ivf update: egg retrieval complete!

Update time! But first, thank you all so much for your supportive and loving comments, texts, emails and messages. You are the BEST people. I mean it, you guys kick ass! I was overwhelmed with gratitude by your response to my last post, whether from strangers wishing us well to people I had known for years confiding about their own struggles with infertility. While reading your comments here, as well as on Instagram and Facebook, I broke down and cried for the first time since beginning this process. Up until that point, I had tried to remain stoic. Your kindness and compassion opened up an entire floodgate of emotions. A friend joked it was the hormones and they may have been a contributing factor, but I also think it was because my silence over our hidden struggle was finally broken. There's so much silence with infertility; talking about it openly and freely has been liberating and therapeutic. No one should suffer in silence. No matter what the issue.

So let's talk...

Since my last post, I completed the remainder of the hormone injections (23 in total!) and last Thursday we had the egg retrieval. I was excited, nervous & anxious as all heck the morning of the procedure. Let me preface this by saying IVF is not for the faint hearted and your ladybits are not your own after a while. See evidence here. Thankfully, Scott was there to allay my fears and make me laugh. Seeing him in scrubs made my day especially! 

After changing into my peek-a-bum gown, Heather, one of the fantastic nurses at the clinic, gave me an Ativan to calm my nerves, hooked me to an IV with antibiotics and then led us into the procedure room. I felt a bit of pain during the procedure so they gave me additional pain meds and then, poof! everything was awesome. The retrieval took about 30 minutes because I had 27 follicles. Even when it comes to IVF, I'm an overachiever (; 

Once it was over, I went into the recovery area for about 90 minutes where I ate snacks and chatted with Scotty and Heather. At least that's what Scott tells me, I don't have any recollection of that conversation which is probably for the best. On our way home, I started to feel a bit woozy and ended up throwing up on our lawn and then three more times inside (this time I made it to the bathroom). I was also very sore, like I had done hundreds and hundreds of crunches. In reality, I have no clue what that actually feels like, har har. After taking an extra strength Tylenol, I crawled into bed and remained there in a coma-like state until later that night when I woke up craving bbq t-bone steak with blue cheese crumbles. In total, it took me four days to recover from the egg retrieval and its accompanying cramps, soreness and bloating. It pains me to say this, but sweatpants were my best pal during those days, along with my bubu bag. 

Egg retrieval was an interesting procedure to say the least. Interesting as in your girl was a drugged up loopy mess (see exhibit A. above). Oh, the things I said! Scott remembered them ALL. Here are a few for your reading pleasure:

• I sang/rapped 2Pac's Baby Don't Cry, specifically this line: "Even when the road is hard, never give up. Baby don't cry." 

• I named two particularly painful eggs after politicians I'm not particularly fond of: Harper and Prentice.

• I told the entire medical team, nurses Carrie and Megan, embryologist Ryan and Dr. Motan, that I loved them. Because that's how we do.

• When Dr. Motan left the room at the end of the procedure, I hollered, "Peace out, Motan!"

In the end, Dr. Motan was able to retrieve 21 eggs! Not bad for a geriatric patient. From those 21 eggs, 18 were mature and 16 fertilized. Yesterday we received the most wonderful news from Ryan: all 16 of our embryos made it to the blastocyst stage! We're so happy and relieved. Now, we'll wait for my body to return to a balanced state and a few cycles from now I'll start prepping for a frozen egg transfer. Our journey is only just beginning. {Backstory: because I was showing symptoms of ovarian hyperstimulation syndrome (OHSS) and had extremely high levels of estrogen, Dr. Motan decided it was best to do a freeze all, which means they freeze all retrieved eggs and do a transfer at a later date. When the nurse first told me, I burst into tears. Rationally, I knew it was the right thing to do, but my heart just wasn't quite there yet. After leaving the clinic, I talked it out with Scott and a few girlfriends, went to HomeSense in search of a rug, ate a DQ cookie dough blizzard and had a good night's sleep. By the next morning, I had made peace with it.}

You will get there when you are meant to get there and not one moment sooner. So relax, breathe and be patient. -- Mandy Hale

I'm going to take the next little while to take care of myself and prepare for the transfer -- exercise, acupuncture, volunteering, cooking, spending time with friends and family and continuing to blog about and Instagram the things that make me happy: fashion, style, interior design and decor, and food, of course, lots and lots of food. My life isn't just about trying to have a baby. And thankfully it never has been. There's so much I want to do, see & make. Plus, I have a 40th birthday to celebrate this Saturday! And that means cake. 

To anyone else going through this process, I wish you mountains of luck and a happy ending. Hang in there! And remember, you are stronger than you think. If you need someone to talk to, email me: dajanaf@yahoo.com. I'm here for you! xoxo

P.S. There are two Facebook support groups I highly recommend: IVF Support Canada and IVF Support, the international version consisting of women from the UK, USA, Canada and Australia, where British ladies sometimes pepper their sentences with words like fortnight and stone, to describe their weight. Cool ass language aside, both forums have been a godsend to me these past few weeks. I'm with my people (which is the way I felt when I went to my first NDP meeting, haha) and the women participating in both groups are strong, open, lovely and brilliant. If forums are more your thing, this one's helpful. Familiarize yourself with this handy abbreviation guide first. Best of luck! I'm rooting for you.

Walk Away Renee

A few years ago, I stumbled upon a song that I suddenly realized is forever part of my life's soundtrack.  When it came on the radio that day, I was instantly transported to my hometown's Main St. walking with friends, all of us wondering and anticipating, whether we admitted it to each other or not, about our future loves and yes... husbands.  Walk Away Renee is a haunting song about longing and loss, a beautiful piece of music with lyrics I never really understood on those blustery Main St. walks when March winds threatened to lodge grains of sand into our bright eyes.

This past week the fragile songwriter of Walk Away Renee, Michael Brown died.  His group, The Left Banke, recorded it.  I read Brown's most famous piece was based on the unrequited love he had at the time he wrote the lyrics.  That love was Renee, the girlfriend of The Left Banke's bassist.  The day the song was recorded, Renee was in the studio and Brown's hands shook so much he had to record his harpsichord pairing later and alone. The song is about teenage heartbreak so piquant, it can still make me cry.

Michael Brown's talent couldn't survive the music industry but from all accounts he was a gifted and sensitive songwriter - there are many unreleased songs that we won't hear now.  The year "Renee" was launched was star-blessed for music but The Left Banke's baroque pop song was so different for the times with its soaring refrains and melting melancholy .  What is even more remarkable is that Brown was only 16 when he wrote Walk Away Renee.  It takes major heartbreak to understand first love's hardest lesson and he poignantly captured our ardent wish to relive it, only to discover that the things on love's stage are really rather plain and ordinary.  Until Walk Away Renee's last strain, it hurts so good.  Or maybe I don't really know what he's talking about.

~

And when I see the sign that points one way
The lot we used to pass by every day

Just walk away, Renee
You won't see me follow you back home
The empty sidewalks on my block are not the same
You're not to blame

 (MetroLyrics)

 

Photo:  a greeting card an old love sent me, 1972.

staying hopeful through infertility

This may well be the most challenging blog post I've ever written. No, scratch that. It was fairly easy to write, but it took some time to gain the courage to hit the publish button. Thankfully, I'm braver today than I was a few years ago when infertility entered our lives like an unwanted house guest not willing to leave. It's important for me to share my story and help others learn that they aren't alone. By speaking out, I'm also hoping to lessen the stigma and shame associated with infertility.

The picture above is of me being my usual goofy self holding a model of a uterus with my feet up in stirrups in a waiting room at the Regional Fertility and Women's Endocrinology Clinic this past weekend. Scott and I were there to find out if, after trying for three years on our own, we were getting the green light to begin in vitro fertilization (IVF).  To pass the time, because there is a lot of waiting with infertility appointments, we took silly pictures. This is the only one you're allowed to see. I mean it (;

We did end up getting the go ahead from our doctor and I'm now the proud owner of more than a dozen needle marks on my stomach. That's the first part of the process: self administering hormones to stimulate the ovaries. I'm deathly afraid of needles so Scott, who I'm calling my hunky Florence Nightingale these days, has the job of jabbing me. I joke with him that his EMR training is finally paying off.  Secretly, my heart gushes with love for this man who supports and loves me and is so careful not to hurt me.

I'm not going to get into the entire process of IVF here, just know it's involved, invasive and expensive. It was a decision we took a lot of time to make and I'm glad we did. I don't feel like we're in limbo any more. When you're struggling with unexplained infertility, every month is an emotional roller coaster of hope and anticipation, followed by heartbreaking disappointment and frustration. With IVF, I'm trusting in my doctor and my body and letting the rest go. I haven't always been so zen about it but I've come to a place in my life where I've chosen to move forward with hope and positivity. I'm also using this breathing method to help me through my anxiousness during ultrasounds (which I now call dildo cam time, haha!).

Now more than ever, I'm grateful for the good people in my life. It means so much to get a phone call or text from a friend or family member simply asking, "How are you doing today D?" It makes me and Scott feel supported, loved and not so alone in all of this.

If you have a friend who is going through infertility issues, acknowledge how much it sucks and then hug, love and support them. They need you more than you know.

As for me, I have five more days of injections left until the egg retrieval process. Please send your positive thoughts and prayers. It's the one time in my life I'm asking for support. Not pity or sympathy, just love <3

Daisy Chain

My passion for daisies knows no bounds and I'm spotting the free-spirited perennial on nearly everything around me.  Yesterday I found a vintage silk scarf by famed scarf designer, Vera, peeking out from a basket of books at the junk shop near work.  It's so perfectly beguiling that I can't decide if it should be worn or framed.

Long the maligned filler in grocery store bouquets, the daisy seems to be bobbing its cheerful little head all over the place.  Or am I just imagining now that I'm a convert?  Pinterest has scads and scads of images of 1960's fashion when the daisy adorned everything from plastic ice buckets to Twiggy's headscarf above to rubberized swim caps.  I love seeing them on dresses and recall that a favorite of mine was encircled prettily at the empire waist with grass-green and white daisy rickrack straight from my grandmother's sewing basket. 

I noted that Carolina Herrera had daisies thriving on some of the most gorgeous dresses from her resort collection this past year.  Her flowers are dainty and ladylike with a charming d�j�-new nod to the past.  And each with a center of golden sun.

For me, I know it is the retro element that's so appealing. That, and the end of a long cruel winter where I long for the embracing arms of warm sun.  I resisted the daisy juice glasses I found on eBay last week but the Vera scarf was spring's siren call.  And whether it elevates my ancient navy trench  or graces the empty wall above my bed, has yet to be determined...

"Don't you think daisies are the friendliest flower?" ~ Kathleen Kelly, You've Got Mail

Cape Town

 

When I buy something online, I always like to read the reviews first.  They can tip you off to mistakes waiting to happen.  But most reviews I find, are quite positive.  Best of all, some of them are well-written - even engrossing, and like a good salesman, they have the power to make me feel better about plunking down my money.

 

Years ago, a local magazine advertised woolen capes for sale on their back pages.  Included with the pictures of the capes were endorsements, n�e reviews, from women who had bought the capes.  Every month, new reviews would appear and I loved what these cape patrons had to say.  One woman wore her red cape to church on Easter Sunday and the minister stopped to compliment her on his way to the pulpit.  Before too long, I wanted one.

 

I never did buy a cape from the purveyor in the magazine but one day while poking around an Irish wool shop, I spotted two very pretty ones, a black one with fur trim and a caramel-colored one with a detachable collar.  I tried each on and undecided, bought them both.  It was a splurge but seventeen years later, my capes are still serving me. 

 

Capes make wonderful early spring outerwear.  In New England, most women are ready to burn their coats in winter's effigy around March 1st but there is still plenty of cold weather left.  Capes bring a whimsical, carefree (and cozy) element without the bulk of a puffy down coat or tiresome lint-ridden black wool jacket.  Wearing a cape instantly gives off airy romanticism.  They are very chic but like hats, one must be brave to wear one.  It will draw attention - others will wish that they too, could pull it off.  Or so I've been told.  Over and over.  For seventeen years.

 

I am lucky to have a cape that belonged to my grandmother in my collection.  It's a rich brown and tan Harris tweed with leather trim.  I wouldn't be surprised if it was bought it in the 60's after the movie The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie was released.  Maggie Smith resurrected the cape in that film and it had a little heyday.  Some great capes from then can still be found in vintage clothing shops.  And what's more, they are often in great condition because, well...some women are just not brave.