because we don't.)

On the real live baby front:
1. I have a post brewing about adoption and some fears that have been cropping up
2. Several of the blogs I started following when I first started TTC just had babies (well, the bloggers had babies). I definitely have some feelings about that
3. We're nearing the completion of the 5,678 steps necessary for our homestudy
4. My cousin, who's like 106 years old, just announced her pregnancy

Today's the last day (ish)

I did it. Did you?

The Best of the Adoption/Loss/Infertility Blogs of 2010

Genetics

I know a bit about genetics. I even went to a pretty good school to learn about it (them?) (I am reminded of this each month as I send off my student loan check). But while genetics absolutely titllates my nerdy mind, it really holds no personal value. I don't need a genetic link to my child(ren). I don't have some great skill I hope to pass on (I can't sing or draw or play sports with any talent). I don't have remarkable features to bestow (teeth, hair, skin all being generally average...height being decidedly less so). I personally only know half of my own genetics (the other half not being aware of me either). I really just want to be a parent. To have a happy little family.

And then I was going to say, "wtf, so why am I so affected by this damn infertility." But in my writing and wallowing, I just realized...nerdy me has morphed something huge and full of emotion (infertility) into something small and manageable and academic (genetics). I can handle genetics. I cannot handle infertility.

In Orlando for a work thing

There's a Denny's next to my hotel.
Best. Grilled. Cheese. Ever.

Also.
Ps.
Can nuns be doctors? Because I'm pretty sure I just saw one.

Dear Santa

Please bring me some serious meds for Christmas. I am so over the infertility tears hijacking my daily activities.
Thank you,
J

PS
Did you read Howard Jacobson's op-ed on Hanukkah? Apparently little Jewish children do not get presents from Santa. Not even much needed antidepressants. Not even coal. They get worse than coal, they get dreidles!

PPS
The house officially smells like Hanukkah. I made latkes with dinner last night and that greasy yummy smell is lingering like Waffle House set up shop in the kitchen.

"The best thanksgiving ever"

That's how the story ends.

Wait until you hear how it begins....

S and I spend Thanksgiving with her family every year. S's family consists of 3 women, all of whom can safely be called senior citizens. They are all 3 lovely people who do their best to love their family. They are all 3 lovely people who have spent their entire lives in very small towns in the south - and have the fears and beliefs to match.

S + coming out = very hard for them
S + dating a real live woman = super duper hard for them
S + marrying me = inconceivable and they asked us not to send the invitation and to never mention it again

(side note: I'm always welcome at family functions, as long as we never disturb the Kate & Allie version of us they have in their minds)

Thanksgiving dinner
S: "We wanted to wait to tell you in person that we are very excited because we are adopting a baby!"

Crickets, crickets, crickets.
Smiles fade.
Eyes get wide.

S's mama: a very pained, "Well, I'm OK with it, I guess."

Which soon deteriorated into, "It's going to be a white baby, right?"
And things spiraled into horribly worse from there....
It was bad.
It was offensive.
Hurtful things were said.
There was yelling.
And crying.
And admonishments to never bring the baby to the house, "because I just can't accept it."

Sigh....

The drive home
We left Saturday morning. S so hurt. And me so hurting for her and so angry that a family could say the things they did. We processed for hours (as our people do). And we reconfirmed our commitment to each other to build the kind of family that we believe in, even at the cost of pissing off our families of origin.

And then the phone calls started. Guilty and even (once) apologetic. S's family trying to make amends as we drove the 7 hours home. And right before she hung up, on that last phone call, S's mama said, with deep sincerity, "that was the best thanksgiving ever."

5 finger discount

According to the local police department, S has no finger prints. I think this opens a whole new option for baby-getting ;)

ps
She does too have finger prints. They are just dainty. And apparently unreadable on a live scanner thingy.

pps
Don't tell her I referred to any part of her being as dainty.

Dr IVF and Mr Open Adoption Agency

I have been full of avoidance lately. Mostly disguised as busy-at-work - with a little bit of off-on-vacation.

My happy side has been consumed with open adoption errands. Trips to the police department for fingerprints and 9.1.1 call records. Searching for photographers that can turn my eeyore mug into something more inviting. Tracking down birth certificates and divorce decrees (the former for me, the latter for S). And it's been great. S and I share happy daydreams and exciting discussions. And we smile and laugh and dream up the perfect parenting response to all the crazy antics our one-day-peanut is going to get in to. Cue the lights and happy-go-lucky sitcom music....

Then there is this other side. The painful undercurrent of infertility that I keep under wraps by taking on too much work and keeping myself too busy and telling myself I'm-done-with-that-grieving-shit. But it sneaks up on me. And I can't read anyone's baby blogs and I can't write my own. I avoid talking to certain knocked up friends. And before I know it, I find myself in the embarrassing situation of crying over my beer in front of a friend and her new girlfriend (AWKWARD). Apparently, I'm not done with the sad.

I'm driving myself crazy (and probably S, too) flipping back and forth. What I wish is:
1. I could go to Target and pick up our new baby next time I'm over there stocking up on toilet paper.
2. And if that isn't possible, I wish I could move forward with this adoption with out any knowledge of my stupid infertility.
3. And...screw that, if we're wishing for baby wishes, I wish I had my 25 year old body with my 36 year old brain...I mean really, why is it when I finally get my shit together (career, emotions, finances, relationships), my body goes to hell?

London calling

We're on vacation (except for the part about how I have my laptop and I'm really still working).

People here are SO NICE.
AND
Even girl cows have horns (and I have the pictures to prove it).
The healthy living show I'm watching on TV while my girl gets ready is sponsored by Al.li (the a.n.al lea.kage drug)
The public transportation is AMAZING (but so very expensive)
Ox.ford is not an itty bitty town with 2 restaurants and a general store, as I imagined, but a beautiful town full of nooks and crannys and nerdy smart people (my favorite kind!)
and Am.stel really is better than Am.stel Li.ght

Back in the states by the weekend....

In Vegas for a work thing

Coworkers: C'mon, let's go gamble.
Me: Can't. Saving up to buy babies.

End of story.

It wasn't me officer, I swear

Among the other 4,635 ridiculous things we have to do to pass the home study is get a record of the 9.11 calls from each of our residences for the past 5 years. (Just a little aside - it's not that I'm mad that we have to go through this drawn out vetting process, it's that I'm mad that EVERYONE doesn't have to go through it. I mean, you have to have a license to drive a car, and be 21 to drink alcohol, but you can just make babies all willy nilly?)

So, 9.11 call records. Sounds simple. Unless your partner, prior to moving in with you, lived on campus. At a university. Full of 18ish to 22ish year old children who don't always make the best choices. She was a professional RA, so to speak. So she was there. For each of the shootings. The drug over doses. The alcohol poisonings. And the general debauchery.

I guess our homestudy will have an entire chapter devoted to explaining that away.

crickets, crickets

We have officially skipped the bake one part and have moved directly to the buy one part. And life has been busy:
-grieving the various medical malfunctions that have led me here and have firmly closed the door to genetic procreation
-attending hours and hours of information sessions on navigating the precarious path from potential adoptive parent to actual adoptive parent
-tracking down the millions of pieces of paper you need in order for the government to approve your application to parent (yes, it's a pain in the ass! yes, i think it's important and necessary! but damn is it ridiculous that only people who have to obtain babies have to go through this paper circus!)
-and all those other little parts of life, like work and family and friends, that have been neglected for so long but seem to be clamoring for attention

triumph for today: scoring an official copy of my birth certificate

promise for tomorrow (or at least by the weekend): more blog posts

Happy Anniversary!!

I'd like to wish my love, S, a very happy anniversary. Today's not the actual day. But we decided we should celebrate ALL. MONTH. LONG.


And we have. Yummy dinners out and at home. Ind.go G.rls in our own backyard (not in our literal backyard, but you know, in our city). Amazing and very special presents (including my very own signed, first edition of the greatest novel ever written, The G.d of Small Things - it is the paper anniversary, you know). And a picnic on a school day, where my love kissed me in the sunshine.


Happy Anniversary, to my favorite.
All my love,
me

Sometimes I forget...

...that I've been cast with the infertiles.

And then it hits me like a ton of bricks. Like a piece of me has been cut off. And I keep forgetting. Until I go and try to use it. And then shi.t does it hurt. Like phantom limb pains. F.ck these phantom limb pains (and f.ck that I can't even think of a better analogy).

And it hurts for the weirdest reasons. (i had to write this down for me. stop reading now if you don't want to join the fall down my spiral of morose self-pity. i will, however, promise to post something light and fluffy next. but don't say I didn't warn you. it's not pretty here.)

1. My body is a wonderland. I mean, a wasteland. I mean, I was picked last for dodge ball. And I was what could be only kindly described as chubby my entire childhood and adolescence (I still qualify as chubby, but I don't think you can use that word after the age of 15. By then you graduate to plain old fat). Anyway, the point being that I've not (ever) had a good relationship with my body. And failing in such a primal (reproductive) way has brought up old (body) baggage. And this body, she's reminding me of every single time I. let. her. down. She's not fighting fair.

2. My family is as dysfunctional as everyone else's. Do you ever talk about "little me" in therapy? That insistent childhood self who keeps wanting to be heard. And healed. Well little me is devastated that we don't get to redo playing house. My mother is a natural disaster area. My father is not aware of my existence. And little me is stomping her foot and crying in the corner because someone took her do-over away.

3. I want to control EVERYTHING. When I'm scared/hurt/insert-negative-emotion-of-your-choice, I like to believe that if I work hard enough, I can fix it (sometimes, S likes to call this being a martyr. sometimes she's right). I like to think that I don't need anyone's help because I CAN DO IT MYSELF. (Hmmmm, seems like little me might be rearing her pretty little head for this one too). But this time I can't. I can't do it myself. And that makes me feel sad and helpless.

4. Oh, jealousy. What would be a list of painful things without the list of pregnant bellies that have popped up around me. Why do my ex-girlfriend, co-worker, college roommate, and college BFF all have to be pregnant/birthing babies RIGHT NOW.

F.ck infertility and the mess it makes.

Ever have one of those reality-defying daydreams?

You know, your period is late(r than usual) and a bit less, erm, flowy. And for a split second you let your mind wander. And you think maybe you're really pregnant (despite the fact that there is no such thing as an "accidental pregnancy" in your house). And that maybe that fibroid Dr. IVF found encroaching on your uterus was really a gestational sac. And even though he's been up in women's lady bits for over 20 years, he was mistaken, just this once.

Yeah, me either.

On the road again

Plans have been changed. Again.
Maybe things have come full circle, maybe we've just taken a long, winding road. The kind that makes you nauseous. And leaves your stomach in your throat. But either way, we're here. On the other side. And on this side, we found the two things we lost along the way:
hope and excitement

Yesterday, we met with an adoption agency. That openly works with gay people.
Yesterday, we mailed in our paperwork and our (first) check.
Today, we are officially registered and beginning the (open) adoption process.

When S and I first started talking about having children, we were set on adopting from Guatemala. We were SO EXCITED. But we were also young (well, as young as you can be when you're pushing middle age) and about to face some pretty tough challenges in our relationship. By the time we got our shit together, Guatemala had closed the door on ALL adoptions (don't get me started on my feelings on that). And then we went to every MaybeBaby, GrowYourFamily, Help!We'reLesbians seminar in our general area. And the adoption obstacles seemed IMMENSE. And S had health insurance and I didn't and we had a pretty willing donor who looked suspiciously quite a bit like me and we had NO IDEA how hard it was to get knocked up so we commenced with some fumbling, at-home, "live" tries with S's body. No dice. We looked into adoption again - this time with an eye on Bulgaria. And decided it wasn't the right time (lying to adopt as a single woman was not something we wanted to do). So I bought insurance and the medical circus began. And after three strikes (bad ovary, bad tube, bad uterus) we looked into open adoption. And here we are.

I can't say I don't still shed a few tears over other people's pregnancy stories (This one totally got me today...loooove her writing, so jealous of her pregnancy). And then feel guilty over my negative feelings about someone else's happiness. But despite the neuroses I should probably seek therapy over, I'm pretty damn happy about our current plan. Excited even. And hopeful that we're 2 steps closer to our 3 (or 4) person family.

Them: Why don't you discuss it with your husband and give us a call back

Me: She's my wife, but that sounds good.

PS
Guess they didn't write GAY in big red letters on my chart

PPS
We meet with an adoption agency on Tuesday. But to make matters more complicated, the above was the conclusion to the conversation in which we received our first good news about my f'ed up reproductive system. AMH = 1.1 ("Very good," according to the sweet, if not mistaken, NP)

when god closes a door, i want to jump out the window

Please join me in my wallowing:

We're lesbians.
We'll buy donor sperm!

Right ovary has crapped out.
I'll take letrozole!

Left fallopian tube is blocked.
We'll move on to IVF!

I'm old and don't produce a lot of eggs.
We'll apply for donor embryos!

My uterus has grown into an inherent form of birth control.
I quit.

We don't know what we're doing yet. But I am giving myself through this weekend to succumb to the eeyoreness of it all.

Bench warmer

Not a good day for the pregnancy journey. If I want to get knocked up I have to have another surgery (myomectomy). But this time, over-night-in-the-hospital, incision-across-my-abdomen, catheter-in-my-bladder, and-a-pain-pump surgery. Like a c-section, but instead of a cute little baby, they take out a chunk of my uterus. And, given the size of the fibroid, they might not be able to take out the polyp at the same time. Which would then lead to a third surgery. And, due to the size of the fibroid, Dr. IVF says if I do get pregnant, I'll have to have a (real) c-section, when the time comes. And there's a good chance my insurance won't cover the next (and the next) surgery.

ANGRY that Dr. OB missed this HUGE fibroid that Dr. IVF called, "a very good form of birth control." (and found on the US in a matter of seconds. wtf.)

SAD that we've hit yet another road block and that my body has been harboring these infertility secrets all these years and I never knew.

DISAPPOINTED that we're still sitting on the sidelines, waiting to get into the game.

FRUSTRATED that my control-freak self is having to let go. Of a lot.

Wait. What?

So there's been a lot of waiting going on over here. CD1 was an absolute tease and after several false starts, she finally got the party started. There was lots of out of character, "thankgodyourehere", on my part. And then I called Dr. IVF to schedule my sonohysterogram.

I'm a list maker (a new one every morning - it's practically the highlight of my day now that I've given up coffee) and getting that CD12-14 appointment was the first step on a long list of things-we-need-to-do-to-get-that-baby-here. SO yay. But, then, imagine my utter delight when the person on the other end of the line scheduled me for a sonohysterogram AND a trial transfer. Wait. What?

Yep, me, a trial transfer. That was like 45th on the Baby Master List. I am counting this as OFFICIAL good news on this damned TTC journey. Next Wednesday. Poked. Prodded. And hopefully handed a plan that will lead us to the doorstep of IVF #1 (and only).

A disease I can't catch

Yesterday.
Phone rings.
BFF: Guess what, I'm pregnant!
Me: OMG, I'm so excited for you (and I can barely choke down these tears)

This morning.
Email.
Good college friend: Surprise! I'm pregnant! With twins!
Me: Again, so excited, and again, biting my lip to keep the tears in check.

I am genuinely happy for my friends. Ecstatic even. I can't wait to meet and love on their babies. I wouldn't wish fertility struggles on anyone. But I surprised myself with the amount of self-pity tears, the disapointment tears, the why-isn't-it-my-turn tears. It makes me a little sick to my stomach just writing it, how infertility has brought out parts of myself I'm not proud of. Not only did I not know I had infertility hidden away in a deep dark corner of my lady parts, I didn't know I had a green eyed monster partial to bouts of self pity hidden away in a deep dark corner of my heart and a secret belief that I can't really get pregnant hidden away in a deep dark corner of my brain.

Now.
On the plane.
The frequent flyer next to me keeps trying to initiate conversation by telling horribly corny jokes. Doesn't he know MY FRIENDS ARE HAVING BABIES and I'm in no mood for levity. Geez.

LMatch - like JDate, but for nondenominational embryos

Ever since embryo adoption became a forerunner on our list of how-to-deal-with-this-damned-infertility, I've been scouring the web for more information. And what I've found is...a lot of Christians. Now, I've been asked, "what did you get for Christmas?", enough times to know that I'm generally surrounded by Christians. And they're generally nice. But I was (naively?) surprised to find that embryo adoption was such a Christian crusade.

There seem to be plenty of embryo adoption agencies out there, run by folks who favor bible quotes as Web site headers. From what I can tell, they work something like live-baby-adoption-agencies. There are lawyers. You pay (significant) fees. And there is some sort of meet and greet process in which embryo makers select their chosen embryo seekers. There is definitely a preferred "profile" and "single" women are not exactly welcome.

It also appears that most IVF clinics have an internal embryo adoption program. Patients in a specific office can donate embryos that are then offered to other paitents in the same office who have been waiting on an embryo adoption list. It's more of an egalitarian affair. Embryo makers and seekers never meet or exchange emails and embryos are offered up on a first-come-first-served basis.

But what about the rest of us? The liberals, the lesbians, the jews, the hippies. Those that don't fit the profile at the standard embryo adoption agencies and don't want to play baby grab bag at the IVF clinic. Shouldn't we have a forum to exchange embryos*? To match the makers and the seekers? Where is LMatch (and for that matter, what is LMatch - LesbianMatch? LiberalMatch?)?

I've seen the generosity of bloggers, sharing meds and advice. What if some bloggers want to share their embryos? I propose we open up our blogs, and for those so inclined, offer up our frozen embryos**. I'll even offer bakeonebuyone as a new-age yenta of sorts***. Makers, seekers, tell me a little bit about yourselves, and let's see if we can't knock this infertility bitch on her ass.****


*It is 100% illegal to sell embryos.
**If you missed the previous disclaimer, it is 100% illegal to sell embryos.
***And again I say, it is 100% illegal to sell embroys.
****Um, we might need a lawyer for this. But it's worth a try, no?

baby grab bag

I don't know, just yet, exactly how I feel about all of the information that was discussed at our first meeting with Dr. IVF today. (side note: S just read this great article about introverts [poster child, raises hand], which explained many of my ticks and quirks, and which pointed out that, when asked about their feelings, it's not that introverts are keeping them from you, it's that they really don't know yet). So I don't know yet. But I'm getting there. And I'm so glad we went this morning.

At this point in the baby hunt, we're seriously considering 3 options: 1) run of the mill IVF (I mean really, can it please just be run of the mill, with no surprise growths that resemble a personal-sized watermelon) 2) IVF with someone else's donated frozen embryo(s) (thanks for the encouragement, Conception Chronicles!) 3) open adoption. They all have their obstacles and their scary bits and their undeniable benefits. But we're leaning toward #2. In fact we are OFFICIALLY ON THE DONOR EMBRYO WAITING LIST. I think I just got whiplash from all the forward motion.

But in the meantime....

I need a sonohysterogram so we can all learn more about the polyp and the fibroid that have everyone up in arms. Unfortunately, we found out today that the test has to be completed CD12-14. And it is currently 5:30pm on CD13 on the Friday before a long weekend. So another month of waiting. And then pending those results, we learn what additional procedures I need before they'll green light any form of IVF. That was the hardest part for me to accept today. The more waiting. And the idea that there is a very good chance no one in our house will be pregnant before the end of 2010. (even the cats are sterile at this point) But, did I mention, we are OFFICIALLY ON THE DONOR EMBRYO WAITING LIST. Which means, at some point, we are going to close our eyes, reach into the baby grab bag, and 9 months later pull out the best parting gift ever. I hope so.

ps
Despite the information overload, we actually both *really* like all of the staff (so far) at the IVF clinic, were incredibly impressed overall, and breathed a collective sigh of relief to be done with surly-dr-ob-of-the-iuis (and both asked in the car on the way home, why didn't we ditch Dr. OB after that first awful meeting in her office?). Lesson learned.

scattered, smothered, and covered

First, you need to know that since we were married and started TTC, we've both gone up 1-2 pant sizes.

Two weekends ago, and much to our horror, we spent an entire Sunday afternoon at the outlet mall buying fat pants (we were horrified by the "mall" part. I kind of like the "outlet" part). Having survived the Public and the Shoppers and the Dressing Rooms, we consoled ourselves with Taco Bell.

Since our last BFN and the resulting forced break to decide what to do next, we've adopted an exercise plan. This entails long walks (and sometimes jogs) in the evening during which we keep our minds distracted by discussing our baby options in exciting and excruciating detail. And we are TORN. Pulled in a million directions. IVF? DFCS? PCOS? (our concern with S's body) Options without acronyms (international adoption, lie and say one of us is a "single" woman)? Minds scattered. Hearts pulled. And we just don't know.

We have a one-on-one consultation with Dr. IVF next Friday. I've joined just about every adoption forum out there and have posted pleas for more information. Being a geek from way back, I kind of enjoy the researching and the finding out of things. But mostly I'd like us to be on our way. On whatever path is going to be the right one for our family.

In the meantime, I'll have some ice cream in bed with my love, enjoy my new, roomier pants, and ask that those who know please share any info on how lesbians or "single" women can successfully complete a domestic adoption of an infant or toddler.

Thanks.

In NYC drinking an entire pot of coffee

Yep, it was a BFN.
Found out Thursday, just before my flight took off. AWKWARD as I pretended I was OK and the business man next to me pretended to be reading the paper. S and I are going to take a very long walk this weekend and figure out what we want to do next. I can't help but think of that Sarah Sliverman line, "Everyone knows that the best time to get pregnant is when you're a black teenager."* Damn. If I had only planned a little better.


*Wrong in so many ways, I know. But I love an equal opportunist, and since Sarah spreads the wrongness across all of god's children, I'm OK with it.

Guess who's having twins?

Not us. (yet?)
Doogie Howser, MD!!!
He and his hot boyfriend knocked up a surogate.
I am wondering if he is likely to give us the extra one*....

*kid, not surogate

When did I become the sap who cries at butterflies and deoderant commercials?

I am having trouble keeping it together. This morning I cried backing out of the driveway when there was a car behind me. In real life, I suck it up and tough it out. In TTC life, I cry at poorly parked cars.

We are in the second week of the TWW. Last night we went to an IVF information seminar. The doctor leading the program could most kindly be described as Southern. However, she was also informative and she did answer all of my questions. Unfortunately, she also confirmed that if this cycle doesn't work out as we hope and we would like to continue to use my body, I'll need to have a second surgery (polyp removed) and move on to IVF. I still don't know why I find that so S-A-D. It's not really sad. Having no options would be sad. But we do have options. We have the surgery and IVF. We have S's body. We have the various adoption routes we've looked into. And as another blogger brilliantly pointed out, we could always move to Massachusetts where they have mandated IVF coverage (actually, we would probably love MA, if it wasn't so damn cold...but I'd have to learn to spell it first).

In other news:

• Remember how I spent all of last month cursing the progesterone? Yeah, almost no symptoms this month. Just a tad of the burps and heartburn, but nothing like the offensive onslaught of truckstop behavior that was last month.
  
• Our little ex-feral kitty who typically wants nothing to do with me is suddenly braving my presence and checking in on me on a regular basis. Maybe he senses the sad? or a little peanut?
  

And the moral of the story is...

...don't let your radiologist interpret your HSG results. Or maybe it's just, take a deep breath and try not to dive off the deep end.

Things still kind of suck, what with my 1 wonky tube (right tube blocked but OB thinks it could have been a spasm or "debris" that could potentially be cleared without surgery...but no guarantee), 1 wonky ovary (right side looks like it's down for the count...no egg-like activity observed to date...and even with the meds I only have 1 follicle on the left side this month), and 1 wonky uterus (definitely have a polyp, but it's only measuring 5mm, which is considered within the watch and wait category...if it reaches 10mm, it has to be removed).

But we're a go for this month. Insem #1 was this morning.

Good news: Dr OB claims women with one tube and one ovary can get knocked up.
Bad news: I believe her, but were the tube and ovary on opposite sides and were the women paying $5k a month just to play the game?

Bad news: After close to a year of monitoring and not missing a beat, CBFM did not pick up my peak this morning (even with a trigger shot yesterday).
Good news: Dr OB had me POAS at the office and I got a smiley face.

Good news: We picked the sp.rm donor of the gods and the whole office was impressed with our (or I guess that would be his) 85% motility.
Bad news: Some of the sample came out during the insem (what??) and I am now stuck with an instead cup in a hard to reach place until this evening.

Anyone else naseous from the roller coaster ride?

Ain't that the truth

From a friend after I sobbed over email:

Isn't it amazing that you live in your own body every day and
find out you have things growing in you and blocked passageways? Weird. I probably have a shriveled up uterus and no eggs at this time even though I prance about like a youngish fertile goose.
***

We're both medically considered old. Which is depressing. And my birthday last wednesday didn't help the situation. I've been obsessively googling all morning and only peeled myself away from the laptop to grab a piece of cold pizza from the fridge. Apparently I'm not dealing well with the idea of a second surgery and a direct ticket to IVF.

I didn't even make it around the first bend

HSG this morning. I took the red eye back home from LA last night (going on no sleep) and took the brethine tablet my OB recommended (heart pounding like a race horse) and then got the bad news (lost it in the middle of the radiology department). Turns out my left tube is completely blocked (that would be the side with the healthy functioning ovary) and my friend the polyp has grown back and needs to be removed (again). I knew this journey would be hard, but somehow I didn't know it would be this kind of hard. Of all the horrible things I had imagined going wrong, I never even dreamed up these functional obstacles. We will wait for the official ruling from the OB (hopefully early) next week. And then what?

Time flies when it's not the TWW

I don't know how it happened, but suddenly I'm at CD5 in the midst of try #2.

Since our negative beta, here's what you missed:

• I hoped for my period. Weird to be ping-ponging back and forth between hoping it shows and hoping it stays occupied with baby making responsibilities for a good long time.
  
• We picked a new donor. Somewhat out of necessity (temporarily sold out) and somewhat because we weren't 100% on board with the first guy. We named the first donor Little Indian (because he's part Cherokee, like my lovely wife) and the second donor Oakie (because The Jew* from Oklahoma seemed a tad long).
  
• I was scheduled for an HSG. I'm a little nervous about this one. We have two big hurdles this month (not counting the one where the miracle happens and the baby is made). 1) I need to get the all clear on the HSG - otherwise it's back to surgery for me and 2) It's technically the right side's turn to step up and make some eggs. But that's the little offender who had to be surgically downsized in April. Not sure if all those parts are up and working yet (ever).
  

It really is bizarre how the TWW drags on until I'm standing in the corner pulling out my eyelashes and banging my head against the wall and then the two weeks BEFORE the TWW flies by, what with the doctor's appointments and pharmacy pickups and sperm ordering and sushi eating. Twilight zone.

*I can say this because I am one (a Jew, not necessarily from Oklahoma)

Progesterone, you tricky bitch

Nausea. Check.
Huge aching bo.bs. Check.
Peeing like an old man with a big pros.tate. Check.
Heartburn. Check.
Burping (wich you've heard about ad nauseum). Check.
Cramps like a party in my uterus. Check.
BFN. Damnit.

I just want to know

We went to visit S's family in Mississippi over the weekend. I brought the progesterone with me. And the burping. Not the look I was going for with the inlaws. But they politely ignored my new found trucker tendancies. It was a good distraction as the last weekend before our first beta ever crawled by.

As someone who has never really been PMSy (I know, you want to shoot me) I'm not handling the hormonal crazies really well. It's gotten to the point where I just want to know. I want to know if this is really happening this month or if I can throw those fing pills out the window (but not really, because they are damn expensive, and I will be saving them for next month, because I am thrifty that way). To calm my anxiety about the not knowing and the potential for either outcome I've made lists (I'm a master list maker) in my head of the great things about a positive or a negative outcome.

A positive. A POSITIVE! BABY! BABIES? bhaybeeeeeeeee.

A negative. Sushi. Turkey sandwiches from Subway. Decaf coffee. Diet soda. Exercise that actually overheats my body. No more crazy pills.

I'll get the beta call tomorrow. After which I'll either celebrate or drown my sorrows in spicy tuna and questionable deli meat.

You can't know.

I'm half way through the tww and I just can't know and it's driving me crazy. Or maybe it's the progesterone that is driving me crazy. I'd like to think the moodiness and heartburn and burps and stomach aches and cold sore like I haven't had since I was in the second grade (geez, don't I sound like someone you'd like to sit next to on a long plane ride) are all due to a miracle the size of a poppyseed making itself comfortable in my uterus. But I'm inclined to think it's just those evil vag pills.

Most of the time I can't decide if I want to scream at the person on the other end of the conference call or cry over a deoderant commercial. It's bad. I was just asking S the other night (I might have to live with these side effects, but she has to live with me living with these side effects, which, believe me, is worse), why is it that hormones make your sads and angries sadder and angrier, but they don't make your happies happier. Because that would be nice.

But I guess I can't know that either.

One week down, one week (and 13 more pills) to go.

PS
I just turned down an awesome freelance job because it would require me to fly >20 hours each way when I'm either 9 weeks pregnant, 5 weeks pregnant, or still trying to get pregnant. This is a big deal for self-employed-over-acheiver me. And I think I want to cry. Or scream.

Timings, Linings, and Gold Stars (oh my)

Today was our first IUI. Ever. Have I lost my gold star? S says, definitely not. I say probably not. But I'm still not 100% sure on the specifics of the matter. I guess it depends if you're a purist or not.

Lining. Dr. OB (who S and I are both slightly scared of and who almost was nicknamed Dr. BM as in beside manner and her lack there of, until I thought better of it) made several frowns and concerned noises over my lining of 12 mm. She says the average is 7-10 mm and my precocious lining could be my old friend the polyp growing back and if this cycle doesn't take I'm up for an HSG next month. BUT. After much googling, it seems other practices find 8-12 mm to be "normal" and anything over 15 mm to be "concerning". Anyone else out there have experience with an extra thick lining?

Timing. Looks like our IUIs will be at 16 hours and 41 hours this month (post-trigger shot). In all of my months of blog stalking, it looks like the range is 12 hours to 48 hours, depending on your clinic and the number of planned insems. We're going to do 2 this time, but I'm wondering if 48 hours isn't a bit too late. Maybe I just need to put down the laptop and stop being overly concerned with every little detail. But I have to admit the science geek in me (and I'm about 98% science geek) finds obsessing over the details thrilling.

Second insem for cycle #1 tomorrow morning....

A sign, no sign. A wait, no wait.

I've barely started this TTC business and my brain already resembles a large hamster wheel.

• No side effects from the let.rozole. WooHoo! Wait. Does that mean it's not working? What if it's not working? Why don't I have side effects? Sh*&@t.
  
• My little operated on left ovary is measuring at a 7 cm volume. They like to see >4cm. Hells yeah. Wait. What if that means it's all cystic or something. Maybe it's too big? My overy is TOO BIG! Ahhhhh.
  
• It's CD6 and I'm still spotting. I'm usually done by CD4. Maybe I'm too stressed. Am I too stressed? I'm too stressed. Must. Lower. S-t-r-e-s-s. Guh.
  

I think distractions are in order. Preferably something invoving ice cream.

Feels like the first time...

Oh, di.ldocam. What can I say. I was so nervous for our very first encounter. The good news: my anxiety has dissapaited. The bad news: ouch.

It wasn't as awful as I had imagined though. Somewhat painful, like really low bad cramps when she *dug around* to find that shy left ovary. Seems that despite the surgery for the 9cm dermoid and the polyp that was taking over my uterus, I also have a rather large intramural fibroid and a 2cm cyst within other ovary. Gah. Who knew there was such a party in my reproductive ograns all this time.

However, I put in my time and am now the proud owner of 10 little let.rozole pills and a return appointment in 10 days. The countdown (before the countdown) begins....

CD1

It's CD1 of the first try with my body.
Scared!
Nervous!
Excited!

I have an appointment tomorrow afternoon where the OB, the dildocam, and I will get intimate. I'm a little nervous for my whooha to get that kind of action with a stranger. On CD2. But I'm also excited. To get past this first test, to get my hands on that Rx for baby makin' meds (right now the plan is let.rozole), to get this show on the road.

I'm so hopeful. And so scared to be hopeful.

A Medically Induced Hiatus

We were on the baby makin' train. I was excited. I started a blog. And then. Silence.
Reader's Digest Abridged Version:

J & S: Grrrr. Why does the OB office make us do all these "pre-pregnancy" tests and evaluations. Such a waste of time and money.

OB office: You will need to see a surgeon to address the large cyst on your ovary before we can move forward.

{tears}

{more testing}

{waiting for a surgery date}

Surgeon: We removed a 9 cm dermoid {hair! teeth! fat! I grow 'em good} from your ovary and a polyp from your uterus.

{more waiting}

OB office: cleared for inseminations.

Yes, I know this is illegal

S and I have been talking about having kids for years. Well, I've been talking about having kids for years and S has been listening and nodding her head every now and then.

But then we got serious.

And about a year ago, we started to explore our options. Before we decided if we should bake one or buy one, we attended a number of baby seminars, we talked to friends and friends of friends and their friends, we looked at websites, read books, and questioned lawyers. And then we decided what was best for us.

Sidenote: In the land of rednecks (where we currently reside) there are laws cleverly designed to keep lesbians from having babies. Well, not exactly to keep them from having babies, but to tie one hand behind their backs while they awkwardly try to use a turkey baster to get a bun in the oven. It’s a felony, A FELONY, to self-inseminate with anything other than a penis. Seriously. If you get the little swimmers up there via penis, you’re home free, if you use ANYTHING else, you’re on your way to being a convicted felon. Thank you bigots and fundies.

Being the rebels we are, we decided to ask a male friend to contribute to the cause. And when that didn't work out, we asked another one. And when that didn't work out, we asked another one. That led to some awkward early morning shennanigans with a glass jar and a needle-less syringe. Some bad jokes were made. And, ultimately, when that didn't work out either, we decided to change our plan. Bring on the medical intervention.

S is a lesbian. And so am I.

You probably figured it out by now. But in case you need some background, you don’t know how you ended up on this blog but you’re slightly intrigued, you seriously haven’t left your house in 10 years, or you you’re just plain curious:

S is a lesbian you could spot a mile away. She’s not the softball playing, buzz cut type, but she looks damn good in a button down and doc martens. Not to mention those trendy glasses and that super stylish haircut.

This would be a great place to insert a picture. S is hot and who wouldn’t want to take a look. But for now, I’m going to leave her swanky visage to your imagination. Maybe I’ll change my mind later.

Me, I could go either way. Well, *I* couldn’t go either way (or haven’t yet), but your gaydar has to be pretty refined to pick me out of the crowd. Unless you happen to catch me on a slouchy-baggy-boy-pants day. S thinks I’m sporty/trendy. But I think that’s just because she was raised in Mississippi and doesn’t know any better.

Want to come with?

This baby journey hasn’t been a short one. And we’re only 2 steps in. And it’s probably going to last a lifetime. I have about million rants and raves (the government said I can’t do what?), insights (stolen and from the heart), questions, and stories to share. But I’ll start at the beginning, and we’ll go from there. Apparently, I’m going to have plenty of time to catch you up….

S and I met in tumult, found our way, lost our way, rinse/washed/repeated, and are now employing a therapist to help keep us in line. Before I met S, I wanted a baby. Maybe two. There was a brief stint in college (see: hair-dye-r, college radio-listen-r) when I didn’t want kids at all. The air was polluted, the water was dirty and disappearing, and look what a bangup job my mother had done with me. But over time, the angst faded and I wanted a baby again. And so it’s been. But I waited. For the right time. For enough money. For the right partner. And now here we are, two uteruses, an important decision to make, and not a sperm in sight. Should we bake one or buy one?