Twisted Ovaries

Titles Whip Me

OK, so here I am.

It's Monday.

Spotting extremely light now, and still brown, so hey-could be worse. 

I've had some very bad cramping over the weekend though.  I'm pretty sure there was a frat party in my right ovary, and the fuckers didn't even take the empty kegger home with them when they were done.  Then yesterday the left ovary started feeling all drama queen left out and so kicked up a fuss, so the two ovaries are totally grounded until, say, pre-pubescence, at which point I'll give them their Gameboys back. 

Yesterday the back pain also kicked in, only on the right side, and only in such a manner as to make me feel like an 80 year-old woman with a dozen cats.  I parked my ass on the couch for the day and puttered about off and on, when the back pain stopped hurting. 

Aidan and I discussed it, and we decided not to call the hospital and ask to move the appointment to today.  I know it sounds crazy, but we simply felt thus:  If it's positive news, it will stay positive.  If it's negative news, nothing we do a day early can change it one way or another.

I never expected to become a realist so early on in my life.

As to how I'm feeling, well...I am worried.  Not only worried that something's gone wrong, but worried that if nothing has, this is going to be the shape of the rest of my pregnancy.  I would prefer to not have a fraught, worrying pregnancy.  I would prefer to not feel like everything should be compared to when I miscarried.  I'd also prefer to win the lottery, but we can't have everything.

Symptom-wise the headaches are better thanks to the caffeine.  I've been allowing myself one cup of coffee (heavily watered down with milk) a day.  I'd stopped it, even though it was well below the maximum recommended caffeine allowance a day, but taking it back up has helped the headaches.  The nausea is back.  I'm sneezing a lot (the fuck?).  Still very tired. 

The boobs are still completely normal.

So I dunno.  Maybe the spotting is just sex related, cervix related, nothing related.  Maybe it's something.  We simply don't know and won't know until tomorrow morning. 

In the meantime, a few maintenance things:

1) I've created a new Flickr account which I'll fill with the photos of this cycle and my burgeoning waistline as scans as we hopefully move onwards.  It's a new account, because I don't really want to mix my other blog account with this one (there is that sacred law stating that one shouldn't mix friends, grape and grain, and blogs).  If you're already listed as a friend of my other blog account, rest assured you're not missing out, the same photos will be on this new account.  If you're not in my other account and would like photo evidence that I really do exist and that I'm not actually a 52 year-old man in Ohio jerking your chain pretending to go through IVF, then you can link me at my photo site here and I can add you as a friend so you can view the photos.  If I haven't heard from you before though, in either the comments or via email, then please don't take it personally if I don't add you-I'm a very paranoid chick.  I You know...if you want.

2)  The UK recently published findings, apparently, that alter the way some clinics handle twin pregnancies.  Mine is one of them.  They found that twin pregnancies have a reduced risk of pre-term labor on longer progesterone support, so whereas I was going to get to give the waxy ass bullets up by week 12 of the pregnancy, cyclogest and I will now be friends until 28 weeks.  That's twenty-eight weeks.  TWENTY-EIGHT.  That doesn't include the weeks I've already been on them, prepping my body.  I do feel for those who have PIO shots, but really-you get to walk away from those.  I'll be on pessaries for what feels like the rest of my natural born life.

3) Aidan did not tell his kids yet, but he did tell the friend he was staying with in Stockholm this past weekend about the pregnancy, and by the mere misfortune of me having had an Egg McMuffin Friday before a business meeting, two of my colleagues found out about it too (I started gagging in front of them and had to dash out while frantically grabbing for a trash bag.  Tell me that doesn't scream "Knocked up over here!" if anything does.)  The reactions were overwhelmingly positive and supportive.  His decision to not tell his kids was purely based on the fact that it was still early and I was bleeding, and he wants things to be certain and calm when he does tell them.  I do support this choice, actually. They'll still be in the early crowd of folks who know, and if the pregnancy proceeds ok we plan on involving them all the time if they'd like that (for example, in helping add to the possible baby name list.) We're not telling anyone else before week 12, with the exception of my dad and stepmom (who I am allowed to tell next Sunday on my birthday) and his kids, whom will be told soon.  We will not tell anyone they're IVF babies, because we really don't think it's anyone's business, but I do have a few friends I know who are going through IVF, and I may tell them. 

4) Our estimated due date (EDD) is a date we'll never hit, simply because with twins you rarely reach that 40 week mark that singletons and those inhabiting the "normal" pregnancy world get.  We'll be looking more like 36-38 weeks, but we'll still go by our 40 week mark when we list what our EDD is.   That day is-amazingly-the day that Aidan and I consider to be our anniversary.  That day is my favorite holiday of the year.

That day is October 31st, otherwise known as Halloween.

Day Two of Psycho Knicker Watch

The spotting last night stayed maintained in the hooch unless I went to the toilet, which seeing as I'm not only blessed with a kidney-sized bladder outside of pregnant, I'm pregnant, and I'm freaked out, it was often (someone advised not to make myself sore, and I'm happy to report I've just about succeededin that one.)  Not to give TMI (because that never happens on this site, no) it only showed up when I wipe, but this morning since waking up, walking the dog, and eating a bowl of Frosted Flakes, there is more brown and it's now making its way to the pad I've stuck on for monitoring.

I also had some  bad cramping coming right about from my right ovary last night.  Both the twins are well and truly in the middle of my uterus, all I could think was maybe this was that sparkly new cyst I have riding sidesaddle on my right ovary.  Seeing as I've never had a cyst in my life, if anyone who HAS had one knows, can they sometimes cause cramping? 

Two people did mention sex, and, well, Aidan and I did indeed knock boots Thursday lunchtime.  But it was just a quickie, so I'll be seriously annoyed if my cervix has taken exception to that and will give me a weekend of freaking out because of it.  If my cervix is going to be upset about bleeding, it better be upset about one of those longer sessions, the ones that make you feel like you're in college again, because everyone knows quickies don't count. 

(I'm totally lying-if the bleeding is coming from there I will be fucking delighted because then it's not a Bad Thing and would kiss my cervix, but that's not only impossible, it's icky, too.)

It's true - the A&Es here really don't have u/s, especially the internal kind.  As a kind commenter put it (and my previous ER doc put it) if you're going to miscarry, there's nothing they can do.  My IVF clinic is closed on weekends, and Monday for them is a major retrieval day so I'm sure I won't be able to go in.  I will go to my A&E if bright red blood starts coming, if only so that they can pat me on the hand and tell me I have to wait until Tuesday, but at least I will feel like I am doing something.

As far as other things going on:

- Major, killer migraine.  I've taken a few paracetamol/Tylenol but am not anxious to over-do it, especially when I've got some bleeding. 

- Threw up yesterday.  I've learnt Egg McMuffins and I aren't going to be friends through this pregnancy, and although in non-pregnant life I honestly try to be a healthy chick, I love McMuffins and I am not nor will I ever be ashamed of our relationship.

- I woke this morning and my breasts weren't hurting.  At all.  And the nipples were back to pre-IVF size (aka flat, bored, and wondering what was for breakfast.)  I felt the worst-that happened last time, too, although that happened after the huge red tidal wave between my legs had started.  But then I did stretch out for Dr. Google and found this , which states thus: The good news, especially for those of us who have always secretly longed to be big, busty gals, is that they will continue to grow, and they will eventually stop hurting. In a month or so, you and your guy will have a nice new set of playthings. 

Maybe that point has come for me when they stop hurting, I dunno.  Maybe that chick is right.  Maybe that chick hasn't a fucking clue what she's talking about.  All I know is they stopped hurting at a pretty inconvenient point in time (but I'll be groping myself all afternoon to see if they start hurting again.)

So I don't know what's going on. 

All I know is the bleeding has nearly stopped (hopefully for good.)

The headache is killing me.

The boy comes home late tonight.

I'm so confused and worried, and won't know how things are until Tuesday.

But I found a picture that made me and my many fearing voices be quiet in my head for a minute when I saw it.  I keep clicking on the links to view and try to re-assure myself that that's what's going on inside of me.  I try to tell myself to shut the hell up and just believe, for a change, that this something good can stay.  It doesn't always have to be the sad, soul-wrenching choice in my life.  I found a link of exactly what the twins looked like at their first scan, nearly two weeks ago.  And I found a link to what they will hopefully look like on Tuesday (give or take a few days), because even though I am terrified they've jumped ship, maybe they believe in me enough to prove me wrong.

(Be advised that they're real pictures, in case pictures of embryos upset you or you're going through a difficult time.)

PS-thanks for being here for me, honestly.  I'm sorry if this all feels like a bad soap opera pilot, I just really can't miscarry again.  Your comments are very kind and soothing.

Twenty Seconds From Meltdown

I said I was worried about it, didn't I?

I was so scared, I was mentally bracing myself, and here it is: I was napping on the couch and woke up and peed, and I'm spotting. 

It's brownish-red. 

I'm home alone, Aidan's still in Sweden until tomorrow night and there are no ultrasound options to tell me if this is absolutely nothing or not until Monday when the Early Pregnancy Unit opens up again.  I've been down this road before and it makes me shake with horror that it could happen again.  All I can do is try to stay calm and not freak out that the same thing is ocurring, that it's party over, that they're gone.  I know that I have two lovely heartbeats.  I know that some bleeding can occur in many (maybe even most) normal pregnancies.  I know that brown blood is ok, but my spotting has that "any minute now I'm turning all red" feeling.  I know my chances of miscarriage are low.  I try to tell myself all of this, wrapping it up like a cashmere mantra.

Anyone up there?  You listening?  Can you help a girl out and let all this be nothing?  Please?

I've Got to Keep on Movin'

Aidan is off to Stockholm today for his kids' parent-teacher conferences.  I'm not going because:

1) I'm not a parent, I just play one on TV.
2) His ex-wife and I hate each other like Lindsay Lohan and, oh, everyone else in Hollywood.
3) Aidan needs some alone time with them from time to time (we both think, anyway)
4) He may or may not be breaking the news to them about the pregnancy, and we both agree it's something he should do alone.

He wants to wait to tell them until after the first trimester - he's a very, very cautious guy and very superstitious when it comes to pregnancy.  I second it, actually, and with the exception of my father and his kids, I also support not telling a single person (so far in our real life, the only person that knows I'm pregnant - with twins! - is my therapist.  Please - as though I could NOT talk about this pregnancy in therapy.)  We both worry about jinxing it, but the problem is we're going away with them in a few weeks and I'll probably be showing by then.  It'd be an unhappy start to the holiday - "Hey, kids!  Isn't this exciting?  We're off to Jamaica!  Oh-and Vanessa's pregnant!  With twins!  Pass the jerk chicken!"

I ordered two necklaces for his kids for him to give to them when he breaks the news.  It maybe sounds dumb, but I think it's important to have something physical, so he can tell them that they are the greatest priority in his life, he will never stop loving them even a little bit, and if they start to feel doubtful they have physical proof they can look at if they can't get to him on the phone for reassurance.  But the fucking things haven't arrived, his flight is this afternoon, and so he'll have to present them later. 

In the meantime expect much blogging from me, because I'm feeling pretty nervous.  Tuesday I woke up and my boobs hurt less, so I started to get worried that things were unsticking - it was made worse by the fact that I didn't need a nap on Tuesday, and I always need a nap.  The full-day nausea has mostly disappeared, and now it only comes and goes in little waves especially if I just keep grazing, which seems to keep it at bay. 

But yesterday I started having cramps (after a morning of light aqua aerobics and some grocery shopping) and so I parked my ass on the couch to rest and wound up napping for over 3 hours.  Maybe I was simply overdoing it yesterday.  I still have some cramps today and I'm on constant panty check - the cramps aren't bad period pain-like cramps, they're just plain old period pain-like cramps (and I'm the kind of chick that usually suffers from period cramps that feel like I've gone a few rounds with Mike Tyson, so by comparison this is a walk in the park), and the knickers continue to reveal crotch snot of epic proportions (no wait!  Come back!  Don't let that gross you out!)  I'm absolutely terrified that I'm going to start bleeding while he's away, I'll have to take myself to A&E and they won't be able to scan me and by Monday it'll be all over.  I'm trying to be positive and not think that way, I tell myself I'm simply being paranoid and replaying the past in my head of when I did miscarry.

DUMBASS! my inner voice screams (my inner voice is ever so polite) Just because you had one bad event doesn't mean it'll always end that way!

I'm trying to dial it down.

It's true I was told that based on the health, size and location of the twins I'm up to a 98% chance of this pregnancy continuing.  I also  barely ventured out to Dr. Google (because every other site with him contains the "M" word) and it says cramping is normal in your 8th week, as the uterus is stretching.  Still, it's freaking me out.

So expect me to be around.

PS-weirdly, my statistics showed an "Image Crisis Control" company hitting up my website.  I looked them up and apparently they help people retain a positive image in the face of scandal.  I don't know why they'd be coming here, but they've been here a few times.  I just want to say this to them - you're too late.   I already came out and told everyone I shot a suppository out of my ass.  If you're trying to save my image, well, that ship has sailed.

Otherwise Known as Getting Coat-Hangered on the School Playground

As a couple, we're still struggling off and on here.  We had a long period of non-arguments which was popped last night by another argument, which results in the usual-going to bed angry (fuck YOU, Tom Cruise), me feeling forlorn and meek and cooking and cleaning (Bree and I have a lot in common in that respect), him looking mellow and angry, and both of us wondering what we can do to get to the next level, whatever the hell that level is.  So really, it's all good here.  It's harder still when I get some spiky emails and the one or two blog posts I've seen judging my situation also really make me want to put it all out here.

To be clear, I blog because I need to get things out.  I never said it was beautiful.  I never promised that this site would resemble a toilet bowl of Rainbow Brite poop.  Regarding my life, I post the wonderful and I post the awful.  I promised myself a long time ago that I would be honest in my writing, and if one person finds this blog who is also pregnant with twins and has a partner for whom that is the single worst outcome in the whole world ever and I can grant her any help, then I will feel some kind of peace.

Enough about that.  From now on, should I have any issues at home I'll probably stick to emailing them to the few people who I have spoken to about what's happening.  You know who you are and I thank you from the bottom of my cold dead heart.

So let's move on.  It's not helping me any feeling like I have to avoid my own website like the plague.  I'm nervous and scared and trying to read everything to find out what's happening with my body and what's going to happen to it as we continue.  I battle with fear every day-I fear having twins.  I fear losing twins.  I fear losing one of them.  I fear I fear I fear.  I'm told this is a common complaint in any pregnancy, infertile or otherwise.  At some point, maybe the fear dissipates and I start to try to just ride the long wave out, but for now I sit around nervously thinking the other shoe could drop at any minute, and Jesus I paid a lot for those shoes.

The visit with the midwife still startles me and it was a week ago now.  In England, you usually meet the midwife from weeks 10-12, and you sit down and begin to prepare what they call a birth plan.  If you're in the IVF boat and you know you're knocked up, then you get a Get Out of Jail Free card to go see the midwife even earlier. 

She sits us down and pulls out a plastic packet the size of the Encyclopedia Britannica (not all the volumes, just the volumes "Aardvark" to "Lepidoptera").  She hands it to me, along with a plastic vial that will get to come packed with my urine every doctor visit from here on.  We start the paperwork, and on every page in huge headers she writes "IVF-TWINS!!!" which gets underlined a thousand times, in case there's any ambiguity about my condition and how I got there. 

The midwife leans in to me.  "I'm afraid with twins you have to give birth in a hospital, you can't have a home birth."

This nearly sends us into hysterical laughter.  The idea of a home birth never even crossed our minds.  I could see it now-boiling water and the cats hiding from all my screaming.  I'd be trying to watch reruns of CSI while Aidan tries to keep the dog from running off with one of the placentas.  Once we calm down, Aidan explains to the confued midwife, "We never even debated a home birth.  We don't have enough plastic sheeting for something like that."

She continues to look confused, but nods anyway. I liked his answer and mentally give him points for being quick.

"I'm afraid that a water birth is also out," she says kindly.

"Oh, honey, a water birth was never in," I reply.   My reproductive organs are not Disneyworld, a turbo jet waterslide that ends in a fabulous crystal blue pool is not an option.  I have zero interest in hiking up into a kiddie pool and dropping the Juniors into it.  I understand that others swear by it and more power to them-in my mind, no land-based mammals that I know of decide to give birth in water, so why would I?  I've always been clear in my mind when it came to my birth choices-I want a hospital birth where they have lots of shiny machines in case something goes horribly wrong, and I want drugs.  Lots of them. I  don't even want to be able to feel the wind on my calves, I want numbness.  I'll need that to recover from the horror that while birthing I will also be following the time honored tradition of taking a dump in front of about 6 people (although apparently with twins comes the C-section chances, which range anywhere from 60-90% depending on where you read the issues.) 

I have to choose a hospital.  This is a no-brainer, my IVF consultant is associated with one of the local hospitals and I was already told by the fertility clinic that he insists on delivering his IVF twins.  He's very clever, maybe a bit brusque for our tastes, but I knew we'd choose that hospital anyway, as it was where I miscarried 6 months ago and they were so incredibly kind there, so caring and supportive, that there really was no contest.

"Do you have a consultant in mind?" the midwife asks.  "I can recommend a few."

It feels so weird to be doing this.  At that point I was 7 weeks pregnant, and already I was planning 30 weeks down the line on who would be sitting ringside at the Babies vs. Vanessa title match. 

"I'd like Mr. X," I replied, naming my doctor (how it works here-you go to medical school and get certified to be a doctor.  You get called "Doctor", until at some point in your career when you have enough accolades or have administed over 100,000 stitches or have enough Frequent Appendectomy Miles or something, you lose the title "Doctor" and go to being called "Mr, Miss, or Mrs.").

"Oh yes, he's very good.  I believe he's an IVF doctor," she replies.

"Yes he was my IVF consultant.  I figure he put them in there, he should be there to take them out," I agree.

So I'm registered.  We're going on holiday with Aidan's kids for Easter, and when I come back it'll be straight into the nuchal translucency, which I learnt is actually an ultrasound measurement that the ultrasound technician does on the thickenss of the neck of the fetuses.  This thickness - done in millimeters - then tells them the probability of our babies having Down's Syndrome, which then tells us if we need to have further testing, if we should sigh with relief, or if we should go ahead and start drinking now. 

I have another ultrasound a week from now, at which point the twins should be almost 9 weeks. 

I'm looking forward to that ultrasound, but I can't really explain why. 

Maybe you know better than I do.

In terms of symptoms, I struggle.  The nausea is better actually, but the exhaustion is incredible.  I don't just want to nap, I need to nap.  Yesterday morning I got up, had breakfast, showered, got dressed, and then took a nap.  I nap on trains, I nap on the couch, I nap at any and every possible moment, I can even fall asleep standing up.   

I have other things going on as well-the skin on my hands and feet are so dry that no matter how many times a day I apply really thick, intensive lotion, they just don't get any better.  I graze all day (mostly healthy foods), but I can't eat as much as I used to-a cereal-sized bowl of pasta that I used to be able to finish now goes unfinished, I just can't fit it all in.  My legs cramp constantly and I battle headaches.  My waistline is beginning to change-I'm down to wearing my most loose-fitting jeans.  Aidan says there's no pouffy stomach there, but I disagree - I think something's happening there.

Also, I cannot stop eating Frosted Flakes (Frosties).  They are the most delicious food in the whole wide world ever.  I love them.  I want to marry them.

So there you have it.

As for me, personally, I still feel very overwhelmed by everything.  I think I would have felt that way regardless of if I was carrying one or two, but two definitely has more of a shocking impact.  I am pretty stressed out by it, and trying to plan and prepare myself for everthing as much as I can, which is ridiculous because nothing can prepare you for bringing home a baby, let alone two of them.  I can't believe my treatment finally worked, when we were close to giving up.  I can't believe I'm having two.  I worry all the time.  I bounce between happiness, fear, sadness, and hope a lot.  I feel like I can't be happy-my partner is so miserable.  I can't be sad-no one understands why I should be.  I can't be worried-it comes across as paranoid.  I can't be hopeful-so many things can go wrong, I do not want to jinx things.  I can't be funny-the situation is serious, I need to treat it as such.  I have all of these emotions, none of which I feel I'm entitled to.

It's an exhausting journey, and I'm only a fifth of the way into it.

I'll be 8 weeks pregnant tomorrow (if they have, indeed, continued to grow, which I think and hope they have). 

Despite what you may read into my writing today, I am grateful for that.

Honestly.

PS-comments are back open now.  I'll keep them that way but will be keeping an eye on them.  If you feel the need to blast Aidan in any way, shape, or form, then I will delete your comment and I will ban you and I will laugh like Margaret Hamilton while doing so.  In other words, you may disagree with him or with me, but I'm kindly requesting you venture out here with kindness and support.  The anonymous blog world seems to strip people of that quality, I've gotten comments from people that are things I would NEVER say to a friend or a stranger, and I'm hoping that the seedy element of unkindness was a knee-jerk reaction only.  I'm sorry if I come across as a harsh censorship monitor, but I really need you to understand-it's a difficult and confusing time for us.

The Day Of

We're still coming to terms with things here, and it's a hell of a shock.  You'd think that in IVF land the unexpected becomes the expected, but in this case that's not true.  My IVF cycle was so haphazard, everything that could go wrong did.  We went into the embryo transfer with literally just enough to transfer and they weren't great quality.  I remember thinking that I was going to be positive even when the embryos, they just weren't that hopeful.

So Google?  You listening?  Tell all the nervous and scared women Googling things like "average grade embryos working" or "snowball's chance in hell + IVF" to come here. I  have a story for them.

Aidan is still working on things, and out of respect for him, our relationship, and the fact that he reads this blog I really need you to not comment about how he should or shouldn't behave.  We are where we are.  Everyone handles things differently and we need to respect each other's fears.  For today I'm going to have the comments closed still, so that he can continue to feel like he's not under attack and that we can work together as a couple.  As the father and as my partner he's in this with me.  We need each other.

Tuesday was a blur.  I know I'm usually over-the-top with sarcasm and irony, but Tuesday has taken my breath away a bit.  I never in a million years expected to see what I did.  I guess I was beginning to bunker down and confront the idea that maybe, just maybe, I would never be a parent at all.  This is the roll of the dice for some.  After all this time, I was beginning to think it would be my cast, too. 

Tuesday when the wand went in the two sacs were immediately obvious to me, and I generally suck at this ultrasound stuff.  I remember thinking: Oh my God.  I even said it out loud.  One little creature was immediately obvious, the other not.  It turns out one is facing one way, the other is heading a different way, but both are positioned smack dab in the middle of the uterus, keeping each other company.

With a turn of the wand, I saw something moving.  I tried to sit up and look closer, it looked like the movement of a tiny jellyfish, a black and white flashing.

"You see that?  That's the heartbeat," the technician said quietly.

I did see it.  I couldn't believe it.  It was so unreal, it was so...well...amazing.  And to just throw something out there to make you vomit, I honestly looked at that and thought it was a fucking miracle, and I don't feel stupid for saying that.

She took measurements of twin 1, who is exactly on target for size and heartbeat.  She then worked on twin 2, who is also on target for size and heartbeat.  I saw the little heatbeat there, too.  I remember thinking: Oh my God, they're alive.  I'm a cynical and jaded chick in real life, not least in IVF, and to see that just floored me.

We were instructed to meet with a midwife and our GP on the same day, and we did so.  We're not yet discharged from the RE-we have to go back for another scan on March 27 to check on how things are, and once discharged I go straight to a high risk pregnancy unit, as multiples are considered high risk.  By the sounds of things and based on the schedule the midwife gave us, I'm going to be scanned about every 5 minutes for the next 7 months and that's ok with me.  With a family history of high blood pressure and pre-eclampsia I'm also going to be constantly monitored with lab tests and doctor check-ups. 

The midwife kept saying "Your babies".  I felt like a truck had hit me, it was entirely too much for my little brain to cope with.

The lab tech had said that based on the measurements, sizes, and heartbeats, that the two of them looked embedded for the long haul.  She said she honestly wasn't worried that they were going anywhere.  The midwife said the same-based on my scan and my paperwork, she said I now have a 98% chance of this pregnancy continuing and both babies making it out alive.  In a fertility world of stats, I'll take those odds.  I know lots of things can still go wrong, but somehow, I just believe they won't.

This is difficult for me to talk about, but I won't say that we're happy that we're having twins, although one or both of us may get to that point or somewhere like it from the pure "we get to be parents" perspective.  I'm very happy that both are healthy and on target, and also happy that they are correctly positioned and little heartbeats pounding away.  While I am absolutely choked with emotion over the two heartbeats, I am also absolutely, compeletely and utterly terrified of two.  Aidan is even more so.  It's just so big, having twins, and not something to be taken lightly at all.  It is a very major thing, twins, and if we took it with brevity and ease I'd worry that the shock of when they're here would be traumatic in the extreme.  The risk of twins is one thing-the reality is another. 

It does not mean I am not grateful and feel so floored by seeing a heartbeat, I absolutey am and it's something I never thought I'd see, but it's a lot to take in right now.  Imagine how it is-you're an IVF veteran who is beginning to head towards the end of trying.  You might even be at the end, you're getting worn out.  Your relationship pays a price, you pay a price, your body pays a price (speaking of which, I am not only packing twins, I'm also now packing an ovarian cyst which will be under observation for the pregnancy too) and you start thinking that you may need to make peace with your future.  You have had the worst cycle in the history of your worst cycles.  You have just enough to donate and potentially ruin a woman's chances with, when surely she was hoping to receive two or three times as many eggs as you gave her.   You have two of four fertilize.  You have just those two, and they're average grade. 

Then you get a positive.

Then you pass the point where you've previously miscarried.

And you stay pregnant.

And then you see the jellyfish on the monitor, and you can't believe that's inside of you.

I know this is where a lot of people may stop reading.  I understand, I really do.  When I was going through IVF, I would often have a hard time here, too.  If you stop reading, then thanks for being around for a while, I really mean that.  If you keep reading, then I honestly thank you for staying. 

I took off my lucky bracelet yesterday, as it got me where I needed to be.  I may give Aidan back his USB stick now.  I needed luck to get to heartbeats, and while I still need luck to get through it all, I will never forget the view on the screen. And for now it's day by day, as we try to make peace with what's happening, and with each other.

I imagine that if I could hear them, the heartbeats would sound like George Jetson's space capsule. 

I imagine if I put their heartbeats up to my face, they would feel like butterfly wings.

The News

You think the day you go for your first scan should be a joyous, celebratory day.  You read about other women brimming with hope and love and wonder, their husbands crying with happiness, the women amazed and in tears of incredulity.  You think that will happen to you.

Then it doesn't.

Instead, a bomb goes off.  After a vicious row in the car we're not even speaking.  I'm a trembling, sobbing, frightened mess and he's a raging, accusative, frightened mess.  Neither of us can reach the other right now. 

I don't know what to do.

We went for our first scan and we did not see a perfect little blob, measuring exactly on target with an absolutely perfect heartbeat.

Instead, we saw two.

Join Me in the Nutella Brigade

I've been waiting a long time.

A long fucking time.

This whole roller coaster kicked off the 5th of January, and it's still going.  If I'm being really literal about it all, my amusement park journey actually started in 2000, with early infertility discussions.  I've been strapped in, buckled up, with the bar firmly down since then.  I've had 5 cycles, donated eggs to two women, and am heading down the final corridor of giving this a try. 

And now I'm farther along than I have ever been (6w6d today) and I honestly feel like this is my best shot. 

Tuesday I finally get my scan.  There's nothing to tell me that it's not working, in fact considering the point that I am Mrs. Homer A Symptom, I think it's a pretty good indication that things are very positive.  I've never had pregnancy symptoms to this degree before, ever.  I couldn't be more textbook, to the point where I had to look up "pregnant goosebump nipples" because not only can I play Radio Tokyo with these things, I have these weird goosebumps on them (called Montgomery's glands, and apparently in some pregnancies they get more pronounced.  That'd be me then.)

I'm conscious of the fact that it seems like most of blogland is falling pregnant right now, and many are falling pregnant on Round 1 of IVF.  Yes, there are some negatives (and I really feel for you if it's you), but in general it seems like most people are just looking at a syringe and then getting a heartbeat.  And that's the thing, the positives seem to be followed up by heartbeats in no time.  I remember last August when I had a positive-I was also in a group that had positives and they all went on to heartbeats, and I got to be The Statistic.  You know the one, there has to be a negative reaction for that many positives, and I got the short straw.  Does this mean that - despite my massive symptoms - I'll be The Statistic again?  After 5 rounds of IVF and a painful 2006, am I always going to be the short straw girl?

I know the universe does not "owe" me.  I know that in the grand scheme of things, this many IVF attempts means nothing - some people get to be parents, some don't.  If this round fails I will be sitting back and doing some thinking - while I can't bear the idea of not being a parent for the rest of my life, I also couldn't bear another miscarriage.  Life is (to me) a more beautiful place with children in it.  IVF is also very hard on both me personally and on my relationship-although we're a very strong couple we do struggle when it's cycling time, and while I don't think another cycle will break us apart, at some point we have to start living life in such a way that we don't argue so much.

I honestly do feel positive, though.  When I bounce the question around in my head, I do think that it's working this time.  I know it can all go horribly wrong, that truthfully I could have nothing going on inside of me but since progesterone really does seem to keep me from menstruating, it's only a matter of time.  I just don't believe that's the case. 

I've been waiting a long time for this scan, which is coming on Tuesday.  I've been exhausted, light-headed, pukey, nauseous, and headache-y.  I've had restless leg, crazy dreams, night sweats, enormous and painful boobs, food cravings that vanish after 5 minutes, enough mucus to film Ghostbusters III and I've won the Extreme Nipple Competition.  I've had every symptom possible...but at the end of the day, it's what happens on Tuesday that matters. 

I do imagine it's working, too.  We're going on holiday with Aidan's kids in April, I imagine myself pregnant there. In the summertime, I imagine myself pregnant.  As fall approaches, I imagine myself pregnant still.  For the first time, I can see it happening to the end, and that's something new, too.  Women get pregnant all the time and don't think twice with this kind of worry, why can't I join that group, too?

So Tuesday.  In my heart of hearts I would like to see something measuring right on target at 7w1d, with one strong and perfect heartbeat.  I'd like to hug my RE and graduate.  I'd like to finally feel I can break down and buy a fucking pregnancy book even, just so I can know what's going on without feeling like I'd jinxed it.  And yes, things can still go wrong after that, but inside I feel that if I can get past Tuesday, I can get past it all.

Here's to Tuesday.

Join me in the Nutella Brigade, as we eat our way towards hope?

Bad Explanations

So I'm still hanging in there.  Still all the ongoing symptoms, although the restless leg is better (thanks Caltechgirl and V5, for the suggestion!) but the nausea and exhaustion continues.

Also...what's up with the permanently sticking out nipples?  I'm just saying.  Where did those come from?

A big part of our lives is alcohol.  Not in the "twitchy, gaspy, strange Nicholas Cage movie kind of way", but we often have friends over and we have wine.  On weekends, we have wine.  With work mates, we go out to the pub and catch up over wine.  I know it sounds like we should be carrying around plastic chips and attending group, but trust me, we don't need to start any 12-step program (and we even put the brakes on having any alcohol during the week).  We do enjoy a bottle on a Saturday night (although in cases of miscarriage, then I just mainline the stuff.  It's easier that way.)

Since getting knocked up, I've put the kaibosh on that for me.  Even though the doctor said two glasses a week are fine, I feel a bit weird about it, like I can't be bothered to make the sacrifice for some vino in order to have a healthy kid.  So while the boy tipples, I drink Appletizer (this fantatic carbonated apple juice drink that I am absolutely addicted to.  It also helps the nausea.  Win-win, really.)   Things also don't taste right to me lately, I find that I don't actually want any alcohol.  Who knew my own 12-step program would include needles and progesterone suppositories?

Last Friday I had the Book Club girls over.  They're a fantastic group of chicks that I love a lot, but there was no way I was coming out of the pregnancy closet to them.  It's way too early for that. Aidan and I aren't telling anyone until the first trimester is over, although we've been discussing it and may tell my dad about the pregnancy after the scan next week.  As my therapist put it, if it either works out or it doesn't, I'll be needing the support of my family.

Anyway, two of the chicks in the club are Infertile Bitches-one woman even did several rounds of IVF, but unfortunately they didn't work, and now  both of them have decided to stop trying.  The woman who did IVF gets a bit aggressive with me about my own cycles-she wants to know the details, and even when I don't want to tell them, she gets pushy.  Once we met up and I only had one glass of wine because I had to drive, and she really fucked me off by constantly pointingly saying I must be pregnant.  At the time, I most definitely was not pregnant, and I wanted to smack her for continuously saying otherwise.  Salt?  Meet open wound.    

So no.  No way was I telling them that I was a Double Pink Line Mary.

But the Book Club, well...we drink.

Alot.

It's history, it's like a girl's night out.  We eat dinner, we drink a lot, we talk about the book, and then we talk about sex.  It's what we do.

So Aidan and I bought a bottle of this stuff called Ame, which is a non-alcoholic grape and apple drink.  It looks a lot like white wine, so I figured I'd be able to fly under the radar while the others drank their wine.  Aidan made us all dinner, their glasses would refill from a bottle on the table, and my glass would conveniently get filled while going to the fridge to fetch something for dinner.  They got loaded, I stayed stone cold sober, and everyone was a winner.

Last night I met my team in our usual bar in London.  You might be wondering what a pregnant chick is doing in a bar (there's a joke in there somewhere), but this is a smokeless bar, for one, and for another it's just what my team do.  We always meet in this bar and catch up. 

And again, I can't come out to them yet. 

So I met them up at the bar two hours after they'd already been there.  I told them I had to drive later, and so could only have one glass of wine, and I found a way to be sneaky-since they'd been drinking already they were, shall we say, a little unobservant.  So when my glass was filled I would slowly and silently move it to my left, taking the half-full glass of the guy on my right.  The guy on my left would think my glass of wine was really his, and he'd drink it.  His glass would get usurped by the guy next to him, and so on.  I'd have a half-full glass of wine next to me, and if and when people would fill it up, I'd simply quietly slide the glass to whomever next to me had an emptier glass, and the person next to me would simply assume that glass was his. 

Presto, it looked like I was drinking, when really I nursed sparkling water all evening.

I'm so much cooler than David Copperfield it's unbelievable.

They fed me a massive plate of nachos, which is good because I started to feel sick.  I couldn't believe it, but I ate the whole thing-I was starving, and the food settled my stomach.  I'm such a grazing cow these days it's unreal. 

A little while later I started to feel sick.

Really sick.

I knew what was coming.

I went to the girls' room and started heaving in the privacy of a stall. 

Now, here's the thing-pretty much nothing about me is delicate.  I'm a tall chick who, while you probably wouldn't describe me as fat, you'd certainly not say I was short of a meal.  When I sneeze it's so fucking loud you'd think Dumbo just let one off.  When I cough you'd swear Mr. Ed was in the room.  And when I vomit, I can be heard retching all the way to Switzerland.  I simply cannot be quiet about it, the noise I make while vomiting is enough to promote a Quentin Tarantino special about me. 

So there I was, heaving.  When I finally finished, I wiped my face and mouth (puking makes tears pour out of my eyes, too, so I look SO HOT) and came out of the toilet...and met the very attractive and thin proprietress of the bar, the one who had been bringing bottles of wine to the table, the one who fed me nachos only 30 minutes earlier.  I realized she'd heard every sound, and she had her arms folded and was staring at me with very frank disapproval. 

I realized I was facing getting chucked out of the bar, and that would be hard to explain to my team.

I couldn't tell her I was pregnant, because I don't tell ANYONE I'm pregnant, and anyway despite the fact that I hadn't imbibed anything but water, what's a pregnant chick doing in a bar (insert joke as appropriate)?  I didn't want her to think I was completely wasted as I certainly wasn't, and if I was she'd chuck me out as I'd had too much to drink and was a liability.  Either way I was looking at my team finding out about the vomiting, and my team are all men and all fathers, so they'd put two and two together immediately.  I thought fast.

And in that split second my brain offered me the most incredibly politically incorrect option available.

"I'm bulimic," I said, patting the corners of my mouth with toilet paper.

Oh my fucking God, I can't believe I just said that.

"Oh," she said, nodding.  "I understand."  She patted me on the arm and left.

I didn't get kicked out of the bar.

I am, however, going to burn in hell.

I'm 6weeks 3 days today, and that's also a new record.

6 Weeks

So today I am 6 weeks pregnant exactly.  It's longer than I've ever been pregnant before, but still a full 8 days before our scan.

The scan is whipping me.  I was discussing it with Statia that I'd just like some kind of early indication, and she said I could always go to the clinic and say that I fell down some stairs and just want to check everything's ok.  Although I replied that the suggestion smacked a little too "Judy Garland meets Alexis Carrington", I'll agree it does have some merit.

Still, I'll just try to persevere for another 8 days.  Not because I'm all brave and shit, but at least right now I do know I'm still pregnant (otherwise I'd have had to build an ark to float on the massive blood flow I'm sure I'd be omitting.)  At least I get to know I'm pregnant now, and hopefully not get to the scan and see tumbleweeds blowing through my uterus (you know...as they can do.)

I try not to think about it too much, otherwise it will consume me, and letting things consume you is how Bad Guys are made in the comic books.

On the symptoms front, things are definitely getting worse.  My biggest problem is sheer, unadulterated exhaustion.  I had no idea it would be this bad, I really didn't.  I know you're probably thinking Jesus Woman, we get it-you're tired.  Shut the fuck up and talk about projectile suppositories now, ok?  But honestly?  The exhaustion OWNS me.  I am Fatigue's bitch.  I'm generally functioning on a "Hi, I'm completely Half-Ass" kind of level, augmented by naps and the inability to function. 

I do still have nausea, accented by the occasional vomit.  I have found snacking throughout the day keeps it at bay, and something which always seems to help is a Granny Smith apple.  I know you wouldn't expect that to be the case, a sour green apple seems a recipe for vomiting on the projectile level, but they really do help.  I'm eating at least one of those bad boys a day (so fuck YOU, doc, I'm keeping you away!  No, I'm just kidding, doc.  I'm sorry.  Let's be friends.  Wanna' scan me?)   

In addition I've got severe leg twitching at night, to the point where I can't deal with my restless legs.  And I've had really, really bizarre and vivid dreams for a few weeks now, not nightmares really, just very vibrant.  I used to go commando at home most of the time, but I just have to wear knickers most of the time now-the mucus, it is much.  I pee a lot, but then I always have.  I have a bladder the size of a grape, and I have spent my life looking for the next rest stop.  It's my dream when I'm a senior citizen to just be permanently hooked up to a catheter, so that I can salvage what will be left of my heavily wiped beaver.  But weirdly, when I pee now?  I can't really feel it.  The bladder comes out with the flow of the Amazon, but I don't really feel that immense "I think I just saw God" relief you get when you empty a very full bladder. 

I miss that.

And then this morning I woke up with zits.

Two of them.

And I'm sure you're rolling your eyes, but lemme' be clear-I was a walking Teenage Tragedy.  I was the epitome of "dork" ever shown on any 1980's TV show or film.  I had braces, perms, bad glasses, and the dress sense of a rock.  They didn't get any more uncool than I was, but the one single indignity I was spared from in my teen years was the bane of acne.  I would get maybe one pimple a month, and I was ok with that-I paid my dues in every single other area, I could have the ok skin, thanks.  But this morning, without warning, there were two pimples threatening to take over my face. 

And I realized that maybe the teen years were just fucking with me and WAITING to bring on the Clearasil years.  I can lose the bad glasses and perm, but I can never hang with the cheerleaders.

Don't think I'm ungrateful-I'll take every last symptom, and I'll take it on the chin.  It's all just a sign that things are ok in there, that maybe this time will finally work out.  I'll take that in a doggy bag and keep it in my fridge for as long as I possibly can (and no, I'm not comparing my uterus to a sub-zero Kenmore there, it was just a metaphor for...I don't know, something.)

So I persevere.  I made it past my 8 day superstitious mark.  I am still knocked up.  And I still feel very positive, which is a recipe for disaster perhaps-in 8 days I find out if all is well in there, but (naively and, in fact, incorrectly I know) I can't help but think if I had a blighted ovum or no fetal pole or whatever, the blood flow would have started.  I know that's not the case, I know the body can continue on for weeks, but still.  Something in my head just tells me that it's all ok in there, and like an ignorant fool, I'm going to just keep trying to believe it as I sit on the Brooklyn Bridge, which I bought from a nice man in a trench coat last week for the princely sum of $5.