And I thought I was crazy before.

Four positive home pregnancy tests in the last 48 hours. Still doubting, and worrying that the Ovidrel shot is the culprit.

Have never wanted anything so much in my entire life.

Waiting for the doctor to call to confirm blood test.

Always waiting.

Stress and Perspective

This week I had my (our) 10th IUI procedure, coupled with a consultation with a nurse to discuss our next steps should this month be another disappointment.

I can't change the facts with positive thinking, or lifestyle adjustments: I have a roughly 15% chance of success if we go the IVF route. Spending around $12,000 on those odds seems not only irrational, but irresponsible. Yet how do I give up? This isn't working, and we don't have the luxury of more time at my age, nor the money, nor the mental fortitude to continue on this quest much longer. We came to the tentative decision that if this procedure fails as well, we will start the ball rolling to bring in my wife as the pinch hitter.

The universe, however, was not done taunting me this week. As I was being told to reduce the stress in my life (the doctor laughing a little at her own advice, commiserating at how impossible that is for anyone undergoing fertility treatments) and think positively, my job was "eliminated" at my company after sixteen years. Unlike many of my less fortunate coworkers, I was offered a lateral move within the company to a completely different position, which means I can still choose to have a paycheque. The choice was obvious given our hopes of continuing with treatments for either myself or my wife, so I'm grateful on a few levels. I escaped four previous rounds of layoffs unscathed, and have come out of the fifth better than most. To say that yesterday was stressful does not begin to describe the emotion of thinking I might be out of a job, then adjusting to the mindset of starting a totally different job, and then guiltily watching long-time friends exit the building for the last time.

I just can't wrap my head around the fact that I don't have any control over so many major aspects of my life. I can't control my infertility, and therefore can't control what the future definition of our family will be. I can't appear to control my body, which has betrayed me by steadily gaining weight over the last year of fertility drugs, depression and stress. And now I don't have control over what my job will be next week. I suppose you could argue these points, since I guess I have the option of choosing not to have children and to turn down the job offer, but I feel trapped.

This is not where I thought I would be at the age of 41. I'm trying to focus on what is important and good in my life, and maintain perspective on what is not, but that is harder than you might think.

My wife remains my saving grace, my support system, my family, my best friend, and the love of my life. I know that having this relationship makes me one of the luckiest people on the planet, since many will never know the joy of finding their "person". I just wish love could pay the clinic bills.

TTC - Tomorrow, Tomorrow

Another ungodly early day on Sunday showed two perfect follicles (whew), but one dangerously thin uterine lining. It was 0.55mm where in the past it had always been 0.83mm or more. 0.6mm is apparently the cutoff for continuing with an IUI cycle - another measurement to learn and obsess about. Another side effect of the drug that was supposed to be helping me to conceive.

That afternoon my wife and I drank champagne and ate far too many delicious, sugary carbs at a friend's bridal shower. Enjoy it while I can, I figured. The next morning, for the first time ever, I forgot to set the alarm. I was slow to wake, but when I poked my wife in the arm she bolted awake and asked what time it was. Seven o'clock, I said, at which point she gasped that we had to be at Mt. Sinai in fifteen minutes. I don't think either of us have ever moved so fast.

We were just ten minutes late, and the blood tech hit my vein on the first try. Dr. Arthur laughed when she took my measurements during the u/s. "What did you do in the last 24 hours?" she asked. "This is an incredible difference for one day, your lining is now 0.78mm. I'm not just saying this, it looks beautiful." We beamed, and the details of this cycle began to sink in. I had two perfect follicles of equal size and maturity, one on each side. This meant there would be no losing half the sperm as they swam up the "wrong" tube, because we had a ticket for both routes. The lining would support implantation, my levels were all where they should be, and this will surely be our best chance yet.

Make that our last best chance. I don't feel that I can continue to put my body, my brain, and my relationship through this process any longer. I also can't keep flying in a holding pattern at my job at a floundering company, feeling as though I can't search for something new when my hope is to be pregnant any day.

I can hardly focus on anything else aside from this process, and my emotions are all over the place. My wife called me over to the sofa where she sat last night, and cautiously expressed her excitement and intense desire for this cycle to work out. We held onto each other and talked about our dreams.

I was the last of my friends to marry, and I will (hopefully) be the last to become a parent. I have seen friends, coworkers, and some strangers in the news who should honestly have never been allowed to procreate, pop out babies like it was the most natural thing in the world. I have had to be supportive and excited while hiding my own jealousy as woman after woman I know announced her pregnancy. I am filled with fears, and doubts, and longing.

Tomorrow is the big day. I am setting myself up for the biggest heartbreak imaginable, but I must believe this is my time. Our turn. The beginning of the next chapter in our life together. I want my child to come into being in an environment filled with love, and happiness, and hope. And so I will treat this once again as a done deal, and believe that tomorrow we are making our baby.

Come on, little one, just get here. We're waiting for you.

TTC - The Final Countdown

"Aunt Flo" arrived right on time this month, just as she has every other month for as long as I can remember. Trying to keep one's expectations low means less opportunity for crushing disappointment at this news, but results in more of a constant, low-grade depression.

Last month was not the first time I told myself it would be the last time I would suffer the pain, inconvenience, and indignity of all the requisite fertility procedures. I said I needed a break and I meant it, but when my seemingly inevitable day 1 arrived, I had to make the choice of whether to call it into the clinic or not. Suddenly I began to feel anxiety at the thought of taking a break instead of relief, envisioning one of my poor little eggs making its journey with nothing there to meet it. This is the reality of being in a same-sex relationship: there will be no happy accidents. It would be another lost opportunity; the slimmest of chances that this will be the month. And so I called it into Mt. Sinai, as I have so many times over the last year and a half.

My day 3 ultrasound fell on a Saturday, as so many of my procedures do, and the Mt. Sinai clinic was packed. My appointment was strangely late, at 9:00, and we could barely find seats in the waiting room. We were uncomfortably close to those around us; two couples who had each shown up with needy toddlers. A woman across from us recognized an older gentleman sitting nearby and proceeded to have totally inappropriate, top-volumme conversation with him about what he and his partner were going through. He took pains to be polite, giving ever-shorter answers to her barrage of questions ("So, are you in the middle of IVF?"), but soon appeared to be completely absorbed in his child's video game as a means of avoiding the interrogation. Some people have zero ability to read others, and zero filters.

A very tall, large, and intimidating black woman appeared in the doorway, swinging her long braids and demanding to know who was still waiting for blood work. She then began pointing at people, stabbing the air and grunting, occasionally demanding to know their names. "YOU!" she would yell. "BLOOD?" she demanded, scowling. When she came to me and heard I needed bloodworm, she grunted and pointed at the hallway, which I had to assume meant I should follow her. She didn't smile, and didn't talk other than to point at the computer screen and say, "That you?". Bracing for the test, I was unsurprised when her painful jab missed my vein. While pulling the needle in and out of my arm, changing the angle of entry to spear the uncooperative vein, she finally asked, "Does that hurt?". I was practically in tears, but had to laugh as I responded with What do you think? Once I was done, my wife and I proceeded to watch as she repeated this exchange with other people. How did this woman ever get her job? Surely you still have to interview and be chosen in the medical field, just like with any corporate job? Or as a nurse are you simply given assignments? Does no one care whether you have the shittiest job performance imaginable? There doesn't appear to be any accountability at Mt. Sinai. How could there possibly be so many incompetent people, month after month, doing a bad job with an even worse attitude? It crossed my mind that it was a teaching hospital, but these people were far too old to be students, and there was certainly no instruction going on that I could see.

This ultrasound was our first introduction to Dr. Rebecca Arthur, who we'd been told would be taking over our case during Dr. Liu's mat leave. She seemed nice enough, and spoke with confidence. When I asked about the follicle count, she told me not to worry about it from month to month, as it would probably not vary much given my age and test results (FSH/AMH levels). I think she said there were four this time. I asked about alternative drugs, since I was feeling like the Clomid wasn't having much effect, and she said injectables were an option for about $1,500 - but would likely not have that different a result. What?! I couldn't really process that news. Wasn't that the next step for an actual IVF procedure? Wouldn't those be the "big guns"? She offered to up my Clomid dose to the maximum 150mg to see if that helped, and we agreed to go with that.

This time the side effects included the usual fatigue, increasing mood swings and bloating, but also threw in some new insomnia, daily headaches, and daily nosebleeds. All this, and yet know that it's important to maintain a positive, stress-free environment for yourself to maximize the chances of conception. 

As I go about my daily life, I can't help but wonder whether anyone has used fertility treatments as a reason for actions of temporary insanity in court.