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05/02/2004
Catch up
I haven't been writing much lately, so I'll cram several days' worth of posting into a single entry, with my apologies for the disorganized structure, every bit as scattered as my thought processes these days.
About a week ago, I sliced off a good quarter-inch of fingertip. It is very common for me to suffer various uncomfortable mishaps while I'm on Lupron; whether it's a side effect of the drug or a by-product of my general spacey distraction I do not know. This was the worst Lupron-related injury I've sustained — the bloodiest and the most painful, because at the time I was cutting up lemons.
I am assuming Paul is experiencing a twisted form of couvade, because yesterday, using the same knife, he sliced off a good quarter-inch of his fingertip.
There are people who say that if men could get pregnant, the human race would die out, as they'd never voluntarily endure the indignity and discomfort of childbearing — I believe the scholarly anthropological term for this theory is the God, Men Are Pussies Principle. Is there truth to it? I can't authoritatively say, but I must report that when Paul sliced his finger open, it required a trip to the urgent care facility to see whether it needed stitches. When I sliced mine, I put on a Band-Aid and went back to slicing lemons.
My Lupron period began four days ago. Normally I would have had a baseline scan and bloodwork done on cycle day 3, but my local clinic wasn't staffed this weekend. I'll go tomorrow on cycle day 5.
I wish I'd posted about this earlier, because a friend wrote to me saying she was similarly delayed and concerned. I was concerned, too, even after talking to a nurse about it, so I hit up my friends inside the computer for some reassurance.
Apparently it's pretty common to delay the start of gonadotropins — you can wait up to a week after the start of the Lupron period. This is often done solely for the sake of scheduling. If the Lupron is doing its job, nothing's going on in there worth worrying about.
If the Lupron is doing its job. If I have no cysts. Approaching the first hurdle!
I had a cinéma verité dream last night in which I intercepted a top-secret communiqué from my former RE to my current one. Leave it to my wack-ass psyche to turn this whole boring process into a cloak-and-dagger thriller, complete with techno soundtrack.
This is a boring process. I've been feeling enormously detached this time around, not from the results but from the everyday slog of it all. I've done a much better job this cycle of doing my daily injection and turning my attention to other more interesting pursuits. When you get right down to it, it's just a five-second stab out of a 24-hour day. Not even I can obsess that much.
So detached am I that every evening, right around 9 and sometimes after, I'm startled to realize what time it is. This is in sharp contrast to my past habit of waiting in the bathroom, needle poised, counting down the minutes until the golden moment of injection arrives.
This is new. To my surprise, I'm finding that I'm not as tempted to dramatically reduce my interests as I've done during past cycles. There are women who quit their jobs in order to focus their full attention on treatment, claiming IVF is a full-time job. I suppose it can be, but I'm more productive, closer to relaxed, and generally happier when I consider it a hobby, a sort of 21st century macramé.
As a result, I haven't had much to say lately. When I'm not dwelling, not indulging my own tendency to navel-gaze, I'm writing less. The fact is, at the moment I'm not feeling anything new.
At the moment, I feel I've already said everything important. Been there, whined about that. You already know what I'm like on Lupron (cranky, clumsy, bandaged). I've exhausted my stockpile of funny jokes, unless you haven't yet heard what the 0 said to the 8, in which case you're in for a treat. I've already claimed every fear in the book, and invented some new ones just to make sure you're paying attention. For now, the novelty of treatment has worn off, and so has my interest in talking about it.
This will change in days to come as I begin the injectables and the results from daily monitoring, discouraging or exciting, begin to roll in. If nothing else, I'll be at a new clinic, with new doctors to develop a ferocious attachment to, new phlebotomists to fear and loathe, new examination rooms to redecorate. For now, if I'm quiet, please just assume it's business as usual. Boring old business as usual.
I have been getting my affairs in order.
I wanted to take care of some household obligations before I leave for New York. Since I don't know how long I'll be gone, I felt I should not leave certain things to chance. In the last two weeks I have:
- painted my office a glowing yellow-orange — approximately the cheerful color of pasteurized process American cheese food
- installed a new floor in said office, with Paul's able-bodied assistance, a big hammer, and plenty of swearing
- taken a truckload of old clothes and housewares to Goodwill
- cleaned out four huge flowerbeds and mulched same, skillfully avoiding touching anything that looks even remotely like an egg sac or larvae
- fed bulbs, fed plants, deposited biological controls against grubs, assured environmentally friendly but certainly painful death to slugs, and rendered tender spring plants unpalatable to deer
- planted two shrubs and six perennials, although the rule of thumb is that you don't plant in the Northeast until after Mother's Day
- requested and acquired an estimate for scraping and painting the exterior doors, windowframes, and garage doors
- scheduled an appointment to take the car in for maintenance — but cleverly timed so that Paul has to do the actual dropoff and pickup
- bought and sent a Mother's Day present to my mom
Before I leave I intend to:
- pay whatever bills come in between now and my departure
- have a pedicure, because I consider making my feet lovely the equivalent of girding my loins for battle
- bake a batch of brownies, some to leave here, most to take with me
- have a lot of sex, both to make up for lost time and to replenish reserves of husbandly good will
I am a very busy woman.
Today is Mollie's baby shower, lovingly planned by Kendra. If you'd like to see what I sent Mollie, you can check it out here.
Comments (8)
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Throw out that knife.
The tie-dying is not only gorgeous, but so very appropriate for their new hometown. She'll be the coolest baby on the block!
Now I must get off my butt and out of my pyjamas because your hard work has inspired me(ok made me feel guilty, but guilt and fear are the only things I respond to) to do some work around the house.
GL & BW in NY. Can't say it any better than your charming M & D.
Knife is Possessed. Most definately get rid of it.
Glad to know I'm not the only one in a state of blah. Also happy to hear about extended suppression being a common practice. Whew.
Onesies are precious.. I knew you were talented, but that, my dear, is clothing art I'd pay money for! Precious.
Those onesies rock. You are soooo talented.
I'm very excited for you to start.
I'm glad to hear your update - though you may think it mundane. Most of us do enough mundane that we actually take interst in others' blah.
I'm so proud of you for keeping up your regular life. It is a challenge of the highest order. I know because I caved over the past 24 hours and became a slave to the tug-of-war going on between my Hope Addict and reality. Reality won. But I am so glad that I have a desk full of work to come back to - and numerous chores, to boot. So, rock on with your bad, IVF-ignoring self.
The tie-dyes are GORGEOUS. I'm jealous. I want tie-dyed overalls for ME.
I'm also jealous of your productivity. I always have the best of intentions, but things never really pan out like I intend. I mean to stencil the dining room over the weekend, and instead I spent three hours fiddling with the computer, took two extra naps, and watched that "10.5" dreck on tv last night.
Wow... Tie dye! What kind of dye did you use to get colors that vivid? Gorgeous!
Julie: This time it IS different. Please try to erase from your mind your past history of failures. They don't count. Pretend it's your very first IVF. I'm not just saying that as some weird psychological-biofeedback BS. I truly believe it. Why? Because:
1) Cornell has the best lab. PERIOD.
2) Cornell has the best stim protocols. PERIOD.
3)It does matter where you go. I've seen and read enough to believe this: most of the time at other clinics (in the words of the great Al Franken) : THEY JUST MAKE SHIT UP.
4) I have two patients that had had 9 failed IVF's between the two of them. They finally went to Cornell, got pregnant AND delivered.
So please Julie, forget your sordid past. Pretend you're a fertility virgin again.
As an aside, how do you guys say no to baby showers, without looking like sour grapes, even though that is the case? I just went to particularly painful one this weekend: You know a fellow simultaneous IVF'er who got pregnant. You know one with quotes such as :"Well, I just think changing tables are overrated" . You know the one where a woman who turnes to me and asks me if I have children. No, I say. At which time, she turns away from me. Can we MAYBE talk about something else? God I sound pathetic. So how do you do it ? 'Coz I'm certainly not going to torture myself like that again. Or do I "just say no" as I sometimes do to drugs?
Thanks, y'all, for the kind words about the tie-dye. Lori, I use Procion's line of fiber-reactive cold-water dyes.
Julia, you and I can be partners in denial! I'm glad you have some work to keep you busy I find I'm about fifty times happier when I have something real to distract me from myself.