The future is wide open.

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!

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

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.

1. A patchwork quilt of pieces of cloth of various shapes, colors, and sizes, sewn together in an irregular pattern.
2. 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.)

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

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

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

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.

HCG shot tonight - egg retrieval Monday morning!

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.

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

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:

1. Too many people in the world.
2. There are kids out there that need good homes.
3. 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.
4. 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.)
5. We have known issues with our genes (hindsight - who the fuck doesn't?)
6. 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.)
7. 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.
8. 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

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.

Parenthetical morning musings probably best left in my head

(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.)