Eli's Corner


the x factor

Had my appointment with the new doctor today.  She asked me some medical history questions that nobody had asked me before.  Turns out it may be important that my mom hit menopause in her 30s.  A) It could mean that I’m moments away from menopause myself, and B) it could mean that if I were to give birth to a male child he would have “developmental delays” (translated: autism and/or mental retardation….I know they don’t say that here in Canada…I guess they say -well- “developmental delays” but I had to look it up since I don’t fully speak Canadian yet). Owing primarily to B, they are not letting me do IUI again until I get more genetic testing – which I rushed in to do today in hopes the results come back before day one of my next cycle.  I don’t even really want to give this too much airtime, as I think it will result in nothing.  My brothers and nephews are all ship-shape on the development front, so it doesn’t seem to be running amuck in my family.  Still scary though, even if you don’t think it’s going to be the case.

The good news is that with Synthroid my thyroid level is now 1.6 – in the ballpark of where it should be.  Also, I asked if it meant anything that IUI worked for me once before, and she said yes, that she would not recommend that I move to IVF because she thinks my chances are good with IUI.  Recommended trying it a couple more times before trying anything else.

The thing they’re testing me for is called Fragile X, I believe.  It sounds like something from a Bond film.  And I’d say the fragile bit sums up my state today after some good news, some scary news, more not knowing, and more waiting.  Oh, also she reiterated how rare my miscarriage was (what with the genetic normalcy) and did another quick ultrasound.  My uterus, apparently, looks fantastic.  Also my lining is top notch.  (I swear I get more compliments on my uterine lining.  It must be like super hot.)  Which all of course means that the miscarriage is still a great big mystery.  Head down, keep plodding forward.  Start crying in the hallway at the children’s hospital where they send you to get your bloodwork, pull yourself together, head down, move forward.


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re-entering the ring (think Rocky, bleeding out his eyelids, screaming, “Adrian”)…it’s about like that

So H2 is not pregnant either.  And I have an appointment with a new fertility doctor tomorrow.  (I followed my old doctor to a new clinic for this last round of IUI, but they’re not organized yet, and since they don’t have their own pharmacy, they don’t have access to Puregon due to a national shortage which does not affect the old clinic on account of it having stockpiled the stuff in its pharmacy.  [My mother would be appalled at that run-on sentence.  {I think it’s technically correct, but it’s very bad form.}])  I must be using grammar as a defense mechanism.  Puregon was what worked for me before – got me three decent follicles, whereas with this round, using Gonal-F, I only had one solid one…the nurse explained to me that it could have been just chance, but as this process makes one crazy, I just want to replicate the conditions of the first IUI round as much as I can.  I would recite the pledge of allegiance backwards while hopping on one foot if I thought it would help.  Anyways, so I’m going back to the clinic I was at before (which was my second fertility clinic…there have been three now).

After this double defeat with H2, I’m less hopeful about this next round, but I don’t know what else to do.  This is my year to try everything I possibly can, so I’m trying again as soon as they’ll let me.

H2 is nearing the end of her ability to continue with this.  Of course there is the psychological and emotional toll that 8 years of this will take out of a person, and then there are also financial concerns with continuing to try – because in case you didn’t know, this is hella expensive.  And of course I feel like if she is to quit, I want it to be because she feels that she must quit, not because of stupid money.  So I’m afraid I filled her inbox with fundraising ideas and promises to leverage all of our friends and my fundraising know-how to make this happen.  Poor girl, like she needs to deal with my excessive fundraising enthusiasm at a time like this.  But somehow focusing my thinking on figuring out a way to help come up with $10-$20k to either fund IVF or a second adoption seems like a lifeline to me.  That to me seems totally doable.  Healing H2’s body is sadly out of my reach, but money…I just feel like that’s something I could work with.  We’ll see where they’re at and what they decide to do, but if I get the go-ahead, expect to see a crowd-sourcing fundraising page popping up here and to hear me begging you to jump on board.  You’ve been warned.

And then, all deflection aside, I’m just sad.  Very sad.  This dream that was at one point so close for each of us seems to be slipping farther and farther away.  I’m tired, and I am sad.

My counsellor says all I need is to know that I can do this next round – that I don’t need to burden myself with anything beyond that point.  So I’m trying to just think that far, and yes, I can do one more round.

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I got my period on Friday and had my due date on Saturday.  I survived them both.  Not elegantly, but I survived.  That’s about all I want to say about that.

Except that my husband brought me flowers and a bottle of Prosecco on Friday.  And he climbed a hill to say goodbye with me on Saturday.  He’s one of the good ones.  The kind of guy a girl wants to make babies with.

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forget everything i said

It doesn’t work.  Distracting yourself.  I mean, yes, it’s good to distract yourself, but unless it’s coupled with some kind of grounding exercise, you’ll end up sobbing into your pillow a lot, second-guessing everything you do and going through a Costco box of pee sticks before you reach day 13.  (So I’ve heard.)

People around you try to be understanding, but unless they’ve lived it, they have no clue how profoundly this process obliterates you over and over and over again.  There is no piece of you that it doesn’t get to.

Today I read something that enabled me to get out of bed (after a longer time in there than I care to admit):

“Be gracious to me…for I am in distress;

my eye wastes away from grief,

my soul and body also.

For my life is spent with sorrow,

and my years with sighing;

my strength fails because of my misery,

and my bones waste away…

I have become like a broken vessel…

But I trust in you, O Lord;

I say, ‘You are my God.’

My times are in your hand…

Blessed be the Lord,

for he has wondrously shown his steadfast love to me

when I was beset as a city under siege.”

-from Psalm 31