and so it begins...

The dreaded 2ww. Which, to be fair, isn't even a full two weeks. More like 11 days, with my first hormone-level check just five days after transfer.

And yet.

I feel it's going to be a long eleven days.

Last night, I felt a few uterine twinges and some low back soreness, like I get around ovulation and AF. My guess is that it was a little cramping from the procedure itself and/or progesterone, since I did a shot last night. We were at a family dinner and didn't get home until after midnight, but I couldn't sleep right away. I didn't tuck in until after 1:30 a.m. and then was up at 6:40 to pee. I haven't been able to fall asleep since.

As I type this, I'm feeling slightly nauseated. Is it psychosomatic or am I just hungry? Thirsty? I pounded water and other beverages all day yesterday, but I do tend to be drier in the winter, when the heat is constantly going. We keep the house at 65 degrees but it's been so cold I barely hear the heater turn off.

To get my mind off of imaginary "symptoms" and concerns over my inability to stay asleep (it has to be excitement/anxiety, right?), I figured I'd give an EZ Diet update.

Here's a quick timeline:

10/6: Start working out with the 21 Day Fix DVDs again.
10/13: Start the EZ Diet; record starting weight.
11/2; Start estrogen priming.
11/10: Start stims.
11/14: Last 21 Day Fix workout.
11/20: Stop stims.
11/21: Trigger w/ Ovidrel.
11/23: Retrival day.
11/24: Start PIO injections, every other evening.
11/25: Start progesterone pessaries.
11/28: Transfer day; start Lovenox and prednisone.
11/29: Starting estrogen.

Between 10/13 and 11/14, I lost 9.8 lbs. total. Between 11/14 and 11/23, I lost an additional 1.8 lbs., bringing the grand total to 11.6 lbs. Between 11/23 and this morning, I've lost a whopping 7 lbs.

Grand total lost: 18.8 lbs. in just under 7 weeks.

I have some theories about this. For one thing, the first time I did the 21 Day Fix DVDs, I started building muscle almost immediately. Building muscle, especially in the beginning, makes you retain water. You start losing muscle mass about a week after you stop the resistance/weight training, as well as the water you retained when you were building muscle to begin with. So, it's entirely possible that some of that 7 lbs. is water weight.

For another, I historically gain weight in the four to six days prior to ovulation. I don't know if it's the rise in estrogen or something else wacky but I've followed this pattern ever since I started charting my cycles. Then, about a day or two post-ovulation, I drop weight like crazy. A few years back, when I was doing Weight Watchers with the BFF, I would get so discouraged because each week I'd lose like 1 lb. or .8 lbs. or 1.4 lbs. Then, the weigh-in after ovulation, I'd drop like 3.5 to 5 lbs.

After my first IUI, Dr. God Complex had me taking progesterone pessaries, 400 MG once a day and then later twice a day. I lost like 10 lbs. that cycle, no joke. Every time I'm given progesterone after a cycle, I drop a LOT of weight in a very short amount of time. I don't know if this is water weight or actual weight or what, but I don't tend to put it back on right away. This was not the case with my back-to-back IVFs, for which I took estrogen supplements right after transfer.

I start the estrace again today.

So, I'm going to enjoy this 18.8 lbs. today and know that tomorrow, some weight may start creeping back on. Or, it may not. I'm eating so much healthier than I did with most of my cycles. Even with the holidays!

For Thanksgiving, when I didn't have any eggs/embies on board, I cheated a little: two bites of stuffing, two bites of scalloped potatoes, a couple of tablespoons of homemade applesauce, a small drizzle of gravy, two spoonfuls of rice pudding, two bites of apple pie, two bites of pumpkin. Mostly I tried to fill up on turkey, green beans, and corn, and ate a lot of turkey before I indulged at all to try to reduce any spikes in insulin.

Last night, at my second Thanksgiving, when I did have two embies on board, I cheated even less: a smaller drizzle of gravy over my turkey, a spoonful of wild rice (which, technically, is on the So-So List and not even a true cheat), one small bite of a cake-like thing my aunt made and one small bite of pumpkin pie.

I'm determined to stay as strict as possible until beta. If it's positive, then I'll stay as strict as possible until the end of the first trimester at least.

Here's the thing: the EZ Diet actually does allow me to eat more outside of the Good list than I typically do. I'm not on the restrictive phase any more, and haven't been for three weeks. This means that, according to the diet, I can have items on the Bad List 2-3 times a week, items on the So-So List 3-4 times a week, and a Cheat Day once a week. I could never determine if it's meant to be a whole day of cheating or just one meal, but I haven't been indulging regardless because, hi, trying to create a tiny human here.

Right now my larger concern is inflammation, and trying to control it. This is why I've been eating half of an avocado at breakfast almost every morning. I'm lucky in that I am not insulin resistant - my fasting blood sugars are perfect and not even close to prediabetic range - but I have this huge fear of inflammation and it wrecking implantation. Is it an irrational fear? I don't know. But I do know I'm pretty happy with how this cycle has turned out so far.

Tonight, Mr. Hope and I are having dinner with Kindred and her husband, and I'm so excited. I don't remember if I posted this here but Kindred is PREGNANT with one healthy singleton from her 10/30 transfer. We've both confessed having dorky fantasies about being pregnant together. I'm hoping - WISHING, PRAYING, HOPING - that this particular dorky fantasy becomes my uber-dorky reality!

transfer day.

Heading to Posh Clinic this morning, Mr. Hope and I didn't know what to expect. There'd been no Day 4 update, remember? We tried to be positive on the drive but both of us were nervous. I kept saying things like, "Well, they didn't call us first thing this morning, so that must mean we have SOMETHING to transfer."

We ended up getting to the clinic early. I like to park on the street (it's free) and then take the 2-minute walk to the building. Mr. Hope does not. I tried to convince him that a brisk morning walk would send blood supply to my uterus. I won.

When the nurse called us back to go over my post-transfer instructions, she was all smiles. She ran down a list of items, including when I'd start my estrace, Lovenox, and prednisone (tomorrow, today, and today). Then she left to get the embryology tech.

I turned to Mr. Hope and said, "She was really chipper. This has to be good, right?"

The tech that came in was the same one who called me on Wednesday. She's got one facial expression: flat. I don't mean this in the bad way - I just mean she wasn't as smiley and friendly as everyone else we typically deal with. 

She gave us a picture that had individual shots of our five embryos. The ones that had been As on Day 3 (ours and one of the donors') were now Grade B blastocysts. "I'll take it," I told her. Because HOLY SHIT, we were transferring a blastocyst of our own making! Of the three remaining embryos, one arrested at five cells, one was lagging behind as a morula, and one was an early blast. They were pretty sure they could refreeze the early blast but weren't sure what the morula would do. My guess is it's out, too.

So let me recap for you: My "rotten" egg managed to make an embryo that not only made it to blastocyst, it also outperformed three of the embryos created with a 30-year-old's eggs. 

On the ride up, Mr. Hope and I were still talking about whether or not we wanted to transfer one or two. I'm a little nervous about twins, in part because of my weight but also because hi, twins cost a fortune. And there's no way one of us can be a stay-at-home parent, so in addition to double the cost of everything else we'd have to contend with double day care. Mr. Hope, on the other hand, was all, "Twins are great! Twins are an instant family!"

If our embryo had been a Grade A, I may have pushed harder for eSBT (elective single blastocyst transfer). But the fact that both of the front-runners were Grade B made me think I shouldn't chance it. So we stuck with our original plan to transfer both.

At my clinic, here's how this works:

They take you back to a room with lockers. You change into a gown, hair net, and slipper socks, then drape a thin blanket around your shoulders like a cape to cover your otherwise-exposed bottom. You lock your stuff up and take the key with you. Then they take you back to the transfer room, where you wait until they're ready to load your legs into the leg holder things.

I sat there, alone in the quiet room, and started to cry. Not because I was sad or upset, but because I never thought we'd get to that moment. I never thought we'd have a viable chance at making a baby from my egg and Mr. Hope's sperm. My first RE, Dr. God Complex, wouldn't even consider going to transfer with one follicle. He actually scared me into thinking I was putting myself at risk by doing that because it was such an "invasive" procedure. 

But here we are, retrieving a solitary egg for the third time, and the damned thing turned into a blast. 

I told Mr. Hope, "I can't even...I don't even have the words."

He joked, "They should've sent a poet."

We laughed.

So I cried a little, and then the nurse who assisted on my second IVF came in and said, "Aww, why are you crying?" I told her they were happy tears and filled her in on everything. She said, "It only takes one, right?"

I'd already had about 35 ounces of water before I came to the clinic, but the nurse who went over my post-transfer instructions seemed concerned that I hadn't had more. So I chugged another 16 ounces. I was fine until the transfer nurse told me to put my legs into the holder things. As soon as I swung a leg over I felt the pain in my bladder. She said, "Do you need to release a little?" I said, "No, that would make it worse." And then powered through.

Dr. Smiles came in a few minutes later. He said, "So, we have two good blastocysts today," and I said yes and then he said, "Let's get you pregnant," which is what he says every time.

I barely felt the speculum go in and I didn't feel the catheter at all. In fact, I didn't know it was over until he started to pull the speculum out. I said, "That's it? I didn't feel a thing." Dr. Smiles quipped, "That's what I've been hearing from ladies since I was 16 years old."

I told him I owed him a hell of a Hanukkah present and he said, "Just get pregnant. That's present enough." And then he left and Jen said, "He's right, you know. You getting pregnant is the best present ever." I said, "I'll do what I can. You know, it's not like I've been trying to thwart the process along the way!"

I stayed on the table for another 10 minutes. Around minute seven, my bladder started to hurt. I called out the nurse's name softly. The next minute, I called it out a little louder. A minute after that, I really raised my voice.

No nurse.

More minutes ticked by. As the clock approached 9 a.m. I thought to myself, if she hasn't come back by then I'm getting off the table and going to the bathroom. She didn't come. I was debating how bad it would be if I got up when finally - FINALLY - she walked in. 

As soon as I tried to sit up, I thought I'd pee myself. I told the nurse, "I don't think I can do this." She said, "Want me to get a bedpan?" I said, "You might have to." Then I decided I'd try to power through anyway. 

Holding onto the nurse, I swung one leg over and did this weird tuck and roll off the bed. Then scurried to the bathroom where I peed for so long I felt like Tom Hanks in A League of Their Own. Seriously, it was the neverending pee.

And then I got dressed, and Mr. Hope and I went out to breakfast. We came home and I took the prednisone and my first Lovenox shot. We tried to watch a movie but I started passing out almost immediately, so we stopped it and went to bed for a long (like two-hour-long) nap.

I'll be honest: I don't know how this cycle will turn out. I'm nervous about the B grade on the blastocysts. And even though we used an anonymous donor through the clinic, I'm a little bummed that we only ended up with one good quality blast and one decent one. You'd assume that using young donors would give you at least ONE Grade A blast, right? If not more? The fact that we only have one decent one to maybe freeze means that if the donor embryo is the one that sticks, there's not a great chance of a genetic sibling.

Of course, there's still one scenario in which both embies stick and we end up with super-fraternal twins.

I'm not someone who's big on prayer, but I have been sending positive messages out in the universe. And I have a lot of people praying on my behalf. So maybe - MAYBE - that will help?

I want this to be our time so badly...I really, truly hope it is.

something to lose.

As happy as I am over yesterday's unexpectedly good news, I'm also feeling a little...well...scared.

I mean, I was fully expecting to be told that Mr. Hope's and my embryo didn't make it to Day 3. I was pleasantly enough surprised when I thought ours was hanging on at a grade C. But to learn that my presumed-rotten egg had managed to produce a grade A embryo? 

I don't even have the words.

In a split second, I went from expecting the worst to hoping for the best:

• Our embryo makes it to blast
• We transfer it on Day 5
• It sticks
• We have a baby that's half Agony, half Hope

I keep thinking about the dream I had early in my stim cycle, the one in which I was holding our Agony/Hope baby and thinking, "I almost missed out on this. I almost gave up on this." Could this actually happen? Could we end up with a bio baby after all?

Even if our embryo makes it to blast, we still plan on transferring the best of the donor embryos, too. So I keep chewing over this wacky scenario in which both stick and we have fraternal twins from entirely separate parents. How wild would that be? 

So, yeah, there's a part of me that's thinking about these things. And then there's this other part of me - the realistic part of me - that knows there's still a good possibility that our embryo won't make it to blast. How would I feel Friday morning if I got that call? Would I be devastated? To come so close and yet not quite make it there? IT'S A GRADE A EMBRYO. That means cells of equal size and no visible fragmentation. 

This thing that I never dared think possible? It's not impossible. It's just not. 

I don't even know what to do with that.

Plus my overthinking brain is going in all kinds of crazy directions, like, "What if the embryo from the last transfer was good but my toxic, broken body killed it?" I think about this a lot, actually. And yes, I know plus-size women carry healthy babies all of the time, but I'm not basing this on my weight alone. There's the psoriasis. What if that has caused bad inflammation in my body? What if, even on this EZ Diet, I'm eating too much saturated fat? I won't do low-fat dairy because I know that can have adverse affects on a woman's fertility, too. Will the half of an avocado I've been chowing down at breakfast each morning counteract any negative effects from the full-fat cheese?

You see how this works?

On Tuesday, even before we got the happy grade A update, I told Mr. Hope that we were going to get pregnant this cycle. I just knew it. And then I immediately regretted saying the words, because it was like tempting fate to come along and kick me in the teeth.

But then I think:

We are in a good place, Mr. Hope and me. We're in a better place physically, emotionally, and financially than we were even nine months ago, during our first IVF. I am ready to be a mother, no matter how I get there. Nine months ago, it was still more about being a mom to a baby Mr. Hope and I created together. Now it's about us being parents together, period.

Maybe I had to go through all of that to get here, to where we are at this very moment in time. 

Or maybe it's all just completely and utterly random. Who knows?

The problem with having hope - genuine hope - is that in some way, it sets you up to be let down. Hope has given me something to lose. In some ways, expecting bad news, and being okay with getting that bad news, was easier. You don't get a sucker-punch to the gut when you're ready to hear the worst.

I'm rambling. And it's Thanksgiving! There are so many things I am truly thankful for. Like my excellent health care coverage, and a top-notch clinic, and a husband I love who loves me back. 

I guess I need to spend more time thinking about those things than I do wondering about the what ifs. 

day 3 embryo update.

Got the call just after 9 a.m. We have two grade A embryos, one grade B, and two grade C. When the tech told me, I assumed that the Agony/Hope embryo was one of the grade Cs.

It's not.

It's not the B either.

No, our embryo is one of the two As.

When the tech told me ours was an A, I said, "Really? REALLY?"

I was completely floored. How? How is this possible?

I still can't believe it.

My transfer is slated for Friday. The clinic doesn't call with Day 4 with updates, so I won't hear about my embies again until I go in for the transfer. They'll pick the two best and that's what we'll transfer.

Did I mention that I am completely floored?

day 2 embryo update.

Crazy day at work kept me from updating this until now, but here goes:

Posh Clinic typically calls with updates between 7:45 a.m. and 8:30 a.m. Yesterday's call came at 8:33 a.m. Today, at 8:33, there was no call.

There wasn't one at 8:45 or 9, either.

I had this fear that I wasn't hearing anything because it was bad news, and they save the bad news calls for the end of the morning.

Then, at like 9:37, a voice mail popped up on my cell phone, for a call I'd missed 16 minutes prior. But here's the thing: I WAS SITTING BY THE PHONE THE ENTIRE TIME. The ringer was on. It just never rang.

The report was left on voice mail. As soon as she started giving it, I knew it had to be good news. They wouldn't deliver a bad news report over voice mail, right?

Our embryo (the Agony/Hope one) was at four cells and "looking good."

The four donor embryos were all at two to four cells and "moving along nicely."

At first I was like, "Why only two cells?" for the donors, but they weren't even thawed until after 8:45 yesterday. So it would make sense that they were a little bit behind. Either that, or one of the donor embryos is a two cell that isn't going to make it.

Regardless, this was good news to me. All four donor embryos survived the thaw! They were moving along nicely! OUR EMBRYO WAS AT FOUR CELLS!

Tomorrow will be the real test, though. I've never let my embryo progress to Day 3; they were always transferred at Day 2. I'm fully expecting to be told that it arrested. Of course, I'm also hoping that by some miracle of miracle, our little bugger makes it to blast.

Transferring one of each would be the best of both worlds. And if they both stuck? Just imagine what a story that would be!

embryo adoption awareness day.

Today, November 25, marks Embryo Adoption Awareness Day. From the blog Wishing on a Snowflake:

"November is already known as National Adoption Month, so what better time to recognize EDA and spread awareness than during November? Also, with it falling near Thanksgiving, it gives us the ability to discuss the gratitude that EA brings to many families."

Liz is one of the most vocal advocates of Embryo adoption I've encountered. She's the founder of the super-secret Facebook support group I belong to for women pursuing the EA path - the one Kindred added me to before I knew I was definitely going to be pursuing that path myself. Interestingly enough, I actually found Liz's blog when I was researching whether or not you could get a colonoscopy when TTC. Then started following it. It took me a week or so to recognize the super-secret FB group connection.

The world works in mysterious ways.

Liz, who has severe DOR like I do, has been all over the news lately, sharing the story of how she and her husband came to adopt their daughter Sammy as an embryo. She recently wrote a post that includes links to the People.com coverage and a segment that appeared on Good Morning America.

The other person I feel compelled to mention on this day is Sara from Chronicles of An Adoption. She's a frequent commenter on this blog and has been just a lovely source of support. Sara's pursuit of parenthood is admirable and inspiring, and if you're not familiar with her blog, I encourage you to check it out immediately.

Here's Sara's post about Embryo Adoption Awareness Day.

This day of awareness is important to me personally, too. In the relatively short time I've been on this path I've educated at least two women about using donor/adopted embryos - one who's a confirmed infertile who thought traditional adoption was her only option, and one who's concerned that she may be infertile but doesn't have confirmation of this yet. I've educated others as well, but I think these two stick out the most because having this information could someday change their lives as it has mine.

And though she'll likely never read this, I want to say thanks to G, a woman from my in-person Resolve support group who became a mom through EA earlier this year. I'd never even heard about using donor embryos myself until I met her and listened to her story.

I wish I could contribute more to the cause, but I'm still a closeted infertile, for the most part. And, when it comes to using donor embryos, I'm not sure how much I'm willing to share beyond my innermost circle.

But I applaud these women, and am grateful for all that they've done and continue to do in our corner of the IF community.

fert report.

I missed the fert report call this morning. My phone was on silent and we were running around like crazy people because we're down to one car temporarily. This means having to leave earlier AND we had to drop something off at the post office.

Anyway, we got Mr. Hope off to work and when I was switching over the car so I could drive it, I plugged my phone in. That's when I saw the missed call. I was like, "Oh, right, I forgot about this part." It was kind of good that the morning was so hectic. I wasn't obsessing in the least.

So I called Posh Clinic back (on speaker phone). The one egg fertilized normally with ICSI. I wasn't surprised. This was what I'd predicted all along.

Now comes the unexpected part. With my two previous IVFs, I did Day 2 transfers. This time, we're going to see if we can grow the embryo out to blast. 

I have to be honest: I don't expect the embryo to make it. Since I have DOR, I figure my infertility must be the result of low egg quality. If the little bugger DOES make it to blast, I will be pleasantly shocked. Even so, when I get the call that it's arrested, I know I'm going to cry. This really is our last shot at a bio baby. Saying goodbye to that possibility will be hard, even though I'm expecting it. (Does that make sense?)

The nurse also asked me to confirm that I wanted all four donor embryos thawed. This was my third or fourth time confirming this info, but whatever. She told me I'd get an update about them tomorrow, when I get the update about our embryo. 

I thought I would at least get a thaw update today. Since I didn't hear back from anyone I'm going to assume that the thaw was fairly uneventful. I mean, if all four donor embryos died in thaw, they would've called me today, right?

I've been pretty good about NOT thinking about the embryos (mine and the donors'). I went to work. I had to come home midday because I left my Medrol at the house. I went back to work. After work, I met the BFF at her gym to walk on the treadmill, You know, an average sort of day.

Tonight I'll start the PIO, which I only have to take every other day. I don't hate the shots as much as some of the people in my various support groups, but I'll still take the messiness of the pessaries over long-ass needles any day.