It Comes in Threes...

Husband was on the east coast for a hockey tournament over the Thanksgiving weekend. I don't like it when he is away. Firstly, I really miss him, which must mean that I truly do love him. Secondly, I fear that anything electronic will break while he is gone. Myrtle gave me the first season of Call the Midwife for Christmas last year.  As Husband has absolutely no interest in the series, it would be the perfect opportunity to finally watch it. However, I'm afraid that if I try to work the DVD player, I might not be able to watch regular TV again. Somehow, it's not just as easy as pressing the 'source' button. Sadly, one of the reasons why I hope this pregnancy takes is so I can have someone else to work the electronic devices in our house.

It is often noted that things seem to break down in groups of three. The shower in our master bathroom started dripping. I tightened the faucets and tried putting a washed behind the head, but it continued to drip. It was really irritating to hear the sound of water splashing on the tile as I was trying to sleep, but I really don't sleep that well  when I'm on my own. I'll get in on my usual side off the bed, but I'll wake up in the middle of the night and find that I'm on Husband's side of the bed and my cat is stretched out next to me. I would like to participate in a sleep study so I can see how a 12 pound cat can move a 150 pound human.  

Every now and then there will be a spree of break-ins around our neighbourhood, which is the other reasons why I don't sleep as well. I just feel a little more vulnerable when I'm alone, which also involves broken item #2. Our alarm kept coming up with a message of "chimes disarmed" for the door leading into the garage. I looked up in the instruction manual but couldn't find anything about re-arming the chimes. I figured that if a would-be intruder were to enter through the garage, he or she would probably be maimed by the junk lying around. Nonetheless, I decided to place my tool box in front of the door.

The third thing to break down was my transmission. My car is a 10 year old Jetta with almost 140,000 miles. I struggled to accelerate from an intersection and I was hoping that I had accidentally left it in third gear, but I knew I hadn't. I managed to drive home, and took it out later that night and could appreciate that the clutch kept skipping. Once again, I'm at a crossroads deciding what to do with this car. I accept that regardless of what progresses inside my uterus, we eventually need to replace this car. However, I'm still not ready to let it go. It's a heap of crap, but I love it. Oh, and as we'll be paying off our IVF expenses for the next 21 months, it would be stretch to work a car payment into our budget. Fortunately, we have a good friend who is also an amateur mechanic and he replaced my clutch 55,000 miles ago. Even better, his fee is $500 and a six-pack of beer. So hopefully he can resuscitate my car again and we can sustain it for at least two more years.

Fortunately, Husband came home on Tuesday and repaired the cracked pipe that was causing the shower to leak and fixed the alarm in about two seconds. The other bright spot of my week was that I received these socks from Rach at A Little Bit More. Thanks to Risa for initiating the sock exchange!

Carpe Diem

This time around, Husband and I decided we would approach the pregnancy very cautiously. We cannot get ahead of ourselves. Just focus on one task at a time. The next beta result, the first ultrasound and the ones that follow. The genetic testing and the anatomy ultrasound. If we pass all those markers, then we can accept that we're not merely pregnant, but actually having a baby. Thus, I refuse to calculate my due date. We won't allow any discussion about how and when we'd disclose the news. I've not purchased a single pregnancy or baby related item. While I was shopping for greeting cards, I retreated as soon as I walked near the New Baby section.  So far, in the first ten days since we received the news, we've managed to hold to this commitment. Husband's one slip was asking about my short term disability offerings at work and how I would arrange my maternity leave. I placed my hands over my ears and started singing "LA-LA-LA-LA-LA!" Finally, I discovered an event that I could get excited about, without getting ahead of myself. I needed to refill my progesterone in oil.

Like any savvy infertile consumer, I wanted to do some price comparisons, so I didn't order the PIO with my initial shipment of stimming meds. Of course, I also thought we'd be doing a FET in the new year and I could apply the cost of the PIO to my 2014 FSA expenses. After my retrieval, my RE instructed me to start my luteal phase support in the event that we would need to do a fresh transfer. This meant that I would have to purchase locally as Freedom Fertility wouldn't be able to ship in time. I went to a compounding pharmacy that I use for some of my patients and they also prepare our kitty Prozac. I had a print-out from Freedom and I asked the pharmacist if he could beat their price. "Oh definitely" he replied and then added, "We'll also apply our employee discount for you." Oh yeah, I've got connections.  

When I picked up the prescription, the pharmacist asked, "Is this what I think it's for?" I nodded. He then revealed that he and his wife were infertile. Their first two IVF cycles were unsuccessful. They transferred any embryos they had on day 3 and never had any that made it to the freezer. After their second BFN, the switched clinics and did a new stimming protocol which yielded 5 blastocysts. A fresh single embryo transfer resulted in their now two year old son. He noted that they were preparing to do another transfer soon. I was immediately comforted to have found a kindred spirit. It meant a lot to know that not only was I supporting a local business, but I was being supported by a pharmacist who prepared my PIO knowing exactly what is involved with receiving this prescription.

The pharmacist spotted me while I was waiting at the counter for my refill and approached me. I quickly filled him on the details including the day 3 transfer of two embryos and my most recent beta results, while pointing out that we were feeling extremely cautious. "When is your transfer?" I asked. "Oh, we already did it. It didn't work." he revealed. Oh, fuck.  I had now become that person who showers her good news in front of someone nursing a BFN. They must have done their transfer just days after ours. I was so self consumed at our first discussion that I didn't ask any details and simply presumed it was going to be in a month or so. I quickly expressed that I was sorry to hear about their disappointing news and inquired about the next steps. They'll take December off and transfer two fro-yos in January. I etched that in my mind, should I find myself back in the pharmacy at that time. Alas, it was another reminder that for an infertile, not even something as innocuous as disclosing your pregnancy is as smooth as you envisioned.

Co-worker came back to work recently, and as we were chatting, I asked how her SIL is doing. "Miserable" she replied thought somewhat gritted teeth. "She [the SIL] says that these two assholes are making her miserable." O-oh. "She wrote that on Facebook." Co-worker added. Ew. I was now cringing a little. I could tell that such comments really angered Co-worker, but as I've previously mentioned, her SIL is not a normal person. She's truly a piece of work -and we're not talking art.

Actually, I pitied her. Although I've been lamenting a bit how it sucks that infertiles have to feel so cautious and guarded even after finally becoming pregnant, perhaps we have a deeper appreciation. Co-worker's SIL never had to wait more than two months to see two lines on a stick, could she understand the elation that follows when you've waited more than two years? It was easy for her to take her pregnancy for granted as she's never had the promise of a baby snatched from her uterus. I may not yet be excited or be able to think about the future, but it affords me more opportunity to treasure the present. Each day I'm thankful to be pregnant. Although, it's been tough enduring this two week wait leading to our ultrasound, at times it wish it were longer. I know that each task or each test could bring us closer to the end. I want to enjoy this pregnancy for as long as I can. Carpe Diem.

Deja vu, all over again

Although it wasn't a critical detail, part of my strategery for wanting to do a freeze-all cycle and a transfer on a later date (perhaps in the new year) was to avoid the potential for pregnancy on the anniversary of our ill-fated spontaneous conception. As it turned out, my transfer was only a few days before that one year mark. Obviously, I'm relieved that the transfer succeeded in producing a BFP (I finally had a true positive pregnancy test on 17dp3dt) as I'm sure it would have been much more painful to reflect on those memories while nursing a BFN. At the same time, I feel like I'm merely reliving my experience from last year. If (American) Thanksgiving were later this year, I would be squinting over my pee sticks during the long Thanksgiving weekend again. Random fact: last year Thanksgiving was on the 22nd -the earliest day it can ever be. This year it's on the 28th -the latest day it can ever be.

I ran the same 10K race on Thanksgiving day (with a m-u-c-h slower time). I found a place to stretch so I could avoid watching the Little Turkey's 100 yard dash, but I was still wiping away tears. I feel a little more confident that we'll eventually have our own little turkey competing in that race, but I acknowledge that I might not yet be holding my little turkey by this time next year. I went to my aunt's house for dinner and evaded my cousin's husband's questions about our plans for children. Last year, it was ironic that I was secretly pregnant while I was denying my intentions to procreate. This year, I was let in on the secret. I decided I could play the 'most other women don't know they are pregnant at this time' card and allowed myself a half glass of wine with dinner.

There are other events this time of year that conjure memories. Last year during our field hockey league play-offs, I informed my captain that I was 5 minutes pregnant and asked her to run penalty corners for me. Even though I knew it was okay to play, I was distracted the entire game and played really poorly. I started spotting the next day, which I know has nothing to do with the fact that I played. Yet, I just couldn't sign up to play at this time around. Pregnancy aside, I've only played in a few games this season, I've had conflicts with some swimming and running events as well as being excused for infertility treatments. I don't feel like I've been enough of the team to represent us in the play-offs.

My swim team is planning our annual holiday party. Leading up to the event last year, I was contemplating how I would hide the fact that I wasn't drinking. Cranberry juice and Sprite as a mocktail or secretly empty a bottle of Rolling Rock and refill it with something else? By the end of the week I was able to drink what ever I wanted. We've started training for our kicking time trials , which was a helpful distraction after my miscarriage last year. Myrtle called me on a Saturday morning while I was at the farmer's market. My mind flashed back a year ago when I received a call from Myrtle while I was at the farmer's market; "Is everything all right?" she asked "I was starting to worry when I hadn't heard from you in a few days." "As far as I know everything is fine, but we'll know more after our ultrasound on Wednesday." I replied, unaware that we've never make it to that ultrasound appointment. I decided it was best to let her call go to voicemail this time.

I had a dentist appointment to get a filling replaced, and as I sat in the waiting room, I wondered if I should inform them that I'm five minutes pregnant. Part of me felt it was just due diligence, but I also knew it wasn't exactly germane for them. The procedure is safe during pregnancy, and I knew they wouldn't do anything differently based on that information. Last year, as a woman fresh off her first ever BFP, I couldn't resist sharing the news with my hair dresser when she asked if I had kids. Although I doubted that she'd remember me at all, I couldn't go back to her. I decided against telling my dentist and his assistant. I didn't want to hear any coos of 'Congratulations!' over my protests that it's still so early and most women don't even know that they are pregnant at this time. I have another appointment in two weeks and I wouldn't want to have any additional people to inform if this pregnancy is non-viable. I'm not prepared to answer any questions such as, 'when's your due date?' and although I want to explain that we did IVF, I want to know if we're dealing with twins before I make that announcement.

I suppose that is the one variable that makes our present situation different from last year. Knowing that I barely could muster one mature follicle and with Husband's anemic sperm count, I felt completely confident that we would not be having twins. Yet, the thought crossed my mind when I started spotting, as sometimes that can be a sign. When I went in to be scanned, I had an initial sigh of relief when I only saw one sac. That was before I noticed that it was rather small, empty, irregularly shaped and in the lower segment of my uterus... Still, there was only one... My beta on Wednesday came back at 440. Okay, slightly more than double from Monday, but I did go to the lab a little later, so this was at 51 hours.

"I know you can't always tell from this;" I asked New Girl, "does this seem more consistent with a rise for a singleton?" I sensed that it was, but I needed someone else to confirm. She replied that in her years of working in REI, "when it's twins, the numbers are crazy high." I didn't ask how she defines 'crazy high'. New Girl just has such an articulate way of describing things. When she first reviewed my protocol with me she noted, "you are on a ton of meds..." A ton of meds. Awesome. It seemed like a typical regimen to me. I was wondering if she were brand new to this field, and thus perceived it to be a lot of medications, but apparently she has worked in other infertility clinics for a number of years and is just new to this office. I asked if I could have one more done, just for my own piece of mind. "Sure" she answered "But we're closed on Friday and won't be able to give you your results." Not a problem. I had the lab tech fax a copy to our office. So, while everyone else was trying not to get mauled at the mall on Black Friday, I was alone in my office catching up on charting and waiting by the fax machine. This is how everyone should received her beta results. 970. Just a little higher than doubling, but once again the draw was done at 50 hours after the previous one. Still, it's not 'crazy high'. Starting to release a slight sigh of relief...

Yet, I can't imagine how difficult this is for anyone who has had more than one miscarriage, or for anyone who progressed beyond six weeks. These milestones that are supposed to be reassuring have previously betrayed you. How can you trust them again?  It feels so eerie to be going through going through this process again at the same time as last year. It echos the notion that we've been down this road before...and serves as a reminder that yeah...things didn't work out. I know it doesn't mean that history is bound to repeat itself, but is also doesn't mean we're guaranteed an alternative ending either.

It was also last year during the long Thanksgiving weekend that I debuted my blog. I often wonder how we functioned before the internet, but I especially can't fathom how infertile women navigated through their treatments without Google. I merely wanted an outlet to express my thoughts, which has been cathartic in itself, but I never imagined that anyone would be interested in following my story. I've often commented that I feel that many of us would be friends in real life; infertility and blogging are simply the vectors that brought us together, but I now appreciate that many legitimate friendships have developed. Thank you all for your interest, your comments and all the support you've given me. I've not only survived the past year of dealing with infertility, thanks to you -I've thrived.

The Bad Stuff is Easier to Believe...

In the postcoital bliss, after Vivian violated her 'no kissing on the lips' rule; she shared with Edward the turn of events that led her to become a hooker on the Hollywood Boulevard. Despite the fact that she made good grades in school, her mother was convinced that she would end up with some loser. "People put you down enough, you start to believe it." she explains.  Edward Lewis begs to differ by describing her to be a very bright and special woman.  Vivian isn't buying it. "The bad stuff is easier to believe. You ever notice that?"

As I was only 14 or 15 when I first watched Pretty Woman, my fragile teenaged self esteem could totally relate to that line. Now more than twenty years later, I am an accomplished professional who generally holds a healthy degree of self confidence. Yet with regards to the prognosis for this pregnancy, I find myself falling into that trap: the bad stuff is easier to believe.

Perhaps some of it is bias from my own work experience. The bad stuff is easier to believe because I've seen so much of it. I've had hundreds of couples in my exam room, excited and hopeful about seeing their baby on ultrasound, only to have their dreams crushed after I discover a non-viable pregnancy. A little less frequent, I've received abnormal genetic results, and have prepared the expectant parents for some difficult decisions. Even more rare, an anatomy ultrasound reveals serious abnormalities to an unsuspecting couple who were hoping just to learn if they are having a boy or girl. Sometimes unthinkable tragedies occur without explanations. I know so many bad things are possible as I've witnessed them over the years. Why should I think that I'm immune to any of it?

Two days before my beta test, my aunt called to confirm what type of pie I would be baking bringing to Thanksgiving, so she could coordinate with what she would have my cousin make. The mere mention of my cousin immediately conjured jealousy and resentment that they were a first time IVF success which yielded a healthy and happy baby. The statistics started flying though my head: she was older -39 at the time of oocyte retrieval, but they were considered to be unexplained. We have a diagnosis of moderate male factor and my ovaries under-performed. I started to question how many embryos they transferred and when. I think they transferred more than one as I recall her husband expressing relief that there was only one baby when she announced her pregnancy. I wondered how many fro-yos they had. I know their numbers and experience hold absolutely no bearing on our potential for success or failure, but damn my curosity! I'm only five minutes pregnant, still far away from being considered a first time IVF success.

At the same time, what evidence did I have to suggest that this cycle wouldn't be successful? I am dubious about our embryo quality. My RE noted that he would have liked them to be of higher quality, but followed by describing that he has that wish for most patients in an, 'I'm never truly satisfied' way. Although I'm still paranoid about the possibility of twins, I'm not sure if either embryo can go the distance. Recently, when I expressed my concerns that IVF may not work to Myrtle, she mused "doesn't it always take a few rounds with IVF? I know people who went through it multiple times to get their two kids." This was after she asked me if there was an alternative treatment to IVF that I could employ. You see, Myrtle knows people who have gone through IVF...

The possibility of multiple treatment cycles is something you can only discuss with a fellow infertile. It was really intolerable to hear someone who conceived on her second attempt convey to me that it would take a lot longer and cost a lot more to become pregnant. Based on what? This arbitrary notion that it just takes multiple rounds of IVF to get a take home baby? That's just the way it is. It just takes multiple attempts. Based on Myrtle's vast and extensive experience with her infertile friends? It seemed just as injudicious as when Myrtle's friend forecasted that it would take six months for her to become pregnant. (That same friend also conceived during her first cycle off the pill).

As Husband has built his own support network and has shared our IVF journey with a few friends, I discovered that he has his own version of Myrtle. "No. Much worse," he describes. J is a fellow hockey umpire and he and Husband spend a lot of time together. When Husband first shared our fertility struggles, J humbly admitted that he couldn't relate as he recalls that at least two of his kids were conceived on the first or second time without condoms and he doesn't think they tried more than three months for their third. Fortunately, he never offered any foolish words of 'advice', but he couldn't grasp the concept when Husband informed him that we were barely pregnant. He would make himself available to cover for Husband in any of his games if I went into labour early. He volunteered his oldest daughter for baby sitting. He offered that he could have his mother make us some meals for when I'm postpartum and don't feel like cooking (which is different from now...how?). When Husband dropped him off at his house after they returned from a tournament in Santa Barbara, he sent a text: "thanks for driving, say good night to Jane and the little one for me." (Yes, me and my little faintly positive pee stick...) I'm going to go out on a limb and presume that J's wife went 3 for 3 with her pregnancies.

The bad stuff may be easier to believe, but it doesn't mean I'm obligated to believe it. Feeling optimistic or hopeful is hard, but it doesn't meant it's not worth trying. I may not be as confident about our outcome as J (who is probably already planning the baby's first birthday..) but I don't need to be so consumed with self doubt. I found something to be excited about: whatever happens around the end of July/early August next year, I am cashing in on that promise for J's mother's cooking. Authentic homemade curry... now that is seriously good stuff...

The POAS Diaries

Shortly after we listened to Misery's voicemail; Husband, anxious to demonstrate how fluent he is in infertile-speak, exclaimed "You got a BFP!" That was my cue to see for myself. I had no urge to POAS during the lead up to beta day. As Gypsy Mama recently described, I couldn't bear the sight of another negative pregnancy test; which would also be followed by tortuous hours of second guessing and holding out for the eventual beta HCG. Now I could succumb to my curiosity. I ran a test and left it out on the counter while I was getting ready to go out to dinner. I didn't time it, but I estimate that I came back to check it about 5-7 minutes later. The slightest hint of a line was present. Honestly, I wouldn't have been surprised if it were negative, as most tests only detect levels about 25 and mine was 36. I also should have thought to collect my urine when I first arrived home and had at least a three hour concentration, thanks to rush hour traffic. I told Husband that it wasn't so much a Big Fat Positive, as it was a Barely, Faintly Positive.

Ah, but once you start, you can't stop. I decided to test again the next morning, expecting to see a bit more of a defined line with a first morning sample. I kept an eye on the clock this time. We teach our medical assistants that a positive result will usually show within a minute, and that you shouldn't read a test after a full three minutes. Although most of the patients we test in our office are actually past due for their cycles. Am I even considered late, as my RE had me test rather early? My iPhone app thinks my period is two weeks late. I need to enter a fake date to put an end to the reminders.  At the three minute mark, my test looked completely negative. I think around 5 or 6 minutes, I could start to make out the blue line, and yes it did look a little darker than my previous test. Accordingly, my HCG increased to 65.

Saturday morning and I tested exactly 24 hours later. This time I used the stop watch feature on my phone to time. The control line appeared within 30 seconds.  Three minutes -totally negative. Five minutes -still totally negative. Eight minutes -nothing. 10 minutes -maybe barely something. I started running a second test. The second test also appeared negative after ten minutes, but I could start to appreciate a faint line on the first test, which had now been sitting out for nearly twenty minutes. I know the limitations with urine testing, but I didn't feel that I could justifiably consider myself to be pregnant when standard protocols for urine pregnancy testing would interpret my tests as being negative. I'm still an impostor. I'm only pregnant on paper.

I didn't share any of this with Myrtle. While it pains me a bit to exclude her, I decided that it's best to keep her outside of the circle of trust for now. I know she has no comprehension for the science, nor my perspective. She peed on a stick once, got a positive result and had a gorgeous, healthy baby girl. I had to explain to Husband that she never had serial HCGs drawn; it's not routine practice for fertiles. I'm not excited. I'm cautious. I'm realistic. It just doesn't seem logical that we could be a first time IVF success, that yields not only a (true) BFP, but a single, chromosomally normal fetus (who will later escape my threat of pre-eclampsia and arrive into the world at term and healthy). I'm not naive.

It just doesn't feel like this is meant to be 'it'. Maybe I've consumed too much of the Day 5 Embryo Kool-Aid and I have too little faith in our day 3 embies. Despite my RE's attempt to offer reassurance to the contrary, I still regarded this transfer as a Hail Mary pass. I viewed it as a 'practice' transfer before we could proceed with our voted more likely to succeed day 5 blastocysts. Then again, if our day 5 blasts are so great, why didn't they look better on day 3? Who is to say that our day 3 over-achievers wouldn't have made it to day 5? I'm still so skeptical. I question if I'm just trying to prepare myself for a bad outcome or if I intuitively sense that this isn't going to work.

I'm managed to make myself emotionally numb; as if I've administered an epidural to my brain. I want this to be it. I am hoping that this is the one. Yet, if it's not, I want to know as soon as possible. Fail fast, fail cheap. Well, not cheap in financial terms, but before we make any emotional investments. If you're not meant to be our baby, please do me the favour of declaring this as a chemical pregnancy. Do not fuck with me by progressing to week six or beyond only to devastate us with the discovery of absent cardiac activity. Thus I can look at these low betas and barely, faintly positive tests with both concern and relief.

Hi, my name is Jane and I'm addicted to POAS. [Hi, Jane!] At first I was just curious to POAS, just to see what would happen. Before I knew it, I was POASing every day...

I know there is no information to be gleaned from determining how long it takes for a pregnancy test to become positive. Although in theory, if my hormone levels are increasing, then the test should be positive quicker and the line should be getting darker. I need to keep reminding myself that I am so early compared to when most other women test. I just felt that I should be collecting data, even if were irrelevant. On Sunday morning, (12dp3dt) I could barely see a line after ten minutes. It was a little more noticeable after fifteen minutes and present, although still very light after thirty minutes. I know this merely indicates that my beta is still pretty low, which I already knew. In the interest of the scientific process, I decided to re-test in the afternoon. Familiar scene: negative after three minutes, negative after five, negative after ten. Still negative after twenty...thirty...forty five minutes...an hour later and not even a hint of a blue line. Like any junkie, I needed my fix, but this time I needed something stronger. I went out to the pharmacy to pick up a digital test. Still pregnant according to the display. Time to stop testing for today, as like any addict, I needed to hide the evidence of my habit before Husband came home. Of course, I would lie if he were to ask if I had POAS'd.

Monday morning (13dp3dt) hours before my beta draw, the test was still negative at 3 minutes, but a faint line appeared around five minutes. After 10 minutes, the line had not become any darker. I also ran my other digital test. It took over two minutes for the monitor to declare that I was still technically pregnant.  I shared with Co-worker that I felt completely prepared if I were to learn that this was a chemical pregnancy. "Why are you obsessing over these pee sticks?" she asked. Why? I wanted to pee on a stick, see two lines and declare myself to be pregnant like any other woman. I still feel as if I'm literally grasping at straws; pathetically squinting to identify a blue line in a manner similar to looking at those 3-D posters. Ultimately, as I know from my prior experience, these faint blue lines may be all I have to show for my pregnancy and I want to capture them while I can.

My blood was drawn at 8 AM, so I had hoped that I might have some results by lunchtime. Previously, I had been called around 3 PM. It was now quarter to four and still no message. I figured if it were bad news, they would wait until the end of the day. Minutes after 4 PM, there was a voicemail message on my phone. I presumed that if the message were to 'call us back to discuss your results' or if it were my RE himself calling, it was likely bad news. To my surprise, New Girl's message revealed that my beta was now 183 and my RE was pleased with how it was rising. I needed to do another draw in 48 hours, but she had tentatively scheduled my first OB ultrasound.  Husband and I had been treating each one of these beta tests as if we were clearing one individual hurdle at a time. We've passed 3 of 4 so far, but it still feels like there is so much ground to cover before getting to our ultrasound. Thus, I'm still pursuing this challenge of getting a true, normal, positive back office pregnancy test. Alas, my name is Jane. I am addicted to POAS.

9dp3dt -Beta HCG 36

FMU 10dp3dt -Beta HCG 65

FMU 11dp3dt (top after 20 min bottom after 10)

Mid Afternoon 12dp3dt -Totally Negative

13dp3dt -beta HCG 183

Well...sort of...

I remember when I first saw the episode of Sex and the City where Charlotte receives a phone call from her doctor and then relays the message to Harry that their IVF cycle failed. I thought to myself, that's not how you find out if you're pregnant! I couldn't understand why Charlotte wouldn't just take a home pregnancy test like any other woman. Now I know that someone on the SATC writing staff must have had personal experience with infertility.

Fortunately, both Husband and I were pretty busy in the final days leading up to test day. It wasn't until we were both sleepless during the wee hours of Thursday morning that the nerves set in. I felt haunted by a ominous premonition that my test would be negative. I decided against swimming that morning, as I wasn't too keen to have any more time alone with my thoughts. Conveniently, I was already scheduled to be out of the office that day, as I had to teach another contraceptive class in the South Bay, which meant another two hour drive -each way.

This time, the class started a little later, so I was able to make it to the lab and didn't have to draw my own blood again. The drawback was that I would still be teaching around the time my results would be ready. Husband would be umpiring a hockey match at that time. I decided that I wouldn't want to be alone when I learned the results, and I wouldn't want to hear them at a time when I couldn't call him right away. I wanted us to be together when we received the news. Even if it meant prolonging the wait. I emailed my RE's office explaining that I wouldn't have access to my phone all afternoon and I requested that someone leave a detailed message with my results. I received a response from my RE himself noting "will do!" I chuckled to myself at his use of an exclamation point as I figured it was added for assurance that I wouldn't call him on his personal phone again.

I finished my class and checked my phone. Missed call and voicemail message. I went from anxiously waiting by the phone to ignoring it. I trudged through heavy traffic for the next two and a half hours with the message with my results right by my side. My mind wavered between preparing for disappointment if the beta were negative and panicking about the potential for twins if it were positive. Finally, three hours after Misery called, Husband and I listened to her message. "Hi Jane, we received your HCG results and it's 36... So you are pregnant. We'll need to repeat it on Friday, so let us know where we need to fax your lab slip."

My first thought: that seems a bit low. This could be a chemical pregnancy. Why are they having me repeat it in 24 and not 48 hours later? Husband and I shared a collective sigh of relief and hugged each other before we left to grab some dinner. I thought about other couples who go out to celebrate after discovering they're expecting. They probably gush about decorating the nursery or propose possible baby names. We were looking up expectations for HCG levels on our phones. This is what infertility and pregnancy loss does to you. I collected data from my pregnant bloggers and compared their values to when they tested. Mine was much lower, but it seems that my RE had me test a bit earlier at 12 days post retrieval (9dp3dt).

I decided that I could come to terms if this were to be a chemical pregnancy. It would feel a little more encouraging than a total BFN; and if this is to be a non-viable pregnancy, I would prefer to have it resolve as soon as possible. My second beta came back at 65. It was drawn nearly 27 hours after my first (performed on a Friday to avoid the weekend). If we were to project a doubling rate in 48 hours (which would bring it to 72) then it should have been around 54 after 24 hours. Seemingly within range. Then again, I had perfect doubling with my first pregnancy. It's reassuring, but at the same time doesn't really mean anything. Yet, this is where we are right now. I'm pregnant. Well...sort of...

An Element of Luck

Woody Allen's Matchpoint is probably one of my favourite films, despite the fact that no one taught the actors how to properly hold a tennis racquet. The opening lines provide some much insight into the film's pensive objective:

The man who said "I'd rather be lucky than good" saw deeply into life. People are afraid to face how great a part of life is dependent on luck. It's scary to think so much is out of one's control. There are moments in a match when the ball hits the top of the net, and for a split second, it can either go forward or fall back. With a little luck, it goes forward, and you win. Or maybe it doesn't, and you lose.

I've often observed that good fortune seems to follow certain people, and others seems plagued with misfortune. People who always seem to be in the right place at the right time. Those who win raffles and other games of chance. My Australian friend Kylie has a former colleague who fits into that category. She and her husband were considering moving to LA to be closer to his family. At a conference, she ran into someone who offered her a great job in that area. The starting salary was already a sizable increase from her current income, but within a few months they gave her a pay raise and an expense account for clothes. I don't doubt that she works hard, but she doesn't necessarily put in more hours than others in her field who were taking pay cuts just to hold a job in the ailing economy. They bought their house on a short sale and got a steal of a deal. She conceived from a one hit wonder and delivered a healthy girl. It just always seemed that when Kylie was providing an update on her friend, she was announcing even more good news.

Then there seem to be others who live under a black cloud. No matter how hard they work, they seem to be haunted by unfortunate occurrences and events. They suffer setback after setback and can't seem to catch a break. In a crowded car park, the run away shopping cart will hit and dent their car. If there is a rare medication reaction or complication, it will happen to them. They seem to find themselves on the adverse side of long odds. This includes those who experience infertility and pregnancy loss.

Yes, no one can deny that an element of luck that operates in one's life, and as the quote notes, people seem reluctant to admit just how much of a role luck plays in their lives. We started the IVF process believing that we were reasonable candidates and felt that we had a decent shot. Although I've felt that notion has been challenged at times, both my RE and embryologist have reassured us that there is some room for optimism within rational expectations. "If you get pregnant, I won't be surprised. If you don't get pregnant, I won't be surprised." My RE summarised with a description that feels like that tennis ball bouncing on the net; only that split second is 10 days until we learn which side the ball lands.

Post transfer it seems as if it is all down to luck at this point in time. I feel I've been served with a reasonable amount of good fortune in my life, has my luck run out? Or does my inexperience with infertility and my miscarriage represent enough bad luck that I'm due for some good karma? It feels as if I am asking a lot from luck right now. I want this treatment to succeed in creating a pregnancy, but I only want it to yield one baby. Is it too harsh that I'm rooting for one embryo at the expense of the other?

I know what you're thinking. "Did he fire six shots or only five?" Well, to tell you the truth, in all this excitement I kind of lost track myself. But being as this is a .44 Magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world, and would blow your head clean off, you've got to ask yourself one question: "Do I feel lucky?" Well, do ya, punk?