...and no cigar.

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?

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."

ART = Witchidoctorification

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?!