Shots, shots, shots. 

Not exactly the type of shots I was thinking of, but how the times have changed. Above is the listing of what I’ve been doing since 10/13. Excuse the sloppiness, I have three different tracking lists. Crazy, yes. Obsessed that I’m going to goof something up, YES!

So far this week I’ve had an UltraBlood combo Sunday, at 7:15am, over 45 minutes away from where we live. Funnnnnn. The woman that was doing my blood work couldn’t find the vein in my left arm, so she fished around for a while, but was kind enough to ask me “does this hurt?” My response, “after inejcting yourself every night you kind of become numb to needles.” Which is the truth, it didn’t hurt, and I’m a human pincushion. Eventually she withdrew the needle and over to the right arm she went. Had my ultrasound, and it was time to drive home. Again, Monday morning, I had another UltraBlood. The heat wasn’t on in the office yet as I had the first appointment, so that made the ultrasound that much more comfortable. Went over had my blood drawn, and that was that! 

My dose on Sunday was reduced, and it’s been down to 75 of the Gonal F since then. I return for another UltraBlood combo tomorrow. The bruising on my stomach has almost completely disappeared. I still have little scars, but I am hoping that they heal or at least fade, right now it just looks like I have random brownish colored pin dots on my belly. 

Last night while puttering around on Pinterest, I discovered this gem:

I’m about one more injection away from bursting. I have seven follicles that are measuring, meaning that they are 14+. Until today I haven’t really given much thought about what could be happening over the next few weeks. 

Here are my top 5 concerns…these are providing that everything goes smoothly, and there aren’t any unforeseen changes. 

  1. Anesthesia at the egg retrieval. I’ve never had any. Ever. I’ll be in a twilight sleep, sounds all sparkly (hehehe,) but this is really bothering me.
  2. That this is considered a surgery. That freaks me out. Again, I’ve never had surgery. So now we are taking two things I’ve never had done, and I’m getting both done, at once, on the same day.
  3. That I have to actually have the embryo transfer. Sounds ludicrous, but hear me out. Isn’t those little containers/Petri dishes or whatever they are stored in, they are safe. They are growing. They are, truly alive. Once the transfer happens, that can change. Once the two embryos are transferred into my body, they can not take. 😱 …and there’s a chance of this, a pretty decent chance. (Please don’t tell me to be optimistic. Obviously, if we didn’t want a baby we wouldn’t be doing any of this. I have to stay level headed. I have to know the statistics and keep them in mind. I can’t be blind to the fact that I can leave that office pregnant after the transfer, and then shortly thereafter, learn that we aren’t. 
  4. The 10-12 day wait to find out if we are actually pregnant. 
  5. Nothing takes. By that, I mean the fertilization doesn’t work, and we have to do this all over again. (Again, I’m fully aware that there’s a very probable chance of this.)


Disclaimer 1: I wrote this on 5/16/2016, the night before my beta blood test. I’m posting it the afternoon of 5/17, because…shit happens, it is what it is, and someone else is going through the exact same thing at this moment.

Disclaimer 2: This post is raw, laced with curses, emotionally draining, and graphic. 
Read on with your tissues close by.
The entire weekend, I felt like shit. You know what I’m talking about, that all encompassing crappy feeling, where everything seems to be off. I chalked it up to the test that was looming in the not so far off distance. And I slept, God did I sleep, just not at night when I’m supposed to. 

Saturday came and went with epic nausea and fatigue. Sunday, I went and got breakfast, came home put my pajamas back on, and stayed in them all day. I hardly slept Friday night, and Saturday night I can’t even say that I logged more than 4 hours. It was almost a relief when Sunday night rolled around, and I was utterly zonked. I attribute that to the lack of sleep from the prior two days, and the shitty feeling.

Monday rolls around. Noticed that I am feeling almost completely un-puffy, YAY! Get to work, get settled in, and the first few hours are unlike any other. Between the hours of 9am-12:15 I had a large coffee and two bottles of water, by that point in time my bladder is going to explode. Literally run to the ladies room. I’m bleeding. A lot. I don’t freak out. I don’t cry. I go into a muted ballistic rage. After telling myself “get your shit together,” I take an additional minute, not realizing that the scalding water while washing my hands was making me forget the previous few minutes. Get back to my desk, text DH, and feel my eyes start to well up. Escape to eat lunch with a friend, while voraciously texting my DH, my mom, and my MIL; ohhhh yes, and my doctor.

Why my doctor? Well let’s see, I’m supposed to go for a blood test tomorrow, but I clearly have my period. I know, I know, I  know. It could be implantation bleeding. Or, I could be one of those women who still gets her period during the first month or two of the pregnancy. 

I know all of these things could be true.  

I know that this is not what’s happening. 


Also, my period is like clockwork. Per my app (yeah, there’s an app for that,) I’m not supposed to get my period until Friday. This app, by the way, is always correct; I stand corrected, if anything the app occasionally might be a day ahead of when I actually get it. So….mom, please look away…what the actual fuck is going on? 

The rest of the day it was almost as though I was having an out of body experience. Maybe it was more that I was truly dazed and confused. I compulsively start searching “13dpIUI and bleeding” and read everything that comes up. Screw work at this point. I’m angry. No crying, and there are no tears. I am just mad. 






Then, the shuffle on my iPhone plays “Rise Up” by Andra Day. Tears start welling up and I find myself struggling to control my breathing. But I haven’t yet broken; no tears have actually fallen. Lady Gaga’s “Til It Happens To You,” comes on. Cue the silent tears which start to trickle down my face. (iPhone shuffle clearly was trying to ruin me.) Briskly wipe them away, walk to the ladies room, blow my nose, cry into the tissue, and again tell myself  more firmly, “get your shit together.” 

By some miracle, the afternoon flies. My doctor still wants me to go for the blood test. If I was as ostentatious as I always think I am, I’d have replied back with “why bother?” but instead said “ok.” I get home, drop my stuff on the table, and immediately there is my DH wrapping me up in a hug, holding me so tightly that he knows if he lets go, I’m going to fall apart. Nothing is said. We know how we each feel, it’s all over our faces, and what is there to say? It didn’t work. We didn’t get our hopes up, we knew the chances, and the statistics. But at this single point in time I realize, we did all of these extra and additional things to boost our chances, and we still failed. There was then a tear, a single tear that was shed. 

So almost 3.5 hours later, I’m sitting here sobbing. It has hit me. It’s kind of like this. You are handcuffed, tied, and chained to a temporary wall that is stationed dead center on train tracks. (I clearly have some underlying obsession with trains.) You know that train is coming. You know there’s not a damn thing you can do about the fact that it is going to come hurling down those tracks and pulverize every single inch of your body. That is what it feels like. A little over dramatic, probably, but I’m entitled to feel however the hell I want. It’s amazing that you are prepared for the worst, and then what you thought was the worst, gets worse. How does that happen? 

Right now, I feel eviscerated. 
Infertility: 1       

Us: 0

All Aboard The Crazy Train

Time: 1:22am

Date: 5/15/2016

I fell asleep last night with my book in my hands. One might say I was tired! 

Fast forward to present time, see above, where I wake up out of a dead sleep. The first thought was distinctly lucid and clear:  “I’m pregnant.” 

Now boarding the Crazy Train…🚂

Any other night during this two week wait where I’ve woken up my first thought, while heavily clouded and definitely less than half alert has been more of a plea: “it’s what time? please please please let me fall back asleep!”

Here’s where I will hand over my boarding pass to the crazy train. 

  • Throughout all of this, I’ve never thought I was pregnant. 
  • I woke up on my back with my right hand on my stomach. (I have NEVER slept like that before. Ever.
  • I have only allowed myself a handful (count less than 5,) of times to think “if I am pregnant…”
  • Why in the middle of sleeping did I bolt upright and have THAT thought? 
  • One can’t will herself to be pregnant; is this what I am doing? 
  • I was going to vomit, not from the thought but because it seemed like there was a gymnastics team doing their floor routine on my stomach. Slowly walked to the bathroom. 
  • I sat in the bathroom on the side of the tub. Thankfully, didn’t vomit…but gagged a few times. 
  • Assured myself I was ok, and then paced for 10mintues while holding a HPT. I didn’t take it. Call it willpower or sanity check but I shoved it back in the box. (Or me knowing deep deep down under 5 million other layers that I’m not pregnant…) 
  • My face has broken out over the past week. A breakout for me means about 4-5 pimples, I just DO NOT ever get them. It has thoroughly annoyed me.
  • Googled early pregnancy symptoms. Specifically “two weeks pregnant symptoms.” I’m not an idiot, I know the first tell tale sign is a missed period, but we are 5 days ahead of that. Of the 23 that were listed, I could easily check off 13. These checks aren’t “stretches,” they’re truly everything I’ve been experiencing. (Above bullet, yes, breakouts can be a sign.) 

If that list about doesn’t make you think I’ve comfortably settled into my seat of the Infertility Express Railway, keep your head in the clouds. 

Usually, I’d have fallen back asleep by now. It’s now 1:54am. While I am laying here typing this, don’t think for a minute it would keep me awake. If narcolepsy was a profession, I’d be one of the most highly sought after sleepers in the world. This can be confirmed by my DH, parents, siblings, and college roommates. I’ve slept through hurricanes, trees falling on the roof, and fire alarms. I have 3 alarms for workdays, and every morning when they go off, they scare the Be-Jesus out of me. Truly, it’s like a full blown panic attack. Also, I still have that I’m going to vomit feeling. 
WHAT is going on with me?!?
*this post was written at 1:22am, and was posted to the site at 8:58am.