Just Shut Up

No, not you.. but "Just shut up." was a mantra of mine a few days ago.

You see, my job involves seeing and/or drug testing many criminals that are on home detention. And often (and unfortunately for me and society as a whole), it often involves seeing them interact (usually horribly) with their children; as well as encountering many pregnant women.

As you might imagine, it really gets under my skin. Day in and day out, I watch these women; who typically are mothers several times over. Many no longer have custody of their children.. but just keep on getting pregnant. Some even actively use drugs while pregnant. And they ALL seem to ask me if I have children.

But the worst ones, are the ones that are so excited to be pregnant. They talk about it non-stop from the moment they walk in, til the moment they leave my office.

And that happened this week.

She walks in, filling out her paperwork.

"Well, I'm pregnant! Isn't that exciting? I tell you, God just knows when you're ready. I'm so excited. Such a blessing. God just knows."

The infertile atheist was already annoyed. But she keeps going, as I try to just smile and nod.

"After using meth for almost ten years, I didn't think I could get pregnant.. But God knew I was ready. God can do anything."

*sigh*

Yep, of course.. God wants the unwed meth head, on home detention, earning minimum wage.. to have a baby. But clearly thinks it's a bad idea for my husband and I; with no criminal record, gainful employment, and a viable plan for the future.

Now, I know not all my readers are atheist, so I'll refrain from posting the many vile things I was actually thinking about she could do with her kind and giving "God." Suffice it to say, I was annoyed.. pissed even. But this kind of thing makes my job nearly impossible for me to get through some days.

And it's precisely the reason that I get so annoyed when people say things like, "Everything happens for a reason."

Because it doesn't.

Some shitty people have kids. Some abusive people have kids. And some people that would be wonderful parents, don't get to. It's not a divine plan. It's a crap shoot.

The Fundraiser

So.. We've finally decided to ask for help.

Sort of.

I decided to set up an online fundraiser. Our 'goal' is $15,000.. which is enough for around 5 months of injections, or one round of invitro. Yes, quite unlikely that we'd raise that much.. unless I have relatives with money I don't know about. ;)

But even if we could get a few thousand, that would pay for a month of injections. In other words, anything helps.

And I started thinking about how I have over 500 Facebook friends. My husband has several hundred. If every person donated $5, we'd be well on our way.

The reasoning for doing it now, is pretty simple. We're asking that family, friends, and coworkers consider making a donation instead of sending us a greeting card, buying me a drink on my birthday, or giving us a Starbucks giftcard for Christmas. We just don't need any of that stuff.. and the possible gift of conceiving is far more important.

We also recognize that this is a hard time for a lot of folks. We're in no way demanding or expecting people to donate. We just wanted people to know that this is our priority. If you want to give us anything, for any reason, this is our preference right now.

If you want to donate, just follow this link: Our Little Wish

You can donate any amount. Even just $1. And surely, there are 15,000 people in this world that would give us a dollar if they knew our story.

So, whether you donate or not.. PLEASE share this with others. Post a link on Facebook, Twitter, your blog, etc. The more people we reach, the better.

Thank you!

Break Time

Well, this past Wednesday, hubby and I met with the fertility specialist; to reassess, and figure out what comes next.

Before even walking in the door, we knew we couldn't really afford to do anything right now. I'm fine with taking out a small loan in the future, if we have to... but it just doesn't make sense to do it right now. Not when we're hoping to buy a house in the next 6-9 months, and taking out a loan could keep us from getting a mortgage.

Sure, my heart wants to just plunge forward and deal with it later.. but the reality is, that could leave me with no house to call our own, and no children if the treatments don't work. We both agreed that it made sense to secure a house first.

So, as we walked in, the doc basically reiterated that, "Well, doesn't seem that Femara works very well for you. So... this is where it starts getting expensive."

I had an idea of what that meant, but wanted to just clarify. "So, for the injections, how much does each cycle run?"

First, he replied as if slightly offended that I asked that way. "I don't like saying 'each cycle' because that implies that it'll go on and on.'"

Well... sorry doc. But it has already. One year of metformin. Three cycles of metformin and clomid. Three cycles of metformin and femara. Excuse me for planning ahead, and not assuming that the first time is going to work. Eh. And even if it DOES work, there's only a 20% chance of actually conceiving. So, on average.. that's 5 cycles.

Hopefully, it doesn't take 5 cycles.. because as suspected, his response to cost was, "about $3,000. Your medication for one cycle is $1500, and the ultrasounds and bloodwork will be about $1500."

So, if you do the math.. that's $15,000 for 5 cycles...... *breathe*

Yes, we could try invitro, for the bargain price of $13,000.. but that still might not work.. and it's all at once. On top of the fact that it's a full-on procedure (injections are scary enough), it just doesn't sound like something I want to do at this point; maybe not ever.

The doc reassured me that on the injections, there's around a 95% chance that you'll ovulate. So, it's just a matter of getting that sucker fertilized and growing.

He then also added, "But this is where your chance for multiples really comes into play. Your chance for twins is about 20%, with a 5% chance of triplets or higher."

Yes! Here comes my own reality show. :P

I explained to the doctor that we're going to need to put off anything further, for financial reasons. And I immediately asked, "Is there any concern about us putting this off for a six months to a year?"

He replied, "Oh no. You're still young. I'm not concerned about that."

Whew! Someone still thinks I'm young.

So, that's what we're doing. Waiting. In the meantime, they want to do an x-ray of fallopian tubes. They inject a dye to see if they're blocked at all. He doesn't suspect there's a problem, but with the costs of the procedures going forward, he doesn't want to waste all that money and time, if the tube does happen to be blocked.

And he only described the procedure as 'unpleasant.'

Well, color me excited.

Dearest Bradley

Yes, this is sappy.. so if you're not up for that, just stop reading now ;) I don't tend to post uber-mushy stuff to my husband on here. (I actually tried to post it on Facebook, but FB was having all kinds of issues.) But every once in awhile, it feels right to give him a public 'thumbs up.' So, here goes.

Dearest Bradley,

There are times in my day, when I just stop and think, "I am SO lucky." Not just lucky to be married to you, but lucky to have you as a friend, a support system, and my comic relief.

You have amazed me in your ability to adapt. To grow with me, instead of separate from me. Always supportive of my dreams, my whims, and my sometimes drastic changes.

You've managed to not skip a step as I went vegetarian, quit a job without a backup plan, shaved my head, started a business, jumped out of a plane, went vegan, gone through the ups and downs of fertility meds, financial hardships, and even tossing around the idea of moving several states away (if not Canada).

I can't say you never questioned me, but you've mastered the ability to question me, without doubting me or pushing against me.

I'm not sure there's another man out there that would have gotten through all that, let alone while remaining completely supportive and on-board for all of it.. and you somehow managed to be closer to me at the end of it, than when we started.

We just keep getting better. And I love the fact that our story, though now several years in, is still just getting started. But even if the worst should happen, I know today.. that I have been completely loved. Inside and out. Good and bad. You have made me feel loved. Perfectly and totally loved. For that, I thank you, more than you'll ever truly know. And I can only hope that I've made you feel the same.

So, to the man who will drive all over town to find my chai tea, will go to every appointment with me so I don't have to feel alone, and accepts that 'tickle wars' are only one way battles; and that tickling me back is off limits.. Thank you.

Thank you for all those things. And for all the challenges that we've yet to face, because I know you'll still be there, unwaivering. Thank you for always being in my corner.

I still choose you. <3

Meant To Be?

So, this is sort of a follow-up post to yesterday.

As is usually the case, whenever I post about bad news.. or 'unsuccessful' news, people are pretty supportive and encouraging.

But, I had a lot on my mind as I was posting yesterday's blog.. and even moreso, after reading the responses on my Facebook page. So, this may all seem a bit jumbled, but I'll do my best :)

First, I know anyone that has been down this road can relate to the sheer annoyance when someone tells you to, "Just relax, and it'll happen." or "I bet if you stopped trying, you'd get pregnant."

Usually, you smile and nod.. because debating the true logistics of things, just isn't worth it. Still, it's annoying, at the very least.. when someone speaks about perhaps the most trying thing in your life, as if you just told them that the grocery store was out of bread.

"Just be patient. It'll happen."

What these well-intentioned people don't realize, is that you already had a couple years of 'not trying' or 'not stressing.' Guess what? It didn't happen. Or that your body literally won't ovulate without medical intervention. So, 'waiting it out' will do nothing.. but waste time.

Then, of course, there's this assumption that you're not getting pregnant, because you're stressing about it. Alas, I'm really not. I'm pretty calm about the whole thing. I have bad days.. but that's it. Just a day or two, and I move on. In fact, it's sometimes so far in the back of my mind, I nearly forget to take the medicines. Clearly, a far cry from 'over-whelming' my daily life.

Which leads me to another set of comments that also gets thrown around a lot. "If it's meant to be, it'll be." or "It'll happen when it's supposed to happen." or "Things always find a way to work out."

These are perhaps the statements that get under my skin the most.

First, I don't believe in destiny or a divine plan. I think life happens, and it's up to us how we respond to it. We create the perspective; or the framework.. if you will. It's not that things 'always work out for the better.' It's that we choose not to dwell on the negative, and instead, focus on the positives. Why? Cause it makes life bearable.

Things just don't always "work out." As much as we like to tell ourselves that.. to make us feel all warm and cozy. It's simply not true.

It's called life.

Those of us lucky enough to not currently be starving, or watching our loved ones die in bloody conflicts or terrorist bombings on a daily basis, get to wax philosophical about how if you wait long enough, everything gets better. But the reality is, it doesn't.

The truth is, for us, if something doesn't work out, we have the luxury of moving on, trying something else, and forgetting about the failure. In other words, things don't get just 'get better.' Our reflection on them gets better. Our perspective improves. Our coping mechanisms adapt.

Also, these "meant to be" statements, backhandedly are saying.. "If you don't have a kid, it's because it's not meant to be." That's a real nice and uplifting sentiment, right? I suppose the drug addicts that I see on a regular basis, are "meant to" have a dozen kids.. because they do.

Again, I know these remarks are meant to be inspiring. But honestly, they're belittling.

Because the bitter truth is that it's a very real possibility that we won't have children. We may not be able to afford the treatments. My body may never respond like it needs to. If I get pregnant, I may have a miscarriage. And so on, and so on.

But IF we DO have a child, it's not cause it's meant to be. It's because science worked. The medicine made my hormones rise and fall at exactly the right time. My husband's genes mixed with my genes.. without critical flaw. Cells multiplied. And there it was.

Not a miracle. Not a divine right, or gift from above. Just... science playing the odds.

So, I'll say it again and again. Call me a pessimist (I prefer realist). I was never "meant to be" a mother.. any more than I was "meant to be" a singer or a coal-miner. The difference is, I think I'd be a good mother.. and I'd like to see if I'm right.

Third Time's A..

So, I just got home from my ovarian ultrasound.. This was my third round on Femara/Letrozole. As you might recall, it worked the first cycle (I got a mature follicle), but didn't work the second time.

Given the 50/50 outcome, I wasn't sure what to expect on the third try.

So I took my meds, did my yoga.. everything the same as both times before.

On Tuesday afternoon, I got a call from the doc's office, saying that no ultrasound tech was going to be in Lafayette on Friday, so I'd have to come to Indianapolis at 8am to get it done.

Freaking fantastic.

I was immediately annoyed. Now I had to drive an hour out of my way, in rush hour traffic, to probably get news of absolutely nothing.

Luckily, my wonderful husband decided he'd go into work late, so that he could drive me.

So we got up at the crack of dawn to head towards Indy.. to an office in which I'd never been.

Upon our arrival, we made our way to the second floor of the medical building. Looking for the correct suite number.

Found it.

Paused.

This was a tiiiiiiiiny waiting room, filled with anxious women.

Literally, there were only 6 chairs, and the room was half the size of our bedroom. I immediately chuckled to myself as I thought, "This is going to be fun to write about later."

I walked into this tiny space, lit only by two very dim table lamps. There was a clipboard sitting next to a clock... just outside the receptionist's window. Nobody said hello. In fact, nobody said one word the entire time I was in there.

So, I signed in on the clipboard. Moments later, a mysterious hand reaches out from behind the sliding plastic window, pulls my name from the top, sets the clipboard back down.. then slides the window shut again.

No hello. No smile. The receptionist literally made no eye contact with anyone in that room.

This was the most bizarre waiting room I'd ever been in.

All the women huddled in the darkness, away from the silent/avoiding receptionist. The awkwardness was palpable.

No radio. No television.

Each woman pretending not to know why everyone else was there. Some nervously typing, with an annoying clicking, on their blackberry phones. Others, browsing Us Weekly. None of us making any eye contact with each other.

I sat there, wondering what phase these women were in. Which medications? How much had they spent?

And do I want to keep doing this?

This life of waiting rooms, debt, tension, sadness.. It never looked appealing. But this made it look dreadful.

I know some women will literally do "whatever it takes." I don't think I'm one of those women. I've never felt like I "needed" to be a mother. I just felt like I'd be a good one.

Just not sure how much I'm willing to spend.. in physical, emotional, and financial costs.. in order to prove myself right.

Finally, they called my name from behind the door. That's right, they didn't even walk out into the waiting room to greet you.

Two seconds later, I'm in an even smaller room, with the all-familiar stirrups. And the room was almost completely pitch black. Just the glow of one dim lamp reflecting off the assortment of medical instruments.

"Just get undressed from the waist down, and I'll be right back." said the big black woman who walked me here. Apparently, she was the ultrasound tech.

This routine, I knew well. Let the scanning begin!

Left ovary. Lots of follicles.. none large enough.

Right ovary. Lots of follicles.. none large enough.

Well, that was a waste of a trip.. and $200.

So, she instructs me to return to the waiting room, because I'll be meeting with a nurse.

Ah, maybe to discuss meds? Talk about costs of more intensive options? Who knows. So I wait.

"Carol." I hear from behind the door again. I open it to walk down the hall, and there's a nurse.. shoving an invoice in my face.

"Well, everything looks okay. Just hand this to Miss So-and-so and she'll get you taken care of."

Ugh. What?

Miss So-and-so was standing all of 6 inches from us.. so I turned and handed it to her. She stated the total, took and swiped my credit card. I guess that's all Miss So-and-so needed from me.. that the nurse couldn't directly hand to her. :/

And here's the WORST part.

As I'm paying my $220 ultrasound bill, the overly highlighted nurse says, "So, everything looks good here. So, go ahead and take your injection tonight."

I look at her probably with a mix of 'puzzled' and 'disgusted' across my face.

She looks confused, "You're on the booster shot, right?"

I sternly reply, "I didn't think any of the follicles were big enough... so..."

She looks down at the chart, scanning it up and down.. like a pre-schooler pretending to read. "Ummmm. Yeah. You're.. uh.. right. Sorry." Followed by silence as I'm signing my receipt.

Finally, as I go to grab my copy of the receipt and walk out, the half-comatose nurse murmurs to me, "Yeah, so.. we'll call you. We'll have to ask him about that."

Sure thing lady.

The whole experience at this office was so weird. From unprofessional, to strange, and right back to unprofessional. Luckily, I wasn't really on edge or emotional, or I probably would have burst into tears when I corrected the idiot nurse who's telling me to go ahead with the injections because everything looks "okay."

So, then the long drive home.

I wasn't really sad.. just left feeling like.. now what? Do we try the next step (injectables), or do we just admit that this isn't working, and accept a life without children?

It's hard enough answering that question for myself.. Let alone agreeing on a plan of action with another person who is equally involved in the matter... My husband.

About halfway home, I turned the radio off and asked, "So, what's next?"

He didn't know any more than I did.

We talked about the costs. Injectables cost $3000-5000 every cycle. A far cry from the $300-400 we're spending now.

But, they're much more likely to work.

So, we had to discuss regrets. Would we regret when we're 50, that we didn't spend $9000 to try to have kids? Was it worth risking?

Is it even feasible? We're doing 'okay' right now.. but I have some dental work coming up. Can we afford that much debt? Is it worth getting a second job?

The only things we could agree on were these:

1) If we spent $9000, and I got pregnant, we wouldn't regret spending the money.
2) If we spend the $9000, and I didn't get pregnant, we weren't sure if we'd regret trying or not.. but probably not. Because then we'd at least be able to say we gave it the good college try.
3) It's hard to rationalize spending $15000 on a one-day wedding, but not $9000 on a possible child.
4) We could cut straight to adoption, IF we decide that's an option for us, but you're still looking at $15000-20000 in costs there anyway.

Conclusion:

For now, we're going to wait a few months. First, I want to be sure it's worth the risk (financially and physically). Then, I feel like we should be squared away with a house before risking large sums of money on fertility. And I don't want to take out a loan for treatments, that could impact our ability to even get a mortgage.

But on a truly honest level, the more I'm going through this.. the less it feels like a "need." I think after you get married, it seems like it's the normal next step. And while the possibility of that not happening is a difficult thing to face; sometimes torturous when you imagine yourself at 60 with no children or grandchildren.. it's something I'm coming to grips with.

And the only reason I know that I'm coming to (or returning to) a place of being okay without children.. is that half the time, I'm thinking about all the money we would save, the extra free time, the places we could go, and things we could do.. without children in tow.

I think of all the ways I could use my maternal instincts; animal sanctuaries, adopting more dogs, etc.

But there's still that other 'half of the time' .. when I imagine what our child would be like. Brad's eyes, my nose, and hopefully my math and science nerdiness.. And I REALLY want to meet that person.

Third Time

I know it's been awhile.

We took a break for a bit. Then decided to wait til my mother had moved out to try again. My stress level was just always so high when she was around.. nevermind the logistics of TTC with mother down the hall :P

So, we've officially started our third attempt with Letrozole/Femara.

A little scary. Since the first cycle, we got a follicle. The second one, we didn't. And the doc said that he only wants to give it three tries.

Problem is, we can't really afford the next (bigger, badder) options. The Femara alone, once you add in the monthly ultrasounds and the trigger shots, is around $300-$400 per attempt. That seems plenty high to me.

The injection rounds are somewhere in the thousands of dollars. Eh. Doubtful.

So, we'll see how this goes. And then how pathetically the doctor will look at me when I try to explain that daily injections and IVF are not options for us.

Wedding Cake and Hot Flashes

My last post was fairly brief, and only said that the cost of one of my meds had gone down and that I had another ovarian ultrasound coming soon. Well, that ultrasound was today... but before I get to that, let me set up this cycle a bit.

This time around, I wasn't stressing at all. In fact, there were a couple times I almost forgot to take my meds; it was so far in the back of my mind. I also almost forgot what day my ultrasound was on. Being less 'aware' and focused on the calendar, made this cycle a little easier to get through in general.

This past weekend, my husband and I were at a wedding. A couple there, that we're friends with, had also been going through issues with infertility. The wife blurted out that she was now almost 3 months pregnant. She thought I had already been told, but I hadn't. So, I was surprised.. sure. Upset? No. In fact, the only thing that bothered me was that when I congratulated her, I could see the pity on her face.. but it was different from the usual. This was someone who could empathize with how it felt to be trying and failing to get pregnant. She was afraid to look happy in front of me, because she didn't want to rub it in my face. I reassured her that it was okay, and that I was sincerely happy for them.

And, I was telling the truth. I didn't feel even the slightest wave of jealousy.. but as I started contemplating the whole weekend. First, finding out our once 'infertile' friends were pregnant, the next day being Mother's Day, followed by my ultrasound.. it felt like there was a rock sitting in my gut. I wasn't mad, nervous, or jealous. Just uncomfortable.

I was aware that I hadn't felt any sharp pains, like I had with the first cycle on these meds.. so I was betting they hadn't worked. That's my pessimistic nature, anyway.

This morning (CD10), as I was leaving to go to my appointment, my husband said, "Hope we get good news."

Ugh. Why did he have to say that? At that point, in my bones, I knew this cycle hadn't worked.

So, I arrive to my appointment; first patient in the waiting room. After about ten minutes, the tech arrives; and calls me back. Just like last time, I go into the side bathroom, and wrap what literally is a large paper towel around my waist.. and head for the table. Briefly, I wonder if I should wear my socks. I had just painted my nails purple for the wedding and they still looked cute.

I decided the tech would probably not be impressed by shiny toenails. Socks stayed on. LOL

So I scoot down and she does the standard exam. Uterine lining. Good. Right ovary.. a few follicles, nothing large enough.

She then asks if I'm on injections. I answer, "No. Just letrozole."

Left ovary.. a few more follicles.. nothing large enough.

The tech said nothing, but I knew from last time the size they were looking for.. and none of these qualified. As we're finishing, the tech says, "Everything looks good."

Good? Compared to what, exactly? The largest follicle was 10mm, and they need to be around 18mm.

I get dressed and walk out, where she's getting ready to fax my results. She then asks (again) if I'm on injections. I tell her no, just the trigger shot. She doesn't even look at me, and says, "Oh. So you already took your fertility meds.. So these should be...." She just abruptly stops talking, but never looks up. So I say, "Yeah. None big enough."

So, unfortunately, I was right. The meds did nothing this time. No idea why they worked the first month, and not this one. That was a whole lot of hot flashes for nothing :/

A nurse from the doc's office called me a couple hours later, telling me what I already knew.. That none of the follicles were large enough to warrant the trigger shot, and that we can try one more round of this medication, or try something else.

What nobody really wants to grasp is that there is nothing else for us. We can NOT afford the next options. I don't have an extra grand sitting around every month.. just to "try." I don't know many people who do.

That is the part that is actually most exhausting. Not the planning, or marking the calendar, or scheduling the medications... but coping with the idea that "You can't afford to conceive a child." That is a really hard pill to swallow. That I don't have enough money to overcome a defect of mine.

And it's something that is even harder to say out loud. I'm dreading the meeting with my doctor when I have to tell him, "The next steps just aren't possible for us. This has to work, or we're not having children."

It literally feels like someone who's got two quarters left to their name and they're standing in front of a slot machine. Knowing that if they don't strike it big on the next two tries.. they won't even be able to get home.

So, I spent the day on the verge of tears.. but didn't actually cry until my husband got home and asked me how I was doing. I think what makes me fall apart isn't the 'bad news' .. it's feeling like a disappointment to him.. no matter how much he reassures me that's not the case.

Back At It, With A Refund

Well, after almost two months off, we're back at it. Well, not "it" .. yet ;) But I've begun another cycle of treatment.

And as trying and expensive as this can be, I did get some good (although weird) news.

When I called the pharmacy we use (it specializes in fertility meds), to refill my two prescriptions for this cycle (ovidrel and femara), the lady took my order and gave me a total. Problem was, the total was over a hundred dollars less than it was in January. After she gave me the total, I literally said, "And that's for which one of the medicines?" She responded, "Both."

I was skeptical, and waited for my debit card to billed the correct amount.

A few days later, the meds arrived.. and to my surprise, I was only billed the quoted amount. So, then I became curious, because I KNEW I had paid so much more last time. Within a few minutes, I found my old receipt. And for the letrozole (generic femara), the cost went from $180 in January, to $40 in April?!

I called the pharmacy, hoping that I'd luck out and the first time I was overcharged. It took several phone calls to get a hold of someone with an answer. As it turns out, I was sort of a guinea pig back in January. What I didn't know, was that the letrozole had just been released and was brand new on the market. With the passing of just a couple months, even more drug companies started making it, so the price plummeted.

So, as odd a feeling as it was to know that I was one of the first to try it, it was a relief knowing that going forward, our meds would cost almost $150 less each month. That should give us a little breathing room, anyway. (Not that the whole process is suddenly cheap, but I'll take what I can get.)

Much to my surprise, a few days later, I had a voicemail from the pharmacy; stating that they saw that I had called about a price difference between my two orders, and that as a one time courtesy, they'd refund the difference...

I swore I misunderstood the voicemail. No way are they going to refund $140, when they don't really owe it to me, and I didn't even ask for it. Right?

Wrong. A few days later, it was credited to my account.

Color me impressed. :)

So, if you find yourself in a situation like mine, ask your doctor to send your scripts to Freedom Fertility Pharmacy. Customer service doesn't get much better than that!

I just started my letrozole today, and will have my ovarian ultrasound in a couple weeks, to see if it worked. *fingers crossed*

Trigger Shot and Symptom Spotting

So, at the end of the last post, I stated that I had to take a trigger shot that evening. It's an injection of Ovidrel, that's supposed to force ovulation. This, by far, was the worst part of everything I've been through so far.

I stood in the mirror at my bathroom sink, repeatedly watching the how-to video on my Nook tablet. Did I get all the air out? Do I put it in at an angle or perpendicular? Is this two inches from belly button? Am I supposed to put it in the same side as my dominant follicle, or does it matter? And, oh yeah, there's a needle!

I kept telling myself to do it quickly, like ripping off a bandaid.. but I just could.not.do.it. My fingers went numb. I kid you not, it took at least a full 90 seconds from when the needle started going into my skin, before it was actually all the way in. Then at least another two minutes to actually push in the plunger.

By the time I was done, I was leaning against the sink, feeling like I was going to vomit. As soon as I took out the needle, I collapsed onto the bed.. drenched in a cold sweat. Like I told you, the worst experience to date.

As instructed, we "got busy" for the next three evenings, and I was instructed to take a pregnancy test on the morning of March 3rd.

In the meantime, I had all sorts of symptoms. Cravings, food aversions, extreme bloating, tender breasts, nausea, etc. Problem is, like anyone TTC will tell you, is that the meds that make you ovulate, actually give you pregnancy symptoms. So, you can never trust any of them.

One thing I hated about this cycle though, was not knowing if I even ovulated. You take the injection to 'cause' it.. but you never really know if it worked.

Anyway, like most women, I was guilty of taking a couple tests early.. both negative.

So I waited for March 3rd. By then, all the symptoms had pretty much stopped, so I was pretty sure of the results I would see. BFN (Big Fat Negative).

And just to add insult to injury, within 3 hours of taking the pregnancy test, my period started. Thank you, mother nature, for flippin' me the finger. Appreciate it.

Obviously, I'm disappointed. I took a few minutes to cry.. and then moved on. Because I know statistically, that even if everything works perfectly, it'll probably take a few attempts. Like I said though, we don't even know if I actually ovulated.

But, due to financial costs (for Femara and injection, it's around $700/month; that we just don't logistically have laying around), I'm planning on taking this month off. And since my cycle started already, I wouldn't be able to get the meds in time anyway. So, we probably won't try again until April. Though, I am NOT looking forward to doing that injection again.

It's just hard, knowing that time is ticking away. Some people will say age doesn't matter much anymore. Sure, it's easier for older women to get pregnant with all the technologies. But the expense is also higher as you climb the technology ladder, and the risks to the baby are far higher the older you get. It's definitely something that weighs on me.

Glimmer of Hope

So, I had another ovarian ultrasound this morning (cycle day 12). I went into this one a little bit more hopeful, as I felt like I could tell the drugs were working.

I was on Femara this cycle, and last night, I was getting very sharp pains from the area around my right ovary. It also felt swollen when I would massage that area.

And sure enough, the ultrasound showed a 20mm follicle in my right ovary. A good sign, for sure. They look for follicles that are 18-20mm, and I've never even gotten close before. My left ovary, on the other hand, had a few tiny ones; but none that were viable to mature. But, they tell me it's normal for one ovary to dominate each cycle.

So, I drove home with a little sense of hope; immediately texting my husband to share the news, and then stopped at Starbucks for my own personal celebration of a smoothie and blueberry scone (but let's not dwell on that). I know it's still a long shot. But at least I know we can check one thing off the list of hurdles we need to overcome. Who knew that cancer medications and fertility yoga could actually get my ovaries to do something they're supposed to do?

I've been instructed to take my trigger shot tonight. This is super scary to me. I don't particularly like injections (who does?), and I really don't like the idea of giving myself one in the stomach. *shivers*

We won't really know if this cycle worked until early to mid March. So stay tuned.

By Thirty-Five?

Since my last post, I've taken some drugs, had an ultrasound, and just had another consultation today. So, allow me to walk you through it.

My cycle began on Christmas Day (just the gift I wanted.. lol).. so, they ordered me to start my Clomid a few days afterwards; making my expected ovulation date January 6th. To see if the Clomid was working, they ordered an ovarian ultrasound.

First, awkward. They sent me into a small bathroom, instructing me to strip from the waist down.. and wrap myself in what basically, was a large, thin paper towel.. that didn't even wrap all the way around my body. So, there I was. A shirt, my socks, and half a towel.. Trying to hold it as I waddle to table; which is sitting in a very dark room. You know the kind of table. The one with stirrups. Yee-haw!

She proceeds to show me the device she will be inserting. Lovely. "Aren't you at least going to light some candles?," I thought. Should I say it out loud? Nah. This lady doesn't look like she'd enjoy such humor at 8am.

So, there I was, looking at this black and white screen, as she showed me one ovary and then the other. It was a weird and unpleasant sensation.. but pretty cool, actually. She was able to essentially zoom in and out, and measure each follicle. The good news is that I had several follicles. The bad news is that none were the size necessary; and clearly weren't going to mature and release an egg.

And if you didn't recall, this was from the highest dose of Clomid. Which means, it's either stop here.. or move onto something else.

Dr. Henry had previously mentioned wanting me to get a dye xray of my fallopian tubes.. which is a pricey, and often painful, procedure. I feared that would be what he advised next. But given our budget, I was preparing myself to argue and plead to just try a different drug first.

My reasoning was that the xray isn't going to help me ovulate. It's only going to show if there's a blockage keeping the egg from getting to my uterus; or keeping my husband's swimmers from my eggs. Either way.. it's irrelevant if I'm not ovulating to begin with.

I arrived to my follow-up consultation this afternoon. The nurse walked me into an exam room; except in here, the exam table looked like it was from the late 70s, and since I wasn't getting an exam, it was bizarre to sit there.. on the one and only chair in the room. And, I had to wait there for 45 minutes before the doctor came in.

Not going to lie, I almost fell apart. It really isn't fair or nice to leave a woman in a room by herself with nothing to think about but her own fertility problems. I was staring out the window and thinking to myself, "Is it really going to come down to dollars and cents? So many people that have no business being parents, have child after child by accident.. and I may never have one, because I can't afford to even get a chance."

I was getting misty-eyed when I decided instead to start rehearsing, in my head, my argument to try the next drug on the infertility go-tos. It's called Femara, and sometimes works for women that don't respond to Clomid. It's more expensive than Clomid (almost double), but still less than the injectables. I proceeded to talk myself up. Be confident. Take control of your own healthcare. Yeah, screw this guy and his opinion!

He finally knocks on the door, and drags in a stool to sit on. He shakes my hand and awkwardly blurts, "So, yeah.. You didn't ovulate."

I just respond with an even more awkward laugh, and "Nope."

As he browses my file, not even looking at me, he starts describing his plan. "Well, I think we're going to move on to another drug and see if it works. Well, I'd like to get the fallopian xray done, but it doesn't matter if we do it now or wait. I'll leave that up to you. But we'll go ahead and do Femara next."

Whew... No confrontation needed. I just tell him I'd prefer to wait on the dye and xray, to see if Femara will even make me ovulate.

He agrees, and adds, "We'll try Femara for 3 cycles, and on the 3rd one, we'll do the xray."

Ehhhh.. sure. I'll argue about it later if I have to. Or just tell him we're done trying at that point..

He proceeds, "And if this doesn't work, we can try injectables, or just go right to invitro."

Woooooah! Slow down. Invitro? We're just getting to the second drug, and he's throwing out the full 15k procedure? I didn't have the heart to tell him that's never going to happen. It was just too depressing.

"You can decide though. Injectables will probably blow up your ovaries with follicles," he stated.

Blow up? That doesn't sound reassuring.. especially since ovaries literally bursting from overstimulation is one of the possible complications. :-/ But I try to ignore the bad word choice, as he clarifies that he meant the chance for multiples.

He then explains how the Femara will work (which I already knew, from my own research), "It's actually for breast cancer patients. Basically, it'll block your estrogen, so your ovaries will try to overcompensate." And added, "So, you won't get the hot flashes or mood swings with this one."

I couldn't help but think, "No.. I'll just get a beard."

One of his last statements was, "Our goal is to get you pregnant by 35; and I don't foresee a problem doing that." (Wish this came with a guarantee)

Well.. that gives me four years.. Unfortunately, he expects me to have 30-40k in order to try. :-/

I leave with a plan. Though, I'll only be able to stay on it for a few months before I have to call it quits. So please, if you're reading this.. knock on wood and cross your fingers for me. Time and money are both running out.