Maybe a female anatomy lesson is in order?

The nurse at my R.E.'s office is a moron. (Her Kate Gosselin reverse mullet should have clued me in, but I try not to judge people based on their hairdos). Anyway, correction: I do NOT have 48 embryos. What she meant to say was that my donor gave up 48 mature FOLLICLES. 


You'd think maybe a nurse at a fertility clinic would know the difference... MAYBE??


Anyhow, I'm not gonna hate on her for that because even still, we now have 30 EMBRYOS. According to my new calculations that works out to a thousand bucks per embryo. Still a bargain, right?


Transfer most likely to happen Tuesday. This weekend I plan to do as little as possible; lounge around a lot in sweats, take the dog for his last major run with his momma, get a bikini wax in preparation for the big show, and think peaceful, fertile, zen-like thoughts. 

Like a hen on speed

So Tuesday I get a call from my R.E.'s office. My donor is in town for her retrieval and they just wanted to call to tell me that, ya know, after her ultrasound they counted 82 eggs. 


Eighty-Two. EGGS. 


Kinda leaves my sorry-ass, 5-egg-bearing ovaries in the dust.


After I picked my jaw off the floor and administered the smelling salts, my doctor informed me that it's OK, it's not all that unusual (huh?), she's doing fine, and that we should get a good 20 or so mature, usable eggies out of this batch. 


Well, today was the retrieval and fertilization and.... are you ready for this? We have, ya know, 48 embryos. 


Forty-Eight. EMBRYOS.


Not surprisingly, since I got off the phone with this latest news flash my head's been spinning. It really hits home now, I will be pregnant from this cycle. I mean, even if, God forbid, this transfer doesn't take, we'd have like, 20 more chances. I'm liking my odds.


(On a side note... I'm suddenly feeling like I got my money's worth. I mean, at $30,000 a cycle that works out to about $625 per embryo. Whata bargain!)


But seriously, aside from feeling relieved, I'm just so grateful right now. Grateful to my donor, grateful to my doctor, grateful to God almighty.


We haven't crossed the finish line yet, but it sure feels a hell of a lot closer.

Big Screw Up

I've never been that great at managing my calendar. Usually when I make a new commitment, it goes something like this: I have a mini-moment of excitement over it, vow to lock it in my memory (because, you know, it's so important that I couldn't possibly forget about it so why bother writing it down), and then resume whatever activity I was already doing. The problem is I have supremely crappy short-term memory. So things inevitably get forgotten. Like ICLW.


So I forgot that ICLW fell during Thanksgiving week. And I forgot that we were taking the week off to drive to Washington to be with relatives. And I forgot that I don't have a laptop. (Actually, that last point I didn't so much forget as just fail to acknowledge.)


What I'm trying to say is this: I screwed up. If I didn't leave you a comment during ICLW it's because I didn't leave anyone a comment, and I didn't leave anyone a comment because I didn't read any blogs, and I didn't read any blogs because I was stuffing turkey and playing Scattergories. Bottom line: My bad, and I apologize. If you still left my sorry-ass a comment, then thank you; you're a better woman than I. Now if you'll excuse me I've got a ton of catching up to do.

Sorry and yes, I'm still alive.

Seven months is an awful long time to let a blog collect dust. I literally had to claw my way thru the muck to find it, buried deep beneath a huge pile of illegible 1s and 0s. I started this thing 2 years ago with the best intentions, but like many things in my life, it eventually got neglected. Sometimes it's the same way with TTC. I'll go months where I'm all about the healthy living, acupuncture, and prenatal vitamins. Then I'll get so discouraged and just say to-hell-with-it-all and break open the nearest bottle of tequila. Such has been my margarita-marinated summer.


But it hasn't been all parties and rock salt. You see, our goal for the past several months has been to raise money for the Last Bastion of ART: the donor egg cycle. This alone has taken much discipline, patience, and heartache, considering we needed to save $30,000. Let me repeat that figure for those of you out there cuddling your free babies: thirty-thousand dollars. Our child isn't even a zygote in a petrie dish yet and we've already spent his first year's college tuition.


But please don't let me get all caught up in my pitty-party, because we all know that is a slippery slope and I'm wearing banana peels for shoes. **INSERT DEEP CLEANSING BREATH HERE**.


Instead, I'd like to elaborate on how exciting this process is for me. For the first time in 6 years, I feel like getting pregnant is actually a true possibility, instead of just a far-off pipe dream. My donor is picked. I'm on birth control pills, and our cycles are coordinating across state lines. My RE actually asked me which hospital I'd like to deliver in. As in a baby. She says I've got to start thinking about these things because SOON I WILL BE PREGNANT.


It's time to dust off the ole optimism and leave the neglect for the tequila shooters.

I got nuthin'

So, obviously I haven't written anything here for quite a while. And it hasn't been because I don't want to. Or I forgot about it. It's just this plain, simple fact: I've been digging deep to unearth any recent fertility musings and guess what? I got nuthin'.


Rather than bore you with the other mundane facts of my life, I've stayed mum. But I've still been lurking here and there. And I'm glad to report that most of you aren't as boring as I am.


I guess if you put a gun to my head and said "spill it, Wannabemommy!!" I'd have to tell you about the book I just finished, Making Babies. Most people might think I'm into porn from the sound of the tawdry title, but I know you guys get me. This one was co-written by an acupuncturist and renowned reproductive endocrinologist. Even though I can appreciate the balanced point of view, I was pretty sure there wasn't anything new for this ole veteran to learn. Well, I was wrong. Take for instance their advice to douche before luv-making. (Good God, I said douche.) Seems that some women harbor a slightly acidic environment in their lady-parts, and douching with an alkaline solution of baking soda and water might be enough to shift them over to the baby-friendly side. Stranger things have happened. 


All this got me thinking about my own pH balance. I've read before how some doctors believe that over-acidity is at the root of all disease, and that if we can just achieve optimal pH balance, we'd be completely healthy (and fertile?). So last night I ran to the store and bought some litmus paper. Since then, I've turned my body into a living science experiment, constantly spitting and peeing on the stuff. (I guess I never got enough of 8th grade biology class). The verdict? My own pH level runs anywhere from a horrid 5.5 to a healthy 7.5, depending on the breeze, I guess. Once, I got creative and actually peed and spit on the stuff at the exact same time. The two results were about a point apart. I'm either completely mad or on the verge of a major scientific breakthrough.


So that's my boring, slightly insane life lately. Bet you're sorry you put that gun to my head, aren't ya?

Day One Curse Strikes Again... or does it?

First off, let me just apologize for my long absence from the blog scene lately. I can blame it on the holidays, right? Those pesky holidays, taking me away from what I should really be doing: bitching over the internet to my imaginary friends. 


Speaking of the holidays, mine were great, thank you very much. Christmas is all about children, right? So instead of staying home, staring at my tree and wishing my dog was a baby that I could dress up and plop on Santa's lap, the hubby, my mom, and I travelled to a far off land to spend with a real, live kid: my 5-year old nephew in Texas. (It was just a lucky coincidence that this also involved visiting my sis and bro-in-law). We had a blast watching the Nutcracker, tearing open presents, decorating a gingerbread house... and then dropping a gingerbread house ass-end up on the living room rug. I guess booze + loud Christmas carols + dancing around stoopidly while carrying said gingerbread house to the fridge = minor yuletide disaster. Mental note taken and filed away for next year. 


New Year's Eve was equally memorable. We spent it frolicking in the snow at our friend's home in Lake Tahoe, one of my favorite places on earth. So what if 2 of the 3 women staying with us were pregnant, more champagne for me, right? I'm still patting myself on the back for surviving the pre-natal yoga class we all went to on new years day. Maybe I was still drunk, because I actually—are you ready for this?—enjoyed it. I feel like I've turned a corner, folks. I'm actually happy to be around pregnant women. Not like I'm some weirdo stalker who follows them around on the street or anything. It's just that, if I actually want to be one someday, maybe I shouldn't avoid them like the plague, ya know? I recently finished reading Pulling Down the Moon, and it's all natural-yoga-acupuncture-meditate-your-way-to-pregnancy type stuff, which I'm really down with, don't get me wrong. It's just hard sometimes to walk the walk and not just talk the talk. So one of my new years resolutions is to just let it go.... the jealousy, the heartache, the need to control. And to just BE HAPPY. That's what my grandma Caroline always said, BE HAPPY. Of course, she gave birth to 13 babies. Go figure...     


Anywho.... I wanted to tell you all it's cycle day 1, and you know what that means... some random friend is sure to pop out of the woodwork and announce her pregnancy. (I really do have special powers in this category as evidenced here and here.) I honestly thought there were no girlfriends left. Then I had to go and email an old work colleague. I know, I asked for it, and lo and behold she's five months preggars. But you know what? I wasn't even sad. Ok, I felt about a nanosecond's worth of a jealous twinge, but then... just happy. Happy because another beautiful, innocent baby is soon to enter the world. Happy because my friend is excited beyond belief about the imminent miracle to enter her life. Happy that it is happening to someone, somewhere. Happy that these pregnant women seem to be circling around me; slowly closing in until the baby dust finally settles my way.


And happy that, for once, I just might have a new year's resolution worth keeping.