Marching Orders

[This post is going to look very similar to the one from January, because the protocol is identical.  We're mostly just changing the dates around.  Still, a plan is a plan.  So, here it is.]

This morning I had my blood drawn to check my estrodiol (estrogen) levels.  It needed to be under 50 and mine was 29.  Yay!  You might notice a discrepancy between the necessary levels for this test, and the one I talked about in January.  The difference is that the test can be run on cycle day (CD) 1, 2 or 3.  This time, I had the blood drawn on CD 1, whereas last time it was on CD 2.  The levels should necessarily be lower on CD 2, than CD 1.  Hence, the difference in the level I needed.

I contacted the fertility center and left the pertinent information in a message.  The coordinator called me back and we began calculating when my procedure would be.  We then counted back 18 days from that date to determine when I start my additional meds.  Why do it this way?  Because they only do FETs on Tuesday through Friday (because they have to thaw the embryos and give them time to grow and don't want people to have to come in on the weekend to do it).  So, they don't want people to begin taking meds on a day when their procedure would fall on a Monday or a weekend.  Go figure.  Anyway, we determined that the earliest I could start the meds was tomorrow, but then day 18 would fall on a Monday (the 17th), which is a no go.  The 18th was out because Phil had something on his calendar.  I didn't want Friday the 21st, because I need two days of bedrest (transfer day and the next day), which meant I needed two weekdays so  that Lil' Bit would be in daycare.  That left the 19th and 20th--exactly what I predicted back in June.  Am I good or what?  As I noted in that June post, this transfer date makes for a June baby--roughly June 13th, give or take how they calculate the age of the embryo and everything.

But, what this means for me more immediately is that I have only 18 shots left!  Woo Hoo!  *happy dance*  For those looking for technical details, the protocol is as follows:

• I cut my Lupron dose in half beginning tonight.
• On 9/3, I begin taking estrogen, with the dose increasing on days 6 and 10.
• On day 11 (9/13), I will have an ultrasound to make sure everything is developing appropriately for the transfer.
• Assuming everything is on track, I continue the Lupron and estrogen for 4 more days (including 9/13).
• On day 15 (9/17), I stop the Lupron, reduce the estrogen, and start progesterone.
• On day 16, I start taking antibiotics and steroids in addition to everything else.
• Day 18 = Transfer Day! Followed by the dreaded two-week wait (TWW).

The excitement is building.  We are only 3 weeks away from transfer!  Can you feel that?  It's the roller coaster slowing down as we near the top of the first hill.  Fellow travelers, get ready to raise your hands up over your head, scream as loud as you can, and enjoy the ride.

Added Degree of Difficulty

Back before they changed the scoring system in the Olympics, there was a phrase that was tossed around by the commentators a great deal--"That's an added degree of difficulty."  It was a reference to when a dive or gymnastics routine had a particular start value, but because the athlete had added a few extra twists or whatever, it now had a higher total value because those moves represented "an added degree of difficulty."

We use this phrase around our house a lot.  Anytime something is harder than usual for some reason, we say it's got an added degree of difficulty.  Now, having children is always an added degree of difficulty.  But sometimes, like the last few days, my child's medical needs (also an added degree of difficulty) give her an extra added degree of difficulty.  See, for the last few days, Lil' Bit has been sick.  Nothing outrageous, just the usual: green snot, rattly cough, and some vomiting.

Ah, but there's the rub.  Vomiting.  See, since she has to take her meds six times a day (plus now an antibiotic on top of that), and they have to stay down 20 minutes for it to be considered a dose, vomiting causes a big problem.  Ultimately, if she can't keep her meds down, then we have to take her to the ER because she has to have her meds.  Furthermore, because we have to tell the pharmacy how many pills we have left before we can get a refill, I freak out when we have to give a second dose because I know we are now short some pills and worry about whether the pharmacy is going to start giving me crap about it.

So, needless to say, I have spent the past two days totally freaked out.  Fortunately, there is a wonderful medicine that helps control the vomiting, so we were able to get things under control and get Lil' Bit all of her meds without a trip to the hospital--just the urgent care.  Still, I hate that even the simple problems of childhood sometimes become a much bigger issue because of her health condition.

On the plus side, however, we are getting much better at all of this stuff.  We call it being stronger players.  It's our paraphrase of a line from the movie Searching For Bobby Fischer, where one kid tells another, "You're a much stronger player than I was at your age."  Anytime we manage to do something that would have overwhelmed us previously, we say, "You're a much stronger player," or "You're playing at a higher level."  It's our way of recognizing how far we've come.  And, although I still get freaked out and cry at the notion of having to take Lil' Bit back to the hospital for something simple and "normal" like vomiting, I have learned how to handle things calmly until the worst is over and *then* fall apart where she can't see me, so I don't make her more anxious.

Sometimes, I think back to when I was a new parent and got overwhelmed at the smallest thing.  The challenges we face today would have seemed insurmountable to the me back then.  Now, I can take things that used to terrify me in stride.  I'm pleased to discover I am capable, but sometimes, I wish I didn't have to learn just how capable I am.

Lessons from GenCon

We recently returned from a week-long visit to Indianapolis, where we saw family and attended GenCon. We had previously attended before Lil' Bit, but didn't make 2010 or 2011, so it was wonderful to finally make it back and visit with people we hadn't seen in a few years.  And, so, having completed another excursion away from home, it's time for another edition of lessons from....

1)  Attending conventions requires lots more pre-planning with a toddler.  For one, we had to make sure we didn't schedule events at the same time so that the other parent was available to watch Lil' Bit.  We also had to stay at a hotel for the first time (we used to stay with family about 30 mins away), because of Lil' Bit's medication and nap needs.  It worked out fabulously and we will definitely do it that way again in the future.

2)  It's hard to allow your toddler moments of independence when you are surrounded by roughly 41,000 other people.  Lil' Bit often wanted to run free or help push the stroller, rather than ride in it.  When it seemed less busy, I was more than happy to let her.  I would try and steer her, the stroller, or both, away from people, and we did manage to not hit anyone.  But, there were times when she wanted down and it just wasn't safe.  Yes, it made her mad, and I apologize to those who had to listen to my toddler throw a screaming fit because I wouldn't let her run around, but I'd rather piss people off with her screaming than lose her in a sea of thousands of strangers.

3)  No more late evenings.  Holy cow!  We only stayed out late one night, and it was the night before we left, and even that was rough.  That 4:45 wake-up for meds comes no matter what.

4)  If your toddler has to get sick, the morning you are trying to pack and leave is both the most and least convenient time.  Since you are trying to pack and get out of the room without incurring an addition charge, having to stop and snuggle your barfing child and change her clothes four times, etc. isn't the most stress-free environment.  Plus, you wonder if she's going to barf on the trip home.  However, you don't care if she barfs all over the sheets because it is not your bed, you don't have to clean it up, and you aren't even coming back that night.  So, grab every clean towel you need.  No worries.

5)  Don't overschedule yourself.  I had given myself two short periods throughout the con to go through the dealer's hall and look for crap, I mean stuff, to buy.  However, when Lil' Bit started to have a meltdown from being tired and around lots of people and noise, the only solution was to take her back to the room and *poof* there went my time to poke around.  So, next time, I will make sure to schedule myself more free time to do that without Lil' Bit.

6)  Lil' Bit is still the best thing ever.  I have to say, there is simply nothing like the feeling of coming out of a seminar or game, looking over to see your spouse and child playing together waiting for you, and then, witnessing the moment when your child looks up and sees you and grins bigger than her face, and starts running toward you.  Honestly, it never gets old and it makes up for the crabbiest tantrum.  In our house, we call it a "heal your heart" moment.

7)  Family naps are amazing.  Every morning we got up at the crack of dawn (read 4:00 a.m. or so) to do meds and played with Lil' Bit until 6:00 a.m., when we would head down to the restaurant for our free buffet breakfast.  We'd end up back at the room shortly before 7:00 a.m. and usually, by 7:15 a.m. doodlebug was ready for, or already taking, a nap.  Holding her in my lap, rocking her to sleep, placing her in the middle of the bed, and each of us taking a snooze on either side of her was not only refreshing for the sleep, but the whole rocking, snuggling, napping thing was another "heal the heart" moment.

8)  Lil' Bit isn't little.  And I don't mean just your normal, she's not my baby anymore.  No.  I mean, when people hear how old she is, they are impressed by her size.  For example, there I was, standing in line with Phil and Lil' Bit, waiting to get Wil Wheaton's autograph and trying not make a complete and utter fool of myself.  Our turn arrives.  We walk up and begin to make small talk.  "How old is she?" he asks.  "21 months," I reply.  "Wow!  She's the HUGEST toddler I have ever seen!" he replies as his eyes bug out of his head.  Yes, Wil Wheaton thinks my toddler is gargantuan.  I thought it was totally hilarious and, in all fairness, at 35 inches she is in the 90th percentile for height.  Still, I can't help but wonder what he would have thought if we had explained she was that big *and* had a heart condition and open-heart surgery.  How much bigger might she have become?

9)  Lil' Bit loves her clothes.  I bought her a GenCon shirt, although it's more like a dress since they didn't have anything smaller than a 4/5.  But, when she saw me put on my shirt, she began throwing a fit because she thought I was wearing hers.  I had to take hers out and put it on her for her to understand there was more than one.  She did it again when Phil wore his.  I think she wore the shirt 3 days in a row before we were able to get it off of her.

All in all, GenCon was amazing.  Although it was my most tiring one, it was also my favorite since I started attending.  I can't wait to take Lil' Bit back next year.

Politics, Religion, and IVF

As I've mentioned at least a few times before, infertility sucks.  It makes so many aspects of life much more difficult.  I feel fortunate, however, that when it came time to decide whether to move forward and how far to go, we were able to make our decision without any personal conflicts, such as religious or family objections. I know a number of couples who belong to religious faiths that prohibit use of ART (assisted reproductive technology).  While some of the couples elected to abide by that prohibition, others decided to move forward.  Some spoke with their clergy members, others did not.  Ultimately, decisions about fertility are uniquely personal.  Each couple makes the best decision they can based on their own situation.  And, regardless of the decision they make, they deserve to be supported.

This doesn't happen in the real world.  In fact, even when couples are successful and achieve their heart's desire--pregnancy--people sometimes still give them crap about the choices they made because it ran counter to the decision that person would have made.  For example, there was a woman at my workplace who told me that both my pregnancy and my child were "an abomination."  Now, I'm no expert in other people's faiths, but, at least as I understand it, children are always considered a gift from God, regardless of the manner of conception.  Even children conceived by rape or incest are beloved by God.  How anyone could judge a child based on how it was conceived it beyond me.  But, my personal experience very clearly illuminated to me that people do make such judgments.  Sadly, it is people like this who keep those suffering from infertility in the closet, preventing them from receiving the support they desire and deserve.  Infertility is hard enough without being berated every step of the way.

However, difficult as this may be, there are people who are attempting to make it impossible by making IVF illegal.  Now, I understand advocating for your own personal beliefs.  What I have a problem with is politicians, who are supposed to represent everyone, including those who hold different beliefs, who, instead, seek to impose their personal beliefs on everyone.  If a couple feels strongly against using IVF, then they should not use it.  They should not, however, be in the position to make that decision for other couples.  Making IVF illegal will destroy many couple's only hope at having a child.

Now, there are those who believe that adoption should be utilized, rather than IVF.  Here's the thing.  Adoption is not the fix-all panacea that people make it out to be.  This is not to say that it isn't a wonderful thing.  I know many people who have successfully adopted or placed children for adoption.  It is absolutely an option for becoming a parent.  However, it is neither equivalent to, nor a replacement for, IVF.  Prospective adoptive parents have to first jump through hoops to prove that they are better than many parents out there before they are even given the chance to be considered.  You can't do it, you're out, regardless of how amazing you would be as parents.  Then, they have to sell themselves to birth parents, hoping to be picked.  If they can't convince anyone to give them their child, they are out of luck.  Once they have been selected by the birth parents, they spend thousands of dollars on medical care for the birth mother, but still there is no guarantee.  Sometimes, birth mothers decide at the last minute to keep their children.  Now, the couple is out thousands of dollars and yet, remains childless.  Worse, there are women who deliberately mislead couples in order to receive medical care during pregnancy, although they actually have no intention of giving up their child.  This happened to a friend of mine, twice, and she was working with a reputable agency.  So, I reject the proposition that adoption is an adequate or acceptable solution if IVF is made illegal.

Furthermore, there are people who are just unwilling to raise a child that isn't biologically theirs.  I don't see any reason to deny these people the opportunity to be parents by outlawing the only viable method they have.  In light of the increased politicization of this issue, it will certainly inform how I will vote this election.  And I urge you to get informed about the positions advocated by your candidate of choice and make sure they align with your own.

Stepping Off the Platform

So, here we are.  Day 21.  I have just completed my first shot of my last IVF cycle.  I'm still surprised by how hard it is to give myself shots.  I thought I would be less anxious by now.  But, no.  No matter how many shots I have given myself--and each time the count goes up by at least one--I still have to psych myself up.  In fact, this one felt harder to convince myself to do than the very first shot I did 2 1/2 years ago.  I don't know if it's because of the finality of this cycle, or just my inherent survival instincts telling me to avoid pain.  Whatever it is, though, I overcame it and gave myself the shot.  Go me!  I marked the occasion with my traditional smiley face on my shot calendar, and now, I will go find something in my feel-better box to reward myself!

But the fact remains, I am standing at the beginning of the end.  My last chance to experience pregnancy and carry another child.  My last chance at a sibling for Lil' Bit.  My last heartbreak if it fails or I miscarry.  This ride is both familiar and brand new.  Although I know what to expect for the most part, I have no idea how knowing this is the last time will affect all of those experiences.  But I am ready.  And so, it is with anxiety, fear, trembling, trepidation, and excitement, but most of all, trust in our decision, that I step off the platform, sit down in the seat, and pull down the lap bar to secure myself for my last ride on the fertility roller coaster.

Shot calendar with a single smiley face

Paying for Stitch

Lil' Bit has begun to want to help around the house.  Whether it's taking groceries out of the bag and handing them to me to put away, or shutting the refrigerator door, even though I'm still in it, she's figured out that these are things big people do and, therefore, she needs to do them, too.

Now, some of you may remember the song from Free To Be You & Me about helping.  It includes these two, very wise lines:

Some kinds of help, are the kind of help, that helping's all about.
And some kinds of help, are the kind of help, we all can do without.

There are days that Lil' Bit's helping feels more like the latter, than the former.  But, looking at the grin on her face when she's accomplished something--like shutting the dishwasher all by herself--and it's totally worth it. There have been a few times, however, when I have done the task myself--like closing the dishwasher--without letting her do it.  She will fuss until it has been undone so she can do it.  Around our house, moments like these have become known as "paying for Stitch."

In the movie Lilo & Stitch, there is a brilliantly funny scene where Lilo and her sister are at the pound picking out a dog.  After Lilo has selected Stitch and it's time to pay, her sister begins to hand the money to the woman.  Lilo shouts something like "I want to buy him."  Her sister takes the money back and hands it to Lilo, who then hands it back to her sister, who hands it back to the woman.  Thus, in Lilo's mind, she has paid for Stitch.

Turns out, this is STB - standard toddler behavior.  If I try to toss socks in the laundry bin, I might find I have to take them back out so Lil' Bit can be the one to throw them in.  Closed the dishwasher?  Have to open it up so she can close it.  Put a book back on the shelf?  Take it back down and give it to her to put back up.  Folded a shirt?  Unfold it so she can try.  Turned off a light?  Have to turn it back on so she can do it.  You get the idea.  We have also discovered that there is no end to these "paying for Stitch" moments, and I never know I've found a new one until it happens.  Things I was allowed to do yesterday, today are things only she is allowed to do.  It's frustrating and time consuming on occasion.  But, looking at it from her perspective, she's learning to control her environment and figure out how things happen.  So, when we hit upon another such task, we look at each other, likely with much the same expression as Lilo's sister wore, and let Lil' Bit "pay for Stitch."  After all, someday, she'll be a teenager and she won't want to do anything.  Best to enjoy it while it lasts.

The Power of Elmo

Before I became a parent, I remember hearing parents talk about the character obsessions of their children.  The usual suspects included Barney, Sponge Bob, Dora, and Elmo.  I thought I had a vague understanding of what that must be like.  I have discovered that I had no idea.

Now, I will admit that I have worked hard to shape her obsession in the event she had one--which she clearly does.  I wanted it to be something I could tolerate.  And, overall, all things Sesame Street are good.  We have lots of books (that we read and reread endlessly) that have Big Bird and Snuffy, Cookie Monster, Ernie, Bert, etc.  She also used to love Abby and still plays with her Abby doll from time to time.  She has a Sesame Street playset and loves all the characters.  One of her favorite gives is to have Phil or me put on the stethoscope and she will hand us the characters one by one to listen to and make sure they are healthy.  She gives each one a smooch before tossing them away for the next one.  She loves watching the opening and closing credits of Sesame Street and points to every last one of the characters, every time, like it is something new to see them there.  And, having been a Sesame Street kid myself, I don't mind that this is her obsession.  There are way worse things in the world.  But, even within Sesame Street, there is a favorite.  You know who it is.  It's the same one every child under 5 gets hooked it.

My child is obsessed with Elmo.  With the rare exception of Super Grover (2.0), nothing but Elmo on the screen will do.  If Elmo isn't on the screen, she gets upset.  Even during Elmo's World, during the segments like Mr. Noodle, Elmo's email, or watching the whatever channel, she starts to get fussy.  I swear to you, it's like she's having withdrawal.  She turns to me and points to the remote, telling me in no uncertain terms that my job is to fast forward through anything that is not Elmo.  We also have an iPad app where Elmo teaches ABCs.  She will exit the app and restart it, over and over again, just to watch more Elmo, even though it's the same 30 seconds.  It's both adorable and annoying.

On the plus side, Elmo will tame the savage beast.  Having an uncontrollable fit?  Elmo to the rescue.  Refusing to take meds?  Bribe her with Elmo ("If you take your meds, you can go watch Elmo").  Turns out, Elmo is both the cause of, and cure for, many bad behaviors.  Still, nothing beats the look on her face when she receives a surprise Elmo present.  The other day, some friends of ours came over with something for Lil' Bit.  It turned out to be a big red fuzzy blanket with a huge Elmo face on it.  Among other things, she petted it, rolled around on it, twirled and danced on it, wrapped up in it, wore it like a cape, and kissed it.  I can only think of one or two other gifts she has received that she fell in love with so quickly that nothing else mattered.  [And, our friends get full points for giving such a great gift that doesn't make any noise or light up!]  So, whenever I experience moments where she's getting fussy because I am requiring her to have patience and suffer through non-Elmo scenes, I remember the sheer joy and hours of fun she has already had with a simple red blanket with a huge monster face on it.  And I am thankful for the power of Elmo.