Um... No.

Wow, things move fast in the world of infertility treatments when you mention the letters I, V and F. I was practically still cramping from my IUI procedure when I received a voicemail from my RE himself, as he was calling to discuss the protocol and tentative schedule that he had drafted. I was just finishing up with my last patient, but I called back about ten minutes later.
"Hi, this is Jane Allen. I'm returning a call from Dr Somebody that I Used to Know" I announced to the receptionist.
"I'm sorry" she replied "He says that if you have a lot of questions, you'll need to make an appointment to come into the office."
What the Fuck. Maybe I couldn't get away with that cheeky consult.
"Um. He called me." I informed her.
"Who is this again?" she asked
"J-a-n-e A-l-l-e-n." I enunciated
"Oh Jane!" she exclaimed "I thought you were someone else" Alas, the lifelong confusion when you have a proper name as your surname. "Oh yes-yes! He wanted to talk to you. Let me put you right through..."

"Well hopefully this IUI will be successful and you won't need to do IVF" he said for good measure, and then wasted no time getting right to the point. After some consideration for the fact that we haven't yet stimulated my ovies, we could try a short protocol during a  natural cycle. That sounded good so far; no Lupron, no birth control pills. I could even appreciate Husband's mind at work - less drugs = less cost. "So, we could start with your next cycle, which would give us a tentative retrieval date of 25 September. How does that sound?"

I checked the calendar just to be sure, but I knew what conflicted with that date. It was two days after my in-laws arrive and it was the day my parents fly in. I could just imagine the logistics of Husband taking me home from my retrieval and leaving me alone with his parents while he goes to pick up my parents from the airport. My heart started pounding and I had to focus on my breathing. The mere thought of going through this during the in-law invasion was inducing a panic attack. "I'm sorry, but that's not going to work, my parents and in-laws are in town." I explained. "Well, talk things over with Husband and let me know." He replied. Um, did we travel back to the 1950s where the man has the final say? Dude, I told you that date wouldn't work! Then I realised why it was probably hard to understand. I'm sure most patients probably arrange to have their relatives stay with them during this process. I hadn't intended to explain my family dynamics.

Let me start by saying that my in-laws are very sweet and generous people who have been nothing but kind to me from the first time we met, which makes me feels so horrible for harbouring the feelings that I have for them. Although, while they are pleasant on the surface, I know they resent the fact that I am the reason why their only child lives on the other side of the world. The fact that I didn't take Husband's surname doesn't endear me much, either. In addition to that underlying tension, they're socially very awkward. They don't have any friends. They don't travel. They don't have any hobbies, except my father-in-law follows Formula One and my mother-in-law loves Barry Manilow. That's it. They only thing we have in common is Husband.

Whilst in London last summer during the Olympics, we walked past Buckingham Palace and my mother-in-law commented, "Oh, I've never seen it in person." My jaw nearly dropped, which has been the response of everyone with whom I have shared that story. Seventy-four years she has lived in England, less than an hour's journey from one of the most famous landmarks in the world and never saw it up close. Really? Not on a class field trip or family holiday? I started to feel badly for her. Thus, many -my parents, Myrtle, my aunt and uncle and to some extent me- didn't think they'd actually make the trek for this trip. I think they only agreed to it, as it would fuel more jealousy toward my parents if we went on holiday with them. A small part of me is proud of them for finally noticing that there is an entire world to explore beyond their front door, but it seems a day late and a pound short.

Have you even been at a party or social gathering where you're struggling to make conversation with someone who you don't know well and you start looking for an escape? Scanning the crowd for a familiar face who can rescue you. Stalking the server with the cheese puffs even though you don't like cheese puffs. That's going to be my life for the fortnight during their stay. Now imagine going though your stimulation, retrieval and waiting for your fertilisation report during those conditions. Of course, I will have my parents to serve as a buffer, but I haven't factored how they would play into this hypothetical transfer date. My parents don't know about our intentions to conceive, let alone our difficulties. As it's the only aspect in my command, I will tell them on my terms when I feel it is the right time. I can just imagine dropping this bomb; "So guess what? We're infertile and we need to do IVF. In fact, we're right in the middle of it!" The most legitimate logistical issue is that we are due to depart for Hawaii on the day that would need to be reserved for a possible day 3 transfer. "Husband and I are just going to run out for an errand! It's having the embryo that could become your grandchild placed in my uterus. Everyone be packed and ready to go by the time we get back!"

Nonetheless, I did as I was told and talked things over with Husband. The look of terror in his eyes confirmed that he agreed with me whole heartedly. That time is most definitely not going to work for us. Besides, we are officially on a break.

What the Future Holds

This picture is of a 17 year old Bill Clinton shaking the hand of President John F. Kennedy during a Boys Nation trip to the White House in 1963. Regardless of your politics or feelings toward the Clinton presidency and legacy; you have to be impressed with this unique moment in history. The current president is looking into the eyes of a future president. I wonder if the photographer or any of the other boys were aware of what they were witnessing.

We ventured to Arkansas for the long weekend to attend a wedding and to tour the Clinton Presidential Library, which is a big deal for a political junkie like me. Husband is one of four ex-pats from his University in England who immigrated to the States. Each year they arrange to get together for a guys weekend, but for the past two years, we've gathered for the exchange of nuptials. After our first attempt at "officially" trying to conceive resulted in the first of many BFNs, we received a 'save the date' announcement for a wedding on a date that would have our due date. It became a silver lining at the time, but nine months of BFNs later, it felt strange to be at Barney and Robin's wedding and to not even be pregnant. A few weeks after our miscarriage, we received a 'save the date' flyer for another September wedding. We didn't have to say it out loud, but we both knew we wouldn't have been able to attend the wedding with a newborn less than a month old. Yet, we here were are; guests at the wedding for Marshall and Lilly, still not pregnant and preparing for our last hope with IVF. (For purposes of my analogy, Husband reprises the role of Ted and the previously named fourth Englishman, is Raj -borrowed from another series.)

I'm not sure why these weddings represent such markers for me, perhaps it is the not so subtle reference to the promise of children that is meant to follow after the honeymoon. True Story: when I was composing my speech to deliver at Myrtle's wedding, I was careful not to include any mention about having children. Although I knew she how much she wanted to have kids, I was aware of the infertility potential for a woman over the age of 35. You know the rest of the story; two months later she was knocked up and two years later, I'm still barren.

So far, this trip as called our attention to two facts. One, we are getting too old to take red-eye flights, although it is somewhat unavoidable when you live on the west coast. Two, we are at the phase in our life where we are attending a friend's second wedding. Marshall met his first wife while he was spending a year in America during a study abroad program. Before he left, he had declared his intention to immigrate and to eventually pledge alliance to the Stars and Stripes. Although she was very nice, they just didn't seem to fit together and many suspected this was a Green Card relationship. In fact, he was even assigned the nickname 'Gerard Depardieu' on a hockey tour. He obtained his law degree from the University of Arkansas and was granted a work visa from a local law firm, which allowed him to eventually pursue citizenship. Eight years into the relationship, they finally tied the knot. On the surface, they seemed really happy, but three years after their wedding date, he expressed concerns about their stability and a few months later, she confessed to having an affair.

Mere moments after his divorce papers were signed, his Facebook status announced that he was "in a relationship" with Lilly -a woman ten years his junior. It was widely presumed that she was "the rebound girl" and after meeting her, many of his friends expressed that notion.  I was introduced to her for the first time at Barney and Robin's wedding, but before I could formulate an opinion, they announced their engagement. This brings me back to the Clinton-Kennedy photograph: how often do we recognise the initial instant when we are confronted with our destiny?

How many of you recall the first moment you met your spouse -did you know then that he/she represented your future? My cousin claims she did. She had been in a two year relationship and was expecting to be asked "the question". Instead she received the statement: we need to talk. Her friends encouraged her to sign up for a volleyball league in order to lift her spirits and maybe meet someone. The night of their first match, she spotted a handsome man who arrived late from work. He was wearing a three piece suit and carried a volleyball under one arm and a six pack of beer under the other. As soon as his eyes met hers, she knew that he was the one for her. When I first met Husband, my thoughts were hmmm, he might be spongeworthy.... but mind you, I was motivated to end my dry spell before it reached the one year mark. Myrtle and I didn't notice each other much during nursery school, but one day we both brought the same Raggedy Ann doll for Show and Tell, and Kindergarden rules dictate you must play together under that situation. We were inseparable after that incident, and I have often wondered if the friendship would have developed if one of us had selected a different toy. Relating all this to infertility, I'll be trusting the embryologist to examine our 70-100 cell blastocysts and to determine which one is destined to be our baby.

Thanks to the recommendation of the concierge at our hotel in Little Rock, we dined at a local Microbrewery and ordered an eight flight sampler. As it has become customary to do, we were each updating our Facebook accounts. Husband posted this photo:

Boozing with my wife...

After we finished, I added this one:

Bu-rrr-up!

Later, we both scrolled through our news feeds and saw the other's post and were amazed at how we spontaneously complimented each other. We started laughing so hard that we were both crying and the waitstaff approached our table to make sure no one was chocking. As we composed ourselves, I knew at that moment that no matter what our future holds with regard to conception; as long as this man is in my present...everything is all right...

Going Through the Motions

As it has become my routine, CD1 involves discreetly carrying a tampon and my phone into the bathroom, so I can call my RE's office for baseline monitoring. At least this past time AF had the courtesy to appear on a Friday, which meant I could go in on Saturday morning. "There's no one else scheduled tomorrow" the office manager informed me. "Can you come in today at 12:30?" So funny that with my other cycles, he's been meticulously insistent on a CD 2 scan, but I was happy that he would have a Saturday morning free to do whatever he would do on a Saturday morning that didn't involve going into the office. Yes, 12:30 could work for me, although it would mean delaying an in-box of patient calls. Fortunately, nothing looked too urgent and could wait for my return. I grabbed my keys and was about to leave when I received a call from the office manger "I hope you haven't left yet. There's another patient who needs to be seen tomorrow, so we can see you then if you'd like." This was the bright spot in an otherwise shitty day. I truly felt the advantage of the personal attention from a smaller office.

I arrived a few minutes early for my appointment and the front door was still locked. I could see Misery through the window. I silently groaned thinking she would be even less excited to see me knowing I was half of the reason why she had to work on a Saturday morning. "Good morning, Jane. How are you?" she pleasantly greeted me. Who was this woman and what had she done with Misery? Firstly, I don't think she's ever identified my name without checking my chart or the schedule first. Secondly, she actually smiled. I'm sure she must get paid overtime, so maybe she's happier when she's working on the weekend. Maybe she's starting to feel badly for me. I even got a sympathy pat on the outside of my thigh from my RE as he wished me a good weekend.

It just seemed like we were going through the motions. Ovaries quiet, go ahead and start Femara today. I mentioned to my RE that starting the Femara on day 3 yielded the best production from my ovaries thus far. He responded with a shoulder shrug and "you can start on day 3, it won't make much of a difference." Who knows if it was a coincidence, but I started on day 3 and had two ripe follicles on my left side by CD 11. Co-dominate follicles at 22 x 19 mm and 18.5 x 20 mm to introduce a new term as well. Lining: I don't remember. Insemination on day 13.  Husband's count was as per usual. 14 million pre-wash, motility 75% progression '4'. 4 million selected for the journey to my uterus.  At least he scores points for consistency.

It was a peaceful process. I had to do some last minute juggling with my patients to clear time in my schedule, but miraculously everyone showed up on time (a new patient even arrived early to register and complete her paperwork -a rare occurrence) and I was able to leave the office when I needed. I had a great set at swimming and the magic person in my iPhone came up with a great selection of music for my drive to and from the office. It's all seeming so routine, which is starting to really resonate that it's time to change the game plan. I texted Husband with his numbers. His reply: Crap :( Don't know if I can be bothered with IUI anymore. Alas, we're ready to move forward.

We Need to Talk

"So, can we arrange to have the IVF talk?" I asked my RE, as I rose out of lithotomy position at my recent monitoring appointment. "Sure, we can talk now." he replied to my surprise. I was expecting to need to set up a separate visit, which would require insurance authorisation. I had a dentist appointment (for real) following my scan, but I figured since I was already nearly a year overdue for my cleaning, I could be a few minutes late. I wasn't going to pass on an opportunity to pick my RE's brain. I've outlined some of the details of our conversation, but I would really appreciate some insight from any IVF veterans!

Getting Started
Would need to start planning a month ahead. As I went into hypertensive crisis on birth control pills, he would prefer to start Lupron in my luteal phase. I offered that I could re-challenge the birth control pills by taking my blood pressure meds at the same time, as I did respond (relatively) quickly to them. I just have an aversion to Lupron, based on the experiences with my patients. He did point out that this is not Lupron in the way that I'm familiar with it, a 3.75 mg monthly injection or 11.25 mg three month depot, which is often used to treat endometriosis or fibroids, but rather a micro dose. It still gives me a little concern that the Lupron could over suppress my ovies, and I'd rather take my Labetalol and deal with my blood pressure to avoid Lupron if I can!

Ick-See!
Intracytoplasmic sperm injection (ICSI) is considered the standard of care for male factor infertility issues, my RE explained, also noting trends towards widespread use. "In you were only to apply indications, it's use should be about 20%, in the state of California it is performed in about 70% of IVF treatments." He commented that his own ICSI rate is about 65%, but some large facilities such as Massachusetts General have nearly a 99% ICSI rate.

Initially, I was dead set against doing ICSI as each week my Medscape update would feature some article regarding risks of ART and especially ICSI. A study published in May 2012 examined 309,000 Australian children and found 9.9% of ICSI conceived children had some birth defect, compared to 7.0% of conventional IVF babies and 5.8% of offspring that resulted from a roll in the hay. Interestingly, my greatest fear about procreating in general is autism. We're the typical prototype: Late thirties, Caucasian, middle class and educated. I don't know how I would handle the guilt if our progeny has autism. There was a reason why you weren't meant to conceive! This is what happens when you defy the natural scientific order! Those thoughts would haunt me for the rest of my life. One study found that there was no increased association between ART (did not distinguish conventional IVF vs ICSI) and autism spectrum disorders in singleton births. However, it was an observational study that only looked at 370 autistic children, so it doesn't reassure me that much. Looking through the UptoDate.com database, they note an increase risk of inherited structural chromosomal anomalies, which makes me wonder if we should karyotype Husband. Beyond that, studies examining ICSI conceived children until the age of 10 note no significant psychological, neurological or other health related differences. Christos Coutifaris, the REI Department chair at the University of Pennsylvania, concludes that outcomes for adverse health effects of ART are still incredibly small. "Even if there is some underlying process that makes some of these [children] susceptible to certain condition, the vast majority appear to be normal." Thus applying the infamous quote from David Grimes, "two times a very small number...is still a very small number."

Here's where the blogging community has made me so much wiser. A year ago, I was looking into minimally stimulative IVF options. Now I want to stimulate the hell out of these puppies and get as many eggs as I can produce. One of my father's best pieces of advice that he gave me was, "the more shit you throw against a wall, the more that's bound to stick." (Mind you I was only 10 or 11 and it was probably controversial to say 'shit' in front of your child...) However it seems so relevant now. My RE commented that he would strongly advise against even a split ICSI cycle. I shared that I estimate I may get a dozen eggs from my ovies and if half fertilise, we'll have 2-3 maybe 4 at the most with which to work. He thought that was pretty accurate. Leftover embryos? Oh, I won't even entertain that thought. I sure as hell won't let them be adopted by a fertile pastor and his wife.

To GPD or not to GPD
I expressed an interest in genetic preimplantation diagnosis. As per usual, my RE gave a very methodical answer that we didn't have a true indication; we're not carriers of an inherited condition and we haven't been through recurrent losses. He even noted that I wasn't at too high of a risk for aneuploidy at my age. Um, I'm an old bird, I thought to myself, but didn't interrupt him. I responded that I wouldn't want to receive abnormal screening results or discover a trisomy on a pathology report after a D+C. If we're taking the scientific approach, I want to exploit every advantage. He pointed out that it would cost an additional $3,000 - 5,000. Oh, and after referencing my age for the second time, he asked me to remind him just how old I am. I was flattered. Having someone think you're on the underside of the advanced maternal age status is akin to being carded in your late twenties.

I am having trouble selling Husband on the idea. As he just tends to see dollars and figures, he looks it as increasing the cost by 1/5 to 1/3. I see it as insurance protection to what is already an expensive investment. If we're going down this road, I want to get in right the first time. I tried to rationalise in terms of dollars and cents for him; we could get pregnant on the first try, only to discover after the fact that there is a chromosomal abnormality and need to start over with a frozen embryo (if we have one) which also costs $3,000 - 5,000, thus negating the GPD investment. This doesn't account for any of the emotional anguish. How hard would be be kicking ourselves if we were to encounter that situation? More so, what if we have no normal embryos? We would avoid all the financial and emotional costs associated with transfers. However, both my RE and Husband pointed out that transferring normal embryos still doesn't guarantee successful implantation and a miscarriage could still happen. They both seem to be on the page that we could just roll the dice and have a reasonable chance for a good outcome. I'm not sure I'm comfortable with that. It's not an abstract concept for me. I've scanned patients at nine or ten weeks and confirmed the absence of a heartbeat. I've delivered the diagnosis of an abnormal karyotype. For fertile couples, this provides some relief; an explanation for their loss. Once they recover emotionally, they just jump back in the sack and call with a positive pregnancy test in a few months. In our situation, the devastation is compounded by the frustration that we could have prevented this occurrence. We're still debating and discussing this item.

'Neat' or 'On the Rocks'
I pretty much already had an answer to this question. If an embryo makes it to day 5 and survives freezing and thawing, it is perceived to be a good quality embryo. Additionally, performing a frozen transfer at a later date allows optimal priming of the endometrium, which can sometimes be compromised during ovarian stimulation, especially in cases of OHSS. My query was based on the fact that their pricing structure designates a day 3 transfer.

A Weighted Concern
I know it is completely shallow, but one of my greatest fears about the IVF process is the potential for weight gain just from the stimulation process. I took notes on two of my patients who presented for their first prenatal visits after conception was achieved with IVF and both were ten pounds above their baseline weight. One was a triathlete, who had earned the 140.6 sticker on her car, the other was a gym rat. My RE just shifted in his chair and pointed out that I'll be gaining even more weight with my pregnancy. Damn it! this is the same response I give to my patients who ask about weight gain with birth control methods. there is nothing more annoying than hearing the echo of your own counseling. I quickly countered by referencing the stats on my patients and pointing out that ten pounds represents half of my allotted weight gain. He just sort of muttered "with exercise, you'll be fine".

I had some other questions such as benefits of endometrial injury, what point would we no longer consider a single embryo transfer, but would need to leave those to another day as I was seriously late for my dental appointment. Fortunately, they were able to still see me and I had a good check-up. Another item for my Resume of Life: Neglected dental health without any serious consequences. Score!

Best Laid Plans

It all seems so easy when it's written on paper (truly a figure of speech, typed on a key board seems more accurate). I had figured we would have our last ditch IUI attempt in September before going to Hawaii and start our IVF process when we return. Although, I suppose if it's really much easier when you write it out, I could just script a spontaneous conception with a viable pregnancy.

Anyway, an IUI cycle seemed to be the prefect antidote to moderate male factor and two sets of in-laws who would be visiting during my LH surge. Husband could claim that he needed to run an errand for his work; although as his parents are in the loop, he offered that he could just tell his mother "I'm off to go wank!" Hello, are you a fucking idiot? I asked. "Do you want to think about your mother right before you go into the masturbatorium?" Providing, he could pull that off, I would leave in the middle of the work day to get inseminated and no one in the parental unit would be any wiser. Yet, the reality involves sneaking away to give myself my trigger shot, hiding my progesterone supplements and maintaining my game face in front of my in-laws at the end of the two week wait.

It all gives me pause to laugh. It was just less than a year ago when we were first planning to start IUI treatments, and we actually considered postponing them a few months; in the event that it worked on our first cycle, the impending arrival would coincide with the in-law invasion and the Hawaii trip. I refused to delay. This family fun time holiday was never actually my idea and I wasn't exactly consulted about it. I never really said much when it was discussed between Husband and my parents, I thought it was more of an abstract concept. Then one day it was happening. I didn't want to put our lives and the life of our potential child on hold to accommodate a multi-family vacation. Little did I know it would happen anyway. The spontaneous pregnancy, miscarriage, septum resection and recovery led us to starting IUIs in March.

So now here I am, willingly passing on an opportunity for another treatment that technically doesn't conflict with the trip. It's yet another reminder of how much I've learned and how much I've changed during this process. I never fully appreciated the notion of needing a break during infertility treatments prior to my own experience. I could understand the constrains and some of the rationalisations, but it just seemed counterintuitive. If getting pregnant is your goal and you've been through so many other delays, why chose to wait any longer? There's a voice inside my head that questions my commitment: C'mon, if you really wanted to, you could make this cycle work! Fortunately, the logical part of my brain speaks louder. Yes, I want this, but there are some things I'm not willing to compromise. I already have enough angst surrounding this visit with my in-laws and parents. I will not torture myself by adding the stress of an IUI and 2WW.

The disadvantage of living so far away from your parents and in-laws is that your time off going home is not really a holiday. In particular; even if you are going to Hawaii but can't get laid because you are sharing quarters with your parents and in-laws, then it is not by definition a vacation. We can't even try the 'take a vacation!' approach, as firstly I'll probably ovulate before we leave, and the challenge of sneaking off to find a discreet spot wouldn't add any extra pressure on to Husband...

At least I can enjoy a vacation from infertility treatments. It may not be the vacation that I planned, but probably one that I need. I can "relax" on the beach while knowing that it won't contribute to getting pregnant, just to my well being. Although there will be many moments of frustration and annoyance, there will be a lot of memories to cherish. For the first time, I'm actually starting to look forward to the trip.

Dreams, they complicate my life...

I've never really spent much time trying to understand my dreams or to analyze what they could be mean. Probably because most of the time I don't remember many details, and when I do, the dreams are very mundane and literal. I'll dream about work, or sometimes I'll sleep through my alarm and miss going swimming, because I've been dreaming about getting ready and driving to swimming. A few years ago, I had an exceptionally realistic dream.

That story actually starts in the time before I met  Husband. I was out with a friend at a night club in London and it was my turn to get a round of drinks. Across the bar, I spotted a rather attractive man with dark hair. Our eyes locked and held a gaze for a few seconds. When I rejoined my friend, she was warding off some unwelcome male attention, so we decided to relocate to a different spot in the bar. Whilst in transit, I was approached by the handsome man I saw across the bar. My knees went weak the first time I heard him speak. He was a Kiwi. I've always had a particular affection for Australians, so New Zealand is just as close, and I'm not referring to geographic proximity. We began to chat and after a few minutes I noted that he was holding my hand. The attraction was quite intense and when he started to lead me to the dance floor, I willingly followed. An hour or so later, last call was announced. He leaned in and invited with his irresistible accent, "Do you fancy waking up in my arms tomorrow morning?"

It would have been my first (and perhaps only) one night stand. Although my loins were quivering, my pragmatic brain prevailed. He could be a serial killer, Jane. They'll find your mangled corpse in a dumpster and the police will have to tell your parents what a little slut you were. Or he could have herpes. 70% of transmission occurs during periods of asymptomatic viral shedding. An orgasm is temporary, but herpes are forever! Alas, I declined his very tempting offer. He did ask for my email address, and to my surprise there was a message in my inbox the next morning. We corresponded over email for a few weeks, and I didn't find any evidence that supported or refuted him being a serial killer. In fact he seemed like a pretty nice guy. I inquired and learnt that he had nine prior sexual partners (a respectable number for his age) and recently had a negative STI panel (although I didn't specifically ask if he had HSV1+2 antibody testing done). We shared the same grammatical pet peeves, and I am such a nerd that I found it quite hot. We discussed meeting up to consummate the primal desires which had commenced from the moment we first saw each other. I truly contemplated it, as I wondered if I could compound some Valtrex and slip it into his drink, but I think at that point I wanted something more than a fling and he was just looking for the lay that could get him into double figures. I also rationalised that the version of our passionate coitus that I carried in my head was probably much better than the reality. Thus, he became the best shag I wish I had.

A few years ago, I had a dream that I slept with him. It was very average. Much like in real life when the first encounter is accompanied by the slight awkwardness of wanting to impress the other person without seeming like you're trying too hard. Thus, even the manifestation of my overactive subconscious was a total buzz kill.

Anyway, I am digressing and indulging in a bit of nostalgia to illustrate that I have very boring, if not disappointing dreams. Earlier when I wasn't trying to conceive, I had some pregnancy scare dreams, although I knew that I had my IUD in place and needed to confirm that the pregnancy wasn't an ectopic. See what I mean about my dreams being so literal?

Prior to the scheduled date for my first scan and before I started bleeding, I had one relevant dream during my brief pregnancy. I was going in for my CD2 monitoring, but it was my Favourite MA who preformed the ultrasound. She just started giggling and said, "um, you're already pregnant" (which actually was true, as I was pregnant on the day of my first CD2 appointment for what would have been our first IUI cycle). She kept reiterating that she couldn't tell me any details, but I could see that there was a single viable fetus at approximately nine weeks. Myrtle laughed when I shared the dream with her as she noted that it was fitting that I would have such a clinically accurate dream, but she thought it was a good omen. She also added that in one of her dreams, I revealed that I was having a girl.

I didn't share it with Husband, but in the final nights of our last 2WW, I had kept seeing two lines on a pregnancy test in my dreams. Mind you, I don't remember any details, such as if it were specifically my pregnancy test, but over and over again, I saw a pink line and a blue line. Then in the final night, I was dreaming about beta numbers. When I went for my first draw after my BFP, I emailed the office with my LMP and conception dates and I projected my HCG levels would be between 175-200. It was 171. In this last dream, I was in the lab chatting with the same phlebotomist who did all my previous beta draws and I was guessing at my beta numbers with her. It seemed so vivid.

A few nights after I composed my post about taking one step at a time and not looking too far ahead, I dreamed that I was pregnant. It was the first time in any of my dreams that I actually had a bump and I could feel the baby move. I was also in quite a bit of pain, and I precipitously delivered the baby at home in my living room. Yet, two of my colleagues and a random paediatrician magically appeared, and just like on TV, one of them handed me a three month old baby - a girl. She had Husband's eyes and she was beautiful. Then I woke up.

One Step at a Time, One Day at a Time

A fellow blogger once wrote "no one is born with the skills to cope with infertility, it's something we acquire during the process." I think I would also add that your coping mechanisms also evolve based on your experiences. It had been a tough week. After observing our would have been due date to erroneously anticipating a possible pregnancy, we felt like we had experienced an emotional wipeout. "I don't know if I can keep doing this." Husband commented. Mind you, we are still in the minor leagues of infertility treatments.

It feels like the ultimate game of high risk and high rewards. So much is put on the table; financial investments, physical pains, emotional vulnerabilities, with only two possible scenarios. Win the jackpot, or walk away empty. I reminded Husband that on a base level, we do have hope that this could work. If we didn't, then there is no point in going forward. Yet how do you carry your hopes, without becoming too hopeful?

I've decided to induce anterograde amnesia, a loss of an ability to make new memories, or in my case an inability to make potential memories. I'm restricted from daydreaming. I won't let myself fantasize about a positive pregnancy test and the potential milestones that could follow. I won't look ahead to future events and wonder if they could be affected if I were pregnant. I can't ever get ahead of myself again. My focus is only on the here and now. It's one step at a time. One day at a time.