Twisted Ovaries

We're Off

We're off tomorrow to go skiing in Canada for a long while, and we cashed in a load of Aidan's air miles so we'll be flying business out there, and first on the way back (which is possibly more exciting to me than you can imagine.  I'm immature, I'm ok with it.) 

Christmas passed and Santa was good to me.  All of Aidan's family (including the monsters) came for a long day yesterday.  I had good fun, and only had to endure one uncomfortable conversation.  It was between Aidan's brother-in-law (whose Mrs. is giving birth this Friday to their son) and Aidan's Mum.  Aidan's brother was bemoaning the fact that his son wouldn't have any relatives born close to it, in similar age.  His Mum nodded and said sadly that she hoped one of his friends could get knocked up soon, since she doesn't know anyone else who could/would be having babies.

They didn't even look at me.

And the fact that I should be 5 months pregnant right now didn't escape me.

But I know it wasn't done in malice-they have absolutely no idea that we've been trying, that we had a loss, or that we even think about having babies.  So it comes as no surprise-if we don't tell people, we can't expect them to be aware of the sensitivities (and we don't tell anyone about what's going on, it's what Aidan wants). 

So...yeah.  There you have it.

We'll be back the 8th, by which time I'll have been down-regulating for 3 days, and no doubt crying at Tampax commercials.

See you soon, and Happy New Year.

Getting There

We're narrowing down to kick-off for counting.  You know, the kick-off for counting?  Day 1 of the period should be Monday, which then gives us starting day for meds.  The clinic called me two days ago to check on my cycle, and thus armed on when the Armageddon Blood Flow will arrive, the donee is starting her protocol now (I have no idea what the protocol is for egg donees, I know only that it takes a long damn time.)

Which is much like my cycles do.  I read about IVF treatments in the States, and I swear you guys cycle as fast as it takes me to eat an Egg McMuffin.  We may start treatment on the same day, but by the time I've put my first used Buserelin syringe in the orange box you have already had an embryo transfer (and are, invariably, knocked up).  Cycles here rock the schedule for 6 weeks, leading to many appointments with the frozen Mr. Bump patch and my fluid-retaining ass to desperately try to feel normal. 

Good times, my friends.  Good times.

Truthfully, I'm ready to start again.  The miscarriage has stopped affecting me so fucking badly, and although I do feel sad about it from time to time, I think I've moved on (and my nice therapist agrees). 

I've also started to feel differently about IVF.  The sincere and vivid desperation I had is fading-while I want it to work more than anything, I do also see there will be an end of the road to the fertility treatment.  We've got this cycle and its corresponding FET.  I want to do one more fresh cycle that we will pay for and any FETs that result, and then honestly?  If it doesn't work by then it's not going to.  That will be the end of my road.  At that point, I get to work on figuring out what I want from life, and how to make my life as complete as possible without feeling such depression and envy that I want to ram a strollered- Gorby at people.

So we'll see.  We get our drugs next week.  Poor Aidan has to update his HIV test and the boy does not do needles well.  The drugs will (depending on when Day 1 of my period is) either come with us over the holiday to Canada or will stay here and wait for our return.  Either way, at least we have a plan.

And if I'm honest, I feel really positive about trying again (note: this does not mean I am stupid enough to be super positive about the outcome.  I am an old-timer at this game, I'm not that daft.  I am "optimistic" about my outcome, but in a "seriously, I have pinot noir as a fallback" kind of way). 

When TV is Stressful

The BBC has been running a series recently called A Child Against All Odds.  Aidan and I started watching it when it premiered-it consists of 6 episodes all presented by Professor Lord Robert Winston, a world-renowned fertility expert and the Professor of Fertility Studies at Imperial College School of Medicine, London University.  He wasn't part of the Louise Brown IVF success, but he was one of the PGD pioneers, and he also is a sterilization reversal expert, gynae microbiologist, and all round cool chap, really.  When he presents the shows you get it, you don't feel like he talks down to you, and he gives you his opinion, which is something I whole-heartedly respect.

Anyway, it's difficult watching in our house.  IVF is a fraught topic, one that more often than not ends into a heated discussion/argument/depression/heavy drinking bout/days of ignoring each other/me crying quietly in the front seat of the car.  So when we watch these episodes, it's with the knowledge that we may or may not agree with each other. 

The episodes themselves are pretty fraught for me.  I watch them and generally seem to get pretty emotionally invested in them.  This is likely because I am an IVF chick myself, and especially as an IVF chick going through IVF treatment in Britain, I can relate to a lot of the stories.

The first episode is the one I had the hardest time with.  Episode 1 was called Choosing Children, and was about PGD.   Now, I really objected to the title of the episode-you don't "choose" children in PGD, it's a strict genetic screening designed to help parents-for example, two of the couples going through IVF with PGD were doing so because they both had chromosomal abnormalities in their genes, which spellt bad news for their progeny-1 couple had a severely disabled daughter as a result of the abnormalities, the other couple lost one of their children before he turned 1 due to problems.  It was absolutely heart-breaking and I wished for those couples. 

Then it was about choosing children-one couple, who had four healthy, happy boys (all conceived naturally as she explained that she's "incredibly fertile") but decided they wanted a girl.  They wanted PGD to get a girl, too, which in the UK is illegal (and I'm sorry, but I agree that it should be.)  So off they flew to Crete, where she produces only two eggs.  Only one is fertilized and-guess what?-that embryo is female.  So they transfer it back in, the husband gleefully exclaims that "the battle is all over, the hard part is done", which leads to me jumping up and down screaming: You TOSSER! Don't you know anything?  You're up against implantation now, in your over 40 wife with a single grade 2 egg!  The truth is, I was bouncing up and down with indignation-all they kept saying is that their life was incomplete without a girl....and they kept saying it in front of their sons.  I was horrified on their behalves. 

Suffice to say, it didn't work for them, but apparently they plan on continuing to try.  I don't know if I wish them success or not, and that makes me a real fucking whore, but seriously-I am one of those bitches that thinks: You have four incredible, beautiful boys.  Go with it.  Love your boys.  Turn your back on the difficulty that is IVF and love your gorgeous children, regardless of what sex they are.

I am a preachy bitch today.

Anyway, Episode 2 was called Ice Babies, and was particularly hard for me. It was about FETs and, specifically in this program, about cancer survivors using their frozen embryos once they had the all-clear (although one part of the program was about the cancer survivor and her partner who broke up after her cancer treatment, and how she's appealing to the EU as he won't let her use their embryos now).  There was some tear-choking back from me as I watched these women and their frozen dreams.

Episode 3 was called Make Me a Dad, about male factor infertility.  One of the guys was a cancer survivor and a paraplegic, the other simply had no live boys.  So the one without the live boys had the most gruesome surgery I have ever seen-he was AWAKE-to remove tubes within his testes that might have sperm.  Believe it or not, they found one live sperm.  They fertilized one of his partner's eggs, transferred back the badly graded cell...and presto, she does get knocked up.  In fact, in this program both of the couples succeeded.

Episode 4 last week was called Cheating Time, and was about older mothers.  They even interviewed the Romanian woman who gave birth at 66.  I have to say, while I'm pro older women trying, the 66 year-old made me feel uncomfortable-she had no family.  No one.  Should she pass away-and she was tiny and frail-her daughter would be in an orphanage.

Episode 5 - The Gift of Life -  This one is on tomorrow and is the most worrisome.  It's about egg donees and egg donors.  One of the stories is similar to my own-a woman donates half of her own eggs, because not only does it help defray the cost of our own cycles, but we can get a woman off the waiting list anyway.  Between this episode and the PMS I am experiencing (can you say crying jag?) I suspect I'll be a bit of a mess.

I usually am, anyway.

What gets me is that so far, none of the women who wound up pregnant have miscarried.  It thus makes me feel like the unluckiest person in the world-I did the same drugs as they did.  I have had the same kind of clinic they did. 

Fuck.

Of course, the most painful episode is still to come.  That last episode next week, Episode 6, is called Whatever It Takes.  It's about women reaching the end of their tries.  It's about couples figuring out when enough is enough.  That's the episode I fear the most-not only could it potentially cause a bust up at home, but the topic is pretty painful in and of itself.

Maybe that will be one I record and wait to watch it.  I'll sandwich it in between Terms of Endearment and Old Yeller, it'll be a real party.

Prepping For My Prom Date While I'm Still in Junior High

My period is on its way-last night Aidan cuddled me from behind, and when he threw his arm across my boob I nearly reached out and smacked him-not because I'm not that kind of girl, but because it hurt like hell.  That, combined with the fact that I am inhaling every carbohydrate within a 5 mile radius let me know that it's nearly here.

So I rang the clinic to make sure everything was still on track.

Said clinic did indeed make me feel like an idiot-You're ok, Vanessa?  You're still going to cycle in January, Vanessa.  You're ringing....why?

I was actually ringing because I wanted to know if I needed to get my meds early-they close over Christmas and we leave two days after Christmas for an 11 day holiday, so I just wanted to be sure.  They asked me to come in in a couple of weeks, at which point I'd party with the pharmacist and get the party pack of needles.  Once again, we will start a cycle.  And once again, half of my eggs will be donated to another woman, who will be coming off the list and receiving eggs.

I remember when I told them that I needed a short break (we were on a break!) between cycles, they tiptoed around it-Are you sure you want that much time off?  We have a donee.  She's ready.  Perhaps a bit disappointed at the short wait, though.

And I do feel bad about that-I know that in some areas, the wait can be up to three years for eggs.  I know she wants to start, and start now.  I think when you've waited so long, when your number gets called you want it to happen NOW.  But there is absolutely no way I could have cycled over the holidays, and I knew that.  I knew that personally I couldn't have done it.  It's better for me to wait.  So I feel bad for her, but in a "this is the way it has to be" kind of way.

So, since we're in the same boat, that means the donee has to wait, too.

I wonder what it's like to be her-to be on a list, to be always on some kind of standby.  I wonder what it's like to get a call from the hospital, to hear that they've made a match, you wouldn't believe it, and the person whose eggs you'll get is a great responder, you'll have plenty to work with.  I wonder what goes through her head, and if she wonders what kind of person I am-does she worry that I run a whorehouse out of the back bedroom?  Does she stress that I may be the recreational crack user?  Does she think: God, I hope she's not really ugly.  If she is, I'll just say our child gets it from his side.  Or does she maybe not think about all of that?  Dunno.  If it were me, I'd wonder about her all the time, but then I'm pretty neurotic under non-IF circumstances, IF would send me into Woody Allen proportions.   

I am always aware of the other woman during the cycle.  The entire time I downreg and stim, I think about her.  I also definitely think about her during the retrieval, up until they tell me the egg count and how many each of us get (if there's an odd number, I get the extra egg.)  Then I don't think about her anymore, except to wish up a prayer to whatever god I have to hand that day, and wish her every possible hope of success and joy.  We're both on our own then, albeit still tethered by this thing called IVF, and this element called hope.

This is, also, the last time I'll be allowed to donate eggs.  Donations here cover the cost of the cycle (including drugs), so except for my FET (transfer and meds) and the cost of transfers (plus any tests Aidan has to have) we've gotten away with only having to pay out about £2000 for two cycles.  I do think I have one more cycle in me, should this one and any FETs after it fail.  As a couple, I think we can swing paying for one more fresh cycle, and then emotionally, physically, and mentally, we will be done.

Let's hope it doesn't get to that stage.

Here's to that other woman, looking at the Christmas decorations and thinking about January, too.

La la la la la

This is where I say things like:  Wow!  Neat-O!  So cool to be back!

So, like, my neighbor?  She's pregnant.  And my boyfriend's uncle's wife's brother's niece?  Pregnant.  Everyone is pregnant!  Happy happy happy!  I go away and come back and more people are knocked up.  You didn't get knocked up while I was away?  Just wait.  I'm away for a long weekend in two weeks, I'm sure you'll find yourself firmly up the duff then.

Whatever.

So we're back.  We stayed at a distillery.  When we booked it, I remember thinking: If I'm up the duff, I just won't drink the whiskey!  While pregnant I remember thinking: No whiskey for me, but that's ok!  While I was there, I thought: Fuck it.  More whiskey, please. 

Acupuncture tomorrow.  Let's see if a few little needles can turn me into Polly-fucking-anna or something.

PS-http://twistedovaries.com now works to get here, too.

Coming Out of the Woodwork

There are a lot of things that you should and shouldn't say to someone who struggles with infertility.  There are also many things you should and shouldn't say to someone who miscarries.  The infertility list has been done (among them: Relax, why don't you adopt?, and does that mean you'll have 6 babies?) but the miscarriage list is slightly different.  The best thing to say to someone who miscarried is:

"I'm sorry.  Want to talk about it?"

If the answer is no, change the subject.  Immediately.  If the answer is yes, just listen and nod.  There's nothing to add, nothing to heal.  It's just listening.  Don't do it with pity, don't reach across the table and hold hands.  Just nod and listen. 

It's easy to get things wrong, and even those on the infertile/miscarriage side of the fence get it wrong.  Last week on the phone Statia was telling me about her latest symptom and the words were out of my mouth before I could engage my brain: At least you're pregnant and get the symptoms.

For this, I am very sorry, Statia.  That was a shit thing for me to say.  But our girl, she glibly either ignored it or didn't hear it (maybe she is a cute Monchichi snuffed up on hcg) and thus eased on the conversation. 

One thing they say to never tell a woman who miscarried is this: Well at least you know you can get pregnant.

Ironically, Aidan said it to me and it didn't upset me at all.  I did have an interuterine pregnancy, so yes-I can get knocked up and it can stay in the right spot.  Excellent.  I was, to be really honest, comforted by that.

And so it is that I now sees infertiles coming out of the woodwork.

Three days ago at work I was getting a cup of coffee from the machine.  One of the project managers I work with stood by me and was rubbing his hand over his eyes.

"You ok, mate?" I asked. 

"Yeah.  Problems at home," he replied wearily.

He'd confided in me a while ago that he and his Mrs. are going through IVF, and have been for several years.  She'd been through four cycles in the UK and one in the US, a cycle in New Jersey which yielded 5 follicles, none of which contained any eggs.  He had a vasectomy (this is his second marriage, he's got three teens from his first) and she has unexplaiined infertility as well.  They have never had a single positive.

"IVF?" I asked quietly.

He nodded.

"I'm sorry, man." I said, a hand on his shoulder.

We stood there silently.

"How long have you been trying?" he asked, finally.

I was surprised-I'd never mentioned to him that we'd been through IVF as well.  I decided to own up. "A while.  We just had another cycle.  It ended in miscarriage." I said.

He nodded grimly. "At least you know you can get pregnant," he said sadly.

I didn't take a single ounce of offense.  Coming from another veteran, I took it for what it was-comfort, envy, solidarity, another soldier in the 2ww camp. 

"Maybe sometime you and my Mrs. want to talk about it?" he asked.

I nodded.  "Sure.  You can pass my number on to her."

And we left it at that.

Two days ago I ran into another guy, a project manager that works for me.  He was buying a home improvement book.

"Hey man!" I said, grinning.  "Buying a house now?"

He smiled.  "Yeah, she's finally exerted enough pressure.  We're buying a house."

I knew she was also keen to get married and have babies.  She's much younger than he-at 25, she's 30 years his junior. 

"Does that mean you'll make an honest woman of her?" I asked.

"No, no." he said, laughing.  "But we are going straight to the next stage."

"What...babies?" I asked, startled.  He has two adult children, and has maintained he didn't want any more.

"Yeah," he said sadly.  "We went to the doctor yesterday.  We have to go through IVF, you see."  He went on to explain about his male factor infertility.  "She's really upset," he finished up.

Strange that this should happen so soon.  I nod-such a coincidence.  They even live near me and will likely use the same clinic I do.  "Look, man...if you want to talk about IVF, what it involves, things like that...Well, I'm here to talk.  I understand.  I mean, I really understand."

And he looked up at me then.  "You, too?"

I smiled.  "We're everywhere, man."

He smiled back.  "Thanks.  We will take you up on the offer about talking about it, if that's ok."

And just like that, I'm a veteran surrounded by others.

Go Tell It On The Mountain...

My period has finally come.

And it's a deluge that hurts like a motherfucker, but beggars and all that.

This puts our cycle-upcoming period dependant, of course-right around the New Year, at which point down-reg will kick off and we swing into our next IVF cycle.

(anyone know of anyone who had a successful IVF cycle after an IVF m/c?)

Mr. Chunky, Anyone?

My uterus feels like it is made out of concrete.  I have one great big blob of concrete I am carrying around inside of me, and it is the artist formerly known as "the embryo receptacle".  My stomach is even jutting out and it's not due to any baby-type of goodness, it is because I am carrying a womb the size of George Michael's head (with the 80's hair, of course). 

I can only hope that it's so big because it's about to gush forth like my upcoming career in the circus-the RE told me my period (which, as they said, isn't really a period it's the final expelling of "the product", like it's something I can test to see if it's mushy or ripe and then put it on the scale in the local market) would be very heavy. If my engorged creepily stiff uterus is any indication, I may just wear a garbage bag for a diaper if/when the "product expelling" finally happens.

I've had pretty massive PMS symptoms-last week my breasties were the size of Mt. St. Helen's and just as sensitive.  I bloat and look like someone who needs the blueberry juice squeezed out of her.  I'm the kind of girl that doesn't actually like chocolate that much with the exception of a 5 day window in which the only things I want to eat are chocolate, bread, and salt (combined if I can get it that way).  I also truly don't like salt at all but I know when PMS is around as I generally want to install a salt lick in the back garden and stand around out there shooting the breeze with Mr. Ed.

I had all of that.

Then it went away.

Now I have a distended abdomen that is 100% pure Florida orange uterus.  I am also nauseous like all get out.   And no-I'm not pregnant.

I know this because I took a pregnancy test.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

*inhales deep breath*

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Yeah, I found a dusty old one from my cycle in April and gave it a shot.  It was as pure and virginal as Jessica Simpson once was.  I had briefly wondered, based on the swelling and stomach cramps and the nausea, if perhaps I could be one of those miracle cases on Google: Slightly Nuts Infertile Woman Goes On To Have Genius Baby Girl, After Doctors Told Her She'd Miscarried And She Drank Enough Wine to Boost Australia's Gross Export Figures! 

But not to be.

And this may sound all "sour grape-y" but I was actually ok at seeing the absolutely negative home pregnancy test, it's like a line being drawn under everything for me. 

I have been seeing an acupuncturist as well and I'm pleased I am.  We are only treating my bad back until I get my period then I will kick off uterine treatments-as we have a few months we have time to get things in good shape.  Maybe nothing comes of it, but I do have to admit it helps my back, and every time I go there I pass clean out on the table which-as I'm an extremely stressy person-is a pleasant surprise.  When I leave the appointment, I always feel extremely hot (temperature-wise, because upon leaving I have bed head and always look slightly zonked so my chances of pulling are nill, especially with my freakishly heavy uterus) and need great quantities of bottled water. 

I don't mind acupuncture, I think it's good.  I don't think it's the end-all be-all of holisitc living, but I do quite like it and feel confident about it.  I was talking to the acupuncturist and told her about my views on it.

She nodded.  "Lots of people use it for pain management."

I shrug, pins in the back of my leg.  "I know, but I can't see using it as anesthetic.  I mean, surgery sucks big time, the drugs are the only good part."

Sticking another needle in, she smiles "I just read an article about a man who had lung surgery.  When they do lung surgery, they have to saw off ribs, so he had local anesthetic and some acupuncture to manage the pain.  He said it worked!"

I think about this.  "Yeah, see," I say slowly.  "I think that's pretty fucked up."

"You know, I agree with you.  I'd be wanting drugs."

I have a very realistic acupuncturist.

She offered to help "bring on the period" with acupuncture, but Aidan was against it so I've passed.  He feels "bringing on the period" is interfering with nature.  He has, however, had a turn-around on using acupuncture for IVF (he always supported it for back pain).  It happened when I rang my clinic. 

The lead RE nurse, who we call Anne Robinson (because she's so tiny and so cynical), answered.  She sounded rushed, but I had questions, so I persevered.

Q: Did you find an egg share match for me for sure?
A: Yes, she's ecstatic and ready to go.

Q: You're closed for two weeks over Christmas?
A: We're closed for two weeks over Christmas.

Q: So we can go away then, even if we're down-regulating?
A: You an go away then, even if you're down-regulating.

Q: One last question-I've been seeing an acupuncturist, and she says that acupuncture can help success rates.  What's the clinics view on this?
A: Oh we're big supporters of acupuncture.  It has a tremendous effect on the success rates.  We have an acupuncturist that can do acupuncture the German-style before and after transfer but can't see people outside of that.  Definitely go for acupuncture.

*crickets*

So...like...they didn't think to mention acupuncture 9 fucking months ago, when we started the latest rounds and how it could help then?  This, from the woman who was all "transfer only one, it'll work, it'll be greeeeeaaaaaaaaaaa"t?  They didn't think to mention that the little needles, they might be a nifty idea?  Nice.

Acupuncture it is. 

And we have used up a buy-one-get-one-free voucher and air miles to fly business class to Seattle to visit my dad just after Christas, and then we spend New Year's skiing at Whistler (we hope to book the accommodation today, we find it slightly overwhelming).  We come back the first week of January and we fly back on first class, something I've never done on a trans-Atlantic flight, ever.

Now that's the best way to relax.

More from me soon-I've a post brewing on how it feels to be the bridesmaid and never the bride, but for now, I have to babysit my concrete womb.

Black Cats, Footballers, and What the Hell is Wrong With My Uterus?

So I am pretty much back to normal.  The crying jags are over.  I do fall into a serious funk from time to time (see: Rivers of Depression, aka Going to the Dark Side) but then I watch mindless TV, swig directly from the bottle or point out the Rorschach art that roadkill makes, and I am ok again.  I do think about the child that almost was a lot, but I guess that's normal.

Aidan and I have also vowed that what we both need is to look forward.  The clinic confirmed that I have a donee match, and so she and I will be needle twins the end of December/beginning of January (period permitting.  Mine, that is.)  Besides restrictions we have on me reading endless IF blogs (see again: Despair, Pit Of) he's put the kaibosh on me endlessly Googling because nothing good comes of endless Googling.  When he asked me why I was seemingly so driven, I realized just how pathetic the truth really is-it's because I wanted to know why we miscarried.  I know, I know-the majority of the time no one knows why, it just happens.  It's a crap shoot, and I got the shit hand.  Stupidly, maybe I thought some obscure website would shed light on it, if I went through enough Google pages I'd find an obscure reference on ilovemybroccoli.com and the whole loss would suddenly make sense. 

Of course, I am a fucking idiot.

I also struggled with the "what-ifs" a lot.  What if I had stayed completely and utterly flat on my back that weekend the bleeding started, instead of getting up to pee?  Like, I could use a bed pan and subject Aidan to the World of Clots (soon to be a family-oriented theme park)?  What if I'd taken weeks off work?  What if I hadn't booked that hair appointment (both my IVF losses occurred around the time I booked an appointment to cut my hair.  The next cycle I have, I'm going to be Lady Fucking Godiva, there's no way I'm cutting my hair in protocol time ever again).

Then my Asian family (who just left) came in and shook a whole world of Japanese folklore all over the place.  My extremely cool step-grandma (the teeny-tiniest Japanese woman you'll ever meet, but Jesus Christ that woman can take down some hot tea) saw a picture of a Sparrow's nest we'd taken in a barn.

"Oooooh!  Very good ruck!" she cooed (I feel I can poke fun at Asian speech patterns because I am part Asian.  That, and because it's funny.)  "Sparrow's nest-very good ruck.  You keep.  Take them down, and no good ruck.  All bird's nests good ruck.  You keep."

(Translation-if "a"= "b+x" and "y=10 to the tenth power", then "ruck=luck").

And I remembered the weekend the bleeding started, and how on Monday I was still flat on my back enjoying the new glory that were "The Red Blood Clots Formerly Known as Brown Spotting" , and that the chimney sweep turned up that day (this wasn't a surprise, I'd booked the chap).  I lay on the couch while he cleaned our chimneys (I'm sure there's a sexual inneundo there, but as the sweep was a really nice man who wasn't at all my type I'll let it pass).  In two of our fireplaces we had massive birds nests-the former house owner was a bit of a dozy cow who was a professional gardner.  Her former partner (before he died, of (we think) HIV, in (we think) this house) was the one who did the house renovations (badly, in some areas) and the fireplaces hadn't been used since 1986 (we know this as we found newspapers stuffed up the chimneys).  As we bought the house in March we didn't need to use the fireplaces but with Fall coming soon we suspect we'll start to need to.  So the nice sweep came, he saw, and he kicked two massive birds' nests ass.

Immediately, when my cute tiny relative said that we must keep the birds' nests, I thought: Oh Jesus, maybe that's it.  It's not on ilovemybroccoli.com-it's birds' nests!  If only I'd kept those fucking things, the pregnancy might have worked!

The thought, of course, disappeared-I struggled to see how a pile of twigs would correllate to my hemorrhaging uterus. 

But superstitions reign anyway.  Infertile women are worse than athletes.  Athletes have the reputation of being hideously superstitious-footballers who wear the same jock strap they wore when they scored their first goal, grown men who would otherwise kick your ass tremble before the black cat crossing your path (This, too throws me for a loop-I've seen a black cat in the neighborhood around the time of both transfers and it causes me distress-a black cat crossing your path in the States is a bad thing, here it's a good thing.  I struggle-I'm an American in England, does this mean it's bad or it's good?  Is it the real thing?  Why am I craving Sanka?)  Infertile women are no different-socks!  No socks!  Acupuncture!  No acupuncture!  Bed rest!  No bed rest!  Shag Santa Claus!  Leave Santa alone! 

We all have our things that we are convinced make a difference, but maybe at the end of the day, it's just a crap shoot.  Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't.  The last FET I had, the one that worked and then it didn't?  No socks, bed rest, and lots of pineapple juice (but then, I drink pineapple juice a lot, I love the stuff).  But that was just one cycle-maybe none of it had anything to do with anything, I just had a spiffy lining, a rocking embryo, and a positive outlook (which I do think helps, really).

I'm still waiting for my period over here.  We'll know more about my next protocol once that comes.  I also need my yearly pap smear, so I guess I get to have my chimney cleaned, too (I couldn't stop myself, sorry).

If you need me, I'll be coaxing Toucan Sam into my chimney.