It was too good to be true

I should have known the happy excited feeling wasn't going to last. On Friday night, my friend K. came to tell me she'd spoken to senior guy to complain about me being offered the position of head of the Sarah team. She'd previously been asked to head this team, but she is at a different job level than me, and frankly has no clue on what needs to be done on a management level. It's not that she should - her job level is just not suitable for running a team like that, and the bosses should never even have considered setting up that team without someone in a job like mine in charge. It simply won't work with someone in her job running it. Anyway, she'd turned it down. And she was the reason I even knew about this team, because she told me. So I felt I should tell her what I'd done, and while I was talking to her she was all "oh, OK, yeah, fine".

Apparently she bitched to senior guy for ages. Then came to tell me off basically for trying to steal "her" job. I pointed out all the things that I could do that she hadn't thought of. I pointed out that her job and my job weren't mutually exclusive, and that we could both be "in charge" of our respective job functions. I pointed out that it wasn't set in stone and they were still working out details. I told her that I am miserable in my current role and this is my last ditch attempt to be happy at our employer. I told her that if she really wanted the job, and it really was a "her or me" situation, I would defer to whatever she and the bosses wanted, because I didn't care enough to fight her over it. And I pointed out that SHE'D ALREADY FUCKING TURNED IT DOWN.

Yesterday morning, I got an email from the big boss, cc'd to senior guy, forbidding me from discussing this team with anyone, especially my boss and K., and telling me that the details weren't worked out yet so it hasn't really been decided who will be doing what in this team. Which means he's really effing pissed at me for talking to K., and that probably I won't get to head this team up out of spite. I emailed back and promised not to discuss anything in the future with K., and then got an email back saying that "change, even positive and exciting change, can fray nerves". Yeah, right.

I had thought K. was my friend, but this is now the second time that she's gone off to discuss something I said, that she misinterpreted, without asking me first what I really meant. She's really landed me in the shit this time.

And I got a letter from Citizens insurance company, which is the FL state "insurer of last resort" that you have to get windstorm insurance from if no other company will give you hurricane coverage. They have got a change in the law, allowing them to drop people without homestead exemption on their property. Homestead exemption basically proves that it is your main home, and exempts you from certain property tax raises. But to get it you have to be a permanent resident of Florida, and my county excludes non-citizens from having it unless they have their green cards. So I don't qualify. And now I might lose my hurricane insurance, which means that living in my house will be impossible as the mortgage company requires it.

Sometimes it really feels as if the fates are lining up and pointing my way to a certain location, which in this instance seems as if it's back to England. Oh well, I guess I'll soldier on for a bit - got to get the IVF cycle done after all, but I really hope things improve soon otherwise I will be having a mammoth yard sale and shipping off. Anyone want to buy an entire house's worth of furniture?

Work weirdness

I haven't been posting as much lately as I used to, it seems, because there's been work weirdness going on. So, I feel I should bring the internet up to speed.

Well, where to start? A couple of things have not gone according to plan at work over the past few months - nothing major, just some niggling things that went wrong or didn't get done as quickly as they should have. In my defence, we've been overworked and short staffed, but I guess that's pretty normal! But I also have been spending too much time surfing and not enough time working. As a result of all this, the senior guy (the former big boss) started treating me like shit and made me feel miserable about coming in to work. My boss has, over the past year or so, tried to get me away from doing work for the senior guy, because he supposedly treats everyone like shit at some point, and it would be better for me if I didn't have to interract with him. It seems like the less I interracted with the senior guy, the more like shit I was treated. And I've been getting more and more miserable.

So I've been doing some navel gazing, and realized that in actual fact, I'm miserable because of the way my boss treats me, and because his work is pretty damn boring to have to do day in and day out. This is in addition to the way senior guy treated me, of course. And I just couldn't bear the thought of continuing along being bored, underperforming, being thought of as someone who made mistakes and generally being miserable. I thought I'd have to move back to the UK because I couldn't take it any more (I can't move elsewhere in the US until my green card comes through, which could be several more years at this rate). I thought I was done here.

I have also heard over the last few weeks that the big boss and the senior guy were cooking up a scheme to create a new team of people to handle some work. I would be so perfect to head this team, so let's just call it "the Sarah team" and be done with it. It has my name written all over it. Everyone else in the office who I've talked to about this has said that they didn't understand why I was not being considered for this team. But they were talking to other people about being on this team, and even about having people lower than me head the team when it's quite clear that the lower people don't have the ability to stand up to the higher-ups about some of the things that will need to be done, or the knowledge of how to do things. I was getting pretty pissed at this, and figured it was because the senior guy was so pissed at me that I was getting shut out.

Well, yesterday, I decided to do something about it. I went to talk to the big boss about me heading up the team. I explained how I was the logical choice, how it would make me less miserable, how I could work harder because I would be more motivated, how I could really whip this stuff into shape. How I could work less with my boss, because he's really irritating me, and that would make me happier. And he agreed that I was the logical choice, but that the senior guy had some issues with me, and that he wasn't sure if senior guy would go for it. And even though he is big boss now, as senior guy was formerly the big boss he still defers to him on many things. Greeeat, I thought. Now I'm really screwed. I'm going to have to leave because I cannot stand these people any more and their ineffectual non-management and self-serving crap that they pull constantly. I'm going to have to get a job in London and live in a shoebox-sized flat. I spent all last night just feeling so awful about the end of my US dream. The end of Florida. The end of my kids being US citizens. Failing at life. All of that.

This morning, senior guy came into my office and closed my door. He said he was thrilled that I wanted to head up the Sarah team, and thought it would really be a great opportunity. He said that while there had been some issues, he thought most of them were due to my boss who has been acting really weirdly, and that I would benefit greatly by not having to run so many things through my boss. We made up. He smiled. I didn't feel like a piece of shit any more. I also spoke to the big boss, who confirmed that they'd like me to head up this team. That I would be perfect, and that I could really make a go of it, and make it my niche. That I could really get out on my own and manage the team and be on a higher level from where I am now. It'll be a slow start though, as they're not going to switch everything all at once, but can I just say that I am amazed. Clearly, in this place you have to be pro-active, but I just didn't realize how pro-active you have to be to get what you need, as they would totally have bypassed me if I hadn't spoken up, yet now they're going to put me in charge of this team.

So I may not have to go back after all. :)

IVF #4 cleared for take-off

Well, I just forked over nearly $10.5k to the IVF clinic. What fun! They raised the price by nearly a grand. So happy about that. Not.

But essentially the appointment went well, although I was so late coming in to work that a friend who thought I was bicycling in was ready to start calling the hospitals to see if I'd been hit by a car on my way in. The dildocam did not reveal any cysts, I got my cycle instructions sheet, and I'm to call later today for my FSH and E2 results and to be told the dates for taking all the meds.
I had a moment of heartbreak when I looked at the ultrasound screen before they started on me, and it showed a beautiful perfect little fetus there. With my name at the top. Y'see the machine leaves the last picture taken up on screen until it is started up again, even after the nurse has already inputted the next patient's details. [And let me say, thank gawd I knew the u/s machines did that, so it didn't surprise me.] But there it was, someone else's little fetus with it's yolk sac, hanging out, waiting to be wiped off by a picture of my right ovary. In the spirit of positive thinking though, I decided not to get sad over it or let it freak me out, but instead try to hold onto hope that it was a good omen for this cycle.

It seems somewhat surreal that I'm doing this all over again. That I just parted with an enormous amount of money without flinching, because it all seems so normal. That the nurses know me by sight. That I'm one of the old hands with the fat files that they actually care about getting pregnant now. That I just waltz in and start another IVF cycle like I was getting my hair cut. There's none of the nerves and angst this time (yet) because, well, by your fourth go-around there aren't really any surprises left. All I can say is that it better fucking work this time, otherwise I might seriously lose it.

ETA: FSH = 5.5 and E2 = 36.8, so I am good to go. However, they don't want me to start taking BCPs until Monday, which will be cycle day 6. It looks like they're trying to avoid egg retrieval on Thanksgiving. While I wouldn't have wanted ER actually ON Thanksgiving, it wouldn't have been bad if it had been the day afterwards or something. But anyway, it looks like it'll be the last week in November for me, with possible transfer at the beginning of December.

I did it!!

I cycled in to work! I have to admit, though, I am a lot more sweaty than I would like. I brought in wet wipes, deodorant and perfume, and swabbed myself down when I got here, before changing into my work clothes. I felt a bit stupid coming into the building in shorts, but hey. But I'm still sweating, because my body temperature is still raised. I hope I don't get stinky, because that could put a real damper on my "get fit and save money" plans. Hopefully as the weather gets cooler and I get fitter I'll sweat less. Hopefully.

But I did it! That's the main thing! Phew! And I feel so gooood.

No sign of the crimson tide yet today, so I'm wondering if it's going to arrive tomorrow. Which would be better as far as the money is concerned, because I need to clear my credit card before putting the IVF fee on it, and the cash is somewhere in the ether between my savings and my checking account. An extra day would help it clear first.

Ramblings

Not much to say today, though I'm happy to report that yesterday I managed to bike into work and back, and my legs don't even hurt much today. So, I'm going to try it "for real" tomorrow. Yikes!

I haven't got up the courage to call to cancel the maid service yet - I think I'll wait until they've been for their next planned visit on Wednesday, and then cancel. I'm so scared that I can actually do this - I have never been good at housekeeping!! But I keep thinking of the money. Money is tight at the moment because of the next IVF coming up, the Sweden trip, the new bike and all that. So, I need a little relief somewhere! I hope my expense check for the Sweden trip comes through soon.

I'm hoping that tomorrow will be CD1, so that I'll be starting up the grand experiment that is IVF#4. Erk. I'm not ready! No, really I am, it's just been nice having a break and not worrying about being the perfect picture of health. But that means that it'll be back to regularly scheduled ovary-gazing shortly.

The life re-start, part 452

Over the last few weeks, while at Clear Passage and in Sweden, I have read some interesting books. Sure, some of them were novels, but some were not. In particular, I have been thinking a lot about “Better Off” by Eric Brende, and “Nickel and Dimed” by Barbara Ehrenreich. “Better Off” is a memoir of the time that Brende and his wife spent a year living among Amish-like people as an experiment for his MIT thesis, to see if we are really better off with all our modern technology or not. And Nickel and Dimed is about the time that Ehrenreich lived doing various minimum wage jobs to see if she could get by.

As a back story, let me just say that I suppose I live a mostly typical American existence. I mean, I have a well-paying job. I spend too many hours a day at work. I have put on weight since moving here from the UK, and my middle continues to spread. I don’t do enough exercise. All that is typical, yes. But I am dissatisfied. I wish I could work less, have a more fulfilling lifestyle, be skinny. Again, all pretty typical. But I feel that I am a little different from my US friends in that I definitely worry about the environment, I drive a hybrid car, I turn the thermostat on my a/c as high as I can take it. I try to save energy. I worry about too much pharmaceutical use, about processed food. In other words, I am a bit crunchy.

But I seem to have spent so much of my life thinking that “it’ll be better when…” Usually, the “when” is after I’ve moved house again, or moved jobs, or when I’ve lost weight. You name it, I think it. I have this vague dream of living in a little urban enclave, with a small garden in which I grow vegetables, where I can walk to my local health food store, bistro or deli, bike to work and generally be all smug and crunchy. In fact, I picked my current house partly because there was a health food store two blocks away. However, after I had finalized the offer on the house and was waiting for closing day, the ceiling of the health food store caved in, and they decided to close. For good. Really, in walking distance there’s Winn Dixie and not much else. So, I have been living a typical American life, and bemoaning the fact that I don’t live in a better part of the world. And doing nothing about it.

But the books I have been reading lately have made me think. You know, I only live 5 miles from work, which should be easily bike-able. OK, I live in Florida, maybe I can’t bike in the summer, but I should be able to manage it for at least 6 months of the year. And, it will actually buy me time. That was the startling realization I had. I get up early and walk for 3 miles every day, which takes about 50 mins – 1 hour, depending on how fast I go. I am usually pretty slow. Then my commute to work takes about 15 mins in the car. So, say I bike and it takes 25-30 mins to get to work. I spend an hour tops getting to work and back, get much better exercise than before, and don’t pollute the planet or spend money on gas. And I gain 25-30 minutes per day because I don’t have to walk. Every day - an extra half hour to do with what I want.

Equally, I spend money every month having a maid service clean my house. I am perpetuating the low wage economy by not directly hiring someone to clean my house, and what’s worse is that the cleaning companies care more that the house appears to be clean than it actually is. If I start cleaning the house again myself, I save nearly $200 per month, and get exercise in doing the cleaning. Likewise, I spend $150 per month having someone do the yard work. I could do it myself. The secret is in thinking that yard work or cleaning are not terrible chores that should be avoided at all costs. It is in thinking that, hey, I am taking care of my surroundings in a caring manner by not using nasty cleaning products or pesticides, I am getting exercise out in the fresh air and at home so I don’t have to join a gym or do other exercise, and I am not wasting my time watching inane TV shows. And, perhaps more importantly, that I am living a more genuine life because I am taking back responsibility for it all. I am not paying people to do things that I could do myself, so therefore I don’t have to work extra hours to pay for it. Maybe at some point this can translate into working less, you never know. Now, I’m not saying that I’m going to put all this into action immediately. And in fact, since I got home from Sweden the house has already degenerated into a mess, so I have a long way to go before becoming a happy house proud cleaning person. But I’m going to try. I’m going to try to live my somewhat urban life. OK, there’s no deli or health food store that is easily accessible, but it doesn’t stop me walking or biking to Winn Dixie to pick up a basket of food. I can bike to work, and maybe be an example to others that it IS possible. And maybe if more people do it, eventually some nice stores will open in the neighborhood and it’ll be the place I imagine that I want to live.

So, today I bought a new bike to cycle to work on, and I’m going to do a test run tomorrow. Then the plan is to bike Tuesday and Thursday next week, building up to every day the following week. And cancel the cleaning service. Man, I hope I can do this and it won’t just be some harebrained scheme that I tried and failed.

Drizzly Paris

I got up at the ungodly hour of 3.30 am this morning (which was of course 9.30 pm back in the good ole U.S.).  All in honor of the ridiculously early flight to Paris. And now I'm here, and it is all just as chaotic and crazy at Charles de Gaulle airport as it was coming the other way. There was nearly a fight at passport control between competing groups of American passengers who were all late for the Washington DC flight, and were all trying to jump the queue. While muttering loudly at the fact that the seperate line for EU passport holders was getting processed much more speedily. But they should realize that they'll have their revenge while we Europeans are held up for far far longer at the US passport control.

Anyway, I had a lot of fun on Tuesday night. Our reception was the best of the conference, even if I do say so myself. And it isn't just me that thinks that, as a lot of people told me so. The secret is a free open bar, a DJ and a late hour. I made sure that I was drinking champagne in order to screw the company out of as much money as possible. Har har.

I've been called gorgeous and a babe by two seperate men in the last day, which is always a nice confidence boost, and NEVER happens in the States. OK, both the guys are very married and old pals who I have known for over 10 years, but never mind that. The fact was that I felt appreciated. Have to say though, that Bare Minerals foundation is my new best friend. And may have contributed to the spontaneous expressions of my gorgeousness. I'm sure the un-made up pallid vision that has been greeting me in the morning, thanks to having consumed several gallons of booze with very little sleep, wouldn't have inspired people quite so much.

No action, though, which is as I expected. C'est la vie.
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Sent from my BlackBerry Wireless Handheld

Still alive!

I'm happy to report that I resisted the siren call of schnapps yesterday, so did not end up with any mental blackouts. It's a bit sad though, when people you were drinking with the night before (and of course I have no memory of the lengthy conversations I apparently had with these people) greet you with a shout of "you're alive!!" I managed to stick to white wine last night, which I don't like as much as other forms of alcohol so am able to sip it in a socially acceptable manner. However, I have now got blisters on the soles of my feet, which is not good. I had to stand all freakin' night, walked from reception to reception, and it just became agony by the end of the day. Oh well. At least the blisters forced me to call it a (relatively) early night, as I got back to my hotel room at 11.30.

I guess I should be reporting something about Sweden. Well, it's very nice. Pretty mild temperatures, pretty buildings, nicely laid out city. All that good stuff. Absolutely freakin' full of women with strollers, prams and large pregnant bellies. I guess when you have a nice long maternity leave, what else are you going to do but stroll around town parading your good fortune?

The Swedish language is remarkably foreign to listen to, but oddly it is relatively easy to tease out some information when you look at it in print. For example, "värm äppelkaka med vaniljsas" (with a little circle above that last a, but I can't find that on the keyboard) turns out to be the pretty easy to understand "warm apple cake with vanilla sauce". Of course, I guess "vanilla sauce" is probably custard, but hey, you can get the gist of it. And, as a vegetarian, thank god for the Italians - "grillad focaccia med mozarrella, tomaten och basilikum" is also pretty easy to get. Apologies for Swedish spelling mistakes there - I'm going off memory so I'm a bit hazy on some of it. More complicated stuff is way over my head though. But everyone speaks English, so it's not too difficult to get by. There're also a lot of English shows on TV, which are shown with Swedish subtitles, so I've managed to catch up with The Amazing Race, and some old episodes of Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman. Ahhh, yeah, well, beggars can't be choosers, as my grandmother always used to say.

All in all, I wouldn't even mind coming back on vacation one day. But not with the assholes who are here from my company. Team spirit is sadly lacking - not that that surprises me, but I'd hoped for better.

At the czber cafe

This post is being brought to you by the letter z, and the conference cyber cafe. The blackberry isn't working, so here I am surrounded by people diligently checking their work email and generally being productive members of society. And did you know that on Swedish keyboards, the letters y and z are swapped from their positions on US keyboards, and the punctuation marks are all in the wrong place? Or, as this first came out...did zou know that on Swedish kezboards, the letters z and y are swapped from their positions on US kezboards. And if I trz to do an apostrophe, I get this: à.

So, Air France sucks ass. The seat was chronically uncomfortable, they didn't honor my seat request made when I booked, and I had quite possibly the worst airline meal I have ever had in my life. I mean, you expect the French not to be able to comprehend vegetarianism, so I wasn't expecting much, but my entrée consisted of over-boiled vegetables and white rice. Not a bit of flavoring or protein to be seen. At least the rice pudding had 4g of protein, and the teeny portion of camembert must have had some too, but honestly, it was baaad. They don't even bother to serve water during the flight, instead leaving bottles out in the galley for you to help yourself from. Which is easier said than done when you're stuck in a middle seat and have to climb over someone to get out. The yogurt that came with breakfast tasted like chemically processed goop. Then, at Charles de Gaulle airport they had the plane taxiing for so long and so far, that I figured they must be parking us at Orly aiport. Or possibly somewhere in Belgium. We had to take a bus all the way back to the most confusing airport terminal I have ever been in (and I've flown to/from weird places, such as Vladivostock and Bandar Seri Begawan, so trust me when I say it was bad). Then there was another bus ride out to the flight to Gothenburg. Hey guys, why not think about parking the planes AT the terminal? It might make life a bit easier. At least the snack served on that flight was palatable, having presumably been made in Paris, and not in Miami. Of course, when I arrived in Gothenburg, my luggage was nowhere to be seen. It seems to be a regular occurence, as it happened to 5 people on my flight, and when it arrived at my hotel later in the day, there were at least 3 bags that arrived with it. It's not so good to hang around in your dirty clothes for most of the day after an overnight flight. Mmmm, stinky!

I have to report, though, internet, that even with all those annoyances, Saturday was a lot better than Sunday. Yesterday was not my finest hour, people. I had 4 receptions to go to, but I got so steaming drunk at the first one, that I didn't make it to the other three. There was schnapps involved. Schnapps + Sarah don't mix. I fell down some steps going into a bar with some other reprobates who were getting boozed up at the reception. The BRUNCH reception that was from 12.30 to 2.00. You'd think that falling on the way IN to a bar would have alerted me to the fact that I'd consumed way too much alcohol already, but apparently not. But I'm not sure how much more I drank because the rest of the day is pretty much a complete blank. I have a brief memory in the bar of realizing that I could no longer speak coherently. I also have a brief memory of panicking on the streets of Gothenburg because I didn't know where I was. I have a brief memory of struggling mightily to open my bottle of Aleve back in my room. And then I woke up. In bed. At 10pm. Lord knows what the good people of Sweden thought of me staggering back to my hotel room at 4pm (or whenever it was) blind drunk. Thankfully, I appear not to have been mugged or raped, but my left ankle is fucked, and I have bruises all up and down both legs. Nice. Didn't manage to meet up with anyone else from my company who is here, but then I was expecting to see them at the receptions last night. That I was passed out for.

Hopefully tonight I will be more restrained. At least I only have two receptions to go to tonight, and they don't start until 6.30, so no lunchtime drinking required. I'm sure it's not exactly good for fertility to pickle my liver like this, but oh well. There'll be no more drinking after I get back home prior to the next IVF cycle. Or czcle as the keyboard wants me to say.

Quick update on the embryo stuff

I spoke to the director of the embryology lab at my clinic. [And I now have her direct dial # - ha, that was a mistake on her part!] She was very nice, and agreed with me that the embryo storage place's policies were discriminatory, and said she'd be upset too if there was basically no option other than disposal or donation under their conditions. She said that for married couples, they use the health information from the IVF cycles for donation purposes, and that as they have that for me, and can get the donor's health questionnaire, she didn't see how that was any less information than they have on married patients, so the extra hoops they want me to jump through seem unfair. She also said that it was the first she'd heard of this issue, and she'd look into it for me. So, I heart her! However, she said that unfortunately this embryo storage place is the only one in the area, so unless I wanted to FedEx the embryo to an out-of-state place, she didn't know what to do. She did suggest that I contact the sperm bank to ask about their consent policies, to see if maybe I can attach a consent policy to the form to show that the sperm donor has no say over what happens to the embryos, and hand write on the form that I want to donate the embryo(s) to research in the event of my death. So that's what I'm going to do.

In the meantime, she assured me that they still had the embryo, and would keep it until I can get this stuff sorted out, which was nice of her. Phew!

And I spoke to a nurse, who told me that all my immunology and clotting test results were back, and they were all...normal! Which is good in that there's nothing wrong, but bad in that it means the RE was right and it's probably all just due to my age. Hey, well, I am at least grateful that there will be no shots of heparin or lovenox to be doing during the pregnancy. I just have to find that golden egg!

Sweden a go-go

Well folks, I'm shortly going to be off traveling again. Oh, the fancy schmancy jet setting life that I lead! Not really, of course, it's just coincidence that I've had two trips in three weeks.

As usual, I'm woefully unprepared for the fact that I'm taking a transatlantic flight tomorrow. Although, somewhat surprisingly, I'm not as shockingly unprepared as I normally am. Y'see, I'm ahead of the game in that I've already done all my laundry. Which is a big thing for me, as I can't tell you the number of times that I have done the 5am frantic laundry load thing on the day that I am leaving on a trip. Complete with ironing various clothes dry and/or packing them damp. And I've already planned out the outfits I'll be wearing to each event, though haven't quite figured out the "screw the conference, I'm going off sightseeing" clothes. Because I fully intend not to attend any of the boring sessions, but just the parties.

I don't know yet what suitcase I am taking, because I don't know which one my clothes will fit into. Probably it'll end up being the one that I have to check because it is too big to be cabin baggage, but if I can somehow squeeze everything into my small suitcase, then I'll have the dilemma of whether I can limit all fluids to 3oz sizes or less, AND cram them into a quart-sized ziploc bag, or whether to just say "to hell with it" and check the damn thing. I think I can stay within the latest liquid rules, though it will involve relying on the hotel hair conditioner, or buying some in Sweden. Which could mean that I end up being a frizzy haired nightmare for the duration of the conference, but hey, it's a small price to pay for not waiting around for baggage.

I also finally got the word that my employer is going to pay for me to attend this thing. Well, they'll pay for the flight, hotel and conference fee but no expenses, but that's OK by me, because I know that I can probably live extremely cheaply when I'm there by stealing breakfast items from the hotel to have for lunch and wolfing down hors d'oevres by the pound at the evening receptions. Oh, and walking everywhere. Haha, and I always thought that business trips involved lots of lovely expensive meals, but sadly, between various employers I have learned the art of minimal expenditure business travel. Of course, it took the throwing of a medium-sized tantrum on my part, and me informing them in no uncertain words that they needn't expect me to attend any more effing conferences for them, for them to actually sit up and take notice, but they finally got their act together and came through with approval for the money. So, that'll be a bit of extra cash for the IVF fee, seeing as I already paid for the flight and conference fee so getting that back will be a bonus.

Anyway, my Blackberry may or may not work while I'm over the other side of the pond, so I might post some updates. The nice lady at Cingular said it will be fully functional, but then she said that last time I went to Europe and it was completely dead the entire time. The wonders of modern technology!

In embryo news, I decided that I couldn't just sign the "single client depositor" form for the embryo storage place. I just can't. I can't sign my approval to the destruction of my embryo when I know that there are different rules for other people. So, we'll see what happens with the little guy. I expect that I shall be arguing with them for some time to come.

The squish

I have spent some time lately squishing my belly. It's kind of fun. I was a little bit too sore earlier to investigate what had happened since the therapy but I have been making more and more squishing forays over the last day or two.

Y'see, I used to have this somewhat hard area. It was front and center, below my belly button, and just above my pubes. I figured that maybe it was my uterus. Or sometimes I wondered if it wasn't my bladder, especially when I really needed to pee. It seemed like I'd notice it a lot more during the two week wait after an insemination or an IVF. I only really remember it being there after my laproscopic surgery, and I remembered that my RE had talked about moving my retroverted uterus forward. So, I hoped that my uterus was now in the proper place, and that that's what I could feel. I'd rub it and feel smug that my embryos were settling in for a long wait. I'd talk to my embryos, nay, I'd croon to my embryos. I'd tell them to snuggle in tight. I'd visualize them finding a comfy home in my lovely welcoming uterus. All the while rubbing and hoping. Rubbing and hoping.

Well, it's gone. The old hard area. Gone completely. It's now an entirely squishy belly. Because it was actually scar tissue that the Clear Passages people worked on, and apparently managed to remove. Where once was hardness is now soft squishiness.

Yes, folks, I've been rubbing and crooning to a lumpy old patch of scar. No wonder my poor embryos were confused about what the fuck they should be doing.

The next age cometh

I wonder, does it say something about my life that my dad has called three times this weekend, leaving ever more frantic messages, to find out if I would pay for something that one of my step-brothers* is trying to get from ebay, because the seller won't accept international checks or money orders. And at the end of the phone call, when I asked my step-mother if my dad had anything to say to me about [a specific day in the next, uh, two days or so], there was frantic wispering going on, followed by a loud "oh yeah" from dad, who then came on the line again to wish me a happy birthday. Before proceeding to get my age wrong by reminding me that the big four-oh was next year. Um, no, it isn't. Thanks dad. I guess out of sight really is out of mind!

*yes, I have two step-brothers. But I don't usually mention them because, well, I've only met one of them once. Not that I can remember which one of them it was that I actually met, because it was only for an hour or so. And my dad and my step-mother have been involved for about 20 years. Yup.

So, ahem, anyway, I have been resting and healing from the Clear Passage onslaught, and everything seems to be going well. Although it took me an hour to do the exercises I am supposed to do every day, not counting the million or so Kegels I need to fit in somehow, so I need to speed that up somehow. I was probably not properly counting the thirty seconds I am supposed to hold stretches for, as I was trying to watch TV at the time. Clearly I am losing the ability to multitask. I guess it's an age thing.

The Gainesville Report, Part 3

I'm baaaack! Home safe with my kitty and my buggy car.

So, it's time to update you all on my adventures, and I'll try to answer some of the questions - sorry, couldn't check comments while I was away. But first (and most importantly!) let me just say that meeting Calliope was fabulous! She is one cool chick (as I always knew she'd be). And just as gorgeous in real life as she is in photos, and we all know she's pretty darn photogenic, so that's a lot to live up to. I had a blast meeting her, and hope that we'll be able to get together again soon. It's just so heart warming to finally meet someone that you've connected to, and to have so much in common. And yes, she's a dork for worrying if I'd like her. Duh! I was worried that there were so many cooler people in her internet fan club than me that I'd just seem very ho hum and boring. But hey, we talked about sperm and vaginas and RE's and IVFs and internet friends, so no worries about running out of things to discuss!

OK, so back to Gainesville. The clinic is set up kind of like a doctor's office, but with more "homey" touches so it doesn't have as much of a clinical feeling. There are 5 treatment rooms, with a fancy massage type bed, supplies and of course, tinkly music. You strip to your bra and knickers (or panties if I'm being American), and put on a robe. There is also a paper gown to wear if you want to, but I found it hot, crinkly and sweaty, so I stuck with the robe. Each patient also has a blankie - the blankie and robe are yours for the week, which they put in a big plastic bag with your name on after every session. When the therapist is working on you, they usually have you lying on your back, with the robe open at the waist, and they put a towel over your knickers for a bit more coverage. You can have the blankie on you too, if you want. Mine was usually over my toes which got a bit chilly.

Every day they worked on my abdomen. They would palpate it and move it around to find stuck spots, then would dig their fingers in and hold it. The first couple of days, it would feel like the skin was tearing when they were doing that. After that, it felt like a hot poker. I started thinking of it as the house of pain at those moments. But after it got really really hot, it would release and go back to normal. Then they would let go and palpate again, and you could totally tell that the restriction was either gone or completely lessened. I thought several times of asking them to stop, but usually just said "ah-ah-ah" like I'd put my hand on a hot stove or a pathetic "it buuuurns" and we kept going after they checked if I was OK. They also worked on my head, neck, jaw and thighs. I found the worst points to be my left hip flexor which hurt like a mo'fo', and this morning as they were working on it I had a memory pop up of falling down a metal slide as a kid and landing badly, and my jaw on the right, where I got an overwhelming feeling of sadness and ended up bawling my eyes out as they touched a sore spot. They say you can store memories of trauma in your tissues, which I totally believe. Didn't find out what was causing the jaw issue, but it may come up later I guess.

I had four therapists working on me over the course of the week - 3 women and a man. The man did 2 out of the 20 total hours, one woman did 4, the others more. At first I was worried about having different people see my flab, but it was actually good because each therapist was a little different in technique and personality so I felt like I was getting the best out of each of them.

And I got an internal session every day too. It usually lasted about 10-15 minutes out of the 4 hours total treatment I got every day. They'd have me take my knickers off, and while I was draped in a towel, they would glove up and stick their hand up my va-jay-jay. Usually lying on my back, though I did have to get in some pretty weird positions. Again, they'd find a stuck spot and push on it, until it "gave". Sometimes this hurt a lot, sometimes not. It was actually fine most of the time, except when they were moving my cervix to make my uterus move, which felt pretty damn odd. On Thursday, I got the internal treatment in the other area. Yes, a man stuck his finger up my arse. But apart from the unpleasant feeling of his finger when it first went in, and when he took it out, the actual treatment up there didn't hurt. He was pulling on two ligaments to move my tailbone. I think the thought of it was worse than actually going through it, but I definitely won't be volunteering for it again any time soon.

So, I'm sad that the week is over. Not that I like pain, but they were so nice and caring, and it gave me so much hope. It was a profound experience in so many ways, and I didn't want that to end. But also because I feel that there are still areas of my body that are stuck and restricted that I'd like more work done on, even though they said some of it will continue to heal based on this week's work. However, in my discharge evaluation, the therapist was able to move my cervix all around without pain, my uterus is much more mobile, my legs are the same length (one had actually shortened by an inch or two because the muscles were so tight) and I can open my jaw without pain. She measured me bending through different angles, and as an example, when she had me lean backwards, I could bend my spine back 10 degrees more than on Monday morning. 10 degrees! Just from loosening the muscles, tendons and ligaments.

Pretty remarkable stuff. I highly recommend it to anyone with adhesions, blocked tubes or other tightness, and a high pain tolerance. And five grand (though hopefully insurance will reimburse some of it). And a BMI less than 36. And a willingness to believe that it works.

In other words, it was a fucking fabulous week.

The pissed off report

I finally took time out of my busy schedule of being poked and prodded to call the embryo storage place. I asked them why the "single client depositor" form didn't let me donate embryos to scientific research in the event of my death. They told me it was because the sperm donor had not consented to the embryos being used for stem cell research.

Puh-lease. How ridiculous is that?  First of all, not all of the research is stem cell  research. Some of it is plain old IVF research. Second, I thought the point of using frozen sperm was so that I had 100 percent legal control over it. The sperm donor consented to the use of his sperm. The fact that he may or may not have consented to research should be completely irrelevant.  Third, I'm sure anybody, fundamentalist Christian or not, would rather the embryos were used for research if the only other alternative was the trash.  Well no, I'm sure they would want me to jump through all the donation hoops now in case I snuff it. Well, ignoring the fact that they would have preferred me not to conceive out of wedlock, of course.  But say I die tomorrow, before I get the donation paperwork done, there's an embryo there - would anyone honestly object to using it for research in preference to disposing of it?  I'm going to have to complain to my RE about this.

In happier news, today I get to meet Calliope. I bet you're all jealous of me!  So I'll tell her all about the Clear Passage stuff, and maybe I'll tell you guys more about it tomorrow. Today's interesting maneuver - having to sit on my heels in a kneeling position with a therapist's hand up my hoo-ha pushing on my cervix to move my uterus forward. Fun, fun, fun!
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The Gainesville Report, part 2

I really wasn't going to post today. I thought a nice little holiday from blogging would be cool. And here I am. Because, well, wow.

I don't know about other infertiles, but since reading Julia Indichova's book, Inconceivable, I've been waiting for that "aha" moment. The "so this is why I had to go through infertility" moment. Julia thought that her child was waiting for her to get healthy before conceiving. Me, I feel like I've tried everything, without success. Other women have amazing success with acupuncture, giving up coffee or alcohol, drinking concoctions of wheatgrass, doing yoga, whatever. I've tried it all, it seems and was getting nowhere.

And then I came here. Today has been painful physically. They have been freeing up areas of my body that have been tight for decades. Trust me, it tears and burns and stings when someone is forcing your fascia to stretch. But then I had this realization. I couldn't have gotten pregnant in that state. I would have been a mess. How would my body have coped with the rigors of pregnancy, with all that stretching and moving of organs?  All that extra weight and need for bloodflow.  Not to mention the potential for it to inflict more chronic pain and body changes on me. So then I had the "oh, I would never have done this therapy and been able to heal from these adhesions and restrictions without infertility" realization. I felt that something good had finally come out of it for me. And not only will this help me get pregnant (I hope), it will enable me to live in less pain for years to come (I hope).

I feel like this is what I was meant to do. And that is an awesome and humbling feeling that I'm profoundly grateful for. Even if I'm sore and tired right now.
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The Gainesville report, part 1

The drive to Gainesville was long and buggy.  I stopped at a service plaza and almost didn't recognize the car, it was so splattered with these big black mating bugs. They're everywhere up here - silly me thought north Florida would be less buggy than south Florida not MORE buggy!

Anyway, so far so good at Clear Passage. They are very nice and caring.    

The first 2 hour session was mostly taken up with my evaluation, although we did a little bit of treatment. It was so interesting. The therapist took one look at me standing in my underwear and said my belly button was pulled to one side. And it was!  She showed me in the mirror. I had never noticed before. I had lots of other asymmetries - I could tell as she was testing me. The right side of my abdomen is all tight (which is consistent with all the adhesions found in my surgery) and it is pulling on the left side. My legs are out of whack, I have a lot of neck, shoulder and jaw tightness, and my core and pelvis floor muscles are weak. She did an internal assessment vaginally, and again there was a lot of tightness and asymmetry.

Then she did a treatment while she had her hand up there. It honestly wasn't too bad. It felt like she was just pushing on a spot and holding it there. But when I said "so basically you just push on a spot and hold it?" she laughed. She was like, so my technique that I have carefully refined over 25 years has been boiled down to that?  And actually she did just push for a moment to demonstrate, and it felt totally different. So really, I have no idea what they do. 

The second 2 hour session this afternoon was more painful. It was with 2 different therapists. One concentrated on my right leg and abdomen, which were both sore and tight. The other did more abdomen work and some craniosacral therapy on my head and neck. But its a good pain because I know this is helping.

Its amazing how bunched up my muscles and organs are. I'm so glad I'm doing this so that I can have hope that my organs will be freed up so they can have good blood flow and work as they are supposed to!

OK, time for my prescribed Epsom salts bath. Then bed, because I am WIPED OUT.

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Boiling over the freezer people

OK, now I'm fuming mad.

I got a call on Thursday from the long term embryo storage place that my RE uses, saying my frozen embryo had been transferred to them, but as I was a single person I needed to fill in a different form from the one I signed when I started the IVFs.

Yes, I have a frozen embryo and am still doing fresh cycles. But my RE doesn't give good odds for having anything to transfer if we do a frozen cycle with just one embryo, because they don't always survive the thaw. And we both decided that it was best to keep trying with the fresh cycles while my eggs are under 40, in case I get lucky and end up with another frozen embryo that would give me a better chance later for a sibling. If we ever succeed at getting me pregnant with #1, that is!

First of all, I'm pretty annoyed that the embryo has been transferred without advanced notice, but I guess it was created in my April cycle so it's coming up to 6 months old and I probably signed some sort of agreement to that. Of course, they want a $400 annual fee for storing the embryo, which is payable NOW. And the amount is the same whether I have one lonely little frostie as I have, or 15.

But what is really ticking me off is the consent form for a "single client depositor" arrived in the mail today. It is totally different from the form for a couple. It has to be notarized for a start, which is pretty fucking annoying. Then, it says that to release the embryos back to my RE for placement into me, I have to have another fucking notarized form and I have to complete serology/virology tests required by the company. WTF? This is my embryo, I had to have HIV tests done before creating it, as did the sperm donor, my RE requires me to have annual HIV tests to keep on their books, and now another company can decide to make me have yet more fucking tests at their discretion to put my HIV-free embryo into my proven HIV-free body. Grrrr. Hopefully they'd take the RE's requirement as good enough, but what if they don't?

However, the worst thing is that there's now no option for donating the embryo to scientific research in the event of my death, or at my choosing. So, if I was in a couple my embryo would be worthy of research, but as I'm single it's the fucking trash for it or nothing? Actually, I lie here, there is an option for embryo donation, but there are so many hoops to jump through, including that me (magically prior to my death) and the donor both have to have gone through the company's required serology/virology tests too, in addition to completing medical histories and screening requested by the company, and the company, in its sole discretion, determines that the applicable standards for donation have been met. Yeah, like that is at all possible. I guess if they decide that the sperm donor's history is not good enough, that's the end of that, because there's no chance of contacting him for more info now, is there? Oh, and it looks like they choose the donor agency/recipient, so I'm not sure how I'd give them to a friend or family member if that was what I wanted to do.

It just seems unfair. I mean, probably none of this matters in the long run. I can't see me having any more than 2 or 3 frozen embryos in total, even if the next cycle is an amazing success. I have always figured I will do a frozen cycle at some point to use my little frostie(s), even if I end up with twins from my next cycle. [Hey, a girl can dream, right?] So if everything goes according to plan, I won't die, and there won't be leftovers that I will be agonizing about when my family is complete. But still, I want to be able to direct where my frozen offspring will end up. I don't want it/them just trashed, even if I'm dead. What an unnecessary waste that would be, when it/they could potentially help in some small way if it/they were used for research. And I'm sorry, but I don't want them to be donated to an agency. If they get donated at all, I want to have some control over that too - like I want to be able to specify that they go to a friend or family member, or a fellow SMC, or a lesbian or gay couple, or pretty much to anyone other than organizations like Snowflakes and their "religious" agenda.

Procrastination

So, what do you do when it's 6.30pm on a Friday night, you've got another 20-30 hours of work to get through before you go on vacation on Sunday afternoon, and your Saturday is already booked up?

You go home and drink wine, is what you do. Fuck it all. Why should I torture myself when it's not all going to get done anyway. I'll get some of it done on Saturday night and Sunday morning, and the rest can just wait until I get back.

Playing tag

I've been tagged, by the very wonderful Calliope. Little old me! A real tag! Oooh, I feel all grown up in the blogger word now. Anyway, I'm supposed to use four words she selected and tell you something deep and meaningful about myself.

Magic
I actually believe in magic. Always have done, probably always will do. Maybe that's why I love Harry Potter so much, because there's a part of me that thinks that somewhere some people perhaps do have the ability to make things happen in that way. I know on a more down-to-earth level that changes in energy can be worked by people doing Wiccan rites, and that that can be called magic. But my belief in magic extends beyond that, to the feeling that maybe witches of old could do amazing things, and that maybe people who can do that are out there still. Anyway, it's nice to dream about riding on a broomstick, and pointing a magic wand to make something change in the world.

Elevator
There was a story on CNN a few years ago about a surgical intern who got decapitated as he stepped into an elevator in the hospital in which he worked. There was a woman trapped in the elevator for about 20 minutes. I now think of this story literally every time I get in an elevator. I mean, how on earth does it happen? The doors must have been closing super fast to trap him, or was he trying to rush into the elevator late? And was the woman trapped with the guy's head or his body? Can you imagine what that must have been like to have been in there with just his head, having just witnessed that? I'd have been in absolute hysterics. Not to mention that it must have hurt the poor guy terribly. So, not such a big elevator fan these days.

Humble
I really don't like when people use IMHO when posting on the internet. I mean, what's wrong with IMO? Why do we have to hear your humble opinion? What on earth is humble about it? It seems to me that what they're really saying is that their opinion is anything but humble so you'd better darn well listen, and it therefore strikes me as arrogant. People who are truly humble don't have to tell other people about the fact of their humbleness. [Is that a word?] They just quietly get on with it.

Perfect
I struggle with this one. I wish I was perfect in so many ways, and I struggle to try to make myself so. I try to be perfect about eating, about exercising, doing my job, having that work/life balance. Mostly, if I'm being honest, I think that perfection may lead to me getting knocked up somehow so that's why I strive for it. Like karma will give me payback if I rack up enough perfection points. I certainly could care less about perfection in other areas of my life. I am not a snappy dresser, I don't use much makeup, I don't wear anything uncomfortable, I don't try to make an effort to impress people. So why do I beat myself up if I don't take all the vitamins I think I should take in a day? Why do any of us strive for perfection, when it's pretty well unattainable?

OK, I'm supposed to be tagging four more people. But I don't know four bloggers who a) haven't already been tagged, and b) might actually stumble on this blog every now and then. I'm pretty sure most of the bloggers I read don't have a clue who I am. [Is that me being humble, or just annoyingly pathetic!]. So, I'll just say if you want to be tagged, leave me a comment and I'll be more than happy to think up some words I'd like you to write on.

I hate everyone (except you, of course)

I'm having one of those "I hate everyone" days. Is it just me that has them or is this normal? It's like I'm PMS'ing, but given that I am most definitely not PRE-menstrual, who knows why I'm so irritated? Well, actually, as I was writing that I just remembered that I had a very disturbing dream last night, so I'm probably suffering from lack of sleep which is what's causing the bad mood. It was just a stupid "everyone can see that I'm having my period and more embarrassingly, using a pad, which no-one over the age of 13 should use" type dreams, which somehow evolved into someone going postal and shooting me. Bizarre. Maybe I need to work on some issues there!

But seriously, ignoring the effects of the lack of restful sleep, I hate everyone. My friend K. came back to work (part-time) from maternity leave (yay!), and her and the boss have just had a meeting deciding how the work is going to be portioned out. Which is fine, except they don't feel a need to tell anyone else, so I have to force the boss to tell me so I know what the eff is going on. And, K. is going to be part time, so it just doesn't make sense to have her responsible for everything she was before, because she's just not going to be here every day. I wish they wouldn't concoct these little schemes between themselves because frankly there's not much logic going on between them.

I hate people on fertility message boards that are so wrapped up in themselves that they don't listen to what anyone says, and repeat the same damn questions over and over again. There's one in particular that is about to go on my "ignore" list that was previously reserved for the certifiably insane. Well, maybe she is certifiably insane, I don't know, but I am so tired of her. I wish she would just go to another RE so she doesn't have to keep complaining about how the RE doesn't do what she wants him to. Hello? He's the one with the MD and the years of specialization in this field. And you want to do what you want, based on information you haven't even properly understood from an internet message board?

I hate people that whine and moan for days on end about how their second IUI failed, and how god damned awful it is that it is taking sooo long to get pregnant. I'm sure I did the same when I was a naive newbie, and I hate myself for that, but I wish they would realize that while it IS god damned awful and they have every right to complain, there are others of us out here who have been trying for far longer and who might be ticked off by the fact that there's no recognition going on that it is god damned awful for all of us and that some of us might be feeling worse than they are.

I hate everyone that can start a diet like The Sonoma Diet and drop 10 pounds in 10 days. Seriously, were you living on Big Macs before? Because I'm doing this thing right and the scale is not budging. I am the Queen of healthy eating this week, and nothing is happening. Sigh.

I hate people that don't procrastinate and don't spend far too much of their day surfing. I wish I could concentrate so I could do the work I'm paid for and move on instead of having to work late to finish up.

In other words, I need a vacation, damn it, because I'm clearly stressed to all hell. Deep breath. I can do this. I can get through this crazy pile of files. Somehow. I will recharge my batteries, have my abdomen pulled and prodded and come back a new woman. I hope.

Anatomic anomaly

Thanks for the kind thoughts yesterday. That was sweet of you, and much appreciated. :)

Yesterday I got distracted pretty much all day because I got hold of the typed up report of my laparoscopic surgery that I had done a year ago, because the people at Clear Passage want to see it. I was a bit shocked to see that it described the layout of my tubes and ovaries as an "anatomic anomaly". I mean, the RE had told me that my tubes and ovaries were in the wrong place, but I just thought they'd moved a bit - I have a retroverted uterus, which after all is a perfectly normal alternative position for the uterus to be in, so I figured they'd just flopped over with the uterus, or were mis-placed because they were stuck to my abdomen. But no, the tubes are short, and stretched to their maximum length instead of being curved, and the ovaries are just plain in the wrong place. Even though the lefty was free to move about, apparently it just liked being in the wrong place. The righty was stuck to the abdomen wall. Maybe lefty just wanted to keep it company? The report makes mention of this possibly interfering with ovum pickup. Which was all a bit of a surprise, really, and even today I'm having difficulty getting my head around having a bit of me described as an anatomic anomaly. I guess it's a good thing that I'm doing IVF.

At least it said my va-jay-jay was normal. Which, while reassuring, is also not necessarily the sort of thing you want to see in writing. Because it means that the doc had a good look. I mean, I knew he did - he did a laparoscopy and hysteroscopy after all, but to read a typed up report of it is a tad disconcerting. I have decided I don't like seeing my medical records!

As far as today goes, nothing much going on. I keep writing impossibly long lists of all the things I need to finish at work before I leave for Gainesville, and then being given other urgent projects to work on. So I think a lot of it isn't going to get done. Oh well, if they fire me, at least that's the decision made as to whether I stay here or not.

The anniversary

First things first, lets get the Monday weigh-in out of the way. 175. Same as yesterday, but yeehaw, it is down! OK, so it's taken me 5 weeks to lose 3 pounds, which is not exactly great going, but I'd have given up by now if it wasn't for the self-inflicted public humiliation of the Monday weigh-in. And at least it's moving in the right direction. Slow and steady wins the race, and all that.

But, what's really on my mind today (apart from it being CD1, WTF is with the 12-day luteal phase?) is that today is the anniversary of my mom's death. It feels quite poignant to me this year, because I really really wanted to have a child by now, or to be pregnant by now. You see, this year I passed the age that she was when she died. I desperately wanted to have a child by the time I was that age, or to give birth at that age, or to be pregnant at that age, or to get knocked up at that age. Sadly, none of that came to pass. It's odd, because my brother was convinced he wasn't going to live beyond that age (and has, quite frankly, been living as if he has a death wish because of it, so I wouldn't be surprised if he did die young). I, on the other hand, wanted to celebrate that age with giving life to another human being. To complete the circle as it were. And it tears at my heart that it was not to be. No, I passed 37.5 without any of my little dreams and wishes on that score coming true. But now that I have passed that age, it also saddens me even more that she had to die so young. When you're a young child, your parents seem like they have lived forever, but dying younger than 40 is just tragic.

Anyway, happy anniversary mummy - 26 years today. The largeness of that number makes me catch my breath more and more every year. It's hard to believe it's really been that long. But I know that there's no more pain where she is, and that she's with me still, so that gives me comfort.

Holy cow, the leek soup really IS miraculous!

I actually managed to stick to the leek thing yesterday, because I wasn't ravenously hungry, which in itself is a miracle. And I lost 2.5 lbs in a day, so I'm at the weight I told Clear Passage I was. OK, I know it's mostly water weight, but hallelujah, internet, halle-freakin'-lujah! And I know the really hard part will be not to gain it back again immediately on Monday. But I'm game to try.

I guess the name "miracle leek soup" really was accurate after all. Who'd a thunk it?

Having a leeky day

I have a confession to make. I have not been good at dieting this week. I have eaten a little too much pasta, and not enough veggies. I've had a few too many bowls of cereal. I had a slice of apple pie yesterday. So, I decided that in order to not have a weight gain to post come Monday morning, I'd better do something drastic this weekend. That, and in my patient intake form for Clear Passage I put down a little white lie as to what my weight was. I thought I'd be well below that weight by the time I got there, but I'm above it, and well, I don't like to be caught in a lie!

I therefore decided that this would be miracle leek soup weekend. From the book French Women Don't Get Fat. You basically boil up some leeks and live on it until Sunday night, when you can have that old diet standby of a "sensible dinner". Except I decided to have one hard boiled egg for breakfast every day because I don't think I can just live on leeks and watery leek broth alone.

Anyway, so far so good, except I'm tired, as I always am every time I have tried to fast. But what's bugging me is that I've got a raging headache. Now, in England, most women it seems are into "detoxing" every now and then. It's a big thing. All the women's magazines recommend it. I don't see so much mention of it in America, but maybe they just call it something else. I think living on leek soup for a weekend would definitely count as detoxing though. I always used to get raging headaches when detoxing, which I put down firmly to caffeine withdrawal. But I don't drink caffeine any more, apart from maybe one hot chocolate a week and a very occasional Starbucks iced chai. I think since I kicked the post-IVF#1 (or #2 depending on how I'm counting) badness, I've had one iced chai. In the last two months. So where is this effing headache coming from? I thought it might be a dehydration headache, but I've been drinking plenty of water, and this just doesn't feel the way my dehydration headaches do. It feels exactly like a caffeine withdrawal headache. Which begs the question: what toxic substance am I ingesting on a regular basis that would cause this reaction? It can't be the milk, surely, as I've given up milk before and not had a problem. I've also given up wheat before and not had a problem. I eat a pretty varied diet, I think, and I can't think of any one thing I have every day. I have a lot of peppermint tea at work, but usually just drink water at the weekends, and don't normally have a weekend headache. And that's about it for something I have every day.

Hmmm, maybe we just aren't supposed to spend a day living on leeks? Must try not to use that as an excuse for kicking this crazy idea and pigging out on something scrumptious.

4WW and milksnot

Well, look at that, I'm turning all 21st century, blogging from my Blackberry! Aaaah, now I can spam the blog with random inconsequential thoughts at all hours of the day and night.

But anyway, just called Repromedix, who are doing my immune testing, and they told me that the longest turn around time on the tests I'm having done is 3-4 weeks! So the latest the doctor will have all my results is October 11th. That's an age away! And of course, my doc is bound not to call every time a new test result comes in, but will no doubt wait until they are all back before wanting to discuss it with me. In fact, what am I thinking, he won't call at all, will he? He's a busy, important RE, and I'm not pregnant yet, so why would he call me? Looks like I'll be asking the nurse for my test results when I go in for my CD2 appointment sometime around October 16th-18th (ish). Gah. That's a long time to wait.

In other news, I have been very snotty lately. All sinusy and post-nasal drippy. Not very cool. But I have been drinking more milk recently, because of the wheat cereal thing on The Sonoma Diet. Yes, I know I said I wasn't going to keep eating it, but it is yummy and I'm weak, so there. But the real point to this is that I think that the sinusy stuff may be related to the milk intake (either that, or I'll be posting tomorrow that I'm laid low with a cold). I've never really made the link before, and I wonder if this could actually help. I mean, the acu has always said to give up dairy, and I never did. In fact, before this last IVF cycle which had the very sucky embryo quality, I ate a LOT of ice cream. Maybe it's all connected. So, I'm going to give up dairy, at least until I go to this conference in Sweden (yes, I am still going, though I want to cry every time I think about it). I'm sure as a veggie in Sweden, it'll be hard to get lots of food that isn't dairy, so I'll have to go back on it agan. But looking on the bright side, that'll give me an opportunity to see if I get snotty again, and see if this really is linked, and then I can give it up for the IVF cycle after I get back. So, grand experiment #549 in "maybe this will get me pregnant"-ology will be offiically underway tomorrow!

Blackberry jam

Hey there, just testing the whole posting by email thing so I can keep all 3 of my loyal readers (including me) updated while I'm out of town. Just think! Drunken typing from Sweden! Blow-by-blow accounts of anal massage from Gainesville! Bet ya can't wait...
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Sent from my BlackBerry Wireless Handheld

e flipping harmony

So, the last time I actually tried seriously to find a man, just before I started TTC'ing, I joined eharmony. I couldn't seem to connect with anyone, got one of my coworkers as a match (who I knew I did NOT want to date), and generally gave it up after a few feeble efforts at communicating with inappropriate guys. Since then they've sent me a few "matches" at random intervals over the years, as an enticement to join back up again. This time, just after my IVF BFN, I started getting matches again. In fact, I got about eight matches over the space of two days. I ignored them. Apart from heaving a little sigh at the rotten timing of it all - just when I have my spirits ground down by another IVF failure, why not send me emails reminding me that I don't have anyone to share my sorrow with? Great timing, universe.

Then I get an email today saying that Russ from a town near me wanted to communicate. Just for shits and giggles I logged on, to see if it would let me see his details without paying. I couldn't see the photo without paying, but hey. And nothing he put in the profile that I was able to see matched up with anything I would have gone for had I been a picky husband-hunter looking for lifelong companionship and good genetic stock for her babies, as I used to be. But then, I'm doing IVF now with donor sperm, I'm not that desperate any more for good genes, or what seems to be more rare, a single guy in his 40's who actually wants kids. So I thought I'd answer Russ' questions to me. And it let me fill in my answers before the site closed down on me and demanded payment. And if you pay month-by-month it is $59.95!! Holy crap!

Bah humbug. I mean, I am desperate for some sex, I would still like to meet a husband at some point, but honestly I don't know if it's worth forking over $60 just to see if this guy wants to meet up. I could probably do just as good hanging out at the bar in my hotel in Gainesville. Except that I'm not very good at flirting, so that'll probably get me nowhere fast.

But what really gets me is that I wonder if these guys know that I'm not even a member any more. Does this site get their hopes up that they have a match, and then leave them hanging when the person doesn't respond? I would think that would not be good for your ego, because you'd think it was something about you that the person didn't like. I know I felt deflated on that site if someone didn't respond to me. Is this how they inflate their numbers of matches? That if you cancel your membership you can still be in the database years later with your details sent out to any random guy in the area? It just doesn't seem to be a very honest, or kind, way of dealing with your members. And definitely does not give me the warm fuzzies about joining again.

Oh, and the coworker I got matched up with initially? He got married on Saturday to a girl he met on the same site, just after our ill-fated match was emailed to both of us. Thankfully they've both moved to a different city now, but I used to meet up with them for Sunday breakfast, and they'd be all smug about how it worked for them, and tell me I should give it another go. Bah humbug indeed. I bet she'll get knocked up on honeymoon, just to really rub salt in my wounds.

Blood draw

It was the best blood draw ever. Except it hurt, but hey.

The guy turned up at 6.55am, sat in the car for five minutes, came in a 7am and was gone at 7.08am. He drew six vials of blood for the immune/clotting tests, and will FedEx them off to the lab today. I'd managed to get dressed in my walking clothes, clean my teeth and comb my hair. I looked fairly presentable for 7am, I think. Of course, I didn't actually go walking after the guy left, as I thought it wouldn't be very good to faint while out of the house so I slumped on the sofa and read a book while munching toast and marmite. Not that I was in danger of fainting, as I've had way more than 6 vials drawn without a problem, but it seemed like a plausible excuse for toast-munching at the time. I have no idea when I will get the results. Presumably sometime in the next two months. I'm sure someone will tell me if things are bad.

It was so so nice to have this all done at my house (apart from the cleaning I ended up doing last night, but at least I have a nice sparkly house now). So much easier than traipsing to the RE's, hanging about in the waiting room forever, getting the blood drawn, hanging out to check out just in case you have to pay, schlepping back through rush hour traffic, being stressed because you're late to work.

Of course, now I'm secretly worried that the glass of red wine I had last night will make my blood all thin and make the clotting tests inaccurate, because I won't be drinking red wine at embryo implantation time. And I was secretly worried about that yesterday, and still couldn't resist pouring myself a glass. I did limit myself to one glass though, but sometimes I seriously wonder if I have an alcohol problem. Why couldn't I just have not had any? Sure, I can give it up with no difficulty. I've gone months without drinking (when I thought that little things like that would actually get me pregnant). But if I'm in a drinking phase, sometimes looking forward to that glass is what gets me through the day. So I drank some. So there. Oh well, if I have a real clotting problem I'm sure the revasterol in one measly glass won't turn it into an "all clear" result. I hope.

Little white haired old lady

I may be imagining it, but I seem to have a lot more white hair than I did this time last year. I looked in the mirror yesterday and it seemed like they were just jumping out all over the place. I can't help but think that this is what IVF has done to me - aged me prematurely.

Dagnammit.

I mean, I saw my first white hair when I was 28, and for basically nine years of the last 10, nobody else has been able to spot them. I'd get maybe one or two more a year. And then this last year? They've been multiplying like rabbits. It's now obvious to everyone that I have plenty of the little buggers, especially around my hairline around my face. Just of course the spot you don't want them in - I wouldn't mind so much if they were all clustered on the nape of my neck, for example.

All right, OK, I am exaggerating a tad. Of course, it doesn't help that the bathroom at work is lit just so, with the light shining down on top of your head, so it picks them up better than any other bathroom I regularly stand in. Mostly my hair is still its natural color. It's probably only me for whom the white hairs shine out really brightly. Most people probably don't see every single white hair the way I do. They probably only notice a few strands, if I'm being really honest. But to me, I look in the mirror, and I look old.

I always thought I would go gray (well, white, I don't seem to have any gray ones) gracefully. That I wouldn't dye my hair. That I'd be one of those cool ladies with elegant white hair in my fifties. Not that anything else about me is elegant, but I have this vision of looking somewhat like Meryl Streep in that fabulous wig she wore for The Devil Wears Prada, so bear with me here. But now it's getting to the point where I really need to take a firm decision on this.

To dye or not to dye, that is the question?

If I actually manage to get pregnant, do I want to be the white-haired mom picking up my kids from elementary school? Well, presumably the salt-and-pepper haired mom, because I doubt it's all going to get to elegant white that quickly. But then, with the number of "advanced maternal age" moms who ARE successful these days, maybe I won't be so out of place. Do I want to totally embarrass my teenagers by being the fusty older mom? Assuming that is, that my visions of hip elegance don't come to pass, and I just end up fat and middle aged. I never wanted to be the fat middle aged white-haired mom.

If I actually want to meet a guy, do I want them to dismiss me instantly because I'm going white, or will I only attract men in their sixties who think I'm older than I am? I mean, I think men with gray hair can look very attractive, but there's that old sexism thing going on that women need to try to look younger. Especially in the silicone-enhanced fake-tanned blonde mecca of South Florida.

But then again, there's that old stubborn streak that thinks that after feminism I should be perfectly entitled to go white haired if I want to. That I should stand firm to my beliefs. That I should give full reign to my lazy side that just doesn't want to be bothered with dyeing my damn hair. That this is the way I am made, and if I'm supposed to be going white haired, so be it.

Knowing me, I'll probably put off making a decision for a while yet, and then I'll get to the point where everyone will know that I'm dyeing my hair to cover the white ones, rather than to just introduce a nice auburn highlight, and I'll feel all shameful about doing that so it'll never happen. But, hey, delaying has always worked for me in the past, so why change now?

On reading and other things

Monday weigh-in: 176.5

Down a bit, finally! Clearly I'm not going to be dropping anywhere near as much weight as I wanted to, but oh well. At least I'm eating healthily, and that's the main thing.

I spent most of Sunday reading, after a stocking-up trip to Barnes & Noble. Going there really makes me miss Waterstones, though, as Waterstones (in England) used to always entice me with lots of nice book selections. At B&N I always seem to have to wade through piles and shelves of crap to find something I want to read. Why is it that the most they can imagine is a table full of "beach reading"? What about those of us that want thought-provoking new books?

Anyway, it brought to mind something that happened on Friday, which made me laugh. We are having a new software upgrade at work, so there were mandatory training sessions at the end of last week. But as we were setting up for the training session I was in, one of the guys made a comment about the trainer's email inbox being visible on the large display screen, and how we were all busy reading her stuff. She said it was all pretty boring, though there was one from a friend of hers in Iraq that was probably a joke. So we begged to read the joke. She put it on screen. It was one of those jokes that was a lengthy paragraph. We all started to read. I laughed first. Then a buddy of mine laughed. Then it kind of went around the room as everyone got to the bottom of the screen. The trainer also finished reading, and closed it down. And then the very guy who insulted me by email asked her to open it again because he hadn't finished. I'm not kidding, he took at least 3 times as long as me to read one paragraph.

Now, I read fucking fast, I know this. People seem to be in awe of just how fast I can read. I don't usually notice it, because, well, that's just how I read. I'm not trying to impress anyone - it comes of being a voracious reader all through my childhood and teens. I'm still a voracious reader, though often I only read at the weekends because my brain is fried at the end of the work day. But it definitely made me chuckle that the idiot who likes to send out sarcastic emails can't even begin to keep up.

And on to more serious stuff. Today is, of course, the 5-year anniversary of 9/11. I have no idea how to post on that, apart from to say that it is just heart-wrenchingly sad that we lost so many lives on that day. But also I wish to say that all victims of all atrocities should be remembered, and not just the American ones. Darfur, Iraq, Chechnya, Lebanon, Israel, to name a few, are ongoing humanitarian crises brought about because one side thinks it's OK to kill people on the other side. I just wish people would stop inflicting violence on one another in the name of religion and freedom. Last time I looked, all the major religions teach peacefulness, and yet we routinely kill and maim one another regardless.

I was kind of numb on 9/11, partly because it was so hard to believe what happened, and partly because I had just moved house and didn't have TV at home. So I felt isolated and disconnected. It took me a long time to take in the enormity of what happened. I also felt disconnected from my American friends sense of the loss of security, which really seemed to bond them together. That realization that terrorism could happen on home soil. As someone growing up during the time of the IRA attacks, and now with family in Northern Ireland, as someone who has heard 2 terrorist bombs go off, and been evacuated from a city where a massacre that I narrowly missed took place, I never had that sense of safety. So, it was as much of a shock to me to find out that, yes, most people here had never even contemplated that they could be a target, as it was to be sad that now they had lost that innocence.

So, anyway, let's just all give a thought to the people who died. And hope that it never happens again. Ever. Anywhere.

A light trim

My "patient companion" book arrived yesterday from Clear Passage Therapies. They have sent me so much stuff over the last couple of weeks that I'm kind of drowning in information. I was contemplating not looking through the book. But, as I know that some of the work they do involves "internal" work, I was intriged by the "what to expect" sections in case it gave some hints as to what this actually involves. And it did.

But as I was browsing further there was a "preparing yourself before treatment" section. And there at the bottom of a page it said that for internal work, it is easier for the therapist and more comfortable for the patient if the patient's pubic hair is "lightly trimmed" before attending.

My first thought was "what the fucking fuck?" Ahem, not too eloquent I'll admit, but as a Friday night treat I'd had too much vino so the old synapses probably weren't firing as well as they could have. Anyway, I couldn't quite figure out what a light trim could possibly mean in relation to your pubic hair. Did they mean to take a bit of length off, or did they mean that I should trim the edges so to speak. In other words, was a Brazilian in my future? Eek. I don't think I'm quite ready for that. But then I figured that they must mean the length because if they've got a couple of fingers up your hoo-ha and they're pushing on your hip at the same time, you wouldn't want some hair to get caught and pulled. Ouch! But then, how much length? A light trim in relation to the hair on my head doesn't equal very much percentage of the length. Was I to apply the same rule? What if I got to the clinic and they said it wasn't trimmed enough? What if I completely butchered the job? What if my RE did a double-take if I turned up at my next appointment completely bald? Should I call the poor receptionist and demand that she explain how much pubic hair exactly did that mean I needed to remove? And why did I have to do one more annoying/degrading thing just to get knocked up?

But then I decided to stop being so stupid and just cut the effing stuff. I mean, how badly could I really misinterpret "lightly trimmed"? But, thinking that I could very well make a hatchet job of it, with uneven bits and bald spots, I figured that there was no time like the present and I may as well just get down to it right now because I've still got a couple of weeks before treatment so it could grow out a little and I could re-trim it if necessary. Kind of like topiary.

No, I didn't trim my pubic hair while drunk. Who do you think I am? Tsk tsk to you for even thinking it.

This morning before my shower I therefore sat down with a comb and a pair of scissors. Yes, a comb. And I set about performing a good trim. I'm rather proud of the job, even if I do say so myself. It doesn't even look uneven. Thanks to the comb. I might even keep it this way if I wasn't so damn lazy. But I have to say that this is one time where you guys wouldn't be getting a pic even if I did have a digital camera.

The vampires are coming!

I have my blood draw appointment for the immunology testing. It's going to happen next Wednesday at 7am. Yup, 7am. At my house.

The nice lady on the phone initially said they could do appointments between 8am and 11.30am, but then came back and said they could fit me in early if I did a 7am. I was like, huh? 7am at my house? Will the person expect me to have showered and to be properly dressed? Because let's face it internet, that's not likely to have happened by 7am. And she assured me that showering was not necessary. I guess I can drag a comb through the frizzy nightmare that is my hair when I first wake up, and clean my teeth. Maybe I can throw on some sweats so that I am somewhat decently attired.

It's such an alien concept that some guy is going to be drawing my blood at my dining table. At 7am. Wouldn't it be nice if RE's offered this service? If they could turn up with a mobile ultrasound, do the quick blood draw for the E2 and voila! Although I suppose ultrasound machines are pretty big, so it'd probably have to be a mobile ultrasound van, and I'm not sure I want a dildocam experience in the driveway, so maybe we should just scratch that idea.

Still here

I wish I had some deep thoughts or interesting happenings to talk about, but not much is going on with me. Yesterday I had another busy day at work and didn't leave till 8.45. Much better than 11pm, but still not exactly what I enjoy doing. Today is a bit calmer, so I have spent time opening up the 90 or so unopened emails and faxes that accumulated while I was in crazy mode for the last two days (and yes, I was opening some emails while I was working). It's quite ridiculous how much stuff comes in and out of this place every day, AND quite ridiculous that we are expected to keep up with it all.

I have called the immune testing place to try to set up an appointment for my blood draws, but they haven't called back with a time yet. They actually come to your house, which will be nice - no racing off at 7am to Quest to sit in a huge line with the usual weirdos you meet in those places.

The fibro is doing well today, so I'm hoping it's due to the enzymes I've now been taking for a week and a half. Obviously, there's a way to go yet, but I'm not in terrible pain, and have managed to stay up late the last two nights in a row, so that's a good thing.

I can't figure out if I've ovulated yet or not. Probably not. Which could seriously create havoc for the Clear Passage trip. Oh well, if I have to reschedule until the end of October, c'est la vie. I've decided to try not to stress about it too much.

I also spoke to the RE's office, and was told I need to schedule the saline sonogram for the time between my period and ovulation. Which is just when I'm planning to go to Clear Passage, but given that I may have to reschedule that, maybe I can still fit the SIS in before I go to Sweden. I expect they don't want to wash out any potential embryos, so maybe they'll let me do it after ovulation when I come back from my trip if I explain that there ain't no sex going on around here, so there definitely won't be any potential embryos, but they usually refuse to stray from their rules on these things.

So that's it. All very ho-hum and boring. That's the trouble with break months, you just have to tick along and bide your time until it's all systems go again.

My job sucks

I really hate my job sometimes. Well, pretty much most of the time. But I stick it out because I want to stay in the U.S. and I can't change jobs now until I get my green card. Which could still be a couple of years away.

Today I had to take sarcastic abuse from one of the bigwigs in an email that was copied to several people. Fucker. I'm so mad. It was about this conference in Sweden that I'm attending for the firm, which I get no personal benefit from, and for which, I might add, my employer is NOT PAYING. Even though I got my budget request in well ahead of time, I found out after my boss had whined at me to book early on the promise that the money would be coming that in fact it had NOT been approved, because I submitted it to the person in charge of the office budget, and not my department's budget. Even though my head of department told me to submit it to the person in charge of the office budget. Even though any one of them could have told me earlier that I needed to resubmit it. And of course now it is near the end of the fiscal year and I'm told that there's no money left.

I complained to the big boss department head, who told me that that the abuse was just this guy's personality, and I just had to "take it". At least he didn't add "like a man". Grrreat. And he said he'd see about getting me some money because the department didn't have a budget so it should have gone in the office budget. Uh, yeah, like hell the department doesn't have a budget. But then he waffled on for some time about my status in the company and basically tried to change the subject.

I am seriously thinking of canceling the trip, but my boss has canceled because of his personal "stuff" and is pleading with me to still go because someone needs to meet with our team's clients. Frankly I'm at the point where if he wants me to go I think he needs to not only pay my way but also pay me danger money for having to hang out with the sarcastic arsehole who is going.

And now I'm in a lot more fibromyalgia pain because I let it get me stressed. Stress is not good for me! Plus, I have so much to do that I'm going to be here reeeeally late tonight, meaning that I'll miss the season premiere of House.

*Sigh*

I guess I could always go back to England, but then I can't get IVF done as easily. I just feel so trapped here, and so miserable sometimes.

Ain't life grand?

***ETA: 9.46pm and still at work with no sign of going home yet. Ain't life grand?***

***ETA: 11.09pm, and finally going home, although I'm leaving a large stack of work that must be done tomorrow, so tomorrow is going to be just as busy. And I'm starving, as I haven't had dinner. Oh well, at least it helps that I have a caring employer who will thank me for putting in extra hours. Sigh. ***

Monday weigh in

Hahahahaha, I SUCK really badly at dieting! I weighed 178.5 this morning. So, it was up again! But then again, I haven't been dieting over the past week, as there's been the fibromyalgia fatigue problem preventing me from exercising, and the storm, meaning I was eating bad food. Yes, my office bribed us with free pizza which I was too weak to resist and that set off a cascade of poor choices. But, I am back at it today, and in fact ate pretty healthily over the weekend. So I have been walking, albeit not for as far as I would normally go, but the important thing is that I got out of bed and did it.

I feel I have a bit more energy over the past two days, and the fibro pain seems a bit less too. I hope it's these enzymes I started taking on Friday night, but it'll be pretty obvious soon if it's the enzymes or just a relaxing weekend.

I gardened!

I did it, I actually got off my butt and did something. Quite an achievement for a Sunday these days. I ripped out some more of the disgusting bushes that the previous owners of my house surrounded it with. I have no idea what they're called, though someone said to me they were elephant ears. Anyway, they send out roots from every 2 inches of the stem of the plant, so after a few years there's just this jungle of fibrous roots spreading out in every direction, and they're very tough to remove. I've now just got one left, having ripped out a good 40 feet worth of these damn things since I moved in. It's been slow going. And they don't even flower or smell nice, so there are no redeeming features as far as I can see. Except perhaps that you don't need to do any weeding, because they choke all other plants out.

So, in their place, I put Ruellia, Cuban buttercups, Golden shrimp plants, some lavender colored lillies, marigolds, and a few other things I have now forgotten the names of. But they were all classed as "Florida friendly plants" meaning that the butterflies and hummingbirds like them, and they don't suck up gallons and gallons of water just to stay alive in the heat. If I was being really good I'd put in native plants only, but they're pretty hard to find, and I've always been a sucker for flowers and butterflies. I'm going for a purple and yellow/orange flower scheme at the front of the house, because purple is my favorite color, and the house is yellow/orange, so it seems to match. I have already put in some Ruellia, a golden colored Ixora, a blue Porterweed, some scarlet Milkweed (for Monarch butterfly caterpillers to eat) and a couple of ginger plants. I want lots and lots of flowers. I hope they don't all die or that my idiot yard guys rip them out, which does sadly happen sometimes. They are only supposed to mow the lawn and trim the hedges, but plants do have a tendency to disappear around here!

Sigh, if I only I weren't such a cheapskate, and had a digital camera, I'd give you pics. Maybe you'll get some later, when the plants have grown a bit. But don't hold your breath.

The consultation

I am back from my post-IVF meeting with my RE. Had to have a little cry on the way back, but that's just because I'm a sap, as we all know. It just seems so hard sometimes to hold on to hope when you're staring down IVF cycle #4 (or #3, depending on if we are counting the cancelled cycle).

The upshot of it all is that he thinks all my problems are due to aging crappy eggs. He mentioned donor eggs, though said he wasn't ready to give up on me yet but it was an option to think about. I said I'm not doing DE, as at that point, I'm done. I told him I'd do one more fresh cycle with them, maybe the frozen embryo transfer (although he said with only one frozen embryo there's only a 1 in 3 chance of making it to transfer), and then I'd go somewhere out of state with really good success rates. He looked a bit shocked at that, and said their success rates are really good. I said they were OK, as they're pretty average if you ask me. To which he countered that I was looking at the 2004 statistics, and the 2006 statistics are much much better. I asked why the change, and he said it is because of their new lab, which has all new equipment, better and more stable culture medium, the staff are more used to the procedures, etc. So that made me feel a bit better about them, but I'd still like to see these fab statistics written down! We joked that I wasn't exactly helping his stats any, but hey. Anyway, he said he didn't mind me seeking a second opinion or trying somewhere else at all, if that's what I wanted.

Sooo, onto the plan. We discussed my dominant follicle problems, and how I often have a 16mm follie on CD6, which is not good, and how my fast stimming and early egg retrievals could be contributing to the poor quality embryos. Because of all that we're going to try the long lupron protocol to try to get slower and more even follicle development. I asked about the studies that say microdose lupron worked better with poor responders. He said yes, but long lupron is their preferred "recipe" for everyone else, and it depended on what he was most worried about - the cycle I got 14 eggs I could hardly be classed as a poor responder, so maybe we should switch focus to the dominant follicles rather than thinking about the poor response. Besides, we've done 3 cycles of microdose lupron and I'm not pregnant. And on my two bad cycles I had early dominant follicles, so he said why not see if the long lupron would help with that. He even said we could ditch the lupron mid-cycle if I was oversuppressed and move to an antagon (Ganirelix) if we felt like it.

I will be doing a 3+3 protocol, so the same overall amount of stims as the last two cycles, but equal repronex to follistim, meaning slightly more LH. Or in other words, I will be shooting up with 3 vials of follistim and 3 vials of repronex a day. Plus lupron.

He wants me to do a saline infusion sonogram, to see if the recent midcycle bleeding is due to the polyps coming back. So, I'll do that next cycle. What fun. Another fun procedure of someone sticking something unpleasant up my cooter.

Then I said I should bring up the usual question of immune issues, though I felt a bit stupid talking about implantation when he'd just more or less said my eggs were crap (but in a nice way). He said he didn't mind running tests if I was worried, and the fact that I keep bringing it up obviously showed it was on my mind, but the thing he disagreed with was some of the treatments, which have not been shown to do any good. Like IVIg, which he said doesn't help. But, we decided we'd see if my insurance would cover it and/or if I could bear the costs on my own, and if I still wanted to do the tests, we'd do them and discuss further once the results are back. In fact, he had details of a lab that is new to them where you can pay a "safeguard price" that is a 75% discount on the full price if you pay up front, and if they get reimbursement you get the lot back. And they will go to your house for no extra charge to draw the blood. So I'm going to do the following tests for $706 and hope to get reimbursed:

Anti-coagulation antibodies
Anti-phospholipid antibodies
Lupus anti-coagulant
Anti-beta2Glycoprotein antibodies
Activated Partial Thromboplastin time
Embryo Toxic Factor assay
Natural Killer cell assay

So that's the big plan. I'll go on BCP in October after the period after next, or in other words, 2 full cycles break.

I'm a bit conflicted about the immune stuff. I mean, what's the point of testing if he doesn't want to do any treatment? I suppose if something did come back bad, he'd have to treat it, otherwise I'd complain a lot, and if miraculously everything is normal I can quit worrying about that. So I should be happy that he agreed to it. But still. I have this nagging doubt because he seems so adamant that it's not the answer.