You Are Listening to My Current Theme Song

[Voice Over] This post is rated R due to extreme bitchiness and some offensive language. Viewer discretion is advised.

Let me start this post by saying I am a moron. In the beginning of this cycle my temperatures were all over the place, very different to my anal retentive cycles of the past. At some point FF gave me cross hairs and I, very stupidly, started my progesterone at what FF called 3dpo. Lesson learned #1 - Go with your gut. I thought I didn’t ovulate so why the hell did I decide to trust computer algorithms over my common sense? Because I am a moron, that’s why. Now I had taken progesterone already and my temps were still all over the place - and that’s when I fucked up this cycle. I knew that because of the progesterone I could forget about ovulating. So, at what FF called 12 dpo I stopped and thought the withdrawal would bring on the flow. Nope, no such luck.

Meanwhile I was schedule to start medicated cycles (maybe that is why my body shut down and said “not so fast, bitch! Don’t pump me with meds!”). My doctor wanted to start me on IUI since I was ovulating on my own (ha!), and DH has no MFI. He didn’t think a medicated cycle would help much but left it up to me to decide. I opted on a Femara + Trigger + TI (Timed Intercourse) cycle before moving on to IUI. I was to call the office as soon as my period would make a grand appearance to schedule the ultra-sound (second ha!).

Another complication of the cycle is that I will be traveling for work in mid June. I do travel for work two to three times a year. But trying to work a medicated cycle around travel schedule is just not easy. I looked at my happy path scenario - I had 30 days until my trip. Of course I had plenty of time to get my period, take the Femara, jump my husband’s bone and make it to my business trip. Look! Everything fell into place! Who knows, I might even get a BFP in San Francisco!! Third HA! With my period not showing, now my husband and I had to start the “should we do the medicated cycle now or postpone it?” conversation. Enter moronic move number two: request to start Provera.

It seemed like a logical step in my mind. No thermal shift, progesterone taken when it was not the right time, took an HPT to be sure I wasn’t pregnant (fourth HA!). It was just a wasted cycle. So let’s push the reset button, get that period going and move on with the medicated cycle. And can I have that quick too? I have a plane to catch! I called my doctor’s office, and got the prescription. 

This is the last time I ever take Provera. Whoever created that drug needs to have their balls cut off (ooops maybe the drug is not quite out of my system yet). I had zero patience with anyone. I had no desire to do anything except maybe kill whoever got in my way. For anything someone would say to me I had ten sarcastic come backs that I had to control myself not to yell it out.

Exhibit A: My mother in law showed up to visit. She knows she doesn’t have to call to come here (family is family in our world) but since when did it become ok to waltz into someone’s house without knocking on the door or ringing the doorbell? What if I were naked? What if we were fucking? Normally I would be annoyed for a minute and move on.  On Provera? For everything she would say I would think “that still doesn’t explain why you barged in my house” or “are you going to apologize at any time?” or “fantastic story can you go now so I can go back to watching my TV show?”. I felt like a psycho ready to snap. And according to my husband sometimes I looked like one too. He would say something (he would consider) funny to me and I’d stare at him. Nothing was funny.

My poor husband? He survived a week of me not talking except for barking orders. He didn’t recognize me at all and he was hiding from me for most of the week - and I don’t blame him. Who wants to deal with a pissed off 5’7”, 180 Lbs (let me add, mostly muscle), former martial artist? Not him. And all that for what? No period yet. One more week without it and the medicated cycle has to be postponed. And who do I have to blame for it? This bitch who writes you who should have known better. After all I have only been doing this for 15 months.

Now if you excuse me I am going to look for where the knives were hidden. I have no clue why the knives have disappeared in this house.

Fuckathon Time!!

Two days ago

Me: Do you have to study today

Husband: Yes

Me: Fuck first or fuck after?

Husband: Hummmm... fuck first

Today

Husband: Gotta do some studying today

Me: (the usual) Fuck first or fuck after?

Husband: How about fuck tomorrow?

Me: No... today

Husband: Why today?

Me: Because we have dumb fuck luck

Husband: Hey, no need to get mad

Me: Not mad. We have dumb fuck luck: Every time we say “let’s skip sex tonight” I ovulate. Not taking chances this cycle.

Husband: Ok fuck after then. Wait up for me and we’ll make some good fuck luck

And then there is the once in a blue moon conversation

Husband: Again? We had sex yesterday, can we skip today. I’m really not in the mood tonight

Me: Ok, no problem.

(couple of minutes later)

Husband: Are you watching porn? Is that a vibrator?

Me: Yeah

Husband: Huuuummmm I guess I am in the mood after all

It’s kind of a funny game we play. I stopped pretending we were not having sex with purpose and he stopped pretending he believed me at the advice of a book (What He Can Expect when She is NOT Expecting - which I truly recommend for all couples out there in our situation). Amazingly enough, even though it can feel like a chore sometimes, we still make it work. I gave up on the “just in case no blow jobs” point of view. If we have to do it everyday then he gets blow jobs everyday as foreplay. Why? Because my husband is awesome like that and deserves it. And I am sure he pushes through sometimes as well. After all every month for one week we engage on what we call the “Fuckathon” the every other day (every day this cycle because we’re determined damn it!) fertility window fuck fest. At some point he has to get tired of it. And yes the f word gets thrown around quite a bit during that window (in case you haven’t noticed).

And now? I am here waiting for him to come home to fuck. And then I will go straight into Fertility Friend and mark “PM” under intercourse. It’s the fertility version of singing “I just had seeeeeeeeeeeeeex and it feeeeeeeelt so goooooood” (which is why you guys are listening to that song).


ETA: We did had sex and my temp spiked this morning. I told him if we would skip sex it was going to be dumb fuck luck again. Yeah! I just had seeeeeeeeeeeex!

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Month 13 - CD12

The HSG

Since the last post I have started the journey to understand why, if there is a reason, my husband and I have been unsuccessful in conceiving. Because of the great relationship I maintain with my ob/gyn I have decided to stick with him until he communicates a need for a procedure he does not perform.

The first appointment went exactly as I expected. He checked my charts, asked about my OPK (Ovulation Predictor Kit) usage, length of lutheal phase, etc. As usual I came armed with a huge amount of questions compiled during one of my many researches on the internet. While I seemed to look to complicate this to the uttermost amount, he preferred to keep it simple. He ordered a HSG, Cycle day 3 exams (FSH, LH, etc).

I was terrified about the HSG... I had heard so many horror stories about excruciating pain throughout the procedure and how you need to have pain killers (and some even suggested anti-anxiety medication. Well I am allergic to NSAIDs and Acetaminophen so pain killers were out of the question. I had to face it “raw”, and I was not happy about it. My husband came with me, as requested, for moral support although he kept repeating I was simply psyching myself out about the whole procedure.

They took me to a hospital looking area called “recovery room” and asked about the medical history for me and the whole family. I dressed similarly to how we normally dress in a pre-op situation (let me state here that all that formality was not helping me to calm down). Once the nurse was done with asking a thousand questions they took me to what looked like an Xray machine room. I laid down and propped my legs up. My husband sat next to me and gave me his hand.... ok so maybe I stole his hand and he did not dare complain.

The beginning was like a pap exam, one tool placed inside of me, a little swab, and then the catheter was inserted. I thought “eh, this does not hurt,” then I felt a bit of disconfort and he said I was a bit obstructed so he was going to use a little more pressure. At that point I felt what could be described as a moderate menstrual cramp. Strong, but bearable like they all are (and because, well do we have a choice other than to endure it?). That lasted for about a minute or two and I heard the doctor say “ok it’s clear now, you are all done”

I got up as people were asking if I was dizzy, sick, or anything. Nope, I felt fine just a bit crampy. I went to the bathroom to change back in my dignified woman’s clothes (read not a hospital gown) and as soon as I bent over I was overwhelmed by a sense of nausea. That caused me to sit for about 15 minutes in the recovery room before going home.

They told me we have tripled the chance for this cycle, and doubled for the next two cycles. So DH and I have started the “fuckathon” portion of the cycle. The only issue is that I am still waiting to O on CD15. My temp did spike this morning but I believe it might have something to do with the 3 glasses of wine I drank yesterday. We’ll see what tomorrow has in storage for me.

Will It Ever Happen to Me?

That is a question that makes its way into my mind at least once a day. Sometimes it’s a more pessimistic variant (e.g. “this will never happen to me”) that haunts my day. It’s somewhat amusing that I was always confident in many areas of my life. I was a small kid when I decided I was going to live in the United States and, not for a moment, did I give up that goal... and here I am. I told myself I would be a successful career woman, independent, driven, and that I would always strive to be the best in my field. I can indeed say that I do very well for myself and my family.

In my early to mid 20s, in midst of relationship dramas, I have to confess that I had the same approach about marriage. It was unfathomable to me that I would fall madly in love with one man and that man would fall madly in love with me. What are the odds of two people falling in love at the same time?!? It was “never” gonna happen to me so I convinced myself that I didn’t need (or want) to be married anyway. As you read in my original post, it turns out love was in my horizon, and there is a pair of blue eyes that melt my heart every time it looks in my direction. There was a moment right before my wedding, that I looked at the mirror and thought “well, it did happen to me... wow”. What seemed so unachievable felt so natural at that point.

Now as I look around and see a false perceived increase in pregnant women surrounding me, I can’t help but once again ask: “Will it ever happen to me?” Maybe it’s time to convince myself that it can happen to me.

Back to the real world and away from the madness that is my mind, today my temperature spiked to lutheal phase temperatures. Because I had so much insomnia issues this cycle I think fertility friend will not give me crosshairs. Fine by me! I have been doing this for long enough to know when I have ovulated (one of the “perks” of one year trying). Fingers are crossed that the appointment next week will be cancelled. It would be the best late valentine’s day gift God could possibly give me.

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CD15 - 1DPO

The Massage Therapy

One thing that has become clear to me is that the amount of time it takes for one to conceive, directly influences one's gullibility. If you would have told me one year ago that I would be getting massages and considering acupuncture, I probably would have laughed hysterically. Give me facts, give me science, give me numbers... not alternative mambo jambo. Boy, have I changed...

My husband and I have a massage therapist. He is our go-to guy for any muscle aches and pain, my husband's hip issue, and my stress over work. In one of our sessions he casually mentioned he works with couples who are trying to conceive and to let him know when we were trying. I then started thinking (to much of my husband’s despair) about giving it a shot. What did I have to lose besides 60 minutes (well and a little money)?

He was understandably skeptical, but agreed under one condition: “You have to promise you are not going to throw money at anyone who tells you they can get you pregnant.” I can understand his (very much founded) fear and agreed to discuss with him, so we can jointly reach a decision on any and all treatments be them standard or alternative. I cannot, in good faith, commit to anything past that and he seemed to be at peace with that compromise. We scheduled an appointment for an hour, when he was going to show my husband pressure points and specific massage movements that are designed to increase a woman’s fertility. I conveniently overlooked the fact that he never explained what the massage would do.... would it be a stronger ovulation? Improved cervical mucus, perhaps? A stronger uterine lining? You know I just laid down, relaxed, and let the massage therapist and my guy get to work.

The massage was incredibly relaxing. At times it made me amazingly turned on and ready to jump my husband’s bone (well perhaps that’s how it increases fertility?). I was, however, a bit annoyed at my husband who was yawning and sounding uninterested at what the therapist was doing. The therapist kept explaining all the reflexology points and how to relax and stimulate the pelvic area, which oils to use. I have to admit that a piece of me thought that even if I did not get pregnant I got 60 minutes of the most relaxing full body massage a girl can get! And that already felt amazing!

Fast forward to the next morning. I had an abundant amount of egg white cervical mucus (EWCM) for the whole day. Not a little, not some, but a ridiculous amount, the way I rarely have (it was hump time, naturally). For the next two days it was watery and still is - I just wish my husband would do the massage again as I am definitely about to ovulate. However, being a guy, he is totally disinterested and wants to keep trying to traditional way (so why did he borrow the massager is just beyond me...). Since he was supposed to do it every other day to work I guess it is the end of the massage try out. I’ll still try to convince him a little more.

Our Story

I always wondered how this story was going to start. Perhaps fueled by the certainty that conceiving would be so easy for us, I envisioned that my first post would mark the beginning of my pregnancy. Such naïveté should probably confirm that I was indeed a Pollyanna, or maybe merely ill-informed about my own body and, subsequently, my fertility.  

My high school was very detailed about sex education. Between the giggle fits and blushed pimple faces we learned about all birth control methods, sexually transmitted diseases with graphic pictures and honest conversations. In a somewhat polemic move, the principal of my school distributed condoms before carnival under the “better safe than sorry” guise. Throughout my entire high school life I had only seen two pregnant kids in my school. One was a transfer who was expelled from catholic school when the school found out she was pregnant. The other simply ignored everything we were taught. Sex talks in my house were always welcome and no question was ever censored. I was a lucky teenager armed with all prevention knowledge a teenager could have. The following high school year our biology curriculum focused on embryology and genetics. There was a hint of irony in the Sex Education -> Embryology/Genetics sequence that was lost in my teen mind… but I diverge.

Perhaps such emphasis on how to prevent led us to (erroneously) believe that having a baby was as easy as not using birth control, having a drink, and going to the back of a car. Two weeks later you would be hurling your breakfast and gushing over cribs while waiting for our bundle of joy to make an appearance. We “knew” exactly how to do it and how to prevent it! Ha! We knew nothing about making babies.

Throughout my twenties I obsessed with every period that was a mere couple of days late. How could this be? I was “never” late!! Tears were shared with best friends along with “what will I do now” conversations regarding children that never existed. As I applied myself towards two degrees, worked, interned, and maintained a social life, my life was blissfully child-free. I had all the time in the world and no hurry to fall in love, get married, and start a family. And I just “knew” that once I wanted to have kids all I had to do was toss the birth control aside. That’s what I was taught.

Many years later I met the love of my life. A cute, somewhat shy, and amazing man swept my rebel heart and I finally said “I do.” It wasn’t too long before we decided to have kids. And I did what I knew. On October 2010 I stopped taking the birth control pill and we decided to start trying on February 2011 following a microsurgery I had to undergo. Thus began the most brutally frustrating journey of our married life: Trying (unsuccessfully) to have a baby.  

The first month was disappointing. The second was a little better psychologically speaking. As we hit six months and not a single positive test, we started realizing this wasn’t as easy as we originally thought. My feelings ranged from disappointment, to frustration, to anger, to sheer numbness, until finally what I now call “hopeful desperation.” My husband’s feelings seemed to range from indifferent, to annoyed, to a bit frustrated, and now he seems to have joined me in the hopeful (though not yet desperate for him) train.

We hit the dreaded one year mark. We are looking for answers to questions we haven’t even formulated yet. We are hopeful for a smooth ending while ready for a bumpy ride. Whatever it will be it is our journey, but one that you are welcome to follow.