Eli's Corner


waiting for the inevitable


Three at-home BFNs, menstrual cramps, zero pregnancy symptoms – even all the fake progesterone-induced ones I had are now gone.  Waiting for either AF or the blood test results to be posted.  I want them to be posted today so that I can drink all the wine in the world and fall apart tonight because tomorrow night I have a birthday party to go to and Sunday is Thanksgiving with the in-laws.

I’m 99% sure I’m not pregnant, but that 1% is enough to keep me taking pills and horrible hormones and not having the drink I so desperately want right now.

I don’t suppose I have to tell you that I’m heartbroken.  That if any IUI were going to work, it should have been this 4-follicle IUI.  That it’s now beginning to hit me that this, legitimately, is not working.  That the pregnancy on the first IUI is starting to feel like it must have been some kind of fluke.

My 35th birthday and the 3-year mark of undergoing fertility treatments are looming before me in the next couple months.  I had them test for AMH when they were taking my blood yesterday.  That will hopefully give me a sense of whether or not I’m following in my mother’s extremely early menopause footsteps.

Even as the pressure of time is bearing down on me, I’m realizing that my mind, my ovaries and my emotional self can’t take on another round right now.  And the next round will be IVF.  And I think it’ll just have to be next year.




My sisters, I have a few things to confess to you on this rainy afternoon, the second day of what is approximately my 30th two week wait:

1. I don’t feel like this is going to work.  I try not to admit that to myself, in case the negative thoughts chase the sperm away, or in case I discredit God with my lack of faith, but this is confession, so I’m telling you.

2. I don’t know if I’m as strong as you are.  Some of you have been doing this for ten years.  Some of you have lost many babies. Some of you have done multiple rounds of IVF.  I don’t know how you keep going.  I truly don’t.  I feel like I’m reaching my end here.

3. I’m afraid of IVF.  The doctor has told us this should probably be our last round of IUI.  I was really hoping not to go on to IVF.  I’m afraid of the retrieval process.  I’m afraid of having unused embryos.  I’m afraid of the investment – financial, emotional, and physical.  I’m afraid of taking more drugs.  I’m afraid of getting cancer or having a heart attack because of all the drugs I’ve already been taking.

4.  I’ve come to identify with being infertile.  There’s a sick part of me that feels resistant to let it go.  Not because I like it – I hate every bit of it.  It’s more about other people than me – I feel like if I were to get pregnant now, the agony I’ve been living will be summed up as, “Oh yeah, it took her a couple years to get pregnant.”  Somehow I want my pain to be important enough.  I feel like I want something to show for this which will elicit what I feel to be an appropriate response for how much it continues to end me…which is unfortunate, because the very definition of this is having nothing to show for it.  Getting your pain legitimized in the court of public opinion is, I imagine, a poor substitute for happiness.  But this is confession, and this is one of the slimy things squirreling around in my brain.

5.  I want to complain.  These things aren’t a really big deal, but this is confession, and I want to complain that it took the nurse multiple attempts to get the catheter into my cervix, and I was still hurting a day later.  I want to complain that my tummy is still bruised and sore from all my injections.  I want to complain that the progesterone suppositories make me feel like I hate everybody and everything.  And that they make me feel pregnant.  I want to complain that I have to take a million pills and avoid all kinds of food and drink and duck and weave in conversations all the time to avoid topics that will make me cry.  I want to complain that so much of my hair has fallen out from my thyroid medication that I now self-consciously side-part and fluff it every day.  I want to complain that I’m almost as afraid of being pregnant as I am of not being pregnant.

Enough.  I know you will understand, and I thank you for it.


trigger tomorrow

Two, possibly four follicles.  I’ve got two big ones and two medium-sized ones.  They’re having me hold off until tomorrow to do the trigger shot to give the smaller two a chance to grow – hopefully enough to where they’re in the running come IUI time, which is Saturday morning.

They typically don’t do an IUI with four follicles, but my doctor says in my case, it’s time to start taking more risks.  I agree.  This is my seventh round of fertility drugs, and apparently they had to nearly triple my dose because my body is developing a resistance to them.  Oh goody.  (It would be great if I could just talk it out with my ovaries and let them know that this whole getting tired thing is costing me an extra $600 this round, and that I’m totally going to give them a break soon, promise, and maybe they could just push through?…Well, hell, while I’m at it, I’d like to politely ask my uterine lining to go ahead and leave all the other organs alone.)

When the nurse handed me the bag with my trigger shot stuff this morning, she smiled at me and said, “I hope I never see you again.”  The thought completely took me aback.  Wouldn’t that be something?

just for fun


photo 5

This is my daily pill intake. (Not pictured is the pergo pin with which I give myself 6pm injections when I am on cycle, or the morning-and-evening herb packages I take when I’m off cycle, or the twice-daily progesterone suppositories I take during a post-cycle two week wait). The timing on taking all of this stuff reads like a horrible 8th grade math problem: If Eli needs to take Synthroid on an empty stomach as well as one hour before eating and four hours before ingesting iron; and she needs to take her prenatal vitamins (containing iron) in the morning and evening with food, Coenzyme Q10 thrice daily and baby aspirin at bedtime, at what time will she fuck the whole thing up?