Lost in Type A

Silent Sorority: Please support a wonderful IF sister's awesome book!

2009-04-24T18:48:00.000-07:00

Pamela Jeanne over at coming2terms has been a much-needed voice in this IF world. Her story may be scary to those just starting down the fun IF rabbit hole, and oh-too-familiar to those of us who have joined her on the other side.

I met PJ via blogging while I was in the last stretch of my TTC journey and we immediately bonded. I was so happy to discover a kindred spirit--giving me hope that I, too, could gracefully traverse the "child-free, but not by choice" path should we find ourselves staring down at yet another SINGLE PINK LINE after our last FET.

When we did indeed experience our final failure, she sent me a warm "welcome kit," personally there to embrace me with her soothing words as I crossed the threshold into the next stage of our lives. I'll always be grateful. Now she's offering that same charming and insightful support to anyone who's willing and able to shell out under $20 bucks!

She has just released her book Silent Sorority and I was lucky enough to get to read it already. I laughed, I cried, I cried, I cried, laughed some more, then sighed. Those of us who have suffered silently through the trials of infertility due to its still-present public stigma, viscerally crave our plight to be understood. And it's no easy task to convey what it's like to struggle with infertility in a world where today's "news" involves glaring headlines about the latest celebutante who, oopsie, managed to get knocked up by her boyfriend of several months. Not only will "Infertiles" find comforting validation reading Pamela's intimately chronicled decade-long struggle with trying to conceive, but hopefully "Fertiles" will be enlightened about the pain their sisters in the IF world endure. Pamela Jeanne delivers her message with a resonant voice that clearly depicts for the public at large what it's like to ride the IF roller coaster while reassuring us "Infertiles" that we are not alone.

Hiding out in public bathrooms? Not alone.
Subjected to celebratory baby bump chatter around the water cooler? Not alone.
Feeling left out of experiencing one of life's biggest milestones? Not alone.
Struggling to make peace with never getting to be a bio parent? Not alone.
Grappling with the overall ignorance and indifference towards IF? Not alone.
Getting to hit the movie theatre at a moment's notice? Not alone.
Learning to embrace the next stage without having to save up for a college fund? Not alone.

Thank you Pamela Jeanne for writing such an open and honest account of your heart wrenching IF experiences in this book and on your blog. Infertility Awareness continues to grow because of your forthright, brave, and humorous voice.

I am so glad you're a Ferrari, sister!

(click image to purchase)

If we want to stick around, every day must be EARTH DAY.

2009-04-22T20:08:00.000-07:00

It's Earth Day!!! Earth Day DAMMIT. This day has been around awhile. Going on about 4 decades. Almost my entire life. And guess what? We've done kind of a piss-poor job heeding the call. What's it gonna take, People? I mean, c'mon... I'm simply an infertile woman over here--never going to be bringing a kid into the world. Though admittedly (and I previously have) I was fairly conflicted between my drive to procreate and parent my own bio child and the fact that our poor planet hardly needs another mouth to feed.

Hey, here's an upside to being a non-mom... If I use more than my fair share of paper towels, I've got the perfect greenie (albeit hypocritical) comeback: I didn't have any kids. I didn't ADD to the carbon footprint beyond myself!

I don't intend to alienate those readers busy fighting the good IF fight, or those who fought and won, or even those who are raising another's bio child as their own. I don't hold it against humankind that the drive to procreate overrides the reality that our planet can only sustain so many people before it starts to implode. Anyone hear of "maximum capacity"? Not a new concept and fairly self-explanatory. But we humans are who we are. We have needs, we seek to fill them. We're a pretty indisputably selfish creature as creatures go.

I'm writing this in the same awareness-raising vein with which I've become all too accustomed. Since I've lost my main subject matter--the PROCESS of TTC--I've been struggling with what approach I want to take with this blog. Obviously I've become an unwitting member of the Infertility Awareness club. Sure, we in the club didn't choose to suffer the inequities we deal with from this medical malady, but suffer we do. Suffer in silence? No thanks. I've got no compunction to get in people's faces about the trials me and my sisters have been through. I try not to be too vitriolic, but I refuse to lie or be silent. It dishonors myself and the 7+ million/14+ million worldwide who deal with the blows IF blithely tosses our way. The silence gives "victimization" power. That said, unlike infertility, global warming affects US ALL. It's not about percentages affected, I'm talking our species. I hope I'm preaching to the choir. I do. I fear I'm not.

I'm stressing the importance of this day to cajole those of you who may struggle with the inadvertent apathy your busy lives present. Or perhaps the apathy stems from the reality that the depth of our need to improve our environment is, in fact, overwhelming and depressing. It is. That's all there is to it. But change CAN happen. We have President Obama to corroborate that sentiment and fact. Change happens with each person... and with each new person brought into this world, we can effect the change needed by how they're shaped. This change is everyone's responsibility to implement. But you, you my dear readers who are lucky enough to parent, YOU hold the key to the future of our species and this planet surviving.

So I remind you to remind yourselves and loved ones: DO SOMETHING. Effect change. You know, cause and effect and all. Change your friggin' light bulbs to those lovely corkscrew-looking babies. The habits you create sans children will be well-entrenched by the time the stork plops them in your long-awaiting laps. If you've already been so blessed to be parents, START GREENING YESTERDAY. Those little sponges will follow suit. Everyone's behavior DOES affect everyone else. We are all interlinked because essentially, we're all stuck on this big blue orbiting spherical island.

Still don't feel like making sure you rinse that aluminum To Go container for the recycling heap? Read the news lately? Not pretty. Polar bears tragically drowning as they find their weight unsupported by the dissolving ice. Seasonal changes with unprecedented weather fluctuations. Searing heat, frigid winters, tornadoes, hurricanes, landslides, oh the list goes on.

Annnd... wait for it... species dying off at an alarming rate.

Perhaps we who are unable to procreate are simply ahead of a curve we can and must curb?

Now, go grow a drought resistant garden, plant a tree, recycle, turn off lights, walk for errands, bring reusable bags to the grocery store, write manufacturers to use less packaging, boycott brands you don't believe in + support the ones you do, mitigate your carbon footprint and rise above apathy so we can give a future to those embies/babies/children you're trying so hard to bring into this beautiful world.

New beginnings

2009-04-08T19:14:00.000-07:00

Here I finally sit at my desk in Los Angeles. I've been pretty crazed trying my best to hit all my marks. Pretty good so far. Need to put property taxes on credit cards. CRAP. Good news though--have a job in the green world. Getting paid a pittance, but there's awesome growth potential. Working for a friend who's quite prominent in this field. I have MUCH to learn. If all goes well, I'll be spewing out the acronyms like nobody's business.

Annnnd we adopted "consolation prize," Gavin. Or, as he's now known, "Finster." Whuhoo! He's been fabulous. He assimilated with our other puppers right away. He's absolutely adorable and a nice distraction as we hunker down into this "child-free" life.

Lost in LA.

2009-03-28T00:09:00.000-07:00

That's all I've got in me right now.

And pretty much sums it up. Different posts are swirling in my snot-ridden, jet lagged head, but I can't seem to bring myself to write anything coherent at the moment. Except just now. There. I did it again. I'm writing.

I'm summing it up:

Lost in LA.

More to come.

We may enter + exit the world alone, but in between we sure are not alone. And thank goodness for that.

2009-03-15T03:00:00.016-07:00

Sam found some words she said I could borrow... Today. We're both dealing with the aftershocks of failed IVF and I thought what she wrote was lovely.

I actually have a bunch of stuff in my draft pile. But instead of editing it right now, thought I'd share what we've done on this, our last Sunday here in Taipei. The weather has been stellar.

Some of today's highlights:

Slept in.

Yeah, we get a lifetime of this now.

Had coffee.

Ditto above.

Went to plant our avocado tree.

Took the avocado plant we started here (think '70s style pit w/ the toothpicks triad in glass jar) up to where we have taken gorgeous hikes. A fallen tree called out to me to follow a path we'd never taken. We let intuition carry us to THE PERFECT SPOT where we placed what we did make in Taiwan into it's permanent home. The sunlight was glistening right where we placed it. The veined leaves were back lit and the plant had an almost chartreuse glow. I took a bunch of pictures to commemorate the moment and also to have my own "green" shot for my gogreenify site.

On our walk back home, we came upon a playground.

I rode a springy rocky horse at one of the many public parks/playgrounds they have here. I got a few stares here and there. Something I've gotten quite used to while living in Taipei. The Taiwanese have stared at us unabashedly since our arrival. Kinda like we're a new specimen of creature at a zoo. Though in this case, I wasn't just some white girl wearing sunglasses. I was an adult publicly making a fool of myself (very skilled at being as unabashed a fool as they are at staring). This little boy of about 4 creeps into my peripheral vision and tentatively mounts the same ride right next to me. Then he starts hammering away at showing me how to rock to and fro with some serious vigor. He flashes me a smile. I try to catch up with his pace, as he slows down to mine. We had a moment of timed rocking and smiling. Then he slowed down altogether. Uttered the sweetest small "bye" as he dismounted and ran off to make some other kid not feel so lonely in their playtime.

Music vs. Words: Letting Chris Martin do my talking.

2009-03-14T01:11:00.004-07:00

So, so close...

2009-03-10T23:02:00.005-07:00

Thank you all so much for your cramped, crossed fingers and good wishes. Your support means tons to me. It's definitely helping me get through this process.

Well, yesterday Dan went on a supplies outing and I asked him to pick up more prenatals but he wasn't able to locate them (finding things is not a guy's area of strength). I was hoping he'd have some luck because if he didn't, that would mean I'd need to get off my butt, drag my bloated and sluggish ass out of the apartment, and find them myself--thereby exposing myself to the temptation to buy an HPT. And so I did (at least they're cheaper here).

As per their usual m.o. in this country, they advertise on the label/title/signage/what have you in English, then it stops there. The packaging said easy to use, accurate, etc. but as far as instructions went, I was left to my own devices. When I opened it, it was just a straight up skinny little stick part without all the plastic casing part we're used to (ah, see why it was cheaper) with what turned out to be a foldable cup. I peed on the stick, then immediately realized I was prob. supposed to pee in the "cup," then dunk the stick in it. So I tossed it in the trash and said we weren't meant to find out yet. But that episode of Friends where Phoebe discovers Rachel's positive tester in the trash kept running through my mind. I figured the pee was wicking its way through and some result was probably sitting there, waiting for me to retrieve it out of the trash and take a look. So I did. I was honestly expecting to finally see those ever-elusive TWO lines as we fully and completely dove into truly hoping on this cycle--we audaciously hoped. BFN. ONE, very conclusive and distinct line. Just one fucking line. Yet. Again.

We held each other as we did some pre-processing awaiting the 2nd beta to confirm our final answer. Ultimately we're both glad we prepped ourselves for today's beta. Those shaky feelings of trepidation absolutely suck and by grabbing the reins we alleviated a lot of that. We've done some serious pre-grieving now. We recounted to each other the pros and cons from both sides of the "to parent/not to parent" list. We talked more about possibly adopting. Though it's not something we plan to pursue, if ever, for years yet. We have about an hour until we can call for our beta results. But we're prepped now. Just one more hour. Then our moving on process from trying to conceive can fully commence.

Here's to finally getting off the fucking TTC fence.

...and no cigar.

2009-03-10T23:01:00.001-07:00

Actual post date and time: 3/11/09 @ 7:06 PM (changed to order the two posts properly)

First beta WAS a point. A fraction. This one was 0.01. 3/11/09 at 3:19 pm, our journey ends.

"You don't pregnancy."

I,I,I called him, not him, me. Wanted to confirm I can quit these blasted hormones cold turkey.

Trying to get Dr. Li to tell me he was so sorry it didn't work out for us:

Me: (consciously attempting to manipulate it out of him as it wasn't among the first three sentences he uttered) "We'll, I guess we'll never be parents then."

Him: (pause... still no sorry) "Well, stop the hormones, you'll get your period in 2-3 days. Why don't you come by and pick up your records in case you want to try again later. Don't let the door hit you on the back side."*

Sorry to any docs out there, but docs ARE arrogant. And Chinese doctors, FORGETABOUTIT. Dr. Li, I trust you did everything and more an American doc would have done. But just as people see true colors of character upon break ups, oh boy. Your bedside manners need some brushing up there, doc.

I'm not a bawling wreck. (Anymore.) We've stretched this grieving process out long before we took this last ditch stab at getting pregnant here. I'm proud of our bravery in diving into the eye of the storm again. In ripping the scab off the old wound. What came out of the ART we attempted here was not a baby, but was a rearranging of our emotions involved in being infertile.

We reopened our hearts and rendered ourselves vulnerable and yearning once again. Felt the pain of the parental voids we were seeking to fulfill. By reexamining our infertile experience via blogging, then discussing what I blogged, by experiencing the ups and downs once again, we opened our overstuffed and disorganized infertile closet, basketballs springing out at our heads. We looked around the room at the strewn about mess. We pointed at the old mementos and reminisced about the good and the bad we saw splayed all around us. Then we threw away crap that we didn't want anymore. We saved the special things and put them away in a loving and organized fashion where we can retrieve them without the explosion happening.

Now we have more room in the closet for new mementos.

Like I said, I absolutely refuse to be bitter, beaten, and broken about being infertile. Not everyone can be that 1 in 4 for which IVF works. We're hoping we get that 25% chance as credit for something else down the road. Crushed Dream Karmic Credit.

My wish is for every woman** out there who unsuccessfully tried to conceive their own bio baby to make peace with it. To refuse to be bitter, beaten, and broken. To create new hopes and dreams. Or perhaps realize old ones we left behind long ago.

Tonight I have Häagen-Dazs® coffee ice cream to fill the void. (Nice forethought, Sweetie.)

Thank you again to everyone who has been pulling so hard for us. We felt and feel the love. Now that I've opened up the writing floodgates, don't expect me to quietly slink away from the blogosphere. We're going to march on following our path of least regrets. I'll have plenty to pontificate about.

Maybe the next job Dan gets will be in Paris. Onward and upward.

*Ok. He didn't really say the "door hitting my back side" part.

**I specify women vs. couples or men and women, because we are, in fact, designed to have that empty womb filled. We literally, feel the void on a visceral level. Don't mean to imply the men are beyond the pain.

Ever been on the brink of success or utter failure?

2009-03-09T00:55:00.000-07:00

A universal experience, right. Well, the butterflies had been smacking our asses around all day today as if we were awaiting our award placement in a heavy duty competition--a marathon, if you will. This. Has. Been. One. LONG. ASS. race.

Called the lab after 3:00 and their response was: .59. No conclusive answer. She said they'd know for sure with the 2nd beta. The point is throwing me off and the doctor doesn't get in until after 5:00. Any of my few and beloved readers have a clue if this is a decent or shitty number? I keep reminding Dan and myself the news won't take anything away from what we've already got. It will only mean we won't get that icing.

Of course I've hit up the little person behind the curtain, The Internet, but am still confused by the damn POINT 59. Last time, our first IVF, for beta #1 the doctor mentioned 3, or some equally hopeless number to send me straight to the soft cheese, coffee, and vodka. The BFN was confirmed the following day by AF.

Though still holding my breath to see if we'll get to take home the trophy, I did win an award today. I was kindly nominated for a Sisterhood Award by Mrs. Joyner--put a nice big smile on my face. I'll follow up, posting later with the proper protocol when I can breathe again. Quite honored. Thank you, Mrs. Joyner.

So. WTF does .59 mean for our first beta, dammit?!

I have one answer at least: it means we must wait until the 11th for our 2nd beta. What's 2 more days after 7 fucking years?

I hate this. I hate this whole fucking process. I hate being infertile and I hate that I can't get pregnant like a normal woman. I hate that there are idiots who can get knocked up their first time and women who get knocked up after having their tubes tied. It's not fair, it's fucked up, and I hate it. And I'm OVER IT! OVER IT! Yes, I hope this time it worked, of course. Then we're onto a slew of other worries. But from what I've read, if I AM pregnant, 59 is about average for a singleton on the first beta. Don't trust that assessment as I am apparently kinda very retarded reading these sorts of numbers. There's a reason I never pursued anything involving science.

I could go pee on a stick. Maybe then I could at least see a couple of those damn lines--however misleading they may turn out to be. I could call the doctor after he gets in. Then we can hear conclusively that we're fucked on this last round of ours. Or not. Maybe I'll pull an ostrich and just wait. If there's any hope, I don't feel like being defeated with our equivocal reality. We'll find out conclusively in 2 days. 2 days.

Just 2 more days.

If we do get Gavin, we're so renaming him "Consolation Prize."

Old Paths/New Paths

2009-03-07T03:49:00.014-08:00

I'm beyond sick of speculating about early pregnancy symptoms because it's SO tired after 7 years. Hexing be damned, I gotta say I AM feeling different: hyper sensitive to smells, things taste different, sleeeeeepy, murky brain, unusual twinges + tugging in the belly, uber hungry, then when I eat I feel full or nauseous or both...

Of course, not only have I had ALL these mind fuck symptoms a zillion times prior to seeing ZERO, nada, nunca, not a friggin' sign of the elusive double pink lines with my ineffective stream,* but I'm all too aware right now these nagging symptoms could simply be due to the hormones they have me on... Ho hum. Joys of the 2ww. At least our 2ww has been shortened by the lab babysitting the embies for those 6 days.

I keep steadying myself by going back to what I posted before. My wish post: "I hope whatever is supposed to happen, happens." It's the healthiest place for me to go with this whole IF roller coaster. Since it's really a sentiment about faith, it's actually a good mantra to apply beyond this world of IF.

After we get our beta results on Monday + Wednesday, we'll proceed w/ packing accordingly. Either I'll take my aggression/grief out on heaving + tossing my things into the luggage, or I'll be warmly bossing Dan around to do the heavy lifting. I'm really only talking books and paperwork. Our extraction won't be all that involved. It's hard to believe we're going to be home bound on the 18th. It's been quite a journey. As we wrap up our life-changing stint here, we're also wrapping up our life-changing 7 year stint TTC. Always a fan of life's symmetry.

Since you're up to date on our last bits of history here, I'll fill you in on the first bits of our history here... I wrote the following as we hunkered down for our year long stay, settling into life in Taipei:

When I arrived here on May 31st of this year, my head was literally spinning. I lost 24 hours of precious OCD-wrapping-up-final-details time because I lamely misread my itinerary (so I'm not so great at reading military hours) and scrambled to make my plane. Paul kindly dosed me up with a Xanax which shaved about 7 hours off my flight (I passed out for half of it). I fended off the dreaded jet lag from the 15 hour flight by faithfully following the protocol as directed on the NO JET LAG box my lovely friend and neighbor from the VOD had given me. He's a world traveler and swore by the stuff and I'm now an official convert. (If I am preggers, I will avoid them. If not, I'll be popping those things with as much dedicated regimented fervor as I have my infertility concoctions.) I hit the ground running--didn't sleep my first day away. Everything was new and interesting. I can see how people get addicted to indulging in wanderlust. It's invigorating to view things for the first time as if you're a child. My first night here I was met with a mini amateur fireworks show (an event I thought was just for me... turns out it's a frequent occurrence).

Uprooting oneself to live in a foreign country halfway around the world where one does not speak nor read the language, can tend to make one feel a bit out of their comfort zone! I'm actually not surprised at how well I've handled the transition. I do have resources here such as Dan's bilingual friend at work, and my language exchange partner (found each other through the online classifieds). It makes sense with how I excel under chaos and duress. My fight or flight instincts are literally more tapped here as simply surviving not being hit by their crazy driving/no sidewalks is a task unto itself. HOWEVER, my fight or flight instincts are NOT stimulated the same way as they are in LA--in that I'm not constantly late due to crazy traffic (don't miss one bit) and watching my back for fear of creeps fucking with me there.

Such a relief to have that defensive LA shield down. One really feels safe walking on the streets here no matter what time of day or night. Plus being a foreigner gives us extra protection b/c NO ONE wants to cross that legal bridge here. The government doesn't look too kindly upon its citizens messing with foreigners. And I'm adoring how easy riding their MRT (subway) is. They keep it spanking clean, it's safe, and it's extremely efficient. After spending over half my life wrestling with LA traffic, I'm going to enjoy the freedom from driving while I can. Overall, the people here have been extremely kind, helpful, patient, and friendly to us in helping us find our way around.

I don't know if we would have had the guts to take this challenge on had we not built up our stamina with living in the trailer in SD and then taking on the most challenging task of our lives in renovating our apartments. Now that prompted quick growth. Coming through that made us so extremely strong in our faith in each other and ourselves. So "being in the trenches" together, as with anyone, either breaks you or makes you stronger. I told him yesterday, we're like two strands in DNA - so inextricably intertwined. Codependent? Um, hell yeah! Far as I can tell, for us anyway, it's the best way to conduct this thing called marriage.

*Pathetic admission: It has crossed my mind more than once that I should have just forked over the 7 bucks and peed right after that trigger shot in December just to feel what it must be like to see a positive. Warned you, pathetic.

Oh yeah. And HAPPY

2009-03-06T01:32:00.002-08:00

18th BIRTHDAY my dearest, decrepit, Elysian Fields!

Can't wait to pick you up, give your bony self a big squeeze and have you, in all your peeved glory (no cuddling for Elly) wriggle out of my arms, thud on the floor as you trot away, then turn on a dime, rush back, balance on your hind legs as you clasp your two paws around my hand, drawing it down demanding I give you a pet and a scratch--on your terms.

(Anyone else think having a female cat is redundant?)

Resume Revision = Ranting + Raving RAGE

2009-03-06T00:08:00.005-08:00

Microsoft Word SUCKS.

Microsoft Word SUCKS.

Microsoft Word SUCKS.

Microsoft Word SUCKS.

Microsoft Word BLOWS.

Just despise it. Always have. A program this ubiquitous (and unfortunately necessary), should damn well be the most user-friendly, intuitive, and universal piece of glorious software out there.

HR departments generally require a Word doc especially for keyword purposes. Annnnnd they want a nicely formatted document. WTF?!?! There's this thing called Adobe Reader. You format/design a doc however you want in whatever friggin' program you want, then when you send it, the recipient views it how it's intended to be viewed--fonts and margins all intact. What a concept, huh?

Can anyone out there shed some light as to why HR software programs weren't designed to interface with Reader vs. Fuck-You-Up-At-Every-Paragraph-Word?

Anyone find it ironic that these are the people heading up making decisions about our worthiness as a relevant employee while they insist on perpetuating the use this inane product? Oh the wasted hours I've thrown away beating my head against the WORD WALL.

I think it might, once again, boil down to the fact that--now brace yourselves, I guess I'm coming out here--the fact that I AM A MAC USER. That's right. There, I said it. Proud Mac user for that matter. Yes, I can work a PC (dur, a monkey could compute these days), but I'm a dyed in the wool Mac user (helps that I get Dan's hand-me-downs).

I suppose I deserve these constant obstacles in conducting business on my Mac. The horror... working on a Mac for anything other than specific creative purposes. I damn well deserve to struggle through Word and to be shut out of countless websites (cut us off from Explorer YEARS ago--FedEx anyone?!?!?!?!).

Yes, it's true. I have braved topics such as abortion and religion (or lack thereof), but delving into PCs vs. Macs just might be the tipping point for some of my dear readers. BTW, I DO love the Mac ads and I do think they're humorously accurate.

Oh the audacity to "think different"... (ly).

Patience is a virtue.

2009-03-05T03:01:00.003-08:00

doot too doo, doot too doo, ho hum.

The Circle of Life.

2009-03-02T01:36:00.007-08:00

They're in. Doc said it was a smooth transfer. We both felt so relieved we made it this far. Dan was in the room and was glued to the monitor as he held my hand. Felt so much better that he was in there with me. The lab technicians (embryologists?) needed reassuring by Dr. Li that it was okay he watch and when Dr. Li consented again, they nodded with befuddled looks on their faces and with trepidation handed Dan his surgical attire. To us, it just seemed natural that the husband would want to be in there--being an important participant in this whole process... my eggs didn't fertilize themselves. Isn't this just normal M.O. in the states? I found it sad that the husbands here are left in the waiting room.

Here are the lucky three that met me at 10:15 AM. Hoping they're enjoying the entertainment I prepared for them.

I drank too much water and despite the catheter they shoved (uh huh, painful) into my bladder to drain me after the procedure, I still needed the bed pan 3x during our 4 hour lock down. Even though I've read about plenty of women becoming pregnant after going home immediately following a transfer, our doc has his protocol, so I respectfully heeded his instructions to NOT get out of bed. Between my magazines and Dan's laptop, the time flew by. They even had internet connection there so we played my youtube womb soundtrack. It was really lovely, actually.

Bed rest until Tuesday morning = watching too much awful Taiwanese TV programming = intermittent naps. I guess all this progesterone is knocking me on my ass.

Since these are day 6 blasts (doesn't really give us any leg up, it just means they were slow and we had a patient, good lab), our fate's wait is only until the 9th, then we'll confirm the beta again on the 11th.

Meanwhile, we have reservations on Friday, March 6th at Diamond Tony's on the 85th floor of the Taipei 101. The timing was fortuitous as this will be the 20th anniversary of my mother's death and the 18th anniversary of my kitty's birth. So for the last 17 years I've put a hat on Miss Elysian Fields and taken our photo together. I've focused on her birthday, not my mom's death day. (On my mom's grave site the last line reads, "Peace at last in Elysian Fields" so I thought Elysian Fields was a special and apt name to call my kitten.) I don't think Elly will mind skipping the hat shot this year (I KNOW she won't mind), but I will. As we overlook the island of Taipei, halfway around the world from our home, we'll be toasting (me: Shirley Temple) to my loyal skinny little 18 year old girl, to my long-deceased mom, and to our potential baby.

Then we'll return to our apartment and to our temporary roommate, who has been championing us going through this procedure and waxes poetic about the joys of parenthood. And guess what movie he worked on? The Lion King. Circle of Life. Get it? An OCD gal has gotta love those full circles and serendipitous timings.

We SO are prepped for tomorrow's FET.

2009-02-28T07:23:00.007-08:00

The stats as of Friday evening:

All embies thawed.

First two vials...

one, 11 cell
three, 8 cell
one, 7 cell
two, 6 cell

Third vial...

all four not looking pretty.

So all in all we can hope we'll get at least one decent one out of the above seven.

Got a call from Dr. Li this morning to ask us to come in 1/2 hour earlier... that we'll probably do an AH after all. On how many? Dunno. All questions will have answers soon enough. (Ooh, I sounded like a fortune cookie.)

At this point we're all, like, chah-eck... done prepping for that transfer schmansfer thing. What we really prepped for today was... wait for it... THE FOUR HOUR PURGATORY afterward.

Well, actually can't say this was Dan's prep. As a matter of fact, I'm sure he'd want me to specify that he neither condones, nor wants a thing to do with this form of prep.

Drumroll please...

Life & Style
Headline: The Octuplets' Mom OBSESSED WITH ANGELINA

People Style Watch
Headline: 325 New Spring LOOKS!

Who
Headline: MEET THE TWINS! Life is "hectic but marvellous" for the Jolie-Pitts, as Viv and Know make their public debut at 6 months

(I know, I'm hanging my head in shame as I write.)

Oh wait, here's some "redemption":

Lucky
Headline: 812 easy ways to look great right now

annnnnd (nope, don't redeem any of this with this last one):

ELLE SPRING FASHION ISSUE
Headline: 640+ JEANS, DRESSES, BAGS, JACKETS: HOW TO WEAR THE TOP TEN TRENDS

Ahhhhh, mind candy. I realize I could have, at the very least, bought Vanity Fair. And this shit wasn't cheap here to boot. But I figured: I've been free of this mindless junk for close to a year and I won't be able to focus on a book while waiting and I can read the remainder on the return 15 hour flight home in about 2 weeks.

So there.

A glimpse of our Day-Before-Transfer--photos taken at WuShi Harbor in Yilan:

Freedom of choice to create + utilize SCIENTIFIC ADVANCEMENT

2009-02-27T02:12:00.008-08:00

Freedom of choice to utilize SCIENTIFIC ADVANCEMENT.

What do I mean? Well, stem cell research was completely thwarted by backward thinking Bush. It's been about a month since I did a shout out to President Obama. I'm overdue. THANK YOU Mr. Obama for working so quickly to get stem cell research back on track.

To any person out there who has benefitted from the freedom to pursue ART, to TRY to have their own bio baby, this SHOULD matter to you. You've been able and allowed to access options, to have HOPE due to scientific technological advancements. If this doesn't matter to you, ask yourself this: WHY would you want those afflicted with their own chronic maladies to not have the same opportunities you've had? WHY put a ceiling on improving human existence?

I do hope my take on this doesn't offend Mel, from Stirrup Queens, but I firmly believe this topic is SO much more important than how it appears at face value:

Here's her post:

http://stirrup-queens.blogspot.com/2009/02/implanting-ideas.html

My comment #1:

Uh boy. This one esp. hits home to me right now as I await my TRANSFER on Sunday. Simply put: another example of lazy, irresponsible journalism that only fans the flames of IFer ostracism. Good job NYT, you're staying true to your fictitious reporting history.

Their reason (excuse) for this decision is inexcusable. The English language is wonderful because there are so many words to specifically communicate ideas--it's their JOB to use words authentically and well.

I have many punches I'd like to swing on this. Is that the hormones? Not sure. This is ALL so rage-worthy.

Yesterday I wrapped up my "prepping my womb" post--an exercise in hope as I establish a fluffy home for the embies. It was an emotional process. But more importantly, in that post, I address ABORTION. I'm vehemently PRO-CHOICE. Legalized abortion is inextricably intertwined with our rights to utilize ART procedures. It's a slippery slope. Admittedly, it's a touchy subject I have yet to read posted by a fellow IFer.

On my 2nd post on the same day, I bemoan the fact that they do not yet have the technology to actually do the implantation.

That doctor has already established he is unethical. So why in the world would he be believed that he has figured out how to do an actual implantation vs. transfer?

Seriously want to line these people up for my punch fest.

My comment #2:

Okay. Call it the hormones...

It's beyond my control, I cannot resist adding this additional thought. As time passes and we look at these events in hindsight, as HISTORY, these are the events that could have a seriously negative snowball effect not just for women TTC their own bio baby, but evvvveryone--whether they give IF a second thought or not:

http://rawstory.com/news/2008/Obamas_FDA_swiftly_approves_embryonic_stem_0124.html

3 words: embryonic stem cells.

Thank you, Mel, for the post. Thanks for being so visible out there as our honorary IF spokesperson. Thanks for your continued total absence of apathy.

Fearless IF blogging--no apologies necessary.

2009-02-26T22:46:00.000-08:00

A few of the talented ladies with whom I'm sharing this piss stew are contributors on what promises to be a great new IF site:

www.fertilityauthority.com/bloggers

They're splendid writers and deserve some props for "coming out" about being infertile to larger masses. Any form of "coming out" is an act of bravery. Coming out indicates we're different and have been closeted about something. That we have an "affliction" that is probably misunderstood, feared, and possibly scorned. Our society is just so darned uncomfortable with people who don't have the star on their bellies.

Erin, from Pieces of Me wrote a heartbreaking post about how this lack of acceptance and understanding causes searing pain. This post should be read by every friend and family member who knows someone who is infertile. And to those potential grandparents hounding their kids about creating a grandchild for them, oh don't get me started. Suffice it to say, they should be the first to put this at the top of their reading list.

This road we're all on is full of different twists and turns--all ending up in tears either way: joy or sorrow. The reason we're all a bloggin' away about our personal dramas is to work through our shit. It goes beyond feeling the shared pain in the emotions of another's dismal state, sometimes someone may post something that makes one uncomfortable to read about their having opposing political or religious beliefs from yours. All part of the deal. We're all participants in the "Silent Sorority". When we blog, if we're being true to ourselves, honoring our lot, if we're doing it right, we should be fearlessly eviscerating our emotions--with no apologies. Erin, no apology necessary. That's exactly the type of writing you need to be doing. We all need to be doing. If we're putting a veneer up for anyone, we're off track. Readers will appreciate the raw truth that spills forth.

The blogosphere is an amazing forum to create a wonderful circle of support where the ties run surprisingly deep. It's intense because we're all braving expressing ourselves to the core of our being. How lucky are we to still have this unregulated forum to courageously self-publish our deepest inner musings?

That said, Fuck. Transfer happening on Sunday now. The lab couldn't clearly convey the lowdown to me due to the language barrier. Another lost in trans... Taipei. I did, however, understand they're growing sloooooowly (Of course they are. They're half mine.) and the doctor pushed it to Sunday morning on March 1st. Still no idea how many, quality, AH, etc...

Sooooo tired from the Progesterone.

ART = Witchidoctorification

2009-02-26T03:40:00.008-08:00

After finally wrapping up my mega "prepping the womb" post, I'm trying to muster the strength to call the clinic to find out how many of the totcicles made it.

Yesterday, Dr. Li informed us it was looking like only 2 were making it. Though he was only referring to the first 2 vials. Still don't know the outcome on the 3rd. Dan was more crestfallen than I. Despite warning him that many don't make it, he didn't realize it could be that many. And Dr. Li even suggested he might do an assisted hatching on these two around day 3 if their progress seemed too slow to look like they'll make it to blasts. I had been harassing him this whole cycle to do AH, but on the expected day 5 blasts. He has repeatedly insisted AH is not necessary if they make it to day 5s. I was peeved he wouldn't just do it. From all my (granted, online) research, we're candidates across the board for AH no matter what stage the embryos reach. Another conclusion: day 3 transfers just seem to be a way to placate the woman/couple that sufficient efforts were made. If pregnancy is achieved through a day 3 transfer, the embryos would have made it to a day 5. In other words, if they're not looking like they'll make it to day 5, then they probably just won't work at day 3. By transferring on day 3, the lab/RE will look like they did everything they could and the BFN outcome will then be blamed on the woman/lining, etc. That stated, I will still happily go through the expense and expectation of transferring at day 3 if that's this cycle's outcome. I don't think one IFer would walk away even if what I contend is true. I do believe that the time will come when day 3 transfers will be looked back upon as an inadvertently cruel and manipulative hoax on IFers (don't ever forget we infertiles are part of the infertility BUSINESS. Business... Capitalism... Profit).

Along those lines, an interesting exchange to note: After the first IVF attempt didn't work and we were facing this FET cycle, Dr. Li bolstered our hopes by reminded us the totcicles we'd be using came from the same viable batch the first "hearty" ones came from. Cut to yesterday's phone conversation: "Now remember, we used the best of the best in that first round. And in the freezing and thawing process some don't make it and then we're left with ones that aren't as good as those first ones..." Hmmm. I'm thinking that would have been solid forthright information to share as we ramped up to take on this cycle. Luckily I, a.) don't trust doctors as Gods and b.) don't trust doctors as Gods and c.) educate myself as much as possible and d.) understand this whole friggin' process is just a crap shoot and e.) don't trust doctors as Gods.

Hey, I'm thankful we have any to possibly transfer on day whatthefuckingever.

As I've asserted before, we're all toying with witch doctory. Witchdoctorage. Witchidocitude. This ART is still in its relative infancy. There is SO much stupid luck involved. Put it in these terms: it's still in such relatively unchartered territory that they haven't completed the formula yet. They still have yet to discover how to get a woman pregnant, artifically.

They haven't figured out that darned i-m-p-l-a-n-t-a-t-i-o-n part yet. The genetic material may be combined, the lining may be nice and plush, the viable embryos may be floating around, but they haven't figured out how to make the suckers stick. And stick around for the long haul. No, it's not just us IFers who pray their baby stays put. Unfortunately plenty of fertile women must grieve losing their pregnancies to miscarriages. However, IF chip on my shoulder be damned, I'm thinking the expense of money, emotions, and time intertwined in needing, then using assisted reproductive technology, that they damn well owe it to us to get the job done. And they can't. Cannot. Not yet. Ladies, we're ART pioneers.

It's like we're hiring these general contractors who do what looks like a great job but then they leave the roof unfinished in certain parts. And it may rain, or it may not. The job is incomplete and we're at the mercy of the weather.

Since the verdict is still out on the third and final vial, I'm trying to muster this thing called bravery. Or is it courage? What's the difference again? Any? I'm so afraid NONE of them are going to pull through and we'll have to cancel this, our last stab at cycling.

In preparation, I'm going over 2 things in my mind:

1.) Dan and I have talked about talking about adopting.

2.) This whole blog would serve well as our "family album" in presenting ourselves to a certain sector of mothers looking to place their baby for adoption. Of course, that would only apply to one small facet down the adoption path. The other, more widespread avenues would involve me hiding this blog and us sitting primly as we're interviewed (grilled) with my hands demurely clasped in my lap and Dan's arm protectively slung over my shoulders, both dressed in tweeds with a dim bulb swinging overhead.

Have I mentioned Fuck the bullshit injustice of intense layers of investigation and hoop jumping prospective adoptive parents must endure (the "paper pregnancy") just because their bits don't work while the fertiles whose parts do happen to work... Weeell, since their reproductive systems are all guns a' blazin', that MUST mean they'll be bang up parents and lucky them, not only do they end up with a kid, they aren't scrutinized as if they're running for public office.

Have I gone off on that yet?!?!?!

URRRGGGHHH it's beyond frustratating that the prospect of "just adopting" can so easily amount to another failure--adding insult to injury to an infertile couple traveling down their last path to parenthood.

Which is why we've only talked about talking about it. We'll cross that bridge later.

Okay. Here I go. I'm calling now... and... nada. That's right... my doc is only in on MWF. I'll have to call again in the AM. Transfer tomorrow? No idea. Crap.

Where's my chocolate?!

Good foundations start in the womb.

2009-02-26T01:53:00.004-08:00

Here was my original concept:

Decking out my womb.

Started this post on 2/4/09 intending it to be a stab at optimism. A work in progress for the weeks leading up to the FET as I grow plushy lining in which to welcome our thawed embryos. I wanted them to "see" and "hear" the happy world that awaits them WHEN they nestle in and grow healthily to a real live birth.

I have mixed feelings about this approach--anthropomorphizing what amounts to mere technologically advanced dabs of multiple cells of our combined DNA--our totcicles. I am a FIRM believer in civil rights (I know, to some stating this is like saying I love rainbows and long walks on the beach. But the fact that Prop 8 in California didn't pass just shows not everyone has a solid understanding of what it means to believe in civil rights. Don't get me started on the hypocrisy...). Women's rights. Women's right to CHOOSE to have an abortion. The "right to life" vs. "freedom of choice." That term "right to life" was a manipulative term created by the right wingers who, I might add, played a huge role in creating this world-wide recession (yes, off point). The phrase "pro-life" implies we who believe women should have the right to choose what happens to their bodies DON'T BELIEVE IN LIFE... Implies we are, in fact, anti-life. From the top of my lungs, I scream to those herds, FUCK YOU!!! (Yeah, Fuck not cursing. So I only lasted one post.)

If I got knocked up before I was 26, I probably would have had an abortion. Once I hit around 27 I decided I'd go through with an unplanned pregnancy (though of course I was crazy-fastidious about protection [BCP+condoms]) and would either keep it or give it up for adoption. Once I met Dan, within the first 2 months we'd responsibly discussed if we accidentally got knocked up we'd definitely keep it and get married early (having known before our first date we were going to get married [we knew the first night we chatted at that fateful party where our parting gift was a pomegranate {which we ironically incorporated into our wedding "theme."}]) HA... 20/20 irony.

Real pomegranates we grew from a tree we planted in our beloved first nest. These bloomed right after we moved out. The new tenants? She got knocked up and her boyfriend told us how great the house was for fertility as I hugged her in congratulations.

Our fall wedding festooned with ripe, full, bursting with seeds, fertility-representing, pomegranates... still taking contraception b/c we thought we'd wait a bit longer to start a family. Sweet.

Though I personally was never faced with the decision to put my beliefs to the test, we still got tested while we were seeing RE #2. Dan was such a regular at a Starbucks in Encinitas that a Barrista disclosed to him she was pregnant and didn't know what to do. He immediately called me to see if we could offer to sponsor her and adopt. It seemed rash, but serendipitously well-timed. He made the offer. She said she'd think about it. He went back a week later and she told him she had an abortion. We were both really saddened. But we completely respected her choice. That particular path wasn't meant for us to follow.

I've read a lot of infertility blogs, but have yet to read about an IFer's take on abortion. It's such an Oprah topic for us women banging our heads against to wall, trying everything we can possibly try to just get fucking knocked up and deliver a baby, dammit. While simultaneously, there are countless girls out there aborting those precious pregnancies we all so long for.

The red flags have been slapping the wind gusts about reversing Roe v. Wade since abortion became legalized. I fear I've seen some flickers of red flapping in the breeze after Octomom and her doctor's abuse has been so publicized. There will always be abusers on both ends of the spectrum from Octomom to Serial Abortion Slut who uses abortion as a method of birth control. But just as it's our right to pursue ART, it's their right to receive legal abortions.

That addressed, I shall continue to flesh out this exercise in HOPE.

Here was my original text:

My goal: open my heart to HOPE. This is kinda the opposite of "having a consolation prize" lined up (Jetson got adopted, BTW--may be a sign).

Location, location, location.
found just the right neighborhood, great schools, perfect weather, clean, safe: √

Renovation.
estrogen/progesterone... nice lining will abound: √

Provisions for crew abundant.
fortifying sustenance + shelter (+ chocolate): √
vision + tools + budget... unlimited: √

Now the fun begins. Designing. Creating the playlist. Prepping this pad for their lifetime foundation. So that ain't gonna involve no fruffy puffy pale pastel crap.

It's free shopping time.

And here is what I arrived at on this, what I believe to be my day before transfer:

"Free" shopping ended up involving me shopping our lives.

The stuff wasn't "free" as in my original concept of flitting about the Internet snatching shots of covetable crap. I thought I'd have fun doing that, but anything that caught my eye was happily very close to what we already own, or have owned. So these are the feathers of the nests we've already created. Multiple nests. We've created four since we started TTC. Our most recent 4th is where our four-legged babies are patiently awaiting the return of our salty lickable faces, but I don't have any of those shots on this laptop...

Anthropomorphizing beginning... NOW.

To our dearest Multi-celled Thawed Embryos,

We have wanted you for SO long that we're doing our best to make sure you have the cushiest, fluffiest, thickest, badasssedest place to hunker down for the next 9 months.

We've provided you with images and sounds to entice you to stay and enjoy your ride. There are many wonderful nouns out there awaiting your arrival in this world. It just won't be the same without you.

We are keeping all appendages crossed in hopes that you like what you see and hear. Please hang on. We'll teach you tons, make you laugh and cry and hopefully make you super glad you decided to join us.

See. We have talented photographer friends who make us look cool in shots (that's just water, BTW).

Apartments we renovated: We walk the fine line in artistic craziness. Your life will never be boring with us.

We have lots of friends who work in many fields. You'll have various and interesting influences. These friends run a restaurant in Taiwan.

I even removed my naval ring in case the metal may bug you in nestling in. Trying to conceive you stimulates superstitions (had that done loooong after I left your grandparents home, BTW).

Your future daddy is so fun. All the kids love him. Even strangers he meets on the subway.

He thinks I'm very monkey-like. He means it as a compliment.

Wo XiWang. I Hope. Jewelry designer friend's handwriting.

Future daddy wants to teach you to be a world-class surfer.

Future mommy wants to teach you how to knit.

Our favorite place to harden our arteries in Encinitas. The 101. If you join us, we promise to eat less Eggs Benedict.

Rich Taiwanese boss-lady's sanctuary. Even have some friends in high places. Ooooh, the nepotism possibilities.

Ah Susan. The heart + soul of the VOD. She'll watch you when I need to run a bunch of errands.

Your future daddy is in the kitchen brewing coffee and making one of his wonderful breakfasts. He's a gifted cook.

Our VOD nest. Your future daddy's favorite of them all.

We'll rock you to sleep on a sunny lazy afternoon.

Beacon's beach. We'll watch many gorgeous sunsets with our friends and neighbors. Leucadia is a wonderful community.

There will be lots of other kids for you to play with.

See, if you stick around, that could be where we were sitting with you bouncing on my lap (with a hat + tons of sunscreen, BTW) watching daddy surf. But we're not pictured b/c we're wading in the ocean as the waves lap at our feet, both lost in giggles as I try to spot daddy to point out to you.

Your fur brother, Zeke + sister, Tallulah. OMG, they're the greatest dogs ever. You'll SO fall in love with them, and they, you.

Old, old, Elly. She's been with your future mom for 18 whole years. For an old lady, she's really great with kids. We think you two will love each other too.

The "fertile" room. (Well, at least for someone.) This was where we first started trying to have you. (Yeah, I know. You don't even want to think about THAAHT!)

Gorgeous sunset taken from the porch of our beloved, and much-missed first nest.

Oh how we miss this place. We moved out and our renters now get to enjoy it. We moved next door b/c it was bigger and would be easier to raise a family there.

Elly loved this place too.

Countless great meals were shared here with family and friends while we lived here. And then again when we visited our tenants here. This house is much beloved by many.

We used to imagine hanging out on this patio with YOU.

The view from our backyard at the new house wasn't too shabby though.

We adore a gorgeous sunset. See how many we'd expose you to?

Our itsy bitsy baby girl. She works it like a good spaniel should. We'd love for her to have you to play with. Your future daddy has primed her to be great with kids as he is a total little boy with her.

Our old TV room. We were gonna plop you on that sofa and turn you into an ADD monster by propping your eyes open and cramming lots of Baby Einstein into your brain a la Clockwork Orange (one of your future daddy's favorite movies, BTW). Eeew. Future mommy is Gross. I know. See, nothing hidden here--laying it all out there for you, baby, you are coming from some kooky genes. But this is the sofa we'll be taking you home to. Sofa, meet Long-Awaited Baby, Baby, meet Sofa (one of the many nouns awaiting your arrival).

Oooh, the Yuppie LG front loading Washer + Dryer set. I did a whiney jig in the department store to get Dan to acquiesce to getting these. Purchased in September of '05 with our anniversary around the corner on October 14th, followed by Christmas, then my birthday, I traded receiving any gifts for those occasions to plant these beauts right here... ready to wash your cloth diapees. (Yes, cloth. We're a green family, gosh darned it.) Alas, they're still in that spot with renters getting to enjoy them in all their glory. (I have since read a story online about a 4 year old crawling into and dying via a front loader... so if they were still directly in our lives I would SO keep an eye on you in that old laundry room of ours!)

Our VOD bedroom we'll be taking you home to. If you're a boy, the pink is a COOL kinda pink. Don't worry, you're still a little dude. If you're a girl, OMG, do I have an OCD collection of accessories for YOU.

Our first renovation project. We redid the downstairs mother-in-law room at our first house. Our houseguests were so happy to spend the night in the new getaway vs. the crap collection room it had once been. (Note: You will, in all likelihood, have pack rat tendencies. You will need to fight the good fight. Just remember, editing is a good thing.)

Our 2nd nest. We so miss this place too. The view was a vast expanse of treeeees. Has a very tree house vibe. It was much more Dwellified than our first. The home was built in '59, it kind of demanded it. We'll be bringing you home to our 3rd nest, decorated with a blend of styles from nests #1 + #2 in the renovated Craftsman.

We adored the corner fireplace. Unfortunately my lungs couldn't handle using it too much. We don't think that's something you'll be inheriting. It probably happened because I spent my formative years living in the smoggiest part of LA in the '70s: San Gabriel Valley.

I loved this path to the kitchen (see the theme?) where your future daddy was always cooking up a meal that was way better than anything we eat at restaurants. We'd eat it in the dining room, candles usually lit, pretending we were in a tree house.

We'd love, more than anything, to have you join us eating Dan's awesome cooking, me showing you how to knit, him showing you how to surf, me showing you how to bargain shop, him showing you how to draw, me correcting your spelling, him showing you how use complicated software, me showing you how to decorate, us showing you how to laugh, love, be loved, and grow up to be a conscientious, wonderful human being.

There you have it, our dearest Embryos, you're extremely wanted. Tomorrow as you're transferred to my ready womb and you land in wonderment floating around getting your bearings, please grab on, please hang on, please stay put, and please arrive in good health to fill our feathered + long-awaiting nest.

Our TTC soundtrack (made me cry the whole friggin' time I was compiling it). Some tunes + videos to keep you entertained for these upcoming 9 months:

Horny Teenagers, Tax Headaches, + Lucky Thirteen

2009-02-21T04:14:00.008-08:00

Alright. I'll write a little.

Rant time:

What the URRRRRRRGGGGGGGH (practicing being little less foul-mouthed as I'm approaching reentering the working world)!!!!!!!!!!!!!

What I'm getting at is WHY oh WHY do stupid girls whose brains aren't even fully developed think it's a good idea to create their own little real live play thing to just love 'em forever 'n ever (insert iridescent twinkly happy fun star with bright pink sequined puffy heart) instead of going out and just buying a plastic doll that pees water--like they held just 10 years prior to being a knocked up teenager?!?!??!?!? I mean, beyond hormone-driven horniness, they think it's cute. CUTE. Oh. Wait. I answered my own question: their brains aren't fully developed.

Stupid, ignorant females with parts that work getting laid by males with parts that work minus common sense + intelligence = a new generation of idiots.

*wiping sweaty brow stepping off soap box* Okay. I'm done. I'm displacing a tad as we just found out we owe beyond a crap load on our taxes. And that's minimizing it. So if this cycle doesn't work out, at least I'll still get to keep my figure for my pole dancin' Plan B to help pay it down.*

Alright. Silver lining. Silver lining. Silver lining. Um. Hmmm. Well, my lining. Yeah, my lining is plumping up. This cycle seems to be humming along just fine. Took my last shot of 0.05 Lupron this AM. Taking four 0.625 Premarin/day. 100 mg baby aspirin + PNV. Last night lining was 6.8 and going in for an ultrasound Sunday morning to make sure it's going to be all nice and fluffy. Then I think he said a few days of Progesterone.

And here's the big lowdown scoop on the transfer...

We're throwing all our eggs into one basket.

We faced reality and we don't want the psychic white noise of having those looming extra leftover embryos for some highly unlikely future FET. To approach this cycle as aggressively as possible all 3 vials containing the 13 frozen embryos shall be thawed to blast stage. The best of the best will be picked and we'll go for the max they'll transfer.

Keeping our fingers crossed and thinking that lucky 13th is our winner.

*Yeah, yeah... Plan B joke getting old, got it.

The way it's SUPPOSED to work.

2009-02-21T04:04:00.003-08:00

oooooh if only, right? (Can you tell I'm not feeling like writing lately?)

Wean the Caffiene

2009-02-19T04:43:00.009-08:00

Discipline time again. I indulged in my daily coffee ritual after the last IVF didn't work. But as we're approaching the transfer (less than a week from now!), I guess it's time to stop again.

Me:

[Insert picture of screaming, whining kid here. Had an image posted, but the one in your head is probably better anyway!]

More whining:

I think this estrogen is making me feel crazy hungry--despite eating pahleeenty. I always attributed this mid-cycle feeling to ovulating. As the Lupron shots assure that ain't the case, I'm having the revelation that all these years it must've been the estrogen that was plumping up my lining in vain. Or not. I'm sure I can Google away attempting to do my research. Don't really care at this point. I just want the feeling to go away.

What could possibly quell this feeling?

Continuous loop in my head :

Lovely: Mendelssohn's spring set to 1931 cartoon

2009-02-17T06:26:00.005-08:00

Always photo finishes in Sci-fi

2009-02-10T21:37:00.001-08:00

Haven't been sitting around popping the bon-bons moping about perpetual bad hair days ahead. But have been sitting around in front of the computer working on my pet project: Go Greenify. Got AF on the 9th in the AM so started the 0.1cc of Lupron on day 1 and will continue that dose everyday until CD9. Then started the estrogen 2x/day on day 2. Had blood drawn for FSH on day 2, yesterday. Finally discovered my LONG awaited result... Blood Type: A+. TaDa. Earth shattering. (Have I mentioned they don't wear the latex gloves when they do blood draws here?!?!? I mean, they didn't even prior to finding out I'm NOT HIV pos.!) Now I'm on CD3 and I'm practically done w/ my period. HUH? Hasn't been this light since I was on the pill. Anyone know if this is normal after IVF?

Back to Go Greenify... If I AM going to be bringing a kid into this world then now, more than ever, I'm compelled to do everything I can to help make it a better one for them. I intend to continue to mitigate the additional carbon footprint that mini consumer would be contributing to. If it doesn't come to pass, then I'm helping mitigate the footprint of our new niece we still have yet to meet in person. "If it doesn't come to pass..." I'm starting to accept that by being a pragmatist, it doesn't mean I'm not a hopeful person. I mean, I'm decorating my womb for Christ sakes! That's hopeful, right? I just naturally acknowledge reality. And the reality here involves statistics. Statistically speaking, our chances aren't too promising.

If we were locked into fully buying the statistics, we wouldn't have come this far. Which leaves me to delve beyond the world of pragmatism, into facing something I like to simply refer to as LUCK. That unquantifiable alignment of events beyond our control--events that we have the hubris to hope actually come to pass.

What exactly are we Heathens doing trying to employ this little thing called hope, faith, belief, throwing spaghetti at the wall and seeing if it sticks?

We're TRYING. Trying and failing is way the hell better than not trying at all.

But then I'm left with HOW hard are we going to try? Well, harvesting then ICSIing a bunch of eggs is trying pretty fucking hard. But there's more. This part. The hope + faith + belief part. This mental leap of faith part is the toughest for a realist. So admittedly I'm back to my aforementioned struggle with HOPE. Honestly don't think I'm wired for that to ever go away--which is not to be confused with my being a pessimist. I think I'm just the opposite. Case in point, working in the "green" world is playing my part in hoping we improve Earth's environment. Is optimism the same thing as hope? Is hope the same thing as faith? Wasn't the catch phrase on the Sci-fi show, X-Files, "I Believe."? And didn't they always make it out of their down to the wire scenarios? And didn't Scully, the NON-BELIEVER, finally believe at the end of the series?

Ironically, as we're undergoing science fictionesque treatment (c'mon. injecting the choice sperm into surgically harvested eggs...), I'm finding myself using tons of Sci-fi analogies. Here's one: When I'm feeling boxed in and as if I'm losing my battle, I feel like I'm in the trash compactor that Luke and Princess Leah were panicking in as it was threatening to squeeze the life out of them... But theeeeen they manage to get out just in the nick of time and they move onto their next adventure--stinky, but alive and hopeful they'll conquer their next challenge.

Well, that's how I'm feeling right about now: Hoping for my Sci-fi-impossibly-close-call-with-doom-only-to-have-a-photo-finish-win.

Bad hair day for over 275 days. I'll take it.

2009-02-05T23:21:00.006-08:00

Finally got my hair trimmed. Still growing it out, but they keep cutting off too much. I had some funky chunky steaks of reddish copper put in about 3 months ago. When the IVF didn't take, I figured at least I could turn the lemons into lemonade and get the streaks covered up to match the 1.5 inches of dark brown roots that had grown out of my head. I wanted as close to my natural color as possible so if (oops, when) I do get pregnant, I won't be stuck with the tacky line marking the passage of time.

I thought I was getting my desires clearly communicated as the receptionist speaks English and I'm great at miming. But I keep forgetting that when most people speak English well here, it's still quite lacking and they don't like to admit when they've gotten lost in translation. Saving face is big in their culture.

I'm now a fake red head. Ok. Bright auburn. And now have bangs. And in an Oedipal twist, my new do now pretty much looks just like how my MIL always wore her hair... on top of my already resembling her. Hmmm.

Does part of my visualizing getting pregnant involve embracing watching that tacky line move down my head?

Recycled comment posts: lazy and/or narcissistic?

2009-02-04T01:34:00.008-08:00

So is turning around + reusing a comment I originally posted on another's blog on my own considered cheating and/or straight up narcissism (so in love with my own thoughts)? I mean I am all for being green and recycling...

I had a kind new reader comment on my post from yesterday and when I checked out her blog in return, I posted the following:

Thanks for dropping in + commenting on my blog. Checking yours out... Never fails to boggle my mind what kind of CRAP we IFers go thru. 4th IVF. So sorry. And kudos to you for your fortitude.

All of our bodies and situations are SO different (and within ourselves from cycle to cycle). If I actually got pg. on mine and told you what worked for me, it so doesn't mean it would for you.

The really screwed up thing is, there's something you did or didn't do in IVF 1-3 that might or might not work for #4. It starts to become a "witch doctor" practice.

Here's my input:

Project yourself into the future asking yourself if you did everything you possibly could have to have achieve a pregnancy. Whatever actions will give you a "YES," follow that path. My motto: follow the path of least regrets.

You have all the answers you need: Listen to your gut.

If you're even questioning artificial sweeteners--CUT THEM OUT. I say, whatever crosses your mind as an "iffy" something over which you CAN exert CONTROL, grab the control and run.

Beyond that VISUALIZE healthy, dividing embryos happily nestling into the plushy lining of your ready womb. Have music playing in a surround sound for them. Hmmm. Making this part up. Maybe we can assign ourselves a playlist to welcome them to their new home for the next 9 months...

So, in summary: DO EVERYTHING YOU CAN and let go of everything you can't. Keep the faith!

I'm going to practice what I preach and work on my defrosted embryos decked out pad. They're going to have the coolest decor w/ a Bose surround sound system. NO TV yet. We don't want embryos w/ ADD.

ADDENDUM

My aforementioned mother's (she's my step-mom who did the hard lifting raising me, so I hate using that term b/c of the negative connotations. She'll be our baby's grandmother. Our baby's only grandmother, actually) "hope coaching" is sinking in. I let her know I posted another prompted by the "hope seeds" she has been gently planting:

When I wrote the following line on my womb decor post, "My goal: open my heart to HOPE. This is kinda the opposite of 'having a consolation prize' lined up (Jetson got adopted, BTW--may be a sign)," It really helped illuminate for me how much I walled myself off and expected the shoe to fall so I wouldn't be as crushed if the IVF didn't work that first time.

But having that kind of thinking really cuts me off from being totally committed to having it work. To HOPE it works. To not let my fears about it working successfully get in the way of it working.*

And being totally committed involves allowing oneself to truly HOPE for ultimate success.

*"In the end, it is a story about marriage, and — more important — about the necessary optimism that is required of thoughtful, observant people who decide (despite what they know) to have children."

—John Irving, author's notes about "Interior Space" (1980) in Trying to Save Piggy Sneed.

Mistletoe is neither meant for Decorating Cages nor Consumption.

2009-02-03T00:09:00.009-08:00

Here's my IF quote of the day from the woman who could become a grandmother yet again if this FET takes:

"You can sit in your rocking chair and feel you did everything you could or sit in the rocking chair looking at grandchildren. Either way you win."

Agreed.

On Sunday afternoon, after downing the best heart-stopping eggs benedict on the island, Dan and I visited a place highly recommended by our new friends, the proprietors of Le Rouge in Banciao City. $85NT and 8 minutes later we arrived by taxi, at Lin mansion. After enjoying the historic Chinese surroundings ,we came across a bell/gong thing I determined was there to strike while making a wish. Not sure if I was right and didn't care if I looked stupid doing it. (Children aside, find me an adult who doesn't look stupid when they shut their eyes muttering a wish while their tossed penny flies into the murky waters of a man-made water receptable?) So when I did it, my wish was: "I hope whatever is supposed to happen, happens."

Tired of being pushy with my wishes.

I spent the first 7 years of my life (okay, maybe 4 of those were cognitive) wishing for a frackin'* bunny. My day finally came. It was Christmastime. My parents bought me my long-awaited "Pepper" (guess what kind of coloring this rabbit had) and I proceed to decorate the cage with mistletoe (always have adored decorating) and I kill the poor thing within 2 weeks!!!** I always think of that when I "make a wish." I also remind myself of past Nouns I was absolutely sure were right and I desperately wanted them come into my life... and then I didn't get them--just didn't play out. Then in hindsight, I'm SO glad they didn't work out.

Case in point: the house we almost bought in So. Pasadena (mostly to be in the right school district for our unborn child/ren) and it fell through. Then, within about a year, the MRT, the train transport, the whatever it's called in LA, oh--the Metro (?) installation they insisted was on hold indefinitely was installed and running... LOUDLY... right outside what would have been our front door. A mere year! The very day we finally stopped beating our heads against the wall trying to make that square peg fit in the round hole, we found our beloved Tipton. Whenever we go to Busters (ex-place of employ from WAY back [I still make a mean cappuccino given the right implements of destruction]), we congratulate ourselves for being so damned psychically in alignment with The Universe, plugging our ears as the approaching train bells trigger a tinittis relapse. After it passes, we add an extra high five topped with a "terrorist" fist bump for being "blessed" despite being confirmed Heathens.

Life really is a crap shoot--we just try to play our cards right and let the chips fall where they may.

Vegas metaphors are the best when trying to make peace with how very little control we have over so many things in life.

*We've been on a crazed Battlestar Gallactica marathon this past week. Forgive my Silicon Valley nerdiness. But it's so frucking good! Highly recommend.

**NOTE: see title.

What the... whhhhhaaaaaaat?!??!

2009-01-30T00:42:00.005-08:00

Bitch. You already had SIX kids and you took fertility drugs for your SEVENTH pregnancy which resulted in a litter?

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20090130/ap_on_re_us/octuplets

If I were fertile, I'd be considered an insensitive cnut for throwing that out there. But just as members of subcultures get to call each other the offensive names they'd maim anyone outside their realm for using, well GUESS WHAT?!?!? I'm in that infertile circle and I'm refraining from adding more expletives here. I GET to. I've "earned" my subculture status. Seventh pregnancy abusing fertility drugs.

Give me a fucking break.

Meanwhile, I truly wish all eight of her preemies nothing but well wishes and good luck, unfortunately they'll need it. Bleeding heart liberal as I may sometimes be, I swear to God if either Oprah or Rosie buys her a fucking house I will personally tear them a new one.

Organizing frenzy. OCD much? Um, yeah.

2009-01-29T06:16:00.005-08:00

Hard drive kicked it. Totaled. Mostly everything was backed up. Only lost bookmarks + that's what Google is for. Best thing that could have happened for my heightened computing pleasure. Have memory galore now. Been busily reorganizing my computer files. Have taken the computer organizing into the real world. Finally wrapping up long overdue crap I've been creatively avoiding by blogging in detail about the minutiae in my life.

So while ya'll get caught up reading said nitty gritty, I'm getting caught up filing away.

We're entering our last month here. Trying to emotionally prepare for the laundry list of unknowns fast approaching. Expect AF to drop in for Valentine's Day. Looks like this cycle is back to its old long self. We'll probably do the FET in the 3rd week of February, let 'em bake, then fly back a week or 2 later. No, not ideal. But then again, doing a second IVF/FET round isn't either.

Still working on that elusive optimistic HOPE thing.

Have I mentioned I miss my precious Z? No, don't mean Zeke. Though I miss him tremendously. And Tallulah. HUGE. I'm referring to Zoloft. Miss it. On it, that's my normal. My normal isn't normal nor has it ever been...

Anyone who has read more than one or two of my posts is more than privy to my OCD, etc. crap. My friend who has been kindly and loyally following my blog sent me this. I wanted to share. She's not an "infertile," is actually a new mommy, and has never been on these drugs. Yet she GETS it. Not just the mental struggles, but the infertility as well. Moreover she's able to articulate it. She's an amazing + insightful person. And I'm lucky I get to count her as one of my dearest friends and have her in my life. Plus, she makes an insanely good cup of coffee.

I may have sent you this before, but I am trying to get caught up again on your blog (funny how [baby] makes "reading" a too time-consuming activity) and your post reminded me of this one on Dooce.com:

http://www.dooce.com/2007/12/13/because-i-couldnt-say-it-phone

She is a Sister-in-Arms when it comes to Head Meds (from your blog post). Drugs (therapy, whatever) aren't indications of weakness. If they help you to have a happy fulfilling life then they are a success. AND (my two cents), the fact that ANYONE seeks them out and stays on them (or with it) in order to make their life livable, shows that they have great strength and courage.

I've told you before she's one of my favorite bloggers (in addition to you now)! She's just has a great perspective on life, given the life she's already lived. I'm behind on her posts too. Hmph. I'll be caught up one day with all my favorite bloggers and vloggers. Actually, this year. New Year's resolution!

Smooch.
Say "HEY" to The Surfer for me!

-k

On buying yet another URL... the next brilliant concept.

2009-01-22T22:49:00.001-08:00

D: Have you done anything with the others?

K: C'mon. You know how many experiments Edison did before he came up with the light bulb?

D: Yeah, and you know how many Arnie Pritkin did?

(pause...)

K: Who's that?

D: Nobody.

Drop the "-elect" sir, and welcome to being the 44th: PRESIDENT OBAMA!!!

2009-01-20T07:48:00.002-08:00

Though a very recent post... In light of today's historic inauguration, worth a revisit:

LOST IN TAIPEI - (DIS)MADE IN TAIWAN: HAPPY BIRTHDAY MARTIN LUTHER KING, JR.!!!

WTF??! You* are still very much a woman if you never have a baby. Now go put on your lipstick and get a life, dammit.

2009-01-20T06:19:00.012-08:00

On the blog, Coming2Terms, which I read regularly, Pamela Jeanne posted this:

I missed this Newsweek article, What it Means to be a Woman, which ran in September...

She then added her own poll at the top of the post...

I took the poll, answering a resounding, "No."

As we're lucky enough to be enlightened Americans, when I hit the results I was optimistically expecting to see the "Nos" in the lead.

No such.

Not one to be shy, I hastily threw down my comment, the only thus far, on her poll:

Kate

1/20/2009 2:18:19 PM ET

C'mon, ladies. unlike Coming 2 Terms, I was not raised to be a lady. So here's what I think about all you weenies who answered a whopping 64% "yes": Oh, alright, I'll refrain from indulging in using expletives. Ovaries up, sisters. So you're telling us that if it's male factor infertility, your self-perception result is marred womanliness. RiFRIGGINdiculous. Moreover, if YOUR reproductive system isn't obliging, put on some heels, a bra, and lipstick and look in the mirror: Guess what?!?! That's right. You're a woman.

Well, keep fighting the good fight, Pamela. It's beyond dismaying how much societal stigma is attached to *whisper* b-e-i-n-g i-n-f-e-r-t-i-l-e.

A mere 25% out of 91 agreed with me. 64% said "yes" and there were 11% who don't know their own minds (maybe that's why they don't feel like a woman--a woman knows her mind; waffling is for girls). These were probably some of the same on-the-fencers who still don't know who they want to be President.

If you're a fellow IFer and my anger seems to be coming from left field... let me shed some light:

It's bad enough we're "betrayed" by our bodies (ours AND/OR our mate's) not performing as expected and it's bad enough we're "betrayed" by our "sisters-in-arms" when they pretend they had a litter (fine, just twins), naturally. But it's offensively, irritatingly, gratingly, lemon and salt on an open wound, outright BETRAYAL to ourselves if we buy into the kind of BULLSHIT, fucked up (see, haven't failed any parent here--as I said, wasn't raised to be a "lady," but I WAS raised to be a WOMAN) thinking that leads to what essentially amounts to our berating ourselves for being "lesser than."

Fucked up bull shit.

And I plead to any IFer whose reply to the poll would either be "YES," or "ON THE FENCE" to pull themselves up by the bootstraps and demand more from themselves. DON'T GIVE IN TO ANTIQUATED THINKING.

I can safely say you're strong enough to rise above that. You deal/have dealt with the roller coaster that is infertility--which means you have already confirmed my assertion is accurate... You are fine just the way you are--with or without a baby.

If I'm pissing you off because I've hit a nerve: GOOD. Now maybe you can pull your head out and see the other side. If you're still pissed, go put some lipstick on, march out into the big bad world and get some hobbies, for God's sake woman.

And feel free to rant back. I welcome comments, good and bad. If it weren't for a select few (hi, Lea!) I'd think I'm writing to crickets lollygagging on tumbleweed!

*My bone to pick applies to American woman only. As we infertile woman in this culture DO have a choice in how and where we want to place our big, fat "B" for Barren.

Double day: 41st b-day AND 7 year TTC anniversary

2009-01-18T06:25:00.003-08:00

I think back to the 7 years when we officially began our TTC journey and oh the naive kids we were waaaay back.

Note to the non-IF girlies: don't add the momentous occasion of trying to start a family on top of another celebratory day.

That said, had a wonderful b-day weekend! It wasn't especially planned and came off as if it were a finely oiled machine. Way to go, Sweetie!

I think having those embies on ice awaiting the transfer in February made the TTC anniversary way easier to swallow this year. That little thing called "HOPE" does have a nice bolstering effect. Instead of a waaaah-fest, it was more of a, CRAP, does time fly! I'm no longer a 40 year old; I'm officially in my "early 40s," pass the anti-gravity creams, pronto.

Ugh. Just writing that thwacked me on the head, making me think: "I can't believe we don't have kids yet... and I need to go to bed earlier. If it works in Feb., how the hell am I gonna have the energy? Speaking of bed, I'm tired."

Yes, I'm usually up way past this hour. But we shared a bottle of Merlot at dinner in Danshui, so it's the wine damn it... not a sign of being a decrepit "early 40s" old lady.

The future is wide open.

2009-01-16T21:30:00.011-08:00

We've now officially "come out" to all parental units that we're trying IVF here. They were all great about it... "we love you either way," etc. We've luckily received ZERO pressure from anyone to "give them" a grandchild, which we're so grateful for. It's so ridiculously sad a lot of my infertile peers must deal with that on top of everything else.

My assignment now is to actually open myself up to this thing called, HOPE. Don't think I allowed myself to "go there" the first round.

We're nearing the end of Dan's time on the project. But we still have some unfinished personal business:

1) 13 frozen embies awaitin' for a home (yes, I'm hoping my womb doesn't get to meet all of them personally).

2) STILL have credit card debt from our aforementioned renovation project.

Aside from those two factors, we are over Taipei. If they weren't an issue, we'd want to be home yesterday. I was totally enamored the first 3 months or so and now I'm tired of a host of things. And Dan feels the same way except x5. I def. like it more than Dan, for sure. But, unlike my kept woman, life of leisure here, he has to contend with some of the MOST unnerving cultural differences in dealing with the idiots in management at his work.

If I were a less picky eater and more in love w/ food, I may have made it to 5 months without getting sick of it. Alas, I'm not only a picky eater, I'm a lazy eater. MISS TRADER JOES! I've never outgrown the apathetic eating habits of a male college student.

Here's why we're especially burnt:

The infrastructure's set-up, in combination w/ their cultural density (I mean that in both senses), literally leaves one exhausted when it comes down to the day in, day out aspects of leading one's life. Because after the luster of being a "visitor" wears off and the daily tasks involved in residing in any large city settle in, it's a grind like everywhere else. I mean, here the traffic is so fucked up, we get caught in traffic jams AS A PEDESTRIAN. CONSTANTLY. Strange. At least we're not adding emissions by idling an engine.

No idea what our future holds once we leave.

I have my real estate license to fall back on. And I've been honing my renewed love of writing (rambling and neurotic as it may sometimes be). I'm hoping I can make some $ from it one of these days. And I have shitloads of wonderful supplies to make my jewelry--which I missing. But as my resume rant clearly indicated, the one thing I've concluded about myself is I'm just never going to be one of those people who is any good at randomly finding great employment via a resume--no matter HOW much great shit I have accomplished. And that will probably serve me very well, thank you.

Outside of wanting my future to be plainly clear by some (one, please) of those embies sticking, I've meanwhile "birthed" a new baby...

My social experiment birthday present: http://www.bdaypresentlist.org/

PLEASE CHECK IT OUT AND PLAY ALONG!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MARTIN LUTHER KING, JR.!!!

2009-01-14T22:16:00.012-08:00

The future did you proud.

Dear, Mr. President-elect Obama:

The world's fate now rests on your shoulders. Take your vitamins and Godspeed. And thank you for stepping up.

In gratitude,

Possible-future-Mom-who-is-looking-forward-to-bringing-a-kid-into-a-world-that-still-has-HOPE.

Resume Rant: Seems I'm an Entrepreneurial Artist after all.

2009-01-13T22:53:00.006-08:00

Dear, Professional Resume Skeweress:

First of all, I absolutely agree with you wholeheartedly, across the board. I want to sincerely thank you for your detailed critique of my resume and for your candid bluntness. Fortunately, communicating bluntly is also my favorite way to communicate. Therefore, please don't take my tone personally as I really do appreciate being bottom-lined, and so I shall express myself reciprocally.

SUMMARY/INTRODUCTION/DESIGN AND FORMAT

You were correct in your assessment that I used the provided online software. I was limited by the options provided by TheLadders.com site itself; my hands were tied in not being able to post my resume in its current PDF format. When I went to upload it, I was frustrated to discover the site only accepted resumes posted in Word format. Rest assured, I am not alone in my disdain for this ubiquitous software program. Among its many maladies, the formatting varies from computer to computer, hence my conversion of the original Word document to my PDF format--I wanted to retain my designed format which contained my summary statement. I was, therefore, left to the task of painstakingly posting within the context of the rudimentary formatting alternative TheLadders.com provides minus providing a specific location where I could have readily posted my summary statement.

CONTENT

Along the same vein as my disdain for Word and the random, subjective process involved in seeking employment, and at the risk of sounding like more of an asshole, when I state I produced COVERS for a MAGAZINE, does that not qualify as an end result achieved by the tasks I so laboriously delineated? I suppose I have made the mistake of assuming my resume "end-user" has a mind with which they can draw obvious conclusions; however, you implied the present day hiring machine may sometimes be automated, well, you know what they say about "assumptions."

If that's truly the case, then with the kind of artistic field work history I have, my attempt to find executive work may just be a shot in the dark--no matter the fact that I have a business degree, nor how professionally improved my resume could be. For my own edification, and as "defensive" as it seems/is (granted, this is a weak area), I have attached my resume which is currently viewable to those aforementioned professionals. (I think you may have read one of my first uploaded versions--I continued to waste time attempting to improve it that day. Prior to receiving your suggestions, I did start to go in the direction of quantifying my achievements "with concrete results" gained through executing all my tasks/responsibilities.) As I plug away at my own rewrite--should a venture capitalist request my resume someday--I do intend to apply your helpful tidbit: "for your reference, the ideal job description briefly summarizes your duties in paragraph format and then uses bullets for your accomplishments and results achieved to maximize their impact."

TRUE AGENDA? **PRICING AND FREE COVER LETTER OFFER**

I can come up with a number of reasons as to why in the world a site as esteemed as the one for which you work would offer such limited options for one to post their resume. At the risk of sounding jaded and/or paranoid, suffice it to say that when you concluded your warranted lambasting of my obviously incomplete resume with an offer to provide the professional fixes for the sum of $695.00, I felt I had been set up for failure by the site's inefficient software provided. I also assert that a resume is an ongoing work-in-progress--just like the people it is supposed to so neatly encapsulate. That said, it seems a fair expectation that that exorbitant fee should cover at least a few updates and rewrites.

** HOW YOU BENEFIT **

Or maybe that could be a fee add-on once one is hooked on the service. There. There's my free profit achieving contribution for your employer.

Not only do I not intend to take advantage of TheLadders.com's professional rewrite services (though, to reiterate, I have no doubt my resume would be VASTLY improved with that assistance), I am debating about seeking reimbursement altogether for my recently plunked down membership fees. I am coming to believe my pursuing employment through utilizing the traditional and trusty old resume tool may very well prove to be, for me, an exercise in futility.

Limited-Time Bonus:

To further illustrate my point, I can think of no better example than by sharing with you a portion of text I added to my most recent blog post:

"I've been riding myself the last few days about having a resume I posted get torn to shreds by some professional who reviews resumes all day (cuz I wasted $ joining theladders.com when I panicked when Dan sent me this: http://www.latimes.com/news/local/los_angeles_metro/la-fi-rent8-2009jan08,0,6423879.story). X, the fucking thing has had me down since we got back. I have still not reconciled that I'm not, nor will I ever be, the kind of person who finds employment by having a random HR person look at my resume and have a light bulb go *bling* over their head. I am, and always have been, a not-always-practicing-artist-who-is-not-at-peace-with-the-impracticality-of-that-route. Thank you astrological sign, Capricorn."

**FOOD FOR THOUGHT**

The entire job search process strikes me as extremely antiquated when most people find work through who they know, not what they know. It seems to me, in my particular case at least, I would have more luck finding employment through a social networking site such as Facebook instead of playing craps in the Vegas-like dance of "resume-resonating-with-insanely-busy-HR-decider."

MECHANICS

The above should clarify and corroborate my assertion that I may just need to bow out from seeking employment through the traditional route of stepping and fetching via a superbly written and designed document that is supposed to fully embody all that I would bring to the table for an employer. Frankly, if you haven't detected my resentment about the whole job hunt process, it makes me, to put it delicately, cantankerous. I am compelled to add, again--as clarified above--since I was forced to post within the constraints of the site, I was not attempting to create a "less is more" document. My overly lengthy response to you has probably illuminated the ironic humor that that was your misperception--which exactly supports my point--a resume's purpose is to pigeonhole a person into an easy, bite-size piece. That just pisses me off.

OVERALL IMPRESSION/STRATEGY

"Ask yourself the question: 'Why does the employer want to HIRE ME above all others, especially when there are dozens of resumes from equally qualified candidates sitting on that decision-maker's desk?' Right now your resume isn’t answering that question. Remember the purpose of a resume--to take an AGGRESSIVE approach in selling YOU to a potential employer. That means making an investment in marketing yourself and your skills through a professional resume."

And there's my real problem which I'm (not so?) passive-aggressively indulging in taking out on you:

Truth be told, as you have hopefully ascertained if you've read this much, I'm not so sure I am cut out to try to squeeze my square-peg self into the round hole that is the executive world. In light of that long-suppressed admission, here's my forthright and "aggressively assertive" pitch:

I know the work I bring to the table, consistently, is of such dedicated high caliber, that any employer would be blessedly lucky to have me in their corner. I'm SUCH an impressive employee, that I think I'd be wisest to continue to work only for myself so I can continue to retain all the profits generated from the blood, sweat, and tears I pour into everything I do, 100% of the time.

An entrepreneurial artist who comes to terms with the fact that they suck at trying to find a pigeonholed job, PRICELESS. If it shortens your life by one day, or results even in a 1% increase in sanity, it pays for itself.

ADDENDUM

I really did send my reply exactly as it reads above. Introduced as follows:

Dear, X:

What I'm about to post to you in return is highly unprofessional and ill-advised. But I'm going to do it anyway. Because this process has helped me to conclude something I already knew about myself. And for that, I am grateful.

I wrote this rant on my personal blog. This is more for your own entertainment value at this point--laugh over drinks with your friends about it:

Mental Metamucil: crazy quilted post, pieced together from swatches of emails sent today

2009-01-13T05:05:00.013-08:00

Damn it. I'm stuck and missing the Z today. So here's my solution... taking a dose of mental Metamucil:

I shall exploit my emails sent today to various friends and business relations from different parts of my life... many of whom have never crossed paths. All names have been changed.

crazy quilt
n.

A patchwork quilt of pieces of cloth of various shapes, colors, and sizes, sewn together in an irregular pattern.
A disorderly mixture; a hodgepodge: The map was a crazy quilt of districts and precincts.

The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition

My crazy handiwork, as follows:

Dusky Plum Chevron swatch:

Dear Mr. Attorney,

Unfortunately I do not have a lot of progress to report since our last correspondence.

My understanding is that we have one last hoop to overcome with the city, then we will proceed in securing the contractor to do the approved work. We have been working on getting quotes from contractors to execute the repair.

I appreciate your attentiveness to our case. I will not neglect keeping you abreast of more concrete information as I know it.

Sincerely,

Kicking-the-can

Autumn Palette Checks Swatch:

Awww. God, that seems like forever ago. And my hair is not NEARLY long enough for having been "growing it out" since shortly after that pic was taken. I'm still trying to make peace with the fact that I'll never love my hair. Or maybe it's my head shape. Maybe my face shape. Or maybe it's all of the above. I'm seriously thinking about getting that Japanese straightening done here b/c it's looking like a poofy mid-western librarian's do lately. Yuk.

Maroon Corduroy Swatch:

Hi, X/Y:

X, as you're the leaseholder, I'd appreciate it if you just synthesize the gist from Y.

Just so you know where we're coming from, we've been hit by some serious plumbing expenditures in the past months so we're paying extra in interest on our debt by carrying yours.

We haven't lost faith that you're good for the money, but we're looking for as accurate an ETA on the past due rent as possible so we can better strategize our financial game plan.

Best,

Sap-for-a-landlord-backed-against-the-wall-renting-to-tenant-with-normally-great-credit-during-recession

Deep Kelly Green Velvet Swatch:

At the risk of sounding like X...

The manufacturers who knowingly participated in using melamine in their products DESERVE TO ROT IN HELL.

Thanks for sharing. Talk/see you tomorrow!

Ocean Blue Swatch:

Also, just had a nice Skype w/ your D and T. Told them about the IVF and they were very sweet about it. T is interested in reading my blog and your D reiterated he'd be totally happy if it works and totally happy if it doesn't. He loves us no matter what, etc... You know, he feels exactly how we already knew he feels about the whole thing.

Fire Engine Red Swatch:

Just remember, now more than ever, a woman has Y by the balls. When I last spoke w/ him he needed to sweep some aspects of his life and his friends' lives under the rug to gain the approval of a woman who (I predict) will ultimately make his X seem like a free-loving acid freak at Burning Man.

But maybe I'm wrong.

Maybe they've had an open heart-to-heart. I'd be sincerely happy if they are capable of having that level of honesty.

Steel Grey Embroidered Swatch:

FUCK - this has gone up! $166.66. I guess in the summer the expense is elec. and in the winter, it's gas. But I DO think this reflects higher gas prices vs. last year.

Mauve with Purse Applique Swatch:

I've been riding myself the last few days about having a resume I posted get torn to shreds by some professional who reviews resumes all day (cuz I wasted $ joining theladders.com when I panicked when Dan sent me this: http://www.latimes.com/news/local/los_angeles_metro/la-fi-rent8-2009jan08,0,6423879.story

). X, the fucking thing has had me down since we got back. I have still not reconciled that I'm not, nor will I ever be, the kind of person who finds employment by having a random HR person look at my resume and have a light bulb go *bling* over their head. I am, and always have been, a not-always-practicing-artist-who-is-not-at-peace-with-the-impracticality-of-that-route. Thank you astrological sign, Capricorn.

Violet Velvet Swatch:

LOL. (How can we get that sentiment out there any better? Hate succumbing, but there it is, I used it... LOL!)

Accent: spot on. The chains were too funny. And, OMG, cute boots! Now I shall check out your archives, you YouTube Minx.

My blog is mainly about my EMPTY WOMB. I guess I've earned that lovely story to tell as I'm about to hit 41 and Dan's sperm and my eggs have had a most cantankerous relationship over the last 7 yrs. I'm going to try to write about other crap tho, b/c Dan has told me it's hard for him to read my stuff. ;( (Though he's very supportive of my writing about whatever the hell I want and he enjoys my writing itself--the subject matter is what he finds depressing.) Thanks for asking about it. And no, I'm not sharing it w/ the facebook world. Just select people. I don't want all my long lost Jr. High school buddies reading about my twat.

XOXO,

Fellow crude gal

Indigo Blue Gingham Swatch:

Found your next job:
Islandreefjob.com

Smoky Purple with Embroidered Posies Swatch:

Ok. I have to have an X vent--like the good ol' days (oh, kindly hold my hand with this):

So after our newly minted stabs at resurrecting our friendship in mid-'08 (following about 3 yrs. of NO communication after her wedding, I made the first move: exchanged emails, I was supportive while they were losing Y's lovely best friend, X checking in w/ my life in Taipei...) and her cajoling me to finally join FB, so I do... and she has NOT CONTACTED me once via FB the whole time I've been on here. She has, though, seemingly piggybacked my moves and connected w/ a bunch of friends I'VE connected with.

To illustrate, we have 28 shared friends... but zero communication via this stupid futuristic social network!? I even casually mentioned our not utilizing FB in a regular email and her brief response was as obtuse as ever: "What do you mean not using FB w/ each other?" (I never know if it's X playing some kind of game or if she's just being dense.)

Now, I must tell you that I DID inform her about our IVF (failed, BTW) attempt here and the blog I write. In the blog, on my VERY LONG back story, I make several references to her (referring to the very sisterly nature of our relationship--dysfunction and all--but told w/ an "endearing" tone).

The anecdote that could be construed as offensive would be (along these lines): my friend who offhandedly told me to "just relax" got her Karmic smack down when she ended up going through infertility treatments herself. I added something in there about though I would never wish this on anyone (and I wouldn't).

Now in my estimation, a self-possessed, mature person would acknowledge that what I wrote was fair--as it was all too true. She was dismissive and flippant about the turmoil we were going through w/ unsuccessfully trying to get pregnant. One (not just ME) would think that a woman who faced the same trauma herself would own up and maybe, MAYBE, even apologize about her insensitive behavior.

Not only did THAT NOT HAPPEN, but after I divulged to her what we were up to, she spent days not replying. Then when she finally DID, it was on a loose acquaintance level of "good luck with that. We wish you the best." Her lack of support to me NOW is almost just as bad. She's betraying the unwritten rule that all women who've been in the infertility trenches are sisters-in-arms. Bitch better not go around pretending she got knocked up all miraculously without medical intervention. Arghh. I digress.

If I were writing this to XX, I think this is how she'd respond:

Jesus Christ, K. LET IT GO. You and X have obviously gone separate ways and if 3 years of humming along just fine without being in each other's lives doesn't prove that to you, I don't know what will. Besides, why do you even WANT to rebuild a friendship with someone who has consistently been insensitive to you while insisting YOU be nothing but sensitive to HER.

Oy. As always, thanks for "listening."

Burnt Orange Suede Swatch:

Bonus blanket stitching (bit much w/ my little metaphor?): check out Laurie Kienlen's blog post from today (1/13/09)...
My first "interview" as an out and proud IFer:

http://theadventurouswriter.com/blogbaby/quipsandtipsinfertility/292#more-292

Thanks for including me, Laurie!*

*(Not the same Laurie as mentioned in previous posts.)

Head Meds

2009-01-09T04:15:00.002-08:00

Instead of writing, I'm supposed be packing to leave on a surf excursion to Kenting for the weekend; serving as the 3rd wheel to my husband and Drew (and his still in-need-of-a-home- car-sick-dog, Tuco).

But I thought I'd post one last one for the road copying what I wrote on a fellow IFer's comment section.

The dilemma she was having was about how to proceed in dealing with her husband's hypochondriac symptoms/depression. Here's what I foisted on her blogworld:

Here's my biased take:

Drugs.

Head meds can be a good thing. Sometimes it is just circumstances that drives the need. Fine. But also, one's personal/familial chemistry can be such that they're deficient on brain hormones--as was the case for me--hit it right off the bat w/ The Zoloft. I was taking 50 mg. which did the trick, took at night to sleep off the major sleepiness and felt it get me on track right away. Prior to taking the meds (which I'm off at the moment due to TTC, but not off for life), it was always SUCH a struggle to pull myself out of the spiral. And the thing that really confirmed to me I was such an example of "chemical imbalance" was that there wasn't anything in particular that was setting me off when I finally admitted I was a good candidate for the drugs. YEARS of therapy cannot help a physical, chemical imbalance. After a lifetime of low-grade depression, when I finally gave over and took the drug, it was such a relief. Unfortunately, I still felt the sting of societal stigma: that it was a hush-hush thing I was doing. And honestly, I think there are a few of my friends who never "accepted" it and are glad I'm not on it currently. I get a bit defensive in my head and just let it go; if I vibed someone wasn't accepting, but judging, I made peace with it being their problem.

Here's the fair and analogous question:

Do people judge diabetics because they need insulin due to their pancreas not producing enough or any insulin?

NO.

But when people don't make enough of their own seratonin, just because the organ in question is the brain (i.e. the "mind") and not a pancreas, it gets lumped in as being "mental."

I go out of my way to openly talk about it and any other "taboo" subject I can b/c it's SUCH BS that these (OCD, depresssion, infertility) things are still SO not talked about and/or accepted, esp. in our American society.

Unfortunately, no solution is perfect for those of us w/ deficient organs. (As all of us struggling w/ IF know all too well.)

My dad, yes 1/2 of where I got these screwy genes, finally went on meds. Guess what? OCD/hypochondriac stuff dissipated. But he couldn't handle the drugged sleepiness and went off them. Yep, hypochondriac back in full force. My (lifelong) step mom was so bummed when he ditched them.

Please be patient with your DH.

...And there's my novella.

Confucian Magic 8-Ball®esque Fortune Cookie say:

2009-01-07T23:57:00.009-08:00

From time to time I actually interact with my own "gadgets" I've set up on my blog. When I sat down at my computer this morning, I made hitting the fortune cookie my first order of business (I'm genius at prioritizing my time.):

"Everything is not yet lost."

Seriously. Not making that up. That really was how it so appropriately read. Since I don't have a Magic 8-Ball® readily available, I thought that was very sweet of "The Universe" to remind me of that truth via the oh-so-accurate fortune cookie minus the carbs.

You faithful readers (I know, the plural usage there was lofty. Hi Laurie.*) may remember from reading a recent "small world" post that I'm new to the Facebook world. And in pursuing validating my inner Jr. High school dork, I've quickly acquired my roster of long lost friends - proving to everyone that indeed, I AM popular in The Cyber Quad, gosh darned it. So as I was perusing (in yet another procrastination ploy to avoid crunching numbers, though here I DO sit in my home away from home office) the latest goings ons w/ my long losts, I saw a photo of an Ex that caught my eye. (Yes, Dan and I are one of those couples who happily remain friends with our respective Ex's; many of whom, on both sides, attended our wedding.) I was one of those girls who dated a wide variety of different physical types. But there was a common personality type I have always, consistently, been attracted to: FUNNY. Funny and silly and creative and smart and driven and of course the most important shared element they ALL had to have? Big.

Appreciation for my humor.

This Ex was all spiffed out at a black tie wedding. The shot so captured one of the things I loved and still love about this guy - he's fun and funny - qualities he shares with my husband. This guy, in particular, happens to even look a little like Dan (something Dan himself unjealously noted). So when I saw this photo someone had "tagged" him in gleefully swinging his daughter around, making gravity pull her hair askew, while in his spiffy tux at a black tie affair, I cried. NOT because I was sad that WE did not end up together. I cried because it so captured what Dan should get to be: an inappropriately fun, funny, silly, and gleeful father.

And though as I'm writing this here, welling up again, I'm still silly enough to console myself in finding comfort in the wise words of the sage online fortune cookie:

"Everything is not yet lost."

Because even if we never get to impart our silly senses of humor to a child of our own, we'll always keep each other laughing.

*(Thanks for the "dismayed" gem you didn't want me using, sister!)

Photo tweaked on: http://www.redkid.net/generator/8ball/

Suppressed emotions?

2009-01-07T02:20:00.013-08:00

I'm tired of being in this club. It's reminiscent of my AAA membership. I keep saying I don't want the Westways mag... I thought I had cancelled my subscription but the magazines had continued to arrive, unbeknownst to me--growing mold on their soggy-unread-ness. The customer service reps never friggin' cancelled. Damn it. They said they would, my account was noted, but my credit card continued to get billed annually. If only I were more on top of my credit card spending, I'd have noticed.*

My tidy little infertility hope chest 0' memories, which I had neatly stored away in the recesses of Grandma's Attic in my heart, has become my Pandora's box of crap strewn about.

Suppressed emotions.

I can't even share w/ you my "lemonade" result about my blood type. After calling the RE and while on hold, listening yet again to their one and only "on hold" song, Dannyboy (my FIL's song for my DH--could I possibly dig up any "good luck" hidden meaning in there? Somewhere?), the nurse I spoke with last night who was like a deer in headlights about trying to communicate in English, told me the Dr. was giving an US. She could have been less specific and put it many other ways that would have not had my mental picture invade that woman's privacy, but again, that pesky language barrier hindered her ability to use the word, "busy." As in "Dr. Li is busy at the moment." That would have worked.

Frustrated with all the time wasted unsuccessfully TTC thus far and passive aggressively taking it out on the nice nurse.

Suppressed emotions.

As this was my second attempt to let the clinic know that my CD1 began yesterday (it wasn't really about pestering them to rock my world with my newly learned blood type so I could tell you all what type I have leaking out of me [Ooooh. See. I was being so "good" trying to avoid indulging in my sophomoric gross-out potty "humor." As witnessed here, I employ all sorts of "techniques" to keep those emotions suppressed]), I didn't feel like holding and I didn't feel like calling back. I asked her to have Dr. Li call me at his convenience. I can wait. I have a whole cycle to wait. Except I am wondering about the baby aspirin. For now, I'm quitting those too. Just taking the PNV at the moment. Well, those and the extra round of antibiotics they've got me on to treat my "walking pneumonia" which they'll confirm I've had on Friday.

Frustrated that my first visit to the ER didn't provide me with the proper drugs and attention I needed for my violent cough BEFORE the transfer took place.

Suppressed emotions.

My chin-up-self from yesterday has dissipated and instead has been replaced today by my lump-on-a-log-nursing-my-severe-cramps-with-a-heating-pad-self. Yes, AF decided to kick my ass after all... muttering something about not liking my burnt cooking. Bitch.

Suppressed emotions?

*Behind on managing our personal finances? Yep, there's the true culprit. When I don't stay on top of my responsibilities, that's when I see depression lurking around the corner. The Sassy Ms. AF's crampy, crotchety ass be damned, I'm dragging my butt into my (home) office and crunching some numbers tomorrow, damn it.

That elusive functioning fertility. If yours works, please don't abuse your fertility privileges.*

2009-01-06T00:03:00.025-08:00

*Wow, kids seem to be kinda disposable here--and mind you, we're in Taiwan (R.O.C.), not to be confused w/ China (so I don't want to hear "No, Duh!").

These are shots I took on Saturday before we found out our BFN results. Yes, there's the metal dome of death-by-playground-romping, but even more crazy, mystifying, and frustrating to see are how very many children and babies are transported here on the family scooter sans helmet (at least in this photo, they're suited up, if not locked down). I realize I'm speaking from a cultural opposite; where in the states, we'd bubble wrap our children daily if we weren't afraid it would cause their death-by-suffocation.

They really do count on that baby cartilage doing its thing a la, "the bouncing baby." (I remember something from my high school physiology class [outside of how the human reproductive system allegedly works. I have to say "allegedly" as I really don't know first hand. I mean, they tell you lots of things in school that weren't true. Like, uh, that classic about getting pregnant the first time you lose it. {My overused covering-the-pain-joke during these TTC years has been, "Oh, if only I were perpetually high on crack and a sophomore in high school, I'd have been Michelle Duggar by now--except replace the crack-smoking with bible-thumping."}])*

I woke up to AF arriving this morning. When I got back to bed (yes, though the Coughing Gods conspired against us, we're sharing our marital bed again!) and filled Dan in, he didn't know how to react to comfort me - he was trying to gauge my reaction first. I told him I was thankful. He breathed a sign of relief. We'd already gone through plenty of grieving about this cycle not working over the weekend. And the next hurdle I needed to be anxious about was when AF would arrive so I could wait another month till I get it again, theeeen after Chinese NY, we can start our FET round - somewhere around Valentine's Day. (Need to read up on how many of our 13 we should thaw for the transfer [doing 3 at most] while leaving enough on ice should we need to have a third [and final] FET. I'm sure our RE has a plan, I just like to arm myself w/ as much info as possible [CF!. {Does Mel have that one on her list?... Control Freak!}].)

Prior to our transfer on this failed cycle, and in case my OHSS was TOO blown out to go through with the transfer, Dr. Li showed us his most recent successful FET after a failed OHSS IVF cycle--she was pg. just 2 months later. I'm glad he showed us, it'll keep my hope rallied.

So thankful I am. Plus, it's not nearly as painful as my last cycle while on Lupron. So instead of waiting to get confirmation of what I knew to be a BFN result from the clinic,** then going off the progesterone, then wondering when and if I'd get my period anytime soon, I've been kindly relieved of that anxiety by getting my visit from The Sassy Ms. AF Thang this morning.

Moving on. Already losing the insane weight-gain (upwards of 15 pounds at my peak) from spiteful IVF #1. I hold no grudge though, IVF #ONE, as you provided us with those 13 potentially viable frozen embryos--and for that, we thank you. Looking forward to taking my pathetic-parading-around-my-apartment-in-my-new-made-in-Taiwan-boots to the great outdoors. (Alright. I'm not that pathetic. I'm trying on Dan's instructions for story tellers: "Never let the truth get in the way of a good story." But I just couldn't bear HOW pathetic a picture of myself it depicted. Call me vain, couldn't do it, sorry Sweetie. I am, however, still carrying on with the frizzy, in-much-need-of-product hairdo. Still got that going for me.)

*http://www.duggarfamily.com/ (HOLY JESUS! God giveth [ridiculous fertility] and he taketh away [Where do I begin? Starters: Common sense. Intelligence. Ever heard of global warming Ma and Pa Duggar?])

**Since we got the 1% beta on Saturday, combined with a belly US last night showing my ovaries are almost back down to normal size (yippee!), I was convinced the only pertinent info I'd get from my 2nd blood draw was fin-al-ly finding out my blood type! There's my lemonade for cycle #1. That, and the LUCKY 13.

Busily slamming tequila shots, pounding coffee, taking baths, downing soft cheese, putting away the sushi, + lapping up the codeine cough syrup.

2009-01-04T04:52:00.007-08:00

Fuck. Damn. Shit. Kaka. Poopoo. Waaaah. And just plain, sad. But not defeated.

When Dr. Li has bad news to deliver, he's nice enough to telegraph--giving a heads up to prepare you for the blow to come. Dan could tell by watching my face the news wasn't good--my exaggerated scowl kept him filled in during the call. But I didn't ball like I thought I would. I was quite calm hearing the info (something about 1%ish HCG).

The most hubris I've had with this whole thing was optimistically adding the "Made in Taiwan"* part to my blog title. I don't expect it to work. Chances are, it won't. Like I said before, we're in Vegas, baby. At least I'm done brewing hordes of eggs in one fell swoop. It was extremely trying--esp. while also having acute bronchitis. We still have our 13 frozen embryos. So we'll roll the dice doing one or two IVF/FET cycles. The good news is by the time we can start the FET cycle, my OHSS will have simmered down, and we've shown ourselves we can weather the ever-tiresome BFN should the 100,000th come our way.

While struggling with being infertile is heartbreaking and by no means do I wish my "peace" with it to be misinterpreted as not feeling the pain of it, I continue to count my blessings in all the other areas of my life that are banging on all fours--keeping it all in perspective.

So tomorrow I shall go through the motions and have my blood drawn yet again to have them confirm what I'm pretty certain won't go shooting up beyond that promising 1%ish quote I got on Saturday evening. Maybe I'll turn the lemons into lemonade and have them, since my skin will have been pierced anyway, fin-fucking-ally tell me what the fuck kind blood type I have. Latent anger about my results? NO. This is venting frustration over the fact that over the course of the whole 7 years we've been waiting for our elusive 2 lines, not once has my blood been tested for type. Or if it has, why, for the love of GAWD don't I know what the hell blood type I have? Sheeeeeeesh.

In the mean time, I shall continue to shoot progesterone up my cooch. But will continue to find consolation in: Busily slamming tequila shots, pounding coffee, taking baths, downing soft cheese, putting away the sushi, + lapping up the codeine cough syrup. And possibly buying tickets to see:
http://www.ticket.com.tw/dm.asp?P1=0000009291

*"Made in Taiwan." I will tell you what I know for a fact (rubber on bottom embossed with ubiquitous imprint proves it) I will be bringing home that was "made in Taiwan":
My void-filling, shopping therapy, brand spanking new tall black boots. So there.

Sat. Morn.: First RE appt. since transfer. (!) (?)

2009-01-02T16:12:00.009-08:00

Wasn't sure I should have ended that title with an, "!" or a "."

I can't say I'm even cautiously optimistic. I'm just going through the motions, following orders, getting rest (oh, so much rest!), bossing Dan around, and glad at the end of the day we will have at least tried--whatever the news may be. That's not to say if we get disappointing news today, I won't be balling.

Except I'm not exactly sure if we're going to find out anything conclusive today. The transfer was only a week ago. After we were done with our 4 hour jail time (no--looks like I'm just not letting that one go), I was hungry and we couldn't get out of there fast enough so when the nurse handed me my little instruction sheet which says at the bottom: clinic 1/3 before 12:00 PM, I didn't delve into it. Figured I'd get my answers soon enough. They probably just want to shoot more PIO in my ass to support my home vag. suppositories/pills regimen. And maybe I'll get to have another of those fun Albumin drips. But here's what I'm secretly hoping: They have some magic here in Taiwan that cuts the 2ww down to a 1ww.

Then of course... if it worked (though pretty certain we won't be magically finding out any HCG info today) here is but a small sampling of my fear list:

Miscarrying (but perhaps putting so many in there will mitigate a "loss"?) naturally
Miscarrying due to getting an amnio (yes, I fully intend to have one)
Amnio results that we'd ball over
Health--For all involved
Side effects of simply being pregnant w/one, let alone possibly twins
Giving birth
How the new baby will affect/change my marriage
Being a mom--the hardest part of it all.

Once an Infertile finally gets to the point of going through fertility procedures and if it actually works... the trepidation that the shoe will fall (off!) with every step, unfortunately doesn't appear to ever go away for infertile women. Once an "Infertile," always an "Infertile."

Too busy to read my OCD-induced ramblings? Here's the gist for the rest of you:

2009-01-01T22:20:00.014-08:00

For those of you who have been faithful readers, you know I write in GREAT (and often gross) detail about every step and I truly appreciate that my long-winded ramblings haven't driven you away. I'm writing this for the fuckers that haven't taken the time.

Kidding! I'm totally kidding! The truth is, I write faster than I can read, so I understand plowing through my entries may not be for everyone.

That said, here's the synthesized current lowdown:

I secured my URL (lostintaipei.com) with the original intention of rambling about adventures specific to my experience living abroad in Asia.

However, while here, the Universe aligned in such a way that we decided to try IVF since I already had one of the components down pat: sitting around on my ass. Plus, it wouldn't break the bank to quite the degree as doing it in the states. Since doing IVF fell under the category of an especially unusual "experience while living abroad in Asia," I decided to mainly focus my entries on this fun process.

The snags have been: 1) I developed OHSS (my ovaries hyper-stimulated--a condition I find extra scary given my Mom's death from ovarian cancer), and 2) I've had my annual nasty cough on top of everything else for well over 2 weeks.

In fact, while writing this, I had yet another bout where it feels like either my eyeballs are gonna pop out and/or I'm going to burst a blood vessel in my head and die of an aneurysm. Then while I'm in the midst of either coughing over the sink or bowl--whichever is nearest--I suddenly throw up a little of what looks like a crapload of phlegm. The latter being a totally new experience to my normal coughing regimen. I've had about 7 bouts just like the last I described since about 7:00 PM last night.

So I'm off to the hospital again. Except this time I fear it's going to be a bigger deal than just trying to get them to prescribe me cough medicine that ACTUALLY FUCKING WORKS! Which leads to another fear--that they can't really prescribe anything because, for the first time in my life, I could actually be pregnant!

Fingers and toes crossed that: 1) I got pregnant, and 2) I'll get to keep my eyeballs intact.

Ah, facebook. Making the world seem yet even smaller.

2009-01-01T18:33:00.006-08:00

Between Neal Pollack and You:

Today at 6:26pm ("today" is 1/1/09 in LA world)

Hi Neal,

We "met" when you wanted to rent our house on Tipton for your big move to LA. Just now I was looking at my friend JP's interests, and clicked on DadCentric out of curiosity. Your profile was one of the ones they showed.

K. But the extra crazy part (and by crazy, I think I just mean, simple old, TMI, OCD, Crazy.) is that we're friends b/c he's a neighbor of mine down south in SD. Which is where we were living the last time we were trying to conceive and with "trying" being the operative word, we were working on letting it go.

So theeeen, I got that book about baby ambivalence and there I saw your contribution.* Cut to Dec. '08 and we're currently living in Taipei (for Dan's work) and are taking advantage of their MUCH less costlier (I could have written cheaper, but I didn't want to hex the process by implying anything about its quality) IVF. I'm in my 2WW.

Wow. Finding deep meaning in everything - It's a gift.

Since we'd made peace w/ closing the door on parenthood, trying to pry that door open once again, brings back our old friend, ambivalence. Of course we decided the pros outweigh the cons or else I wouldn't have bothered to pay thousands of dollars to pump my ovaries up to the size of grapefruits.

I'm going to take it as I great sign I randomly found you through a Fan Club for DadCentric (doing IVF is making my superstitions flare!).

Being a facebook newbie, I am once again, glad I finally joined. Happy to touch base w/ long losts. Glad to see you've stuck it out in LA. It'd be great to hear from you - find out where you've landed, how you've liked it, etc. Perhaps once we're back in the states we could actually grab that long-ago mentioned cup of coffee (or herbal tea--depending on my pg. status) and finally meet in person, like at Auntie Em's. MISS Auntie Em's...

Hope you and your family have a splendid '09!

Cheers,

Kate

*(This footnote is for the benefit of readers. Don't worry, I didn't show him a link to a book he participated in writing - I haven't gotten that loopy.)
http://www.amazon.com/Maybe-Baby-Infertility-Childlessness-Ambivalence/dp/0060737816

Mr. Mom? The dishes might not be done on a regular basis, but the baby would be well fed!

2009-01-01T02:48:00.000-08:00

Awww. Daa-an.

While I've been the slacking-off-haggardly-bloated-with-frizzy-lacking-product-growing-out-hair (really. Am too growing it out... I am.) wifey poo, Dan and I have been steadily spiraling into dropping those crazy habits people have like washing dishes on a regular basis and picking up skanchy worn-all-day socks off the floor, and you know, not washing our hands after going to the bathroom--number 2, stuff like that. (Oh chill, I'm kidding.) We've sort of been, um, lazy... about doing chores. And by we, I mean him. Sort of.*

Here's the thing, we have always been very mercurial when it comes to the domestic responsibility roles we play in our relationship. This, due in large part to the fact that we have both basically been seesawing between one of us being gainfully employed, while the other is a freelancer. Consequently we've gotten quite nimble at adjusting our division of labor in the Home Economics department. Admittedly, I've always kinda sucked at doing the grocery shopping and he doesn't touch the books. I've always been the one on trash duty and he has always been the amazingly talented chef (whereas I'm really fond of burning things). But there are plenty of other areas we each take over depending on the other's work schedule.

Enter present day, living 8 months in Taipei: I've established the pattern here as the wifey poo (minus the mani-pedi part) who has gotten to luxuriate in not having to drag my frizzy-haired ass to work every day. I happily balance our scales and contribute my part by reverting to the '50s housewife role: doing laundry, dishes, housecleaning, buying Dan's spiffy clothes-shopping, etc. as I view that as MY job since he's the one dragging his ass to work day in, day out. So one could argue (though "one" hasn't), that it is I who hath droppeth thy balleth (it's the Progesterone).

We both don't quite know what to do when I'm under the weather. It doesn't neatly fall under our work-based reasons for adjusting our roles. When it's due to work, there's usually about a 2 - 3 week adjustment period as we redial our mode. We're a bit testier, but then the waters calm again. But an "under the weather" scenario? It's inherently a hit the ground running thing as it usually demands an immediate stand-still. This whole forced bed rest for the sake of de-swelling my ovaries and helping assist our embryos' implantation? That's territory we really don't charter all that much.

Of course it really isn't fair for me to imply he has been neglecting anything either. We're both equal participants in wallowing in our scummy IVF/Shitty Cough transition period. We hit our tipping point this morning. It's a new year, we figured let's start if off trying to avoid collecting roaches as pets. I wandered around the apartment with little blue birdies chirping about my shoulders as I straightened up. Made the bed even. Yeah, that's right - made the friggin' cough-inducing bed.

Ah, and those blessed little sock bombs were finally scooped up. As I marched to the hamper marveling at the pile I was awkwardly trying to contain within the circle of my arms, it solved the mystery of why Dan suddenly abandoned his standard beaten up white tube fare--he'd been dipping into my sock stock. (It's so romantic, after all these years he still lets me show him how much I love him by letting me pick them up after him. [What is up w/that one persistent little sticky {in the "it doesn't go away" sticky, not in the "horny self-loving high schooler" sticky} bad man habit?] It just truly seems to be an un-break-ab-le habit: The Universal Dude Law.)

Then I finally hit the kitchen table which was strewn about with a collection of various items acquired throughout the last two weeks of negligence. Most glaringly, there was the big pile of cash and change carelessly plopped down from a sport drink excursion I dragged my butt out in the rain to execute and which ended with said cash plop, immediately followed by the couch plop.

But, the thing is, that's NOT where we keep our change. Those aren't our rules. That is not part of our protocol. Sure I bent the rules a little, I had my "under the weather" excuse going for me. It didn't take genius powers of observation to discern there was no way I generated THAT much change from my one measly outing. THIS pile of change had morphed into Dan's own little Pirate treasure chest. I couldn't help but crack up at his dude "Dan-ness." Yes it was plainly evident during this slacking phase of mine, Dan was getting nice and adjusted. I guess I really must have been out of it, because that friggin' pile was hard to miss. Flashing back, I could just see him when he came home--excited about the changes that were afoot in the Francis household: "The kitchen table has finally replaced that stupid, small catch-all bowl?! I don't have to worry about aiming to get the coins in that damn bowl anymore? YAY!" went Dan's brain. While I hovered over the table, Dan was toiling away hovering over the sink (scaled for that psychic in Poltergeist) as he patiently worked his way through the stacks of dishes.

*I'll admit there may be a slight, itty bitty possibility it's not that I feel so bad physically that I'm incapable of doing the dishes (or for the love of Gawd, at the very least, bringing them to the sink), and putting my crap away. I think it's more like a quickly-developed-lacking-inertia habit. Stupid thwarted inertia. Damn those pesky bad habits--even bright, shiny new ones--are hard to break.

I guess I'll get to my real point. And I think I DO actually have one:

In addition to simply not feeling well, there's also an aspect of wanting to be nurtured by my husband. I'm feeling weak and vulnerable and want to be cradled and cooed over. I think we woman like to test our man's ability to play Mr. Mom in case circumstances ever demand it. We want to be assured our men can handle all the important domestic affairs including taking care of THE BABY should we find ourselves under the weather (or healing from a C-Section).

No matter how many sock bombs he may plant, or how much he loved freely stashing his loose change on the kitchen table, I've no doubts Dan can hold down the fort playing the role of Mr. Mom... at least until I'm all better.

Tina Fey sucks!

2008-12-31T09:46:00.004-08:00

Hate Tina Fey. She's so stupid. Not funny. Isn't pretty. Has a bad figure. No boobs. Wishes she could act. Doesn't know how to dress. And isn't funny. No, I don't secretly wish I were a lefty too.

Yay! After months and months of watching crappy programming here, we get to ring in the new year watching a 30 Rock marathon! And they're airing it again tomorrow! Soon I'll be reciting those witty lines as if they were my own!!!... !!!!!

Watching hours on end of the funniest show currently in production, followed by watching the Taipei 1o1 look like it's catching on fire, then kissing my beloved on our private balcony in an exotic foreign country at midnight... Now that's the perfect way to ring in the new year.

Here's to a Happy, Healthy, and Prosperous 2009 to everyone!

Sidenotes a la OCD: extra controlled crispiness with a side of superstitious ranch dipping sauce served on a formica surface.

2008-12-30T05:53:00.003-08:00

Classic control freak soothing devices!

The cold is most definitely still with us. While resting the 4 hrs. (yeah, still not over it) after the transfer on Saturday, I concentrated on stifling the tickle I felt nagging just beneath the surface. Because when it beat me, when I could no longer hold it in, it felt like a swift kick in my side - perpetrated w/friggin' stilettos. CRAP it hurt. But now it's Tuesday and that was 3 days ago already. My OHSS seems to be holding steady and I thought Dan and I were headed back to sleeping in our bedroom in - wait for it - our BED. Sleeping. Together. In the same bed. The irony of the fact that I may actually be "knocked up" from a hiatus of not only not sleeping with my husband, but not, literally, sleeping with my husband is not lost on me.

But damn if that fucking cold isn't holding on tight - both woke up w/ a nasty tickle and racking cough simultaneously at 3:00 this morning. We're starting to think this whole apartment is some kind of sick zone - victim of mold/mildew, etc... The paranoia doesn't end there, but I'll spare you (has something to do with being monitored by the Chinese government [aren't you glad I spared you?]).

I've noticed that since being off Zoloft (and sure, probably in combo with the zillion meds/hormones I've been on), the OCD has definitely reared its neurotic head more. (Um, the segue way here is the lovely paranoia [case in point: above paragraph] aspect of OCD.) But I think I was on the Z long enough to see my PATTERNS bubble up and I learned how to quell them with the help of the Zoloft "net." I suppose that would be called, having learned how to use a new "tool." (Yay for me!)

Another OCD symptom I've observed in myself, and other family members (oh, sadly there are more than a handful of us), is that we OCDers are especially adept at spotting the never-ending flow of multiple patterns, coincidences, synchronicity, serendipitous occurrences, etc., etc., etc., that strike everybody, everywhere throughout the day. There is even a whole book/movement (whose popularity surged in those heightened, zany self-help days of the '90s) that chronicles the assigning of deep meaning to coincidental events called, "The Celestine Prophecy" - an OCDers bible; what could be more validating?

I contend we people who have, let's just say, heightened OCD tendencies have not made peace with the inherent lack of control present in oh-so-painfully many aspects of life. That's life. It can get depressing.

Which leads me to...

Based on my very scientific survey, I've isolated the predominant personality traits shared amongst almost all IVFers. And here now I present my findings to you:

"TYPE A, CONTROL FREAK, COMMONLY POSSESSING OCD TENDENCIES."

Yep, ladies, c'mon let's just call a spade a spade. But gosh darned it, we need to be this way so when we're laid up, stuck in bed rest for 4 hours (yes, STILL not over it) in a (foreign) hospital, we get to finally put our honed skills of counting the ceiling corners, multiplying by the ceiling tiles, then dividing by the length of time we last washed our hands to good use - it so totally comes in handy!

What I'm laboriously (and case-in-pointing) getting at is this:

OCD leads not only to conspiracy theories about the Chinese government shooting an UBER RESISTANT strain of a Taiwanese cold under our front door (fine, I tried to spare you - couldn't help myself), but OCD also leads to heightened superstitious behavior.

Ahh, superstition. A past time which will find many from my club frantically looking for wood on which to knock (often presented w/ nothing but wood-grained formica - leaving the poor control freak to assuage their superstition-induced panic and to charmingly, self-deprecatingly knock on their own heads).

When people attach meaning to inanimate objects which serve as their talismans - it's just another form of superstition. And fondling that talisman or performing some ritual that brought them success the first time, will suddenly bring them the calm that comes from being in CONTROL. Believing something is "so Celestine" (meh, I'm dating myself) is pretty much just another way to think your life is in alignment, the Universe is on your side, God is watching - whatever lines one feeds themselves to feel their life is on the right path. Who knows, there might be truth to it. There might. Which is why I can have all these beliefs about its silliness and still heavily participate... as witnessed in these photos:

(Note the wedding bands... finger got too swollen and needed to take them off for now. Have I mentioned, waaah, lately?)

My window necklace I bought from BMFJ when my Chinese classes ended and the IVF started. One door closes, another opens - in this case, a window. See me fondling it to conjure up all the implantation sticky good luck it brought us when I wore it to each of our RE visits? Yeah, yeah, I know, I'm no better than a football player wearing his dirty, crunchy socks.

dandelion shot: Creative Commons License photo credit: la bella rivolta

Theeeeey're i-in.

2008-12-29T04:37:00.000-08:00

Friday night - December 26th, 2008:

We went to our final US to determine if we were going to get to do the fresh transfer after all. Based on previous post, the crickets and/ or tumbleweed out there reading this know that we had very low expectations of getting a thumbs up. Doc came in harried, did the US (no magic wand - on the belly) and said we were good to go. OMG! Dan and I looked at each other w/ shared dropped jaws. Did our "terrorist" fist bump and in a happily dazed state, took our orders to follow the next day. Went to one of our favorite parts of town - right near that Sogo, but closer to Dunhua. Stumbled upon the perfect spot. Not only was I excited about being able to complete this cycle, but for the first time since being stimmed, it felt like my ovaries weren't clanging together. We were pretty jubilant. Nice feeling.

Saturday morning - December 27th, 2008:

Transfer on the 27th right on schedule (I realized once I double checked my trusty IVF notebook). Instructions: still take the Progesterone suppository in the AM, drink a shitload of water at 10:00, register at hospital at 10:45. Do transfer at 11:00. All the while, remaining in a constant state of "OMG."
(see - OMGing in the taxi to the hospital.)
Luckily I drank up around 10:15, b/c Dr. Li was running late (he runs a crazy-busy practice) and rushed in at 11:30. I told him to chill, that I wasn't even close to peeing my pants. (Dan and I enjoy giving him our doses of inappropriate American levity - we know he doesn't come across it much.) He seemed to appreciate my attempt to calm him. It certainly wasn't an altruistic gesture though. I wanted him as CALM as POSSIBLE. I knew how important this stage of the IVF process was; getting the embryos centered just right in the sweet spot of the uterus is crucial to help aid implantation.

Dan was getting irritated (for those who know him: he was becoming what I like to refer to as "Forehead Dan") at being lied to about them not having Internet. Pushed his buttons about just how rule-following and robotic in nature the Chinese/Taiwanese culture can be. See, the nurse (?), embryologist (?), the woman who was to load up the catheter w/ our embryos and serve a major role in the procedure had showed us this:

(Day 5: 1 blastocyst - top, 2 embryos [but he kept calling them something else I can't recall. Starts w/ an "m?"])
prior to Dr. Li's arrival. Dan wanted her to send the actual image directly to him via email. That's when she lied about not having Internet service. For some reason, she couldn't tell us her real reason for denying the request. Perhaps it was against the rules, but she lacked the words in English to properly express that. It's hard to believe it was due to rules though b/c when Dan first met...

THE FESTIVE MAST-UR-BA-TOR-I-UM (I know!):

This same professional was babysitting her 4 year old nephew at the clinic on a Saturday while men were to go off in the very next room jerking off to porn. Hmmm. We just found something about that scenario so OFF. So I'm going to go with: laziness. Not sure. I was satisfied with taking a picture of the picture.

For the sake of remaining consistently compulsive, in case anyone is actually following, I screwed up on our stats before. Here's the final count:

Follicles after stims: around 32
Egg Retrieved on 12/22, Monday: 23
Eggs NG right off the bat: 2
ICSI procedure performed on: 21
Day 3: 4 more NG - kicked it, = 17, they left the 4 strongest to grow for transfer, 13 were frozen.
Day 5: blast transfer: 3. Another didn't make it that far.

If he did tell us the quality of what was left, I was too distracted to digest. But based on the fact that they weren't all complete blasts, and my age, we decided to have all 3 transferred.

When I settled into the comfy operating room table, all scooted down and good to go, they were hitting the ground running, I asked if Dan was going to be able to come in. They both said plaintively and in unison, "No." Legs in stirrups, bladder topped off, hard-earned genetic specimens in their color-inside-the-lines hands, Forehead Dan outside, I quickly did the cost-benefit of posing an argument. I knew guilt would strike later, but did not want to compromise the procedure by throwing off their coloring project. "Oh, Okay." The procedure went super smoothly. When I saw the embryos actually injected into my womb, I involuntarily welled up, tears streamed out of my right eye and down my right cheek as I was watching the monitor to my right.

The emotions surprised me (yeah, dur). That eventual guilt I expected? Well... it hit me even sooner than expected. They checked that the catheter was emptied of all embryos and it wasn't. There was a rare hanger-on-er. I was excited I'd get to see it again. They did the procedure again - went just as smoothly. I was also surmising, based on my vast scientific background, that having it done a 2nd time would possibly give us a better implantation opportunity should it be in that much better of a sweet spot.

Here was our surprise: I was to be on STRICT bed rest for the next FOUR STRAIGHT HOURS.
(Where's the hidden camera? You're fucking with the gringos, right?!)
So strict, in fact, that I got to have a catheter poked into my bladder and they drained it for me, right there and then on the table. (Good thing I have shitty boundaries or else that would have qualified as potentially humiliating experience no. 112.) Then they g-e-n-t-l-y transferred me to the hospital bed they'd rolled in. It was a strange experience to be fully sans sedation and watch the ceiling tiles and fluorescent lights flow by as I rode the elevator down to the 6th floor to spend the next 4 hours pulling my hair out. OMFG. Think they could have told us to at least bring some reading material??!
(Dan played the snake game so long, his phone ran out of juice.)
Time has not crawled by that slowly since I was in detention with Emilio Estivez and that girl who made her hair into a snowflurry.
(4 hours + first time bed-pan pee experience later... we made it.)
Dan picked up a crap load (no pun intended) of Indian food to last us for days. LOVE Indian food. Indian food, risotto, mac-n-cheese... they all have a beloved common theme: comfort food you don't need to chew.

Now I'm back to bed rest to calm my ovaries down and we're waiting the 2 weeks just like a normal couple whose sperm may have properly traveled up and thrust itself into the egg. Hoping we get an implantation right about... NOW. This is about when it should happen. Then the HCG levels would start to build and my OHSS will get more exacerbated. So if I start to feel WORSE, it could be a good sign it worked. But then it will mean more time to get over the OHSS. At least, and thankfully, I have the luxury of having the time to deal with it while here.

Cooch and other fun vagina-related terms (click to broaden your vocab.!)

2008-12-25T23:11:00.016-08:00

I've been mentally stuck. In a holding pattern much like our embryos in the petri dish. Well, they're not holding, they can't help but multiply, but they're not IN ME so in my mind they're in a holding pattern too.

Dan and I are petri parents!

It's a really weird feeling knowing that after many years, shots, and tears, we actually managed to coax our genetic material into dating. But we wanted them to be sluts. We wanted them to do it on the first date. Do it and get knocked up. And apparently they have.

Here are our stats thus far:

23 eggs were extracted out of my vag. on Monday. Think I covered that one in a previous post. (BTW, very thankful we were able to even do the retrieval b/c upon further research I found out many OHSS patients are cancelled before retrieval and all those shots (expense, pain, and expectations) were for not. Jeeez.)

So... 2 kicked it. They saw the world was a scary place and said F you and jumped off the bridge holding hands. RIP you little boogers.

21 were game to give this world a whirl. They were injected w/ Dan's material (oh LORD why is the TV so bad here?)* and my eggs were all, shut up, No. Way. Why the hell were we being SO coy before *titter, titter*? You guys are hot. Weeeelcome.

3 days pass. They pick 4 of the strongest ones and send the other 17 to Antarctica with a label clearly marked: "Whitey Couple's. Repeat: Whitey Couple's. Don't pull any Abby Normal shit here or we'll be sued—They're Mei-guo-ren (A-mer-i-can)."

And that leaves us with 4 little pookies splitting and multiplying in our (from what I've been reading "souvenir") petri dish.

As of Wednesday night (12/24):

Blast #1: THREE cells.
Blast #2: FOUR cells.
Blast #3: looks up to older sib #2: FOUR cells. (#2 says get a life, stop copying me.)
Blast #4: bossy, YOU BETTER SIT YOUR ASS DOWN AT MY TEA PARTY AND MIME DRINKING OUT OF AN EMPTY MINI CUP WITH A DELIGHTED SMILE WITH ME: FIVE cells.

Fluid in uterus: kinda minimal. Good.
Ovaries: 7 something? Is it centimeters? Millimeters? Shit. The only numbers that have ever been my strong point is my idiot savant-like predilection for remembering everyfuckingbody's birth date (it's a curse, really). So 7... whatever size they are, 7 being TOO large still. 7 being still pretty darned close to still looking like grapefruits making out. Not so good.

Me: What do you think? Think we can do the fresh transfer on this cycle?

RE: No you crazy bitch get out of my office.

Me: Ok. But before I do, think you can write me an Rx for cough syrup meant for someone over 2 years of age? I swear, I hate the crap. I'm not addicted. Just kind of a touch tired of coughing 24/7 *patiently, gently smiling with molars clamped*.

RE: You went through that WHOLE bottle the ER doc gave you just yesterday. That was supposed to last 3 days.

Me: Yeah, maybe for a 2 year old. And... I. I. Spilled some. Need more. Give it!!!!!!

RE: How about this half sized bottle that's weaker than the shit you're complaining about?

ME: Um. No. TWO please.

RE: Fine.

So he leaves the one bottle on his desk - right in front of me, so I put it in my purse and after receiving my IV albumin drip
(quality pouty-faced self-portrait.)
and my long-needled progesterone shot in my ass, I go up to pay for the visit and to pick up the 2nd bottle the nurses prepared. Guess what? They prepared TWO (insert happy jig). Count 'em, I got THREE altogether! That was Wed. night.

It is now Friday afternoon and I'm down to half of my third itty bitty baby bottle and still coughing. Granted, I shared a little with Dan, but still. Why the fuck didn't he just give me shit that would knock it out BEFORE I possibly have one of my hard-earned embryos implanted? Maybe b/c I'm petite he cannot fathom the kind of coughing I can conjure up. I told him I actually vomited from coughing so hard for God's sake. I mean when I belch, it's so freaking guttural, Dan is always nice enough to apologize as if it came from him. I do things big.

*(It's the Demi Moore-shaving-her-head-to-prove-she's-a-serious-actress movie that actually kicked her off the map. Backfired Demi. But wait, you did do Charlie's Angels. Hmmm. Ok. Wait, you DID marry Ashton. Ok. Now you're golden.)

When DH gets home, we're off to the RE's to find out if my OHSS symptoms are under control enough to warrant going for the transfer. Tomorrow? Sunday? Crap, again, not sure. I'm on a ride I'm not steering here - go easy.

*(Ooh. She just said, "SUCK MY DICK." What am I saying? This movie is brilliant!!!)

On a Christmas note, went to Japanese BBQ w/ Naomi and Drew which is right off ZhongXiao near Fuxing - one of the main drags here. They have one of their major department stores across the street from the restaurant - SOGOS (much like our Macys or Bloomingdales). The Christmas decor in front of that Sogos was DONE UP. At least in comparison to anything else we saw around here. Taxi drops us off around 9:00 PM. People are taking pictures in front of the display, holding up their ubiquitous peace sign, looking snuggly in their winter wear, smiles abound... Cut to 11:15 PM as we're the last guests closing out the restaurant. We look across the street before hailing the cab... THEY WERE ALREADY DISMANTLING THE DISPLAY. It wasn't even boxing day yet! We thought it was nice and telling about what their true perception of Christmas is here: marketing ploy. Annnd that's it. Oh you, America. You and your influence.

Egg retrieval went like "cluckwork."*

2008-12-22T07:10:00.013-08:00

(Couldn't pass up using this photo a second time!)

I not only feel like a science experiment, but in actuality, I am. Let's face it, that IS what this whole IVF thing is - an imperfect crap shoot - tapping our hopes that we are in the statistical SUCCESS category. So far so good: Dr Li harvested 23 eggs this morning and I was informed I didn't cough once. Whuhoo!

See, I was extra worried about ruining it all by coughing during the procedure b/c upon going to bed last night (after 12:00 AM... I wanted to milk my cough syrup/fluid consumption up until the last minute) in what I am now acknowledging is a mattress heavily laden with years of sloughed dead skin cells by strangers (what did I expect, renting a furnished apartment?!), the coughing spasms commenced so heavily, so gut-wrenchingly hard, I staggered my way to the bathroom sink, as I braced myself over it, I felt like my eye-balls were gonna pop out. Seriously.

Suddenly, I found myself vomiting. It was crazy. Then I did it another two times as the next waves of racking coughs overcame me - which was 2 seconds later due to its relentless-iosity. Who knew that happens? Well, apparently Dan did. Awakened, he wasn't surprised by the lovely noises I was generating as he's had a similar experience from coughing. While it was convenient I was already hovering over the sink, it was the bathroom sink that barely drains. Oh, and we had beef stew for dinner. Seriously. So I almost vomited again while I cleaned up my own vomit. But that wasn't even the really fucked up part. The really fucked up part was that I wasn't supposed to have anything to eat or drink since I had waited to go to bed after 12:00!!!

Aw, damn it to hell. I rebelled: Brushed by teeth, and took a dinky sip of water (it was only 12:30 by this point) and migrated to the living room to sleep on the leather sofa. Upon waking up all throughout the night, I'd check the time and see it was only, 2, 3, 4, etc. and instead of thinking what should be a normal thought: Great, I still have X hours of sleep - I can catch up! No, my thought was: DAMN, I need to drag my ass back to the couch and try to get more sleep - a failing proposition. Finally at around 5:00 AM, after my tactic of barely sucking, then spitting out practically fresh lozenges weren't doing the trick anymore, I took a steaming hot shower hoping to loosen up the crap in my lungs. Seemed to be the key. I went back to the couch and fell asleep sitting totally upright a la the elephant man. Woke up to the alarm (while in the midst of the best slumber I've experienced in weeks - figures) slumped over at the waist.

We scuttled off to have me harvested. While laying there on the stirrup table, playing my usual game o' testing my Chinese knowledge by "eavesdropping" on the nurses, the thing that caused me anxiety wasn't the actual procedure; I was anxious to get my anesthesia so I could finally get some good rest!

Woke up nicely without that crappy groggy feeling. So nicely, in fact, I was able to utilize some of my Chinese to speak with the nurses. Minimal brain damage: √. Dan performed his part swimmingly (ugh, pun intended) and we were good to go.

As we rode home in the taxi, Dan and I looked into each others' eyes and said, "I love you." Sooo we weren't able to conceive a baby in glowing candle light, staring connectedly into each others' eyes while Barry White was crooning in the background as the rose pedals stuck to our backs. We covered that base in the taxi ride home today. 8 years of marriage... same dif.

*Thanks for checking in on us and the line, Drew.

HCG shot tonight - egg retrieval Monday morning!

2008-12-20T03:46:00.012-08:00

Had a bunch of follicles ready tonight and many more that should grow a bit more so they're good to go come Monday morning. All in all I should have a total of about 30 ready to be injected w/Dan's genetic material via ICSI - a harsh introduction, but they'll finally get to meet each other after all!

So, done w/ Lupron - took last shot this morning.

Done w/ Gonal-F - took last shot last night.

Taking HCG trigger shot tonight at 10:00.

(Can you believe the size of this gut? This is one of my 3 bad bruises after several days passed. Was v. proud of myself for only having 3 during the span of all the injectibles. I gave myself mostly all of my own shots s-l-o-w-l-y, but on this one freaked b/c the needle became dull w/ the mixing, etc. so Dan did the honors - symbollic, being the "trigger" shot and all.)

Then tomorrow I get a day of reprieve from the shots - only need to remember to take the PNV + baby aspirin - just need to lay around like a poor beached mammal.

Gotta stop eating or drinking by 12:00 a.m. to prep for the anesthesia. I think my biggest paranoia here is that this OHSS makes me super thirsty and I tend to need water after one of my crazy bronchial coughing fits (which have escalated to ceaseless at this point - stomach muscles have literally become sore), so abstaining from drinking will be a huge challenge.

So aside from the fear of being utterly parched, I'm actually ready and excited for Monday's procedure. Excited despite having accepted the probability of the transfer/cycle being canceled due to these excitable and hard-working swollen ovaries of mine.

Speaking of the hyper gals, yesterday's ultrasound showed my ovaries "kissing." This evening's ultrasound showed them hot and heavy. Listen ovaries, you two should be NO WHERE NEAR EACH OTHER. YOU'RE NOT EVEN SUPPOSED TO KNOW THE OTHER ONE EXISTS. No exaggeration, when he got them both within the same frame, they looked like a fucked up rendition of how it feels my lungs are looking right about now. Yeah, seriously - they formed that kind of butterfly shape, but with all the vacant pockets where the follicles have formed... where the eggs inside will start to hop to after I inject this HCG.

Under different circumstances I'd be wise to be scared by what I saw tonight, but I can't go there. I know this is a common side effect and I'll get through it. But I think it's safe to say the next week or so is pretty much going to be lost to all but me going through the surgery and recuperating from the escalated OSHH. Apparently, what I've experienced thus far is nothing compared to how bad it's going to get; should the various symptoms present themselves, we have been instructed we'll need to go to the hospital no matter the time. These are the moments during IVFing where we keep the end result in mind - you know, changing explosive diapers and having a child who grows up to despise you in their adolescence. No wait, the nurturing, cuddly, helping raise a good person part; hopefully someone who adds something to society. Yeah, that.

So in my mind, I will have gone through the hardest part of IVF - the stimming and retrieval.

We're prepared to do the FET for the next cycle and feel optimistic that doing FET could work fine. We've reset our thinking to: if we CAN do the transfer on the 27th, it'll just icing at this point.

Mmmm. Waste not Want Not. Or: Finger Lickin' Good. Or: Boy, are we Friggin' Homesick! (click link)

2008-12-18T16:30:00.009-08:00

I know this story is going around the web today. My friend Laurie even emailed asking if it was going on here in Taiwan.

Here's my answer: Ignorance is bliss.

and...

Not sure.

Hope not.

Don't think so.

They seem to love cats so much here, that they charge up to $1,000.00 USD for them in the pet stores.

I intend to purposely stay away from actually reading any of these articles because the reality is too disturbing to me and, it's literally too close to home... gonna pull an ostrich.

I can say MOST Taiwanese people are proud of the clear distinction they perceive they have between their culture and mainland China's culture.

And I shall choose to believe that extends to including the consumption of pet meat.

"Oh, you'll get pregnant if you just..." or, Why we decided to try IVF in Taiwan.

2008-12-18T04:52:00.005-08:00

Anyone reading this who has ever said the following to a friend or is even close to uttering these phrases to a friend - think twice bee-yotch.

Darwin award nominee: "I had a friend in Poughkeepsie who had a friend in Ottawa who served coffee at Starbucks to a customer's wife's second cousin who was TTC with an IVF cycle and before they even got a chance to use her husband's contribution, her eggs were miraculously fertilized already. She was pregnant without her husband's contribution. No, they didn't use a contribution donor. *in hushed voice* It's the coming of the savior, Jesus Christ.

Barista: No kidding - Jesus Christ. I mean Jesus H. Christ, that's fucking insane. Not religious here, sir. Actually, I'm a pagan Athiest and "believe" in this little thing you may have heard of called science. You know, ev-ol-u-tion. *long pause as customer's face screws into an indignant, furrowed mass of redness as he burns his tongue on an insanely hot brew* By the way, sir, what is that couple doing with their frozen embryos b/c I'm sure you could make a fortune selling them on eBay.

Alright here's the actual phrase:

"Maybe if you just relax."

Really? Et tu Brutus? Could you be more dismissive and ignorant and cruelly perpetuate an urban myth about infertility? Yes. Sometimes these sentiments apply. And sometimes people beat ovarian cancer for good.

And let's not forget this beauty: "You could always just adopt."

Oh, just adopt. Because that's not heart wrenching either. Because that's not a crap shoot either. Because that doesn't also carry with it the inherent genetic Russian roulette we all play with, but additionally, when in utero, your future baby may have succumbed to whatever crack the birth mother was smoking. I mean, you know, only if she was a teenager in high school.

So if you've used either of these phrases in the past to your friends, get on the phone and call their ass to apologize about being an ass yourself. Be a good supportive friend and don't condemn your struggling couple friends with the additional burden of flippantly acting like they're doing something else wrong.

Yeah, in the olden days we'd just get a big "B" for BARREN carved into our foreheads. But in the olden days my husband would have been long dead before I even met him (type 1, insulin dependent diabetes). And how about finding out the gender before it pops out so the consumed baby crap will be the right color and theme? That, my friends, is called an advancement in technology. Assisted Reproductive Technology, or ART, as the name suggests falls in that category.

So, my friend was very curious about how this service is offered in China with its overpopulation problems and I related to this her:

Hey - well, keep in mind we're not in China, but the Republic of China - Taiwan. Taiwan sees itself as its own separate country and China sees it as an offshoot of China. There has always been quite the political struggle between the two countries. So Taiwan is all for assisted reproduction.

Taiwan is so all for ART that they have been vying to get medical tourism over here for it. I discovered this upon researching the viability of pursuing IVF treatment while we're living here.

Here's our change of heart timeline. AKA, our laboriously long TTC story. (Seriously. It. Is. Fah-riggin. Long. Unless you're totally compulsive, you might want to employ your Evelyn Wood Speed Reading Dynamics techniques. Or, grab your own fresh brew and find a comfortable seat):

Here goes...

We really just wanted to create a baby here so we could always say that our baby was, literally, "Made in Taiwan."

That's it.

Kidding.

Here:

Come January 18th, as I approach my 41st (oy) b-day, I'm also approaching our 7-year TTC anniversary (in hindsight, maybe not such a good idea to have lumped the two days together). I took my last BCP January 17, 2002. I was 34. We'd been married for almost a year and a half. It was time. I didn't feel "ready," but as I was turning a whopping 34, it was "now or never."

So we went at it. No luck. I was popping my prenatals and faithfully stopped drinking and smoking hash (kidding. Sheesh - simmer down) during the 2ww. For nearly 9 months straight, I was incredibly exhausted due to going off the pill which I had been on since my mom died of ovarian cancer in 1989 b/c the doctor said to my wide-eyed 21-year old self (with a straight face), "Well, I recommend you have your children now and get a hysterectomy ASAP. But if you're not going to have a baby now, then you should stay on BCP to keep cysts off the ovaries. In addition to getting regular ultrasounds, it's the best way to try to prevent ovarian cancer."

As the BFN pee sticks so clearly indicated, the months quickly ticked off. I went for my tri-annual ultrasound with aforementioned top UCLA OB/GYN - who had made some passing reference to my ovaries looking possibly "Polycystic" and confirmed that the status of the fibroids (which have been staying put since at least my early-20s) were remaining the same size. I continued to suffer through the various and strange off-the-pill-symptoms which were a total mindfuck since my "symptoms" were very similar to PG symptoms. Turns out the pill was doing its job all those years (not the actual preventing PG part since there was no possibility of conception to prevent, but, you know, the cyst avoidance part was good). It was doing such a bang up job keeping those nasty cysts away that I had no idea the pill was suppressing a "condition" I didn't even realize I had. Yep. That "slightly polycystic" thing my doctor mentioned? It has a name: PCOS. I've been diagnosed as borderline, but after seeing how I so easily reached OHSS by CD8 (PCOSer are more prone to it), I seem to be over that line.

Meanwhile, most of my friends were successfully starting their families and I continued to fill my voids by shopping at painful places like Target and Ikea - where it's a veritable belly brigade of moms-to-be proudly displaying their growing girth. (Of course, some may very well have worked hard to achieve their PG thru ART means, but all I saw were big, beautiful bellies.)

So after too much wasted time, money, and tears (not to mention dealing with insensitive "helpful" comments like the ones I listed in the beginning of this novella post. [Oh yeah, I forgot this classic: "So...? When're ya gonna start a family, hmmm?"]) spent totaling about a year+ of undergoing the following:

Frequent recipient of Medical dildo (Ultrasounds),
Perpetually bruised arm crook (blood draws),
Glucophage/Metformin (usually given for insulin resistant type 2 diabetics, but also for PCOS),
3 wasted Clomid rounds
Acupuncture set up to fail on my end b/c DH's sperm was NG (though I did enjoy it)
Stupid doctors (i.e., one UCLA internist - NOT intern, internIST - actually said to me, "I don't see what having cysts on your ovaries has to do with your hormones being out of whack. Eh, you'll be pregnant in no time." Idiot.)
Spending way too much money on digital ovulation sticks (and ruining our fun by TIMING doing it)
Spending way too much money on HPTs (home pregnancy tests)

With this as the constant result: BFN on said wasted HPTs, we stepped up to entering the full fledged world of the INFERTILE couple. Or, if you prefer, fertility challenged.

Onto an actual RE.
RE #1: Dr. Richard Paulson of USC:
http://www.uscivf.com/abo_03_e.shtml
Highly recommended and damn, hot too. It was like having Magnum PI down there. Felt kinda sordid actually. FINALLY had Dan do a SA. So when Dr. Paulson calls and gives me the lowdown while I'm at work on the 3 sperm attributes we're looking for:

1st: Count: Lots of 'em - √
2nd: Motility: Good motility - √
3rd: Volume: porn star gobs (ew, even I'm cringing at what I just wrote) - √

I was carefully listening, doing my mental checks going, Cool. Good. Cool. We're cool, yay.

Then he said there was a 4th one. What? What the fuck?! Damn.

4th one: Morphology (turns out, totally sucks. Really bad. What? How? But he has gobs. Gobs, I tell you.) - no fucking √ on this one.

Me: Morphology? What's that? I thought there were only 3 things we were looking for.

RE: Strict Morphology. It's the shape. Between 1-4% are decent. Meaning the rest are basically shaped like little Homer Simpsons chasing their own tails. (Fine, he didn't say that last part.)

Me: *feeling the empty pit in my stomach move up into my heart as the tears started to well* Um. Ok. Thanks, I guess.

Broke down crying at work and left an hour early.

Then more testing for me: HSG. Didn't kill like a mother b/c fortunately my tubes were A-Okay. However, the fibroids were there and there was this little, pedunculated (hanging like a quaint little Christmastime icicle) possible fibroid inside my uterus. Gosh this anatomy stuff is so delicious, isn't it?

Verdict: Good IVF w/ ICSI candidate.

However, prior to embarking on our first RE visit, Dan and I felt pretty strongly that we were NOT going to take it as far as IVF b/c we were worried about the following - in no particular order:

Too many people in the world.
There are kids out there that need good homes.
Ridiculously expensive and it's such a crap shoot. Maybe we should just stash that kind of money away in case we DO decide we want to adopt some day.
Fear and paranoia about what the IVF drugs will do to my health in the long run. Plus there was that little issue of my mother dying of ovarian cancer - giving me the genetic predisposition of getting it myself one day. (So going the opposite route of early OB/GYN's recommendation and STIMULATING the ovaries 'till they grow the size of a large fruit, might not be such a good idea.)
We have known issues with our genes (hindsight - who the fuck doesn't?)
The world is going to pot (look at the idiot we have as President who is driving yet another business into the ground. Except this time the business is, oh, America. You know, leader of the free world.)
All the hoop jumping of countless doctor visits in congested Los Angeles. Working, fighting traffic, waiting in an overcrowded doctors office b/c we're seeing a top, published RE in a town where everyone seems to put family planning on hold b/c either a.) their careers are too important and hard-earned, or b.) they took too long finding a suitable partner in that, my beloved, depraved home town, or c.) all of the above. In my case it was door number 2.
Believe (and unfortunately still do - research proves, rightly so) that natural conception is the best for the strength of the pregnancy and baby. Goes back to that ol' Darwin concept: may the best spermie win...

So, instead of going for the ICSI due to the list above, we went the varicocele repair route - microsurgery on Dan's precious junk. He went under the knife at the end of 2003.

And... Drumroll please...

Did nothing to improve his sperm quality. But at least while we were messing around with the gay urologist's penis puzzles on his desk, we got to see Dan's afroed, fanged sperm turn to the "camera" and hiss at us. (A sample was put on a slide and we saw it right after he generated it on a computer monitor.) Oh yeah - they were misshapen alright.

Then there was the potential obstacle of my phantom, and yet to be determined ghost of something in my uterus that would most likely obstruct implantation. We aborted our TTC plans, leaving that one dangling (so to speak), as we regrouped and soul searched about proceeding or not. As we were busy aging with our indecision, Dan's mom was diagnosed with kidney cancer which had already metastasized in the form of a malignant tumor on her upper spine.

Dan's mom was the first woman I had let into my heart as a mother figure since I lost my own mom. (In that, over-eating her great cooking, enjoying that she liked to sweetly, absent-mindedly stroke my hair, and getting drunk together kinda way [which would make my relationship w/ Dan that of a sibling - hence incestuous... ugh. ruining it here?]). I've had nearly 2 decades to grieve the loss of my own mother, but this loss remains still so fresh today, I'm welling up as I write this. Connie had a huge fan-base. She was the best MIL I could have ever hoped for. This was in June of 2004. We spent the rest of the year crying different tears than we'd become accustomed to while TTC as we were flying and driving back to his hometown of San Jose as much as we possibly could.

The ABC after school special part? Jenny, my SIL and Dan's younger sister, announced a week after we learned about Connie, that she and her DH were expecting their first child. I'd like be the big person and relate that the first thing that came to mind was that Jenny would have to deal with saying a long goodbye to her mom while doing her best to nurture her first pregnancy with a child that would most likely never meet her grandmother. But alas, nope. My first reaction was to hold my breath until we could leave my SIL and her DH's home. Got into the car and BURST into tears. That was the first of 2 very difficult pregnancies to learn of. During those 6 months while we all said our goodbyes in our own ways to Connie, I did my very best to be a gracious and enthusiastic expectant Aunt, trying my hardest preparing to say a big hello to my yet unborn niece.

There were a few stumbling blocks involving raging PG hormones, raging bouts of searing grief, and my relatives just having no clue how fucking raging difficult it was to watch her growing belly (with countless references calling more attention to said belly by my BIL) during that trying time. In my mind, Connie was supposed to meet her first grandchild long before they found the cancer. We were supposed to have overcome many a passive-aggressive battle about her feeding the kid too many sugary treats. Right before bedtime. We failed in providing her the opportunity to get to know at least one grandchild. At least that was the way I irrationally felt at the time.

Of course it's impossible for fertile couples to truly understand the pain (the range on the pain dial varies day to day, year to year) an infertile couple experiences in grieving for an unborn child they may never have. And I don't wish that kind of understanding on anyone.

Campbell Constance was born February 8, 2005. About 10 days after Connie passed away. Jenny at least got to tell Connie it was a girl and what she was going to be named. I immediately allayed their fears and was as in love with her as if I weren't infertile and bitter. In other words, I never "took it out" on Campbell as I believe they feared I would. She's an amazing little girl and I'm so happy and proud to call her my niece. And I was happy for grandpa that he at least got a grand kid. Though I must add, neither set of parents on either side EVER pressured us about having kids. (In fact, my parents have gone the opposite end of the spectrum and have repeatedly stressed to us how happy they are that we don't have kids, that we have a great life-style, etc. [They're not privvy to this website at the moment]).

So even though there was no pressure, grandpa and girlfriend, Trudy, are thrilled to not only have little miss Campbell Constance on whom to lavish with their love, but while we have been living here, SIL and BIL had their second daughter - Marlowe Rose was born on August 4, 2008. Cannot believe that we have not yet met her in person. Strange.

Back to early 2005. January 10th. Insanely rainy season in L.A. It was ceaseless and perpetually driving rain. We had a landslide on an empty lot we own adjacent to our first house and our neighbors' house. Yellow tagged - all. Needed to deal with shoring it up ASAP. Cut to December 2008. Still not wrapped up. It's rainy there right now. Fixing that slide has been uber loud white noise in our world - black noise. We're going on 4 years - talk about feeling impotent. So as far as stress goes right now, dealing with fixing that during this rainy season is a bigger stresser on us than undergoing this round of IVF - OHSS and all.

Due to the landslide, losing Connie, and Dan getting a job in San Diego, we stopped TTC involving professional assistance. Of course, every month when AF arrived, there was a part of me that was tearfully mystified that a miracle hadn't occurred. Connie did say on her deathbed that we'd have 3 children. HUH? Silly superstitious side ringing in my ears triggers this scary scenario: We get PG with twins doing IVF and I get PG with a singleton naturally afterwards. Mind you, this IS NOT the scenario for which I'm keeping my fingers crossed. Just comes to mind when thinking of Connie's prophecy now that we're actually undergoing IVF.

So while I'm nearing the end of working as a photo editor at a failing magazine in Los Angeles, Dan was living in a rented room in San Diego. He was IN LOVE with surfing the SD coastline. He loved spontaneously stopping for a surf before and/or after work. He said life down there would be perfect if I was there with him. I know. Crazy notion that we wanted to live together full time as husband and wife. I HATE being a renter (covering someone else's mortgage without the write off benefits, control issues, etc.) so I manically came up with a plan:
Buy a mobile home 1/2 a block to a surf spot (Fine. Yes, there is space rent. Which does totally suck),
move to San Diego and
live full time (for the most part) in our spacious 410 square feet of luxury with
our elderly 2 cats and 2 dogs.
Furry much?

While there and with me not working full-time, we decided to look into that mystery dangler in my uterus with:
RE #2: Dr. Arlene Morales:
http://www.ivfspecialists.com/fertility-doctors-morales-lindheim.html
Mystery solved. In July of 2006, underwent hysteroscopic surgery for the removal of the pedunculated icicle-like thingy which thankfully only turned out to be a small polyp. It was removed without incident and we stopped once again to access. In a continued effort to avoid undergoing what was looking to be our second confirmed verdict: IVF with ICSI, we both tried acupuncture. Dan needed some coercion, but became a believer of sorts (whole different entry on that one). It did improve his morphology numbers - up to 4-7% of possibly decently shaped and qualified swimmers. It was still quite low. If we were going to launch into IUI based on everything in our file to that point, our success rate wasn't looking too pretty.

Depression finally kicked in. Did freelance casting, propping, and photo production, driving up to stay in our digs in L.A. - a bedroom with attached bath and a separate entrance we had set up for our strange, divided life. Though we had shared use of the public places in our house, I wound up just hiding away from our Playboy-loving college grad student roomie while his 52" big screen TV was blaring a constant stream of subscription football games. Depression worsened. Felt isolated and withdrawn. Wasted money on a "life coach" I found on Craigslist who basically read passages to me out of dated early-'90s self-help books. Went on Zoloft. Felt much better. Went off Zoloft. Didn't like some of the side effects and felt fine again. Gradually made peace with being a child-free couple. Went to Sundance w/ our BFF child-free couple friends who also went through the heartache of failed attempts at starting a family. While away, we closed escrow on a filthy, run-down apartment building (3 units/house in back) just shy of Downtown Los Angeles. Our intention was - we'd have an apartment in L.A. for work purposes (SANS ROOMIE), and the mobile home in S.D. Fuck. Change of plans.

Dan: Sweetie? Please, please go back on the Zoloft while we go through this insane undertaking we pretty much had no business naively undertaking.

Me: Ok. *head spinning* (gladly.)

Spent every last cent we had, plus maxed out every one of our credit cards to renovate. Stupid fucking TLC shows like Flip that House and it's ilk. Dan was kindly hired by our friend with whom we traveled to Sundance who owns a small editing facility. I was kindly hired by our friend who got us all our loans to happily participate in overextending ourselves by acquiring properties, land, and the mobile home during the housing boom. I earned my real estate license while we moved not once, but twice. First time: fully extracting ourselves from our home in L.A. to "owner-occupy" (read: squatting in our newly-acquired dump) at Huron. Second time: moving into the back house as the front building wrapped completion.

As I mastered becoming a professional money juggler with what little funds we had left to move around, I was in the thick of learning the ropes of being a mortgage broker while the industry was crashing around us. In addition to finding good tenants for our vacant home we just moved out of, our tenant at our first house gave notice just before we were getting ready to find tenants for Huron. Annnd there was the added pressure of a.) the landslide black noise and b.) hoping no inspectors dropped by unannounced. It was a crazy time to say the least. We had REALLY put assisted TTC on hold/to rest.

I was at work stressedly calming unqualified borrowers escrow jitters when I got my other BURST-into-tears-pregnancy call. (Who does that, BURSTS, you ask? I do. I BURST into tears. Sometimes. I do.) My lovely step-mom (who did the major portion of actually raising me) called to let me know my brother's first daughter was getting married - she was 16 at the time - because she was... pregnant. (16. They live in Texas. Texas.) WHAT the... WHAT?! She was just my flower girl about 7 short years ago. As serendipitous timing would have it, I was unusually late for my period that day. I had just wasted money that morning purchasing yet another set of sticks to elegantly pee on only to see for yet one more time, a BFN.

I went home early in tears.

After learning about Lauren getting knocked up (in a religious, church-going household that stressed abstinence only, I might add), it led to me and Dan realizing we wouldn't even want to adopt their child even if it were offered to the infertile Aunt and Uncle to raise in California. Being the bible-bangers that they are, that was never even in the cards anyway. But for us, it was one step closer to making making real peace with never having children. (Or, at least avoiding adoption and pursuing IVF one day after all.)

As the lending industry's house of cards was dramatically crumbling, Michael (old friend, turned our mortage broker, turned my boss, turned my ex boss, turned my survived-the-trenches-together old friend) and I were "let go" on Jan. 4, '08. Dan's freelance gig in NY at the end of '07 had come to an end. I took a job as the marketing director of a green construction company in Northridge. Though I loved the bosses, co-workers, and industry, I couldn't stand the hypocrisy of a nearly 2 hour round trip commute for a green job. Theeeen Dan was on the short list for a gig editing in Taipei, Taiwan of all places! We agreed if he was offered the job and we didn't take advantage of not only the opportunity to rebuild our finances, but the life-changing opportunity it presented, we'd be idiots. We have a 6-month-max-apart rule. This job was going to keep him away for at least 9 months. I put in a one month notice and paved the way to join him.

He arrived here on March 18, 2008. We spent a ridiculous amount of $ on cell phone calls (before we discovered he could have called my cell via Skype for next to nothing - dur) and video chatted at least once a day. We were apart about 2.5 months by the time I joined him May 31st. After spending too much time shopping and wasting money on disposable clothes I didn't really need (well kinda needed b/c it's crazy hot and humid here in the summer and I hadn't brought enough of the right clothes for their special version of summer weather), and getting professional-tour-guide-good with finding my way around this town, and meeting up with my language exchange partner, Oliver, on a weekly basis, I enrolled in Mandarin Chinese classes at Shida:
http://www.mtc.ntnu.edu.tw/indexe.html
to broaden my future employment horizons in our shrinking, globalized world.

Then the alignment started to take place:

One week into my course, I was perusing the school's bookstore and stumbling my way through inquiring about a good book to improve my Pinyin (pronunciation) understanding. There was another customer there overhearing the communication gap - a Taiwanese woman who was bilingual and stepped in to give me her guidance. We instantly felt an easy rapport and in that first exchange she mentioned she had been TTC for 10 months and that she was worried about her fertility. I told her we'd been down that road and had made peace with saying goodbye to that path, having embraced being child-free. Candace and I exchanged numbers and a week later met before class for her to help me w/my hurdles in learning Chinese (to put the learning curve lightly). We launched right into TTC-chat. I'm fairly certain they're not as culturally open to talking about such things over here. She knew a TMI gal when she saw one. She did, after all, study in NY. She had already seen an RE and covered some of the preliminary diagnostics (have I mentioned she's incredibly Type A with a law degree from NY?) and the RE had found nothing wrong with them. I filled her in on whole our tawdry (showing the girlie bits to countless strangers, especially upon first meeting, could be construed as tawdry!) TTC details and wrapped up again with how we had finally decided to walk away. On top of having that in common, I really liked her teaching approach, took her on as my temporary tutor, and our friendship grew from there.

At about the same time, we were happily continuing to pay down our debt.
At about the same time, after 4 months since being issued my ARC (alien resident card), I became eligible for the Taiwanese national health insurance coverage.
At about the same time, my pap was coming due.
At about the same time, my Chinese class was ending.
At about the same time (fine - doesn't really work on this thought), I'm luxuriously unemployed and don't even need to worry about walking the dogs.
At about the same time, we decided to let the outcome of the election be our IVF deciding factor - should Barack Obama win, he'd give us something we let go of a long time ago - HOPE.
At about the same time, I found out a friend with whom I had recently reunited and with whom I share many common traits, was finally pregnant after 2 rounds of IVF. (She unfortunately got a karmic smackdown for being one of those people who so long ago told us to "just relax" way before she was to discover she herself would have such struggles.)

We are so similar - in our chemical make-up and disposition - in fact, that...

she might as well be my sister (yes, with the all-inclusive, cliched drama as depicted in early-'90s network television programs such as, say, Sisters).

So similar, in fact, that...

in the course of our long friendship we have perpetually rubbed each other the wrong way.

So similar, in fact, that...

when she said the one round of Clomid she did was so GOD AWFUL and the IVF injectibles were NOTHING in comparison, my wheels did thus begin to turn... again. (I had struggled through 3 rounds way back and Dan and I lived to tell about it. 3 rounds of PMSx100 torture. So due to how similar our make-up is, little did she know she had essentially served as my IVF guinea pig.)

So similar, in fact, (and most importantly) that...

we share the same signature fragrance b/c everything else on us ends up smelling like a powdery little old lady. (Which will come in handy when surely one day we'll be wise and mature and patient enough to withstand our annoying similarities - when we actually will have grown into obnoxious and powdery-smelling little old ladies wearing our shared perfume and misapplied lipstick [which will be the subject of painstakingly detailed discussion analyzing the merits of their respective gorgeous aubergine palate differences... Though it'll be the very same lipstick.])

Poor husbands.

So I asked Candace if she could recommend any good specialists. She went to National Taiwan University Hospital's ART department. I looked into it that as an option while also researching it further on my end. After a little Googling, I found the final confirmation from the universe that we should seriously consider giving it a shot here.

The cost is about 1/3rd the cost in the States.

Holy crap, 2/3rd less. So a round of ICSI will run us around 5K-ish USD vs. around 14K-ish USD. I theatrically (as you might have insightfully detected is sort of my M.O.) sat Dan down after work one night and presented him with the above research. He kinda reeled and dazedly said, "But we'd put this to bed. Um. Uh. I'm going to need to think about it." I told him we had to be on the same page and I'd give him zero pressure. And I truly meant it. If our marital rule of "the NO wins" ever needed to be implemented, now was the time. So I quietly waited for his decision. It took about 2 or 3 days. Then he received this email of adorable shots of the Jouet's daughter, Kiki. His BFF, Tim, looked so deeply contented and joyful to have his daughter, he came to me with a decisive and enthusiastic, YES. Actually, yes, and I'm excited to try.

Meanwhile, I had found this article on the Internet:
http://taiwanreview.nat.gov.tw/ct.asp?xItem=25613&CtNode=128
and wrote to the author, Oscar, to see if he could forward me the contact info for Kelly Manske - whom he'd interviewed on the subject of medical tourism involving assisted reproduction in Taiwan. He kindly responded immediately. I wrote her, and she also kindly responded immediately. As my cycle was coming to a close, I went to her RE where she successfully achieved pregnancy after one round of IVF.

Our final RE.
RE #3: Dr. Monty Huey-Po Li:

http://www.ait.org.tw/en/uscitizens/HealthCareInTW.asp#Taipei
Candace had done a little recon for me and looked at their Chinese website and the demographics of their location - fairly affluent part of town where lots of attorney offices are located. Though treatment would be more expensive at this clinic vs. the hospital, she told me it'd probably be a better route b/c I would receive more specialized, personal attention. With the scanned business card Kelly emailed me, I took a taxi there after one of my last classes at Shida.

I was a walk-in on a Friday evening. It was all very fluid (oy. just caught the pun) and easy. I immediately felt like it was the right fit for our needs. He spoke English perfectly well, I knew an ex-patient with a confirmed successful PG through his IVF treatment, their office was near our apartment - not too expensive by cab - and instead of filling my prescription at an off-site pharmacy, they dispense the meds directly.

I arrived prepared, handing him my records file I'd had faxed over from my most recent RE in SD. Of course, "recent," being back in mid-'06. After we briskly bottom-lined our infertility treatment plan - I clearly knew the direction we needed to go from the previous 2 verdicts: IVF w/ ICSI - he did an US during that same first meeting. Which was kinda strange - having our first encounter of dialogue in one room, then migrate into a speedy stirrup encounter in the adjacent room, then continue the rest of the dialogue with the information he had recently gleaned by sticking a medical dildo up me - all within the span of about 20 minutes. Oh, and got that pap taken care of while we were at it. He even saw AF was due to arrive either that night or the next day. Which was great b/c from that info he came up with what is turning out to be a pretty accurate time frame for our game plan.

The universe (Connie steering?), serendipity, good luck, whatever little catch phrase umbrella I can throw our particular aligned set of circumstances under - these elements thrown our way independent of one another may not have amounted to this outcome. But they happened to coincide at about the same time - culminating in a changed direction. So here we are - pursuing IVF treatment after all. Hypocritical in light of our earlier IVF stance/hesitation? Not sure. Don't care.

Yes, we had laid TTC to rest. We'd "made peace." And we truly had and have. Which is why we can go through this process gracefully. It's why my postings might come off as "uninvested." Because we really are happy with our life together, as is. We were, and are, happy with how we see our future playing out - with, or without a child. Outside of actually conceiving, I think the big gift here is that we're taking advantage of an opportunity to dodge REGRET - always doing our best to avoid leading a fear-based life. In fact, after losing my mom, that became my life's motto: FOLLOW THE PATH OF LEAST REGRETS. Thanks The universe, serendipity, and/or good luck for keeping us on the right path - no matter the outcome. (I didn't say I was an Athiest. That was just the Barrista. And Dan. And my dad. I happen to be an Agnostic.)

Holy fuck. My Ovaries are behaving like spastic children with ADD

2008-12-17T05:59:00.010-08:00

I have officially overstimulated my poor ovaries. The dreaded OHSS. Ovarian Hyperstimulation Syndrome. I had a nagging feeling I would be susceptible to achieving this wondrous state due to my previous follie response back in '02 when I did 3 rounds of Clomid.*

(Back when I received the Rx from my [extremely reputable, UCLA faculty] OB/GYN whom in hindsight I believe unthinkingly participated in the brotherhood of misogynistic OB/GYNS [hyperbole much?] by prescribing this AWFUL infertility drug for me to take PRIOR to testing Dan in order to rule out any misbehaving sperm on his end. Male factor infertility. Are their egos SO fragile they project that every male couldn't bare that "burden" that their swimmers might be fucked up? I mean, what the fuck?! Jerking off into a cup is far easier than living with a raging moody bitch where the means to the end is doomed from the start. Dan would have gladly gone that route [what's more exciting than wanking {AKA Polishing the Pink Pope} off in a small room at a doctor's office staring at worn out porn?] had we more knowledge of the big picture. I think it should be mandatory protocol for the SA to be STEP #1 when a couple embarks on fertility treatments. Least invasive approach first. Doesn't that make sense? Ladies, never forget business is business. Doctors ARE running a business. Yes, we're called patients, but we're also called paying customers. Agenda: pharmaceutical companies in bed with doctors, perhaps?

If infertility has taught me one thing it is this: Doctors are NOT Gods. I have since rescinded the unwarranted Daddy Authority I had bestowed on them prior to my rude awakening.

They are very fallible.

And egotistical, arrogant, and successful business men/women - if you're seeing one of the good ones.

There's the rub.

Play God much? (Use that much writing device much?)

We hope so.

That's the point isn't it? That the very aforementioned "negative" qualities they possess are also the qualities they employ in helping us achieve PREGNANCY. Nevertheless, do not hesitate to ask questions, be your own advocate, and hold them accountable for the utmost in customer service and care. Squeaky wheel gets the grease. (Case in point, I JUST received a call from my RE here confirming I know to keep taking the Lupron and if I'm feeling too bloated and awful tomorrow to call/come in for an adjusted dose of Gonal-F. I am liking this Dr. Li!)

*So based on those wasted and trying 3 months, I knew I had solid follicular response.

(Dan is grossed out by that term. He'd rather me call them puppies. Fine. My puppies are kennel-yapping.) In the litter vein, I have oh, around 32 follies. You read that right. 32. While staring at the ultrasound monitor, I was fondly picturing the eggs inside those not-quite-fully-developed-follicles bouncing up and down in excitement adorably yelling over each other, "Pick me! I'm the one! Will you be dis herez baby mama?!" (Kinda like how I used to picture the Cheerio Os scrambling to be the ones to go first. I think some '70s advertising execs thought it'd be good salesmanship to animate those Os into darling little characters. [Or maybe not. I may have just made them into characters in my head. I can't recall. Remember, I have that pesky overactive imagination.] I got over my guilt about consuming the cutie pies by sparing them the sad and soggy drowning death-by-milk-puddle - achieving a proud record of never leaving a single O in the bowl.)

Off topic. Right.

Annyway. Chances are fairly good we'll stop this cycle after oocyte retrieval. Or at least I'm prepping myself for that outcome.

So, outcome #1 (preferred):
Keep going, get incredibly bloated as I grow my symmetrical grapefruits, retrieve eggs, pull decent sperm from Dan's fun-time-with-a-cup and inject viable eggs with viable sperm (ICSI), wait 5 days as my OHSS calms down and the zygotes evolve into blastocysts, then transfer said blasties and keep fingers crossed during the ever dreaded 2ww.

Outcome #2 (waaah-ish):
Same as above minus the transfer. They'll freeze the litter and we do another IVF as FET (frozen embryo transfer). Or I guess in our case it would be a FBT. Bad news: Lose our fresh chance and have to wait a month or so. Good news: We should have plenty of top quality little frozens to choose from.

Imagination running wild night time soap outcome: Either Dan or I kick it. We move on with our lives, but we can't go on without the other in some form or another. So we hire a surrogate uterus and have them bake the frozen embryo then write a bad screenplay about it. Then there's a bidding war for either Dan's or my genius and we sock the money away for the kid's formative years therapy fund b/c they'd be in serious need of therapy very early on by not only the above scenario, but by being the recipient of our lovely combined genetics.

Laying around looking like I'm sick with all my tissues readily on hand for sudden hormone tears except now

2008-12-16T00:03:00.018-08:00

I really am. Sick. Shit. Have a crappy fucking cold. We both do. Worried it'll turn into a racking cough and I'll eject the embryos out after the transfer (around Christmas day - our present to each other!). I'm nervous a cough will screw with implantation. Is this pure paranoia? I'm too tired to search on Google. I realize I can't be the first woman undergoing IVF treatment to get a cold. Fuck it. I'm not gonna give it much thought.

Letting it go now.

Gone.

In light of the fact that I'm pooped, and in keeping with backtracking due to my blogging procrastination, here's a letter (edited down - see I am capable of editing) sent to our lovely neighbor Susan from down south in the VOD from when I first arrived here:

June 11, 2008

Dearest Susan,

Just wanted to let you know I will get to keep my mind here. Alissa was able to send my first batch thru FedEx. Scary thing is, I was totally off them for about 2 whole days (having taken half doses the prior 4) and I could already tell I was needing them. Ugh. I guess it's true what they say - better living thru chemistry! Dan's pancreas needs insulin; my brain needs serotonin reuptake inhibitors - my brain needs to recycle what little I have instead of dispensing of it as used and unnecessary like normal brains do. My brain, BTW, hates it when I talk about it behind its back. So I should move onto a different subject before it gets angry and spiteful and withholds important multisyllabic vocabulary words from me that I might need when trying to impress Dan's boss tonight (who also misread his itinerary and missed his last flight here, so actually I think we'll get along famously).

Moving on. Before our new tenants get there, I wanted to see if you and/or Miri wanted to raid our freezer for any food items you might want. I know there are some decent frozen goodies in there, like a couple of Trader Joes Pizzas, etc. I think I may even have a Barbie in there. Feel free to take her home so as not to scare the newbies. Long story. Kinda in keeping with my weird brain ramblings above. I have an active inner life. Never bored at least.

Send your famous Toll House cookies here? Okay maybe not the cookies. Maybe some sand from Beacons? Waaaah!!! We miss you guys and our little valley of dreams Shangri-La. (Either that Zoloft has kicked in funny, or I better get my ass to Taipei 101 and look for some English speaking Ex-Pats cuz it seems I may be desperate to communicate in fluent English, eh?)

Okay. I’m serious. I think I’ll scoot off to seek out some small banter with strangers where our only bond is based on where we happen to have been born.

Someone give us some lube. Oh wait. Maybe not... (click to link)

2008-12-15T03:24:00.002-08:00

...isn't that created with some kind of petroleum by-product?

Have I mentioned how very THRILLED I am that Obama won? Cried the whole day (November 5th over here). My tears shouldn't have surprised me too much. It was the time of the month where I could easily weep over old episodes of Friends (C'mon, who didn't cry when Chandler and Monica got engaged?). We had donated to his campaign, tried to sway on-the-fencers (will never understand that kinda of indecision...apathy?), and made sure to mail our ballot in early so we at least got to take some part in his winning. But crap, PMSing while celebrating such a monumental turning point in history all alone was...

Kinda lonely.

Sure, I got some Skyping in w/ friends and family, but it just wasn't the same as making lots of obnoxious noise w/ fellow American revelers.

So instead of cheering elatedly in the streets with others (in the States. Not here. Not too much revelry here. Although we did have a few taxi drivers ask, "Ni Meiguoren?" [You American?] and we'd nod then they'd animatedly shout, "OBAMA!" with a huge grin and a thumbs up.) I was transfixed watching CNN Intl's broadcast, with tears of joy unrelentingly streaming down my face. Swimming in my strong urge to express my excitement, I was compelled to show him some sugar from my isolated 6th floor apartment in Taipei.

I made 44th President Elect Barack Obama a mixed tape hoping he'd be my boyfriend.

Here's the compilation:

Enter...Hot Curry: Madlib
I'm Gonna Sit At the Welcome Table: Hollis Watkins
Men Of Good Fortune: Lou Reed
Everything Is Broken: Bob Dylan
Jesus Walks: Kanye West
For What You Dream Of For What You Dream Of: Bedrock - Trainspotting
All Here and Now: Martin Luther King, Jr. - The Best of the Speeches
#9 Dream: John Lennon
We Shall Overcome: Freedom Songs - Selma, Alabama
Hallelujah: John Cale - Basquiat
This Little Light: The Freedom Singers
Here Comes The Sun: The Beatles
A Dream, A Dream, A Dream: Bert Jansch
Give Peace A Chance: John Lennon
If You Can Dream 50's: Lena Horne
Praise Him: Udaipur Convent School Nuns and Students - The Darjeeling Limited
Ten Things: Paul Baribeau
Young Americans: David Bowie
Here Comes Your Man: Pixies
It's A Good Day: Peggy Lee
Somewhere Over the Rainbow: Israel Kamakawiwo'ole - Alone in IZ World
Move Away and Shine (In a Dream Version): Tim DeLaughter
Smoke Circle: Madlib

Ah. I felt much better after pouring my enthusiasm into creating my ode of love to Mr. Obama. I noted once it was complete how many songs were from the 60s/civil rights movement peak (yeah, and? duh) and how many had a savior/religious slant. You know, we're far from religious folks, but I found it interesting that's the direction I went.

Which leads me to relate the following thinking:

When we started seriously evaluating the viability of pursuing IVF treatment here, Dan and I had agreed if the outcome of the election extended the world's expiration date, we felt like we could kinda justify bringing another kid into a world. Yes, we felt this election was that important.

Hallefrickinlujah.

Beauty is Art (click here for more of Mr. Jouet's artwork)

2008-12-14T05:31:00.025-08:00

*
Tim and Lisa came up with that title - it's their slogan - I take no credit here. Didn't see it on their site. Donde Esta? Well, it's there in how they approach their biz and life.

If they hadn't finally (they've been a couple for, like, EVER) had gorgeous Kiki, we may not have had the proof for Dan that you can, in fact, be a dad and still manage to still surf. Thanks, Timmy for allaying his fears. (In keeping with the surf theme, I'm compelled to add he's engrossed in the animated film, Surf's Up. How'd he take so long to watch this? It's combining two of his great passions.)

We are big fans of both of their work. No one is better at cutting and styling our hair than Lisa. And we have quite the growing collection of Tim's art. Pretty soon we'll be seeing Kiki's art splattered all over the press touting her as a child prodigy. Except the good kind - who end up living happy successful lives as adults,** not to be confused with once successful child actors who end up living unhappy, sporadically (if at all) successful lives as an adult (if they live that long).***

*see: in our home.

**see: http://www.cnn.com/2007/LIVING/worklife/12/10/mf.child.prodigies/index.html

***see: (OMG. I was being really flippant and was going to link to one, not too depressing link. But they were all really depressing.)
http://www.google.com/search?hl=en&client=firefox-a&rls=org.mozilla%3Aen-US%3Aofficial&hs=iIX&q=unsuccessful+child+actors&btnG=Search
Makes Danny Bonaduce seem madly successful. (Sheesh. Sorry Vidal. I am sufficiently chagrinned.)

P.S. We miss you guys tons!

Dan will be a snappy dresser, damn it!

2008-12-14T03:23:00.017-08:00

I lied. Yesterday. Yep. I realized I jumped the gun saying I was off Zoloft. In actuality, I just took my very last dose. All 6.25 MGs of it. Now I'm weaned. Or will be tomorrow (?). But what's 6.25 MGs still in my system? Surely not enough to rein in the compulsive behavior that sent me to the shrinks in the first place. Hmmm. Let's see how long it takes before I haul off and spiral into the OCD abyss.

How 'bout now? Okay, NOW:

I had a decaf today. It sucked. Only got through half of it. Probably best b/c it's crap too. It only made me want the real stuff. So I'm just gonna keep biting the bullet drooling over Dan's freshly brewed stuff. I don't hold it against him. We're not one of those infertile couples where if I must suffer, so should he. The way I see it, I get to keep my ass planted to the couch eating bon-bons watching horrible daytime Taiwanese television while he drags his ass to a cold, dark room doing repetitive computing. Yes, it's creative, but I have no idea how he does that work without going CRAZY. Wait. What am I saying? That ship already sailed.

On another Dan note, I purchased grown-up Garanimals for him today. I finally hit the wall seeing him wearing clothes the thrift stores would smirkingly REJECT. Anyone who knows him is vigorously nodding right now. I complained to him about his homeless 13 year old look and he reminded me I buy all his clothes and I should get him stuff I like to see him in. So simple. So I'm the retard. Except it's a bit more challenging with him b/c it involves not just choosing the attire, but getting multiples of the same pants and shirts b/c he doesn't go with me.

He CANNOT STAND to go shopping. Can't stand it. (We must work around each others' idiosyncrasies. Repeat after me...)

So I chose, purchased, and schlepped (all on foot - needed the exercise after being floored for the last 2 weeks on these drugs...gotta tap my energy while I've got it) these heavy bags back to our apt. and lovingly set them out on the bed.

Proud of myself for not being a lump, for choosing items that were good looking, of mediocre quality, and reasonably priced, I stood there like a cat with a recently mangled bird set gently out on the welcome mat and with a wave of a Price is Right gesture, with bated breath I awaited seeing the JOY wash over his face.

D: Mind if I rest before I try them on?

K: *dejectedly* no.

And it was true. I really didn't and don't mind b/c if Dan truly had his way, he'd go naked. He only gets dressed in order to avoid being arrested. The guy could give less of a shit about what he wears.

The spree was especially well-timed as splayed on the bed amongst the multiple heavy jeans was a bright & shiny new, light jacket he desperately needed since the one he brought here we had originally purchased only for Halloween costume purposes when we "played" the sweet couple in The Shining.

(That was the Halloween we vowed to dress up only in "sexy" Halloween gear as pretty much everyone at the party wanted nothing to do with our unattractive stab [ha] at dressing up like Shelly Duvall and Jack Nicholson.) It was too small, had paint splatters on it from when I took it as my own during our Huron project (when I served as our General Contractor, walking around with my dyke walk swagger [or so I was told]), and was most definitely another thrift store reject candidate.

So the jacket had all that going for it before Drew's home-seeking puppy, Tuco (Drew found and is fostering), took a piss on it and then followed it up with a solid puking as they were returning from being skunked yet again on their Sunday afternoon hunt for surf.

Oy. And this is me with some Z still in my system.

I'm the Blueberry girl in Willy Wonka

2008-12-13T06:40:00.012-08:00

Ok.
Turns out shooting up that = this.

Remember how when the chunky girl pops the gobstopper and goes through all the permutations of the whole meal she ate in a single piece of candy? (I do wish there really was such a thing.)

Here's my gonal-F injection rendition:

Shooting up (w/ Dan doing plunging b/c it's too hard for me to press in myself). Plop back deep against the couch cushions as I wait for the waves to overtake:

Feel 20 lbs. heavier. Like gravity increased its pull on my entire body.

Wait. Wait. I'm starving. No, I'm full. Now I'm dizzy. Now my left eye is blurry. Now my right ovary is twinging like I'm mid-cycle. Ah, here come the constipated tears. Now I'm hot. No wait, where's my jacket? Hey Dan, Um. Yeah? I forgot. I had a thought. Wait. Naw. I was wrong there's nothing in there. Just roll me out - I'm hot, dizzy, full/hungry, bloated, and staring straight ahead spacing like a drugged out stoner with pinwheel eyes.

Gotta lay down now.

Have I mentioned I quit coffee and am weaned off Zoloft?

Gotta lay down now.

Have I mentioned Waaaaahhhh? Ok. I'll stop whining. For now.

Gotta lay down now.

Parenthetical morning musings probably best left in my head

2008-12-12T18:10:00.018-08:00

(Wet the bed last night.* Much like my little Lu - Tallulah - when she's having a bout with her bladder issues. Ok. Well, kinda. The Gonal-F shot did such a number on me last night so that after feeling like two lead x-ray blankets had been draped over me somewhat subsided, I got ready for bed. I remembered my retainers, but forgot to create my make-shift, mid-life diaper for ladies - I neglected to add an additional surfboard to my disposable granny panties. [Yes, Paris, you read that right. Grannyfuckingpanties. They really are ill. Not "illnana" ill, just, you know, ill. But functional as all get out. I buy disposable white cotton panties {gotta love that word} here b/c I flew here 24 hours before I thought I would {retardedly misread my itinerary} and didn't pack my own gorgeous French lacy ones. Don't worry. I don't dispose of them 'till they're good and holey.] Woke up with a lovely reminder of the fact that I haven't reached menopause yet. YAY! No really, yay. It's a good thing I'm still bleeding. I need to wait for Dan to wake up before I can get in there and clean up after myself. Awww. It IS like the pets are here with me. Then I ran through my head all the tenants we've had rent our furnished places, taking inventory of who stayed where and what deposits they may have left behind on our mattresses. Nummy. My inventory came up good. Except for the guy who openly read Playboy. You do the math.

*And you thought I was gonna say it was the night sweats.)

Ever the procrastinator - Gonna backtrack here

2008-12-12T03:14:00.008-08:00

-d* with Paul and the dogs today. He wanted to make sure I saw Zeke with his newly patched wound - he had a hematoma on his ear removed. Poor baby had to go under, but so far no need for the grand Elizabethan collar.

I told Paul I'm finally doing a blog and he asked,

"Really? Isn't it too late? I've wanted to see what you were up to from the beginning..." And I forget the rest.

Because I started thinking, "Too late for what?"

I suppose what he was implying was,

"Hey, lazy ass - we cared when you were first there. But now that you've been there for over 6 months, it's all old news. Those shots you intend to post? They're dated, man. And you know what else? I kinda stopped caring. But, whoa! Now that you're gonna blog about IVF in addition to dodging motor scooters, hold me back. I CAN'T WAIT to hear about your clumpy blood flow. I take it back. No, it is not too late. It's never too late to foist ones thoughts into the Internet ether. Lord knows I have no clue how this blogging world has functioned without your special brand of oil to grease its wheels!"

I found it funny that Paul of all people said he had wanted to see what I was up to since he's probably one of the MOST privy out of everyone in our life. Sheesh. I guess that speaks volumes about how far up our asses our heads have been in failing to keep in touch with loved ones in the states. Then again he said SEE, so yes, I need to continue to edit my copious amounts of shots to finally post my best of. And as far as details go, I have a few email ramblers that I'm going to cull some best of from there. Then I shall try to fill in the gaps from what little I'm able to tap from my porous memory banks. From the time I arrived, my good ol' friend Amy was kindly inquiring about where my nonexistent blog was. I lazily sent her the link from my husband's apathetic stab at it. She saw a few pics and was mildly satisfied, then got bored with pressing further. Well, Ames, this post is dedicated to you! And Paul, so there. It is NEV-AH too late to start. NEV-AH, I tell you.

*download: http://www.skype.com/intl/en/newtoskype/

Ever have an itch, but you can't figure out where to scratch?

2008-12-11T04:56:00.011-08:00

Well, that's kinda how I felt the minute the Gonal-whatever-the-fuck-the-hormone-is-F dissipated into my system. Except it wasn't an itch. It was a lump in my throat where I had a sudden urge to cry. But it was stuck. Like when you're constipated and you know you should sit there longer, but are bored with the whole process because your People magazine subscription ran out and you want to get up and go about your day as you remind yourself once more that you should have more roughage in your diet. Well, my tears were stuck. Like that. And I didn't want to cry in a self-pitying way. It really was an instant drug reaction. That and I was really dizzy. (No, the dizziness wasn't due to digging through my wallet trying to find the full $29,000 NT that wasn't there. The nice lady, Julie (they name themselves Western names around the age of 12 here), let me leave owing $10,000. They accept cash ONLY. No frequent flyer miles for us.)

And it wasn't b/c... Wait. What wasn't b/c? Damn, sister. You get so friggin' off topic I forgot what you were whining about! IT, being the dizziness and lump in my throat. So. It wasn't b/c the lovely nurses giggled through their embarrassment about stumbling through instructing me in how to inject myself with this pen by employing a halting mix of English peppered with lots of Chinese and mime. I wasn't worried about the communication gap. I've become a pro at reading non-verbals and interpreting their misused words. I.e., when she said push, she meant pull.

They were so concerned I wasn't getting it, they even dragged Dr. Lee 2 (he's really only one...Lee. My Dr. Li is "Li" vs. "Lee." But I like to call them 1 and 2. [The Chinese/Taiwanese people really aren't too into original surnames. Chen. Shen. Li. Wu. etc.]) into the room to reiterate what they had told me in much better English.

I once again enthusiastically exclaimed,

"Wo Dong!" ("I understand!" [minus the applicable tone accents])

with a slap happy grin on my face. Because while they are all so apologetic for their crappy English speaking skills, I keep telling them not to worry about it. Actually, it's quite a running theme here. Dan and I have both assuaged many embarrassed Taiwanese people, saying more times than we can count:

"Your English is much better than my Chinese."

My feeling is, I'M in their country and they have no need to be apologetic. We Americans could use some of that humility and learn about others' cultures and languages. Especially in Los Angeles, it really is kinda mandatory to have some working knowledge of Spanish at the very least. Off topic much?

Anyway. Luckily they premixed the concoction in the pen so it seems to be pretty idiot proof. And since they did some of the dirty work, I felt better about each dose costing nearly $125.00 each. I mean you go into IVF knowing it's going to be a ridiculously expensive gamble and when you digest that one lump sum cost you somehow manage to swallow it because you just know you and you husband's genes are amazing and wonderful and your going to give birth to the next savior of the world. So you justify it somehow. But when it's broken down in a price per unit of a drug that screws with you, well, it makes it harder to digest.

Hmmm. I'll just keep fixating on our opportunity here which I feel fortunate we can take advantage of. There's that. Plus if it doesn't work, we can be freer to travel and we have our pups (oh, okay. And an ancient cat. And fine. They're not pups anymore. FINE. Ok. They're 11 + 13). We could always add a third to our furry brood. I found some adorable dogs on Petfinder I'm coveting. I'm hoping for their sakes they get adopted before we get back. But that's kinda keeping me going as a little consolation prize. Yes, Dan, we CAN TOO have another dog! We CAN, damn it. *dissolve into manipulative tears here*

Our 7 year TTC Timeline (still long... it's been 7 years, gimme a break!):

2008-12-10T20:34:00.011-08:00

12/01: Start prenatal vitamins.

1/02: Appt. with OB/GYN for a preconception check up--offhandedly mentions my ovaries could be "slightly polycystic."

1/18/02: 34th b-day--off BCP after 14 years.

1/18/02-9/02: PCOS symptoms previously suppressed by BCP, flare up. Cycles run too long. IF I ovulate, it's around day 21 or 22. Exhausted + see lots of doctors.

5/02: Receive acupuncture treatment + take Chinese herbs to help w/ anovulation--set up to fail b/c DH's sperm still goes untested* (and was never going to hit any egg I may have gloriously dropped).

9/02-12/02: Withstand 3 irresponsibly prescribed* rounds of the worst (IMO) of the infertility drugs: Clomid. Concurrently take endocrinologist prescribed Glucophage/Metformin (usually given for insulin resistant type 2 diabetics, but also for PCOS)--set up to fail b/c DH's sperm still goes untested* (and was never going to hit any egg I may have gloriously dropped).

1/18/02-12/02: Realize doctors are not Gods and too many are idiots.

1/03-8/03: Life remains busy as we process how we want to proceed given my Mother's history--dying of ovarian cancer at 50. We're reticent (scared) to "officially" pursue infertility treatments for fear of how the drugs will impact my already predisposed genes.

8/03: Fear be damned, enter the full-fledged world of the INFERTILE couple. Or, if you prefer, "fertility challenged." After spending way too much money + time + effort from peeing on digital ovulation sticks to the always negative HPTs, we finally admitted our junk didn't work.

8/03: RE #1: FINALLY had Dan do a SA.* Verdict: Crappy strict morphology (shape). Either [waste your time + money] and get a urologist to do varicocele repair and/or go straight to IVF/ICSI and do not pass go and do not collect $2oo but flush $200 x gazillion down the toilet.

9/03: 3 day FSH: 6: good. Get HSG. Fortunately tubes all clear so it wasn't excruciating. See a "phantom" pedunculated something which appeared to be attached to wall of uterus.

10/03: OB/GYN dildo wands me during the proper time in my cycle to detect what the "phantom" is. Inconclusive. Determine RE will need to do more invasive procedure.

12/03: DH and I decide we do not want to subject my body to the rigors of IVF's infertility drugs. Dan has surgery for varicocele repair.

3/04: Dan's surgery improves his sperm negligibly. Justify the wasted procedure hoping it will stave off any potential future pain he may have experienced.

10/03-6/04: Gear up to embark on "more invasive" procedure. Worry outcome will involve myomectomy (fibroid removal). Juggle health insurance issues should procedure be necessary.

6/04-1/05: MIL is diagnosed and succumbs to arduous battle with renal (kidney) cancer.

1/05: Historic rainfall in Los Angeles renders our rental house and adjacent lot with a yellow tag: landslide.

1/05-10/05: Grieving and working. and working. and working. We spend 6 months living apart, seeing each other only on weekends due to our different jobs. My gig ends in 9/05. I join Dan in SD + live full time into our SD mobile home.

10/05: Only working very sporadically while in SD, think about pursuing IF treatments again.

3/06: RE#2: another SA for Dan. Back to original outcome. Varico-what?? Hysterosaliney dildo wand procedure: polyp! Yahoo. Get on the list to have removed. Piggybacked scheduling on equipment already in office for another patient's insurance-covered procedure--cash out of pocket.

7/06: Polyp removed without incident.

7/06-11/06: Succumb to depression that started growing back when MIL was diagnosed in June '06. Take Zoloft.

8/06-12/06: We both have acupuncture + take plethora of Chinese herbs.

12/06: Another SA. Slightly improved results. But not good enough to justify IUI. Verdict: IVF/ICSI. We can run, but the verdict won't hide.

12/18/06: Decide to "make peace" with leading a "child-free" life. Continued down the path we'd already been traversing: real estate. Open escrow on our new "baby" for the next year. Start taking Zoloft again, per Dan's request, to help with what lay ahead.

1/07-9/07: Whew. Pulled the renovation out of our asses. On our death beds will be in the top 3 among our most challenging undertakings respectively. Our biggest argument was over exterior paint colors. We were in the trenches together and it only bonded us more. Daily gratitude for Zoloft the entire time.

9/07-10/08: Happily living the child-free life.** Confluence of events leads us to try ART while living abroad in Taipei, Taiwan.

11/08: Re#3: Day 3 FSH: 8: still fine. Dan's SA: still shitty. Final verdict: IVF/ICSI. Fine, fine, okay we get it...

11/08: IVF/ISCI... finally. Long protocol. Develop OHSS + walking pneumonia.

12/22/08: 23 eggs retrieved, 17 fertilized via ICSI, 13 on ice, 4 move on to blast stage. One bails.

12/27/08: 3 blasts make it + get transferred. Worried my violent coughing will spit them out.

1/3+5/09: BFN. Probably not due to the coughing. Ate lots of soft cheese, sushi, drank coffee, got new boots Made in Taiwan, stood in front of the microwave while cooking a Hungry Man TV dinner... missed my Zoloft.

1/6/09: CD 1. Lasted 5 days + was fairly uneventful. Cramping more severe than normal, but didn't touch Lupron cramping during previous cycle.

1/22/09: scale says: lost over 10 of the 15-20 pounds gained while being IVF*cked.

1/31/09: Appt. to prep for IVF#2--thought FET would be around mid-Feb.

3/1/09: FET at 10:15 am. All 13 embies thawed. 3, day 6 (slow growers) blasts all starting to hatch. B+, B, B.

3/9/09: Beta #1, drumroll please...

*In case you haven't figured out what I'd write here:

Ladies... have your man do a fucking semen analysis BEFORE you subject your body to procedures that not only end up being a waste of time + money but may add unnecessary HARM to you down the road. (Let's admit it, we still do not know what the long term effects are going to be from taking infertility drugs.)

**Must admit... As a still-flowing gal, who always wanted to be a mommy, who uses no contraception + still times sex around suspected ovulation, every month of every year over the last 7 years when AF arrived, in spite of being armed with all the hard-earned knowledge we'd gained, there was a big part of me that was deeply saddened and mystified that a miracle hadn't occurred at least just once.

Ever the stubborn optimist.

Disclaimer: The contents of this site are often of an offensive nature.

2008-12-10T20:33:00.002-08:00

Sometimes intentionally, sometimes unintentionally.

I employ copious usage of cuss words. Especially the following:

FUCK.

FUCK, FUCK, FUCK.

I'm living in Taipei with my husband until around March '09, which will make our stay almost a full year. We're here due to a gig he got cutting an animated film. Our pets (2 dogs: Zeke + Tallulah, 1 cat: Elly) are still back in LA and are being lovingly cared for in their own home by our friend Paul.

When we finally return, they'll probably lavish us with slobbery licks, then pull back and ask, "Why'd you have such a long day at work? Well, Paul was fun. We kinda really love him. Bye Paul. Where's dinner?"

Despite being married to an editor, his skills haven't rubbed off. Not great at editing myself. Not when it comes to my flowery writing style, nor when it comes to screening out thoughts + foul language that some with finer taste + manners may deem inappropriate.

Well, I patiently say, "Fuck 'Em.”

I'm not concerned about conflicting with others’ religious or political beliefs, nor was I raised to be "a lady," but rather, "a woman." Call me pedestrian, but I am a firm believer that the word, “FUCK,” is one of the most satisfying to say in the English language... and I swore like a sailor BEFORE I was on mood-altering hormones. Ah, the simple pleasures.

Within my postings, you'll find...

Blatant biases against:

1.) organized religion.
2.) right wing Republicans.
3.) blind, herded masses who don't think for themselves.
4.) rules that make no sense (such as "em" vs. "en" dashes--I'll sometimes partake in employing the space, hyphen, space style - if I'm so inclined).
and
5.) stupid people.

and

Blatant biases for:

1.) free-thinking spirituality.
2.) Barack Obama.
3.) tolerance, empathy, and kindness.
4.) creativity.
and
5.) healthy sense of humor.

If the above approach does not appeal to your delicate sensibilities, kindly move on.

You brave others, consider yourself sufficiently forewarned. *Oooooohhhhhh*