Highs and lows

David just had his last day at summer camp. He often rambles on to anyone who will listen about his adventures this summer. Swimming, skating, bowling, dancing, and his visits to two zoos, two museums, one theme park, the "theater" to see a real stage production, and numerous trips to the ice cream shop and movie theater. He had a great time.

In two weeks he starts 1st grade. In the meantime, we will be ramping up for school and sharing some serious 1x1 time. I am scheduled to be off for the entire first week of his school so I can sit at home, bite my fingernails, and watch the clock while I wait for bus stop duty.

Next week also starts soccer, and soccer practices. Practice being a new thing this year since he's on the big boy team now that he's 6. Also means more work for me.

When I look at the upcoming calendar for the next few months, it looks overwhelming. I am having one of those moments when I wish I didn't have to work. In fact, I'm back to figuring out if I could swing a leave of absence. The money is not even half the issue (I could survive), it's the fear that I could be laid off in the meantime. Still hanging by a thread as always. S. is also still hanging by a thread at his work too. We try to ban "work talk" because it only depresses us.

Not a time to be part of the "out of sight, out of mind" equation, methinks...

I'm also trying to figure out where to go from here- as in, my mental state.

I am realizing that I have some major issues to deal with that perhaps I cannot solve on my own. I've never visited a therapist in my life (except for the mandatory ones for this past DE cycle). I'm not sure I can even afford one, but I do know that I am not myself anymore. This has been a cumulative effect and really has been building over the years. This last month (failure and scary moments) seems to have accelerated my feeling out of control.

I am sad, a lot of the time. I know that much of my state is temporary (or is SUPPOSED to be), but I am worried that I cannot lift myself out of my funk this time. I'm just not me.

Aaarggh.

... what to do, what to do...
I just don't know.

Watch your step, there's danger afoot...

The first time I had a panic attack was in February of 1999. I was traveling for work (a week in Austin, TX) and the morning I left home I was to leave Austin and catch a connecting flight in Memphis, TN to get home to Philly.

Unfortunately, when I got to Memphis, I found my connection was cancelled. Seems there was a roving snowstorm covering much of the Northeast. I happened to have a first class seat, which back then gave me the ability to walk the terminal to any airline and get the first available seat on any plane (I doubt the airlines follow this agreement anymore).

Anyway, I got a seat on a flight to Cincinnati that would connect me again to Philly. I got there after a long delay only to be cancelled again and find a new flight that would finally get me home. Well, you get the idea. I flew from airport to airport only to get more bad news. In that time, I ate little, and had about 5 Venti Lattes. I was hyped up on caffeine. I got on the last flight out of the airport (it was nearly midnight) and we sat on the tarmac waiting to take off.

And we waited.

Soon the pilot's voice came overhead, "weellllllll..." (you know it's never good when you get the drawn out 'well') "we are #29 for takeoff... hopefully we will take off before they ground all flights again."

I just about lost it.

In fact, I did.

My face flushed, my hands went clammy, my heart started beating a million miles an hour, and my head started to practically blow off. I couldn't breathe.

It was a panic attack. And the only reason I did not completely lose it was the nice businessman who talked me down and gave me all of his supply of Tic Tacs and bored me with tales of his sales calls as a consultant for a prosthetic supply company.

After that day, I became completely claustrophobic.

I had "almost" panic attacks many times since then. All being when I was in a confined area. The next most memorable one being the time my family and I were trapped in a hot elevator. Remember that?

So much so that I am fearful of elevators now. If I have the option to hoof it on the stairs, I will. I am still "uncomfortable" in planes. Especially the small commuter planes that only are 3 seats wide. I will myself to stay calm, but inside I feel like I could almost pass out.

Why am I telling you this? Well, recently I had another panic attack.

In Targ.et.

In the baby aisle.

You see, we still buy tons of baby wipes and bubble bath. So as much as I would like to avoid that section, I can't.

One Saturday, S., David and I went for our normal trip to stock up. The boys were still in the Toy section. I happened to walk down the aisle to grab a box of wipes and realized I was on the wrong aisle. I was about to course-correct, and a very pregnant woman dropped something on the floor in front of me. It was (I guess) her own registry or maybe someone else's, and I immediately bent down to help pick up the papers on the floor for her. She looked relieved and thanked me. I can't remember exactly what she said but something like "I am overdue." and I smiled. I turned to walk away and ended up on the baby accessories aisle to make my way out and I caught my eye on a teething ring.

David had the same teething ring as a baby. For a moment I thought 'hey, weird! they carry the exact same teething ring as the one I bought (maybe here- even) 6 years ago.'

And then, I felt my face drain, I was hot, my heart started to pound, and I had the faint ringing in my ears. At that point, I saw S. and David with the cart, threw my items in, and made a bee-line to the bathroom.

S. didn't notice my mental state as I walked away. To be truthful, I attempted to hide it. I stood in a bathroom stall for a few minutes until I regained composure.

It was horrifying.

Since that day, I had another close call at a store (that sells high-end baby stuff) when I took David to buy a backpack for school. I knew I had a baby gift to buy as well (and heck I was already THERE), so I literally ran though the infant section expecting it might happen again. I didn't. But the person at the cash register was slow, and I almost just walked out because I was at the verge of overwhelmed (I could have fainted at any moment when I felt my heart pick up speed).

Can I tell you how this is so unlike me? I am a complete wreck.

I am so embarrassed to talk about it. Over this weekend, I just have come to the conclusion that Infertility has pissed on me again in the worst way possible.

I have many years of gifts (birthdays, Christmases, and otherwise) for babies in my future. My friends and family have children, and certainly they will have more.

I will have to walk into these stores many times in my life, for the rest of my life.

And now, I have this completely new, ridiculous phobia.

A blogging friend, Rebeccah, recently wrote about PTSD rearing its ugly head during her latest trip to the GYN. And Cecily wrote about an equally horrifying experience too.

The triggers are like landmines on a minefield. Always one step away from disaster.

You can't expect to live through so much loss and disappointment and be able to escape unscathed. There is no amount of compartmentalizing... no cure. Even beating the crap out of Infertility and experiencing success doesn't give you the ticket out of Hell. There is always that unlikely trigger, just around the corner... waiting.

Nothing guarantees your sanity. Not in a doctor's office, in a Tar.get, or even in the safety of your own home.

Infertility is the gift that keeps on giving.

I am convinced now that this is true.

Summer's End

Quite possibly the cutest kid on the planet.

Yes, I'm biased. And once in my life... I was really lucky.

How much?

I just can't seem to get my head together.

I'd blame it on the heat wave, but sitting in my air-conditioned home office I haven't spent much time outside to blame heat exhaustion (although I almost fell over weeding my flower beds yesterday).

I am working. Work is good. It completely removes all thoughts about bills, insurance, failure, and the fact that I am entering year five of infertility hell.

I know it's a sick thought, but if this last DE cycle tanked from end to end (and I had no frozen embryos) I could begin to move on. I would do so with lots of therapy and foot stomping, but I know I would at least.... move.

But the reality is that I spent thousands of dollars and mortgaged my home for this, and I can't just let the frosties sit there. I am afraid if I take a break I might give up.

See? I told you I was sick.

So, I haven't even paid the bills from last month, and now I am embarking on more. The bad news, no more sucky-but-covered-a-little-of-my-bills insurance. Everything is 100% on me from here on out, so I placed a call last week to the billing person at the clinic to send me a quote for an FET. Quickest response I ever got from a billing person. I had it in writing two days later in my mailbox.

Yowza.

Of course, it pales in comparison to the fresh cycle. But honestly, when you add the monitoring (minimal) and drugs (which I *thought* I could get covered, until I realized that I can only get anything paid that doesn't need authorization which is like such a small portion of the total amount) it isn't the cheapest venture in town.

And once again, I am soon to be back on a "calendar". This makes me angry and sad at the same time.

Curiously, I am not excited to start this at all. I am hoping to sleepwalk though this entire FET.

I know...

what the hell is wrong with me???

Luck, a Keg, and my date with the Devil Turtle

Here I am.

I don't know where to start... I do want to say thank you. Your comments and e-mails are appreciated. I know we are all such a supportive community, but hearing from all of you when I need it most means a lot. I wish I could give you all a hug.

I've been ok. I've progressed through the stages of grief at breakneck speed and made it out to the other side. And, by other side, I mean well enough to function as human again.

Sigh.

This cycle really hurt more than I expected. I thought that by kicking my old eggs to the curb that THIS surely would be my ticket to babydom. And nearly all my DE cycle buddies succeeded---- How could I fail?

And then, I was welcomed to the place I know well. The flip side of the statistics.

I should have known.

What have I been doing the last week? Doing all the things a rebellious infertile would do. I drank beer and wine. I (gasp!) haven't taken my vitamins. I bought a super-sized bag of pistachios and ate every last one. I watched movies. I tortured myself by going to a neighborhood party and made small talk with THREE pregnant women.

Ok, I lie. I ran for the keg just to get away from them.

But, hey... I socialized two days after that stupid beta. At least give me credit for that.

I cried a lot.

I got AF on Sunday and cried again.

I stole my son's Nintendo DS and played Super Mario Brothers non-stop. You know what's great about playing a video game? You don't have to think about anything but the game. My goal simply was to collect sparkly coins and beat the "old lady devil turtle" (that's David's description). A welcome respite.

And then, I got the call that the WTF appointment (yes, it means what you think for those of you who don't know) occurred at the RE's office. Two of my doctors and my DC sat down and talked about my recent failure. Hmmm, perfect lining, perfect eggs, perfect transfer.

Hmmmmmm..... HMMMMMM!

The verdict?

Come on now.... you already know.

BAD LUCK.

Oh my m-f-ing lord, could they please have told me ANYTHING other than that???

Like a stake in my heart.

Oh, and the BEST part! My insurance denied all my claims the clinic submitted thus far. So I spent today ripping them a new a-hole. I may have suck-ass insurance (far from 100% coverage), but they are supposed to cover TWO IVF attempts. 1+1=2! You. Morons.

Anyway, we move on.

Over the next week or two, I'm going to set up the FET. I am still pondering if I want to take a short break. I am also pondering that this FET is cash only since my insurance is dry. So- netting it out.... I'm pondering. You'll be the first to know.

Let's review my warped reality, shall we?

My DE cycle carried with it a 70% chance of it working (my clinic stats). That means I was in the unlucky 30%.

The success rate for an FET from a DE cycle is 34% (again, my clinic stats). That means I have a 66% chance that it won't work.

My dear husband (who I should say is usually NOT the optimistic one), reasoned it like this...

"If we were in the unlucky 30%, then this FET will be perfect since we have just as much chance to be in the lucky 34%!!"

!?!

I love you honey.

Well....

It didn't work.

Thank you all for sticking with me through this. For now, I am taking a break from blogging to let it sink in.

Life is quite unfair. I should be used to this by now, but I have to tell you this cuts deeper than any failure I've had thus far. To be on the bad side of statistics again... I just can't bear it.

Hope Floats

Hope and I... we've had a very twisted relationship.

I remember back to the days when I thought I would always be the lucky one. I never "hoped" for anything really... I just "expected".

In fact, if we are being brutally honest, when I look back on my life so far, I've had a bit of an easy ride. I took much for granted. And along the way, I was able to mow down any roadblock standing between me and any goal I set out to do.

Done and done. Everything had a fix.

I distinctly remember (after my 2nd miscarriage) having a total meltdown. How dare I be denied anything? Me? Are you kidding me??

I would shake my fist in the air and challenge the universe to stop me from succeeding.

[Picture Scarlett O'Hara... "As God is my witness... I will
never be (barren?) again!" Ok, I fudged the barren part.]

But you know what? The universe still kept on slinging sh!t at me.

Which made me even more angry. The anger spilled over into everything I touched.

And then, something changed.

I became a weepy, introspective vision of my former self. I took off the battle gear and laid down my weapon.

I gave up.

Or so I thought.

I started hoping instead of fighting. I lit candles and prayed. I begged. I bought countless boxes of tissues and cried more than I ever have in my life. I made plans and then "hoped" they would work. I never assumed anything ever again.

With S. we set a plan. Do this, then that. And if we fail, then this. And then if that doesn't work resort to Plan X,Y,Z. And then...

..and then?

So, seriously... when people outside of this blog hear my sob story of five miscarriages and failure... often they will comment about the strength I have to keep moving forward. And I hate that, because I don't see myself as strong. Resilient? maybe. Strong? far from it.

At the root of it, I've held on to Hope. It's been the ONLY THING that has gotten me from point A to point B. The only thread of consistency throughout all these years. And then it dawned on me...

Hope is strength in disguise. Just not as obvious.

So instead of wielding an ax ready to fight, I sit here at my desk holding onto Hope.

Even after everything...

6dp5dt

I bet you hurriedly clicked over to this post thinking...

"OMG, has she tested yet??"

and the answer is NO.

To further disappoint my readers/friends/family and Peeveme, I've made a decision to not buy any pee sticks at all. I'm not even tempted.

Really.

Many of you have been commenting here and in e-mail saying how "disciplined" I am, and let me tell you... far from it. The operative word is FEAR.

That's right folks, FEAR. I am too afraid to test. If you know my history, you might understand. Six pregnancies, five miscarriages. For me, a BFP is merely the first step in what I like to affectionately call the "Pregnancy Obstacle Course from Hell", fraught with roadblocks, betas that look great but NOT!, and ultrasounds that feel like walking The Green Mile (for my Stephen King fans).

Symptoms? Yep, the are still here. Saturday was kind of a lull, but yesterday and today they are back. The trifecta: Cramping, low back pain, sore boo.bs

Strangely, if I weren't on enough meds to choke a cow, I would say.. "Yep! This is it." However I do know that progesterone can mock every pg symptom in the book.

I miss the days when I could get pregnant on my own... at least I knew when I was pregnant even before I reached for the pee stick. Yes, it's the upside of being pregnant so many times. I know too much for my own damn good.

I will give you one nugget of info that weighs on my mind. The feelings and symptoms I have this time (as compared to the failed IVF attempt last summer) are completely different... even taking the meds into consideration. What it means? I don't know.

Take from it what you will.

For my blogging friends that DO test before beta day, I salute you. You are a brave bunch.

I am a wuss.