Thursday, November 30, 2006

Recovery Post - the Sun Shines In

I am feeling a lot less gloomy today - perhaps it is the acceptance of my inability to conceive on my own and the knowledge that I am on the road to DE with an 80% chance of success. (my RE's current rate of success with one IVF and one FET cycle).

If the timing works out I am also hoping for a vacation in February. B* is going to be teaching in Australia for 2 months and I am hoping to spend a week over there checking out the local scene. There was a show on public television last night on the wonders of Sydney and it got me all excited. I can't wait to be an absolute and unapologetic american tourist.

Wednesday, November 29, 2006

In The Grip of Nature's Own Form of Birth Control

In
the Grip of Nature’s Own Form of Birth Control


This article makes my chest tighten up.

November 26, 2006
Modern Love
In the Grip of Nature’s Own Form of
Birth Control
By WENDY PARIS
I DON’T know how I got to be so old without having children. When I was 28 and my cousin had her first child, at 31, I thought, “I certainly won’t wait that long.” But then my freewheeling, career-centric life lasted another decade.

Sure, fertility starts to decline naturally at about 27. But who’s bound by nature now? We have scopes and drugs and petri-dish unions that seem to stretch fertility to menopause. I wanted kids eventually, but I was determined not to be one of those
anxious clock-watching mothers-to-be.

When I finally found myself pregnant one spring at 38, it still felt too soon. I was in a stable relationship — recently engaged. But my fiancĂ©, David, and I were moving to a new apartment and I was in the spring semester of graduate school. I had
walls to paint, papers to write, a wedding to plan.

Two weeks later, when the pregnancy failed, I was disappointed but not devastated. It was so early in the process. This wasn’t a fledgling personette I had been
nurturing for months, crooning ’80s favorites so he would develop a perky
personality and good sense of rhythm.

I was proud of how I handled the loss and of my mellow demeanor throughout my brush
with pregnancy. I hadn’t requested that the hosts of dinner parties prepare
special pregnancy-safe food just for me, nor had I forsaken highlights for fear
thathair dye might lead to fetal abnormalities.

Too many women I knew acted as if pregnancy was a dire medical condition. This seemed to me the downside of our science; gone was the sense of pregnancy as a joyous experience. Instead, these women evaluated all action in terms of risk.
“Avoid nonpasteurized cheese.” “Don’t eat large fish.” “Take folic acid.”
“Don’t drink coffee.”

This obsessive behavior seemed most pronounced among the older urban women I knew, professionals who were accustomed to controlling the factors leading to their success.

There are two ways to “purge the products of conception” (as doctors refer to ridding what remains in you): naturally, or with a dilation and curettage. I was
terrified of needing a D and C. But when I instead “purged the products”
naturally, I was doubled over in pain on the bathroom floor as if I had
eaten a boatload of bad seafood.

I called my doctor for painkillers and sent David to get them. When it was over, I couldn’t believe it had only been a few weeks; it felt like several months’ worth of
emotions and new information packed into that March.

People say that there is no perfect time to start a family, but they are wrong. For us, the perfect time was eight months later, November. When I discovered I was pregnant again late last fall, David and I were excited. My mother was thrilled.

I already had winner plans: a visit my mother in Florida, followed by a
two-week working vacation with David in Los Angeles. In retrospect, perhaps
I should have stayed home, taken it easy. But I had spent 20 years being
tough and energetic, fighting the urge to be lazy.

I flew to Florida, as planned, in early December. I had an ultrasound there, which
showed a heartbeat. At six weeks, this one was working!

I went to lunch with my mom at a sidewalk cafe in Delray Beach to celebrate. I sat at
a wooden table, looking at the sunny stucco-walled boutiques across the
street. I was going to be a mother, just like my mother. Despite her career
as an engineer, she claimed that motherhood was the most meaningful
experience in her life. As it would be in my life, I believed.

I COULD see my life with me at the helm, a real adult with responsibility for
someone else. I would finally have something else to think about besides my
own desires. David and I would be a real family, rather than two
out-and-about urbanites. No more hanging out at East Village bars that had
felt too loud and too dark for years. No more extended adolescence for me. I
would feel big and selfless and smart. And I would be.

“Why is the ice cream blue, Mom?”

“Well, Maxwell, it has to do with food dye,” I’d say. With the Internet, it would be even easier to feel like a genius every day.

Back in New York, David and I took his nephews and niece to the Big
Apple Circus. “This is another benefit of having kids,” I said to him. “You can
go to the circus without having to borrow children.” After the circus, the niece
did a cartwheel. I did, too. It was sunny, and I was happy.

Driving home on my motor scooter, I accidentally rode over a pothole. The scooter bucked like a wild pony — thad-dump! I closed my eyes for a second, then continued home.

We were scheduled to fly to Los Angeles on Sunday, two days later. The
morning of our flight, I sat up in bed around 3 a.m., awakened by that choking
feeling of a too-dry winter throat.

And something else. I felt as if the current that had been pulsing through me, the faint green light on the ultrasound monitor, had stopped. You can’t feel anything at that stage. An embryo is less than the size of fingernail. There was no physical way to know that the heartbeat had ceased. But that is how it felt. Like the tiny generator that had been whirring inside me shut off.

By 9 a.m., I was bleeding a little. Should we still fly to Los Angeles? I wasn’t sure. The book next to my bed said a little spotting around this time might be normal. David, habitually optimistic, unflappable, agreed we should take our flight.

On Monday in Los Angeles, I reached my doctor, who advised scheduling an ultrasound
for the end of the week, “Just to check.” He didn’t sound worried.

On Tuesday, the bleeding increased, and with it, a cramping pain. I was in Brentwood, having lunch with my friend Thea. Afterward, I went grocery shopping to stock the house David and I had rented nearby. Thea walked me there. “Make sure the baggers lift the bags into your car,” she said.

I promised her I would. But when the time came, I couldn’t do it. The bagger, a strapping California-surfer-dude type with long blond hair and bulging biceps, could have lifted the whole cart if requested.

But I loaded my own car, then stood outside in the perfect Southern California air, realizing something about myself. Maybe I wasn’t going to be one of those controlling mothers-to-be, but I was obsessed with a different kind of control: not allowing myself to be “weak” or “needy” even when necessary. This suddenly didn’t strike me as an unequivocal strength. At least when pregnant. At my age. In the first trimester. Having had one failed attempt. Maybe everything was fine with this pregnancy, but it didn’t feel fine. My entire midsection had been cramping with increasing intensity by the hour.

By Thursday, the ultrasound appointment confirmed what I already knew:
the heartbeat had stopped. This time, the loss hit me hard. At the hospital, a
nurse saw me wiping my eyes on my sleeve. “Wait, I’ll give you your own box of
tissues,” she said, tearing the cardboard center out of an institutional-looking
gray cardboard box.

That night, the real pain began. It’s like labor pain; the body has contractions to push out whatever has developed. Except instead of giving birth to a live child, you
deliver a jellyfish-shaped ball the size of a buckeye, covered in a skein of
blood. It is like an alien from a horror movie that drops out of you. “It’s
alive! It’s alive!” you want to shriek. Except, of course, it isn’t alive.
That is its whole problem.

When David and I returned to New York, I registered at a fertility clinic and started what often feels like an endless cycle of tests and appointments, determined to do whatever I could to succeed.

A friend told me she was planning to lie down for the duration of her next pregnancy, an approach her aunt said had worked for her. I liked the “Just Lie Down” plan because it suggested agency. Everyone assured me I hadn’t dislodged my
developing fetus by maintaining my active life while pregnant, but I wasn’t so
sure. If it was my fault, I could fix it. I could behave differently next time
and succeed. Or so I wanted to believe.

Suddenly I had a new appreciation of those neurotic would-be mothers I had criticized before. Obsessive vigilance is a natural reaction to the shocking realization that you are not in control.
A
FEW months ago, I was at a party in Manhattan, listening to a smart, attractive younger friend detailing a steamy relationship going nowhere. She has a good career, which she puts above family, as I did at her age.

“You know, just as an alternate route, you could focus on finding a real partner and creating a family life sooner rather than later,” I offered. “I’m just throwing this out there. You don’t have to do what everyone else is doing. It’s much harder, actually, to start a family when you’re older.”

Another friend interrupted: “I know so many women who have gotten pregnant at 38, or 40. I just got an e-mail about someone who had a baby at 42.”

Of course she did. I received that e-mail message, too. But I think we overplay the success stories of older women, wanting to believe the exceptions are the norm. We don’t want there to be limits to what we can do. It’s not impossible to have a child later, but often it’s very hard, and “very hard” is much more difficult than I understood.

I still believe I’ll have a child, but this belief doesn’t lessen the cataract of discouragement that washes over me nearly every month I don’t conceive.

The problem, I now believe, is not that childbirth has become too scientific. The problem, particularly for those of us who have waited so long, is that even with all our science and technology, conceiving and bearing a child is still too natural an act.

Wendy Paris
is an author who lives in Manhattan.

Menopause the Musical - NOT!


Hot flash relief - at the price of my menstrual cycle. Not that I was really having anything predictable and reliable before but this feel a like a nail in the coffin. Since I get the hot flashes I requested that the RE prescribe something while I wait for the next step in the DE process. The Nurse called and said that they would put me on FemHRT. Reading the description of who this drug is for made me feel old and sad:

FemHRT is a new estrogen/progesterone product made by the pharmaceutical
company Parke Davis. It is a form of HRT,
hormonereplacement therapy, especially made for and only for women who are in menopause,post
menopausal, and have an intact uterus (hysterectomy patients cannot use this
product). This is not a product for women experiencing perimenopause.FemHRT
contains both an estrogen and a form of progesterone. Theestrogen is ethinyl
estradiol and the progesterone is norethindroneacetate. Each pill contains both estrogenand progesteroneand
is taken on a continuous basis. There is 1 milligram ofnorethindroneacetate and
5 micrograms of ethinyl estradiol in eachpill.Women who useFemHRT will not have
a period but can experiencespotting when using thisproduct at first. Spotting
should stop on itsown as a woman's bodyadjusts to FemHRT.FemHRT
is prescribed for women who are in menopause and/or have finished menopause and
are experiencing moderate to severe
vasomotorsymptoms- hot flashes
, night weats, heart
racing/palpitations
all related to menopause and beyond. FemHRT is also
designed to prevent osteoporosisor
"brittle bone" disease
.


Tuesday, November 28, 2006

group grope gripe

I have been in the same therapy group for 13 years. A very very long time. I was 29 when I started. Depressed, angry, single and way too attached to my dysfunctional family. The year was 1993.

Flashforward, here I am - menopausal, trying to have a baby, living with B* & 4 dogs, in a home I purchased and much more separated from my family. 2006 (almost 2007!).

I have a good deal of credit card debt and am now facing even more debt with DE. So I carefully introduced the topic of leaving group this morning. No one said I should stay, hmmmm. So does this mean I have permission to leave at this critical juncture in my life? (ps I am always at a critical juncture).

My therapist did try to suggest that I needed to excercise more fiscal restraint - agreed, but in the next breadth was suggesting that I should hire live-in help to manage my future baby. To which I responded, and where is this money suppose to come from?

When I said I went to meet with a counselor about Donor Egg - she asked if it was genetic counseling - yes, an ignorant question, but one that made me feel like she isn't really paying attention. What would I need a genetic counselor for I asked, they aren't my genes. Last time I spoke about the DE option she got confused and thought I was planning to use a surrogate.

At this point I feel like I have paid for her divorce, atleast two facelifts and her son's bar mitzvah. I am feeling irritated with her. Maybe irritation is the feeling I inflect so that I can justify leaving group. Dunno.

Monday, November 27, 2006

An Odd Sense of Relief

My bloodwork from this morning came back:

e2 - 29
fsh - 55

That is the highest fsh recorded so far - RE calls it a "no go"

When I spoke to the nurse today I felt an odd sense of relief. Ovaryland is closed for business - like a chapter 11 or something. The pressure and the worry is over - I am not ovulating and this is no longer a strategy worth pursuing. This is not to say that I am not angry about all the missed opportunities that I didn't even know were missed opportunities but the pressure of trying to make this work is finally at an end.

And now I can move on.

One Giant Step for ....Jade


This morning I dropped off the paperwork with the DE coordinator and we chatted a bit. She said that their monthly committee meeting is this week and then they will start looking at potential matches. Given the holidays it is unlikely that any thing major will happen before the new year - if they did identify a donor we would start syncing cycles but that's as far as it would go.

I went in for bloodwork this morning as well, but I expect to simply confirm what my body is telling me - nada.

It feels good to move forward on DE but the $$ part is scary. I am grateful to have the option of DE and glad to that I can continue in a path of positive forward motion.

Sunday, November 26, 2006

Recipient Questionnaire

It's starting to feel like it's time to fill out the Recipient Questionnaire from the RE's office. I just have this 6th sense that nothing is going on in Ovaryland. I've been feeling a twinge of hotflashes which suggests that the estrogen is not rising and that I need to figure out my next move.

I talked to B* this morning about the financial picture and how we might go about paying for DE. His stomache started to hurt as I explained that we would use the Home Equity Line and pay off $24,000 at 9% interest. He asked if we could wait, since DE isn't as age dependent and I said no. 42 is old enough to carry a pregnancy and I want to get started right away. He pointed out that my current debt is also the result of this same inpatience - true, true, but I am anxious to move forward.

So I am sitting here staring at this questionnaire - you are suppose to rank the importance of characteristics/traits you are looking for in your donor - my top preference is height - now that might now strange but B* is short for a man and I am tall (5'7") and we both agree that tall kids/adults have an advantage.

Religion - not as important - I am Jewish and B* was raised Catholic although he is sephardic Jew by ancestry. The chances of finding a Jewish donor are small (or very expensive). My RE went to visit this donor agency in NYC where they import the Israeli girls and he said that it reminded him of a cat fish farm - pretty gross image. I am willing to go with Eastern European and I might ultimately even bend on this - it is all such a crap shoot. Education isn't a deal breaker even though a nice Ph.D. student sounds good on paper.

This all feels very science fiction, like I am trying to design my baby. You really can't design a human being when it comes down to it. They are going to be their own person. And what does it matter if they have brown eyes or hazel eyes - I will see them and they will see me.

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

Thanksgiving Frenzy


To follow-up on the last post - I called my RE's office back and instructed the Nurse to tell the Doctor that I was following the plan that we had agreed to- one more attempt to get me to ovulate with monitored bloodwork, etc. I asked her to let him know that I called back to make sure we are all on the same page and that I would be coming back for bloodwork next week.

My encounter with the RE's office on Monday makes me feel like I am pushing a fertility boulder up the hill and the RE is sitting on top of it saying "why are you even bothering to push this big rock?" I still went to acupuncture on Monday night and yoga on Tuesday and continue to down all the supplements and herbs. At this point it can't hurt.

Did I mention that my fertility monitor broke and I am fedexing back to Clear Blue Easy for repair? Whatever!!! The regular OPK don't work for me because the elevated FSH reads as LH on the stupid pee sticks. I guess I will keep taking my temperature and watching the unpredictable CM.

Thanksgiving is tomorrow and I was at the market this morning at 7:15 a.m. B* is having a meltdown because my parents are coming. So I am getting to deal with his anxiety on top of my own.

Need some deep yoga breathing.

Monday, November 20, 2006

My RE has moved on without ME

So I think my RE has moved on without me.
Yes we met about the DE stuff but he also agreed that we should try the estrogen therapy to get the ovaries working again and see if I ovulate.
Today was my big day, to see if I was able to produce estrogen on my own without the patch.
My e2 came back at 30 which is a huge accomplishment but it feels anti-climatic.

When I called in I asked for the RE's recommended next step (like come back in a week to see if it is still going up, etc.). Instead, the nurse tells me that all he said was, "That's good." Huh? She put me on hold and then came back, "The RE said that there is not much to do at this point since your ovaries really haven't been functioning."

So why am I doing acupuncture, yoga, flaxseed oil, chinese herbs and all the other f-ing stuff. Am I delusional? Maybe he was trying to tell me to give up at our last meeting and I missed the cue? Why would he put me back on the estrogen if that was the case? I think this requires another phone call to his office.

I am very pissed. I haven't given up, not yet - am I living in LaLa?

Name your anxiety: bloodwork, Ikea,Dog manicures

hate it!
This morning I had to explain to the nurse what I needed done and why - don't you love when that happens. By 2:30 p.m. I will have my latest and greatest e2 which let me know (maybe) if I am going to ovulate in the next few weeks. The last time I ovulated we were all still in shorts.

And then, the DE counselor calls. She felt like we rushed things at the end of the session, do we want to come back? tightness in chest much. I told her we would come back in January for another session, given that this is when we plan to pull the big DE lever anyways. B* is already kvetching about the problems with clinical social workers - I am use to his rants by now.

Just to make my life even more anxious than usual, there was the predictable 180 degree by my parents - so now they are coming for Thanksgiving, as well as my dysthymic sister. I spent the weekend trying to get the house together. We moved in July so needless to say there are many unfinished projects - like no curtains in certain rooms, etc. It took 3 trips to Ikea this weekend to get the components for the curtains, and ofcourse you always end up buying shit you really don't need every time you go.

After a Sunday of freneticism and dog manicures, I succumb to suggestive shopping on HSN, as Jennifer Flavin Stallone hawked the latest in post post-40 age reversal creams.

Friday, November 17, 2006

DE Counseling Session Report


Today was our DE counseling session.

It was actually quite intense at moments. The counselor wanted to know if I have sufficiently grieved the loss of my ability to conceive with my own eggs. When do you ever finish grieving something like this? There is so much shame, loss and feelings of failure.

We talked about who we would plan to tell, and we both agreed that we dont really want to tell our families. Both the Counselor and B* were in agreement about telling the child, I on the other hand said I couldn't imagine a more difficult or painful conversation. She whipped out a children's book to show us (that was actually quite cute). She suggests introducing the topic either prior to the age of 8 or after the age of 25. Ofcourse B* said after 25 or 35 was fine. And I quipped that by the age of 35 he might not even be around to worry about telling the kid. One interesting point she made about this is that it is harder for the mother than it is for the child. I don't know if this is true, but it made me feel a little bit better.

The big issue that B* and I don't agree on is whether or not to put back 1 or put back 2. Neither one of us would want to do selective reduction. He is concerned that twins will be too much of a strain on my health. I on the other hand want us to have the highest probability of success and would welcome twins even if it was a health risk for me. We haven't settled this one - B* wants to get more information from the RE before we settle into what we will/would do. Even with FET I am still inclined to want to put back 2. I don't know why I'm not more concerned about my health. I even know someone having twins who is dealing with a single umbilical artery issue for one of the babies and she is in hell.

If anyone has any thoughts or advice on the issue I would greatly appreciate your input.

Thursday, November 16, 2006

Let's blame it on the Gluten



I came across this article which I thought was interesting:
Hidden Gluten Sensitivity a Leading Cause of Infertility


And I have decided that this should be added to the list of reasons why I am where I am. I don't think I have Celiacs disease (gluten sensitivity) but I certainely have many of the symptons that match the description.

Wednesday, November 15, 2006

Boston Accent -

What American accent do you have?
Your Result: Boston

You definitely have a Boston accent, even if you think you don't. Of course, that doesn't mean you are from the Boston area, you may also be from New Hampshire or Maine.

The Northeast

North Central

The Inland North

Philadelphia

The Midland

The West

The South

What American accent do you have?
Take More Quizzes
Yes indeed, and I thought that living 20 years in DC had neutralized all remnants of my accent but I guess not.

QUELL FIRE

Quell Fire is the english name for the herbal supplement my Acupuncturist gave me to take. It has a chinese name (Long Dan Xie Gan Tang) but that's not how it is marketed. I am taking it for the hot flashes and to manage the heat that is burning up all my yin energy.

I mention this because I am worried about the hot flashes returning - a sign that there are no follies and that my estrogen is in the basement (once again). No hot flashes means that my body just might be rebounding into an ovulatory phase (it has happened before - resulting in a chemical pregnancy).

I just downed my Quell Fire tablets and am getting ready to take my Quiet Contemplative tablet - for fortifying the Kidney - chinese name: Liu Wei Di Huang Wan.

Monday I go back for more bloodwork to see what's cookin', never mind that I purchased FSH testing strips so I can torture myself in the interim.

Tuesday, November 14, 2006

Should I tell?

As if I don't have enough to angst about...the packet came in the mail yesterday from the infertility counselor who we are seeing Friday about Donor Egg. She is in charge of certifying that we are prepared to move forward. There were 5 or 6 articles in the envelope, all on the topic of privacy and whether or not to tell your parents/family and child about the use of donor egg.

Here is one article that was in the packet:
Should I Tell and When to Tell

It just all makes my head spin.

Does this ever get easy?

Monday, November 13, 2006

The eX Factor

A long time ago my life was very weird. There's still drama but not like it was when I was in my early and mid-twenties.

On Saturday I had a flashbackof the weirdness and it just left me with this icky unsettled feeling.

I was at an advisory council meeting for the School of Arts and Sciences. Reviewing the attendees list I saw a name that looked familiar. The ex-boyfriend of an ex-girlfriend.

Why is she an ex-girlfriend you ask? Well in 1986 (long time ago folks) she was a good friend friend who offered to fix me up with a friend and co-worker (Mc). Her boyfriend at the time ("R") was working on a campaign up North. I started dating the guy she fixed me up, a few weeks in to this new relationship I find out that my friend has started sleeping with this guy (Mc). Get it? she fixed us up and then she decided she wanted a piece of him too, behind her boyfriend's back ("R"). I told him to choose who he wanted to be with because I was unwilling to continue in the current situation. He chose her and she eventually broke up with her out of town boyfriend ("R") of many years.

That's bad enough. I continued to be friends with them (my roomate nick-named my now ex-(Mc) the ax-murderer because he had a sort of crazy look and was very manipulative). To demonstrate how civilized we all were, they invited me to a party and I agreed to attend. I arrived only to find out that it was their engagement party - nice. That was the last straw. Then he calls me up to ask me to be a brides maid - I didn't go to the wedding and I never spoke to them again. They now have three teenage daughters and live in upstate New York.

So back to Saturday. I sit down at lunch (self seating) and the ex-boyfriend of my ex-girlfriend ("R") sits down next to me. Now granted this happend 20 years ago and I am 42 and he is 44 it should just be a funny story at this point. So I told him that I use to be friends with his ex-girlfriend and told him the whole story which I thought we would be able to laugh off but I could see it wasn't that funny for him and suddenly I realized it wasn't that funny for me either.

I said, "I got tired of the drama in my life, and I weeded out the people who were just a little too crazy to hang out with." But I some how tapped back into the discomfort and anxiety of those early days and just felt really unsettled the rest of the afternoon.

I left the meeting early, went and worked out at the gym and called B* to see when he would be home. He had driven up to Baltimore for a crab cake but would be home soon.

I went home, grab some cutting shears and trimmed all the hedges to make them more even - something about evening out the tops of the hedges in front of the house helped me feel more in control and grounded.

Thursday, November 09, 2006

One step forward



I made the call to the infertitility counselor. This is required in order to be cleared to proceed with DE.

We have an appointment for next FRIDAY. She is sending us reading material before the appointment.

When I called to schedule the appointment she started listing off all the issues we are going to have to address as we proceed and my head started to spin.

I am perfectly comfortable telling my friends, but the thought of telling my parents is beyond horrifying - and what about the child? how can you tell all your friends and not tell your own child, it could turn into one of those Lifetime movies where years from now I need a kidney and I am in a coma and they do a DNA match and my child finds out that our DNA doesn't match and then the Mother's friend has to break it to the child that I used Donor egg...

Jaclyn Smith can play me in the movie. I suspect that she will still look as good twenty years from now as she does today.

Tuesday, November 07, 2006

Have you seen Running With Scissors?


I went to see Running With Scissors over the weekend and it was a little too close to home. NO I wasn't adopted by my Mother's psychiatrist, and no I didn't decide I was a homosexual at age 13 after a love affairs with a 35 year-old pedophile.

It was close to home because my Mother is a border-line personality and so is the Mother in the movie. At one point during the film my girlfriend M* turned and asked me if I was okay, she knows all about my Mother you see, and I said yes, I'm okay, but this is really painful to watch.

The personality type has various incarnations, my Mother was the "Evil Queen" - think of the Queen in Snow White and you will have a good picture of what I am talking about. It is way beyond narcissist. It is along the lines of the world is conspiring against me and you are all crazy and I am the only one who really understands what is going on.

Sometimes I am amazed that I survived...


Books on Borderline personality disorder:
Understanding the Borderline Mother

Surviving A Borderline Parent

Monday, November 06, 2006

quick update - d-day redux

Spoke to the RE Nurse this afternoon and got my latest numbers -
e2 - 202
fsh - 11.2
She said d/c the estrogen patch and come back in 2 weeks. I had to ask what d/c means (discontinue). So a normally fertile person would think that these numbers look strange and aren't that great. But for me these numbers are relatively good news. Yes the high estrogen number disguises the "real" fsh but that's okay. The point of the estrogen therapy was to turn off the FSH overdrive signal to the ovaries. Give the ovaries a rest so that they might be able to be more responsive to the clang clang of the FSH bells. Flooding my system with estrogen has this effect.

Now we wait to see if my follies start to grown on their own. If they don't my estrogen will crash and my FSH will shoot right back up - the next two weeks are going to be about good nutrition, low stress, acupuncture, excercise and sleep. That's all I can do. And if it's not enough, well- I've done my best.

As for work - the review went better than I thought, however they are going to wait 6 months to fill the position (trial period for me I guess). I get to do the job without the title or the money and then if they think I am capable - -well then I get the promotion.

I could be mad, but I am not, it's just not that important right now. How unlike me, hmmmm

D- Day (one of many)


Back to the RE's office this morning for more bloodwork - did the FSH come down? We shall find out later today. I was relieved when I walked into the waiting room - it was empty (for a change). Just me and my DC Paparazzi magazine.

I am feeling like DE is an inevitability. B* would be happy to procrastinate - that is something he tends to exceed at and drives me completely insane. The cost feels like a big boulder - but it is all about priorities and choices. I console myself by saying that adoption isn't any cheaper. Now some will say, "odds are higher with adoption" but that is not where I am at. I want to carry the baby in this 42 year old body. My friends have warned, "you will never be the same after pregnancy," - well maybe I don't want to be the same. It feels like a right of passage to me and if I can have the experience, I want it. I also like DE because I can play an important role in the pre-natal development which is not to be underestimated. And ofcourse, there is the genious IQ sperm that B* will be making available for the blessed event.

My first big step is fishing out the card of the social worker and making the appointment, I am putting that on the to -do list for this week no matter what.

On a separate D-Day note, I have my annual review in 1 hour. I spent 3 hours this weekend working on my self evaluation. This do nothing girl (see previous post) is actually in the quieu (sp?) for a promotion - there has been some hesistancy expressed about whether or not I am ready. After much anger and frustration I have adopted the Zen Master approach to the whole thing - if it happens, it was meant to be and if not - then I can focus on DE and all the other insanity.

Counting down..1...2...3.....

Wednesday, November 01, 2006

Sitting at My Desk and Not Working

A big confession: I am sitting at my desk and not working. This has been the case for almost two weeks. I am completely uninspired at work. I have work to do I just don't want to do it. I don't think anyone is noticing that I am not working. I feel very guilty about not working. But I just don' t feel like it.

I think part of the lethargy comes from feeling like I have really f**d up my so-called career. I've plateaued and I am not sure I can move up from where I am - not because I don't have the talent, but because I am too edgey and I can rub people the wrong way. I lack sufficient workplace impulse control when it comes to what I am thinking. ooops!

I have been shown the door on several occassions in the last 20 years. Luckily I am good at getting new jobs and have been able to piece together good references. The issue is not my talent, my work product or my smarts - it is my workplace persona. This is so painful for me. I have tried to change, but I am not sure if I can change enough.

I tried doing the "god damnit, I will work for myself" thing, but it can be such an emotional rollercoaster when you are trying to pitch clients and don't know where your next dollar is going to come from. I always end up taking another job.

Don't get me wrong, I have a very very good job that pays quite decently. I am trying to make peace with all of this. And right now, with all the other crap, I don't really need to be ruling the world or even aspiring to rule the world, but I still have pangs of inadequacy. Unfufilled potential? Does that sound really obnoxious?

Will having a baby shake me out of this? Or just send me into a new vat of angst?