It was 10:30 on a Wednesday night. 90 minutes until the online registration for my upcoming swim meet closed. I signed up for some of my usual events, the 100 m butterfly and 50 m free and figured I'd be swimming in at least two relays. Then I remembered the words of advice from my teammate Stewart, "At each meet, you should enter an event that you've never done before. That way you have no expectations for yourself." I looked at the schedule of events. After the 100 m Fly, I'd get a short break during the 100 m breaststroke and then would have the 50 m Free, followed immediately by another relay where I'd have to swim another 50 m Free or Fly. The last event of the day was the 800 m Free. I figured that I'd probably be swimming that distance in my cool down, so why not enter it and maybe earn some points for our team. (I was thinking that not too many would compete in this race) I entered a rather slow estimated time. After all, I had no expectations.
I decided that 'no expectations' would be my mantra for this cycle. I'm not expecting that this cycle will work, but I'm also not expecting that it won't work. I'm staying neutral and I'm not venturing into optimistic or pessimistic territory. Although our IUI TMI data does offer a little encouragement.
On my day 10 monitoring, my left ovary was once again in the lead with a 14.2 mm follicle. As usual, my right ovary tries to do too much only to come up short, and had two small follies at 10.4 mm and 8.8 mm. I returned three days later and my left follicle had grown to 18.2 mm and to my surprise -the right follicle caught up at 16.4 mm! My right ovary gets on the board! My spontaneous conception occurred when I ovulated on my right side -maybe it's my lucky ovary. Additionally, my endometrial lining recorded it's thickest measurement to date at 12.2 mm. It's the only place I don't mind being fat. Go ovaries! Go endometrium!
My RE instructed me to trigger on day 14 and plan for IUI on CD16, which is actually two days later than previous cycles. I brought reference to the fact that I suspected I may have ovulated early on my last IUI cycle. I received a long winded answer that amounted to 'yeah...that can sometimes happen...' He offered that we could trigger that night and inseminate on CD15, but noted that he preferred to give the follicles another day to develop. Given, that this is my first opportunity to have two follies, I was inclined to agree.
While I was at the front desk scheduling my appointment, my RE approached me. He leaned in and said softly, "You and Husband should have intercourse on Wednesday night in the event that you do ovulate early." I don't think I've ever been propositioned to have sex with my husband, by someone other than my husband. Slightly awkward... but we were able to have scheduled coitus as prescribed. After all, it was Wednesday -the day designated for Business Time! We were anticipating his count to be a bit lower, and it wasn't too bad. Pre-wash was 14 million; 3 million were selected for insemination, and post wash motility was 86% -a personal best! I was impressed with his ability to perform under pressure twice in less than twelve hours. In turn, I am being compliant with my luteal phase support. I am putting the P4 in my VG like a good girl.
Hoping to have a 'A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum' story on the morning of my IUI, I discovered that I forgot to pack underwear in my swim bag (I shower at the pool and go straight to the office). This was actually not a problem, as I keep a spare pair in my car in the event of such an omission (black and lacy in case it happens on Sexy Underwear Wednesday). The fact that I forgot to pack shoes was a problem. I saw my first few patients wearing my flip-flops (no one noticed) and Husband brought a pair of shoes to my RE's office when he went to drop off his sample.
Anyway, getting back to my swim meet... It was my first time ever swimming in a long course metre, proper Olympic sized pool...which looked really big up close in person. I began to feel a little nervous when other seasoned swimmers thought my schedule of events was ambitious. Nonetheless, I knocked them off. 4 x 100 m Free relay, 100 m Fly, 50 m Free and then another 50 Free in the 200 Medley relay. Just my easy 800 m Free, which was to be considered my cool down.
Only I forgot that the longer distance swims are seeded fastest to slowest (all regular events are slowest to fastest). I was in heat 9 of 12 and needed to wait two hours before my swim. Despite jumping in and out of the practice pool, I could feel the effects of prior races as my muscles became tight. It was now 5:30 in the afternoon and the temperature was cooling as the sun was setting. I had been up for 12 hours and at the pool since 7 AM. The vendors had left and the only people remaining beside the swimmers in the final three heats were the meet officials and some truly dedicated coaches.
Yet once I dove into the water, my muscles loosened and I felt as if I were in a zone. Interestingly, the 50 metres seemed shorter doing multiple laps than it did during my sprint races. At the advice of my teammate, I looked at the clock, which was helping me keep my pace and may just be the fix to my problem with intervals. As it was so late in the day, there were no volunteers to help count laps.
stroke, pull, kick..stroke pull, kick...blah, blah one...stroke, pull, kick, stroke, pull, kick...blah, blah five, stroke, pull, kick...blah, blah eleven..stroke, pull, kick...blah, blah fourteen...two more laps to go...
As I flipped into my turn to start my fifteenth lap, I heard a bell ringing above my head. It serves to wake up the timers at the scoring table to notify them of the final lap...but I think they just do that for the lead swimmer...OMG! I think I'm the lead swimmer! I pushed my tempo for a strong finish when I touched the final wall. I took a second to look back at the swimmers still finishing in the other lanes before I looked up at the scoreboard and saw the number 1 next to my name.
I won a heat. It was heat 9 of 12, but I won my first heat. I started dancing on the deck to the amusement of the tired and cranky timers and stroke judges. My coach described my splits as "impressive". Somehow, the girl who sucks at interval training managed to get it right when it counted. With the exception of my first and last, my 100 m splits were within 2-3 seconds. My time was 38 seconds below my seeded time, which was notable as I forgot to convert yards to metres when I was entering my time. I placed second in my age group and not because there were only two swimmers competing. I beat out two other swimmers. When I returned to practice the next morning, Stewart was one of the first to congratulate me, "You know, the danger of swimming a 'no expectations' race is that you may end up with a new event..." Perhaps.
Thursday, 1 August 2013
Tuesday, 30 July 2013
The Relegated Bridesmaid
Shortly after I started working in my current position, the Assistant to the Practice Manager started asking me when I was going to have a baby. I've decided to refer to her as 'Michael Scott', even though 'Dwight Schrute' would be a more appropriate parallel analogy. Although quirky, Dwight was actually a diligent and effective employee. She's just as irritating and obnoxious as Michael and is just as inept and unproductive. I've decided that those features outweigh the accuracy of the title. No one in the office really knows exactly what she does all day, but she wanders from desk to desk and talks with staffers. She's been working in this position for thirty years, and I always remember my mother commenting that incompetent people stay in their jobs as they work very hard to hide their incompetence. They learn to look busy, and how to take credit for others' work. Overall, she is a see you next Tuesday.
From time to time she would harass me about procreating. "C'mon, before your eggs fry up" or "You're reaching amnio age." I've been dismissing her by countering that I don't want to have children, which was true for a certain time. One would think that someone who has worked in an Ob/Gyn office for thirty years would be more aware of issues such as infertility or pregnancy loss and would learn not to be nosy, but see my aforementioned description of her. Apparently, she thinks that everyone else's fertility is hers to command. Her "plan" as she frequently announced was that I would become pregnant, followed by Co-worker and then the ENT doctor (this was based on our ages and how long each of us had been married). Obviously, my gametes are not cooperating with her "plan."
Co-worker had her babies. Two boys, both healthy and adorable. She's sleepy, but reports that she is loving every second of motherhood and I couldn't be happier for her and her family. On the day of their arrival, I braced myself to hear the "you're next!" proclamation from Michael Scott. Instead, she focused her attention toward the Family Practice physician who announced her intention to start TTC after her marathon in October. Her medical assistant too. "That way you can both take your maternity leave together!" Oh, she has it all figured out...
As much as I was dreading the public reference to me potentially procreating, I have to admit it stung a little to be omitted. One could argue that maybe she finally accepted that I really don't want to be a mother, or maybe she might suspect that I could be having fertility difficulties and should be sensitive toward me. Yet, I doubt it. See my previous description of her.
I feel like a relegated bridesmaid. Additionally, I received an update from the reigning bride herself. I was sitting alone in the break room when she walked in. She causally asked me about my day and then looked over her shoulder and sat down across from me. She asked about my blood pressure, although I suspect she was really hunting for an update about my fertility treatments. Then she dropped the P-bomb, "I'm expecting." I know from when I had to tell Co-worker about my BFP that it is really awkward to disclose your pregnancy to someone who is struggling to achieve one. I appreciate that she told me face to face (she hasn't made a grand announcement yet) and I'm happy that her pregnancy is progressing well.
From time to time she would harass me about procreating. "C'mon, before your eggs fry up" or "You're reaching amnio age." I've been dismissing her by countering that I don't want to have children, which was true for a certain time. One would think that someone who has worked in an Ob/Gyn office for thirty years would be more aware of issues such as infertility or pregnancy loss and would learn not to be nosy, but see my aforementioned description of her. Apparently, she thinks that everyone else's fertility is hers to command. Her "plan" as she frequently announced was that I would become pregnant, followed by Co-worker and then the ENT doctor (this was based on our ages and how long each of us had been married). Obviously, my gametes are not cooperating with her "plan."
Co-worker had her babies. Two boys, both healthy and adorable. She's sleepy, but reports that she is loving every second of motherhood and I couldn't be happier for her and her family. On the day of their arrival, I braced myself to hear the "you're next!" proclamation from Michael Scott. Instead, she focused her attention toward the Family Practice physician who announced her intention to start TTC after her marathon in October. Her medical assistant too. "That way you can both take your maternity leave together!" Oh, she has it all figured out...
As much as I was dreading the public reference to me potentially procreating, I have to admit it stung a little to be omitted. One could argue that maybe she finally accepted that I really don't want to be a mother, or maybe she might suspect that I could be having fertility difficulties and should be sensitive toward me. Yet, I doubt it. See my previous description of her.
I feel like a relegated bridesmaid. Additionally, I received an update from the reigning bride herself. I was sitting alone in the break room when she walked in. She causally asked me about my day and then looked over her shoulder and sat down across from me. She asked about my blood pressure, although I suspect she was really hunting for an update about my fertility treatments. Then she dropped the P-bomb, "I'm expecting." I know from when I had to tell Co-worker about my BFP that it is really awkward to disclose your pregnancy to someone who is struggling to achieve one. I appreciate that she told me face to face (she hasn't made a grand announcement yet) and I'm happy that her pregnancy is progressing well.
Saturday, 27 July 2013
A Fortunate Occurrence
It used to be typical that AF would announce herself with a few warning light pink spots that I would notice only if were meticulously inspecting the toilet tissue. I never counted this as the first day of my cycle as I figured that no normal woman is staring at the toilet tissue, so it becomes a little like the proverbial tree that falls in the forest -if no one hears it, does it make a sound? I judged it to be a courtesy, much akin to flashing your headlights to on-coming traffic to alert other drivers of a speed trap ahead. As my cycles are very light, this is what I define as "spotting" When it's to the point of needing a liner, that's my full flow. However, on my past two cycles, AF has skipped the preliminary rounds and has launched right into her version of full flow. Nonetheless, I observed for a few hours before emailing my RE's office to report that my cycle was starting. A bit convenient too, as I would be out of the office for an all-day inservice training on my CD2, so I wouldn't have to cancel any patients. I asked for a late morning or early afternoon appointment, which would fit in with the lunch break. The office manager responded that they could see me at noon, but she added "if it's not quite at full flow, it may be best to wait until Friday." While on one hand I was impressed that she actually remembered details from my records, it also seems weird that she knows the intimate aspects of my cycle so well.
While performing my scan, my RE noted that my endometrium seemed pretty thick and he asked the office manager (who was filling in as a chaperone) what cycle day this was. "Well, her spotting started yesterday..." she reported. As I was listening to two other people discuss when my period began, I thought I'd offer that I was needing a tampon by mid-day and I nearly soaked a medium absorbency tampon overnight -that's practically hemorrhaging for me. This was a legitimate day 2. "Well, I think you'll still have a bit more heavier bleeding" he forecasted (he was wrong). Still mulling over whether or not this was CD1 or CD2, he decided to have me take my Femara on CD3-7 rather that the usual CD2-6. For the second time in my life, it felt like no one believed me about when I started my period.
He asked me to return on the next Friday at CD9/10. As I've learned the hard way, that if you don't ask, you don't get; I thought I'd try to use the dispute over my cycle start to my advantage. "So, if we were to call this CD1, does that mean I could schedule my next appointment on a Saturday?" I asked a la Monty Hall in 'Let's Make a Deal'. He replied that the office isn't always open on Saturday -it depends if any IVF patients need monitoring. Thus confirming an earlier suspicion that IVF patients are granted higher priority. Not that it isn't warranted, I just appreciated someone being upfront about it. I can empathise with what it must be like to work every Saturday. Even though it's only a few hours in the morning, it locks you into a routine. However, you knew this going into this field... He also empathised with how difficult it is for me to leave my office and my patients and agreed to see me at noon again.
This would be manageable. I had a new OB visit scheduled at 11:00 on that Friday. I figured I could see her earlier in the week, but leave her on the schedule -thus giving me access to leave the office seemingly unnoticed. I always try to reschedule patients to an earlier date as a measure of good customer service. I figure if you're able to come in sooner, you may not mind the inconvenience of being re-scheduled. However, some patients requested a particular day or time as it fits their schedule. This was one of those situations. The patient had started a new job and could only come in on Fridays. "Squeeze her in for tomorrow at 8:40" I instructed to my medical assistant. Really...? her eyes asked. "You know she is a new patient" she reminded me of my preference not to start a new session with a brand new patient, (As she may have trouble finding the office and arrive late and then need to register and complete her paperwork, and I'm running behind before I even walk in the room) "It will be fine." I replied to her in my 'just do what I ask' voice.
They were a sweet couple. Recently moved to the area and didn't get around to making an appointment with a woman's health provider to renew her prescription for birth control pills, so they decided to "see what happens." It is the same process to call to schedule a new OB visit as it is to get an appointment for pills.. I thought to myself. The giggled with each other over their amazement at how quickly they conceived. Seems to be a recurring theme... After all, she had heard [the rumours] that it can take months to become fertile again after using the pill and he noted that it took his brother and his wife "nearly a year" to conceive his nephew. I did my bit to educate about fertility before moving on to her exam.
By dates she should have been nine weeks. As she was thin, I was able to perform a good bimanual exam. Her uterus felt normal size. Fuck. She likely had an early pregnancy failure. As I set her up for her ultrasound, I rehearsed my miscarriage pronouncement in my mind. Then things went from bad to worse. Her scan revealed a thickened endometrium with no evidence of an intrauterine pregnancy and there was some thing suspicious looking in her right adnexa. Double Fuck. She had an ectopic pregnancy.
I sent her for a formal scan and an hour later I received a call from the radiologist with her prognosis. 3.5 cm right ectopic, small amount of fluid present to suggest hemorrhage. She was not eligible for methotrexate. She would need a laparoscopy and would likely lose her tube. This couple walked into the office thinking that they were winners in the fertility sweepstakes. Not only did I feel as if I were taking away their giant check, I was imposing a penalty of compromised fertility potential. Oh, but first we had to address this life threatening situation at hand. I called my colleague who was on-call at the hospital. "Pre-op her in the office, I'll call the OR" she arranged. The couple were in a bit of shock, but willingly agreed to proceed with her surgery. Naturally, she asked the question for which I had no answer; "Why did this happen?" There were no risk factors in her history. "We're just so glad we came in today." her husband reflected.
I quietly sighed to myself. It was a fortunate occurrence. If nothing else comes out of our fertility project, I will always know that there is someone out there who benefited from my infertility. Still it was hard to swallow. At our last encounter, my RE reminded me that I had a legitimate medical issue and encouraged me not to feel guilty about seeking treatment for myself. I think almost every health care professional finds that it is instinctive to place the needs of those you care for above your own. Additionally, my procedures are technically elective. As satisfied as I was that things had worked out for the best, I felt haunted by the alternate endings. What if she couldn't have come in earlier? I know I can't shoulder all these burdens, but again it's hard when I know how overworked and overwhelmed my colleagues are. It all just give me more fodder to resent the situation of infertility. I hate the fact that others are also inconvenienced by my infertility.
My colleague returned to the office at the end of the day. She reported that she had to remove her tube, but the patient did well and would be going home tomorrow morning. "Good catch, Jane" she complimented "If I hadn't operated on her today, I'd be operating on her over the weekend."
"I rescheduled her." I confessed "I brought her in early to accommodate my own selfish needs for my fertility monitoring appointments."
She just smiled and placed her hand on my shoulder. "Jane, there is such a thing as simply being in the right place at the right time."
While performing my scan, my RE noted that my endometrium seemed pretty thick and he asked the office manager (who was filling in as a chaperone) what cycle day this was. "Well, her spotting started yesterday..." she reported. As I was listening to two other people discuss when my period began, I thought I'd offer that I was needing a tampon by mid-day and I nearly soaked a medium absorbency tampon overnight -that's practically hemorrhaging for me. This was a legitimate day 2. "Well, I think you'll still have a bit more heavier bleeding" he forecasted (he was wrong). Still mulling over whether or not this was CD1 or CD2, he decided to have me take my Femara on CD3-7 rather that the usual CD2-6. For the second time in my life, it felt like no one believed me about when I started my period.
He asked me to return on the next Friday at CD9/10. As I've learned the hard way, that if you don't ask, you don't get; I thought I'd try to use the dispute over my cycle start to my advantage. "So, if we were to call this CD1, does that mean I could schedule my next appointment on a Saturday?" I asked a la Monty Hall in 'Let's Make a Deal'. He replied that the office isn't always open on Saturday -it depends if any IVF patients need monitoring. Thus confirming an earlier suspicion that IVF patients are granted higher priority. Not that it isn't warranted, I just appreciated someone being upfront about it. I can empathise with what it must be like to work every Saturday. Even though it's only a few hours in the morning, it locks you into a routine. However, you knew this going into this field... He also empathised with how difficult it is for me to leave my office and my patients and agreed to see me at noon again.
This would be manageable. I had a new OB visit scheduled at 11:00 on that Friday. I figured I could see her earlier in the week, but leave her on the schedule -thus giving me access to leave the office seemingly unnoticed. I always try to reschedule patients to an earlier date as a measure of good customer service. I figure if you're able to come in sooner, you may not mind the inconvenience of being re-scheduled. However, some patients requested a particular day or time as it fits their schedule. This was one of those situations. The patient had started a new job and could only come in on Fridays. "Squeeze her in for tomorrow at 8:40" I instructed to my medical assistant. Really...? her eyes asked. "You know she is a new patient" she reminded me of my preference not to start a new session with a brand new patient, (As she may have trouble finding the office and arrive late and then need to register and complete her paperwork, and I'm running behind before I even walk in the room) "It will be fine." I replied to her in my 'just do what I ask' voice.
They were a sweet couple. Recently moved to the area and didn't get around to making an appointment with a woman's health provider to renew her prescription for birth control pills, so they decided to "see what happens." It is the same process to call to schedule a new OB visit as it is to get an appointment for pills.. I thought to myself. The giggled with each other over their amazement at how quickly they conceived. Seems to be a recurring theme... After all, she had heard [the rumours] that it can take months to become fertile again after using the pill and he noted that it took his brother and his wife "nearly a year" to conceive his nephew. I did my bit to educate about fertility before moving on to her exam.
By dates she should have been nine weeks. As she was thin, I was able to perform a good bimanual exam. Her uterus felt normal size. Fuck. She likely had an early pregnancy failure. As I set her up for her ultrasound, I rehearsed my miscarriage pronouncement in my mind. Then things went from bad to worse. Her scan revealed a thickened endometrium with no evidence of an intrauterine pregnancy and there was some thing suspicious looking in her right adnexa. Double Fuck. She had an ectopic pregnancy.
I sent her for a formal scan and an hour later I received a call from the radiologist with her prognosis. 3.5 cm right ectopic, small amount of fluid present to suggest hemorrhage. She was not eligible for methotrexate. She would need a laparoscopy and would likely lose her tube. This couple walked into the office thinking that they were winners in the fertility sweepstakes. Not only did I feel as if I were taking away their giant check, I was imposing a penalty of compromised fertility potential. Oh, but first we had to address this life threatening situation at hand. I called my colleague who was on-call at the hospital. "Pre-op her in the office, I'll call the OR" she arranged. The couple were in a bit of shock, but willingly agreed to proceed with her surgery. Naturally, she asked the question for which I had no answer; "Why did this happen?" There were no risk factors in her history. "We're just so glad we came in today." her husband reflected.
I quietly sighed to myself. It was a fortunate occurrence. If nothing else comes out of our fertility project, I will always know that there is someone out there who benefited from my infertility. Still it was hard to swallow. At our last encounter, my RE reminded me that I had a legitimate medical issue and encouraged me not to feel guilty about seeking treatment for myself. I think almost every health care professional finds that it is instinctive to place the needs of those you care for above your own. Additionally, my procedures are technically elective. As satisfied as I was that things had worked out for the best, I felt haunted by the alternate endings. What if she couldn't have come in earlier? I know I can't shoulder all these burdens, but again it's hard when I know how overworked and overwhelmed my colleagues are. It all just give me more fodder to resent the situation of infertility. I hate the fact that others are also inconvenienced by my infertility.
My colleague returned to the office at the end of the day. She reported that she had to remove her tube, but the patient did well and would be going home tomorrow morning. "Good catch, Jane" she complimented "If I hadn't operated on her today, I'd be operating on her over the weekend."
"I rescheduled her." I confessed "I brought her in early to accommodate my own selfish needs for my fertility monitoring appointments."
She just smiled and placed her hand on my shoulder. "Jane, there is such a thing as simply being in the right place at the right time."
Thursday, 25 July 2013
On her Majesty's Secret Cervix
Acknowledgements to The Daily Show with John Stewart for my post title.
I've been mulling about whether or not to write about the birth of the Royal baby for the past few days. As I like to think my blog carries a more serious tone, it might not be fitting; but the event is rare enough (fortunately) to be worthy of a few timid musings. The pregnancy announcement and eventual birth announcement for the Royal Couple was perhaps one that didn't meet with any jealousy. Well technically, I was pregnant when the world learned that the pregnant Duchess was affected with hyperemesis gravidarum. Myrtle sent me a text commenting that I would be due around the same time. I truly didn't care one way or the other. I actually felt badly for Kate. Firstly it sucks to have hyperemesis gravidarum, and I'm sure that wasn't the way she wanted to announce her news.
It's difficult enough to deal with all the changes pregnancy brings to your body, but I can't imagine what it would be like to have thousands of cameras aimed at your developing bump. I can't imagine what it would have been like to experience each contraction and with every push to know that that the world is waiting for your baby's arrival. I can't imagine the pressure her doctors, nurses and staff at the hospital were feeling. I'm sure it was the most nerve-wracking day in their careers. At the same time, I scoffed a few months ago when I learned that she had made her last public appearance before her maternity leave. Maternity leave? It makes it sound like she has an actual job like the rest of us. I rolled my eyes when ever I heard soundbites gushing over her fashion style. Sure, if I had an unlimited budget and a team to shop for me, I'd look glamourous too. How does one balance the privileges of Royalty against the burden of being in the public eye?
Interestingly, the one person in the world who seemed uninterested in the arrival of the Royal baby is the baby's Great-grandmother. A few weeks ago the Queen was quoted as saying that she hoped the baby would be born soon, as she was getting ready to leave on holiday. Least the birth of her great grandchild interfere with her travel plans. Seriously, she couldn't schedule at a different time? Although it seems like this baby will want for nothing, maybe he will be denied the things that riches cannot buy.
In the senseless interest of dishing Royal gossip, I know the Queen amused the world at the Olympics Opening Ceremonies with her participation in skit where James Bond escorts her to the stadium. Husband and I were watching from a pub in London and although we'll never forget the moment when everyone gasped to acknowledge that it was the Queen herself, I think the sketch truly addressed the legacy of the James Bond character. However, when it was written into the script that James would lean down to give one of her Corgi dogs a scratch, (a swooning moment) she requested to have a stunt dog employed. Yes, she would not let Daniel Craig pet her dogs...
One night while my parents and I were at a cafe in Paris, we met a retired policeman who served on the security detail for Tony Blair and had also covered the Royal family at various times. He described that he found the Queen to be "lovely" and thought she had a sharp sense of humour. He found Diana to be "fake", she was a darling in front of the cameras, but very difficult in person. He also commented that she was a "shagger" and noted that it was widely speculated among the security team that "the ginger one" was not Charles' biological child. Although many reports collaborate that her affair with James Hewitt began after the birth of her children, the resemblance is quite striking.
Tuesday, 23 July 2013
Better with Age
So far Cardio tennis has achieved some of my intended objectives: I'm back on the court and I remember why I loved playing so much. The class consists of a woman in her mid to late 40s and her two teenaged sons. One boy is a decent player, the other is not. A friend of hers who has little tennis experience recently joined. On my first day the instructor fed some simple forehands and backhands and I hit my first two shots perfectly. Wow! I've still got it! I thought to myself. Then I missed the next two and was abruptly reminded, nope...not yet...
The muscle memory and timing for my strokes did return and by my third class I was being asked to demo the drills. The instructor also suggested that I could take an evening class called 'late night drill' which is like an advanced placed version of Cardio tennis. The class meets from 9-10 at night and contains a variety of professionals who have quite a bit of tennis experience and all have better than average strokes. Interestingly, there are two lefties, two one hand backhands and two two hand backhanders. It's a Noah's Ark for tennis. Most importantly, they're a fun and enthusiastic group, and I truly enjoy my time on the court
I also completed my training sessions and started Cross-Fit classes. I've concluded that it's just a really effective way to exercise as you use so many muscle groups and combine cardio and strength training. In order to avoid the cult aspect of it, I've precluded myself from ever entering into any competitions. A triathlete friend recently commented, "Cross-fit competition? What the fuck is that? Ooo I'm the best at working out?" (apologies to any Cross-fit competitors) Although I realise that I'm just getting started, I got on the scale the other day:152
I told myself that one of these days I'll really accept that weight is just a number and move past the scale, but it would take some seeing is believing. After the death of our friend Pierre, mutual friends asked for photos to use during the memorial service. It's always fun to take that stroll down memory lane, and we hadn't looked at our photos from University days in ages. It was quite shocking to see my 21 year old self. I was actually a bit chubby.
I figured that when you're in your early twenties and you perceive that the world is your oyster, it follows that your self image is distorted as well. My 21 year old ego stayed with me as I aged. As I've grown older, I've whined how I can't get away without exercising or eating well as I could when I was younger. Now I was confronted with evidence on film to the contrary. I couldn't get away with bad habits in my youth either. While it was slightly disturbing to be confronted with this reality as I looked through these old photos, it was also a bit satisfying. I may not be as light or as thin as I was when I was thirty -although I'm much physically fitter now- but at this old age of 37, I am hotter than my 21 year old self. (wow, that is a whole person who can drive ago...)
My RE usually wears his surgical scrubs in the office; but at my most recent visit, he wore regular clothes, which revealed that he is carrying a bit of extra weight. I always thought that scrubs could make women look frumpy -apparently they have a slimming effect on men. I wasn't quite sure why, but I began to feel a little smug.
Later in the day, I recalled that a few years ago, I had seen some photos of the swimmer who I dated back in college through a mutual Facebook friend. After his deflowering, he informed me that he had to break things off as I was interfering in his relationship with God. As my aforementioned triathlon friend exclaimed, "He gave up [kitty] for Jesus!" Actually, I'm a little embarrassed to say that I don't really know what his specific religious affiliation was, but apparently it was one that disapproved of pre-marital sex. Anyway, while scoping out these photos, I discovered that he hadn't let anything interfere with his relationship with Twinkies, as he had become quite heavy as well as prematurely grey. All I could think was, wow. if these are the pictures you're posting on-line, then the reality may be even worse...
As I had also dated someone who is a doppelgänger of my RE, (a relationship that ended rather bitterly) the thought that he too could also be fat brought pause to make me smile. I realise how shallow and petty I sound, and I'm a little ashamed to reveal this aspect of myself. Yet, in the on-going battle with my body image issues, this was somewhat of a victory. The pictures prove it. Whatever hangs-ups I still hold, I can say that I have become better with age. All one hundred and fifty two pounds of me.
The muscle memory and timing for my strokes did return and by my third class I was being asked to demo the drills. The instructor also suggested that I could take an evening class called 'late night drill' which is like an advanced placed version of Cardio tennis. The class meets from 9-10 at night and contains a variety of professionals who have quite a bit of tennis experience and all have better than average strokes. Interestingly, there are two lefties, two one hand backhands and two two hand backhanders. It's a Noah's Ark for tennis. Most importantly, they're a fun and enthusiastic group, and I truly enjoy my time on the court
I also completed my training sessions and started Cross-Fit classes. I've concluded that it's just a really effective way to exercise as you use so many muscle groups and combine cardio and strength training. In order to avoid the cult aspect of it, I've precluded myself from ever entering into any competitions. A triathlete friend recently commented, "Cross-fit competition? What the fuck is that? Ooo I'm the best at working out?" (apologies to any Cross-fit competitors) Although I realise that I'm just getting started, I got on the scale the other day:152
I told myself that one of these days I'll really accept that weight is just a number and move past the scale, but it would take some seeing is believing. After the death of our friend Pierre, mutual friends asked for photos to use during the memorial service. It's always fun to take that stroll down memory lane, and we hadn't looked at our photos from University days in ages. It was quite shocking to see my 21 year old self. I was actually a bit chubby.
I figured that when you're in your early twenties and you perceive that the world is your oyster, it follows that your self image is distorted as well. My 21 year old ego stayed with me as I aged. As I've grown older, I've whined how I can't get away without exercising or eating well as I could when I was younger. Now I was confronted with evidence on film to the contrary. I couldn't get away with bad habits in my youth either. While it was slightly disturbing to be confronted with this reality as I looked through these old photos, it was also a bit satisfying. I may not be as light or as thin as I was when I was thirty -although I'm much physically fitter now- but at this old age of 37, I am hotter than my 21 year old self. (wow, that is a whole person who can drive ago...)
My RE usually wears his surgical scrubs in the office; but at my most recent visit, he wore regular clothes, which revealed that he is carrying a bit of extra weight. I always thought that scrubs could make women look frumpy -apparently they have a slimming effect on men. I wasn't quite sure why, but I began to feel a little smug.
Later in the day, I recalled that a few years ago, I had seen some photos of the swimmer who I dated back in college through a mutual Facebook friend. After his deflowering, he informed me that he had to break things off as I was interfering in his relationship with God. As my aforementioned triathlon friend exclaimed, "He gave up [kitty] for Jesus!" Actually, I'm a little embarrassed to say that I don't really know what his specific religious affiliation was, but apparently it was one that disapproved of pre-marital sex. Anyway, while scoping out these photos, I discovered that he hadn't let anything interfere with his relationship with Twinkies, as he had become quite heavy as well as prematurely grey. All I could think was, wow. if these are the pictures you're posting on-line, then the reality may be even worse...
As I had also dated someone who is a doppelgänger of my RE, (a relationship that ended rather bitterly) the thought that he too could also be fat brought pause to make me smile. I realise how shallow and petty I sound, and I'm a little ashamed to reveal this aspect of myself. Yet, in the on-going battle with my body image issues, this was somewhat of a victory. The pictures prove it. Whatever hangs-ups I still hold, I can say that I have become better with age. All one hundred and fifty two pounds of me.
Saturday, 20 July 2013
Try a Little Tenderness
I've been reluctant to discuss this part of my professional career, but I used to work at a clinic that addressed unwanted fertility. During my tenure, I participated in many interviews for prospective employees. An applicant for any position; clinician, medical assistant, front desk receptionist, met with many current staff members to demonstrate that he or she was committed to delivering delicate services in a sensitive manner. In particular, I would inform the candidate that he or she could not accept the position merely out of need for a job, but rather out of dedication to the mission. New hires had to attend training sessions, which introduced a new vocabulary of carefully worded terms, and the clinic regularly held workshops for all employees in order to maintain the culture of consideration. I reference this experience only because after reading stories from other bloggers, I'm convinced that these clinics provide more sensitivity training to their staffers than some infertility offices.
Last year, while I experiencing faux implantation cramping during my two week wait and thought my BFP was only days away, I signed up for a CME conference that focused on infertility updates. The conference was four months away, and I had this cocky feeling that I wouldn't really need any extra information for personal reasons by the time the meeting rolled around. I didn't pay close attention to the syllabus before I registered, and thus I didn't notice that all the speakers worked in the same REI practice. It was really awkward as they stroked each others' egos during their lectures.
During lunch, I sat next to a graduate of an REI fellowship who was looking to join this group. I received the impression that she was passed over after her initial interviews, but was getting a second look as their first choice didn't work out. One RE (who is widely published and a nationally recognised speaker -I'm so tempted to name and shame, but I won't) approached her and asked what she has been doing in the 8 months since he first met with her. She began to report that she had a 6 week old son and the RE cut her off, "Wait- you were pregnant when you interviewed with us? Why didn't you mention that? We would have seen that you know what you were doing and we would have hired you on the spot!" I nearly choked as I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Not only was it awkward as he called attention to the fact that she was preliminary rejected, but he knew nothing of her situation. Maybe she had experienced infertility, or maybe this was an 'Oops baby'. I couldn't believe that someone so well renowned in the field of infertility was so ignorant toward one of the subject's most basic components. Naturally, I also began to internalise his comment to mean I obviously don't know what I'm doing.
As AF's arrival has brought us back to the world of group reproduction, I thought I'd reflect on some of my team members. My Favourite medical assistant is one that I think was hired to work with my RE, as she is the newest on staff. She seems a bit green, which carries a degree of freshness; i.e. she hasn't been working in this field long enough to become jaded. She has a bubbly and happy personality, which carries a sense of warmth. She giggles easily and always seems to be smiling. She asked how I was doing on the morning when I learned that my cat A was diagnosed with diabetes, so I shared that news with her. She'll periodically inquire about him. I know it's a rather small practice, and I'm probably the only patient with a diabetic cat; but I still really appreciate that she thinks to query.
There's another medical assistant, who works many Saturdays. My interaction with her was somewhat limited, as somedays my RE would escort me to the room and she would only enter as the chaperone. She would be brief with me when scheduling my follow up appointments, which I found understandable. I was often the last patient to be seen that morning, and I was standing between them and leaving to start the weekend. She wasn't as warm or as cheery as Favourite, just seemingly a bit distant. This all changed after she became my husband's Porn Buddy*. Now, when ever she sees me (even just in passing) she's all smiles and hellos. I guess as she and my husband have viewed porn together, we now share an intimate connection. Inexplicably, I do somehow feel that I've had a three-way with her, more so than with Dr. Somebody that I Used to Know.
Then there is Misery. I cringe a little when I see that she is working with my RE, and I'm sure the feeling is mutual as she always looks particularly annoyed to see me. She simply calls my name and leads me to the room. Never asks how I am doing. Never inquires how my day is going. I'm half tempted to tell her that I've got the whole 'undress from the waist down and cover with the drape' thing down, so she can be spared of any further conversation. She has assisted a few of my procedures and has never engaged in any distracting small talk (something I require of my own medical assistants). Usually, my RE will ask about my work, so I'll try to bring up an interesting case, or grab a cheeky curbside consult for one of my patients. I've noticed that she never even makes eye contact with me to check to see how I'm doing while my RE is navigating through my cervical canal. I think she views her role as simply to be a fly on the wall to ensure that my RE isn't molesting me.
Husband interjected that I shouldn't take her behaviour personally, but I actually hope her distain is unique to me and that she's not so miserable to everyone else. However, I have no evidence to the contrary. I have never even seen this woman smile. Maybe she has struggles in her personal life. Perhaps she is going through a divorce or her teenager is addicted to drugs. Yet, I can't really accept that. As any type of professional, you need to check your personal baggage at the door. I had to be sunny and bright to my newly pregnant patients on the day I discovered I was miscarrying. I've needed to be compassionate to patients struggling with an unplanned BFP hours after my own BFN.
I commented to Co-worker that what seems to irritate me the most, is her general apathy. She doesn't seem to want to be in the office at all and she seems to have no interest in what is going on around her. Case in point, at my last IUI (which I had to attend solo) she offered me a magazine during my 10 minute post coital wait. It was her most considerate gesture to date, but she overlooked the fact that I had a book in my hands. In fact my RE and I discussed my book at the start of my procedure. Co-worker's interpretation: "it's just a j-o-b to her." I thought for a minute what it must be like to do that job. Maybe over the years she had become friendly with patients and experienced their disappointment when treatments failed. Perhaps she had adopted the distant ice queen persona as a form of self preservation. It's easier when you don't let yourself get attached; don't get personal, don't get emotionally involved. It feels reminiscent of Vivian Ward's 'no kissing on the lips' rule in Pretty Woman.
Yet, she knew going into this j-o-b that it would be sensitive and emotional. The full experience of the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat. I'm sorry. If you can't get it up to elicit a smile once in a while, then it's time to get out of the game.
*I took a little license with this term. Defined by the BBC Comedy Coupling, a Porn Buddy is a friend (designated in the untimely event of your death) who goes to your house and removes all the pornographic and other sexually related materials before your parents arrive.
Last year, while I experiencing faux implantation cramping during my two week wait and thought my BFP was only days away, I signed up for a CME conference that focused on infertility updates. The conference was four months away, and I had this cocky feeling that I wouldn't really need any extra information for personal reasons by the time the meeting rolled around. I didn't pay close attention to the syllabus before I registered, and thus I didn't notice that all the speakers worked in the same REI practice. It was really awkward as they stroked each others' egos during their lectures.
During lunch, I sat next to a graduate of an REI fellowship who was looking to join this group. I received the impression that she was passed over after her initial interviews, but was getting a second look as their first choice didn't work out. One RE (who is widely published and a nationally recognised speaker -I'm so tempted to name and shame, but I won't) approached her and asked what she has been doing in the 8 months since he first met with her. She began to report that she had a 6 week old son and the RE cut her off, "Wait- you were pregnant when you interviewed with us? Why didn't you mention that? We would have seen that you know what you were doing and we would have hired you on the spot!" I nearly choked as I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Not only was it awkward as he called attention to the fact that she was preliminary rejected, but he knew nothing of her situation. Maybe she had experienced infertility, or maybe this was an 'Oops baby'. I couldn't believe that someone so well renowned in the field of infertility was so ignorant toward one of the subject's most basic components. Naturally, I also began to internalise his comment to mean I obviously don't know what I'm doing.
As AF's arrival has brought us back to the world of group reproduction, I thought I'd reflect on some of my team members. My Favourite medical assistant is one that I think was hired to work with my RE, as she is the newest on staff. She seems a bit green, which carries a degree of freshness; i.e. she hasn't been working in this field long enough to become jaded. She has a bubbly and happy personality, which carries a sense of warmth. She giggles easily and always seems to be smiling. She asked how I was doing on the morning when I learned that my cat A was diagnosed with diabetes, so I shared that news with her. She'll periodically inquire about him. I know it's a rather small practice, and I'm probably the only patient with a diabetic cat; but I still really appreciate that she thinks to query.
There's another medical assistant, who works many Saturdays. My interaction with her was somewhat limited, as somedays my RE would escort me to the room and she would only enter as the chaperone. She would be brief with me when scheduling my follow up appointments, which I found understandable. I was often the last patient to be seen that morning, and I was standing between them and leaving to start the weekend. She wasn't as warm or as cheery as Favourite, just seemingly a bit distant. This all changed after she became my husband's Porn Buddy*. Now, when ever she sees me (even just in passing) she's all smiles and hellos. I guess as she and my husband have viewed porn together, we now share an intimate connection. Inexplicably, I do somehow feel that I've had a three-way with her, more so than with Dr. Somebody that I Used to Know.
Then there is Misery. I cringe a little when I see that she is working with my RE, and I'm sure the feeling is mutual as she always looks particularly annoyed to see me. She simply calls my name and leads me to the room. Never asks how I am doing. Never inquires how my day is going. I'm half tempted to tell her that I've got the whole 'undress from the waist down and cover with the drape' thing down, so she can be spared of any further conversation. She has assisted a few of my procedures and has never engaged in any distracting small talk (something I require of my own medical assistants). Usually, my RE will ask about my work, so I'll try to bring up an interesting case, or grab a cheeky curbside consult for one of my patients. I've noticed that she never even makes eye contact with me to check to see how I'm doing while my RE is navigating through my cervical canal. I think she views her role as simply to be a fly on the wall to ensure that my RE isn't molesting me.
Husband interjected that I shouldn't take her behaviour personally, but I actually hope her distain is unique to me and that she's not so miserable to everyone else. However, I have no evidence to the contrary. I have never even seen this woman smile. Maybe she has struggles in her personal life. Perhaps she is going through a divorce or her teenager is addicted to drugs. Yet, I can't really accept that. As any type of professional, you need to check your personal baggage at the door. I had to be sunny and bright to my newly pregnant patients on the day I discovered I was miscarrying. I've needed to be compassionate to patients struggling with an unplanned BFP hours after my own BFN.
I commented to Co-worker that what seems to irritate me the most, is her general apathy. She doesn't seem to want to be in the office at all and she seems to have no interest in what is going on around her. Case in point, at my last IUI (which I had to attend solo) she offered me a magazine during my 10 minute post coital wait. It was her most considerate gesture to date, but she overlooked the fact that I had a book in my hands. In fact my RE and I discussed my book at the start of my procedure. Co-worker's interpretation: "it's just a j-o-b to her." I thought for a minute what it must be like to do that job. Maybe over the years she had become friendly with patients and experienced their disappointment when treatments failed. Perhaps she had adopted the distant ice queen persona as a form of self preservation. It's easier when you don't let yourself get attached; don't get personal, don't get emotionally involved. It feels reminiscent of Vivian Ward's 'no kissing on the lips' rule in Pretty Woman.
Yet, she knew going into this j-o-b that it would be sensitive and emotional. The full experience of the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat. I'm sorry. If you can't get it up to elicit a smile once in a while, then it's time to get out of the game.
*I took a little license with this term. Defined by the BBC Comedy Coupling, a Porn Buddy is a friend (designated in the untimely event of your death) who goes to your house and removes all the pornographic and other sexually related materials before your parents arrive.
Thursday, 18 July 2013
You're not pregnant -are you?
I hate intervals. The goal of interval training days is to do multiple reps of 100 yards in the exact same times. I'm usually the leader during sprints or other speed drills, but I don't do well pacing for the lane. The pressure gets to me, as I know that if I can't achieve the interval split, my lane-mates suffer the consequences. I'll place myself last, which makes it hard for me to appreciate the pace. As one of the other objectives of intervals is to focus on technique, I'll select an aspect of my stroke that needs work, but I tend to over concentrate, which slows me down even more. Eventually, I'll have long lost track of my laps and I'll start thinking about work. At this point, I'm in danger of being lapped and on the verge of tears. Interval training days just shred any swimming confidence I have.
This particular interval training day was especially painful. I was struggling so badly at our lane's designated time, that I got moved to a slower lane, but I could barely manage there. I was so relieved when the workout was finally over and I got out of the pool feeling rather crushed. "Are you okay Jane?" my coached asked "You just don't seem like yourself." Before I could thank her for her concern and give an answer, she asked, "You're not pregnant, are you?"
I quickly shook my head. Although it happened over a week ago, I decided to reference the death of our friend Pierre, to try to cover what she already knows -I really suck at intervals.
As I walked out to my car, I took a moment to reflect on what just transpired. I was already in an especially fragile state and could have easily been reduced to a puddle of tears, but I calmly dismissed a reference to being pregnant. At that point in time, I categorically couldn't rule it out. I ovulated. We had coitus. Maybe the two events coincided. We all know there are couples who conceive in between treatment cycles, why couldn't we be one of them? I've had patients who commented that someone else suspected her pregnancy before she did, why couldn't this be one of those situations? Maybe I am just a little more hopeful that I allow myself to believe I am...
This bubble was quickly burst when I arrived home and found that AF was waiting for me. Two weeks ago, Husband was still on the east coast. We didn't have a chance. At least I could feel better about my monitor being inaccurate, since it didn't matter after all. Yet, I still felt a little bitter. Another month declared null and void as we never had the opportunity to try. It just feels so far out of reach at these times.
I noticed there were only two tampons left in the box. Crap. I would have to run to the store later. I recalled at the end of my last cycle that I made a mental note that I would need to pick up another box. I remember walking past the feminine hygiene aisle and reminding myself that I would be needing more tampons, especially as we weren't IUI-ing this month. Maybe this was my way of exerting subtle optimism?
I have also been reluctant to buy a bulk supply of sanitary products. When I first had my IUD removed, and was preparing to have AF return after a ten year absence, I bought a large multi-pack. Foolishly, I thought my purchase was overkill. After all, I would be pregnant rather soon, but as tampons don't expire, the boxes could happily gather dust until I needed them again. Well, the pregnancy aspect didn't transpire, but it turns out that I didn't need the value sized box. My flow is so scant that I only need 4-5 light tampons per cycle. I gave my boxes of 'medium' and 'super' absorbency tampons to Co-worker and she went thought both of them before I finished my box of lights.
I arrived at Target and found they were running a promotion on tampons. Purchase four boxes and receive a $5 gift card. Seriously, who at the Target headquarters selects the products for these incentives? A few months ago, it was prenatal vitamins. Menstrual supplies are the other end of the spectrum of the bain for infertiles. However, tampons seem to be more honest, as opposed to feeling like a fraud for picking up prenatal vitamins. Where the cartoon pregnant woman on the bottle of vitamins is mocking, the woman pictured riding a horse along the beach on the box of tampons is comforting; 'you're one of us...' she welcomes. Most importantly, no one questions you for your purchase. You could be happily child-free by choice or a mother of three. The clerk isn't going to congratulate you for menstruating.
I bought the four boxes, so I could receive my $5 gift card and I plan to use my reward toward something fun. It seemed appropriate to issue another challenge. We'll see if I can become pregnant before finishing this supply of tampons, but I also think I could have stocked myself until menopause...
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