Mollywogger

Day 11 ultrasound with Dr. Perky this morning was better than the last, which is good news.  I’m impressed and, frankly, somewhat surprised that my body seems to be responding in the way that it should.  Also utterly dumbfounded by and about to make everyone jealous with the fact that I’ve yet to have any Clomid side effects.  I know, I hate me too!

 

Lining was triple-striped in both horns of my uterus – left horn was 5.2 mm, right horn was 6.7 mm.  I’ve still got 2 days of Estrace and 4 days before trigger, so I’m feeling better about my lining this time around.

 

Follicles: 7!  Holy shit!  That was a surprise.  Left ovary had 14, 12.5, and 11.5, and right ovary had 17, 14, 11, and 10.  I’m suppose to test for an LH surge until Sunday, and give myself an Ovidrel injection that evening if I haven’t yet surged.

 

After the ultrasound, I said, “I’m a bit baffled by the fact that none of my doctors have offered progesterone supplementation since I regularly have a 9 or 10 day luteal phase and have a history of a chemical pregnancy.”  She replied that according to many recent tests, progesterone supplementation was having no greater affect on maintenance of early pregnancy than placebo, so the REs in her practice weren’t generally recommending it.  She explained that Clomid and injectibles were actually proving to be more helpful for luteal phase defect than progesterone is (by producing extra follicles which produce extra progesterone after ovulation).  I mentioned that I was on Clomid for the last cycle with three follicles and still had a 10 day luteal phase, and she said, “All right, let’s do progesterone and see how it goes.”  So, cheers to me for being proactive in my personal health care.  I mean, hey – it worked for cows.

 

So, that’s where I’m at.  In conclusion, a few more pictures from my sister’s wedding.

 

Yes, all of those who asked, that clinic is my clinic.  And yes, my doctor is the one with most of the fishy accusations (“[T ’n’ B] told investigators that he once found a tumor on a patient’s leg and now touches legs as part of his routine examinations”?  Wha . . ?)  However, it is as the article states – “. . . clinic patients . . . said they’ve had no problems.”  I concur.  Everything has seemed entirely fine to me.  I’d have had no idea if the newspaper hadn’t been publishing stories.  This is definitely good, since the next nearest clinics are in Milwaukee and Chicago.

 

And as I’m sure you’ve all figured out by now, I do live in Madison.  That diverse, liberal bastion amid the rolling farmlands.  Or, as it’s often referred to, “70 square miles surrounded by reality.”  This time of year, it feels like the Road Construction Capital of the World.  Despite being a Minnesotan at heart, I’ve grown to enjoy living in a medium-sized city that has pretty much everything besides an Ikea.  You get the Midwestern nice along with the organic-crunchiness of the East or the Northwest.  Plus, being the liberal paradise it is, you get plenty of hilarious anti-establishment sidewalk art.  Here are the ones I passed today on my way to pick up lunch:

 

and my personal favorite:

 

 

Ha!  And on we go, from my sidewalks to my uterus.

 

Things seem to be going well down there.  My ultrasound Saturday showed two nearly mature follicles (19 and 16.5) and a third that’s working on it (13.5).  Scan was performed by the female doctor of the practice, whom I’ve named Dr. Perky (she’s just a bit much at 8:00 AM on Saturday.  As she finished the scan, she exclaimed “You grow ‘em, girl!” and gave me five).  The follicles have had two more days to grow since then, at an estimated 2 mm a day, so that third just may get there after I trigger tonight.  250 mcg of recombinant human Chorionic Gonadotropin (in the form of an Ovidrel pre-filled syringe) will make its way into my belly at approximately 6:00 PM to throw those eggs out of the frying pan and into the fiery cavern (caverns?) of my uterus.  

 

 

 

 

I was a bit concerned about my uterine lining on Saturday, however.  I had a nice triple stripe, but my lining was only at 5.8 mm.  I talked to T ’n’ B about that today, and he did not seem the least bit concerned about it.  He assured me that it’s probably gained a few millimeters in the past two days, and told me that he happened to be currently working on an article summarizing and remarking on past studies of endometrial thickness and its relationship to implantation.  “There’s a lot of controversy out there right now, but according to what I’ve seen, as long as you’ve got the triple stripe pattern, you should be fine.”  So, I guess I’m fine.  I do hope, however, that I’m up around 8 mm now and I gain one more or so before I ovulate at approximately 6:00 AM on Thursday.

 

So, there you have it.  End of monitoring, Clomid cycle 1.  Now we just have sex and see what happens.  And wait for the bill to arrive.

 

Oh, and no, I never did have any side effects on Clomid.  I know, I’m a lucky girl.  In a sense.

Hello!  Remember me?  I stop by here once in a while?  The redhead?  Sarcastic, unimpressed, and only sometimes amusing?  I have an RE that draws obscene objects on his surgical gown?  Yes!  Me!  Molly!

 

Let’s start with the most important news: Ms. Prufrock is doing well and she and The Dude are expecting Baby Pru-Dude to be home in the next few days.  She’s had to stay in the hospital due to some jaundice and a slight reluctance to feed, but they’re hoping for a swift homecoming.  I’ve talked to The Dude a few times and I know that Pru is missing the internets (and all y’all) and I’m sure she’ll fill you in on all of the details.  I’m not sure whether she’ll share her daughter’s name with the online world, but believe me when I say that it’s the most adorable name you can imagine.  So just imagine something adorable and smile and nod contentedly at their fabulous choice.

 

Now, on to me!  I’ve been utterly remiss in posting, but I have had two good reasons: moving and starting a new job.  Yeah!  How about that?  I managed to get hired in a job in the field that I actually wish to pursue as a career – I am now, officially, a librarian!  I started on Monday the 10^th and I’m enjoying it immensely.  It’s lower-stress than my last job, the duties are more enjoyable, and I still have plenty of time for blogging (yeah, I know.  I really have no excuse for the lengthy absences).  Is that a great job or what?

 

In addition to becoming a librarian, I found out (on the day that we moved) that I had been accepted into a Library Science Master’s program at the local University!  I start this fall, full-time with mainly evening classes (so I will continue to work full-time – at least that’s the current plan), and hopefully will finish my degree in two years so that I can move into the specialty of archiving and document conservation.  Life is great when things finally start happening, isn’t it?

 

The move also went well, and we are enjoying our first month of home-ownership.  We officially have cable and HBO (including On! Demand!  Al Swearingen, anytime, all the time) now, and I’ve officially become addicted to Project Runway (Tim Gunn, you complete me).  I’ve also officially watched my first Discovery Health Channel special on the elsewhere- mentioned Duggars.  All I have to say is: hoooooo boy.

 

So the previous paragraphs were the dessert (Pru), delicious Greek salad (job), lightly roasted asparagus (school), and cheesy-garlic mashed potatoes (new place) of the site.  Now for the meat of it.  Steak, anyone?  We can all pass around the Heinz 57.

 

Things are finally – FINALLY – happening on the reproductive front.  I had the MRI, which confirmed that I have a bicornuate uterus (so no surgery, which is good news), and then I calmly waited for Day 1 to begin my first official treatment cycle.  Day 1 was Wednesday, so this morning I had my Day 3 ultrasound.

Yes, ladies.  I am no longer a virgin.  I have officially ridden the dildocam.

 

This morning’s wanding was not performed by T ’n’ B, but by the third of the three doctors at the practice.  And his nurse.  And an intern.  And a nursing intern.  For a moment I thought there was a parade going directly through my room and I was expecting a float with a waving Miss South Central Wisconsin to roll through next.  This third doctor, coincidentally enough, actually looked like a dildocam, his head was so bald and shiny.  I had met the second doctor in the practice at my HSG.  Interesting that both of the other doctors have now seen my poon, and T ’n’ B hasn’t.  Why such a shrinking flower, T?  I purposely didn’t shave my legs, just for you.  *sigh*

 

But the wanding was good, painless, and the results were great – we’re go-ahead for treatment.  Left ovary had four small follicles, right ovary had one small follicle, and one measuring 9.6 mm.
   

(By the way, good Christ it is not fun to clean up after a day 3 ultrasound.  But it’s not half as bad as cleaning up after a lower-pelvic MRI.  For some reason, I had to shoot an entire syringe of KY into the cooch.  And then go back to work.  That was . . . moist.)

 

I had talked to T ’n’ B on the phone about the fact that he had given me a prescription for 100mg of Clomid daily rather than 50 mg, and his reply was that he started most women at 100 mg just as a standard.  However, since I had a bicornuate uterus and he didn’t know exactly how I would respond to treatment, he agreed that it would be a good idea for me to start at 50 mg.  Look at me!  I am an important partner in my personal health care treatment!  However, since he had already given me a 100 mg prescription, I got two months for the price of one – ten 50 mg pills rather than five.  All for just $6, thanks to the addition of Clomid to my insurance company’s formulary last year.  Bliss.

 

So this morning, after taking a deep breath and mumbling “Here goes,” I downed my first little white 50 mg pill of clomiphene citrate.

 

Side effect I’m most looking forward to: hot flashes.

 

Why?

 

BECAUSE MY NEW OFFICE IS FUCKING FREEZING.

 

I have worn a big fuzzy wool sweatercoat every day since I began at this job.  Coworkers claim that the cold snap began the week before I started, when construction workers turned off the building’s steam pipes for repair.  Besides the fact that it is sit-on-your-hands-cold in my office, there is also no hot water anywhere in the building with which to encourage circulation in my benumbed hands.  However, there is a hot-air hand dryer.  I spent 10 minutes under it one day last week.

 

Oh, and one other bit of news – my IRL (in-real-life) best friend, K, gave birth to a darling baby girl at 34 weeks gestation last week.  She weighed a healthy 5 lbs, 2 oz and is set to go home from the hospital tomorrow.  It’s been a big week – my IRL best friend and my internet best friend both had their little girls.  I’m an aunt two-times over.  I’m so thrilled that everyone’s happy and healthy.

 

And my deepest congratulations to OvaGirl for the birth of her baby boy, and to my dear Menita for the birth of her Jack.  In addition, other good things have been happening lately.  Perhaps – perhaps – the news in our corner of the internet has finally take a turn for the better.

The appointment, I mean.  I had at least hoped to take my pants off this time, but no dice.  Doc T ’n’ B nearly gave himself a hernia leaning backwards in his chair, examining my previously taken MRI results.  This after, upon greeting me, he asked, “Did you bring your MRI films?” “I sent them to you a week ago.”  “Oh.  Just a minute,” and scampered out of the room.  I figured that the week of lead-time would give him time to send the films to radiology and have them read, but obviously that did not happen.  Instead, the good Doc squinted at the films through the dim fluorescent lighting and muttered, “If I could at least figure out where your uterus was . . . oh, I think that’s your rib cage . . .” 

 

He’s pretty sure that the former scans did not go low enough into my pelvis, but he’s going to have radiology double-check.  In the mean time, I’ll have to schedule another MRI to get a better look at the shape of the outside of my uterus to finally determine whether I have a septate uterus or a bicornuate uterus.

 

Though I already knew the difference between the two, Doc created one of his doodlings in explanation, possibly for his own amusement.  Many of us talk about the impulsive artwork that our REs create, but I was so impressed by the good Doc this time that I thought I’d share a bit with you.  Here’s the difference between a septate and bicornuate uteri:

 

 

Here's his evaluation of my egg quality and Hal’s semen analysis:

 

 

 

 
A quick tutoring on ovulation induction:

 

 

The HSG results, they are not good – not absolutely dire, but not good all the same

 

Seems I have a malformed uterus.

 

During the procedure, the doctor told me how great I was doing and remarked on my nice clear tubes.  But the uterus I saw on the screen looked nothing like the nice, normal uteri I’d Googled.  I heard her ask the intern who had inserted the catheter, “There was just one cervix, correct?”  Oh Jesus, I thought, that’s not a good question to hear.  There was. 

 

“Molly, where do you work?” she asked.

 

“An office.”

 

“What kind of office?  Is it a medical office?  I ask because I’m going to use some medical terms . . .”

 

“Oh, I know the medical terms.  Is it septate?”

 

“Well, it’s either septate, bicornuate, or didelphic.  Dr. T ’n’ B will have to look at your results to give you more information.”  (All of these terms, as well as how the uterus forms in fetuses, are explained well here).

 

Doc T ’n’ B called a few hours later.  After looking at the films, he’s pretty sure that it’s bicornuate, but I'll need an ultrasound and he'll want to look at the MRI films I had done when I had that kidney stone last year to see if he can get more information (he was glad to hear that my kidneys looked normal when I had the MRI done, since uterine abnormalities are often associated with kidney problems). 

 

He also wanted to make sure that I wasn’t freaking out, since a bicornuate uterus is not the end of the world.  It is associated with a higher risk of miscarriage and premature birth, but women with bicornuate uteri do go on to carry and give birth to healthy babies in the majority of cases.

 

“Could the bicornuate uterus be the reason that we’re not getting pregnant?” I asked.

 

“Well, not usually.  It’s associated with a higher miscarriage and premature birth rate, but not with difficulty getting pregnant.  So we’ll have to talk about that at your appointment.” (which is scheduled for June 20^th)

 

Great.

 

I was so relieved after talking to the Doc.  Before he called (and before the Googling started), I was in a sorry state – weeping, convinced that I’d never carry a child, and fully aware of the irony of having to talk to a largely pregnant woman to get copies of my HSG photos.

 

Speaking of which, here they are –

 

First, a normal HSG for comparison:

 

 

 

And here’s mine.  You can see that the tubes are clear, but the ute is fucked up.

 

 

In this picture, they pulled down on the cervix a bit to get a better look at the shape.

 

 

 

So, there you have it.

 

Oh, but there is a big dollop of good news to garnish my shit sundae – Stella is fine, and ended up not needing amputation after all!  Her leg must have somehow slipped back into alignment between appointments, because after I brought her in for her surgery the vet called and said that Stella was using her leg so well that she just didn’t feel comfortable amputating it.  So Stella is on pain medication, and she’s started acupuncture treatments as well.  Yes, my cat is receiving acupuncture.  Am I a yuppie now?

 

Here’s my princess with all four legs:

 

 

 

 

Well!  I’ve been collecting tidbits like the office newsletter editor (“A review of the company’s sexual harassment policy” “Happy birthday to Chuck in human resources!”  “Reminder: today is the last day to order Girl Scout cookies from Ellen’s daughter”) so it’s time to pull ‘em together and spill ‘em onto the blog. 

So, first thing’s first – we’ve gotten a few test results back lately.

Hal had his semen analysis done, and he passed with the flyingest of colors:

Total Volume: 6.5 mL
Total count/mL: 125 million
Morphology: 80%
Motility: 80%
Complete Liquefaction in less than an hour

(Full explanation of semen analysis results here)

So, it’s definitely apparent that I’m the infertile one.  I’d expected as much all along, so the confirmation really was not troubling for me.

 

I also received the results from my luteal phase progesterone test.  I had the test at 6 DPO – the doctor had recommended that I come in at 5 DPO, but that day fell on a Sunday.  I’m kind of glad I waited the extra day anyway, since everything I’ve found online recommends that you take the test at 7 DPO.  The result was 14.3 ng/mL.  From what I’ve read here and what my doctor told me, that number is about right for a non-medicated cycle – doctors like to see at least 10 in a non-medicated cycle to provide evidence of ovulation and the possibility of supporting a pregnancy.  I was both relieved and yet disappointed to get the results.  I was so sure that my progesterone was what was causing the problem, and in fact I’m still semi-convinced.  The fact that my period arrived three days later (leaving me with yet another 9 day luteal phase) added fuel to that fire.

At this point, my doctor has requested our referral to the previously-posted-about fertility clinic.  We’re currently waiting for the board to approve our referral, and then I’ll get to call and make the appointment – and wait who knows how long for that.  Isn’t the waiting what makes infertility the most fun?!  Boy howdy, I’d say so!

Other news, in more easily-digestible, tidbit fashion:

-Regarding Confabulous:  We will be meeting on Sunday, April 23^rd at noon at La Casa de Alexa in the Twin Cities.  Alexa and I will be there, undoubtedly looking stunning, and will be very, very lonely if no one else shows up.  Please come!  Hey, if I can drag my ass 300 miles to be there, you can too!

-We got preapproved for a mortgage!  We’ve started looking at townhouses in the area, since our apartment lease expires at the end of June.  Big changes to occur in the next few months.

-Spent the weekend in Fargo, North Dakota at a bridal shower/bachelorette party for a college roommate.  If you’ve never been to Fargo, probably everything you’ve ever imagined about it (cold, rural, windy, a bit backward, reeking of sugar beets) is about right.  We rented a party bus and hopped from bar to bar.  We pretty much hit every bar in Fargo and were home by 1:30.  Well, that’s Fargo for you.

-Included in the bachelorette party brouhaha was the college roommate of mass-email pregnancy announcement fame, who, at 20 weeks, is sporting a suitably bulging belly.  Another college roommate announced that she was 12 weeks along as well.  Luckily, she sent me an individual email beforehand, for which I was immensely grateful.  Two roommates knocked up, three to go.  I’m not looking forward to it.

 

-Met the man of my dreams last weekend.  Hands off, ladies.  He’s all mine.

 

I’ve written three different blog posts in my head over the past week, each with an entirely different subject and tone.  As each day has passed, the post has changed – some days in small ways, other days in leaps and bounds.  I guess what I’m trying to say is that this post will be three entirely different posts in one – so I hope you’re in it for the long haul.

Last Monday was cycle day 26 – the day when I usually get my period.  It was also the day before my annual check-up with my new GP under our new insurance.  This was poor planning on my part – I had scheduled the appointment for the first date possible in the month of March, not taking the time to consider when my period was due.

 

By Tuesday, cycle day 27, my period hadn’t shown up.  This isn’t unusual – I had had 27-28 day cycles before – I was simply glad that I could have my appointment as planned, since this was the appointment where I’d seek a referral to an RE.

My new clinic was, indeed, new.  It was finished last summer, and the design and decor were very up-to-date.  Lots of sage green and cream tones.  My nurse was cheerful and very friendly.  She saw on my intake form that I had put “infertility” under the items that I wanted to discuss at this appointment, and asked how longer we’ve been trying to conceive.

 “Sixteen months.”

“Yeah, then it’s about time that you both be checked out.  Has your husband has his appointment yet?”

 “No, he hasn’t been too excited about the notion of bringing in warm semen in a cup.”

 “Tell me about it – I’ve been trying to convince my husband to bring his in for the past two years.”

Ahhhh, another infertile.  She asked when my last period began, and when I told her that it was actually a day late, she said, “Wouldn’t it be great if you found out you were pregnant right after you went in for a referral?”

That would be fucking awesome, I thought.

The new GP was pleasant, knowledgeable, and thorough.  As I saddled up into the stirrups (that didn’t even have fuzzy covers – yeah, I was disappointed), she told me that everything looked normal and explained that she’d be doing a pap smear and a few other tests that were mandatory before she could give a referral – chlamydia, gonorrhea, and one for some kind of bacteria.  After inserting the speculum, she said, “It looks like you’re just about to begin your period.”  As she pulled out the swabs, they were tipped with red.

My heart sank a bit.  As blasé as I acted, I had been hopeful.

The rest of the exam went as it usually did.  She told me that before we got a referral, Hal would have to go in for an exam and a semen analysis.  I told her I’d get right on that, and started composing blog post #1 in my mind.  That evening, I had light spotting, but no deluge.

Wednesday, cycle day 28, passed with only one small bit of beige spotting in the morning.  This is getting fucking weird, I thought.  So I dug out a pregnancy test from the back of the shelf and peed away.  Negative, I noted, and threw it away.  Of course, a half an hour later, I dug it out to check, as all crazy infertiles do – and it was faintly, faintly positive.  I’ve heard all of the evaporation line rumors, and I knew that a positive shouldn’t be read after 10 minutes, so I tucked it into the back of my mind and went on with my day.

Thursday came – cycle day 29 – no period.  On the way to work, we stopped at the drugstore for two more tests, and I became one of those women who pee on sticks at work.  Negative for the first five minutes, and then, again, a faint, faint positive.  Of course, I took pictures with my phone and a digital camera and ran them by my husband and Ms. Prufrock.  And, of course, the pictures were crap so it looked like I was seeing things that weren’t there.  However, in the car on the way home, my husband concurred that there was definitely a second line.  Hmm.

Friday morning – cycle day 30 – no period.  I took the second test, and it was blatantly negative.  Seriously, what the hell is going on?  I called the clinic to see if I could get in to see my GP, and they told me to come down to the lab to pee in a cup over lunch, and a nurse would call with my results by the end of the day.

Peed in cup at 12:30.  Nurse called at 3:30.  Longest three hours ever.

It was positive.

 

She implored me to quit smoking (ha!), drinking alcohol (wow, really?), and to cut down on my caffeine (done and done), and to get on a prenatal vitamin as soon as I could (I actually laughed at this one).  She also told me my due date – November 16^th.  The day after Hal’s birthday.  In the next week, I was to call the prenatal intake nurse so she could set me up with an OB for my first prenatal appointment.

Hal was through the roof with excitement.  I immediately IM-ed Ms. Prufrock, who offered hearty congratulations, as did EJW, my blog buddy up the street.  I started creating blog post #2, which was to end with the sentence, “It seems as if Hal and I have our very own uterine squatter.”

Hal’s brother L and his wife Natalie, who live in town and read this blog, took us out for a congratulatory dinner.  Hal and I tittered excitedly, keeping the “1 in 5 pregnancies end in miscarriage” fact tucked as far back into the corners of our minds as we could.  We marveled over the fact that we were miraculously in the 5% of infertile couples who spontaneously conceive in their second year of trying.  We rejoiced over the fact that there would be no need to see an RE, no expensive treatments, no need for Hal to bite the bullet and bring in the damn semen sample already.

Saturday and Sunday were lovely.  We told a select few people and reveled in the joy and surprise.

On Sunday evening, we were over at L and Natalie’s.  Natalie and I had just gotten back from Target, where we had lingered unnecessarily long in the baby aisles, and I headed upstairs to the bathroom.

Blood.  Bright red.

I called for Hal, and I sat on the toilet, just staring.  Hal came in, and I looked up at his face.  The pain on his face upon seeing the blood was unbearable, and my tears immediately started.  We sat there in the bathroom, crying, for about 5 minutes.  By then, L and Natalie were wondering what was wrong, and I asked Hal to ask Natalie to get me a pad.

I called the clinic to see what they recommended.  After finally getting to talk to a nurse an hour later, she told me that there was nothing much they could do if it was indeed an early miscarriage.  She told me that if my bleeding increased and continued into tomorrow, I should go in to the lab for a beta and see what my doctor says.

The rest of the evening was awful.  One of the worst days of our lives.  There was a lot of hugging and crying, and Hal was absolutely wonderful, despite how crushed he was.  After pulling ourselves together, we watched Annie Hall, which had just arrived from Blockbuster Online.  Feeling better, and knowing that we had to accept the inevitable, I called in to work to tell them I’d be out today, and we slept in this morning.

My bleeding had indeed continued.  Hal and I headed into the lab at noon, and they drew blood for my beta.  I called in at 4:30 for my results, and the nurse told me my beta number: 5.  Dreadful.  No chance, not that I expected any at this point.  I was instructed to take a break for a cycle and let my lining regenerate properly.  I informed her, as I’d been informing doctors all along, that I was pretty sure that I had a luteal phase defect, and asked whether I’d need to see an RE just to get some progesterone supplementation.  She told me to keep track of when I ovulate this cycle, and come in at 5 DPO for some blood levels.  If my progesterone was indeed low, she’d see what she could do to help me out.

Today ended with us calling the few parties we had told to inform them that I had had a miscarriage.  Those were really shitty called to make, but it was good to hear their words of support.

For three days, we got to feel the absolute joy of a surprise pregnancy.  But perhaps somewhere, deep inside, I suspected that a miscarriage would happen.  We were used to going against the odds – the 1 out of 8 couples who is infertile, the 1 out of 20 couples that spontaneously conceives in their second year of trying, and, now, the 1 out of 5 pregnancies that ends in miscarriage.

Last night, as I was emailing Ms. Prufrock, Hal yelled up the stairs, “I’m so glad you have your friends online.”

So am I.  Holy shit, so am I.

Oh, how I’ve missed everyone!

We’re back from our trip to Northwestern Montana, where we enjoyed a view of the Rockies, warmish weather and snow every day (which quickly turned to slush every day, but was beautiful while it fell), hiking and sledding in Glacier National Park, and plenty of fun with Hal’s active family.  The train ride was bearable this year (no Typhoid Murray on the train, as was the case last year), and we returned to Wisconsin well-rested and relatively ready to face the rest of the winter.

I am pleased to announce that I finally have something somewhat interesting to tell you regarding the infertility situation.  No, I’m not pregnant, so get that little thought right out of your pretty head.  Life on that front remains much the same, except this for cycle I finally took Nico’s advice* and went out and bought myself some progesterone cream that I’ve been applying to various areas of my body morning and night in an attempt to control my unruly, sullen luteal phase (as noted previously, 8 days is just a bit too short for my taste).  Today is cycle day 26, 11 DPO.  If this turns out to be a normal cycle for me, the uterus will send forth her crimson fury sometime today.  We’ll see whether this progesterone cream is worth its price.  Which is a lot for not much of the stuff.  Though I must say that it's a bit unnerving to be the only 26-year-old I know who’s buying “Menocream.”

But that’s not the most interesting news.  The most interesting news begins thus:

My husband has been working for the past year as a sub in the local school district.  Just before we left for Montana, he interviewed for a permanent position at a local public high school, and we came home to a phone message offering him the job!  This was good news in and of itself, but with it also came the possibility to gain new insurance coverage.

As I’ve mentioned earlier, I’m employed by the state, and the infertility coverage is nonexistent.  Since Hal will now be employed by the city in which we live, rather than the state (and, as such, his benefits will be negotiated by an entirely different bargaining unit), a glimmer of hope that infertility might be covered on his new plan had begun beaming in the distance.  Yesterday, Hal’s new benefit packet arrived, and I ripped it open with a vengeance heretofore reserved only for boxes of Girl Scout cookies.

There are two plans from which we may choose, and BOTH of them offer varying levels of “involuntary” infertility coverage!  I nearly cried with joy.  One of the plans (let’s call it “A”) offers “Limited to 50% of Covered Expenses up to a Lifetime Benefits Maximum for each Member of $30,000 with a maximum payment by GHC of $15,000,” and the other (Plan B) offers “100% of charges limited to infertility diagnostic service only.”

Hal and I talked briefly, and agreed that Plan A was our best bet, for various reasons: Plan A is free to employees (100% covered by Hal’s employer), has no deductable, and also covers 50% (up to $250 annually) of various complementary medical services such as massage, acupuncture (including an acupuncturist who works specifically with infertility), tai chi, yoga, etc. when provided at a facility operated by the insurance cooperative, no referral needed.  A one-hour acupuncture or massage session would end up costing us only $32 out-of-pocket.  Plan B, on the other hand, costs families $153 a month (!) and has a $600 family deductable as well.

So while it may be nice to have all infertility diagnostics covered by insurance by Plan B, the $153/mo definitely does not sound appealing (and would, eventually, cost more than the diagnostics themselves would cost!).  Plan A, while only paying 50%, covers actual infertility treatment as well, up to $15,000 lifetime.  That may not seem like a lot, but Hal and I will most likely never seek IVF**, so diagnostics and maybe a few IUIs are about all I can see us going through with (which wouldn’t be covered at all through Plan B).  Though having to pay 50% still kind of sucks, it’s a huge help (would have reduced last summer’s consult and prolactin and thyroid tests from $450 to $225 – so much more manageable) and the thought of it is relieving beyond words.  Oh, and Plan A also gives patients access to all of their medical charts through an online MyChart service.  How ‘bout that?

So, yes.  We will be eligible to begin coverage under Hal’s insurance on March 1^st, after which time we’ll continue on the diagnostics pathway.  Good, good news.

Another positive thing: Hal’s new dental plan will pay 65% of the cost for my upcoming tooth implant (which was not at all covered by my state insurance).  That knocks down our responsibility from $1500 to $525!  How awesome is that?!

That’s my life in a nutshell, friends.  Now, back to catching up on your lives!

* I also took Nico’s advice on my volcano face acne and dug out a half-used bottle of my sister’s Proactive Solution, which I had used in college.  Lo and behold, my face (though dry dry dry) is clear as can be lately.

** In regard to this statement – when I say that “we most likely won’t seek IVF,” I do not mean that a) we can’t fathom that our infertility would be so serious that we would have to turn to IVF in order to conceive, or that b) I in any way judge those people who have chosen IVF as a family-building option.  No, no way. 

Hal and I simply believe that we would choose to begin the domestic adoption process rather than IVF, for a few reasons: a) money (as if you hadn’t guessed) is a major factor for us, and we want to give ourselves the best chance possible to come out of a process with a real, live child, and b) Hal has five siblings who joined his family through domestic adoption.  We’ve always hoped to adopt domestically, even if we are able to have children biologically.  Now that infertility has reared its ugly head, it seems the best option for us, should it go that far.

Update: Three cheers for progesterone cream!  I officially enjoyed a 12-day luteal phase this month!  And on to cycle #18 . . .

Well, shit.

 

I got my period yesterday, and the next cycle leads us directly into December.  That means, dear readers, that we're infertile.

 

Who the fuck would have thought?

 

Anyway, I'm doing OK.  Really not a blathering mess by any means.  Actually, I'm quite looking forward to throwing back a few drinks at the big Midwest Infertile Blogirl Soiree on December 3rd (as well as sampling the homemade cherry vodka at the restaurant near Alexa's place afterwards).  Late additions to our party are still welcome!

 

Thanksgiving and Christmas will be filling, and both will be thankfully pregnant-women-and-small-children-free.  I'm certainly not excited to begin the slog down the infertility shit hole, but . . . as you all know, you do what you gotta do.

 

Uck, I sound so goddamned earnest.  Quick, look over there!  It's Clive Owen!

 

Happy Thanksgiving, friends.

Some of you have joined me somewhat later in the game and, as such, may just be assuming that I am infertile.  Actually, at this point at least, I'm not.  Hal and I decided to begin trying to conceive in December of 2004, so we're actually not at the 1-year mark yet.  We are, however (as of yesterday), on our 14th cycle, and with each month that passes, we begin to get less surprised and yet more disappointed by the results.

 

When we first began trying to conceive, I was worried that I'd get pregnant as fast as most people (you know, 3-5 months tops) and that I'd have to tread very, very lightly to avoid losing my (meager) readership.  The first few months, I was actually somewhat relieved that I wouldn't have to think of a catchy yet humble title for a pregnancy post or go through the mental gymnastics involved in making sure that as few people as possible felt left out or offended by the big announcement.  However, as the months passed (and we enter our 11th month of trying to conceive), I'm pretty much sick of it.  I'll take that awkward pregnancy post.  Anyday.

 

In December, I knew that getting pregnant could be difficult from months of reading infertility blogs, and I knew that infertile couples had insensitive comments thrown their way from every direction.  I had learned that lesson from all of you.  I didn't need to live it. 

 

Why can't I trade these 14 cycles with a "clueless fertile" who got pregnant her first month and now, as a self-proclaimed fertility guru, proceeds to tell people exactly what position she used to create her little spawn?

 

 

(Anne tells Tim exactly what worked for her, The Office)

 

 

 

 

Anyway, my pity party has almost concluded.  I am cognizant of the fact that most of you have endured much more than I on this road.  I'm sure you won't be offended when I say that I'm afraid I just didn't want to join you.