Transferred

Those two little embryos that fertilized made it to Day 3 as Grade 1 8-cell and 7-cell.  In looking at the picture the provided, they didn't look that pretty to me. Part of me wonders whether they lied to me about the quality of the embryos (as I have been told has been done to us in the past).  But, I
just need to let it go because it is what it is.   What do you all think?  Looks like fragmentation to me.



In other news, I started my "trial run" class in Architectural Graphics.  I was so intimidated buying supplies for my class...tracing paper and "leads" and special erasers and sharpeners and drawing pads...I've never taken a class where I'm not sitting in a lecture the entire class.  There is something meditative about focusing on my work and learning a craft rather than learning an esoteric subject matter.  I'm learning how to erase, draw a line, hold a lead so that it makes even lines.  The class began with the professor showing us how to clean our work station.  For someone that always wants to speed forward and push my way through things, to slow down and take the time to ensure that I have a flat, clean surface...well...that's just sort of against my nature. 

Nugget starts his first day of Pre-K at a private school on Tuesday.  I've been crying a lot lately (drugs?) about the changing of seasons and the start of school.  I think part of my melancholy is because my big boy is growing up and going to school.  But, part of it is approaching the fall again, which was filled with so much anticipation and excitement last year when we found out that we were pregnant with Mackenzie.  I use to get excited about change and the beginning of the school year as a child, but now...I fear change.  I fear the loss of time.  I fear losing these precious stages with my children.  I fear moving farther and farther away from my once hopeful life with my little baby boy in my belly.  There is only one way but forward, though.  No turning back.

Not a good cycle

9 eggs.
3 mature.
Only 2 fertilized.

I've been down this path before.  I have to keep hope, though, because Baby Girl's cycle had 4 mature and only 2 fertilized.

I just don't know how much further down this path I want to go.  Is this it?

Sucky Sucky Blah Blah

I'm on day 11 of stimming (day 12 of my cycle).  Things are going pretty typically.  My E2 levels are very similar to those of Baby Girl and Mackenzie's cycle.  I have about 8 follicles that they are tracking, which is pretty on par for how these things go with me.  If I trigger tomorrow (likely), then I will be triggering on the same day that I did with Baby Girl and Mackenzie's cycle.  The two cysts that I started the cycle with do not seem to be impacting my E2 levels that much.  I'm trying so so hard not to let my hopes get up because my E2 and trigger days are similar to my two previous successful cycles.  I mean, heck, last cycle I transferred two beautiful Day 3 8-cells and no dice.  Previously, as long as I transferred a pretty 8-cell on Day 3, I wound up pregnant.  There is no rhyme or reason to this IVF stuff.  And, by my tenth cycle, you think I would know that.

Life has been pretty sucky, lately.  My husband (only my husband could do this) got a corneal abrasion and potentially long term eye damage by stabbing himself in the eye last week. My husband is also potentially going to lose his license because he got a reckless speeding ticket on Father's Day (that's a WHOLE other story).  We are in battle with some contractors about getting our porch remodeled.  They were trying to gouge us financially and we are trying to get out of the contract.  Lawyers, lawyers everywhere.  It all just feels so overwhelming, when I know this is just typical life stuff.  I just wish I could shout to the universe "hey!  can you just give us a break?  our baby died!"

Retrieval on Friday or Saturday.  Wish us luck.

Double Digits

I can't believe that this in my tenth IVF cycle.  Ninth fresh cycle.  I can't believe this is my life.  I can't believe my baby is dead. I can't believe that I was pregnant.  I can't believe that I started this process for a third child a year ago.  I find that I have little energy to do anything.  Completing one to two tasks a day, such as unloading the dishwasher or running an errand, is all I can seem to muster most days.  I am deeply unmotivated, which is completely unlike me.  I hate it.

In other news, I went to my first support group this week.  At the time, it was reassuring to see other actual human beings that had suffered the same loss, not just people I read about on the internet (no offense).  But, the day after, I had this horrible feeling of shame and embarrassment about talking about myself and our horrible journey with other people. I feel I shared too much, telling them about our IVF journey and losing Mackenzie's twin.  I'm not sure if I did actually share too much or whether I'm just sensitive.  Others in the group told about their child's death, using donor eggs, etc.  But, I just felt raw and open and embarrassed.  I'm not sure I'll go again in the upcoming months as I might have classes with my potential career change.

SO, angry girl, what good news do you have to report?

Baby Girl and Nugget seem to have such a close, happy relationship.  Baby Girl is definitely an extrovert and has to be touching, laying upon, or in very very very close proximity to her big brother at all times.  Nugget is more introverted, but he puts up with her generally.  The poor kid just wants to watch a movie or eat or lay in Mommy's lap and Baby Girl is always wanting to join in the fun.  My favorite moments are watching them in the bath together.  Baby Girl is obsessed with washing Nugget's hair and she will dump water on his head again and again and again and he just lets her.  They play this game in the tub where she tries to hide behind the shower curtain and he pretends he can't see her.  The sound of their laughter echoes through the upstairs, reaching me in my bed where I often lay exhausted.  I don't seem to have the energy to do anything.  But, their tinkling laughter can make me feel that all is well in the world.

Fireflies in a Mason Jar

I've been walking around in a daze the past few weeks since the negative, trudging through Mackenzie's due date and the birth of my friend's son that was due the same time.  My husband insists that I have pulled out of my darkest days because I am more interactive and making plans.  But, what he doesn't seem to consider is that I still sometimes wish that I was dead and I didn't have to live this life.  I know some may think that is melodramatic, but the pain of Mackenzie's birth....feeling his cold dead body fall out of my body, wet against my legs...and the pain of having to live in this world where people get to live normal lives where babies don't die and they don't have to do multiple digit numbers of IVF cycles to try and build their families.  Where people are constantly exuberant and expectant walking around with their big, pregnant bellies or complaining about how hard life is with so many young children under the age of XYZ. 

Every week I take Baby Girl to a music class.  I hate it.  I hate all the other mothers.  Particularly the one that had a baby on Mackenzie's due date.  I hate how sometimes they try and make small talk with me and I shut them down because really what am I going to have in common with you?  I know this is cynical and not particularly healthy and I will say that I don't feel this way all the time, but lately I feel this way the majority of the time. I continue to go to this stupid class, though, because I know Baby Girl enjoys it and I really need to have activities to do other than work through my massive to-do lists.  I wrote down today all the projects I want to get done around the house and it literally took two whole handwritten notebook pages.  I can do household updates and renovating and laundry and dishes until I'm 90.

But, this isn't what I wanted to post about.  I wanted to post about the fireflies.  Nugget finally grasped the enormity of the concept of fireflies.  They are amazing.  I've been trying to tempt him to catch them for the past few summers but he previously showed little to no interest. 

Not this year.

This year every night we tempt the mosquitos as we catch dozens of fireflies, dutifully stored in mason jars with holes poked in the top.  We've learned all their secret hiding spots.  My husband complains that I let him stay up too late and that our predation of fireflies will result in a decrease of the firefly population if we don't let the males out to mate.  I don't really care.  I love catching them and the parallel nostalgic memories of doing so in my youth in hopes that I could catch enough fireflies to read past my bedtime using their light.

After a four-day visit with friends down in North Carolina, we returned home just in time for our evening ritual.  After nearly fifteen minutes of searching, Nugget started sobbing that the fireflies were all gone.  I cried a little myself, heartbroken to lose one more summer of catching fireflies with my not-so-small little boy anymore. 

My husband and I spend 30 minutes yesterday looking at videos of my Nugget when he was Baby Girl's age.  That beautiful stage of life before they're really communicative in words and just emerging with little personalities of their own.  I was struck at how distant those videos seem and that the cobwebs of time and experience had made the memories more remote.  Why can't our brains hold more memories?  How could I have lost that moment when Nugget was obsessed with cleaning the sofa with windex?  How many more moments would I lose?  I should start living my whole life on camera so as to not let the beauty of these small moments fade into grey.