New Midlife Mommy

Another Shining Mother Moment

You know, one of the fallacies about becoming a parent at an "advanced" age (ahem) is that people believe that you come equipped with more patience, more tolerance.  For the most part, that is true, I think.  I would have been a terrible mom in my 20's and my 30's.  I was very self-absorbed, a forever night student (always having a full-time job), and just not well-grounded.  But sometimes, even now, I think I really lack in the patience department.  (Shut up, DH, I know that you're reading this and making a snarky comment to yourself.)

DD is stubborn.  Well, I don't think stubborn really describes her.  She is the most bull-headed child you ever want to meet.  And, honestly, if we were genetically related, I would likely admit that it came from me.  But, we're not, and I don't know where this came from.

One of the things that DD is really stubborn about is trying new things.  She has a limited repertoire of food and drink.  She will NOT try PB & J.  She will NOT try pizza.  Seriously.  All of the great food of childhood -- none of it will pass her lips.  At school, they serve a main course, a vegetable, and a fruit for lunch.  If DD doesn't like any of them, she will sit there with her water and not eat a thing until she's dismissed from the table.  She won't drink milk, because she claims she only likes mommy's milk.  (However, she will drink chocolate milk; I guess everyone has a price.)  It took me no less than twenty tries to get her to try a strawberry and banana smoothie -- and she likes strawberries (if they're freeze dried or in a whipped yogurt), and she likes bananas.  Once she tried the smoothie, she loved it.  Which has been the case with most things that I've finally gotten her to try.  So, having read on someone's blog that V8 Infusion comes in strawberry and banana flavor, and that it is a great way to sneak in a vegetable (DD will only eat corn), I bought a bottle. 

Last Sunday was a beautiful day.  It has been along time in coming in these parts.  The weather has just been unseasonably cold.  But, since it was such a great day, DD talked quite a bit about going outside to play in her sandbox.  She has been looking forward to it all winter.

For some reason, I decided that this was the time that she just had to have some of this juice.  Do you think that she would try it?  Not a chance.

But this time, I decided that she was going to try it, damn it.  We struggled for a little while, with me saying you ARE going to try this and her saying no and holding her mouth closed.  Then, a little bit spilled on her arm.  I set the cup down (we were in the living room for some reason), and I went into the kitchen to get a damp towel to wipe off her sleeve.  When I came back, that little sh*t had dumped the cup of juice all over the carpet.

I lost it.  I was so angry with her.  And I called her, oh, just wait for it -- an a**hole.  I can't believe it, but yes, I did.  It just came out.  And then I told her that she wasn't allowed to go outside at all, all day, and if the carpet had been stained, she was going to receive another punishment. 

Fortunately, whenever I'm having a crazy moment, usually DH is not.  He understood completely why I was so angry, but he asked if there was a way for DD to redeem herself.  I decided that yes, there was.  She could go outside IF she tried the juice.  But she was not going to play in the sandbox that day as a punishment for spilling the juice.  Everyone thought that was reasonable.

She finally tried it.  And guess what?  She liked it.  As I knew she would.  And, at least she's honest.  She did admit to pouring the juice on the carpet -- because she "wanted to do it herself," whatever that means.

I can't believe that I lost it, but I did.  Sometimes, I am the a**hole.  I guess I won't be receiving that mother of the year award after all.

 

Which Would You Choose?

Interesting question at Metro Dad.

As for me, I would want to be awakened to say good-bye to my husband and my daughter.  My husband?  Not so much.  He would prefer to be left alone.  Of course, he added to the scenario by suggesting that he would be miserable once awakened.  So, let's change the scenario back -- assume that you would not be miserable.

So, which would you choose? 

Starting Over Again

Sorry I haven't posted in so long.  I haven't been pining or morose or anything like that.  It does s*ck to get a negative, but I have been at this so long, it isn't as gut wrenching as it could be.  Now, if we didn't have anymore embryos, and this was really, really the end of the road, you would need to peel me off the floor.  But we do have some other options.  It's always good to have a plan, something to look forward to.  And being able to drink wine again is unbelievably helpful.

Just when I think things are going just fine with our clinic, they pull another bone-headed stunt.  This time, they sent us a bill for some co-pays that we do owe and do not dispute.  They came along with a credit card slip showing payment on May 22.  Except that neither my husband nor I authorized payment on the 22nd.  The last payment that was made was authorized by me on the 20th when I came in for my official, negative pregnancy test, and that was for some blood work and an ultrasound for the donor.

I guess that makes things easier for them, but haven't they ever heard that it is unlawful to use someone's credit card without permission?  I did send an e-mail, and I did try to be gracious.  How much do you want to bet that they will be pissy that I sent an e-mail and overlook the bigger issue?  They do like us patients to mind our places, you know.  We are only allowed to call between 8:00 and 4:30 during the week, and between 8:00 and 11:00 on the weekends (we can call a doctor through the service if there are emergencies).  They don't like e-mails, though they do have an e-mail contact on their website so that you can ask questions, which I did several months ago when I was trying to get an updated price on a donor cycle.  I think they would prefer that be for people who are planning on spending their money there; if you have already spent money there, see above for the limited contact.  And that goes for where you stand in the office -- recently, P, the person who generally contacts us about the bills (and not the person who self-authorized the charge), told me that she had something for me.  I stepped away from the counter over to her cubicle (which about four steps away from the counter), and I was directed to wait at the counter by the jerk behind the desk (this is the same jerk who told me that I couldn't leave the office without paying a bill that had been presented to me moments before).  And you will never be told anyone's last name, except for the doctors (otherwise, you could figure out their voice mail system).  This is just so different from any medical facility I've ever been to.  My OB/GYN is sort of like this, with limited phone hours and no voice mail or e-mail, but they are so nice and my doctor and his nurse are so wonderful, I do over look it.  Contrast this to DD's pediatrician, who encourages parents to send her e-mail.  She always responds within 24 hours, unless she's on vacation (and the auto response will tell you when she's planning to return).

Suffice it to say that once we are done with these people, we are really done, as in burn that bridge down to the ground.  I am going to write a letter to their managing partners (the doctors who are now running the show), spell out our experiences there (especially with this last cycle), and let them know that we wanted to them to be aware of the information that I am going to be posting on the IVF/infertility message boards about how someone can expect to be treated once they choose that clinic.  I do think that I owe at least that much to my fellow stirrup queens.

OK, enough complaining.  This has been a nice weekend.  Saturday was a date night, and DD really enjoyed herself at her godmother's house.  They baked brownies and went swimming in the hot tub.  Then we came back and talked for awhile (DH would only stay out two hours, because he said it was getting too late for DD).  But, by the time we finished talking and drove home, it was around 10:00.  DD was in bed by 10:30, and she slept until 9:00 the next morning.  Hooray!  Except I couldn't enjoy that, because I had to for blood work and an ultrasound at the clinic to begin my new cycle on Sunday morning (8:30 appointment; 45 minute drive). 

Sunday at my parents' house was kind of hard.  My dad wanted to clean out a couple of the closets.  The closet in their bedroom was easy, because we were only cleaning off the shelves.  We'd already done the hard part with the clothes in there, which were mostly older clothes anyway and not that emotional for me (my mom used another room for the clothes that she regularly wore, maybe because she was too lazy to clean this closet -- who knows).  The shelves mostly had things that she'd saved for me from junior high school.  We finished quickly.  But, the closet by the front door was surprisingly hard, and I frequently cried when my dad left the room.  I don't know why I was so upset about her coats and boots, but I was; they are all going to charity, in the hopes of keeping someone needy warm.  My mom would have liked that, and I do remember her saying once that we shouldn't wait to go through her clothes, like she did when her mom died.  She did want someone to get use out of her things. 

She also had what looked like a tackle box filled with all her oil paints on the floor.  She was so artistic.  She loved, loved, loved to paint and draw.  She was no Picasso, but she was light years away from anything I could ever do.  They are gone now, all gone.  I don't know how old they were, though some of the tubes seemed fairly supple.  I don't know anyone who would use them, so we tossed them all. 

And now, every trace of her is gone from the front closet.  It's like she was never there.  The closet where I think she hid from me once when she was trying to teach me a lesson, though I'm still not sure where she went.  I know that this would have to be done sometime, really I do.  If not now, then when my dad moves to assisted living (if that is ever necessary), or when he passes on. 

Someone else will hide in the closet someday.  Someone else will keep their boots, their coats, and maybe even their craft supplies there. 

Just not my mom anymore.

Stick Me With A Fork

I'm done.  The test was negative this morning.  I will test again tomorrow, because I am a masochist.  My blood test is also tomorrow.  The ever-hopeful me skipped a glass of wine tonight, but the pragmatic me has a bottle chilling.  The nice part about testing is that the bad news comes gradually.  I had my answer after my Sunday test, honestly.  The complete lack of symptoms was also a clue.

Thanks so much to all of you for your kind words.  It does mean a lot to be cheered on from people that I have never met outside of the computer, particularly since I don't much talk about this stuff anymore IRL.  It's nice to have people to commiserate with.

I'm going to ask tomorrow if I can get right back on the horse.  My doctor hasn't balked at that before.  It just means that I will start my pill month in a few days, and then we will cycle again.  I've already discussed this with DH, and he's on board.  I'm thinking that we should go for the the PNs (short for pronuclei, i.e., embryos that are frozen before division)-- the clinic seems to think that they survive the freeze/thaw process better.  We have two straws of them, with two each.  I would think we could thaw one straw and go from there.

You know, I've often described this process as an experience in manic/depression.  The end is sad, but it also means a new beginning, something to be excited about.  Ups, and downs.

Though it would be nice to have an up.

The Fat Lady Is Warming Up

I know it's not over yet, but, I can't help but think that it really is.  My test this morning was also negative.  FUCK FUCK FUCK.  (Sorry)  But FUCK!!!  I'm so tired, so tired, so tired of all of the stuff that we need to go through.  And DD gave me her little cold from last week, so that hasn't helped either.  I called in "sick" to my father today, taking the day off from my usual work at his house going through my mother's things.  No need to get him sick too.  I don't know why I have to catch everything DD gets, at least the respiratory bugs.  Fortunately, knock on wood, I don't get the stomach bugs.  I never really have.

I needed to take my mind off of things yesterday, so I decided to do something fun with DD.  We actually went shopping for a fishing pole yesterday.  We'd gone for a walk last week, and she was completely enchanted by some very nice boys who allowed her to watch them while they fished off a little cement dock in a lake near our house.  There are lots of small fish near the shoreline, and they were really active.  DD just loved it.

You know, we may live in a small little town, but we can get to the large box stores if we're willing to drive 10-20 miles to get there.  So, we went to a very large outdoor supply store, and I let DD pick out her fishing pole.  And?  She chose the Barbie pole.  With a light up handle.  And, the princesses have also invaded the outdoor arena.  DD chose a tackle box with three of them on it.  I am so not kidding.  I almost took a picture of the tag and posted it here -- "Disney princesses, tackle box."  Ugh.  And then we picked out the other things that I thought we needed (with help from the guy at the counter) -- bobbers, hooks, sinkers, and worms.  Small hooks, because we just planned to catch and release, and we don't want to hurt the fish.

Now, mind you, this is stretching my memory back decades, and I never really had to do the nuts and bolts myself.  I used to go to my grandparents' house every summer for a few weeks, and my grandpa and I would get up early and go fishing at a nearby lake.  We'd catch Bluegill, Sunfish, and Bass.  And then my grandmother taught me how to scale and clean them, and we had fresh fish for dinner.  It was wonderful. 

But, my grandfather always set up the poles.  And, if my mother came along, she might do it.  (My mother was especially close to her father, and this was one of their favorite things to do together.)  I never had to do it myself, though I did learn how to bait the hook, and I did learn how to hunt for bait (grubs -- under cow pies (yuck), worms, or crickets).  Unfortunately, the only fisher-people that I have known in my life have been my grandfather and my mom, and neither of them are here anymore for me to pepper with questions about what to do to set up this pole.

We went for a short while today.  I figured out the hook, though I can't tie the type of knot that I know I'm supposed to.  I'm just happy it stayed on.  I adjusted the bobber, and the sinker, and I baited the hook for DD.  (Guess what?  That's still as yucky as I remember.)

Apparently, DD's idea of fishing is that mommy does everything, including holding the pole.  Her job, I guess, was to whine and complain about how cold it was.  And, in fairness, it was pretty cold, damnit.  It's mid-May!  It was in the low 60s, but the wind was really blowing.  DD had a sweater on, but I also wrapped her in a blanket that we'd brought in case we wanted to sit on the bank and fish.  I think the fish were cold too, because they weren't biting (though one smart little guy managed to take the worm off the hook without getting caught).

So, our first experience was really rather "eh."  DD does want to try it again when it gets warmer, and I hope that she likes it, though I think she will, once she actually catches a fish. 

I have some really fond memories of sitting around with my grandpa, just talkin' and fishin'.  DD is just getting to the age where she will start to remember some of the things we do.  I hope that her memories will be as special as mine are.  And the bonus is that she is adding to my memories too.

Strike Two

I had to go downstairs to test this morning, because DD was bouncing around the bathroom.  But, nothing.  No second line.

When I came back upstairs, I thought DD had a look of anticipation (maybe excitement?) in his eyes, waiting for the news.  But, when I asked him, he said no.  I had to remind myself that he is in this only for me, but his preference is to stick with one child (only for the reason that he thinks he's too old).  I know that I keep fantasizing at some level that he will be excited, but maybe that's not going to happen.  Please understand -- my husband is the best father I could possibly imagine, and my own father regularly tells me that he is in awe of the relationship DH has built with our daughter.  I know that he would be just as wonderful with a second child, and that he would love that child unconditionally.  But still, I can hope for some excitement in the process.

Anyway.  Nothing, nothing, nothing.  And even though it's early, I'm starting to feel a little depressed.  I am telling myself that I will wait until Monday to test again, but who knows if I will have the willpower.  Especially since today is my errand day.  I'm certain that I'm going to run into some sticks on the shelf with my name on them, don't you think?

Updated to add:  I just looked at the date on this post, and it made me feel sad.  For some reason, I thought the 17th was yesterday, and I'd missed it for the month.  I still can't believe that it has been eight whole months since my mom died, and I haven't accepted it even yet.  I wish she were here, for oh so many reasons, but right now, I just want to complain to my mommy about my stupid test results.  Silly, I know.  If she were here, there would be so many more things that I would do, the first of which is hug her and never let her go.

Step Away

from the stick.  The pee stick, that is.  Affectionately knowing as POAS (pee[ing] on a stick). 

I just can't resist.  The sticks were calling to me yesterday.  From the shelf.  At the store.  So, DD and I went shopping.  I was feeling especially generous, so DD got the smoothie that she asked for.  I don't mind -- she likes strawberries and bananas, and we get them made with Splenda.  She could be drinking worse things.

It took everything that I had not to use one of those sticks yesterday.  But really, today is the very first day that I could have gotten a result, which is seven days post transfer of a three day embryo.  My "official" test is scheduled for May 20, twelve days after the transfer.

I ended up having to go to the bathroom at 4:30 this morning, so, that's when I did it.  And, nothing.  Only one line.  I know, I know.  What a waste.  Still, it was a distant possibility.

Good thing I bought a three pack!

Final Report

Still a little drowsy from the Valium.  But it's a nice drowsy.  We're leaving in a few minutes to pick up my daughter from day care.  She absolutely loves it when we both come together for some reason.

Anyway.  My fear of 11 was eased slightly, as one of the embryos simply stopped growing at two cells and was discarded. 

Transferred:  1 (eight-cell)

Frozen:  9 -- Four in two straws (two each) at the two cell stage (or maybe PN, I'm fuzzy on that).  The remaining five were frozen later on (two in one straw, three in another, four five-cell and one eight-cell).

And now the TWW (two week wait) begins.  I think I can sneak in one more glass of wine tonight, and then back on the wagon it is.

Thanks for all the good wishes and kind words.

Finally, A Status

They retrieved 27 eggs.  19 were ICSI'd (sperm are examined; good swimmers are identified; tails are cut off; a hole is poked in the egg; and, the sperm head is placed inside -- forced fertilization).  Of these, 11 are growing.  We are on schedule for a Thursday transfer at 12:30.

I have a confession to make.  I am not that superstitious.  Really, I'm not.  But I really hate the number 11.  It has been such a bad thing for me.  It all started in 1987.  Shortly before I lost my beloved grandmother, I started seeing 11s everywhere.  You know, I just happened to look up at the clock when it was 11:11 or 1:11 or any number of things.  I just tuned into the number 11.  It was really strange, and I remember mentioning it to my mother.  And, guess what?  We ended up burying my grandmother on January 20, exactly 11 years after we buried my grandfather.

Over the years, I've seen 11s frequently before something bad happened.  And, the absolute worst example of how sucky the number 11 is for me just happened last year.  When my mom went into the hospital, it was a roller coaster of emotion.  I honestly did not expect her to die, not then.  She did not expect to die.  But she got progressively worse, and they moved her up the line until she was in intensive care.  Her first room was #2.  And she was able to get out of that room the next day as things started to improve.  Then, she coded on a Saturday.  They revived her and put her back into intensive care.  Which room do you think they put her in?  That's right.  11.  Rather than freaking the f*ck out and demanding she be moved, I decided to trust God and put things in His hands.  After all, it was a stupid thing to worry about, right?  And God is more powerful than any silly number, and I did so want to get past this stupid fear.  Two days later, my mom died.  In room 11.  Thanks Father!

Anyway, I just f*cking hate the number 11.  And now I have 11 embryos.  I'm sure that you can imagine how that makes me feel.  Scared as h*ll, really.  I do have quiet fears in the back of my brain.  I'm afraid that maybe this isn't the right thing to do for our family.  I'm afraid that something will go wrong during the pregnancy and that will put the baby's life or my life at risk.  And, dare I say it?  I am absolutely petrified of having a special needs child.  I know that no one wants that.  Who would want that?

Tonight, after I shared my fears with a good friend, she told me that I needed to put this in God's hands.  That He could show me that my fears were unfounded.  But you know?  I don't know that I can trust Him to do that this time.  And that's where I am tonight.

I know, I know.  Stupid thoughts are all they are. 

Recently Overheard At Our House

DD:  Mommy, there were BEES on the playground today.

Me:  Where?

DD:  On the wood chips.

Me:  So, what did you do?

DD:  I stayed on the sidewalk.  But some other kids played on the wood chips.

Me:  Oh my goodness.  Did the bees bite anyone?

DD:  (Sigh)  Mommy, bees don't bite.  They don't have teeth.  Bees sting.  They have a stinger. 

Me:  (Quietly) Little smart ass.

DD:  What mommy?

Me:  Oh, nothing.

Damn.  This kid is one little know-it-all.  And she's only three.  Lord help us when she turns four.

******************

We are confirmed for our transfer on Thursday.  Retrieval was today, and DH made his contribution this morning.  I started my progesterone last night, and I was finally able to cut back on the gosh-awful Estrace.  The progesterone is a pill suppository this time, rather than the Crinone gel.  It's not as messy, but it's three times a day dosing.  Which kind of s*cks, because I am so bad at three times a day dosing.  I can remember to take something when I brush my teeth -- in the morning and in the evening.  Otherwise, not so much.  I set an alarm on my e-mail at work to remind me, and I hope that does the trick.  Now I just have to figure out how to get into the habit on the weekends, because if all goes well, I will have to continue these meds for 100 days after a positive pregnancy test. 

I have no idea how many eggs were retrieved or how many were ICSI'd.  Remember, my clinic tells us what they want to, when they want to.  However, I did get a call from the billing person, which means that they want even more money for something that probably had just arrived over the fax machine from the sister clinic.  We also received some non-itemized bills yesterday and today.  (Who in the h*ll would pay a bill that wasn't itemized?)

All that aside, to our anonymous donor -- if I knew you, I would ask how you are feeling and hope that things are going OK.  I do remember what it was like to go through a retrieval; the achy feeling in your abdomen will likely be gone very soon.  But mostly, I would like to thank you for giving us the very best gift that anyone could possibly give.  I hope that you are gifted with children someday, because I don't know that you could possibly understand just how precious that gift is until you receive it for yourself.

Next Week -- Sometime

I appeared at the appointed time this morning.  And I was called in right away.  Great!

But it wasn't the ultrasound technician.  It was someone in billing, whom I've never seen before.  Who handed me a sheaf of papers she said had just come in from the other office.  Bills.  $1500 worth of bills, to be exact.  Which I needed to pay now.  I asked her if my husband could call her with the charge card number that we are using.  That would be fine, she said, as long as the bill was paid before I left the office.  She asked if I wanted to use her phone.  I told her not to bother.

Now, generally speaking, this is what happens.  They call me with the amount owing, I call my husband, and he calls them with the card number.  Always the same day.  Apparently, even though we have already paid thousands, that wasn't good enough.  And, let's be frank.  We have paid them tens of thousands of dollars over the last seven years or so.  They've never chased us to pay them.

I was p*ssed.  Really p*ssed.  And I really let her have it, specifically about courtesy, as in wouldn't a phone call about having to pay FIFTEEN HUNDRED DOLLARS ON THE SPOT have been courteous?  So, I went out to my car, got my cell phone, and got the card number from my husband.  But I was so very, very angry.  This whole cycle has been one piece of idiocy after another.  I would like to say that they honestly don't give a damn, but I'm not sure that is the case.  They are just so disorganized.  At least when they were part of the hospital, things seemed to run better.  They are all the same people.  And I do recognize that I am experiencing all of this while hopped up on lots of estrogen.

So, eh, whatever.  My lining is OK.  The donor did not get her trigger shot tonight, but she probably will tomorrow.  Which means I can stop my Lupron injections (which really throw a person into temporary menopause).  Yes!  I'm getting tired of the hot flashes.  I don't think I have any other symptoms of Lupron craziness, though perhaps the billing person might tell you otherwise.  If the donor gets her trigger shot tomorrow, DH will have to provide his contribution on Monday morning.  Which means a Thursday transfer.  And the end of my evening glass of wine for awhile.

Other than that, the only excitement today was learning that the f*cking mice are back.  I know, I told you it was a mouse.  And, in fact, DH found a dead mouse today.  In our den.  Where we sit every night as a family.  We couldn't figure out why it decided to expire there, but we were glad.  The mouse was dead.  Yippee.  Later on, I saw something in the dim light as I crossed through the dining room.  I turned on the light, and it was another effing mouse.  Feet up.  Cat watching intently.  I couldn't believe my eyes.  But, it was just faking it, because in a moment, it was off again, trying to get away.  But the cat wasn't having any of it.  It was over in a heart beat.  And the mystery of the dead mouse in the den was solved.  I guess that will teach us not to put the traps out.  Thank G*d for my alley cats.  I really hope that this is the end of it.  Although DD's whole class will hear about this now, since she now knows that we had some uninvited guests.  Perhaps it was my screaming that got her attention and caused her to come running. 

Now we just have to figure out where they came from.  DH suggested that maybe they were eating the cat food that we have stored in the basement.  You know, the stash that we have in case the bird flu or some other catastrophe hits?  We're ready.  Dot gov.  Well, not so much. 

But at least the mice are happy.

I've Been Summoned

I just have time for a quick update.  I think that I must just be old and not very patient any more, but my clinic is still getting on my last nerve.  I've been summoned for an appointment tomorrow.

On Monday, I received a "follicle" update.  Our donor reacted well to the "stims," and she had "many, many" follicles approximately 9-10 mm in size.  That meant that in 2-3 days, they would be ready for retrieval, or thereabouts (it's really not an exact science).

I hadn't heard anything until this afternoon, when I received a call that I need an ultrasound tomorrow at 9:45.  That message was left on my home answering machine around 3:00, and I didn't receive it until this evening.  I think that the inconvenient time is due to the fact that mine is a last minute ultrasound, and all the earlier times are taken.  Be that as it may, it is very disruptive. 

As I've said before, I'm very, very glad that I have an understanding boss.  He doesn't know why I have had to call him from time to time and tell him that I have something to take care of and will be in late.  Of course, I would tell him if he asked.  But, the last time I went through this with DD, he shared all the details with his boss, and I wasn't quite ready for that.  I think it would have been OK if he'd said that I was having a medical procedure done, but he actually shared everything -- donor cycle, medications, etc.  I felt kind of funny about that, though in fairness, I didn't tell him that it was uber confidential.  Maybe I felt uncomfortable because his boss was a man at the time (I have the same supervisor, but we are both working for a new employer now, and his supervisor is a very nice woman).

I expect that my appointment will go just fine tomorrow.  The purpose of the ultrasound is to check the thickness of my uterine lining.  Since I've been taking Estrace so long, and I am back into my fat jeans, I expect that the lining will be just fine, thank you very much.

Anyway.  That's where we are.  I will keep you posted.