Under the knife: Um, you're going to do What to me?

Tomorrow's the big day.  I am far from thrilled, but at this point in the journey, I have to do what I have to do.  If my doc told me to stand on my head and lick dog poo while singing the Barney theme song, I would do it quickly and proudly if he promised me I'd get KTFU (knocked the F up, for those who aren't hip to the lingo). 

Anyhoo... my laparoscopy is scheduled for tomorrow at 2pm.  The day is gonna go a little like this:
-Wake up, be really thirsty and hungry, but not allowed to have anything after midnight
-Be at my doctors office at 10:45 & bring urine sample so that they can dip a pregnancy test (ironic, right?) 
-Surgery Center by noon for prep, get IV (should be fun with my awesome veins), still be hungry. 
-Surgery at 2

How does a lap work?  Me, being an OCD crazy worrier, I have researched a little for myself, and for you guys I guess. 

First off, it starts with general anesthesia and intubation for a breathing tube... sounds great already, right?  A lot of things I read said they scrub your belly and pelvis down with "special soap" ~I hope it is coconut scented~ and sometimes will shave your pubic hair ~wonder if I can request a sweet-ass design?~  Dr. Moon-Dog will then make an incision in my belly button, insert a hollow needle, and fill my abdomen with nitrous oxide gas.  Next, the insert the thin lighted tube (laparoscope) and take a look around.  They are looking for things like endometriosis, scar tissue, cysts, basically anything that is not supposed be there.  If they find anything, the laser/peel it away right then and there - wham bam thank ya ma'am.  They release the gas (probably wouldn't be good to leave it in there, have me wake up from anesthesia, and look down to see a belly that looks 8 months pregnant... that's corporal punishment for an infertile), stitch me up, and start the process of waking me up. 

Please find this shiz!  

Dr. Moon-Dog told Ryan that he'd come out and talk to him after he was all done.  He said to be prepared for one of two scenarios:

(1) I'm going to wake up and be pretty pissed off because he found a mess of crap in there and that means we wasted thousands of dollars and months of time with treatments that didn't have a chance to work.
(2) I'm going to wake up and be pretty pissed off because he didn't find a damn thing, which means we still have no reason that we haven't gotten KTFU
**Great options, right?  I guess doing this enough, he pretty much knows how us crazy infertiles rationalize good and bad news**

I guess then I wake up and stay in recovery for 2-4 hours, then make the long drive home.  I've been told I'll be down and out for the entire weekend.  I'm scheduled to work for half a day on Monday, and I'm pretty sure I'll be seeing patients in yoga pants (I can picture Chelsea Handler saying to me "I ain't mad at ya, girl" in response to that... I really wish she was my friend in real life). 

I'm nervous, not happy about it, but there's a glimmer of hope that I might be waiting for me afterward.  I really hope he finds a giant freaking mess in there, cleans that shit up, waxes and spit shines my baby maker, and it clears the way way for a positive result in our March cycle.  A girl can hope, right?

See you guys on the flip side...

So darlin', darlin', stand.. by me...

I married an amazing man.  

Hands down, the best guy I know (in a very un-biased opinion, haha).  I believe we both knew about midway through our first date that this was probably going to be a forever kind of thing.  I've always described our relationship as 'easy'.  It was easy to fall in love with him.  Easy to get along with him.  Easy to agree to marry him.  I never have to "try" to be a good wife to him.  We just get each other.  The day I married him, I was so calm - which freaked my mother out - because I just knew it was right.  There was nothing to worry about.  Happiest day and biggest smiles of my life.  

And then... we got about 4 months of marital bliss.  We had lied to our family and friends (sorry guys) and told them all we wouldn't be trying for kids right away.  We didn't want people to know that we were trying just in case it took a few months to get pregnant.  Few months... ha!  F*ck that!  Around December of 2011 we started to figure out that something wasn't quite right with me.  We thought we were pregnant on my 29th birthday actually, and I can still see the twinkle in my hubby's eyes when I came out of the bathroom after taking a test.  He looked so hopeful and excited and ready to celebrate.  That memory breaks. my. heart.  

Ever since then, we have been in a whirlwind of bloodwork, semen samples, vag cams, hormones, artificial inseminations, and best of all: scheduled sex.  Nothing says "hot" like having your doctor tell you what time of day to get busy.  I actually write it in my planner just to make sure we follow the 'rules'.  I'm a freaking emotional basketcase at all hours of every day and there's my poor hubby... just having to deal with it.  Infertility takes it's toll on your body, your mind, your heart, and worst of all, your marriage.  

Hubby's not perfect - I'm not delusional.  There are times that I'm in a terrible mood or very sad and he doesn't understand why.  There are times here and there when I feel like he's not being considerate of my shitty feelings.  But for the most part, he's just there, waiting to pick up my pieces when I fall apart.  When I was putting my pants back on after finding out I was benched with cysts and scheduled for surgery, he whispered "dinner is on me tonight" and then bought me fried pickles at Max&Ermas (yum-o).  He cancelled his trip to Athens for Sibs Weekend next weekend because of my lap surgery being scheduled the day before it.  He puts a bottle of water in my car for me on days that I have to make the long drive to the doctor's.  Little things, but important for me to know that he's got my back.  

Most importantly, my hubby is a father already... just in waiting.  He will be an amazing dad.  He's got the skills - no training necessary.  He is ready, and he wants kids so badly.  For now, he plays the role of the uncle that everyone wishes they had.  We have an amazing niece and nephew (and soon to be another nephew in about a week or so).  The love he has for those kids oozes out of his soul.  This picture of my niece with him melts my heart every time I see it. 

He's always optimistic that every treatment cycle is going to work and I can see the disappointment he tries to hide in his face when I tell him that it didn't.  He doesn't deserve to have to wait so long and to have to 'produce his specimen' in a plastic cup on demand.  It makes me even more sad to think about him being disappointed.  It's my fault that he's not a dad yet.  My body is the broken one.  On really bad days, I even allow myself to wonder if he would still have wanted to marry me if he knew there was a possibility I couldn't have any kids > what an awful thought to think, but a valid question when you are in the throes of a breakdown. 

So our easy relationship has turned into a tension filled, schedule busting, emotional roller coaster, financial draining, yet still (thankfully) loving marriage.  The one silver lining of this whole shit-show: if we can make it through infertility, we can make it through anything.  I can seriously say that.  If we didn't have a fantastic marriage before we started this journey, we would be totally screwed.  Totally.

I'm a lucky girl.  I found a man that makes me incredibly happy.  I'm just desperately trying to turn that amazing hubby into an amazing daddy.  And I won't stop until I do.  I mean, who could resist having a kid that resembles this cuteness?...      

Going back to my old ways

My life has a lot of stress.  I usually thrive on it.  Work stress, dog stress, paying-my-stupid-student-loan stress.  I function better and faster the more stress I have.  I learned that skill from my mama.  

There is one type of stress that I just cannot deal with though: Sad stress.  My mind doesn't know how to handle it.  I can't function.  Can't think.  And usually can't feel.  Many of my best and oldest girl friends will be able to recall a time when I was sad-Jen.  And there's usually one thing that I would do... I would paint something. 

I'm a crafty girl.  For heaven's sake, I have acquired the nickname of Martha (as in Mrs. Stewart, of course).  There is something magical that happens when I'm covered in paint.  My head clears.  I tune out of my troubles.  I go to my happy happier place.  In college, my media was usually a canvas or some sort of decorative item.  I still have some of them stuffed away in a box in the basement.  Why? I do not know. 

Well, life's newest lesson is that it's troubles get bigger and grander as we get older.  So I had to up my painting ante to deal with my most recent news of getting benched.  So I painted an entire room.  By myself.  Bought the paint and painted it all in one day.  I picked my guest/maybe someday kids' bathroom to start with.  (I have more painting in mind for the next couple weeks... stay tuned for that)


As you can see, it was very dingy with the original white paint from when they built the house in 1994.  We are only ever in here to give Quinn a bath, and when we have a rare overnight guest, it gets a little use.

What was the inspiration?  Well, my favorite store, of course... 

I took a box with me to the local Sherwin Williams and had them mix me up a custom color to match it perfectly.  $49.00, a brush, roller, and paint later, I was ready to get started. 

    Big Change...

I came up with an ingenious (if I do say so myself) way to paint around the toilet without worrying about tape or getting paint on the backside of the bowl.  Stretch a trash bag over it and feel free to get messy... not a drop on the potty after I was done.  **pats self on back**

And here is the final product.  I still need some picture frames and probably a shelf (all in white), and a super fluffy white rug... but this is close enough to finished for my cheesy little blog.  

 My Quinny girl did not like the fact that I had locked her out of the bathroom for 2 1/2 hours.  Once I opened the door, she wouldn't leave.  The entire time that I was painting, she was laying outside the door on the futon mattress, batting the door every now and then with her paw, just to let me know that she was still out there.  It was both flattering and annoying... haha. 

 So there it is.  House project number 1.  It was nice to feel like I was accomplishing something.  When life /God/whatever gives me something that I cannot control, I don't take it very well.  So this is my way of gaining some control.  If I don't even get to try to make a human this month, then you bet your sweet ass that I'm going to do something.  I felt proud of my paint and celebrated with a beer - one of the perks of not being knocked up.  I got drunk off of one beer - but I think perhaps the fumes may have played a role in that.  No matter... I have my own Tiffany's store in my house now and that makes me semi happy. 

CD3: Benched

So is there anything that feels worse to an infertile woman than getting her period after an expensive and exhausting treatment cycle?  Why, YES, there most certainly is.  And I got to experience it first hand today.  You can have your fertility doctor tell you he is writing you a prescription for birth control pills.  Yep, that's right, mother trucking birth control.  Counter productive at the highest level. 

Amazing hubby and I journeyed to the Akron office for my day 3 ultrasound and to talk with Doc about whether to do another round of injections or to do a laparoscopy first to make sure I don't have any scar tissue or endometriosis.  Doc came in, stated he was super bummed last cycle didn't work, and grabbed the trusty vag cam.  Uterus looks fine, left ovary looks fine, and he's calmly talking to hubby and I about next cycle's plan.  Then he swings over to the right side and I hear "Oh Jenny Jen".  Every time he has something not happy to tell me, he always calls me Jenny Jen.  No joke.  I could barely muster the strength to look at the monitor, and when I did, I knew instantly what I was seeing.  2 giant cysts in my ovary.  You may be thinking that this isn't good and you would be abso-freaking-lutely right.  Ovarian cysts are bad, and a semi-common side effect of follicle hyperstimulation (ie: shooting up with fertility drugs).  If you 'feed the cyst' with more drugs, they can grow even larger, cause torsion of your ovary and cut off the blood supply - ultimately causing you to lose the ovary and all of the precious eggs that live there... forever and ever, amen. 

The term that is used in fertility talk is "getting benched." That's exactly what it feels like.  You have to sit on the sidelines and just freaking wait some freaking more while everyone else gets to keep playing.  You miss out on the whole game.  Do not pass Go, do not collect $200, just sit in infertility purgatory.  Tears welled up for a second, but I held it back.  I'm glad hubby was there because Doc said a lot of different things and my head was kinda in a fog of depression.  I snapped back out of it when I heard him tell me he was writing a prescription for birth control.  Not that he doesn't want me to get pregnant on my own (hahaha- riiiiight, like that would happen), but he wants to make sure that I have a period in about a month.  With my history of 70+ day cycles, he doesn't want that to happen to me again.  So, 21 days of pills, then hopefully a period, then recheck to see if the cysts have shrunk.  There's no telling how long it will take for them to go away, but I'm on the bench until they do.

While we are on a forced break from treatments, he is going to schedule me for a lap surgery the 2nd week of February.  Basically it's exploratory surgery to see if there are issues in my pelvis that need to be laser burned off or scraped clean.  Cool, right?  Recovery from that is 4-7 days, by which time I should be almost done with my pills and hopefully ready to rock and roll again.

At this point, I'm stuck.  And super sad.  And pretty pissed.  And amazingly annoyed.  And freaking furious.  How & Why does this keep getting worse?

This is not mine, but close to what it looked like.  The big black areas are no good.   

   

CD25/CD1: Sometimes you just get numb

Life isn't fair to everyone.  There... I said it out loud.  You're just going to have to deal with it.  Sometimes, good things do not happen to good people.  Sometimes, everyone else seems to have what you want.  Sometimes doing the right things does not lead to getting what you deserve.

...Side note... 
I started my day skyping with a dear friend who unfortunately deals with the same crap that I'm going through.  Our conversations usually last at least an hour and consist of a lot of cussing and feeling sorry for each other.  As miserable as it sounds, it is therapeutic beyond belief.  I know she reads this blog and I know she was hoping so badly for me to make a different kind of post today, but I just wanted to send her a shout out and say "I love you, vanilla face, and I hope that some day everything works out.  I'm rooting for you sooo hard."
.....OK... back to your regularly scheduled programming. 

Around lunchtime, I started spotting.  That's not really normal for me, so I tried to remain hopeful.  I drove back from my inlaws and could feel the cramps starting.  It has continued to get heavier and crampier and about an hour ago, I pronounced this cycle officially over and a f-ing failure.  I didn't even make it the full freaking 2 week wait.  It is pretty discouraging when your doctor tells you everything went perfectly and it still doesn't work.

I've only cried a little.  I really am having a hard time feeling anything.  Maybe I don't want it to be real?  Maybe I just don't know if I'm supposed to be sad, pissed off, hopeful for another chance, scared of what's to come, or just indifferent.  The one thing I can definitely feel is pain in my heart.

Tomorrow morning I will have to call and ask my doctor what to do next and when.  It's a call that I was desperately hoping I wouldn't have to make.  Like I said, there's nothing fair about this.     
    

CD24: It's all about time

Today, I am 11days post IUI.  I promised myself I would be strong and not test at all until the 14 day mark.  As usual, I broke down... I mean, who can really go to the dollar store, buy 4 tests, and not have the sudden urge to pee on things??  So, mid afternoon, 10 days post IUI, I got to stare at a stark white test.  For education purposes, 10 days post ovulation only has a 35% chance of giving you an accurate pregnancy test... so the odds are not good that it was telling the absolute truth.  In the irrational mind-f*ck state of infertility though, that doesn't matter.  You still have to torture yourself.  The accuracy chart that is widely passed around looks like this:

HPT accuracy DPO
10 dpo : 35%
11 dpo : 51%
12 dpo : 62%
13 dpo : 68%
14 dpo : 74%
15 dpo : 80%
16 dpo : 88%
17 dpo : 92%
18 dpo : 99%

DON’T TEST EARLY

So, I'm at the inlaws for the next two days.  The bad news is that I forgot to bring my tests with me.  The good news is also that I forgot to bring my tests with me.  My next availability to test will be Tuesday morning, which will be 13 dpo.  I will not be updating on the next few tests for a few days, mostly because if by some miracle, it turns into a positive, I need to be able to tell our parents first.  And if it keeps showing a negative, I want to make sure I'm totally out before I put it in writing.  Let me just tell you that the waiting is excruciating.  

Time is cruel.  Especially when you've done all you can do, and then you just have to wait for two weeks.  It's like a really expensive lottery game.  So far this month,  I spent $1490 on the chance to enter the lottery drawing.  You buy your ticket, and then it's like you're sitting in a room staring at the lottery balls popping in the bin for 12-14 days straight - totally consumed.  Then, the lottery dude comes in and says you've waited long enough... There are 4 red non-winner balls in the hopper and only one green winner ball (only a 20% chance of getting pregnant each month).  You get one shot to get the green ball to pop to the top... the odds are not good, even when you have been pumped full of hormones and medicine.  All you can do is hold your breath and let it all ride.  

All I can do is keep waiting, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed with my stupid early negative test.  And until I get to see the 2 pink lines, I will continue to envision this picture in my head...  

CD16: Reset the focus

I am 3 days post IUI and I look like I'm about 3 months pregnant.  (wouldn't that be nice...)  I have bloated up like a balloon.  It's a little better today, but I worry a little about it.  Maybe this is what's supposed to happen when you ovulate 2-4 eggs at a time?  I'm just glad I can pee without wincing today. 

The amazing hubby had surgery yesterday on his shoulder.  I did not read through his pre-op paperwork, probably mostly because I've been so overwhelmed with my crazy uterus.  I had the day off, and on the way taking him to the surgical center, he was drinking some water.  You see, he thought "no food or drink" meant anything but water.  So we get there, they get his IV all hooked up, start giving him some meds, and the anesthesiologist comes in.  She was going through her checklist of things to say and then said, "you've had nothing to drink, right?"  Hubby says no, only a half bottle of water on the way in. 
She.  Freaked.  OUT! 
She started going off about how "what part of no food or drink don't you understand?" "You could aspirate during surgery and die"  Yadda yadda yadda.  As soon as she said die I couldn't hear anything else.  We both just looked at each other and he started sweating and shaking.  I was successful in trying not to cry, but my heart was beating out of my chest.  Seriously??  I could be currently pregnant with 1-4 babies and now I might be husbandless?  They kicked me out shortly thereafter and I had to kiss him and head to the waiting room. 

I sat there through the hour long waiting room feeling guilty.  If he died, it was going to be on me.  I'm the organized one.  I'm the one that makes sure our deadlines are met and we get where we need to be on time.  I'm the one who handles all of our medical stuff.  And I did not take the time to review his pre-op instructions.  Yes, I know he's a big boy and should have known to ask that, but I'm his wife and it's my job to make sure he is taken care of. 

Needless to say, he made it through surgery fine and all is good.  But I then realized that infertility has taken over every wrinkle in my brain.  It has been all that matters for months and months.  I never even took the time to consider worrying about my hubby's surgery.  Wow. 

So, as we go forward, I have promised myself that I will decrease the laser focus on my female area and make sure that I at least am aware of other stuff around me.  During the two-week-wait is a good time to start that as I'm trying desperately to find other things to think about. 

Oh, and I'm super glad that my hubby is still alive.  He's pretty great and kinda irreplaceable.