Not Quite

Today is day 5 of my embryo’s development. I feel like I might be jinxing myself by writing, so I considered waiting, but I promised full disclosure about my journey.

I was told this afternoon that it has passed the Morula stage and was now something called an “Early Blastocyst” which means I needs to develop some more and expand before its considered a blast worth freezing. In women under 40, more than 90% of early blasts make it to blastocyst but in women over 40 because there are more occurrences of chromosomal abnormalities, sometimes they arrest at early blast. I will know more by Thursday.

If it arrests, well ok. It was probably an alien, if it doesn’t then I’m 1 step closer!

5 more days of Provera and Estrace and then a few days before a new cycle begins.


I know this will be a huge shock to most of you but, er.. patience is not one of my virtues.

The fear that comes with not having the outcomes of regular cycles can be trying. To say the least. The anxiety and uncertainty that comes with them can be as overwhelming as a wave that threatens to pull you out to sea and almost as powerful.

Add to it your regular life, work, family issues, illnesses, petty arguments between family members and its easy for your mind to go to dark places. Where your fears take you through every possible worst case scenario.

Having just come through one of those months, with a practically miraculous outcome, what I can say that I’ve learned; is that there is a certain kind of patience that you need to stop yourself from completely doing your own head in. The hard part is not giving in to the nagging worries, the impatience and the fear of failure when things don’t go the way everyone  you expect.

I remember seeing a movie once about a couple adopting a baby from a young teenage girl, and the girl asking “How do you make relationships last a long time? The answer was definitive and while I can’t remember the name of the movie I remember it was Glenn Close and she said “Only one of you gets to be crazy at a time”

Welcome to my life. I am, as it is pointedly clear, the crazy one. My husband is the nice one. The one that quietly endures my crying, the mood swings the random hostility about how come I am the broken one and the one who holds it all together when I am literally flying into pieces.

There is something to be said for having a man like this. Mainly that while I don’t always get what I want, usually, he decipher what I need. And I love him for that. For letting me take this time to be crazy for going like gangbusters with whatever I want, if its to quit or keep going. He’s there.

I’ve said before that the list of my apologies after this process will be long and involved and may actually take years. Literally.

Maira, Molly, Julie, and Dr Yelian. Thank you for keeping on when I’ve been awful. Thank you for pushing me toward success even when I didn’t think it would be possible. And no I don’t expect every month to be like this one, this one came at a time when I really needed it.

Thank you for your incredible patience with me.

Acupuncture & Chiropractors

Less than 24 hours after my last post, shark week has arrived, cramps and backaches and all the crap that comes with having your period, except its only been 16 days since my last one started M*th&rF*C$R. In case there was any wonder what so ever about what I was swearing exactly.

Acupuncture and Chiropractic went well, if anyone was concerned. My acupuncturist is also a chiropractor, something he asked me to share so people didn’t think he was some sort of quack. He’s also a graduate from Brandeis University, his brother graduated from MIT, (they are in practice together) and they both traded all that in for a degree in Chinese Medicine and Chiropractic Medicine. Yeah, I keep asking what happened too.(not really they are both incredible)

To be fair they are both pretty amazing. Dr. P, who is my normal Dr. is very touchy and caring and gets whatever is bothering you out even if you don’t particularly want to talk about it. Dr. B is much more pokey. As in, “My god the last time I poked your stomach it was so much fatter”. and “how come when I poke your stomach there is no food in there? But don’t eat anything that is dairy, carb related, not organic or processed in any way”.

Once, a few months ago I made fun of a patient who Dr B was treating who was a moaner. I asked him who he was having sex with in the room while I was trying to get my zen on on in the acupuncture room. Dr P was offended, but I was only kidding. Now because I have this weird butt cheek calf pan issue, I’m sure I’m being punished for making fun, so they are both laughing at me. Whatever. If I deserve it, so be it.

Dr P keeps asking me to do this “hug” thing which means me letting go of the table and letting him have control of my entire body. Usually there is one flailing arm holding on to the other side of the table. Not because I don’t trust him, but because I’m afraid I’m too fat for him to making these contortions for. Which leads to nervous laughter and more holding the table. He thinks I’m kidding when I say this but I’m not. I’m seriously afraid for his safety. I promise Dr P, I will never sue you. As long as you never sue me. He’s used to treating little tiny Asian patients. I’m a really tall Irish girl with cankles and an ass like the broad side of a barn. Seriously, the humiliation never quits when you are trying to get pregnant.

Lets see, 16 days after the last freak show, only 2 days off Provera and I have the curse. I’m not sure I can clearly discuss how god awful it is to wait for 2 weeks for something to happen after your period, and then to find out nothing is happening. For it to be shortened by 2 weeks and to find out nothing is happening is so scary I don’t even know where to begin.

My appointment is not tomorrow it’s Wednesday. So I guess we will see then. “There will be follicles in there, there will be follicles in there”

It’s the same thing I tell myself when I can’t find a parking space at the mall. “I will have good parking karma, I will have good parking karma”

If anyone else is cycling where I am, please consider my Acupuncturist/Chiropractors. They are talented, amazing, kind, and by far the most educated, good-hearted people I’ve met in this field. Plus between “pokey” and touchy feelie” you’re pretty much all set.

Embryos, Costco and Bail bondsmen.

Today my Dr called to tell me if my goldfish has become a tadpole. Yes I’m totally mixing metaphors. Goldfish don’t become tadpoles. But tadpoles don’t really fit in with my circus/carnival theme so thank you for pointing that out.

When I called them, they said when they checked it this morning, it was a morula with too many cells to count easily, meaning it’s almost a blastocyst but not quite.  It’s still compacting. So they are going to culture it another day or so. You can read what a morula is here:

A day 6 blast is not as good as a day 5 blast but its better than nothing and it is my first blast.

Then while I was at Costco with my husband, they called twice in 5 minutes but left no message (stupid concrete building my phone didn’t ring) So I don’t know maybe it became a blast, maybe something happened. They didn’t leave a message and they are closed on Sundays.

To keep myself from freaking out, I’m going to take a left turn.  Why do people go to Costco on the weekends? I mean seriously, its people that can barely drive a shopping cart much less a car, the parking lot is always a nightmare, people stand like vultures over a tray of toothpicks in cheese and frankly I’m not sure how anyone gets in or out of there without requiring a bail bondsman. But then, maybe that’s just me.

Christmas eve day, after my husband announced he had no gift for his mother to which I said “Wait what? I bought her something months ago” He replied ” I hid it in E’s room and she thought it was for her and wore it to school, so we have to get something else” I stared at him and said ” there are 4 bedrooms in this house, and 2 of them are empty, and both have closets, and you put it in your daughters closet? Really?” Anyhow, we wound up at Costco, where there was a line forming behind some couple and their very slow walking grandfather, because the guy at the door was giving away those booze coupons. I got in the line, stood there for a minute and thought “Why am I in this line? The door is 4 carts wide, and I don’t want any booze coupons” so I proceeded to enter the store.

The elderly gentleman in front of me didn’t like that,  so he came up to me while my husband was looking at the slipper display and said loudly “YOU CUT IN LINE. THERE WAS A LINE, BLAH BLAH BLAH” for about 3 minutes calling me names and generally pointing out what a despicable human being I am. To which I replied “Merry Christmas!” He stomped off, I told the husband that he was going to take me home and he could find his mother a gift on his own. Shocker, all the slippers in his mother’s size were gone anyway.

The point of this story is why Costco is generally Lucifer‘s  Emporium. They are all made of concrete and my phone doesn’t ring when I am inside them.

I will have to wait until Monday to find out what happened. In the meantime, Happy St. Patricks Day to those of you who are Irish by birth, choice or injection. Tomorrow is my wedding anniversary. Happy Anniversary to the love of my life, my best friend, my partner in crime and the only person I want to see when I get up in the morning and when I go to bed at night. I love you. Thank you for letting me be the crazy one