TOUCHDOWN!

First and foremost, I’m so sorry for the delay in updating the blog. The last week has been a rollercoaster of activity and emotions. HOWEVER, I’m happy to report that MJ is home safe and sound. As you can see from the picture, he went from the lone 8-cell embryo from my third IVF (to review, I had 13 eggs but only ONE embryo to transfer) to the beautiful baby you see next to the photo. It was important to me that the first picture I posted acknowledged infertility and/or IVF in some way as without it, I don’t know if I would have ever been able to hold a baby in my arms. Yaaay modern science!!!

Secondly, after the last sad, scared, worrisome blog posting, I wanted to share with you two little lighter moments in the last week.

1.       The first night we brought MJ home, we had him in the bassinet portion of a Pack-n-Play. My husband, who clearly had other things on his mind what with both of us in the hospital, forgot to get batteries to make the Pack-n-Play vibrate. In a desperate effort, I found one of my vibrators (the Pocket Rocket to be specific, which I highly recommend) and tucked it away in the bassinet. I’m happy to report that it did the trick. I’m even happier to report that my husband, totally mortified by my “MacGyver-like-approach”, made certain to get the D batteries needed the very next morning.

2.       I didn’t realize the nursing pads were supposed to stick to the bra so for a good week, I’ve been sticking them directly to my breast. Lord only knows what the nurses in the NICU thought when they saw this. Although this was NOT how they were intended and although I feel like a total idiot, I do feel I inadvertently stumbled on a new design as sticking them to my breast kept them from slipping. I’m an idiot genius.

The Readers Digest version of the last week goes like this: MJ was officially diagnosed with Persistent Newborn Pulmonary Hypertension. This is defined as the failure of the normal circulatory transition that should occur after birth (you can read more about it here).  He was intubated, given proteins to help build up his lungs, closely monitored and he had both an arterial line and central line put in.

Since I got kicked out of the hospital, we booked the cheapest hotel room nearby and basically went back and forth from the hospital to the hotel. Although the hotel was not anywhere you'd want to steal soap or towels from, it was good for me as I could rest and recover when I needed to but be no more than a five minute walk away so that I could go visit my son whenever possible. It was REALLY F*CKING DIFFICULT to leave without him but I knew he was in good hands and more than anything, I wanted him to be where he could be given the best care.

His progress really started when one night, he peed a whole bunch and MJ’s doctors were super excited about this. They said that was him losing excess fluid from his lungs. Who knew peeing and lungs were at all connected???

Then, the next day, they took him off of the intubation (still giving him oxygen support to be safe) plus they also removed the arterial line. Luckily, he responded well. His respiration, heart rate and blood pressure all started improving so we then saw if he knew how to eat/suck from a bottle. After he passed that test, they removed all breathing support and we tried breastfeeding. Like any man, he was all about the boobs, so they removed the central line, which had been feeding him up until this point. After morning rounds on Sunday, February 5^th, we were told we could take him home.

Obviously, there’s more to share but at present, I’m in that whole, “Holy sh*t! I have a baby and I don’t know what the hell I’m doing phase”. Today is actually my first day with him alone and I hope it goes smoothly and doesn’t become something that he needs to talk to his therapist about.

I just want to say again how much I’ve sincerely appreciated all of your thoughtful, encouraging, kind posts and emails during this time. To be honest, I’m a little shell shocked from the past couple of weeks. Weeks? Who am I kidding! YEARS! Infertility, financial strain, emotional strain, a difficult pregnancy, a last minute C-Section and then the baby having to be in the NICU. I’m beginning to think I need an exorcism.

The thing is that you guys have been here with me through it all and for that, I’ll never be able to repay you. You’ve been my virtual form of Prozac and you have found my uterus as challenging and funny as I do. You are my kind of people and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Beautiful Baby. Empty Arms.

I’m absolutely overjoyed and proud to share with you that our baby was born on Friday, January 27^th in the early afternoon. He weighs 6 pounds, 9 ounces and I swear to you – he really is beautiful. A perfectly round head that would give Charlie Brown a run for his money, deep blue eyes (from his father), dark brown hair (from his mother) and the meatiest most kissable legs you’ve ever seen. My mother said she’s never seen a baby with such cute knees! Who knew a baby could even be complimented on his knees??? Several of the nurses and doctors have even said that he is an exceptionally handsome baby and when I say, “I’m sure you say that to everyone!”, they promise me they don’t. Even if they are lying, I don’t care. I think he’s gorgeous.

The unfortunate news is that he’s been in the NICU since he was born. I was only able to hold him for approximately 20 seconds before having to hand him over. He’s been in this world for five days now and I haven’t held him again since. I can’t even begin to express how much that has hurt me. I’ve never known such torture.

Despite the fact that the baby was born at 37 weeks and is a good size, his lungs weren’t quite ready for the real world. He can breathe on his own but it’s a lot of work for him. He has both amniotic fluid and air pressure in his lungs so he’s been intubated (which scared the crap out of me but was necessary), he’s been given both medication and a protein to help him build up his lungs, he’s had a central line put in for nourishment (which also scared the crap out of me) and he’s being closely monitored 24/7.

I had hoped that my first post after having my baby would be nothing but a funny, happy one. I do have a few anecdotes from the day he was born as well as some of the events leading up to it but it feels wrong to share them now as the only thing I care about is getting my baby well and back in my arms.

After spending so long trying to get pregnant, many have said to me that infertiles appreciate their baby so much more because they had to work for it. I was also at a baby shower recently of a good friend who got pregnant after struggling as well and I heard a friend of hers say, “It makes sense that after all her struggling to get pregnant, she’s had such an idyllic pregnancy.” Considering those two statements, I can’t help but feel a little pissed off right now. I went through a lot to get pregnant and no one could appreciate or love this baby more than I do and even after all my struggling, I had a fairly difficult pregnancy filled with morning sickness, gestational diabetes, vertigo, a stress fracture, cholestasis and a rushed C-Section. I would have hoped that the universe would have seen it fit to spare me from now having to see my baby hooked up to a million tubes struggling to breathe. I've already learned the 'life isn't fair' lesson. Seriously… can’t any of this ever be easy? Just one part at least? When is enough enough? Yes, it’s a pity party but thanks to my husband who brings me food often, it’s well catered.

I do apologize if that at all seems ungrateful as I truly don’t mean it to be. Every time I see him or get to touch him, the word ‘grateful’ doesn’t even begin to cover what I feel. Nothing is more important to me than him. I have never known I could feel so much love for one little person and the slightest sign from him that he’s ok or that he knows I’m there is one of the greatest feelings I’ve ever known. It’s just that we all have our breaking point to how much strength and humor we can have… and I’m officially close to mine. It’s been a long, crazy road where there have been more than a few times where I’ve had to adjust my sense of what is “normal” and I was hoping to at least have the typical birthing experience where you hold the baby, have him sleep in your hospital room, learn to nurse and bond with your baby while the proud father takes pictures. Instead, I’m bringing people to a room where they see my baby and start to cry because it all looks so scary. I’m alone in my room at night listening to someone else next door comfort their baby. All my pictures of our son, he has a tube coming out of his mouth and he’s sedated. And the worst part, I have to be careful how I even touch him as they don’t want him agitated or it will affect his breathing.

I’ve waited so long for this and dammit, I just want my baby happy, healthy and home.

Many who have known what’s been going on have sent me links, emails, posts and texts about “kangaroo care” and that’s where the mother having skin-to-skin contact helps heal the baby. I just want to say now that BELIEVE ME, that’s not possible in this case. Even though I know people are trying to be helpful, the fact that everyone keeps bringing this up as a possibility just upsets me. The NICU my son is in is considered one of the top ones in the country. They are well aware of this care (which is more for preemies than full term babies) but they have advised me that it would be incredibly difficult especially with the amount of tubes and wires he’s hooked up to monitoring him. Right now, it is what it is and we just have to wait until he turns a corner. As soon as he does, I am going to hold him and probably won’t let him go until he’s off to college.

As of this moment, I’m about to go downstairs and see how he’s doing today. They have begun to lower his oxygen (which is a good sign), they say his lungs are healing and he’s breathing a little calmer so this is all encouraging. That being said though, I’m getting kicked out of the hospital today but he will have to remain here for an indeterminate time. Even though I’m immediately checking into a hotel nearby, I know I will have an emotional breakdown when I leave. Even as I type this, I’m beginning to cry as the thought of leaving without him is almost too much to bear.

So, this isn’t the post I had envisioned but if you’ve been following my blog for a while, this is yet again another challenge I didn’t want or expect but have to deal with. I will post pictures once he’s more presentable and in case you were wondering, we named him Michael Jay (the second name may sound familiar) and from what I’ve been told, all the nurses in the NICU have been calling him M.J. which I think is pretty adorable.

In closing, if you wouldn’t mind, please keep our son in your thoughts and prayers for a speedy recovery. It would mean the world to me. And as always, thank you, thank you, thank you for all your love and support. This has been a tough, emotional time and it’s a great comfort to know others are thinking of us.

The Son Will Come Out Tomorrow

Tomorrow, on January 27th, we will finally get to see and hold the result of my third in vitro. Two and a half years, five timed cycles, three IUI’s, two failed IVF’s and finally, the third IVF that went from 13 eggs to only one embryo to transfer; in all that time, I never got pregnant and we had little hope. Tomorrow though… the baby we struggled for, dreamed of and wondered if we would ever be able to have, will be here. I seriously need to check my driver’s license as I can’t believe this is actually happening to me.

As I mentioned in my last post, my doctor was concerned that I had Cholestasis and in fact, I do. In these cases, they do not let the pregnancy go more than 37 weeks and I will be 37 weeks EXACTLY tomorrow. My doctor called me this past Monday morning to tell me the diagnosis, to immediately give me medication (Ursodiol for those who are interested) and to discuss our options. She said she could try to induce me on Thursday night but since the baby hasn’t “dropped” and that my cervix is hard and closed (much like my boss), she felt that there was more than a 50% chance that I would end up having a C-section anyway.

After a long conversation, we decided to skip inducing and just schedule a C-section for Friday. My logic was if the odds are we were going to end up there anyway, why torture myself (and possibly the baby) for 24 – 30 hours waiting to see if we could force my body to cooperate. My body has rarely listened to me in the past so why it would start to now is beyond me. Also, if nothing else, this makes me feel less guilty for dropping out of my birthing class.

I realize some of you may not agree with the decision to get a scheduled C-Section and I genuinely respect that. To me, even though the thought of surgery scares the bejesus out of me, given the circumstances, it’s what I feel the most comfortable with. Both my doctor and I agreed that if perhaps the baby seemed more ready to go or if there were any sign from my body that it was at least close to delivering, we’d opt to see what would happen with induction. However, since it seems like my son is perfectly happy where he is and has no intention of leaving anytime soon, and he unfortunately has to, this seemed the way to go. As I said to her before, I don’t need the experience of labor. I just want my baby safe and sound.

Given all of this, we went from thinking we had three weeks to prepare but quickly, it became whittled down to only a matter of days. My gestational diabetes diet and my soft cast immediately went out the window (I’ll just use an ace bandage and sometimes cupcakes can be medicinal) and I began cramming for parenthood. While I watched a DVD on how to breastfeed, washed baby clothes and Googled pediatricians in the area, my husband rushed to put various baby items together and get the car seat installed. It’s simultaneously funny and scary to me that there are things I put away in my changing table that I don’t actually know what they are or understand how I use them yet. I’m trying to comfort myself by remembering that other than diapers, a place to sleep, the car seat and my boobs, I have everything I need.

I’m sure a fertile person would currently be talking all about the nursery, or baby names, or the cute little outfits they have picked out but more than anything, I think I’m just so in awe that I’m having a baby. Years ago, I remember thinking, “The question isn’t if I’ll be a mom. The question is how I’ll be a mom.” Thanks to medical science and a huge amount of luck, that quote turned out to be very true. I may not have gotten here the usual way but I still got here… and I almost can’t believe it.

It’s important to me to add here and now that after my experiences and hearing others experiences, I can never flatly say anything quite like, “Don’t lose hope!” or “It’ll happen for you!” because I know the reality is that things don’t always work out like you expect. I even still contend that “hope” in general can be both a good and evil thing. However, I want to say specifically to those of you who are still struggling to be mom… if there’s anything to be learned from my journey (other than always get a second opinion, remember to talk to your husband about things other than your cervical mucus, bikini waxes are important and don’t use Icy-Hot on your private parts), it’s that even when you don’t have any answers (as we never had a diagnosis nor have we ever found out why we didn’t get pregnant the ol’ fashioned way), even when it seems hopeless and pointless and even when you think it’s impossible, you just never really know.

Ultimately, I’m not saying, “Everything will work out!!! Just relax!!!” What I am saying though is until someone says it’s impossible, there are still options and possibilities. As I said, if you desperately want to be a mom, it’s not if, it’s just how… and I truly, whole-heartedly want that for anyone who knows the pain of infertility. Once you know what that’s like -- how unfair, cruel, taxing and heartless it can be, you never forget. I seriously hold anyone who is still in the thick of it in my heart. It’s impossible for me to overstate how much I mean that.

When I announced that I was finally pregnant (see post here), I talked about how a positive pregnancy test was just “the second level” of my imaginary infertility video game. When I hold my baby tomorrow (who I desperately hope is happy and healthy), I will have reached “the final level” and I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for following my story, for continuing to read the blog, for finding my uterus as amusing as I do and for all the supportive comments and emails. I plan to keep writing and sharing both about infertility and life as an IVF Mom (so to speak) and I hope you’ll all be there to share in the next chapter.

So, today may very well be the last day I’m ever pregnant. I know I can’t afford to do IVF again so unless an unexpected miracle happens, this may be it. I’m thinking of even taking a home pregnancy test just to see “Pregnant” one last time. I’m going to get pre-op blood work, spend time with my husband and see if I can quickly teach myself how to swaddle, change a diaper and burp a baby. I promise to check in as soon as I can but for now, as always, I’m sending each one of you love and laughter.

My Body - The Enemy

In medieval times, when a knight went into battle, he would put on layers upon layers of armor. There were the small metal rings called a chain mail, a linen shirt, a pair of pants (as well as heavy woolen pads underneath the metal-ringed tunic), a bucket like helmet, his shield, a sword and on occasion, a battle hammer, mace or metal ax (should it be necessary). This is exactly how I feel when I get up in the morning these days... like I'm going into battle with my many layers of armor.

One of the many things that was made ABUNDANTLY clear while I was trying to get pregnant for two and a half years is that my body and I do not get along. Whether it was fertility related (follicle count, uterine lining, egg quality, etc.) or my general state of health (a bad knee, migraines, thinning hair or my inability to lose weight after a diet consisting of air and communion wafers), we never seem to be on the same page. If anything, we’re in two entirely different books. I’m in “Chick Lit” and my body appears to be in “Science Fiction”.

In addition to vertigo and gestational diabetes, in the past two weeks, I have had a slight yeast infection (yes, we’re discussing this), an even slighter case of hemorrhoids (yes, we’re discussing this as well) and my foot started to kill me. One night, I took out Monistat 7, Preparation-H and Icy Hot Heat (all doctor approved by the way) and stood in the bathroom to apply everything.

Should you EVER find yourself in this situation, let me give you a suggestion: Apply the Monistat first, then the Preparation-H and THEN the Icy Hot Heat. It’s impossible to get the Icy Hot Heat off of your hands once you use it. I’ll spare you the details but trust me when I say that I don’t care what harlequin romances say: It’s not always a good thing to have your loins on fire.

A week after this crucial error in cream application, I went to see a podiatrist to figure out what really was going on with my foot. With my OB/Gyn’s approval, he did an x-ray and it turns out that I have a stress fracture. How did I do this you ask? No one knows. The podiatrist is guessing that it was the fact that my weight is more "forward" and I dared to attempt to wear cute shoes. I stupidly thought if Beyonce could walk all over town pregnant in heels, so could I. The reality is, as the song says, if you like her, you should put a ring on it. In my case though, if you like me, then you should put a soft cast on my left foot for the next two weeks.

And this brings me to the acid reflux…

I love my husband… but you know what I love more than him lately? Tums. So much so that I’m considering writing a whole post that will consist of a full “food critic like review” on the various different flavors.

The acid reflux is worse at night so I’ve been propping up my head when I sleep. Between those extra pillows and the ones on either side of me, there is no longer room for my husband as I look like I’ve encased myself in a fortress of solitude built out of white cotton.

Every morning, I get up, literally climb out of my bed, take a Tums, drink some water, locate an outfit that is clean and looks like I gave a sh*t, check on my cast, check my blood sugar, put on a special designated sock to cover said cast, put both the cast and sock in an even sexier walking cast, wash my hands, apply creams (again, in an appropriate order), put on contacts, deodorant, make-up, clothes, hair extensions, a Poise pad (ahem) and then I usually take more Tums for good measure. By the time I get my huge pregnant ass with my broken foot down the stairs to head for work, I’m exhausted and want to turn around and go back home.

Then… this past Saturday… I started to itch all over. It was mostly my hands and feet but then it spread to my stomach, back, legs and arms. Thinking that it was my body officially deciding it was allergic to me, I applied some Benadryl lotion and went to bed. Luckily, I had an appointment with my doctor a day or so later and I mentioned it to her. She said it could be hormones, that my skin is just stretching OR it could be something called Cholestasis. Cholestasis of pregnancy is a condition in which the normal flow of bile in the gallbladder is affected by the high amounts of pregnancy hormones. Doesn't that sound perfectly lovely? One simply doesn't hear the word, 'bile' enough! They took blood to check my liver functions and the preliminary results show a slight elevation. Of course it did.

So, this is where we are at: I’m 36 weeks pregnant as of tomorrow. The baby is doing well, my cervix is closed, the baby hasn’t dropped yet and he has no real plans to leave as of yet. However, we are doing repeat blood work next week and if my liver numbers continue to climb, I will be induced at 37 weeks. Am I nervous? A bit. Am I surprised? Not at all.

I can’t help but find this funny. After going through all of my many various fertility treatments, the fact that my body is still managing to dick around with me isn’t at all shocking. Seriously - if my arm just fell off for no reason or even if I woke up to find I suddenly grew a scrotum, I wouldn’t be remotely surprised. I’d laugh and say, “Oh Jay’s body! There you go again!!! You little prankster!!!!”

What’s been REALLY funny are people’s expressions when they see me. I’m 9 months pregnant, I have a huge cast on my foot, I’m limping and although no one would say anything, I’m pretty sure I smell as if I’ve been pickled from all the f*cking Monistat, Preparation-H, Benadryl and Icy Hot I’ve been using. I’ve been trying to overcompensate for my lackluster appearance with make-up, colorful outfits and a big smile but really, that can only take me so far. Most people look at me and say, “Oh my god! Are you ok? Why are you out of the house? You should be home… baying at the moon from your bell tower! Quick everyone! Avert your eyes!!!”

Until I get the final word from the doctor on what we’re going to do, I will continue putting on my many layers of armor whether it’s my air cast, my over-the-top bedazzled maternity shirt or a metal ax (should it be necessary). I know in my heart that as overwhelming, frustrating and comedic as this has been, when they hand me my healthy baby boy, I won’t mind it a bit. I've worked hard to get here and I'm going to be grateful even if I break every bone in my body. I just hope that my son has better luck with his body then I have had with mine...

Labor and Delivery: Do I HAVE To Be In The Room???

Today is my first day back from my holiday vacation (which consisted of napping, eating and wearing no make-up, bras, pantyhose or anything that constricted me in any manner). Years ago, I used to fantasize about being rich and famous. These days, I fantasize about being able to lay in bed as much as possible and wear nothing but huge, comfy tarps. Perhaps that’sthe way to go in the New Year – keep your goals and resolutions super low.

What’s your goal Jay?

To lay in bed!!!

Incidentally, what is it about the maternity clothes industry that thinks it’s a good idea that the bigger you get, the bigger the patterns should be on the outfit you’re wearing? Early on, they have little polka dots on your baby doll shirt. Then, when you’re in the third trimester, they have huge geometric patterns on a moo moo. And why are there SO MANY maternity outfits with horizontal stripes?!? Thanks fellas! Make a pregnant woman look even wider! Good plan!

I'm back at my day job now after my holiday break and have not only resumed make-up, bras and pantyhose (I recommend Berkshires Maternity Light Support Pantyhose by the way), but I’m also wearing hair extensions and false eyelashes. The bigger I get, the more I hope to resist ugly maternity clothes and glam it up. I worked hard for this pregnancy and paid a lot of money for it that I’m going to wear it well if it kills me. Of course, if I get any bigger, I may have to start carrying around spotlights, smoke machines and background music to distract from my huge ass.

Putting aside fashion challenges for a moment, two things we did during our holiday break (in addition to the napping and eating) was to attempt to put together the nursery and try, once again, to learn more about the birthing process. We took a birthing class a month ago and quite frankly, we didn’t find it very informative. Truth be told, we even ended up dropping out of it. We liked the teacher and there was nothing dead wrong with the class… but we both felt that it was a bit too new agey and stressed natural child birth more than anything else.

To be clear, I’m not saying I’m against natural child birth. I’m just saying I’d rather get all the straight medical facts and all of the options first... then decide what I’d like to do.

There was one class where the teacher (who is a Doula) talked about using your placenta to create art. Apparently, you take your placenta, dry it out, dip it in paint or ink and stamp it on a paper. Now here’s the thing: That’s lovely but is this information going to help me when I’m writhing in pain? “Quick! The contractions are getting closer together! Somebody get my painting kit!!!” I don’t think so.

I genuinely have respect for Doulas. I think they are extremely knowledgeable and if you can afford one (or are friends with one), they can be a valuable asset to a delivery. That being said though, when the teacher (who, again, is a Doula) said that one of the best things about having a Doula is that she can give your husband a break, I couldn’t help but laugh.

Why should he get a break? I’m not getting a break. I’ve endured the brunt of years of fertility treatments, needles, shots, retrievals, etc. This will be the home stretch of feminine torture and I expect him to be there. My only request is if he’s going to pass out or steal focus from me in any way, he can leave the room. Otherwise, no Doula is going to let my husband off the hook. Besides, if I’m going to punch someone because of the amount of pain I’m in, it’s going to be him. I think that was even included in our wedding vows.

And for the record, the more I learn, the more I wonder if I even want to be in the room. I have DESPERATELY wanted a baby and I'm so incredibly grateful to finally be pregnant after so much... but... how should I put this? Me no likey pain. I wonder if I could give birth via Skype????

In lieu of a class, we bought a DVD on Labor and Delivery to see if we could get the plain facts but it also seemed to have a "natural delivery" slant to it instead of a broad cut and dry description. My favorite part was when they interviewed a couple who had agreed not to use any medication. They recounted their story explaining that some point during the labor process, the woman begged for an epidural but the husband refused to let her have one. In the interview, he said, “I’m proud that I stuck to our original plan and I’m sure she’s happy we did too!” The camera then cut to her and her expression was priceless. She said nothing, kind of gave a strained chuckle and had a look of, “You’re proud honey? That’s nice. Next time you’re in pain, I’ll be sure to stab you in the nuts.” I only hope that one day he gets a kidney stone and she tells the doctor not to give him pain medication. "Are you proud now honey??? Are ya???"

What amazes me is I JUST want to know about how far contractions should be apart before calling the doctor. What a contraction feels like. What a mucus plus looks like. Things like that. I have basic simple questions and I keep not getting them answered. What’s almost hilarious is I caught the last couple of scenes of KNOCKED UP this past weekend and I think I actually learned more from that movie than I did from my entire birthing class. Then again, as I said, I did drop out.

My doctor asked us this morning what our birthing plan was and we answered, “To get the baby out in the best healthiest way.” Really. I’m not opposed to anything if my doctor thinks it’s necessary. I don’t need the “experience” as much as I need and want my baby delievered happy and healthy. She actually thanked us for this response as she said it gave us a lot more options.

I suppose that ultimately, you can have all the information you want and all the plans you’d like but no one can predict how it’s going to go. Of all the women I’ve spoken to that gave birth recently, I think only one of them had things go exactly as planned only because it was a scheduled C-Section. In general though, it seems like a ‘fly by the seat of your pants’ kind of deal.

I'd be remiss not to mention that my Russian neighbor informed me recently that babies who are delievered via C-section suffer from claustrophobia. I have no idea where she got this information or if it's true but her conviction in passing on this "fact" was impressive. It reminded me of the time she told me that Gloria Estefan had Selena killed because she coudn't take the competition.

As for putting together the nursery, I don’t think I’ve ever heard my husband curse so much in his life. I also had no idea how long EVERYTHING would take to assemble, put batteries in or simply figure out. There were moments when our stroller/car seat combo was like a virtual rubix cube. There are
levers and buttons and zippers and snaps. It was like an 8^th grade boy trying to unhook the bra off of his date.

Overall, I feel like every day, between trying to look good, figuring out exactly what a nipple brush is and learning that a “bloody show” isn’t a television series on HBO, I’m winging it. We have (roughly) six weeks left to go and that will hopefully give us enough time to figure out what the f*ck we’re doing. If nothing else, I hope we figure out how to fold up the pack and play before then.

Infertile. Pregnant. Myself.

In the last seven months, I’ve been fortunate enough to receive several generous compliments on how I’ve remained sensitive to those who are working towards getting pregnant even though I am now pregnant after my third in vitro. Although I have genuinely been mindful of what I write on this blog and who is reading it, if I’m being entirely honest (which I tend to be on my blog), the woman I've been thinking of the most whenever I write is my former self who I will call “Still-in-the-trenches-Jay”.

When I was that person, still in the trenches, I made several promises to myself about what I would do and not do if I ever became pregnant. Some of these promises are private but some of them, I’d like to share with you, BUT, LET ME BE CLEAR: If you or someone you know has done any of the below, it’s not that I think they are wrong or that I judge them in the least. This is just my personal list in reaction to the feelings I had when I was struggling to get pregnant. They were/are:

• Do not post your sonogram picture anywhere.
• Never talk or post photos about your nursery.
• No over the top cutesy-poo nicknames for the baby.
• Don’t make every post, tweet, status and conversation about your pregnancy.
• Never, ever forget your struggle with infertility or the others who continue to struggle.

Again, if you have done any of the above – I totally understand. All of the things mentioned are a way of celebrating an incredible, life changing accomplishment that you have every right in the world to express and enjoy in anyway you see fit.

My personal gauge though has been how would my former self have reacted if I saw, read or heard about any of these things? Sonogram pictures used to sting, nursery decor talk used to depress me, and if and when I felt like someone forgot about me and my struggles as soon as they got pregnant, it definitely hurt my feelings.

So, still-in-the-trenches Jay (or SITT-Jay for short) is the person who has been standing behind me with her arms crossed reading over my shoulder whenever I post anything on my blog. Occasionally she’ll say something like, “Oh god! Don’t write that! Give me a break!” And I’ll respect her feelings, rewrite a sentence or take it out completely. I would never want to betray my former self.

And that's how it really has felt... like I have been living with these two sides to me: The “Still-in-the-trenches-Jay” and the “Pregnant Jay”. I like them equally, they both are funny, attractive (on a good day) and good hearted but their views on fertility, infertility, pregnancy and life are not always in agreement. Because of this, in the last few months, I’ve been wondering if Pregnant Jay could possibly say anything comforting to SITT-Jay, what would it be? What words of wisdom have I now gained being almost 31 weeks pregnant? What lessons have been learned, if any?

What has stunned me is as hard as I tried, I couldn't think of anything. Sure - I wish I got a second opinion sooner and I wish I spent more quality time with my husband while we were trying… but honestly and truly… I really think I did the very best I could under the circumstances. I may not have done as wonderfully as some people and I certainly won't win any awards, but again, I absoultely tried my best and you can't ask for more than that.

So, the only thing I ever came close to in terms of what I wish I could say to my former self was this: “You are not a failure. You’ve done nothing wrong so please, please, please stop thinking that. Infertility is a medical issue and not at all a reflection of who you are as a person, a sister, a daughter, a wife, a friend or a woman. Don’t be ashamed because I swear to you – infertility doesn’t make you any less of a person or any less deserving of happiness.” The truth remains though, although this is all completely true, I don’t know if SITT-Jay would have believed Pregnant Jay or quite frankly have even listened. SITT-Jay would think, "It's easy for you to say that. You're pregnant. I'm not. End of story."

I continued thinking about all of this when I started unpacking gifts I received at my baby shower which was about a week ago. Slowly, actual baby stuff has started filling my home and surrounding me. Right around the same time, I began feeling the baby move more and more and this has been very exciting. Then suddenly last night, for reasons unclear to me, something happened that was one of the most moving, powerful things I may have ever experienced. I don’t know if it’ll make sense but I’m going to try to explain it anyway...

It hit me (and hit me hard) all that my husband and I have been through… the surgeries, the procedures, the medications, the injections, the ups, the downs, the fights, each fertility attempt that failed, the days, the months, the years, the heartbreak, the finances, the tears -- all of it. And now, here we are. I’m really going to have a baby. Exactly this is what it's all be fore. This is what we dreamed of. This is what we hoped for and wondered if it was ever going to happen. In this moment of realization, SITT-Jay and Pregnant Jay unexpectedly became one person... and that one person is having a baby.

I started to cry uncontrollably... not because I was sad but because I was so overwhelmed with happiness. It was like a montage of all the struggling flew through my head and I realized that in a few weeks, I’d hold a baby boy in my arms. The two sides of me were on the same page and that’s when I finally knew what I would say to my former self and that was, “Thank you. Thank you so much for hanging in there. Thank you for not giving up. It's because of your strength and perseverance that we're able to be a mother. Please know it was worth it. Thank you so much for going through all of that. We’ve made it... we're almost there."

Again, I don't know if this all makes sense but what I wanted to say is that although I don’t know where you are in your journey to become a mother (trying, struggling, succeeding or holding a baby in your arms), the best person to tell you the words you need to hear may very well be you.

If you could say anything to yourself right now that you think you needed to hear, what would it be? Thank you? Hang in there? Stay strong? Don't give up? I urge you to take a moment and think about it. If you hit on what it is, it may be the comfort, inspiration or credit you need not to mention deserve!

As always, with hope, hugs and humor...

Missing: Memory, Sugar and Libido

This morning, my boss asked me what the mysterious appointment in his calendar was. As it turns out, I accidentally put my upcoming OB/GYN appointment in his calendar and not mine. Perhaps, in attempt to make light of the mistake, I should schedule a breast exam for him as well.

This is the way my brain has been lately. My energy tank is beginning to really run low, multi-tasking has become more of a challenge and my memory skills are similar to Dory’s in FINDING NEMO. I ask questions over and over again (it’s not that I forget the answer… I even forget I asked the question to begin with), I look for my glasses while I’m wearing them and lately, I’ll walk through the office with no clue of where I’m going. The other day, I was thinking how not filling my lunch was… only to realize I forgot to actually eat the lunch.

I’m 29 weeks pregnant today. It’s the start of my third trimester and clearly, my brain and body are behaving like a thirteen-year-old girl who doesn’t want to do any chores. “Ummm, like, you aren’t expecting us to do anything right now, are you? Cause like I’m good here on the couch. TTYL!”

In addition to laziness, lack of organizational skills and memory loss, I’m also finding that sex is becoming less and less appealing to me. At the end of last week, I sat my husband down and told him to think of my sex drive as a store that’s recently lost its lease. We’re having an, “Everything Must Go” sale in the next week but after that, we’re out of business. That’s right – if you act now, you can get two hand jobs for the price of one! Snuggling not included.

What’s also not helping matters is I took my gestational diabetes test and I was, allegedly, borderline. I say ‘allegedly’ because I’ve been tracking my blood sugar since the diagnosis and I have yet to come up with even one remotely questionable result. So far, the special diet I’m on (what do you MEAN I can’t have pumpkin pie???) and the sticking my finger four times a day seems pretty damn pointless. And after going through IVF quite frankly, I think I’ve stuck myself enough with needless to deem myself exempt from any further torture. Really – I should have gotten a “Get Out of Needle” free card.

When I took the initial one hour test, the nurses actually forgot about me. When I reminded them of my existence an hour and twenty minutes after I drank that disgusting orange liquid they make you drink, they were like, “Ohhhhh. That’s not good. We have to take the blood exactly an hour after you finished drinking the drink. Otherwise, it’s invalid.” After threatening their lives and the lives of their children, they took my blood anyway since if I failed, I would have failed twenty minutes earlier anyway. If I passed though, I would have to take the one hour again to confirm that I did really pass. Between this and the anatomy scan I had to take three times (not to mention my three in vitros), I can’t help but feel it’s my lot and life to never get anything correct on the first try.

The next morning, when the nurse called to tell me I failed, I was excited since it meant that even though the test got screwed up, it didn’t affect the results. Needless to say, my enthusiasm about having to take the three hour test surprised my nurse. It’s not often you say to a pregnant woman, “You have to fast, stay here for three hours while we take your blood every hour and you have to drink more of that orange crap.” and have the pregnant woman respond with, “That’s great news! When should I come in???”

Something about having an overly positive response to the prospect of gestational diabetes cracked me up so I decided to keep this over-the-top enthusiasm throughout my three hour test. When it came time to drink the drink, I brought my own glass and put a paper umbrella in it. Every hour I had to get my blood drawn, I would say something to the nurse like, “Woo hoo! Take my blood you sexy thing!” or “I can’t wait to see how this hour turns out!” or "Pick a vein! Any vein!" or my personal favorite, “I’m going to put on make-up for our last hour in case we’re taking graduation photos!” I don’t mean to brag but the nurses said I was the most fun patient they ever had for glucose testing. I'm quite proud of this.

Again, the results came back as borderline so they hooked me up with a nutritionist and a glucose testing meter. I’ve managed to keep my humorously positive attitude about it as the diet really isn’t all that bad… it’s just the actual needle finger pricking thing that’s a bit of a drag… especially when it genuinely seems like I don’t have gestational diabetes.

Any which way, I do think the lack of some of my favorite carbs (macaroni & cheese… I’m looking at you) and not being able to indulge in cookies and cake during the holiday season is getting to me. This weekend is my baby shower…something I’ve literally waited my whole life for and I’m telling you now - I'm going to have a cup cake dammit! I know I won’t feel guilty about it though… mainly because I’m sure I’ll forget I even ate a cupcake within an hour.

The Story of My Uterus

I recently got a call from one of my nephews. He said, “Daddy told me where babies come out. I don’t think you’re gonna like it.”

November’s ICLW is upon us (http://www.stirrup-queens.com/2011/10/icomleavwe-november-2011/) so I wanted to say hello to any new readers and give you a brief overview of me, my uterus and its scintillating history. Please forgive me if I don’t get too clinical in my descriptions (i.e. medications, doses, dates and details). I’d much prefer to tell you our story as if you and I were sitting having a cup of coffee… so here it goes:

I started trying to get pregnant in February 2009. After several months of romantic interludes slowly becoming more contrived and monotonous, we tried two timed cycles using the drug, Clomid (which in my mind stands by Comical Lady Overly Moody In Distress). Neither of those were successful so we tried three IUI’s (again using Clomid): the first was around Thanksgiving, the second was around Christmas and the last one was on Valentines day (we like our inseminations to be holiday themed apparently). None of them worked.

In April 2010 (which is why I have a picture of the month of April featured on my blog), we did our first IVF using Gonal-F (the F standing for… well… you know). We had eight eggs and three embryos. Not only did it not work, but I found out right afterwards that I had a rather large uterine polyp we lovingly named ‘Jackson Polyp’, that might have been guilty of c*ck blocking our efforts. We’ll never know though for certain.

In July of 2010, we evicted Jackson Polyp and due to lack of funds, waited until January/February 2011 to get accepted into a clinical trial with a different doctor at a new clinic. On this cycle, we used a mystery hormone (how fun is that to inject yourself with some unknown hormonal fluid??? Woo hoo!) that produced ten eggs but only one embryo. Yup. One lone embryo. My husband named it Rudy after the famous underdog who ended up playing for Notre Dame (See the movie RUDY for details). Leave it to a man to make a sports reference out of a fertility disaster.

When the trial failed and we still weren't pregnant, we went to our now third clinic, our third doctor to try IVF for the third time in May 2011. We used our entire savings account to pay for it and all of my medications were donated, so it looked like a potpourri of drugs in my bedroom for awhile: Follistim, Menopur, Progesterone in Oil, Gonal-F, Estrogen Patches and needles galore! I was like an infertile in a hormonal candy store!

Between both the financial strain and the emotional, physical and psychological strain of the past couple of years, my husband and I began to forget that we actually liked each other around this point. We went into our third in vitro never having gotten pregnant once and wondering if perhaps it was time to give up on ever having kids or ever having a date night that didn’t entail talking about my husband’s sperm count or my cervical mucus.

Because the universe likes to try my patience, for our third cycle, we had thirteen eggs but again, somehow only yielded one embryo. Rudy Two - The Sequel! To be clear, one embryo is better than no embryo but when you're infertile... not only do you feel like you need more but you freaking PAID for more. I'm just sayin'.

It was then that my doctor said she suspected that, even though nothing had indicated as such in any of my tests, I had bad eggs. Literally, as I was standing in my hospital gown about to do my transfer for the cycle I was still in, she suggested what she would do differently on the fourth in vitro (How cute is she for thinking we could afford a fourth in vitro??? Simply adorable!)

In June 2011, I had every PMS symptom that I would typically have. The night before my beta, my husband and I made a list of questions we were going to ask the doctor for our “WTF” appointment but as it would turn out, this meeting would never happen.

The next morning, I took a home pregnancy test in preparation to get a negative beta later that day... only to find out that it was positive. As of today, I’m currently 27 weeks pregnant with a little boy and oddly enough, I’m due around the exact date in February that we started trying to get pregnant in the first place.

So, although my nephew is both very wise and thoughtful to warn me, I’m up for the challenge! The thought of labor, delivery, pain in general and pushing something the size of a watermelon out my already exhausted va-jay-jay frightens me but we worked hard for this and I’m just so grateful that we’ve made it this far.

To those of you who are reading my blog for the first time: stop by often, hang out, say hello, share your experiences and please join me as I, a pregnant infertile, slowly make my way to the finish line!

And of course, to those of you who have followed my journey since day one – I can never thank you enough for sticking with me, cheering me on, making me laugh and supporting me throughout all of this. It has meant more to me then I could ever begin to possibly express. And hey -- it IS uter-us... and we're all in it together.

Speaking of which, I’ve been seriously considering starting our own infertility movement called, “OCCUPY MY UTERUS!” C’mon people! Who is with me????

You Spin Me Right Round Baby

Do you ever feel like you’ve had a problem or that even your whole life is like a game of Jenga? You know that game – it’s played with wooden blocks. You take the blocks and build a sturdy tower. Then, the players start taking pieces out and moving them to other areas of the standing tower... all in the hopes that they don’t knock the whole damn thing over. Usually, the game ends with the loser unintentionally taking out that last key structural block thus causing the whole tower to collapse. Before you know it, you’re surrounded by blocks, your friends are laughing at you while you secretly wish you just played a drinking game instead.

As you know from my last blog post, my boss and I had an extensive conversation about my being out of the office quite often this past year due to my “medical issues”. These issues were for fertility treatments and now, my pregnancy. His argument was that when I’m not in the office (even for good reason), it affects him negatively. My argument was that they are valid medical issues and that he was acting like a douchebag (mind you – I didn’t tell him that last part. I just thought it really, really hard). He and I ended up talking it all out, putting everything down in writing where he wrote that he understands my health is important but my position requires I be in the office as much as possible and where I wrote that my occasional absences and lateness have been due to my pregnancy and won’t be an ongoing issue into the future… and that he was acting like a douchebag (Ok, I didn’t write that last part. But again, I just thought it really, really hard). We sent the document into human resources and all was right again with the corporate world.

Until…

On Saturday, October 29th, I got a migraine in the afternoon. This is not uncommon for me so I wasn’t alarmed. I took two Tylenol and laid down for nap. When I woke up, the pain had gone away but I felt dizzy. As the evening wore on, I went from mildly dizzy to having the spins (of course, I wasn’t drinking but that’s how it felt) and then, by Sunday morning, I felt like Amy Winehouse… the day she died. I couldn't open my eyes, the bed felt like it was flying, walking was near impossible and I felt this unnatural urge to put my hair in a beehive.

Due to the constant dizziness, my stomach eventually succumbed to motion sickness and literally every time I tried to move, I threw up. I’m not talking a little morning sickness kind of sick either. It was more like THE EXORCIST kind of sick. If people saw me, they wouldn’t say, “Hmmm. Jay is under the weather.” They would have said, “Holy shit –Give her the last rites!”

For the record, I never wanted to throw up in front of my husband. Never. It’s bad enough he’s seen me be an emotional hormonal wreck during the last few years of infertility treatments. Then, add the weight gaining hormonal wreck of a pregnant woman that I’ve been in the last couple of months. Now, on Sunday, in what I can only describe as my lowest moment in quite a while, he saw me laying on the bathroom floor wearing only a pajama top, sweating uncontrollably, non-bikini waxed and throwing up non-stop into our tub. If he ever wants to have sex with me again after all of this, it will be nothing short of a miracle.

After calling the doctor, we were told that I should head into Labor and Delivery at the hospital immediately. I was, of course, VERY nervous about both myself and the baby but really, my main thought was, “Please God… let this stop. I’ll do anything. I’ll go back to church, I’ll be nicer to my mother-in-law, I’ll even stop saying mean things about how ugly Jennifer Lopez’s kids are – just please make this stop.”

When we arrived at the hospital (which entailed me laying down in the backseat and throwing up some more. Again, very attractive), they immediately knew I was dehydrated. So much so, that they had trouble even finding a vein to put in an IV in to. They quickly also put a monitor on my belly to check the baby. They were concerned that they wouldn’t pick up anything as most of the women in Labor and Delivery are further along than me and… well… are in labor. However, through some sort of luck, they picked up our baby’s heartbeat and determined that not only was he totally fine but that they were also quite impressed how strong he was under the circumstances. I’m telling you – from only one lone embryo from a batch of 13 eggs right up until now, this baby has been a kick ass hard core fighter.

They gave me three bags of fluid that included anti-nausea medication and had me rest. As soon as the room cleared, the quiet kicked in and I lay on the hospital bed miserable, my husband said something I will never forget. After a minute passed, he said very matter of factly, “Today was the first time I ever heard you fart.” *sigh* Great. Yet another milestone in our marriage. Does Hallmark make cards for that?

By the end of my stay, the doctor on call guessed that I had something viral. He told me there was nothing they could do other than give me anti-nausea medication, send me on my way and hope for it to pass. And this is what I did for the next few days but when I saw it wasn't getting better, I phoned my neurologist who told me to come in to rule out a stroke. A stroke? Really? If ever there was a good reason to miss work, a stroke would definitely be a damn good excuse.

After a few tests, my neurologist said that I have an extreme case of vertigo (not the Hitchcock movie but the neurological affliction) which was probably set off by my initial migraine. He said I should continue with the anti-nausea medication, go home and rest as much as possible. This meant that I would have to be out of work for a total of two weeks. I don't know what's more amazing, that I was in yet another two week wait or that my brain apparently heard my boss complaining about missing a few days here and there and said, “Oh yeah? I see your complaint of a missed day and raise you two whole weeks. Suck on that!” It was then that my virtual Jenga tower collapsed.

To be fair, both my husband and a good friend/co-worker of mine spoke to my boss on my behalf and he has reportedly been very understanding. Still, I can’t help but marvel at the timing of this. I've spent more time than I care to admit in the past few weeks worrying about my job and now, I feel like this unexpected illness has just made things worse. In the words of Krusty the Clown from THE SIMPSONS, "This... I don't need."

Meanwhile, I did what I was told and rested. My husband dropped me off at my parents house so he could get back to work and I could get the constant care I needed as I have been unable to get around other than go to and from the bathroom. As soon as I got to my parents house, I was tucked into bed and my mother, for some unexplainable reason, started showing me her recent clothing purchases. I can only compare it to the movie, MISERY but in this scenario, I was James Caan and my mother was a very loving, well-intentioned woman who loves a good clearance sale at Talbots.

The BEST part of this dizzy fashion show though was when she showed me a pair of pajamas she bought for me. They looked a little like Vincent Van Gogh’s painting called “Starry Night”. “What is that?”, I asked.

She said, “I bought you these to have vertigo in.” Wow. Clearly, they DO make an outfit for every occasion. Vertigo pajamas. Yikes.

My father, bless his heart, kept forgetting I was upstairs and in bed. At one point, I sent him a text asking him if he could bring me lunch. It went ignored so I called him. The conversation went like this:

ME: "Hello? Dad?"
DAD: "Hello? Who's this?"
ME: "Dad - it's Jay."
DAD: "Ohhhh, hi! How are you?" (As if he hasn't spoken to me in months)
ME: "Uhhh, I'm ok. Can I have lunch?"
DAD: "Sure! How's peanut butter and jelly? It's all I can make."

Twenty minutes later, while wearing my vertigo pajamas, I ate a peanut butter jelly sandwich that looked like it was sat on. I didn't critisize though. I was just so grateful to have food.

I’m happy to report that I’m feeling better but it’s been a very slow, difficult process. I’ve spent a lot of time lying in bed thinking. I can’t really watch television (as I’ve been too dizzy), I’ve had trouble walking and up until today, the computer was completely impossible. In order to stay sane despite feeling like ass, worrying about work and dealing with my parents care taking skills, I would occasionally recite anything I’ve ever memorized: The Pledge of Allegiance, the Lord’s Prayer and a monologue I had in my second grade play (I played a cavity).

What really kept me from totally losing my mind though was how often I felt the baby kick. Anytime I’d worry about losing my job, or that I was never going to get better, or when I had a crying fit over how crappy I felt, the baby would kick as if to say, “Hang in there! I’m here!” It’s corny and perhaps a little crazy but I swear that it felt like he was cheering me on.

That’s one of the many things I’ve learned in the last two weeks: The timing of this has sucked and being this out of commission has been scary and frustrating but I’m pregnant… and that’s all I ever wanted. No matter how many virtual Jenga towers I knock over, I at least have that... and that means the world.

I've also learned that I can now freely pass wind in front of my husband. I’m just sayin’. The barrier has been broken.

Infertility + Pregnancy = Pissed Off Boss

Literally on the morning I received the “Neena Comment” (see here for the blog post), I had my "End of the Year Review" with my boss. It’s amusing to me that in the same morning, both my boss and a total stranger would somehow bring up how much unhappiness my uterus has caused them. Take a number people… take a number.

As some of you may remember, I started the year off informing my boss that I would be doing a clinical IVF trial in February, which would entail me having to miss a few days of work (see here for that blog post). He was not only less than understanding but as memory serves, he actually physically backed away from me when I told him about my infertility issues... as if it were contagious.

Of course, the clinical trial failed and I eventually went on to IVF 3 around the end of May, which also required taking a few more days off from work. Given the current state of the economy and the overall job market, my “infertility trilogy” (which was definitely not as entertaining as ‘The Godfather’ trilogy) wasn’t looked upon kindly. And now that I’m pregnant and have regularly scheduled doctor appointments, I suspect my boss might have been rooting for my infertility to win. Sure, this would have meant I’d remain childless… but much to his happiness, I would also never have had any reason to leave my desk (except possibly to pee).

As you may or may not know, I’m a freelance writer and an occasional stand-up comic (I’m currently on a break from performing to avoid either throwing up or falling asleep while on stage). Even though I get steady writing jobs, it simply does not pay the bills... let alone for three in vitros. Therefore, I have a day job Monday through Friday where I use my B.A. in Theatre to portray a woman who finds expense reports, photocopying and meeting planning as exciting as an orgasm. I’m sure many of you can relate. It’s truly a rare thing to get paid for what you actually enjoy doing. I think Drew Carey said it best when he said, “You hate your job? They have a support group for that. It’s called everyone. They meet at the bar.”

So, until I figure out a way to collect paychecks without working, I have no choice but to remain a corporate ho. Perhaps if I were a REAL ho, I could not only get paid, but I could lay down for a bit during the day… which admittedly… would be nice.

Getting back to my review though: My boss pointed out that I’ve missed work due to several appointments and/or medical issues (the medical issues being infertility and pregnancy). Going forward, he stressed that he needs me to be in the office as much as possible. In theory, I really do understand. My ovaries and uterine lining have had their own timetable this past year and they know nothing of my boss’s schedule. I can totally appreciate that my reproductive trials and tribulations have often cut into work time. However, the fact remains that I am finally pregnant and this means, like it or not, I do have to take time away from work. I mean, I consider myself talented in many, many areas but I’m simply not capable of giving birth in my cubicle without attracting some attention. If that’s what it comes down to, I’ll at least have to make sure I put out a tip jar. Why not?

The thing is even when I have been out of the office after various retrievals, for my polyp removal surgery, while I’ve been on various bed rests and most recently, right after my amnio, I’ve always plugged in to work from home… even when I was still waking up from anesthesia (which explained the very unfortunate email I sent to the Chief Operating Officer of my company telling him how many eggs we got).

My point is that even though I have missed time here and there, nothing has ever been dropped, I’ve gotten my work done and I’ve made every effort to do everything I can to balance both my fertility and my job. And I swear - if he had any idea what it was like to go through infertility treatments, an abundance of hormones and worst of all – negative betas, all while trying to work and appear normal, he’d not only be shocked that I’ve shown up to the office at all but that I've managed not to attack fertile co-workers with my pencil sharpener.

I just can’t help but wonder if perhaps I had never taken time off for the infertility treatments in the first place, whether he might have been more patient about the pregnancy itself. There’s just nothing I can do about that now though. If only in addition to maternity leave, companies considered infertility time. Or how about just a mental health day? Something! Throw an infertile a freaking bone Corporate America!

For now, my focus is on trying to schedule early appointments before work and resist the urge to staple things to my bosses head. Hopefully soon, somehow, my boss and I can start 2012 in nothing but a positive, happy place where he and I never again discuss what is and isn’t coming out of my birth canal and how it affects my day job.

Lastly, I did want to briefly acknowledge the overwhelming response to the Neena Post from last week. I have no idea if she ever checked back or if she read any of your many entertaining, humorous, blunt and hard core responses but I personally was blown away by how insightful they were. I also want to thank you for so many kind, encouraging words. It meant a great deal to me – truly. It was ‘Exhibit A’ that many who read my blog are supportive, generous, thoughtful, funny as hell, good people. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Calling All Infertiles: I Want to Hear From You

This morning, I received the following comment from “Neena” (I didn't correct any of the typos... I'm literally cutting and pasting exactly what was written, how it was written):

You should change your blog name from the Two Week Wait - because it is misleading. You are not in that place, and you stop pretending to be "one os us". As one of your comments said "Welcome to Mommy World" - you and all like you should be honest and say "Thank the fuck I am out of that Infertile World" - you have now joined "The Club", that the rest of us are still excluded from. Enjoy it and leave the rest of us to our grief for goodness sake. Oh and by the way, 3 IVFs and you are pregnant - GIVE ME A BREAK! Try 5 IVFs, numerous operations and surgical investigations and a dead baby "born" at 20 weeks and THEN tell me your "boo-hoo-but-yeah for-me" story. Vy the way you adopted and find for your treatments - I assume that you will have the decency not to have a fund for your new baby? I totally sympathise with the person who sent you the "horrid" comment - s/he is hurting like the rest of us and frankly when we first came to read your blog it rang "true" - now it is just bogus, and supercilious, because frankly, you should now be blogging as you truthfully are - thankful to be pregnant and away from the hell of infertility. You may think that you still have the right to write about infertility - I personally think you should keep your patronising "I'm going to be a Mommy" drivel to yourself - but heh, what Mommy-to-be EVER keeps her patronising drivel to herself these days. I am totally surprised that you did not post up your sonogram - that would have been more honest. Oh, and as for you writing to your relative - SHAME ON YOU. You had no right to appease yourself at her expense - you can NEVER understand what she has been through unless you have been there too (and I have, and even I would think thrice about writing to her!)and luckily for you, you have not .....YET.

First and foremost, Neena – I’m very sorry to hear of your loss at 20 weeks. No one should have to go through that and I wouldn’t pretend for one second to know what that is like. More than anything, you have my deepest and sincerest condolences.

As for my response, I could attempt to address each of your accusations, criticisms and frankly, some of your seemingly hate filled statements but would it change your mind? Probably not. I can only say this: It’s clear from your comment that you’re hurting and angry. And frankly, after five in vitro’s and a loss at 20 weeks, no one would ever blame you. However, the thing that’s also very clear from your comment is you absolutely don’t know me, who I am, what I stand for or what I care about in the slightest. If you did, you would know how truly off base and incorrect what you wrote about me is.

That being said, I do appreciate you sharing this very strong opinion. I have no doubt that others who have read my blog may feel exactly as you do. This is why I wanted to dedicate today’s post to your comment. I hope you will check back, read what others say and then, I'd strongly recommend you stop reading my blog. You seem like you'd be much happier if you simply don't read what I write and went on on to read some one else's blog you can better relate to.

So, let’s talk about it, shall we? Readers, commentors, infertiles, pregnant infertiles, new mom’s and anyone else who stops by and reads my blog, what do you think? I want to hand this over to you. If you also have "only" had three in vitros, did you not really suffer? If you get pregnant after dealing with infertility, should you never speak of it again and pretend you no longer care about people still going through it as Neena suggests? Is Infertility a “whose pain is worse?” contest? And most important and most seriously, even though I’ve asked this before, I’ll ask it again, should I retire this blog and just start a new one? Thoughts? Feelings? Suggestions?

And don't worry regular readers -- no matter what the future holds for this blog, I promise at least one more post that will be fun, funny, possibly include the word 'penis' and will return to my regularly scheduled life. I just thought this was worthy to open up for discussion, debate and comments.

As always, sending you all back love, light and humor…

Pregnant and Hated?

Since I’ve been pregnant, I’ve noticed a very slight increase in angry comments and pissed off emails and an even slighter decrease in blog followers.

Losing followers is one thing. It’s to be expected and frankly, I completely understand it. When I was in the thick of trying to get pregnant, reading blogs about others who were pregnant, even if they struggled, were not always my cup of tea. It really depended on where I was at emotionally and where I was at in my journey. If I was gearing up for an IVF, I found these blogs inspirational. If I had just received word of a negative beta and saw my savings account was down by a couple of thousand on a “wasted” cycle, my joy for others was not as enthusiastic and genuine as it could be.

Let me just say that if reading my blog upsets you, annoys you or doesn’t help you while you deal with infertility, then dear god – please feel free to stop reading. I will miss you terribly and I’d certainly hope you’d consider coming back at some point to say hello but I would never want to make anyone unhappy. Infertility is f*cking hard and if reading what’s going on with me doesn’t help, then I’d hope you’d do what you need to do to feel better. Any which way, with all my heart and soul, I wish anyone and everyone who reads my blog to have their happy ending… whatever and however they can get it.

Now, as for the angry comments and pissed off emails, getting those have not been what I would describe as a good feeling. It’s one thing to choose not to read the blog. It’s entirely another to go out of your way and actively express your hatred for me or for something I’ve said. (Example: Please see here)

I do try to remember that it’s not personal. Mind you - I don’t mean to diminish the fact that I’ve clearly said things on my blog that have upset people or perhaps have even gotten them to hate me on some level but at the end of the day, they don’t really know me. They wouldn’t even recognize me if they saw me on the street. I almost want to say to these people, “Hang out with me. Let’s have a drink! THEN, you can hate me if you want!” Truly - if you meet me and think, “I just don't like Jay. And can you believe what she said about Jennifer Lopez’s kids being ugly? How rude!” I just don’t understand why someone would go out of their way to tell someone they don’t even know, that they haven’t even met that I’m a bitch who deserves to die a miserable death soley because I mentioned that having morning sickness isn’t a sexy feeling.

(And a quick side note – I don’t blame Jennifer Lopez for her kids being… well… not the most attractive. I don’t want to name names but let’s just say that I think its someone who's name rhymes with Shmark Shmanthony’s fault.)

Anyway, I could be wrong here but I never got such emails or comments when I wasn’t pregnant. It’s since I’ve been pregnant that I seem to so easily tick off people. One thing that seems to irritate people the most is when I have the audacity to say anything negative about being pregnant... and at the risk of pissing off more people, I’d like to quickly address that:

A) Being pregnant doesn’t mean that they automatically revoke your “Sometimes I Need to Vent Card”. Of course, if all my blog posts were about how much pregnancy sucks, that I hated every minute of it, that I was disappointed in whatever the sex of my baby is (so you know, I would have been thrilled even if the baby were a hermaphrodite by the time I did my third IVF) or if I was endlessly bitching and moaning, I’d more than agree with people being for annoyed with me.

However, if I occasionally complain about being embarrassed about throwing up on a street corner in front of strangers, after almost three years of trying to get pregnant, I believe I've earned that right. Hell, if anything, I paid thousands of dollars to express the rare complaint if I want to!

Also, on the flip side, if I did nothing but marvel at how wonderful it is to have hemorrhoids, how getting an amnio was more fun than a trip to the Bahamas, told you how much I enjoyed my nipples changing colors so often that they were like mood rings and wrote non-stop about how pregnancy was an orgasmic cake walk of happiness, sunshine and lollipops, not only would you seek to have me committed, I’m pretty sure I’d get even MORE hate mail than I’m already getting now.

B) If and when I do occasionally have a complaint about being pregnant, that doesn’t mean I’m not grateful. That is one I’ve heard a lot. The fact that I’ve pointed out a few difficulties I’ve had while being pregnant doesn’t mean that I’m any less grateful. It’s like anyone who complains about their husband when they are happily married. You love him (hopefully) and you can’t imagine a life without him but when he uses all the toilet paper and doesn’t replace it, like it or not, it’s annoying.

I’ve worked very hard for this pregnancy. I’ve dreamed of being pregnant for as long as I can remember and to finally be here after going through so much and after beginning to think it was damn near impossible – trust me – I’m grateful. Actually, I’m more than grateful. I’m an emotion that hasn’t’ even been invented. I’m grateful, humbled, respectful, appreciative and thankful all rolled into one. I’m grahumresativeful.

Another thing that has bothered me the most as of late though was when I received an email from some anonymous person chastising me for daring to contact a relative of mine who recently lost her baby. Her issue was that I had no right to do so since I’m pregnant and having a pregnant person sending an email to someone who just lost their child is morally reprehensible.

On the surface, I understand the point and this person is more than entitled to their opinion. The problem is we’re talking about a woman who I’m related to. She just lost her baby and the fact that I’m pregnant doesn’t mean I don’t love her any less or that I don’t care. I can’t even imagine not acknowledging that she’s just experienced a heartbreaking loss and if the roles were reversed, I can't imagine a relative, pregnant or not, not reaching out to me. (This was discussed on the blog here and here).

The same goes for a few of my friends beyond the blogging/Twitter world that I know personally who are dealing with infertility. I love and cherish these people. To not send them an email or call them to say, “I want this for you”, “Are you ok?”, “Is there anything I can do?” or “I’m so sorry” to me is not only not being a good friend but it’s unforgivable. Seriously – If the fact that I’m now pregnant stops me from reaching out to people I care about when they are suffering, how big of an asshole would I be? I simply can't imagine doing that to anyone.

That being said, if they don’t want to talk to me or if they say, “Jay – I can’t deal with you now or your pregnancy”, I would completely respect that, abide by their wishes and do whatever they asked me to if it would help. That’s their right to take some space from me. But for me to automatically eliminate myself from their lives or their problems because I’m pregnant doesn’t feel right to me. Rest assured that I've expressed all of this to the friends I'm referring to, that they can tell me to F-off at any time and so far, none of them have.

That’s the other thing (and here’s another point that I’m sure will annoy someone): Now that I’m pregnant, it doesn’t mean that it automatically erases all the feelings I had over the last couple of years of struggling. I have no money in my savings account, I’ve attended baby showers and felt like a failure, I’ve done timed cycles with Clomid, I’ve done three inseminations, I did three in vitros and I’ve felt the pain of infertility as much as anyone else who has gone through it. I haven’t forgotten that. I have tremendous respect for anyone who goes through infertility and I would never intentionally want anyone to think anything to the contrary.

So, to sum up, I’m not saying you can’t agree with me and I also don't mean to give the impression that I'm whining that people don’t like me as much anymore. The only thing I’m trying to do with this blog entry is vent about the extra flogging I’ve been taking lately and to attempt to respond to some of the things that a few readers have brought up.

But putting all of that aside for a moment and to end on more of a happy note, the majority of people who read my blog have been nothing but gracious and supportive. For every poopy email I receive, I’ve gotten at least five lovely emails from people either fighting the good fight or who also have found themselves recently pregnant. For those people, I’m genuinely eternally grateful.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Pregnant or not, infertile or not, pain is pain. We need to help and support each other and if it’s a choice between being angry and hateful or understanding and kind, I’d choose the latter every single time.

In closing, to those of you who are about to write me a negative comment or critical email, you do what you have to do. This is my blog and I’m just trying to express where I’m at and how I’m feeling in the most respectful manner. If that offends you, I sincerely apologize as that’s never my goal. If you feel you can’t read my blog or if you have decided you don’t like me for whatever reason, please know that in return, I wish you nothing but the best. We can’t please all of the people all of the time.

And no matter what – I still think Jennifer Lopez’s kids are ugly.

Boy, Oh Boy!

First, the big news is that I found out I’m having a boy. That’s right – a little, tiny penis is growing inside me. I can’t even believe it. Before I got married, I was single for so long and spent so many years trying to understand men. Now, here I am about to have a little man. I hope and pray I can understand him!

Apparently, the baby can start to hear around twenty weeks so starting week twenty, I’m going to say these two statements to him over and over again:

1. No one will ever love you more than your mother.

2. If you say you're going to call a woman, you’d better f*cking call her.

The woman doing the sonogram asked my husband and me if we wanted to know the sex of the baby and we both said yes. She said that if she was able to see anything, she’d let us know. Five minutes later, she went, “WHOA! You still want to know the sex???” We knew immediately that it had to be a boy with that reaction. I mean really? Who says “Whoa!” to a vagina other than perhaps Joey Lawrence? Man, what a crappy catch phrase that was, huh? Damn you writers from BLOSSOM. Damn you straight to hell.

Right after the appointment, my husband made a list of all the things he can't wait to do with his son: Go to a baseball game, play catch, show him STAR WARS, etc. He also turned to me and very seriously said, "And think! You'll probably catch him masterbating when he's thirteen!" Uhhh, thanks? Frankly, I'd rather go to a baseball game. Yikes.

I’m also happy (and relieved) to report that the family member I spoke about in my last post (see here) did eventually email back. She thanked me for acknowledging her recent loss, she shared how she’s been dealing with it and she was generous enough to wish me only the best.

One thing she shared with me that I feel I MUST share with you was that when she returned to work after her loss, almost all of her co-workers avoided her and in some cases, wouldn’t even look at her. This absolutely breaks my heart as you know it wasn’t because she did anything wrong as much as it was that they didn’t know what to say. In my last post, where I debated whether or not you should acknowledge when someone loses a baby, I still think it’s a case by case basis, however, to totally avoid the person is unconscionable. Seriously – on what planet do people honestly believe that’s the best response? “Oh look… there’s that person who recently had a heartbreak. Quick! Let me run in the other direction!” Nice.

And I did end up getting an amniocentesis. I know so many of you were against that and it amazed me how many Tweets, emails, comments and even advice I got from people I work with about not doing it. To be extra clear – I was just as concerned and hesitant as many of you. I had three lengthy conversations with my doctor, I went to a genetics counselor and asked a million questions, I spoke to my husband and therapists about my feelings on it, and I went online and did as much research as possible before agreeing to do it. So, trust me when I say a lot of thought and energy was put into deciding to have it done.

A few things I learned on the subject was that when the "powers that be" initially said there was a 1 in 400 risk of complications from amnio, that was when they were doing these tests WITHOUT use of a sonogram. This absolutely blows my mind. Basically what they did was stick a needle in blindly and take a sample. If that’s the case, I’m surprised the statistics weren’t worse! Nowadays, it’s more like 1 in a 600 risk and the chance of miscarriage was a 0.5%.

Also, when they put a needle in the amniotic sac, it is not like a balloon that pops. I'm sure you all knew that but in my head, that's what I imagined. It turns out that it’s more like sticking a very small needle in your skin that starts healing as soon as the needle is removed. It's not as fun as a vacation in Bermuda but most of forty-five minutes for the amnio is taken up by doing a sonogram, sterilizing and prepping. The needle is usually in for no more than 60 seconds. For some, it doesn't hurt. For me, it pinched a little and I had a slight back pain afterwards but that was the worst of it. They have you on bed rest afterwards to help the healing process along… and in my case, to help me catch up on some serious crap television.

The main reason I decided to do the amnio wasn’t that I thought I would ever terminate the pregnancy, but it was more that if something was wrong, I would much rather be prepared and have the time to research Down Syndrome and find the very best way to raise the child.

Let me be EXTRA clear here though, I am in no way saying that what I did is the “right” or “best” choice. It was the choice my husband and I felt the most comfortable with. I don’t want anyone to ever think that I’m telling them what to do because whether to get an amnio and what you would do with the results are nobody’s business but your own.

That’s what kind of stunned me about the whole experience. On Twitter, I had asked people what their experiences were with amnio but I never asked, “Do you think I should get one or not?” However, I received tons of responses urging me not to get one. I don’t take offense to that at all since really, if anything, I think they cared enough to give me their opinion. Again though, I think it’s close to impossible to tell someone what to do in those circumstances. You have to do what's right for you.

As I mentioned earlier, even people at work, when I told them I would need to work from home because I was getting an amnio, openly shared their opinions. I had three different people say, “Oh don’t do that!” and I had four people tell me they had it done and it was no big deal. Again, who can say what’s right or wrong? Different things work for different people.

Any which way, we did the amnio this past Thursday and I got the results on Friday saying that everything was ok and that the baby was healthy. They also confirmed that the baby is a boy which I appreciated. A friend of mine was told she was having a boy and then the week after, she found out that she was actually having a girl. Apparently the person who did the first sonogram mistook the umbilical chord as a penis. Whoa indeed. That would be one hell of a big penis!!!

All in all, things are good. I now have to learn about all things boys. I haven’t had a lot of experience in the boy genre so I’ve got to bone up on sports, trucks and army toys. I would describe myself as a girly girl and if I were having a daughter, I had anticipated make-up lessons and pink fairy dresses. Unless this baby is a drag queen, I’m pretty sure those things are out now. Dresses or trucks, I’m just so grateful that our baby is healthy.

Facebook, Family and Freaking Out

In the past few weeks, I’ve been waking up more often in the middle of the night and going to the bathroom. My husband, who never did this before, has started asking me, “Where are you going?” Usually, it’s four in the morning so I want to talk as little as possible but I’d love to say to him, “It’s four in the morning, I’m wearing an extra large t-shirt with no underwear, I have my mouth guard on and I’m heading to the bathroom. Where the hell do you think I’m going???” If he asks me again, I may answer, “I‘m heading to Nepal to climb Mount Everest. Don‘t wait up.”

This new line of questioning in the middle of the night I’m going to take as my husband being more protective and concerned about me now that I’m seventeen weeks pregnant. I can’t really blame him as I’ve been just as nervous and cautious. I even bought one of those home fetal heart beat dopplers. I must mention that my husband has often used it to sing to me with it. It’s like his own portable microphone. It’s cute and annoying all at the same time.

I try to limit myself to one night a week where I check the baby’s heartbeat. One night last week though, I couldn’t find it and I freaked me the f*ck out. Now, I majored in theatre, I have no medical background and to put it bluntly, I don’t really know what the hell I’m doing. Frankly, it makes sense that I can’t find the heart beat every single time as I‘m not the most qualified person for home health care. I also wouldn’t be surprised if our baby is like, “Dude! Can you leave me alone! I‘m gestating here!” and has turned away from the microphone for some privacy. Either that or the baby has heard it’s father’s singing and hides in shame.

Rest assured, the next morning, not only did I throw up on a street corner in the city (I assume that was the baby’s way of saying hello) but I found the heartbeat again later that night. Since this incident though, my husband has hid the Doppler. He did this to keep me from driving myself nuts and to perhaps rehearse a new number.

Now obviously, we all know that I struggled desperately to get pregnant. We also know that the more you connect with people in the infertility community, the more you hear horror stories of what people have gone through and all that can go wrong. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I’ve had my share of heart break but I know so many who have had it profoundly worse and for that, they have my undying love and respect. All of this makes me especially cautious when it comes to this pregnancy… but there’s also another factor that I haven’t mentioned before that has also put me on edge.

Without going too into detail out of respect for the person involved, a family member of mine lost her baby somewhat around the point of where I am now in my pregnancy. We are not terribly close but the fact that this loss was not only sudden but also remains unclear as to what went wrong or why deeply upsets me. This also happened the same week I found I was pregnant and I have thought about it every single day since then. Come to think of it, I think that’s what prompted me to buy the Doppler in the first place.

Recently, we decided to announce my pregnancy on Facebook. I was very hesitant to but I was getting pressure from friends, family and even my husband. I get that this is the new age we’re living in but I can’t help but feel a little uncomfortable with it. Facebook pregnancy announcements tortured my sorry ass for two and a half years (I even nicknamed Face book ‘Fertilitybook‘) and I’m amazed at how this has become such an important part of letting people know you’re pregnant. The importance of Facebook in society in general is beginning to concern me. I’ve had two friends change their ‘married’ status to ‘single” and then receive hundred of posts asking, “Oh my god! What happened?” Do you really want to discuss the demise of your marriage on Facebook? Then, a month ago, someone posted that their father passed away but he lived eighty-five wonderful years. Do I click ‘like’ saying that it’s nice to hear he lived a long life or would it seem more like I’m happy he’s dead?

Anyway, we ended up posting something funny and not overly mushy about our pregnancy news. Still, after I hit ‘post’, I immediately thought of my family member. She’s on Facebook and although I believe a mutual relative had already told her the news, I couldn’t help but wonder if seeing the announcement upset her.

And here’s my question: When someone has a miscarriage, do you acknowledge it or not? My whole family, including myself, sent her cards and/or flowers when we first heard the news but beyond that, there has been no discussion of it. In the infertility community, I’ve heard different reactions to this. Some want to forget about it and move on. Others are deeply hurt when people stop talking about it as if it’s never happened. Everyone is different and I’m certain there’s no one way or even a right way of doing things but that’s almost the trouble. You don’t always know how the person going through a loss wants to handle it.

Still, for me, after our Facebook announcement came out, I felt I had to write her some sort of email acknowledging the whole situation. I basically said that I have been thinking a lot about her, that I sincerely hope she is hanging in there and that if my Facebook posting upset her, then I was truly sorry. I closed by wishing her nothing the best. I didn’t talk about my pregnancy (other than the announcement), I kept it short and just tried to let her know that she’s still very much in my thoughts. That was over a week ago and I haven’t gotten any response.


I can't help but feel this was a huge mistake sending this email. I had the very best of intentions and sincerely thought I was doing the right thing but the more I think about it, the more I think that if she hadn’t reached out to me to begin with, I probably should have just left it alone. I just hope I didn’t say anything overwhelmingly stupid or unintentionally insensitive. Again, it’s just so hard to know.

Meanwhile, I continue to worry, obsess and freak out over my own pregnancy. We got our second blood test results back and the risk of down syndrome is even higher. Mind you - it’s still not horrible and it looks like now we have a 98% chance of everything being ok but we’re seriously beginning to consider doing an amnio just so we can know for sure instead of worrying till February (which let’s face it, I’m sure I’ll worry till February anyway).

I’m terrified and lost on what’s the best thing to do. I was practically sawed in half several times to finally get pregnant and the thought of doing anything to hurt the baby or the pregnancy beyond scares me. Also, I myself have never had a miscarriage. Anytime I’ve heard of one, it has of course disturbed and upset me… but now, being 17 weeks pregnant and knowing first hand what it feels like to connect with my baby; well now I’m even more gut wrenched at the thought. And thinking about what happened to my family member makes me that much more scared the same thing will happen to me. How I would deal with it and what in the holy hell would I put on Facebook after already posting an announcement? It's a stupid, silly thought but one that has occurred to me.

So, there’s a lot in today’s blog post and I have this eerie feeling that I’m going to get the most anonymous, “You’re a twat” emails in response to this blog entry than anything I’ve ever posted on here before. I’m not sure why. Maybe because despite my best efforts, I didn’t handle things well with my family member. Maybe because I’m freaking out and that tends to annoy readers who find it ungrateful (which, to be clear, I could not be MORE grateful to be pregnant) or maybe because there’s someone out there who thinks Facebook is the most brilliant form of communication and I’m a big poop for making fun of it.

The plan over the next week is to talk to a genetics counselor, figure out our options, try to not worry more than necessary (if that’s possible), hope my family member doesn’t think I’m a big douche bag and let my husband ask me questions in the middle of the night and occasionally sing to me. Oh, and keep my sense of humor… I must ALWAYS keep my sense of humor.