the other 5%.

Mr. Hope and I went back for a second ultrasound yesterday. We had no idea what we were walking into, and my anxiety level climbed the closer we got to the clinic. But at least we didn't have to wait long after we got there. Before I knew it I was stripping from the waist down and climbing up on the Table of Doom.

We had the same ultrasound tech from Wednesday. She said, "I see a pregnancy that's grown." She told us she saw the yolk sac. I chimed in, "Do you see the fetal pole?" She said, "Give me a second! The whole thing is the size of a pencil eraser." (She said this teasingly, not meanly.)

She zoomed in on the screen. Then she said, "I see a heartbeat. You won't be able to see it - it's just a flicker - but I see it." She told us the baby was measuring 2 mm. I asked her what the heart rate was and she said, "Oh, no, it's too soon for that. We should be able to count next week, when it's a little bigger." 

She said, "The baby's only 2 mm. So it's basically all heart."

When she told me she saw the heartbeat, I started to cry immediately. Just one little tear that fell from my right eye. I turned to Mr. Hope and said, "I read something recently that said happy tears start in your right eye and sad tears start in your left. I thought it was bunk but I literally just started crying from my right eye."

The ultrasound tech said, "You have smart tears."

I got dressed. We sat in another little waiting room. Not even two minutes later, I heard Dr. Smiles calling my name.

We went back to see him. He said, "We have a heartbeat!" He was practically giddy. He told us he didn't really care about the numbers so much as what the ultrasound says. He told us that seeing the heartbeat meant that we had less than a 5% chance of miscarrying. 

I asked again about the low beta. He waved me off and said he's seen women with betas that don't rise for weeks and still manage to have healthy pregnancies. This, to me, sounded like another installment of Fairy Tales for Infertiles. That wild, wacky hope that EVEN THOUGH EVERYTHING SAYS THIS PREGNANCY IS GOING TO FAIL, IT MAGICALLY DID NOT, BECAUSE I AM SPECIAL. I AM THE EXCEPTION.

Mr. Hope reminded me to ask about the cookies. So I told Dr. Smiles that I'd given up flour and sugar and potatoes and bananas and yogurt during my cycle but I'd eaten cookies when we'd done some holiday baking, and I was worried that I'd hurt the baby. He shook his head and said, "Nothing you do or don't do is going to affect this baby." 

He said, "Your uterus is doing exactly what it's supposed to be doing. This is good information to have." 

He said, "If the baby's heart stops a couple of weeks from now, we'll know this was always part of the plan." Meaning, if I lose the baby, the baby wasn't strong enough to make it in the first place.

His enthusiasm was catching. He was thrilled for us. He wasn't worried. He wanted to see us back next Monday, and he wanted that baby to be 9 mm. 

I had to stick around for blood work and to get some meds reordered. Then we got back in the car and started driving home. 

The two of us were stunned. Relieved. And maybe a little bit excited. We didn't have the labs back yet, but Dr. Smiles said he didn't care about them. We were free! We had a heartbeat! Nugget was going to make it! Dr. Smiles seemed to think so, anyway.

I wasn't over the moon, but I certainly felt better. I updated my group of people who needed updating. I went home. I packed up my laptop. I went into work.

I'd been scheduled to take my team out for our holiday lunch, so almost as soon as I got into the office I left again. I thought about telling them. I've been missing so much work. What if they thought I was looking for another job? Or had cancer? I would be missing more work for more ultrasounds.

At the end of the lunch I said, "I wasn't sure if I should tell you this but...I'm six weeks pregnant." They all got crazy excited. I gestured with my hands to keep it down. I told them that my blood levels last week were troubling, but that today we saw a heartbeat. I told them I was cautiously optimistic. I tried to keep their expectations in check. I think they could tell that I wasn't filled with unfettered joy.

Later, I had to apologize to a coworker who needed to reschedule a meeting to accommodate my ultrasound appointment. I went into her office and blurted out, "I'm six weeks pregnant, but my blood levels are worrisome and I had to go back for another ultrasound. They saw a heartbeat but I'm waiting for a call about my blood results and they might call during the meeting so if I run out in the middle, that's why."

Even as I was telling her, I kept thinking, "Why? Why are you telling her? It's just another person you'll have to tell if something happens."

I went to the rescheduled meeting with my phone in my pocket set to vibrate. It never vibrated. I missed the call. When I checked the voice mail, the nurse told me that my beta hadn't gone up much in five days - it rose from 1,461 to 1,508. She said that was low and that if I wanted to, I could come back in on Wednesday or Friday for another blood draw and ultrasound, or I could keep my Monday appointment if I wanted to wait until after the holidays. She told me they were "cautious." Not cautiously optimistic...just cautious. Period.

I felt numb. I knew what that number meant. I went back to my office. I emailed Mr. Hope. I updated my super-secret Facebook support group. One woman wrote, "If I were you, I'd trust the Lord with all my heart and lean not on my own understanding each and every time you try to doubt this precious gift whose heart is currently beating in your womb."

I thought, "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" I'm not trying to doubt anything. I am trying to understand what's happening with my body. I didn't even think you could see a heartbeat with hCG so low; everything I'd read said you needed to have a minimum level of 5,000 to see the heartbeat. But I'm guessing that's based more on average beta levels by 6w1d.

There is nothing average about my beta level.

In fact, I went from a high first beta (508, 12dp5dt, 3w3d) to a super-low second (1,461, 19dp5dt, 5w3d) to a positively dismal third (1,508, 24dp5dt, 6w1d).

All I could think was, "How could this possibly be a viable pregnancy?"

Dr. Smiles had said I had a less than 5% chance of miscarriage. You hear this number a lot in relation to heartbeats. 

What you don't hear a lot about is that other 5%. The ones who STILL miscarry, heartbeat be damned.

I fear I am in that other 5%.

A coworker had given me tasty pastry as a holiday gift. I ate two of them on the ride home, despite the white flour/white sugar content. I didn't even care. I wanted to stuff down my feelings. I wanted to blunt the pain.

I spent the rest of yesterday in a mixture of numbness and disbelief. Dr. Smiles had seemed so sure that we were in a good place. I believed him. I trusted him. How could he have been so wrong? And if he truly wasn't concerned with the hCG level, why was the nurse basically preparing me for the worst? They consult with him before they call me, so I know that 1,508 must have gotten him at least a little spooked.

What I didn't do is cry. I don't have any tears left.

I had a holiday dinner thing with friends last night. I pulled my shit together and went. I ordered a pasta dish. Fuck it. If my actions don't affect whether or not this baby lives, I might as well have some comfort food. 

I smiled and made jokes. Only one of the women knew that I was pregnant and that I felt certain I was going to lose the baby. She gave me hugs and whispered that I should call her and to let her know what I needed, if anything. 

I drove home.

I heated up the bottle of PIO in my bra. I filled the syringe. Mr. Hope gave me the shot. It fucking hurt. I don't usually have issues with my PIO shots, but now that I'm doing them daily he seems to be hitting more tender places. This time it felt like he was dragging the needle through my muscle. I cried while he was shooting me up. 

I went to bed.

I woke up.

Life goes on. 

I have spent hours Googling things like "ridiculously low beta but normal ultrasound successful pregnancy." I have found no anecdotal stories that match my own. Even the "low beta" women have levels three, five, ten times as high as mine. The stories of women who had betas even lower than mine - women who see the heartbeat with hCG levels under 1,000 - they all seem to lose their babies in week 7, 8, 9.

If I'm going to lose this baby, I'd rather lose her now than wait another three weeks. The longer I go, the more painful it will be, physically and emotionally. The longer I go, the longer I have to wait before trying again. 

And what does trying again look like? I only have one embie on ice. Will Posh Clinic allow me to get another donor set so that I have more than one to transfer on our second attempt? Or do I have to use up all from the first set before I go back for more?  Every FET runs us $2600 out of pocket; every new set of donor embies adds another $500 to that tab. And we have great insurance. We're the lucky ones.

If I lose this baby, I lose the possibility of a biological child for Mr. Hope and me. Even though last week I swore it was the donors' embryo that implanted, the fact that my levels indicate chromosomal abnormalities leaves me less sure of that. What if our embryo "made it"? What if ours is the one fighting to stay alive?

Mr. Hope said, "We could try to get another egg from you." I said, "No. I told you I wouldn't do another fresh IVF cycle. I just can't. We only get one every time. And if we get one and it doesn't make it to blast, it will have all been for nothing. I just can't keep putting myself through this again and again."

He said he understood.

(He may have been lying.)

One of the women in my super-secret Facebook support group did 9 unsuccessful IVFs and three FETs before getting her rainbow baby. She's still pregnant - I think 27 weeks now. She never had high betas her entire pregancy, and they never really doubled normally either. Recently she told me that her tested betas never broke 1,000. And she's pregnant! With a healthy little girl!

Part of me was like, "Oh, great. of course I would know the ONE woman in the history of women who has a miraculously healthy baby with the World's Shittiest Beta Levels." Knowing her - knowing her story - plants that tiny seed of doubt (or is it hope?) that maybe I too will be an astonishing exception to the rule. That maybe I can write my own chapter in Fairy Tales for Infertiles.

Meanwhile, we have Mini-Hope this weekend. I am terrified I will start to miscarry when she is in my house. We are throwing a party Saturday night. I am terrified I will start to miscarry during the party. I am off the week between Christmas and New Year's. I am terrified I will spend this vacation mourning my miscarriage. 

And even as I type this, my boobs are on fire again. They hurt so badly last night - the worst they've been this entire pregnancy. I have heartburn, which I only started to get yesterday. And my stomach feels a little sick, though maybe that's a residual from last night's lobster ravioli and not, you know, morning sickness.

Sometimes I hate my body.

Sometimes I hate my brain.

I really just wish I knew what was going to happen next. This not knowing is making me crazy.

the waiting game.

We had our first ultrasound yesterday, at 5w3d. The tech pointed out the one lone black dot on the screen. She said, "I can see the gestational sac and yolk sac, so you have everything you need there." She told us that she didn't see the second, but that they're so small at this stage, we might see the second next week. Her gut, though, told her this was it.

I almost cried when she said she could see the yolk sac. I knew that's what we were looking for. So that was a relief.

Turns out our RE is in a different office on Wednesdays, so we had to see another one in the practice. I'd never met with this doctor before, though I'd heard Dr. Smiles make a couple of disparaging remarks about him. Anyway, Mr. Hope named him Dr. Eyeore because he was all, "Because of your age, your chance of miscarriage is 25 percent right out the gate. I'd say you're in the high teens now. After we see the heartbeat, it goes down to 12 percent, and then keeps going down after that. We'll know more next week. Don't get too excited and don't tell anybody. But I'm liking what I see; we're off to a good start."

So my enthusiasm was tempered even before we left the office. I was feeling all sorts of things I couldn't even begin to process. Relief that there was a yolk sac. Sadness that only one embryo made it and, because of course I assumed it was the donors', loss. This was our last chance at a biological child, after all.

But also I had this niggling feeling something wasn't quite right. I'd had it for a few days, when the control line on the FRER I took at 18dp5dt wasn't significantly lighter than the one I'd taken two days prior. Shouldn't the test line be way darker by now? Shouldn't it be stealing dye from the control line like crazy?

And then there was Mr. Hope. We'd talked about him not going to the first ultrasound, because it was really just going to be a dot on the screen. The heartbeat ultrasound was the one he really needed to be there for. He was fine with this, and then all of a sudden he changed his mind. This was Tuesday. He rearranged his work schedule and insisted on being there Wednesday morning. I felt this cold dread, like why had he suddenly changed his mind? Why was it suddenly so dire to him that he be there? Did he know that we were going to get bad news? Did he just have a feeling?

But it turned out that his old boss, whom he had told we were pregnant, goaded him into it. "You don't want to miss the first ultrasound," she told him. "You'll regret it and Mrs. Agony will kill you."

(For the record, I wouldn't have. It's just a black dot, is all.)

I'd asked the nurse what time the physician's side called with blood results. She said between 2 and 3. When 3:30 rolled around and I still hadn't heard anything, I started to get nervous. They save the bad news calls for the end of the day.

At 3:40, I dialed in. The woman who answered the phone was all, "We don't call you with the results every time, but let me check." She put me on hold. When she came back on the line, she told me that my hCG was a whopping 1,461.

"Uh, that's low, right?" I asked.

"Hold on," she said. "Let me page a nurse."

I immediately brought up a doubling calculator on my laptop and typed the numbers in. The doubling time was alarming: 110.23 hours. At this stage, I should be closer to 72 max.

I felt like I was going to start crying.

After a while, the nurse who drew my blood this morning got on the phone. She's a sweet old lady but seems a little touched - she smiles a lot but her eyes look a little vacant. She said, "We didn't forget about you!" and then proceeded to read me all of the numbers. Turns out my progesterone dropped from 19 to 16.7, too. I'd thought the 19 was a little low because the night before hadn't been a PIO night. But I'd had PIO on Tuesday night, in addition to the suppository.

Nurse Special told me that Dr. Eyeore wanted me to increase the PIO to 1.5 cc every other night. When I'd asked about the drop, she said, "As long as it's over 15, you're fine."

I asked about the low hCG.

"It's a little low," she agreed. "But Dr. Eyeore says we need to see where you are next week."

This answer wasn't good enough for me. I asked Nurse Special if I could speak to a doctor. She put me on hold for a while I tried desperately not to lose my shit.

When she came back on, she told me that Dr. Eyeore was gone for the day so she had Dr. Smiles paged. He was upset that I'd scheduled an appointment on a day he wasn't in the office. For the record: I didn't even KNOW this until I got there; I'd spent most of my time with the IVF nurses, not my RE. He told Nurse Special to tell me to ONLY schedule appointments on the days that he's in the office, further underscoring my feeling that there is no love lost between him and Dr. Eyeore.

He also told Nurse Special to tell me that he's seen low betas take off, and not to worry - it's still early. He did want me to move my second ultrasound up from Tuesday to Monday, though. Oh, and he wanted me to keep the PIO at 1 cc but take it every night.

None of this comforted me. Not one bit.

I started crying even before I hung up the phone. Because I don't care what Dr. Smiles or Dr. Eyeore or anyone else said: I knew then that I would lose this baby.

So then I had to go back and start telling everyone I'd sent the ultrasound picture to that they shouldn't get too excited - that things didn't look good.

It's amazing how much slower response times are when you share not-so-great news.

I cried on and off the rest of the afternoon. Gumbo was texting me and telling me to have faith and to talk to my body and tell the little bugger to hold on. I felt kind of silly, so I picked up a picture book to read out loud. Mr. Hope and I had done this once before. I chose Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, as it seemed appropriate.

I started bawling almost immediately, and cried as I read the entire thing. Then I cried some more.

Since it was Wednesday, I had therapy with Chance at 6:30. I cried on the ride over. I cried in his office. I told him it was my fault. That my body was toxic because I ate cookies from the BFF's and my marathon baking session. I ate cookies, I told him, and I killed the baby. This was on me. I cried so hard on when I tried to drive home that I had to pull over because I couldn't even see the road.

I know how crazy that sounds. I am not a crazy person. But I just couldn't wrap my brain around it. I still can't. How did I go from such a strong first beta to this? What went wrong? Why?

I missed my mom. Even as I missed her I couldn't entirely figure out why I wanted her so badly, because even though my mom was great in a crisis, this wasn't the kind of crisis she excelled at. In fact, she'd probably have made things way worse. It would've been like the time she told me it was "a scientific fact" that if you wanted a baby too badly, you couldn't get pregnant. "It's a scientific fact," she repeated angrily, like, duh.

One of the first things my mom said to me after I got married was, "Now go make me a grandbaby." And when she died, I felt so horribly guilty that I couldn't give her one. When I got pregnant, I felt so sad that my mom wasn't here - that she would never get to know the grandbaby she wanted so badly.

Now, this.

Most of the women in my super-secret Facebook support group are women of faith. There are a lot of requests for prayers and a lot of prayers going up, and sometimes those prayers are left right in the comments themselves. One of the first women to respond to my update said, "I hate to say it, but it is in God's hands, so you have to believe that the right thing will happen."

I hate when people tell me things that like. I never, ever belittle anyone's faith or religion; in fact, I envy people who have that kind of faith, because I'm sure my life would be easier if I shared their beliefs.

But I also find it really kind of disrespectful when people impose their beliefs on me, even if it's inadvertent. It's one thing for someone to tell you they're saying a prayer for you - I find that sweet, actually - but it's another for someone to tell you that this bad thing is happening because it's part of God's plan. I just can't imagine that God is that big of an asshole.

I went to bed really early last night. This morning, I dutifully POAS. The control line was darker than my previous test and the test line was lighter.

So I'm guessing it's only a matter of time before I start bleeding.

I'm going to ask Posh Clinic if I can come in for a blood test tomorrow instead of waiting until Monday, because if the number is dropping as quickly as I'm expecting it to then at least I'll have the weekend to start grieving. And if the number's still going up, then it will give me the tiniest bit of hope.

I'll take any hope I can get right about now.

things I did differently this cycle.

Today's FRER line is nice and dark, and I finally had the guts to take my Clearblue Digital. Even my Wondfo is clearly positive today, though still not nearly as dark as I feel it should be. Regardless, I'm guessing this is the last one of these I'll need to post unless things start getting crazy light.

You can see a weird break in the dye run on the 9DP5DT test, toward the bottom. But look how dark the top of the line is! P.S. It might be time to start tossing some of these, huh?

Yesterday, I found this chart, which gives an estimation on the likelihood of miscarrying based on the number of days pregnant you are. I printed it out and hung it on our fridge, and now Mr. Hope and I are crossing off days together. Since yesterday, our odds of miscarrying went down from 29.2% to 28%. Or, as I like to think of it, our odds of carrying this pregnancy to term increased from 70.8% to 72%.

I've been thinking a lot about what I did differently this time around. You know, besides the obvious "adding a donor blast from a 30-year-old mother into the mix" thing.

I didn't take DHEA. When I started seeing Dr. Smiles in October 2013, he had me start taking DHEA. I'd been on it almost four months for IVF #1. I discontinued it after IVF #2 and never went back on it.

I reduced my number of supplements. For IVFs #1 & #2, I'd been taking L-Arginine, alpha lipoic acid, and selenium in addition to the stuff I'm still taking now (most notably Ubiquinol and forms of B vitamins that work well with my MTHFR mutation).

I changed my diet. I'm now a BIG fan of the EZ Diet. And honestly, it wasn't THAT hard to give up flour, baked goods, sugar, potatoes, bananas, and yogurt. (I say that now, of course, before Christmas kicks into high gear.) I can't say for certain how much this changed things, but eating this way certainly feels healthier.

I ate a LOT of avocados. I'd read about a study funded by the NIH that showed that a diet high in monounsaturated fats and lower in saturated/trans fats was 3.4 times more likely to result in a child from IVF. I love me some avocados (before the EZ Diet, Mr. Hope and I used to have avocado toast for breakfast quite frequently), so I figured it wouldn't hurt to ramp up my consumption. Nearly every day of this entire cycle, I'd eat half an avocado with breakfast. The day of transfer, I ate half of an avocado before and another half after. Again, don't know how much this helped things, but it certainly wasn't a burden to eat yummy avocados daily.

I was on a (somewhat) different protocol. This was the first cycle that I primed with estrogen (I took it for 8 days prior to starting stims). I stimmed with four vials of Menopur in the morning and four at night, same as IVF #2. But Dr. Smiles changed up my progesterone; this time I do a PIO shot every other day and a pessary every night. I think I respond better to the pessaries, which I used during my three IUIs and some natural cycles as well. I also take estradiol twice a day; I may have only taken it once a day on previous cycles but can't remember.

I skipped the acupuncture. My previous two IVFs, and for a couple of IUIs, I tried acupuncture. I didn't find it all that relaxing and it never seemed to do anything to help my lady business. I have heard of other women who did it and weren't successful, then did a cycle without and were.

I asked to trigger with Ovidrel. I've always used generic hCG for a trigger, but I am really bad about sucking all of the meds up with the long needle. So, this time I asked to switch to Ovidrel. It's a preloaded syringe and a subcutaneous injection instead of a muscular one.

I insisted on transferring blasts. My previous two IVFs were with Day 2 transfers. In hindsight, I could see that my first embryo was kind of uggo (cells weren't exactly even, and there was already fragmentation on Day 2). My second embryo was better, but still so young. I really rolled the dice on this one by insisting on growing everything out to blast. And I did so fully expecting to have nothing of ours to transfer. The gamble paid off, big-time. I mean, our one little embryo made it to blast! Even if it didn't end up implanting, you can't ask for a better chance than that.

I didn't do bed rest. This is a big one. My clinic recommends 24 hours of bed rest after transfer. I did mostly bed rest after IVF #1 (we had tickets to a show that night, ones I'd purchased seven months prior, so I did a little bit of walking in the theater) and serious bed rest for IVF #2. I never felt like bed rest was the right thing to do but Mr. Hope insisted. This time, I told him, I wasn't doing bed rest. I'd take it easy, I said, but I needed to move around to make sure the blood was getting to my uterus. He reluctantly agreed. And I did take it easy, for the most part. There were a few rounds of Celebrity where I was doing charades that got me a little schvitzy, but hey - guess getting my heart rate up a little was ultimately a good thing.

Here are some of the other things that I didn't do that I had on previous cycles:

• Eat pineapple core
• Avoid raw foods (I've been chowing down on salads like a boss)
• Avoid cold beverages
• Yoga
• Mediation
• Fertility massage

I will probably never know what did or didn't make a difference, but I wanted to document these things here because it's the kind of stuff I loved reading on other people's blogs.

Anyway, there you have it. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm actually feeling tired enough to fall back asleep!

wtf, wondfo?

I had this plan that I was only going to use my FRERs every other day. I had two in reserve and a digital in the linen closet. If I took the digi on beta day (Wednesday), I'd have just enough.

Only, my Wondfo this morning was so pale, it looked negative. I started to feel panicky. Why wasn't it getting any darker? Sure, the Wondfos had been light all along; three days past trigger, when I should have still had a minimum of 6,000 mIUs of hCG still in me, they were still pretty light.

But what if?

What if I was literally pregnant for a single day?

I dipped the FRER.

The second line started to come up immediately. Within two minutes, it was darker than yesterday's. Better yet, it continued to darken.

I'm still pregnant. Here, see for yourself.

Do you see that Wondfo? Do you blame me for getting panicky? Wondfo, I think it's time I quit you.

I'M STILL PREGNANT!

The fact that it got so much darker today makes me feel like this is actually happening. Yesterday I was in a little bit of a daze. I walked around the house, carrying the test with me from room to room. (That's normal, right?) I'd keep looking at it from different angles, holding it up to the light, hoping (praying, wishing) that this baby (babies?) would stick around for the whole nine months.

Yesterday, I texted pictures of the tests to four people: my two best friends in the whole world and two of my closest sisters in infertility. My two infertiles saw the line immediately. The BFF was like, "Very faint but I see it too!" (I'm apparently training her to have an infertile's eye.)

And then there was Gumbo. She didn't text back right away, and then I got busy with work and wasn't even thinking about it. Around 10:30 I got this text:

I'm so sorry, I'm actually confused and angry. I thought this time for sure. Could it be too early?

I was like, "It's positive!" I sent her a zoomed in picture. She texted back:

What?!!!! It doesn't show up in pic! Are you home?!!! I've been so sad!!!

Then, a few exchanges later:

I still can't see it I'm jumping out of my skin I'm coming over

So she did. To be fair, she showed me the picture on her phone and you really can't see anything. Not even a whisper.

Now the hard part is going to be NOT shouting this off the rooftops. There are so many people who've been there for me and cheering me on. Can I tell them? Should I? It's still SO early. But Glam Coworker, who's still out on maternity leave, told me the day after she got a positive pregnancy test. There are a few family members and close friends who knew I was cycling. Should I tell them?

And then I think: the more people I tell now, the more people I'd have to tell if something goes wrong.

I don't like thinking about something going wrong.

But I did have this talk with Mr. Hope, who was under some delusion that the beta test was the last hurdle to clear. I was like, "Um, that's like the third lowest run on a very long ladder." He was all, "Say what now?"

I told him that the bottom run was making it to retrieval. Making it to transfer was the next. (In previous versions of this lesson, I've also included egg fertilizing and egg growing day to day as rungs, too, but I was trying to simplify here.) After beta, I informed him, was second beta and likely third beta. After third beta it was ultrasound, and then heartbeat ultrasound, and so on and so forth.

His poor face. He looked like a puppy I'd kicked.

"I have to tell you," he said later, "I'm a little scared."

"That's pretty normal," I assured him.

Even so, I need to be careful. I don't want to let anxiety rob me of this happiness. I'm pregnant. I AM WITH CHILD. And, to be perfectly honest, I've been getting pinching cramps in two entirely different places - low on the right, higher up on the left. There is a possibility that we're looking at twins here.

One step at a time, Agony. One step at a time.

the evils of early testing.

While I wouldn't call myself a true POAS-holic, I have dropped a small fortune on pregnancy tests in the years I've been trying to conceive. So I already had a pouch full of Wondfos at the ready before I even started this cycle, and as soon as I knew when retrieval was, I bought a three-pack of FRERs from Amazon.

I told myself I'd try to wait until 5DP5DT to test. That would be the morning of my mid-2WW hormone level check and the equivalent of 10 DPO. But of course I didn't make it until then.

Of course I didn't.

I used my first Wondfo 3DP5DT. A ghost of a line came up within the first three minutes. I thought maybe I was seeing something that wasn't there. It got darker as it dried, but definitely had the purple-red color typical of a Wondfo. I lined it up with the first two I took when I was testing out my trigger, as well as the one I took when I decided the trigger was out of my system. It was lighter than three days post-trigger, but darker than five days post-trigger.

It's really hard to see from this photograph, but there is a faint line on that bottom one. The top two were taken three days after the trigger, the third five days after trigger, and the fourth 3DP5DT.

Mr. Hope and I looked at the sticks together. I photographed them. You could still see that the one on the bottom had color. Was I pregnant? COULD IT BE TWINS?

I sent the photo to the BFF for a second opinion. She saw "something." We talked about how tomorrow would be the true test. Would it get darker?

It did not. 

It got lighter, so I broke open a FRER. I saw another ghost line that could've been an indent. I ripped the cartridge apart to get a better look. Another "something," but nothing I felt convinced was a true BFP.

The Wondfo I took yesterday, 5DP5DT, was so light it was practically snow. Disheartened, I went in for my hormone level check.

The visit was good. For one thing, Fave NP was there and she's typically not in on Wednesdays. She brought me to an exam room even though the blood draw pod was clear because she wanted me to catch her up on the cycle. So, I did, and she was genuinely excited for me about having a blast of our own to transfer. 

Then I confessed to her that I've been peeing on sticks (because at this point, I feel like Fave NP and I are practically friends). I told her about the super-faint positive 3DP5DT, and how it got lighter and lighter. I told her I didn't think it was the trigger because I'd tested it out a few days prior. She did the math and said, "We've seen the trigger shot last ten, eleven days. I think it's more likely that you picked up that."

I told her I wasn't hopeful. 

Mr. Hope and I were both home sick from work - I am SO sick, you guys, like CRAZY sick - so I spent the day Googling things like "BFN 5DP5DT then BFP." Literally, the better part of an entire day. I Googled every minor symptom I had, including "pressure in groin area pregnant" and "stabbing pain in left side of uterus for a minute implantation."

Fave NP had asked me if I'd keep testing. I told her, "I'm going to try to hold out until my beta." 

I lasted until around 6:30 p.m. last night.

My urine so pale, I don't know why I bothered dipping the Wondfo. I brushed my teeth while I waited, since it's got a two-minute timer on it. I thought I saw something pale and shadowy, but nothing darker than what I'd been seeing for days.

I tucked it into a pouch with unopened Wondfos and walked away.

So here's the thing: even though I kept reading stories of women who'd say, "Oh, I got BFNs until 7DP5DT" or "I didn't get my first faint BFP until 13 DPO," you also read a lot of stories by women who say they got their BFPs 8 DPO or 4DP5DT. In my super-secret Facebook support group, there had been a ton of BFPs lately, and all of them were on 4DP5DT or 5DP5DT. 

Clearly, I was out. I just had to accept it and move on.

I've been having trouble sleeping. Probably because of the cold, but maybe because of the excitement/anxiety of being in the 2WW. Last night I went to bed a little after 11 and woke up around 1:45. I had to pee so bad, but was like, "If I pee now, when I get up tomorrow I'll only have a four-hour hold." And then I thought, "Screw it. If I get another BFN tomorrow, I can always chalk it up to the four-hour hold." 

Sure enough, I woke up just before 6 a.m. I peed in my little plastic cup. I dipped the Wondfo and waited. 

Another ghost line. Color, but so pale only fellow infertiles, with their eyes trained to detect such things, would immediately see it.

But oh! What's this? An extra FRER left over from my last cycle tucked into the pouch of Wondfos. I look at the expiration date, see December 2015, and register it as December 2014. 

I tear it open and dip it in.

Within a minute, I start to see something pale and shadowy. Another indent? It's too early to be an evap. 

I keep watching.

It gets darker. And then darker still. And finally, it's so visible I can actually photograph the fucker. It's no squinter - even non-infertiles would see that line.

This also photographs paler than it is in person. I don't know why my iPhone camera hates me.

I take picture after picture. I text one to the BFF. Then I feel guilty for "telling" her before Mr. Hope.

I wake him up.

"We're pregnant," I say. "The line is pink and it's visible and it hasn't even been ten minutes. As of today, we are PREGNANT."

He follows me into the bathroom to get a better look. "Yep," he says. "I see it."

We hug, and he's burning up. I make him go take his temp but it's normal. We go into the kitchen so I can give him some cold meds.

I give him crap for not seeming more excited. He says, "I'm sick, my head is swimmy, and you just woke me up."

Just an ordinary day, folks.

Except, it's not.

TODAY, I AM MOFO PREGNANT.

I've never had a true BFP. This is literally my first.

So now we wait to see if the line gets darker between now and next Wednesday, which is when my beta is. Because of course I just can't be blanket happy, over-the-moon. Of course I'm going to be peeing on things every morning between now and then.

Even if next Wednesday's beta is good, I'm going to be sweating it out until I get the second beta (it would be that Friday, I'm guessing). And then I'll be sweating until the first ultrasound, and then until I see a heartbeat, etc., etc.

Because of all the things that infertility takes from you, I've heard from so many fellow infertiles who've gone on to find success that losing out on pregnancy joy is one of the worst. 

But today - at this moment in time - I'm not going to think about that. 

I'm going to stare at my first-ever BFP and smile like an idiot.

symptom spotting.

I'm 2dp5dt (two days past five-day transfer) and so far, nothing.

No real symptoms whatsoever.

I know that it's early and that not every women gets symptoms regardless. But still. I've got nothing. And I've been on the progesterone now for a week now, so shouldn't I be feeling something? When I'm not in a cycle, and have ovulated naturally, I get heartburn and gas and tenderness in my boobs.

Okay, so my temp is elevated (as it should be), and I've had a couple of hot flashes. And yesterday I pooped five times and then again this morning; I never thought this was a possible sign of pregnancy by if you Google it quite a large number of people have reported it. (Me, I thought it was because I was taking Miralax preemptively, as progesterone tends to constipate the hell out of me even when I'm not on supplements.)

Let's see...I was a bit queasy yesterday, in the AM and the PM, but I also started the estradiol and that can sometimes make me feel nauseated. Oh, and I'm definitely getting a cold, but I felt like I was fending one off during a lot of my stims so I can't see how that's tied to having a bean or two on board.

Basically, there's a rational explanation for everything, and not a single "symptom" that feels like an actually symptom.

Theoretically I could start POAS Tuesday (the equivalent of 9 DPO), but I'm fairly certain that it would be negative even if I was pregnant. I'd told myself I'd hold out until Wednesday AM, the day of my first hormone-level check (10 DPO). But I could totally see myself caving out of curiosity. Isn't this what cheapie Internet test strips were invented for?

Even though I have this cold, I am so looking forward to going back to work tomorrow. Anything to keep me busy and make the time go faster, right? Less time to obsess.

I read on another blog that someone said she had infertility bipolar during the 2WW - that she vacillated between certain her IVF worked and convinced that she'd never be pregnant. I'm guessing this is fairly common among us infertiles. It's definitely where I am, just two days in.

Here's a confession: I'm terrified my cycle won't have worked in part because every time I'm in one, someone close to me gets pregnant a few weeks before I do and I don't. First attempted IVF that was converted to IUI: Gumbo. First true IVF: Glam Coworker.

Kindred got her BFP a couple of weeks ago, and I honestly couldn't be happier. But some crazy part of me wonders if this is going to be the Pregnancy Touch all over again, where my friend is successful and I am not. Maybe I really SHOULD start charging to rub people's bellies.

Or maybe I should just chill the eff out.

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!

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.

retrieval day.

It was just as I predicted.

One egg.

I'm still cool with that.

It's been this weirdly peaceful and healing day. I got up before the alarm and started going into retrieval mode. I switched my meds bin over to the things I'll need when I start PIO (the day after retrieval) and Lovenox (either the day of or after transfer). I boxed up all of the needles I will never use again because I am done - seriously done - with stim cycles. I boxed up the Menopur for J, and before I left, I packed my one remaining box of Follistim (from my Feb/Mar 2014 cycles) in a cooler bag with ice packs.

I cleaned house, is what I'm saying.

In my purse I tossed the Medrol pack and my last two doxycycline pills, since I know they tell you to take these as soon as you go home. I also tossed my morning (non-fertility) meds, supplements, and prenatal vitamin, since I'd take those afterward, too.

I wrote out a thank you note to the IVF monitoring team, since they've been so wonderfully supportive over this past year.

All this before Mr. Hope even rolled out of bed.

I took a shower. While Mr. Hope took his turn in the shower, I slipped on my wide-leg cotton pants (kind of like yoga pants but even more flowy), a t-shirt, and my college sweatshirt. I grabbed my book. I added some snacks to the cooler bag for Mr. Hope, since his part of this would end much more quickly than my own.

We headed out.

When we got to Posh Clinic, J and her husband were waiting for us. She rushed out of the car and told me that she was sick so she didn't want to hug me. She handed me a card, though, and her husband DID hug me. They thanked us again for saving them thousands of dollars. J got teary. I got teary. Even Mr. Hope got teary. It was this lovely moment.

We promised to keep each other posted on our cycles.

Inside, we opened the card to find a lovely note...and a $100 gift card. I texted J that she didn't have to do that. She said she did and wished me luck.

There was a bit of a wait before they took me back to get changed into my clinic-issued gown and gear. Then it was full steam ahead.

I got to meet Dr. Colleague for a few minutes. She was nice. I got to chat with the anesthesiologist, too. Also nice. I got to talk to the embryologist for a minute. I told her we were really hoping for a girl, and she said she'd think Team Pink. Super nice.

All women. All awesome.

The prep nurse tried to run an IV in my right hand. It felt like she took a hammer to it. I usually have a decent tolerance for pain but it was bad. I said, "Well, you're going to knock me out in a few minutes. I guess I can deal." She said no, that it was better if she moved it.

She tried Big Poppa, the vein in my left arm that I always get blood draws from because it's the Best Vein Ever. Seriously, nurses and blood techs comment on it all of the time. The sound like hungry vampires when they do.

When the prep nurse couldn't run the IV correctly in Big Poppa, I had a feeling that the pain in my hand had more to do with her abilities than that vein itself. The anesthesiologist came over and ran the line in the much smaller vein in my right arm, the one nurses and blood techs always complain about. She was in like two seconds with zero pain.

We love the anesthesiologist.

In the procedure room, they arranged my legs in the holster things and knocked me out. When I started to wake, they told me they got the one egg. I snoozed for a few minutes more before letting myself get more conscious. Then it was water and crackers time. I let myself have two sips of ginger ale, a pack of saltines (two crackers) and two packs of graham crackers. These were big "cheats" for me, but I checked the carb count and it wasn't too disastrous.

And that was it. Afterward, Mr. Hope and I went to get breakfast at a little bistro known for its crepes. I ordered one, even though I knew there was a little flour in the batter. It was a savory crepe, though - smoked salmon and ricotta cheese and poached eggs with red onion and capers and a yummy sauce. All EZ Diet-approved, except for the crepe.

I know that technically the EZ Diet allows you to have things from the "Bad List" a couple of times a week, and from the "So-So List" a few more times than that, but I've tried not to indulge too much. I do let myself have grains with a couple of dinners - like some quinoa in a chicken chili, or a little bit of rice with Thai food. And I still am not sure if beans are on the "Good List" for this diet or the "So-So List," but we have those as ingredients in a couple of meals, too.

Whatever the case, I'm down 12+ lbs. And I feel good because I feel like I'm controlling potential inflammation by eating this way.

I guess we'll see soon enough!

rolling into retrieval.

Had my last follie check today with Fave NP. The 17 grew to a 19 overnight and kicked the rest of the follies to the curb. Yesterday's 12? Shrunk to an 8.

So I'm going to retrieval on Sunday with my one egg ("Maybe it's an uber egg," Mr. Hope said). Still feeling okay about that. The plan is to thaw the four donor embryos out on Monday, grow them to blast, and then do the transfer on Friday. The timing of this couldn't be better; we don't have to miss any work since my office is closed on Friday and Mr. Hope had already taken that day off. Black Friday embies for the win!

The only thing I do not feel super hot about is the fact that Dr. Smiles isn't working this weekend, so my retrieval will be done by Dr. Colleague whom I have never even met. The nurse who called to go over my retrieval instructions was like, "Oh, don't worry, she's nice."

Nice? I don't care if she's a raging bitch - I just want to make sure she's able to retrieve the Lone Egg. This is very important to me, even though I'm fairly certain that she won't make it to blast.

Yes, our plan is still to try to grow everything out to blast, ours and the donor embryos. I am feeling like this is still the right decision for us. Thankfully, Mr. Hope agrees.

Tonight, at exactly 10:45 p.m., I will take my Ovidrel trigger shot. Then, 36 hours later, Dr. Colleague will go up in my lady business to retrieve the Lone Egg. They'll perform ICSI, and, if everything works out, our fertilized embie will start to grow, grow, grow.

Saying goodbye to Fave NP today was bittersweet. We've grown quite close, this cycle in particular. She hugged me at the end and wished me luck. I felt a little teary-eyed. Sure, it could've been the hormones. But it was more likely the fact that I genuinely like this woman, and feel grateful for the level of care and compassion she's shown me the past several weeks.

On my way out, I got hit with the $2600 bill for the donor services. I was expecting it, so the number itself wasn't a shock. But no one had warned me that the $2600 would be do that day. I had to move the money from savings into checking and then call the bank to get them to up my daily spending limit to accommodate the charge.

As I was working all of this out, I overheard a frantic woman talking with a nurse about being out of her medication. She was asking if Posh Clinic stocked any that she could buy. The nurse asked her what she took and she said Gonal F and Menopur. The Menopur alone was $67 for a single vial; each box holds five vials.

I interrupted them, apologized for eavesdropping, and let the frantic woman know that I had 10 full boxes of Menopur that I was going to donate to Posh Clinic. That's 50 vials of medication - way more than she needed this cycle, but enough for a subsequent cycle. She asked me how much I wanted for them. "Nothing," I said. "I've never had to pay more than $90 for my meds."

She laughed bitterly. "I've already spent four grand."

I knew I wasn't coming back to Posh Clinic until Sunday, possibly Monday, and J lived an hour in the opposite direction from me, so she still needed to buy a couple of vials of Gonal F and one of Menopur. While I was still on hold for the bank, she called the pharmacy to get some stop-gap medication, thinking it would cost less than the clinic. It didn't; they wanted another $3000.

She hung up the phone.

I felt even better about giving J the Menopur. We chatted and it turns out she was a fellow DOR gal, though not as severe as I am. She was also plus-sized (like me), pushing 40 (a little older than me), and had experienced several delays in her cycles - including needing to resolve her Type 2 diabetes (one thing I thankfully didn't have to contend with).

She got teary as we said goodbye and gave me a big hug. It was nice. She said she didn't have a lot of people she could talk about her infertility with. I told her to seek out some super secret Facebook groups of her own, as the one I belong to has literally changed my life.

I know I'll have to start my progesterone in oil (PIO) injections soon enough, but I am so looking forward to a couple of days free from injectibles. My poor stomach has gotten several bruises this cycle. Plus, mixing four vials of Menopur twice a day is kind of a time suck, and I'm always worried I'm not capturing enough of the meds.

Oh, and one other upside to all of this? I won't have anything inside of me on Thanksgiving. Which means I might allow myself a small sliver of pie. Woo hoo!

slow growing.

Well, this is new.

I'm at CD9 today (Day 8 of stims) and this morning's check revealed a 6, two 9s, and a 10. I'm guessing the 6 is the same 6 from last time, and that fucker isn't likely to grow. But the 9s were 7s on Friday, and the 10 was an 8.

I took a look back at some notes I had on previous cycles.

IVF #1: on CD9 I had five follies that measured 7, 11, 13, 14, 14. So, three tracking the same size and two lagging behind. When I triggered on CD12, I only had one follie left. I don't have any notes about what size it was but I think it was around 20.

IVF #2: Had my second check on CD8, which revealed four follies measuring 15, 12, 9, 7. For that cycle, I triggered on CD10 (so, two days later); only two follies remained (a 21 and a 19). The 19 was the one they got the egg from and it was immature, so they grew it in culture for a day before fertilizing with ICSI.

Other things I found out today:

My lining is at 5. I said, "That's thin, isn't it?" My favorite nurse practitioner (Fave NP) told me not to worry about it. She said my lining had the triple stripe and she felt confident that it would thicken in time. No one's ever mentioned me having a triple stripe before but I've never had a lining issue. Just a rotten egg issue.

My E2 was 71. I wish I didn't know that. It seems awfully low, even for a DOR gal like myself. When I expressed concern to the NP who called with my results (not the Fave NP but the one I think secretly hates me), she told me that I shouldn't count myself out yet. She said that since my follicles grew, I needed to stay the course until Thursday. If my follicles grow between now and then, she said, it's likely that my body will kick in and the E2 level will rise appropriately.

This cycle is clearly very different from the previous two and I don't know what to make of that. I'd been thinking that could be a good thing, since those cycles didn't yield tiny humans. But then I got my low E2 level, and now I'm wondering if I'll even make it to retrieval.

I don't feel sad, exactly. Remember, I went into this cycle thinking that if I ended up pregnant, it would be from the donor embryos. But, like, the AFC of 8 kind of fucked with my head. For a few days, I thought, "What if...?" Now, I'm back to thinking my eggs are shit and that my four donor embies are the Obi-Wan of this particular cycle (as in, my only hope).

Earlier today I told Fave NP that I wanted to try to grow my own embryos out to blast, even if that meant I had nothing to transfer. Ditto for the donor gametes. I did say that if Dr. Smiles disagreed, I'd defer to him, but really, I just want the greatest shot at success. She said she understood and made notes in my file.

What I don't understand is why I feel so completely hormonal. I mean, if my estradiol is that low, I shouldn't be crying at Beach Boys songs in the car. Right?

Another mystery of my broken body, I suppose.

omens.

Last night I had this dream. I don't remember all of it, just flashes. But basically, I went to retrieval and they got 10 eggs. I was so stunned - 10 eggs from four follicles? - that I forgot to ask about the quality.

Then I was wandering around, waiting for the fertilization report, because surely not all 10 could've been good eggs? In the dream, I was thinking, "Wow, this must be my body's last-ditch effort to make a baby."

And then later (much), I was holding a little baby that was born from an Agony/Hope embryo. I was crying over the baby and thinking about the saying that's on the ceiling of my RE's exam room: "The moment you're ready to quit is usually the moment right before a miracle happens."

In the dream, I thought, "I almost missed out on this. I almost gave up on this."

Earlier in the day, Mr. Hope and I picked up the wishbone that had been drying on our window ledge. It was from a slow-cooked whole chicken, and in hindsight, I should've known that the bone had been made brittle from the process. But I didn't know that at the time.

We picked up the wishbone, each made a wish, and pulled. Both stems broke off from the center piece, which went flying. I have never seen this happen.

I said, "I'm pretty sure we both made the same wish."

Mr. Hope said, "So does this mean we both get our wish?"

I said, "No, it means neither of us do. This is a bad omen."

We compared wishes. Mine was for a healthy baby at the end of this cycle. His was for a girl. Mr. Hope joked, "Maybe it's going to be a boy," but by that logic, it would be an unhealthy one, wouldn't it?

I told him, "Maybe there won't be a baby at all. Maybe there never will."

So it's possible my dream was my psyche's way to responding to this fear. Or it could be a separate thing entirely.

Throughout most of this cycle I've been feeling like a baby was a done deal. I have the ringer embryos waiting to come up to bat. Either way - whether it's through some unlikely miracle embryo we make with my egg and Mr. Hope's sperm, or through the magic of embryo donation - I am getting that baby. We will be parents.

But the closer we get to retrieval/thaw, the more I start to worry. What if I'm wrong? What if I've been too cocky? What if...?

I wish I had some of the faith that so many in my particular community have. There is a lot of talk about  prayer and putting everything into God's hands and surrendering to His plan. But I don't have God in my life. I was raised without religion, for the most part. I tend to believe in what I can see and hear and touch, and in the absence of that, I defer to science. Science tells me my body is broken, spitting out eggs that spoiled much, much too soon.

I am not loving science these days.

Next follie check tomorrow. Hoping for good news, or at the very least, some not-horrible news.

A miracle wouldn't be half-bad, either.

marching forward.

Had my first post-baseline blood work and scan yesterday.

GOOD NEWS: The two abnormally large follies are gone! I had a bit of spotting yesterday and the night before, so I'm thinking the cysts burst. Whatever the case, those fuckers aren't messing up my cycle so YAY.

LESS-GOOD NEWS: Of the eight baby follies, only four grew.

BETTER NEWS: As of yesterday, the four were measuring 7, 7, 6, and 8. In other words, they're all tracking around the same size. At the very least, they're closer together than I think I've ever had in a cycle.

All in all, I'm calling it a win.

Today, Mr. Hope and I need to get a form notarized that basically says we want to thaw all four of the donor embryos (they're all 2PN, so I want to grow them out to blasts) and transfer 1-2 depending on the results of my fresh retrieval.

This is the part of the process where I have to shut my ever-loving Agony brain off. Because if I don't, I'll start seeing every possibility:

IDEAL: My four eggs make it to retrieval, they all fertilize with ICSI, we let them grow, and they all turn into beautiful, hatching blasts.

MORE LIKELY: One or two eggs make it to retrieval, they both fertilize with ICSI, and the doctor opts to transfer on Day 2.

SLIGHTLY LESS IDEAL: Three eggs make it to retrieval, they all fertilize with ICSI, we let them grow, and I end up with one beautiful blast. We transfer that and one blast of the donor's.

MY FEAR: None of my eggs make it to retrieval. Or, if they do, none of them fertilize with ICSI. There's nothing of ours to transfer, and I went through this stim cycle for nothing. But we end up with beautiful donor blasts, so there's a light and the end of this particular tunnel.

MY EVEN BIGGER FEAR: We end up with no Agony/Hope embryos and none of the donor embryos make it to blast, either. We end up with exactly nothing, and we're several thousand dollars poorer for it.

Do you see how this particular rabbit hole works?

One thing I'm wrestling with is what I want to do with the donor embies. There is a large part of me that doesn't want to transfer anything that isn't a blast, because I can't take any more heartache. I mean, I know that just because they're blasts doesn't mean that they'll automatically turn into babies, but the odds are considerably higher. And yes, I know many people who transferred Day 3 embies that turned into babies but again: looking for highest odds.

Which means I'm also wrestling with what to do with OUR embies. If the doctor wants to transfer on Day 2, do I bother? Do I insist that we try to see if our embryos can make it to blast, even if that means we end up transferring nothing of ours?

This is what I keep coming back to: I'm tired of the cycles. I'm ready to be a mom. So I don't want to dick around anymore. I don't want to put in sub-optimal embies just to say that I transferred something. I want to put in embryos that have the greatest chance of becoming a tiny human.

How do you know if you're making the right decisions for the right reasons? I'm genuinely asking here, because I'm at a total fucking loss.

med o'clock (and other fun times).

Yesterday, when it was time to do my first round of stim injections, I had a moment of complete and utter panic.

First of all, I was a little disorganized. The gimongous carton of fertility meds arrived on Saturday, when Mini-Hope, Mr. Hope's daughter from a previous relationship, was visiting for the weekend. We shoved the box into the bonus room, pausing only to remove the items that needed to be refrigerated.

Before I went in for my baseline appointment, I quickly combed through the contents of the carton, to make sure I had all of the meds I'd need. I realized I was short a vial of progesterone in oil (PIO), but otherwise, everything was there. Then I pawed through a plastic bin of leftover meds and various other supplies from our last IVF attempt in March, to see what was still usable. The only thing that had expired was a box of Crinone, which I'd purchased thrice over and used exactly zero times.

When I got the go-ahead to shoot up, I went into the bonus room to pull together what I needed for the "active" bin. I find the gimongous carton a little overwhelming, so what I do is put a manageable amount of the things I needed in a small bin that resides on my dining room table (can you tell we don't get a lot of company?). Suddenly, my mind went blank. Which needle was I supposed to use for the Menopur? Which one was for the Microdose Lupron? WHY COULDN'T I REMEMBER ANY OF THIS SHIT?

I tried to read the Menopur package insert but I was shaking a little and the tiny printed words weren't making any sense. So I Googled it, found the correct needle size, and grabbed a bag of them for the active bin. At some point, I remembered that the MDL used an insulin needle. I grabbed a couple of cartons of Menopur, some alcohol wipes, a box of Band Aids, and a Sharps container and headed back to the dining room.

My hands shook the entire time I prepared the Menopur. I'm on four vials in the AM and four in the PM. Here's a little background for those of you who've never prepped Menopur: You start by drawing up 1 cc of sterile water, then inject it into a vial of dry powder. You gently swirl until the powder's been dissolved. Then you suck up all of the serum and inject it into the next vial of dry powder. This is where those Q-Caps come in handy. I'm a disaster when it comes to sucking up meds with a super-long needle; the Q-Caps save my ass every single time.

Except, for about three minutes yesterday, I forgot how to use the fucking Q-Cap. And ended up having to read the tiny-print package insert anyway.

But before you can even begin to mix the Menopur, you have to run an alcohol wipe over the tops of all of the vials. And you should really take the MDL out of the fridge about 10-15 minutes before you inject it, because when it's too cold it burns and leaves small, pea-sized bruises on your stomach.

I almost forgot that part.

It took me nearly 25 minutes to remember what I was supposed to do and how I was supposed to do it. But I got there. Eventually.

The whole process moved much more quickly for the PM dosing. And even more quickly this morning. By tonight - Dose #4 - I was back to being an old pro. I got all of it done, top to bottom, in about 14 minutes flat.

Not bad, Agony. Not bad at all.

In other news:

As of this morning, I'm down 10.2 lbs. and can do 40 modified push-ups. And today, I left my lunch bag of snacks at the office when I headed to a half-day offsite meeting. The snacks provided at the conference center included fancy cupcakes, granola bars, and bags of Cheese-Its. I didn't eat a single one of anything, despite the fact that about four hours after I'd eaten my lunch, my stomach started rumbling audibly. I gulped water and pretended like I wasn't ready to gnaw on my own hand.

All in all, I'm pretty proud of myself these days.

Tomorrow, it's back to the offsite location for a full-day meeting. One that starts at 8:15 a.m., which is about 45 minutes before I usually report to work.

Did I mention it's going to be a long week?

baseline (I think).

Drove up to Posh Clinic today for baseline labs and scan. I got the nurse who despises the Menopur Q-Caps today. She couldn't find my uterus for the longest time. I don't exactly understand why or how that works, but I'd reminded her that I only had a right ovary, and after a while she said (without a hint of humor in her voice), "You still have your uterus, though, right?"

These are not things that instill confidence in a woman, I tell you what.

Eventually she located it. But this isn't the interesting part.

The interesting part is that I had an AFC of 8. It doesn't sound like a lot, but my last attempt at IVF, I only had an AFC of 6. An AFC of 8 isn't so bad for a single ovary, especially when you're a woman of a certain age.

This would've been good news except for the fact that I have two other follies, a 13 and a 10. They may be left over from the last cycle, or they may be early growers. If they ARE leftovers, and they resolves themselves or don't grow anymore and some of the 8 babies DO grow, I should be fine. Or, even if they do grow but the 8 babies also grow, I should be fine. 

But if the two big guys grow and none of the little guys grow, I'm looking at being canceled.

Anti Q-Caps asks me, "If your retrieval is canceled, do you still want to do the FET with the donor embryos?"

Well, shit.

I don't know. I don't want to wait any more. I am ready to be a mother. Like, now.

But, um, that AFC of 8? That's a good thing, right? That's...potential.

WHAT THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO DO?

Anti Q-Caps was asking a lot of questions I wasn't sure how to answer. Like, how many of the donor embies do I want to thaw? How many do I want to transfer? I kept saying, "I don't know, it depends on what happens with my cycle."

They're bringing me back in on Friday for more blood work and another scan. Until then, I'm to take my meds as prescribed by Dr. Smiles.

Here's the protocol for this cycle so far. I'm including it because whenever I read infertility blogs I always want to know what drugs people are doing and why.

• Doxycycline, 100 MG twice daily for 10 days
• Microdose Lupron, 20 IUs twice daily until told to stop
• Menopur, 4 vials twice daily until told to stop

That's it (for now). I'll keep updating meds as this cycle progresses. 

And I hope it keeps progressing. Because if we have to make that call - whether or not to go ahead with the FET if our retrieval gets nixed - 

That's a really hard decision to make, is all I'm saying.

perfect timing.

I'm spotting, which means I should hit full flow before day's end. Which means that I will be moving from the priming cycle into the IVF/FET cycle which means YAY.

I'd been so worried about the timing, because I have a hectic week at work coming up (including a 2-day off-site meeting, one day of which I absolutely cannot miss). But assuming I do indeed hit full flow in the next 8-10 hours, then I'll go in for baseline tomorrow (I have a 12:30 meeting on my calendar but that's it) and, if I opt for the endo scratch, I'd go in for that Tuesday morning-ish.

I say "if" because I'm leaning against it, now, based on the timing. I don't typically stim for more than 10-12 days, and both IVFs have led to Day 2 transfers. Since my donor embryos are 2PN, Dr. Smiles might opt to transfer them as Day 3s OR wait until the develop into blasts. Either way, I can't guarantee that I'd get a full two weeks post-scratch, in which case I could actually be hurting the embryos' chances.

I really wish I could've spoken to Dr. Smiles when I first asked about the scratch, but I'm certainly not going to hold this cycle up over it. I'll just tuck it in my back pocket for any additional cycles I may desire/require.

Diet-wise, I'm still sticking to plan. Technically I can start adding in Bad List items a couple of times a week, but I don't think I will. Even on the restrictive phase, I'm still not dropping weight like crazy. Although I know I'll be shedding the pre-period bloat in the next couple of days, so maybe I just need to be more patient. I'm down a total of 9 lbs., which is about three shy of where I wanted to be after four weeks, but I'll take it.

the truth about 'the list.'

You know how sometimes you think things are a certain way and then they end up being something entirely different?

I really hate when that happens.

Hitting bumps on the donor embryo road and we haven't even been on it all that long. Well, actually, it's just one enormous bump in the form of the third-party reproduction coordinator, a.k.a. TPRC, who will henceforth be known as the UnproRepro (as in: unprofessional reproduction coordinator). Because she totally is. Horribly, horribly so.

Remember when I said that I was told I was getting around seven profiles of potential embryo donors? Well, I didn't. In fact, I didn't get ANY within the 48 hours I was originally supposed to, because the UnproRepro was trying to find profiles with certain features my husband and I don't even have (because she doesn't listen. Or take good notes. Or whatever). I ended up sending her a picture yesterday morning, to make sure she had a visual reference for what we actually looked like/were looking for.

Almost immediately after that, she sent us two profiles. Mr. Hope, who hadn't gone to work yet, and I were ecstatic. We opened up the first one to discover that the mom of said embryos was 39-years-old (as in: older than me) and that there was history of debilitating diseases on both sides (mom's and dad's, including dad's brother). So that was a nonstarter.

The second profile looked really promising. Mom was significantly younger (30 vs. 39, though still slightly older than I had expected, Dad shared some of our interests, both had great education). But then we got to a line about the dad having a couple of physical characteristics reminiscent of Mr. Hope's Babymama, and my heart sank a little. My brain played it out: Babymama already had a kid that looked exactly like Mr. Hope, and we'd end up with a kid that looked like it belonged to her, and I still wouldn't look like any part of this family.

Keep in mind that I'm reading/reacting to these with zero solid food in my stomach for nearly 24 hours (prepping for the colonoscopy) and a wicked sinus headache. And also, that I'd been expecting seven profiles, not two, as well as mothers in their 20s (based on Dr. Smiles telling me that I should have no problems provided I used much younger genetic material). Also that I did not, as you will soon discover, have a clear concept of how this program worked, seeing as I got one version from Dr. Smiles and something different from the UnproRepro. In hindsight, I probably should've pushed for more info when I met with her on Tuesday, instead of letting her sweep me out of the exam room where I was getting my breakneck-speed overview. But per usual, hindsight is mos def 20/20.

So I emailed her a couple of questions, such as:

Q. Can you please tell me what 2PN means?
A. 2PN means that the embryos were frozen the day after they were retrieved, once fertilization occurred.

Q. Also we were hoping for blastocysts - are they all blastocysts? [asked before I got the answer about what 2PN meant]
A. No, blastocysts are very rare because most embryos die off before they become blastocysts. If we had any blasts, we'd likely only have one. [Italics added here by me.]

Q. Is there a reason why there are so few matches? We were really hoping to find some embryos from younger women considering my advanced maternal age.
A. One thing that you will need to understand is that donor embryos come from a couple trying to have their own child, not an egg donor. The average age is 30-39.

Q. Do we know what births resulted from the same embryo batch?
A. We only accept embryos from cycles that have produced a child.

[Uh, that's great, but this is the first time I've heard this information.]

Please note that nearly all of the above was taken directly from our email exchanges, though I did copyedit her responses because I am like that.

At some point during this exchange I told the UnproRepro that I was confused about how things worked and was available by phone if she'd prefer to talk, so she called me.

The conversation was emotionally charged from the start, so I may be messing up the order of how this all went down. But these are the highlights:

I mentioned our concern over the 39-year-old mother and how that's older than I am. "Not everyone has your problems," she snapped. I told her I understood, but that statistics showed the older the egg, the more likely the genetic abnormalities. She told me the other set of embryos not only had a birth initially but already provided another couple seeking donor embryo with one. Good information to have, lady. Feel free to share these things at any time.

I asked her again about the Day 2 embryo thing, because this is what I had with both of my failed transfers.

"No, you didn't," she told me.

"Yes, I did," I assured her.

And then we literally exchanged several more no, you didn'ts and yes, I dids, before she says, "No doctor in the country does Day 2 transfers!"

"That's funny," I said. "Because mind did. Twice."

"But they're not even ready to be transferred then!"

This went on for a few more minutes before she shouted at someone to get my file.

I moved on.

I asked about seeing more profiles, and she said, "That's all we've got. Most people only get to see one profile. You got two - you should feel lucky!"

Except, I swear to god she told me she'd be sending around seven. I remember this because I thought, "Okay, good, that gives us lots to think about." Since then I've been trying to figure out if I could've misheard her, but even if she said, "I'll be sending you some," some is one syllable vs. seven's two.

Then she told me that the selection was extremely limited - that she'd sent me the only two donors with brown hair. I questioned this, because isn't brown hair fairly common? She told me she had some African-American embryos, some East Indian embryos, and about seven blond-haired, blue-eyed embryos, but no more brunettes. Period.

I think the UnproRepro uttered the phrase, "You're gonna have to understand" about half a dozen times during our short phone call. She also pushed the donor egg thing hard, when I've told her repeatedly that we aren't interested in that.

At one point, I told her I felt like she was being kind of hostile toward me. She said, "No, I'm not, and I'm sorry you feel that way..." and then proceeded to come at me with, "I really think you'd be much happier with donor eggs." Again.

There's some other stuff that was said, but this was the gist of it.

After the phone call, I sent this email:

I'm sorry that I apparently misunderstood how your program worked. When I met with Dr. Smiles, he said, "These are our patients. We know them well," and that you try to match couples with embryos that look like they could conceivably come from the recipients. He said, "We have a huge operation here," and made it sound like there were an abundance of embryos waiting to be implanted. He also stressed to me the importance of using young eggs (in relation to donor embryo, not donor egg) to ensure success. 

This is a huge decision for a couple to make. When I spoke with you on Tuesday I thought I'd be getting more information than I actually did. I can't be the first person to have a ton of questions about how your donor embryo program works, can I?

Also, I have told Dr. Smiles from the start that I do not want to pursue the donor egg route. I would really appreciate it if you would not present that to me as my only option. Or, if it is, please let me know and I can look outside Posh Clinic.

Lastly, I have to say that I feel very disconcerted that you would tell me that no doctor in the country would transfer Day 2 embryos - that they're not even ready at Day 2 - when *both* of my transfers were done on Day 2. I will follow up with Dr. Smiles on that.

Thank you.

Her response was almost total CYA and did not make me feel the least bit better:

As far as donor embryo programs go, we do have a “huge operation.” That does not mean, however that the amount of embryos available are not limited.  We do, however, do our best to meet the criteria a patient has in mind.

We do know our patients well, and that is why we feel very comfortable accepting the embryos.  And as I’ve said, we only accept embryos from cohorts that have produced pregnancy. You are certainly not the first patient to have questions about how a donor embryo program works. I was under the impression that I answered all your questions satisfactorily when we met on Tuesday. I made the time to see you, and would have been happy to continue the conversation had I known that you were not comfortable with the information presented to you.

We are by no means saying that donor egg/donor sperm is your only option. It was simply a suggestion since it would be easier to meet your criteria that way since what we have to offer you at this time is not satisfactory.

Lastly, I never said that no doctor in the country would transfer on day 2. What I said that there are only 2 days that doctors plan a transfer and that is day 3 or day 5. On some occasions, a day 6 transfer is indicated. That is a nationwide protocol.

I do apologize that in your case, I was incorrect and you were transferred on day 2. There was an exception made in your case as the feeling was that the embryo would not survive until the normal transfer day. I am sorry that I was unaware that such an exception was made in your case. [Again, emphasis here is mine.]

We will, of course, continue to to do our best to match you. The next set that comes along that meets your criteria will be e-mailed to you. 

To which I immediately responded:

I didn't turn down both sets. Just the second one with the 39-year-old mother. You said I had until Monday to let you know about the other set. 

No response.

This last exchange took place while I was in the waiting room before getting my colonoscopy (which was clean, by the way - yay!). And even though I'd put a call into Dr. Smiles before leaving to get said colonoscopy, I wasn't home by the time he returned it. So, no talking to him before Monday.

What I did do is put some queries out to my secret Facebook support group. I found out that other clinic-based programs follow the one-profile-at-a-time rule. One woman said that with hers, if you passed on a profile, you got dropped to the bottom of the list.

Other women working with other clinics, like NEDC or FIRM, have had different experiences (one woman got to review 40 profiles before making her selection!). I haven't looked too closely at either NEDC or FIRM, honestly, because until yesterday I felt good about working with Posh Clinic. I do know that NEDC requires a home study, which we were trying to avoid (due to cost, time it takes to complete one, etc.).

And as I told the UnproRepro, Mr. Hope and I hadn't ruled out the other profile. The one that looked really great except for the "might possibly turn out looking like Babymama" thing. (I even wrote to her, "We're not ruling out that one but I really do not want to have a child that looks like his ex. I'm sure you can understand why." This, I was trying to explain, is why I'd asked about reviewing other profiles. So that I could make the most informed decision possible.)

Look, it usually takes me a long time to make big decisions. A long time. Typically, I like to research all of the options. I discuss these options with multiple people. I ponder things. I write about the things I ponder in order to process them. Hell, it took me over a year and a half to purchase our TV. And no, I am NOT comparing a child to a television set. But, like, do you know how many models I had to look at  and how many reviews I had to read before I finally pulled out the wallet? How can I possibly make a decision on our future baby after looking at just two profiles?

I guess the larger question is: How do you know which one is the right one?

The answer is this: You can't, actually. You have to go on gut. Or faith. Or both.

And when I realized that - that my anxiety was being fueled by the unknown factors and not having enough information (or not having the right kinds of information) - I started to get really pissed off at the UnproRepro. This is your job, lady. To work with distraught couples who come to you because they don't have any other choice. They don't have what they need to make a baby, so they come to you. They come to you to get an egg or sperm or both in the form of an embryo. You, lady, are the end of the line - the last chance they have to produce a pregnancy. Have some fucking compassion, will you? Get some fucking bedside manner here.

One of the women on the Facebook group told me she'd worked with Posh Clinic on her fresh donor egg cycle and had a horrific experience with the UnproRepro (who, by the way, I hadn't even named in my posting). She told me they almost backed out before the cycle because the UnproRepro was so unprofessional and because she had been treated so poorly. The whole experience, she said, was so terrible she'd never go back there again.

So I know I'm not alone here, and that's validating. I am going to write Dr. Smiles a letter about the whole situation, because I feel like he needs to know how the UnproRepro is representing his practice.

Now Mr. Hope and I have to decide whether we want to take the other set of embryos or not. The fact that they've produced babies for two couples makes me lean toward yes, as really, that's what I want here: a baby. To be a mom. Sooner, rather than later.

But I do still have concerns over the Day 2 vs. blastocyst thing. Will Posh Clinic grow the embryos out after the thaw? And, if so, do they wait until they reach blast to transfer or do they do it on Day 3?

These are things I feel like I should've known already but I don't. I didn't prepare enough for my meeting with the UnproRepro because I thought she was going to give me a comprehensive overview. That's on me. My bad.

Clock's a ticking, Mr. Hope's still sleeping, and I'm so deep inside my brain right now I don't know if I'll ever find a way out.