Tag Archives: frozen embryo transfer

Chowchilla, CA

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I forgot how these drugs impact me, but now I’ve been reminded.  I started Lupron, and within 2 days was thoroughly settled into the sulking rage that I had so conveniently forgotten that Lupron brought me.  That lasted about 7 days until I added the Vivelle dot estrogen patches.  Within a day, I slowly emerged from the sulking rage phase into the uncontrollably weepy phase.  Ahhhh, yes.  Sweet uncontrollable tears,  I had forgotten about you.  Look at me – I cry.  Breathe near me – I cry.  Shoelace tied too tight – I cry.  Unruly piece of hair that just won’t behave?  You got it – I cry.  I have to drink at least one extra bottle of water a day to rehydrate from all of the tears.  SAnd there are two other side effects from the Vivelle this time.  One oldie I had forgotten, and one new one.

I’ve never gotten sore boobs with Vivelle before, but holy crap!  They are big and achy!  I can’t even find a sports bra tight enough to keep these things from hurting.  That’s the new one.

But, the real other side effect is one I have never told anyone about except my wife. I feel like it’s time.  Because somebody, somewhere, needs to know that she is not alone.  Once, about 4 years ago, I was in this process, and I was in this same phase.  5 units of Lupron daily, 2 Vivelle estrogen patches changed every 2 days.  I was in the car, driving to a business meeting in Fresno.  The drive from Sacramento to Fresno is long and boring.  About 5-6 hours.  It’s directly down the middle of the state, on small roads, through farm country.  There are not a lot of stops, not many places to pull over, take a break, etc.  Just farms and countryside.

So, I’m driving to Fresno, all dolled up in a business suit for a fairly important meeting.  Well, about 4 hours into the trip, I have to go to the bathroom.  NOW.  It hit and needed to instantaneously be let out.  But, there was no option for pulling over, there were no exits.  No restaurants.  No gas stations.  No convenience stores.  Just fields as far as the eye could see.  5 minutes pass.  10 minutes pass.  Still nothing.  I started running scenarios in my mind on how I could pull over and go in a field….no.  I could not find a scenario in which this could be possible on this flatland as far as the eye can see.  But I had to go NOW.  I held it for like 20 minutes.  My colon was spazzing.  I was sweating, periodically groaning out loud, squirming in my seat, clinching as tightly as anyone ever has – it was seriously the most desperate I have EVER been to get to a bathroom.  And then I saw an exit…for Chowchilla.  Yes – they had a McDonalds!  There had to be a bathroom.

I jet off the exit, get into the parking lot, open the door and stand up.  And my ass explodes.  Explodes.  Not a little.  Explodes.  Not knowing what else to do, (I can’t get back into my car), I head into McDonalds, shitting my way through the restaurant, all the way to the bathroom.  It took me a good 20-30 minutes, and I did have to dispose of a few articles of clothing, but I eventually was able to get cleaned up.  I resumed my trip, significantly worse for wear, and held a successful meeting.

I had not forgotten The Chowchilla Incident.  It was such a substantial moment in my life, it has a name.  But, I had forgotten that it was Vivelle that caused The Chowchilla Incident.  So, this time around, I wasn’t as careful as I should have been.  You can see where this is going.  I was sitting at my desk at work, got the urge, and thought, “Well, I’ll just finish these last two sentences in my email and then go to the bathroom.”  Nope.  Big mistake.  I Chowchilla’d.  3 steps outside of the office bathroom door (which is incidentally no more than 25 feet from my office), with a co-worker about 4 steps behind me also headed to the bathroom.

So, other than the rage, the tears, and the pants shitting – I’m great!

And now you know my deepest, darkest, secret.

Happy 2012

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We brought in 2012 with some friends and I think all of us are trying very hard to believe that 2012 will be a better year.  A few days before Christmas, one of our friends found out that she has breast cancer.  Fortunately it’s early and she will be able to have a lumpectomy and radiation and her prognosis is good.  But I know they need, as much as we do, for 2012 to be a kinder, gentler year.

I ushered in January 1 with a changing of the estrogen patches.  Preparing for a frozen transfer in a few weeks.  Here’s the thing about me and estrogen patches.  They make me leak.  I cry about EVERYTHING when I have estrogen patches.  EVERYTHING.  And, I get severe intestinal unrest.  Meaning, instant diarrhea.  Yes, the first time I was on estrogen, we had the The Chowchilla Incident, related to intestinal unrest.  One day I’ll rehash that, but today, equipped with fresh and reloaded estrogen patches, I’ll skip it.  It will probably make me cry.  Even though, now, a year later, it’s a damn funny story.

I don’t have any New Years resolutions, but I do want to get myself into better shape mentally.  I’ve got to have a more positive outlook, and be kinder and more forgiving of myself, if this is going to work.

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(Originally posted in LiveJournal)

Turns out, my 4 year old son’s preschool teacher is pregnant. I would like to be happy for her, and I suppose there’s a part of me that really is, but mostly it just really made me sad. We’ve come to that point in fertility treatments that when people say, “Your son is so great. When are you two going to have another one?”, we’ve finally started just telling people the truth. “2 years and 3 miscarriages later, we haven’t had much luck in that department. We’re still trying, but it’s not easy going.” And the response now isn’t along the lines of keep the faith or keep trying, it’s, “Well, you have to be glad then that you have your son and that he’s so fantastic.” I get it, there aren’t a lot of ways to respond to that information. But, I am pretty beat down by all of this and that sort of external feedback just doesn’t help. Everyone knows what I know – this probably isn’t going to happen. And they have some finality in their sentiment – and that’s a finality I just can’t accept.

I’m prepping for a frozen embryo transfer. But there’s not a single piece of me that thinks it could work. As a matter of fact, I’m rather convinced at this point that none of the blastocysts are going to survive the thaw. Not that I have any good reason to believe that other than none of this has gone very well for us, so why would this be any different? I also worry that my negative attitude could be a factor, but I don’t know how to fix that. How do you convince yourself to be positive and hopeful after all of this?

I am going to acupuncture Monday, I am hoping that helps not only my body, but also my mind. In all likelihood, I’ll be flat out on that table bawling by the time my hour is over. Compliments of my estrogen patches.

It’s like those damn pathches have a direct connection to my tear ducts and I cry. A lot.

Anyway, off to coddle my estrogen patches and have a little cry…