15w4d

Today I'm 15 weeks, 4 days along. I have my first midwife appointment in 4 hours, and I'm nervous.

Yes, I'm still a little neurotic about this pregnancy with respect to the fact I'm still having some difficulties accepting it.

I am, however, getting better. Baby steps.

My clothes, particularly my pants, weren't fitting any more. I could get them on, but then it felt as though my bladder was being severed in half, so, off to the stores I went yesterday and made my first maternity wear purchases. I guess I should have been excited about trying on all these clothes (which, by the way, should be every-day wear - I'm not sure if I'll ever NOT wear mat clothes ever again... they're just so comfortable) but I still get this sick feeling in my stomach like by buying this stuff, I'm jinxing it.

Or my heart started to race at one point because I thought about how horrid it would be to have to return the clothes if I lost Buggy, and I'd have to traipse myself into these maternity stores , surrounding myself with normal, big-bellied women who still had live babies inside them, and have to stand there while the cashier took forever processing the returns.

I couldn't get in and out of these stores fast enough.

And Mr. Buggy was so - enveloped? in the whole process, pulling things off of the rack, telling me I'd look good in them, or that this top would look really good once you've got a big belly, and so on.

I just really hope that after this appointment today I feel a lot better about the whole thing. And more accepting.

One other thing I'm getting a little tinsy bit worried about now - my resting heartrate is still consistently really high. I mentioned it to a friend who was a bit worried about it possibly being preeclampsia. I've done some research on it, and because my blood pressure is normal I should be ok; here's hoping the midwife has some ideas as to why it's (still) so high.

Fucked up.

I feel fucked up, and everyone around me pretty much tells me I am, with a smile on their faces.

I'll admit, the main reason I haven't been posting here much is not that I don't feel comfortable doing so, it's that I'm having some difficulties being... attached? excited? optimistic? about this pregnancy.

One very wise friend once told me:

"Having infertility takes the innocence out of trying for a baby; having a miscarriage takes the innocence out of being pregnant."

So true, and every day, I think of that phrase in my mind.

In my head I know that I should be starting to feel excitement, and be starting to plan things. Logically, I know that I should. Logically, I know that I should be starting to research strollers and baby furniture and start looking for mat clothes.

Fuck that noise. I can't even imagine having a big tummy. I keep waiting for the other shoe to fall - I kid you not.

Today I was in to my doctor for a routine prenatal exam. My resting heart rate (HR) was through the roof - consistently, on 8 different measurements, 124 and above. My BP was perfect. He seemed very puzzled by this, especially since I have no other associated symptoms other than a chronic headache. Sends me for more tests.

What was weird? The whole time I sat in his office while he fretted over it, it didn't phase me. At all. It wasn't until I got home and thought about it a bit that I started to get a bit worried. And not really overly, just a bit.

My clothes are starting to get a little - snug. Well, let's face it. I gained 14lbs over the two IVF cycles with all of the hormones being pumped through my belly, and haven't lost it; I'm bloated all the time. I feel gross. I should probably be looking for mat clothes.

You know what I told a friend the other day who offered to send me some of hers?

That I was glad I was just borrowing the clothes - buying clothes would feel like I'm jinxing it in some way.

My doctor freaks out that I don't have my NT scans booked yet.

My mother wants to know what we'll do for a baby shower.

My clinic wants to know what we're going to call her.

My sister wants to know if I want any of her stuff as hand-me-downs.

Mr. Buggy told me today he couldn't get to sleep last night because he was so excited about Buggy.

LISTEN, PEOPLE. I haven't really accepted the fact I'm actually pregnant yet. Sad, but true. I'm FUCKED UP. Leave me alone. Stop forcing me to think ahead to what you think WILL be, and what I think MIGHT happen.

I can just see it now. Babe will come, we won't have any crib or stroller or clothes for it because I was too screwed up and in denial of the whole thing that I insisted on actually pushing out and holding "Embryo #6" before I would purchase anything for her.

You gots to see it to believe it.

And "Blobby" graduates

Not sure if anyone out there is still reading, as I have been a very bad blogger. I apologize for not updating sooner.

Things have been nutters around here, and I'm not going to lie, I feel craptastic. I can't seem to concentrate on anything long enough to finish it, and everything in our lives right now outside of anything 'infertility' has been crazy.

Yesterday, at 9weeks0days, we had our viability ultrasound done at our fertility clinic. Our beautiful Blobby was right where it was supposed to be, moving it's little limb buds, munching on the last bit of yolk sac, and showing off it's gorgeous, fluttering heart.

The crown-rump length indicated Blobby was right on track with transfer date, giving us a gestational age of exactly 9weeks0days. Blobby, having seen her heartbeat, graduated to "Buggy" status.

As my readers will know, we did a process called PGD(S) during our IVF cycle: the day 3 embryos were biopsied, with one cell removed from each viable embryo; those cells were carefully labeled and sent overnight FedEx to De.troit Mi.chigan to Ge.nesis Gen.etics labs where a full genetic karyotype was run on each cell over night.

By day 5 of embryo development, only one of the six fertilized embryos was still alive - and it was genetically 'normal'.

It was also a GIRL.

What an amazing gift we were given yesterday - the news that we had a healthy, normal baby growing inside of me, and to know already that we're having a baby girl. Just amazing.

Don't be playa hatin'. I'm sure the news will make some jealous that we're finding out at 9w what the sex is, and most have to wait until 15+w.

We paid dearly for the process. We're successfully broke. Literally.

There has to be SOME perk to all of this. *wink*

Standing on her head facing us

Upside down for the camera; doppler of Fetal Heart Rate below (FHR = 174bpm)

My case nurse also let me know that the little embryo that made it to the night of day 4 before arresting which was also genetically normal was a little boy, which made me a little sad - not sure why, just reminded me I guess that from the time that sperm and egg meet and genetic material is matched, life begins.

We are so, so lucky. Unbelievably so. I just hope that this pregnancy lasts, and Buggy stays healthy and exactly where she's supposed to for the next 7 months.

Beta #2

Beta #2, taken at 7 days post beta #1, is 7283. We're pregnant fo shizzle. Ultrasound is booked for late July.

Some people's children

First off, I'd like to thank everyone that popped by over the last few weeks to follow my most recent journey - and a special thanks to those who had the time to leave me heartfelt comments. You are all truly amazing.

I apologize for not being around as of late; I've been sicker than a dog with some sort of mutant-throat cold which leaves me absolutely wiped at the end of the day. My husband knew it was bad when I stopped at the grocery store on my way to work last week to pick up lemon and honey (there is nothing in this world that I hate more than honey. 'Nuff said). BARF.

Anywho. Time to rant.

As of late I've switched shifts around so that I have the opportunity to work with as many of my co-workers as possible before I leave. What a fucking mistake THAT was.

I'm about ready to really hurt some of them.

I honestly don't understand some of their work ethics. Honestly. The people who have been there 20 years are happy to just let the junior people do the work.

The junior people are some of the biggest dog-fuckers I've ever met.

That leaves the 'in-betweeners' - like me and a few others - those of us who've been there long enough to know what the hell we're doing and get it done right, but not long enough to feel like the world owes us something just because we have a bit of seniority.

Out of the 4 people working on Monday, myself one of those 4, I did 2/3s of the work. I counted.

I was SO exhausted when I got home I fell asleep on the couch for 4 hours. Mr. Buggy had to wake me to eat dinner, which I ate half of and went straight back to sleep. Then up to bed for another 9 hours. And keep in mind - I'm sick. I don't have a voice. And I did all of the work while one stood by texting on her fucking cell phone all day and another wandered off to god-knows where for extended periods of time.

The next morning Mr. Buggy asked me why the hell I was so tired; I shrugged, and told him that I worked with a bunch of slackers. Then he started to yell. YELL. Told me essentially to tell them to pick up the slack (I'm editing here; I can't repeat half of what he said).

In to work I traipse, feeling even sicker now. Pretty damn pale. And coughing so hard it's making me gag. So I decided to switch gears. Fuck them. I'm outta there, why the hell should I be bustin' my ass anymore?

Let me tell you. I went to the bathroom every hour, on the hour, sometimes I had to go, sometimes I didn't. I would stretch and do quad squats against the wall. Pick my teeth. Text on my cell. Play Tetris on my cell. Fix my hair. Pick the nail-polish off of my nails. Or, my favorite - sit on the floor up against the wall and doze for a while.

One of them today (who's new - I've never worked with her before - she was transferred in) actually had the gall to accuse me of being 'too efficient, and you're making us all look bad'. This is a 45 year old woman (co-worker #1). Can you believe that?

Me: "Yes. I'm the most efficient person here. Obviously."

Co-Worker #1: "Huh! And she's modest, too" (insert sarcastic bitchiness here)

Me: "Yes. I am. And I know fabulous when I see it and I call it like it is. Don't be playa' hatin'." (insert equally sarcastic bitchiness here)

Co-Worker #2: (snickers). "She honestly is the best [worker] I know." (sincerely)

Co-Worker #1: "Hrmph". (you can see in her head the wheels turning - glad she won't have to work with me anymore).

Hehe.

What the hell has happened to the work world? Am I alone here? The older generation thinks they're entitled because they've paid their dues, and the younger generation thinks they're entitled because they're spoiled little feckin' arse picks.

I think a lot of the problem lies in the fact that I work in the public system. These people have never owned a private sector job and have never known anything other than 'union'. Drives me nuts.

How many more days do I have left????

14dp5dET ... (19DPO) ... Positive.

I just want to apologize for my absence from my blog since my last update. I've received a few emails, PM's, and posts asking me to update. I'm sorry that for the most part I brushed most of you off and didn't say anything, but it was for good reason.

On Tuesday afternoon I received the results from my first beta at 17DPO. It was sitting at 496, which, according to the clinic is excellent. They like to see a beta over 100 at that time post ET. My next beta will be a week from the last, on June 28. I think at that point I may breathe a little tiny sigh of relief.

After the next beta, if doubling times are sufficient, I'll have an ultrasound at about 7 weeks to confirm there's a heartbeat. At that time, the clinic will tell us the sex of Blobby (they know the sex as it's a routine screen during the genetic testing our embryos went through; they're waiting I think because they don't want me (us) to become too attached in case we miscarry).

So - my reasoning for waiting to notify most of you about all of this. Well, it was two-fold, but most importantly it was because I had a few very close fellow infertiles I wanted to tell privately before going public with it - there's nothing worse than the 'blindside'. So, out of respect to them I sent emails and patiently awaited their replies before announcing on WB's forums and here.

Secondly, things non-A.R.T. related around our house have been insane. I'm finishing up my last couple of weeks at work, and our house is still on the market so we're busy constantly cleaning it and having to be out of it at all hours for people to traipse through with their critical eyes.

I guess another reason in the back of my mind has made me slightly reluctant to post my results. This blog has become a safe haven for me, and I know that a lot of others who are also infertile pop in once and a while to relate to the shite I'm going through. It's nice to know you're not alone.

Pregnancy changes this. I know that I'll probably lose several 'followers' to my blog now that I've finally moved to the next step of this journey. Over the last few days, Mr. Buggy and I have talked about how I should handle my blogging and the topics therein given the recent change of events. Do I stop blogging here? Do I create a new blog? Do I continue to blog?

I'm sorry if this will upset any of my readers, but I've decided to continue blogging here throughout my pregnancy. After all, I titled the blog "...A journey through infertility". Once an infertile, always an infertile. I am really and truly going to make every effort to continue to blog from the perspective of an infertile first, a pregnant person second.

I want you all to know how difficult a decision this was for me; I hate alienating people and I know that ultimately this news will alienate. I won't apologize for being pregnant, hopefully, this bean actually sticks and maybe, just maybe this'll actually be our time. I just hope I've been and will be as respectful as possible to all of my readers out there whom have supported me so unconditionally.

Much love,

11dp5dET ... (16DPO) ... Irrational

Oh. My. God.

My boobs just keep getting more and more sore. And BIG. Ah, yet again, Progesterone strikes. Mr. Buggy loves the big boobs, but made the almost fatal mistake of trying to cop a feel the other night at the growing goodness in front of him; I almost punched his teeth out.

How do you explain to a man how sore your boobs get? What the heckadoodles can you compare it to on a level to which they'd understand?

If you have a comparison, please, I'd love to hear it. Believe me - I go out of my way to make him understand how everything feels with this whole craptastic journey. After all, it's not just me going through this. Right?

The progesterone is making any symptoms I may or may not have difficult to decipher. Right now, I just feel like I'm going to get a visit from my lovely cow of an aunt. Still cramping. No spotting, but this almost worries me since the last time I did have a positive test I had implantation spotting. I know logically that every pregnancy is different, and that not every woman experiences it, and who knows, maybe the progesterone was masking it or something, but still.

Voicing these concerns to Mr. Buggy, he tells me to just POAS. Nope. Not gonna. This irritates him to no end. He's dying to know.

One night last week as he was shutting the light off to go to bed, he rolled over and told me he loved me, and goodnight. Quickly followed by, "Goodnight Blobby*. I love you."

My heart filled with joy hearing this come from his lips; immediately followed by panic. What the hell are we going to do if this doesn't work? Now I'm worried that he's so attached... too attached? To a microscopic blob? The ball is totally in my court right now - is he going to blame me if it doesn't work out?

These are the (again, I know, irrational) things I think about in bed every night.

Last night was another one of these irrational nights.

Yesterday we had dinner with my younger sister, who's now expecting her second (she already has a little boy). Months ago I had told her that I had hoped that if/when she gets pregnant again, that I know it's selfish, but I hope that at least she doesn't have a girl so that I can have a shot at being 'first' at something with respect to grandchildren (like I can genetically choose an XX embie - rolls eyes - I know, irrational). She chuckled, and wasn't offended (good thing, looking back what I said was a little offensive).

So some of you may remember from previous posts that she waited to tell me til last that she was pregnant again. Scared shitless of my (our) reaction. (Which, props to Mr. Buggy, he made a nice save that day and compensated for my shocked, dumbfounded, and wordless reaction). Anywho.

Then last week she drops the bomb that she's having a girl. And I can tell again that I'm the last to know. I really tried to be happy for her, but all I could come up with was how much more fun it would be to shop for baby clothes (boys vs. girls, you know).

Then she tells me last night at dinner that she's having another baby shower. WTF? You don't have 2 baby showers! But really I'm thinking - oh great. She's totally stealing my thunder. If this pregnancy works for me, I'd be coming home in October for my own baby shower. She's due in October. I was going to do double duty - baby shower for me, help her out with the newborn, then fly back end of October.

November may be too late to be coming home (flying) if I had to bump it to later. We can't afford for me to be flying back multiple times. We probably won't be coming home for Christmas.

I've waited YEARS to have a fucking CHANCE at having a baby. Now I won't be having the first grandchild. I won't be having the first (sex). And I'm going to have to play second-string baby shower, which, in and of itself is going to be difficult since I have to fly back to a different country with all of my loot - which will inevitably be gift cards.  Sigh.

I know. Totally irrational and I'm putting the cart before the horse in so many ways, but still.

I am nothing if not a planner.

And I know that I should just be happy seeing a live blob with a ticking heart. And making it all the way through a pregnancy without any problems along the way.

But that doesn't stop me from throwing a temper-tantrum inside my head, kicking and screaming "THIS ISN'T FUCKING FAIR!! It's my time, already. My. Fucking. TIME."

*Blobby = Mr. Buggy's nickname for our blastocyst. I think if we make it that far we should graduate 'Blobby' to 'Bug' or 'Buggy' as of, oh, maybe a hearbeat on an ultrasound time? Fingers crossed.

10dp5dET ... (15DPO) ... Hope?

I'm not really sure what to think about all of this.

It's almost anti-climactic in nature, and I don't even know whether my betas are positive or not.

[crowd mumbles, confused: "what the hell is she talking about?" and "huh?"]

It's a really weird feeling. All this time, for years, we've been working towards this moment. Tests. Procedures. Surgeries. Miscarriage. And now we're finally here. It's almost D-Day. I've injected myself with all of the hormones. I made it to egg retrieval. We made it to PGS screening. We made it to embryo transfer.

Maybe it's the fact that it's all out of our hands now. It's out of everyone's hands. We've all done all that we can do. And now we wait.

The weird part? I'm not really excited - and I don't know why. Don't get me wrong, I'm itching to pee on sticks every time I need to take a leak. But I feel like I can't be excited. And it's really hard to even conjure an ounce of hope right about now.

I'm sure it's a self-preservation mechanism so in the event this doesn't work I don't end up in a fucking looney bin with an emotional breakdown. Mr. Buggy has asked me a couple of times what will happen if this doesn't work. I know this isn't him asking what the next step is, he's asking how I'm going to handle it - i.e. if he can expect a meltdown of epic preportions.

I told him I feel a little numb. I told him he's more than welcome to feel hopeful right now for the both of us; I think on a subconcious level, I'm too busy trying to prepare for the worst.

9dp5dET ... (14DPO) ... Testing

I've had a lot of questions about testing and when I'm going to do it.

Keep your panties on ladies. I'm waiting for betas.

Now I know I don't have to explain myself to you, but I will anyway.

My logic behind waiting?  Time and time again, I've seen women who've had successful cycles on a stick but when it comes to the betas, the numbers don't jive. In other words, they end up having chemicals or early miscarriages. I don't want (or need) the mind fuck of having a potentially positive HPT and then go in on Tuesday for my betas and have really low or non-existent numbers.

So, I wait.

That's not to say that it's not testing my willpower to the extreme, because it is. But you'll all have to wait for the results, just like me.

Heartache or jubilation, what will it be. We'll see.

7dp5dET ... (12DPO) ... Toxic

"Let's have a smell, all right? Oh, everyone likes their own brand, don't they?" - Fat Bastard, Austin Powers Goldmember
Toxic GAS that is.

Ya, that's right. It's gonna be one of those posts. TMI. Here we go.

Ever since I had to start taking the 'water soluble fibre supplements' to counteract the constipation I'm getting from the progesterone suppositories, I have gas.

Now - this is no ordinary type of gas. I can honestly say that I have never in all my life, in all of the bean-burritto, asparagus, turkey - containing meals have I ever had gas like this. Never.

It's so bad that the other night Mr. Buggy got so upset with me as we were laying in bed reading he threatened to divorce me if I let another one blow.

First fart: dog jumps off of the bed, moves to the furthest corner of the room. You could see it in his eyes; "Jesus, mum, what crawled up your arse?"
Second fart:  Mr. Buggy starts gagging. Literally. He rips open the slider in the bedroom in an attempt to air the room out and prevent permanent damage to his burning nostrils and throat. Futile attempt, of course.
Third fart: I start gagging. Dog commences Emergency Evacuation Procedure: Scratch At Door (pretty bad when even the dog is thinking "get me the fuck outta here")

Mr. Buggy got mad. Like it's my fault that my bowels are so bloated with nuclear-strength tear gas. Ugh - so I told him that my 12 grade Bio teacher told us it wasn't good for you to hold your farts in. Let'em rip. Then I tried to explain to him the relief in my abdomen that I felt every time I de-compressed just a little more.

Maybe the fact that I was making these excuses while laughing so hard I was crying was what pissed him off. Oh - and the fact that as I explained myself I continued to let SBD*'s go. hehe.

*SBD = Silent But Deadly. The best kind of farts.