New Midlife Mommy

Winter S*cks, And Merry Effing Christmas

I cannot believe how much this weather has absolutely s*cked lately.  We have had January weather since November, which is really unheard of.  I hate my state, really hate it, mostly because it always seems to be cold.  Honestly.  We have two weeks of spring, two weeks of fall, three months of summer, and eight months of winter.  Or at least it seems that way.  I have promised myself that I will not die in this state.  Nope.  Not me.  I've been studying the weather map during these cold spells, and it looks like you can plant me in Phoenix or Tampa.  And I'm not fond of hurricanes, so I guess that leaves Phoenix.  Habla espanol anyone?  Un poco.  Or, I guess we could follow DD, provided she moves somewhere warm.

I was reminded, yet again, why I hate it here so much.  Last night, as we were getting ready to turn in for the night, DH noticed a disaster in the making. 

Now, I've mentioned before that we have an old house.  I really do love it.  It was built sometime between 1870 and 1872 (no one is exactly sure).  We just had it painted last year to bring out the detail work.  One of the nice features is a square alcove that extends out from the side of the house.  A lot of houses in our neighborhood have this.  It's perfect to put a Christmas tree in.  The lights from the tree shine out through the windows on three sides.  When we don't have a tree there, it's perfect for a rocking chair.  The sun comes in through the glass, making it a nice, warm place to read.

But.  And a big but.  While the rest of the house has fairly steep roofing, this little alcove area has a flat roof.  Which is a big problem.  There were some small areas where it looked like it had leaked through the ceiling in the past, but we'd never had a problem.  Until last night.

DH heard some dripping and went to investigate.  And that mofo roof was leaking like a sieve.  It was just flooding in on the edges, and in two spots on the ceiling.  Which just happened to be right over  our tree (fortunately, the presents that we'd already had under there were toward the front and out of the way of the initial onslaught).  We had to put all kinds of pots out to catch the water, though the carpet was already wet by the time DH saw the problem.  DH went outside to try to break the eight inches or so of ice off the roof, since it was likely an ice dam that was causing the problem.

Holy cow.  When he came back in, I noticed that he had blood all over the front of his neck.  I saw one pretty deep small cut, and it wasn't clear if there were other cuts (he has a beard).  Apparently, one of the killer icicles had fallen down and smacked him on the chin.  I sent DH off to the local urgent clinic, where he had to explain about the giant icicle.  I'm sure that was good for a chuckle.  Fortunately, they were able to put a couple of stitches in without shaving his beard.  That's good, because neither DD nor I have ever seen him without it.  I guess the doctor had a beard, so he tried harder.

I whined to our handyman by e-mail at midnight, and he came by today and graciously chipped all the ice off that side of the house, as well as off the flat roof on the alcove.  He was certainly very kind to do this on Christmas Eve day, but since we asked him to replace our gutters and install a heat strip on the outside of the roofing several times since last June, I am laying this one at his feet.  He promised that he would take care of it this year.  I told him that if he didn't think he could do it, then he needed to give me a name of someone who could -- this is just not going to happen again.

So, that's our latest winter adventure here.  The remainder of the day was uneventful.  We exchanged presents with a few of our neighbors.  My dad came over, and we opened our presents to and from him to all of us, as well as DD's presents to us.  We had a very nice dinner, but we ended up skipping church because the roads were freezing up.  (I think G*d will understand, though He probably would prefer that we go to church more than once a year.  And I wish we could.)

Even though DD took in quite a haul -- a porcupine game, some sort of small doll that has interchangeable parts, a very cool cash register (scanner, microphone, credit card swiper, etc.), Mickey Mouse ears, a beautiful hand-made doll and quilt, and some cookies, DH heard her whining about how she didn't get very many presents. 

Now, I realize that she's just a child of four.  She knows the reason for the season, but despite that, it's all about the presents (as it was for me and probably is for many kids her age).  Given the current state of the economy though, she is one lucky child.  Her cup runneth over, because I'm very good at finding sales, and I'm in shopping mode all year long.  I have a lot more presents for her to open tomorrow morning.  But this certainly prompted a discussion about how some kids have sore tummies because they don't have anything to eat, and many don't even get one toy for Christmas.  And, she really p*ssed me off when we said a prayer tonight, and she refused to tell G*d what she was thankful for -- even after I made suggestions.

DH and I talked a bit about this tonight, and we both think that it's time for some volunteer work.  Not during the holidays when they are overrun with volunteers, but a few times during the year when they really need the help.  We'll have to find something suitable for a four year old.  Obviously, my reminding her how blessed she is isn't sinking in.  She needs to live it.  If we weren't still trying for another (first Lupron shot on 1/7!), I would have her go through her toys and choose some for donation. 

I don't know if she will be an only child; I hope not.  But, I swear by all that's holy, she will not grow up to be one of those ungrateful brats who think the world owes her something.  So far, she's very generous with my money (she always wants to put dollars in the red kettle), but she hasn't had to give anything of herself.  It seems as though it's time to start.

My goodness, this post is long.  Let me finish by saying that I wish you all a very Merry Christmas, and a New Year filled with blessings.  I wish you peace.  I wish you joy.  But most of all, I hope that you have the opportunity to hold your loved ones close.

Am I Getting Too Old For This Gig?

It was so nice to have a long weekend.  Normally, I don't have a break at all on the weekends.  Saturdays are for errands, and Sundays are still spent at my father's house going through my mom's things.  That project will take another one to two years.  I only wish I were exaggerating.  My biggest fear is that I won't get it done before something happens to him, or he needs to move to assisted living or something like that.  Awful to think of or say, but it's true.  I just don't have any more time to give, short of taking a leave of absence from work, which I guess I would have to do if we needed to clean things up quickly to try to sell the house.  It's about an hour and a half round trip from my house to his house, and I spend three-four hours there.  Though my family and I do get to laze around in the morning and then go to breakfast, by the time we get back from breakfast, it's time to leave for dad's house. And that pretty much sums up my Sundays.

Anyway, this was a laaazy weekend.  On Thanksgiving morning, we went out for breakfast, and then came home to play in the snow and build a snowman (well, DD and I played; DH stayed indoors).  Truthfully, I was totally not into the running around (especially when DD wanted to play tag).  I am so unequipped for the winter.  I don't even own a pair of boots or a casual winter coat (preferably stuffed with down feathers).  It's my way of denying that winter actually comes, I guess.  So, in addition to my inherent laziness (where did she get so much freaking energy???), I feel like a dork running through the deep snow in a pair of Reeboks and my long wool dress coat.

I managed to do my errands on Friday (except for going to the dry cleaners, which I totally forgot about -- now I have nothing to wear tomorrow -- woo hoo).  Sunday was still reserved to my dad, but that left one empty day.  So, Saturday was our lazy day.

DD was excited, because I promised her we could go to Chuck E. Cheese.  DH had never been there.  Such a treat for him!  DD loves it though, and isn't that why anyone would go there?  I would like to say that DH was impressed, but he wasn't.  And they don't serve chicken fingers (what's up with that?), so we can't even have lunch there, since DD won't eat pizza or hot dogs.

I've only been to one CEC, so I don't know if they all have a tube crawl along the ceiling with a curvy tube slide going down.  To understand this story, you need to know that DD doesn't have much of a sense of direction.  Neither did my mother (she would panic if she was somewhere unfamiliar and she couldn't find her companions).  And I don't either.  GPS units were made for people like me.  I literally will drive miles and miles out of my way because I would prefer to stay on roads that are familiar to me to keep from getting lost.  I will always turn the wrong way, whenever I have to choose.  DD and I don't share any genes, so the only explanation I have is that somehow this lack of a sense of direction is shared in utero.  DH is just the opposite.  He always can find his way home.  It really p*sses me off sometimes.

Anyway.  As she did when she and I went before, DD climbed up into the tubes and went straight to the curved slide, which is right near the top of the climbing tower.  After she'd hit the bottom several times, I tried to show her where there was a window that would allow her to look down at us and wave before she went down the slide.  And, I also showed her how the tubes go around into different areas to try to encourage her to try something new and go in a different direction.  Well, DD must have gotten brave (she's kind of timid in new situations), and much to my surprise, she turned off into one of the tunnels.  So I watched to see if I could see her moving through through some of the windows.  I couldn't see her moving.  But, after a few moments, I could hear her terrified crying. 

It was obvious what had happened.  She took a wrong turn, she didn't know where to go, she was scared, and she wasn't going anywhere.  So, I did whatever any other self-respecting mom would do -- I went up after her. 

And OMG.  Yes, I certainly could feel my body protesting in the parts that were recently operated on.  But mostly, I could feel the lack of exercise (I haven't exercised since DD was born, four years ago!).  Getting up into the climbing tube was hard.  Crawling around through the horizontal tubes was harder (damn, I felt like I needed knee pads).  I could feel every bit of that 20-30 extra pounds that I have been carrying around.

I found DD, and it was obvious that she was really upset.  We talked about the tubes and how they all curved around.  I showed her from the inside how she could go through and not get lost.  She wanted me to go with her and explore everything, but I convinced her to try it on her own, just a little bit at a time.  I sat on a padded junction area, and she kept coming back to touch base before going off again.  She was still a little concerned that she would get lost, but she felt better knowing that I was there.  Eventually, she got tired of it, and we both went down the tube slide.  I was more than happy to get to the bottom.

I hope that she will be braver next time.  I think she will be.  But between feeling too lazy to run around in the snow, and feeling so clunky moving around the tubes, I have to wonder -- would I have been a more fun mom if I were in my 20's?  Was I wrong to have her so late in life?  And, is it compounding that wrong to have another?  My grandmother had my mom when she was in her early 30's.  It was completely unheard of then, and my mom said that she was embarrassed because her mom was "old."  My mom had my brother and I when she was in her 30's as well (32 for me; 37 for my brother).  I remember thinking that my mom was "old" too.  And now DD will feel the same way (unless I get some plastic surgery done).  I know that there are other moms who have had babies in their mid to late 40's.  Many more than were having babies in their 30's when I was born.

I guess I'm just feeling a little down right now.  It wasn't so very long ago that I had another birthday.  I think that if I could find some time for exercise, and worked at taking off the extra weight, it might not be so bad.  And, I know that I am not feeling so blue that I'll stop cycling.

Still, the whole thing makes me a little sad.  But it is what it is.  One of the hardest things that I have ever had to learn as an adult is that no matter how hard you wish, you can't have the time back that you've lost, and you can't even make it stand still.

Dear Retailers

Dear Retailers:

If you think, for one New York minute, that I will ever get up at 3:00 in the morning for the privilege of giving you my money, think again.  Especially in this economic climate.  Hello!  I'm the customer.  I have what you want.  Now make it convenient for me.  (Though I'm sure that your employees don't appreciate having to be at work so early either, but they'll do it, because you have them over a barrel because jobs are so hard to come by these days.  But I'll bet if they could choose, they wouldn't choose you.)

The only place that I will be going tomorrow, because I can do it until noon and not miss having breakfast with my family, is a large store that has a sale on tires.  Which I need, since my wear bars are showing.  And if I buy what I need, they will give me a $60 gift card for their store.  As for the rest of the 3" of sale materials I received in today's paper, if they had a time frame on them, especially a time frame that begins at 4:00 in the f*cking morning and lasts only a few hours, please know that I didn't even look at them.  They are going to make their way to my recycle bin.  Where at least they can do a little good.

Sincerely,

Midlife Mommy

Less Of Me To Love Today

OK, OK, I said I wasn't going to talk about this anymore.  But I am.  Last time.  Promise.  But if you are sick of hearing about my stupid health issues, I do understand if you just click off this post.

My stomach and back started acting up again on Thursday morning.  I was almost at work, and didn't feel like getting it checked out, since I knew the symptoms would be gone in a few hours.  But, I wanted to know what was wrong, and if it was my gallbladder, I really did want to know before I got pregnant (hope really springs eternal, doesn't it?).

So I went to very-famous-hospital that always advertises locally with stress-filled background music, implying that if you don't have one of their doctors treating you, you will die.  DIE.  DIE!!  (Actually, the reason that I went there is that they do in fact have a good reputation, and it was relatively close.  I do think that the far-away university has the best doctors, but they are -- far away -- and I wanted to figure out what was wrong and get to work, thankyouverymuch.)

I expected a blood test and an ultrasound that would show a hiatal hernia.  In fact, I didn't even tell my husband that I had decided to stop at the hospital, so certain was I that this was no big deal.

Was I wrong!  When the doctor pushed on my gallbladder, I could feel the referral pain at the top of my stomach.  Bingo.  And, I actually got to see the gallstones on the ultrasound.  At that moment, I decided it was coming out.  The stones were very, very tiny (imagine cutting the heads off pins -- they were that size or smaller).  There must have been at least thirty of them.  I even commented that those were the kinds of stones that could easily flip out and go places, and there was no way that I was going to have a pregnancy with that thing.  No way.  The ultrasound also revealed that I had two small stones that had moved into my common bile duct.  This is not a good thing, because it can lead to all kinds of problems, and that was why I was having symptoms that day.

So, later that day, I had a small procedure to remove the errant little stones.  They were so small that the doctor couldn't find them, but he made the bottom duct opening a little larger (no long-term side effects from that).  And the doctor guessed that they passed out just fine.  Probably like they have been doing for the last twenty years.  Ack.  How lucky I have been.  Holy sh*t.  How lucky I have been.

I told him that I just wanted it out, out, OUT.  He suggested waiting a couple of weeks, because sometimes there is some swelling after the procedure they had just performed.  But, there wasn't any increased risk if I did it immediately.  So, I scheduled it for yesterday.  And it's out.  It hurts like a mofo right now, but I do have some good drugs.

I have a long letter that I will be writing to the hospital.  For as much as they hold themselves out to be the best thing in town, they certainly aren't.  Did I have a good doctor?  Heck yes.  He was the head of the general surgery department.  But there were so many things that were just awful, I think they need to know about them.

Here is one example.  My husband came to wait with me before they took me down to surgery yesterday.  My room partner was getting ready to leave while we were waiting.  She'd been the victim of a previously botched surgery that left a couple of unplanned holes in her bladder that needed repair.  Part of her healing process means that she has to have a catheter in for quite awhile, and she has to wear a bag on her leg.  I imagine that it is quite awkward to try to dress around that.  And I know that she was in an awful lot of pain.

I went into the bathroom, and when I came out just a minute later, there was a well-dressed woman with a wheelchair, telling my room partner (who was still dressing behind the curtain) that she needed to hurry up, people were waiting, why wasn't she ready, she needed to hurry up, hurry up, hurry up, HURRY UP.  It was really obnoxious, and my husband (who usually avoids conflict like the plague, saying nothing to anyone) quietly reminded her that the woman she was there to pick up was sick and in pain -- so lighten up, she will be ready in a minute.  Rather than apologizing, as I would have done, this woman, incredibly, turned on my husband and started a fight with him.  She was a volunteer, how dare he say anything to her, she'd been volunteering for 40 years, who did he think he was, he probably hadn't ever volunteered for anything, she was sick and tired of being called up to rooms just to have to wait for people to get ready when there were actually people waiting for her, blah, blah, blah.  I was dumbstruck at first, because I'd never seen any "care" volunteer act like this before.  So I started in on her and told her that I couldn't believe she was acting like this, and if she needed to be angry with someone, then it was best directed at the people who called her up too soon, and it was inappropriate to take it out on the poor woman who was really hurting and trying to dress.  It was not a constructive event.  My room partner was seething when she came out and told the woman to just go, that she wouldn't go anywhere with her.  So, the volunteer left the room and started a fight with the nursing assistant, who ended up taking my room partner downstairs -- but not before we both made sure that we had the name of the volunteer.

Seriously.  This was supposed to be one of those cheerful caregivers.  And this experience was just what I needed before going down to surgery.  Because, you know, in the back of my mind, I was still thinking about the possibility of death.  Or complications.  And my general hatred of surgery and all it entails.

Ugh.  But, there was a sweet side.  My husband was totally awesome.  He had every right to be angry with me over this whole thing.  There he was, thinking that I'm having an uneventful day at work, and then he gets my call at 2:00 Thursday afternoon to give him all the bad news.  He has been nothing but grace under fire since then, and I am so blessed.  My daughter has been an angel, and I loved seeing her both nights during visiting hours.  She drew pictures for me the first night, and the second night, she brought a get well card from her class with everyone's hand prints on it.  Totally awesome.

And, it's over.  My RE agreed to yet another pill month (though the nurse said that he wouldn't prescribe the pills until I actually had the surgery -- still a controlling a$$hole, which is why I never confided any of these things to him in the first place).  But I can now finally move on from this with peace of mind.  I know what the problem was, and it won't be bothering me anymore. 

What a relief. 

Moving On (And Something Sweet)

I had the CT scan.  Why didn't anyone tell me how awful this would be???  I had to drink two twelve ounce cups of barium.  It wasn't as thick as the stuff from the upper GI, but yuck.  I chose berry flavor.  Still yuck.  And there was an iodine contrast, which kind of felt like a nice little buzzed hot flash for a minute.  But, whatever, the test was normal.

When we met with the surgeon yesterday, who was much nicer this time, and she is now off her hiatal hernia suspicion.  I'm not sure why, especially since she reiterated that that could be the problem, even though the tests are negative.  She's still just guessing that it's my gall bladder, but she doesn't know at all.  I told her that I would be much more willing to submit to exploratory surgery to look my stomach than to removing my gall bladder, but as I said, she is off the hiatal hernia kick.  Very weird, especially since she was so forceful about it last time we saw her.  My symptoms don't match, but she said not everything was textbook perfect (I do know that, but I should have one symptom, don't you think?).  We just said thanks but no thanks, we'd call her if we changed our minds, and that was that.  She said to think about going in to the emergency room if it happens again (it will), and let them do a liver blood panel and an ultrasound.  I would feel rather silly doing this, since it is bothersome but not incapacitating.  But maybe I will.

I told DH that if he felt uncomfortable going forward at all, I would have my gall bladder removed.  He doesn't.  We have really, really looked into this.  Nothing matches.  The good news, I guess, is that I don't have cancer or anything serious.  So, Lupron on 11/10.  This was a bad detour that cost me hundreds in copays, as well as a lot of lost leave time from work.  And of course I lost another month in the TTC rollercoaster.

Enough of this f*cking whining.  On to the sweet.

I've mentioned that my daughter doesn't see any commercial television.  We tape Handy Manny and Mickey's Clubhouse, and that's all she sees (other than talking head news shows).  So, she really doesn't see any of the commercials that suggest what she should want for Christmas.

Last Sunday, DH just asked her what she wanted.  When I came home, he handed me a paper titled "DD's Christmas List."  He'd written down what she'd said verbatim.  Here it is:

Play witch
Play seagull

I don't really care what Santa gives me.  I'm just wishing.  He can give me whatever he wants to give me.

Sweet?  Maybe it's in the eye of the beholder.  I found it charming, but I so often feel that way.  Four is such a good age.

Now can someone tell me where the h*ll I'm going to find a play witch or a play seagull?

Still In Limbo

Well, at the risk of making my entries all about me and my health, all the time, we still don't know where we are.  I am still on a pill month, still supposed to start Lupron on 11/10, and I am no closer to any answers than I was before.

I mentioned that I went to the well-respected university hospital internist, and he said that they just don't remove asymptomatic gallbladders, even if there is a planned pregnancy.  And, while I might be having a gallbladder problem, it really sounded like something else.  He guessed that it could be a possible hiatal hernia and asked that I have an upper G.I.  He also recommended that I talk with a general surgeon from the university.  The person that he recommended didn't have an opening until December(!), so we took another surgeon at the same center who had a more reasonable schedule, Dr. B.

I had the upper G.I. last Wednesday, and it really wasn't so bad.  I hated swallowing the Alka Seltzer type thing that they made me drink to put some air in my stomach more than I disliked the barium.  It wasn't a treat, but it wasn't bad.  The technician was really nice, as was the radiologist.  Really, really nice.

Yet, might I say how much I am beginning to hate all medical facilities and most of their personnel?  I had the upper G.I. at a (large) local, non-university hospital, and the check-in person didn't even bother to ask if I wanted the results to go to anyone else.  I wanted them to go to the prescribing physician, Dr. B, and to me.  My state has a law that requires that health care providers give you a copy of your medical record on written request.  Your state probably does too (and HIPAA also gives you that right).  Now, "give" is a bad word; they can charge for the record, and I do take exception to the charges, but at least it's a recognition that it's your f*cking record.

So, after the check-in person stood up to herd me back to the testing area (I wasn't even aware that she was finished with her intake), I told her that I needed the results to go elsewhere.  She didn't seem very cheerful about that, because that required that she get back into the computer and actually enter the information.  I gave her Dr. B's name and address, and I told her that I would like a copy sent to me as well under the blah blah blah Act.  Well, they just didn't do that.  If I wanted a copy, I could wait until the results were in (whenever that was) and make a special trip back to the hospital to get it from the medical records department.  What an ass she was. 

I complained to the receptionist in radiology, and I told her that I thought it was an odd way to respond to a request under the state law.  She said that customarily, patients do come back to get their records, but if I really wanted a copy, they could send one to me if I signed their form and let them copy my driver's license.  No charge.  Easy peasy.  Except that in the end, they didn't bother to send the record.  And, the reason that I asked for it is that my doctor won't call unless there's a problem, and if there isn't a problem, he will send you a copy of the report -- in two weeks.  Not acceptable.  After I called to complain that they'd ignored my request made under the blah blah blah Act, I was told that they would immediately send the results to me.  And they did.  And it was negative.

And that was the most positive experience that I've had so far.  Because Dr. B?  Well, she is a beyotch.  My husband doesn't think so, so perhaps I'm overreacting.  On the positive side, at least she will answer questions.  On the negative side, she is an authoritative, directive jackass.  How do you think a patient who believes that her body belongs to her, that nothing will happen without her wholehearted consent, and that every decision along the way will be explained to her reacts to such a person?  Not well, let me tell you.

We drove a long way to see her.  And I didn't even see her for the first hour, because I had to meet with her physician's assistant.  She was very thorough gathering background information and doing an exam.  Except I had to repeat a lot of the same information to the surgeon, who also did her own exam.  I'm sure my bill will be reflective of all of this double effort.  (I am really blessed to have health insurance.)

The bottom line?  She doesn't have a clue either.  But, like the other three doctors, none of whom could find any gallbladder symptoms, I think she thought it was an easy out to say that it was a possibility that the problems were caused by my gallbladder.  (Honestly, it seems like there is a whole lot of lazy thinking going on.)  But, if it's not my gallbladder, then she also wouldn't take it out, even knowing that I plan a pregnancy.

She did have some other thoughts.  She thought it could be a diaphragmatic or paraesophageal henia.  When I later used the words "hiatal hernia," she quickly, and I think snottily, corrected me and said that she had never said that.  I admitted that she hadn't; the internist had used that term.  (Except when I went home and did some research, I learned that there are two types of hiatal hernias -- diaphragmatic and paraesophageal.  So, even though I was inadvertently correct, apparently, she thought I would be impressed with big words.  Distancing -- keeping herself on a pedestal while trying to minimize me -- that was all that was about.)  And, of course, she would recommend surgery for that (surprise!) before getting pregnant.  Having researched this, I learned that if it is a paraesophageal hernia (and only 1% of the hiatal hernias are this type), then surgery is the recommended approach, even if the person is asymptomatic.  The risk is that the stomach might twist and require emergency surgery.  The mortality risk is 1% for surgery in the normal course; it is 15% if done on an emergency basis.  Diaphragmatic hernias (99% of the hiatal hernias) are usually just managed for symptoms unless the patient gets really uncomfortable.

She wanted a CT scan in addition to the upper G.I. I already had.  Here's the "best" part -- if it is a hiatal hernia, the tests might not show it -- and they would have to do exploratory surgery to figure it out.  She asked some questions that I couldn't answer, such as was there undigested food more than three hours after eating when I made myself sick to get rid of the stomach pain.  I just couldn't remember.  She said that she would like to be sure before she proceeded to take out my gallbladder, because she would feel so silly taking out an asymptomatic gallbladder.  I told her that she might feel "silly," but I would be pissed.

Or, she thought it could be a diaphragmatic tear.  She asked if I'd ever been in an auto accident before the symptoms started, and I had.  She asked what I was treated for, if anything, and I told her that I just had some back problems that resolved within a few months with some physical therapy.  (I researched this as well when I got home -- diaphragmatic tears occur 4-7% of the time in an auto accident, but it requires abdominal trauma.  I didn't have that -- but she didn't ask.  Nor did she ask me how long it was before the symptoms started.  In fact, it was four years.  Most of what I read suggested that the symptoms started at least within a year or so.)  And, of course, I should just go ahead and get this fixed too (surprise!).

I reminded her that the only reason that I was there was because we were trying to get pregnant, and I didn't want to have a medical condition that would be problematic.  As for the stomach problem, I'd lived with it for 20 years, and frankly, I was not interested in unnecessary surgery, thankyouverymuch.  And now, we get to the best part.  Read the following and imagine a loud, authoritative, somewhat sarcastic voice:

Well, if it's OK with YOU to risk developing problems with your gallbladder in the first trimester and subject your unborn child to the risks that could occur from anesthesia, then go ahead.

Or, if it's OK with YOU to develop problems with your gallbladder in the second trimester and expose yourself to the risk of preterm labor, then go ahead (but she added that the second trimester is the absolute safest time to have the surgery, they have good results, and preterm labor is a general risk for anyone).

Or, if it's OK with YOU to develop problems with your gallbladder in the third trimester and risk of injuring the child when we have to do the surgery, then go ahead.

I was really pissed.  And my feelings were hurt.  Here I was, going through all of this for the sole reason that I was worried about a pregnancy, and I get a snarky lecture suggesting that it might possibly be OK with me to deliberately risk hurting my unborn child.  Never mind that I walked through the gates of infertility hell almost ten years ago and I now fully appreciate the gift of life in a way that, quite frankly, I never did before.

I wanted to tell her to go straight to hell.  What I told her instead was I was confused.  How could she say, on the one hand, that if there were no symptoms, these potential problems were non-issues, yet on the other hand, suggest that I was taking a large risk when she wasn't sure that I even had a gallbladder problem?  She said that she thought it was a gallbladder problem, but while they were in there removing it (with the many attendant risks in doing that, which she explained), they could "take a look" and see if I have other problems with my stomach.  (Cha-ching!  Two potential surgeries.)  I asked her what she would do if she were me, and she said she would have the CT scan and then have her gallbladder removed (apparently it doesn't matter what the results are?).

So, I'm scheduled for a CT scan on Sunday (she insisted that I have it at the university hospital, for no better reason than it was more convenient for her -- I kid you not).  Another "no eating" test, but it's not that onerous.  I do hope that if I have a hiatal hernia (and I'm inclined to think I do), that it shows up.  I had another "incident" with my stomach last week, and I noticed that there was undigested food nine hours after my last meal (sorry if that's TMI).  My husband, who is usually pretty conservative and who has had the opportunity to sit and listen to me answer all of these questions and do his own research also doesn't think it's my gallbladder.  Obviously, neither one of us is a doctor.  But when you don't have even one typical symptom of an active gallbladder problem, it really does seem like a convenient excuse.  I would prefer to keep my gallbladder if I could, because some of the potential side effects from the surgery are not good.  Not to mention that one of the side effects is DEATH, and I have a little girl to think about.  Most importantly, I strongly suspect that having it removed would not resolve the stomach problem.  And, even if I decide on a surgery, unless I see an attitude change, Dr. B will not be laying a f*cking glove on me (and I will be sharing my delightful experience when I get the survey that they always send).

So, there we are.  I am supposed to see Dr. B(eyotch) again next Thursday, 11/6.  That gives me four days to think about what I want to do before I am supposed to start Lupron. 

Hope springs eternal about this cycle, I guess.  If I say that I'm depressed about all this, that would be an understatement.

Just In Case You're Keeping Score At Home

Internist #1:  I have no idea why you have very infrequent stomach pain.  Let's do an ultrasound.  (Ultrasound completed.)  Handwritten note, read by a clerk, instructing me to see a surgeon for gallstones.  The note is subsequently mailed.  No further discussions with internist.  WTF?

Surgeon #1:  Hmmm.  (After quizzing me about 16 possible symptoms, none of which I have).  I'm sure it must be your gallbladder.  And, I have an answer for everything.  You need surgery!  Side effects?  Bah, no side effects.  And do stay away from the Internet.  It will just confuse you.  I take out seven of these a week -- or more!  It's no big deal.  Why, just recently, I removed a gallbladder from a 17 year old, and she didn't even have gallstones!  I thought that I might have been a little hasty there.  But, her mom later told me that she feels better now.  So, I must have been right.  I'm always right.  Now, when do you want to do your surgery?

OB/GYN (now retired from OB, but who delivered DD, over the phone):  When you're pregnant, the bile becomes viscous.  It causes stones to develop.  GET IT OUT!!!  If you were my wife, that's what I would tell you.  GET IT OUT!!!  Even if you're not having symptoms.  You don't want to take a chance that you will get pregnant and have a problem.  (I love him with all my heart, but this is not exactly what I wanted to hear.)

Internist #2:  Gee.  Your (one) symptom doesn't sound like a gallbladder problem.  And, we don't usually go around removing gallbladders that aren't causing any trouble, especially since many, many people are walking around with this problem and don't even know it.  I think the chances would be small that you would have a problem if you were to get pregnant, but that is not my area of expertise.  Have you talked with your RE?  (No, he's an a$$hole, and it would not be beyond him to insist that I have surgery if I wanted to continue treating with him, because he's an ultraconservative jerk.  But I did talk with my old OB.  He said GET IT OUT!!!)  Well, you should meet with a surgeon.  (We did.)  Well, he sounds like an interesting guy.  Was he wearing an expensive Italian suit as well?  Perhaps a more conservative surgeon might be a bit better.  And, since I don't think that your stomach problem has anything to do with your gallbladder, why don't we get an upper GI?  (As opposed to an endoscopy.  F*ck.)

Interview with Surgeon #2 next week.  Location:  East outer Mongolia.  And in the meantime, I have to figure out where to get an upper GI locally (to avoid a 100 mile round trip to the university hospital).  BTW, this is the test that I never, ever wanted to have done.  Even during the few times a  year that this problem actually bothers me, I would just tell myself that making myself throw up is far better than having to swallow chalk.  I don't know why this test just freaks me the heck out, but it does.  Damn, damn, damn.

In the meantime, I asked my RE if I could take an extra month of pills, because I am having a stressful period at the moment (um, that is not a lie).  He agreed.  So, the Lupron that I was supposed to start on Monday will now be delayed until 11/10.  It would be nice if I could trust him more, but after that p*ssing contest we got into over breast feeding and having a medicated cycle, I'm just not going there with him again.

I think, in the end, I might just have to flip a coin.  After I swallow some chalk.

I Must Be Too Picky

Honestly, there are so few doctors who impress me.  And the ones that impress me often don't connect with me.  Except for my OB/GYN (now, only a GYN, sad to say).  I would walk through fire for him.  He rocks.  And so does his staff.  I can ask questions of him.  He is not offended.  And I have never, ever not done what he wanted me to do.  Not ever.  Because once he explains why he thinks it's the best course of action, I have always agreed.  Unfortunately, I think he is in the minority.  I also love, love, love my daughter's pediatrician.  She's cut from the same cloth as my GYN.  Totally awesome.

I would love to tell you about my sonohystogram, except I haven't had it yet. Even though Nurse J and I agreed that I would come in on 10/7 at 9:15 a.m., that wasn't when she booked my appointment!  And, of course, she didn't bother to tell me.  If I said I was p*ssed, that would be an understatement.  She told me that I could schedule on any Tuesday or Friday, but apparently, this Tuesday, my doctor was giving a lecture.  So, she just wrote it in for tomorrow and apparently assumed I would find out through osmosis or something.  And I got to waste my gas and time to be there on Tuesday!  Lucky me.  They never cease to amaze me.  Really.

I was not impressed with the internist who referred me to the surgeon to discuss the gallbladder problem, though his education, training, and hospital affiliation are impressive.  It would have been nice if he'd talked with me about what was wrong and answered any questions that I might have.  Instead, I found out what his recommendations were when someone from the office read them to me over the phone (after I called to find out the results).  I received a copy of the instructions and the ultrasound results by mail.  By implication, then, I guess his belief is that the only treatment for this is surgery.  Since he knew I was looking for a new internist, he knew what type of person I was looking for, and he said he would love to be my doctor, this wasn't such a great ending to the interview.

So, today my husband and I met with the surgeon.  If I tell you it was worse than I expected, that would be an understatement.  First, his assistant came in to take a history.  When I mentioned that the ultrasound was done for my stomach problem, and that the problem had been going on very sporadically for over twenty years, she gave me an odd look.  Though it was not as odd as when I told her that I was still briefly nursing my daughter twice a day.  And that she'd just turned four (well, she asked).  Now, I realize that this is out of the norm, but really, it is not weird for us.  We keep it private, and I expect that it will stop soon.  But whatever.  The only concern this should be for a doctor is to provide an awareness of the types of medications that should be prescribed and to know that we can abstain if necessary until a drug gets out of my system.  After looking at me as though I'd just grown an extra eye, she looked over at my husband, as though he might not be aware of this strange thing that I was doing.  And yes, my dear, my husband knows and doesn't take issue with this.  FWIW, we received an identical performance from the doctor shortly thereafter.  Except he had the charity to add that it is still good for my daughter.

Anyway, I don't think the doctor was in the room for 45 seconds before he was suggesting surgery.  This was before the exam or before any in-depth discussion.  He really based his conclusion on the two sentence ultrasound report that said that I have a moderate number of gallstones.  I was disappointed, but I guess I wasn't surprised.  He really did seem to be pushing it, even handing me a "what you need to know about your impending gallbladder surgery" handout, and I told him that I would appreciate it if we could discuss some questions that I had before he wanted to subject me to a surgery that would give me a 20-40% chance of lifetime digestive problems.  He told me that was absolutely not true!  Why, it hardly ever happens (that is simply not true; it is regularly listed as a potential side effect to the surgery).  Of course, there were no other options.  Not even the medication that I'd found described on the NIH website that can dissolve certain types of gallstones over a period of time.  And, I really should stay away from the Internet.  It will only confuse me.  (Hear that pat pat pat on my head?) 

This is so not the way to deal with me.  Truly.  I do have a healthy respect for the knowledge that a doctor has, but please, please don't be condescending.  It's offensive.  A large part of the work that I do involves research, and I'm really good at it, mmmmkay?  Do tell me where I'm off base.  Do tell me that there's something I'm missing, because I didn't go to medical school, and I don't have your experience.  But, I'm one of those annoying patients who wants to be participative when it comes to decisions about my body, and my treatment.  Frankly, if I were a doctor, I would like me as a patient.  Because, don't you think that once you have someone buying into all the decisions along the way, with full knowledge of the pros and cons, that they are less likely to blame you if something goes wrong?   

So, he believed that my stomach problem was related to the gallstones.  Except I didn't have any of the other plethora of symptoms that he was asking about.  And, he really pushed on my gallbladder during my exam.  It didn't hurt.  He said that he thought it was a bit enlarged.  There was a measurement on the ultrasound report, but it didn't mean anything to me.  Maybe it is.

So, I asked him, if I've really have had gallstones for the last twenty years, and it has only been mildly annoying, why should I have surgery at this point in time?  (I really did try not to sound argumentative, but I was taken aback by the immediate surgical recommendation without knowing anything about me.)  He said that there could be some complications, such as pancreatitis (I read on the nasty Internet that could happen about 10% of the time).  And, one of the stones could also block the common bile duct, and that could cause some problems as well (I'd read about that too).  But, really, if I didn't want the surgery, that was fine with him.  I told him that I was just trying to decide if this was something that I wanted to do, considering that we are trying to have a child.  And, since I was undergoing infertility treatment, which involved taking estrogen, would that make whatever problem that I had worse?  He didn't know.  He did say that he sees a lot of women who are pregnant, and depending on where the top of the uterus is, they can do the surgery during the pregnancy.  (Now, that would be scary.)  He is scheduling surgeries at one hospital for the first week of November, and at another for the second week of November.  He thought that I could get pregnant immediately after, but he wasn't sure.  OK, I'll forgive him on that one; that would be out of his area of expertise.

Basically, he does at least seven of these surgeries a week at two hospitals.  He visits the office that I went to on Thursdays.  I don't know where else he has office hours where he meets with his referrals (he also has a regular office).  But, he appears to be someone who just takes out gallbladders for a living.  Now, I don't quarrel with that.  I expect that he's quite good with all that practice.  But, unfortunately, he only has one answer to everything.

You know, one of the things that I learned from the NIH website is that watchful waiting is a legitimate alternative to surgery, "because no therapy may ever be required.  For patients with silent or minimally symptomatic stones, the rate of development of moderate-to-severe symptoms or gallstone complications is estimated to be between 2% and 6% per year, leading to a cumulative rate of 7%-27% in 5 years."  Honestly, wouldn't I qualify as someone who is minimally symptomatic?

So, I guess I am going to continue this cycle.  But I will also call the internist at the university hospital who told me that he didn't need to see me again until I turned 50 or had an issue.  We don't click personally, but I think that he will probably give me better advice.  Even if it's the same advice, at least he doesn't have a vested interest in my decision.

If It Weren't For Bad, Sucky Luck

I guess I would have no luck at all.

OK.  We've had three cycles with our new donor; one fresh, two frozen.  I wanted to do another cycle right away.  I only have two cycles left at the most from this donor (two straws of embryos). 

I did talk to my clinic, Nurse J in particular, when I came in to sign the forms again.  I was really kind of ticked off at them because of their response to my request to use embryo glue (it's supposed to help with embryo implantation).  Now, mind you, all my questions are filtered through nurses, usually Nurse J.  I asked about embryo glue, and I received a call back telling me that it isn't being marketed yet.  I told her that was absolutely incorrect, and I faxed her copies of a number of pages from the company's website, complete with ordering information.  She called me back and said my doctor was not interested in using it, because it is not in wide use and he didn't think that it was efficacious.  I was p*ssed, because I thought that the response was dismissive, and the initial research that I'd done seemed to indicate that it was at least worth trying.  When I came in for my cycle day three blood work and ultrasound, the nurse talked to me again.  She said that they'd looked into it further, because they didn't want to be dismissive (surprise!), but they still didn't want to use it.  Not only didn't it appear to be very effective, but it also appeared to increase the possibility of ectopic pregnancies.  OK, fair enough.

But, I wasn't finished.  I told the nurse that honestly, even though my doctor was a pioneer in IVF, he appears to be sitting on his laurels now.  She said that he is the most conservative doctor in the practice, but he wasn't that far behind.  She said that as a small clinic, they are not involved in a lot of clinical trials, but they do follow the research trends.  If it seems like it will help a patient, balancing out the physical, and frankly financial, burdens, they will try it.  But, they don't try everything just because it is new. 

I asked about immune issues, since several people had suggested that might be a problem.  She said that they were certainly aware of the work in that area, and they'd even sent a few patients to the primary clinic where the research was being done (out of state).  Their experience was that it was an expensive proposition, and they'd seen no increased results.  So, they don't do it anymore.  OK, again fair enough.

I asked about the tests that my doctor had suggested just before our donor cycle -- he'd wanted to do a sounding and a sonohystogram.  I told her that at the time, I'd been concerned about infection, because he wanted to do the sonohystogram so close to the donor cycle.  But, since we wanted to start a new cycle, I wasn't as concerned.  However, I did want to know why he wanted to do it, since I don't have fibroids and have always had normal GYN exams.  She said that there are other things that they look for, including something that causes fluid buildup in the fallopian tubes that can be toxic to an embryo (I can't remember exactly what the term is).  OK, makes sense, so I scheduled it for tomorrow.  Then she said that he could do the sounding at the same time (a sounding is a dry run for the embryo transfer, where they insert a catheter to see which angle is necessary to get through the cervix).  Except -- this doctor has done a bunch of transfers with me!  She said that after pregnancy, sometimes, the angle changes (I had a C-section, so I'm not sure that's the case for me, but I didn't think about that until after I left the office).  And, he's done five transfers since my pregnancy.  But, whatever.  It takes a second. 

I started my birth control pills, and I think we start Lupron on the 13th.  But here's the s*cky part.  I've had some minor health issues that I kept putting off talking to someone about.  Very, very slight swelling in my ankles at the end of the day.  My joints have started "clicking" sometimes.  I had a mole that I wanted checked out.  And, I've had a stomach problem for at least 20 years -- bad pain in the center of my stomach that goes away if I make myself throw up (sorry if that's TMI).  I just kept thinking that I really need to talk with someone before I get pregnant (wishful thinking!), because if there are any serious issues, they should be taken care of ahead of time.  Being a responsible adult and all.  And these little problems seemed to be adding up.

So, the first two things.  No big deal.  The mole?  Big deal.  It didn't fail the mole test (ABCD -- not Asymmetric, it had clear Borders, the Color was uniform, and it had a small Diameter [smaller than a pencil eraser]).  Except it was a dark, dark brown.  Kind of like looking into a cup of weak black coffee.  You know that it's brown, but it is really dark, almost black.  Apparently, that is the classic type of mole that becomes a melanoma.  Would I mind if he took it off that day?  Holy h*ll, not at all.  How about now?  Is now good?  That wasn't such a big deal, but it is taking forever to heal.  But one less thing to worry about.

As for the stomach thing, the doctor was stumped.  He thought that it was probably just muscle spasms.  But he wanted to do a CBC and an ultrasound, just in case.  I have to be honest with you -- the technician spent a LOT of time taking measurements on my liver last Wednesday.  A lot of time.  And, since my mom died of non-alcoholic cirrhosis, that kind of FREAKED ME THE F*CK OUT.  And, of course, when I joked with the technician about whether or not she found something (I know, they don't usually say, but sometimes they do), I received a deadpan response that a radiologist would read it that day or the next, and my doctor would have the results by Friday afternoon.  So, of course I thought I was doomed.

I obsessively Googled abdominal ultrasounds, trying to figure out what kinds of problems they could find, and what would be a "normal" amount of liver measurements to take.  Well, I did find one textbook that would have given me the answer regarding the number of measurements, but I would have had to buy it, and I wanted a more immediate answer than that.  And then I started looking at pictures of ultrasounds.  Ultrasounds of people with problems.  And, of course, I had no idea what I was looking at, but I assumed that given the number of measurements, and the deadpan face of the technician, that of course, IT MUST BE A TUMOR!  A rational response?  Eh.  Probably not.  And, of course, I was seeing 11's everywhere.  And, as I've admitted before, whenever that happens, it always seems to coincide with really bad news.

I finally screwed up the courage to call the clinic last Friday late in the day.  And, if you want test results, you need to leave a message.  And they will get back to you.  Maybe in 24 hours.  Maybe in 48 hours.  So, I left a message.

Now, you should know that the doctor said that if there were problems, he would call me.  And I convinced myself that if it were really, really serious, the facility where I had the ultrasound done would actually call the doctor.  And, no calls.  No news.  Good news, right?

Not.  No tumor (thank you Lord).  But -- I have effing gallstones.  Gallstones!  With no symptoms that match any other human!  (Though does happen that there are no symptoms.)  My first thought was that this was a geriatric disease.  Heh.  Not so much.  It occurs three times more often in women, usually between the ages of 20 and 60.  It often occurs after a pregnancy or in conjunction with HRT (hormone replacement therapy) because . . . the amount of estrogen in your body increases when these things happen (gee, what have I been taking a whole helluva lot of over the last forever years?).  And, being even moderately overweight doesn't help (I suppose 20 pounds too much falls within that definition).  And the gold treatment standard is to take the damned gallbladder out.  Which scares the cr*p out of me.  90% of the time, they can do it laproscopically (the remaining 10% of the time requires a major abdominal cut).  And 60-95% of the time, there are no after effects.  Except someone that I know has the after effect (which means that she can't eat fatty food without having to immediately use the facilities), and she told me today what a horrible time she had after the surgery (just what I needed to hear!).  There is a medication that can be prescribed for the "problem," but it is a Category C (so probably not a good idea during pregnancy), and it is not a good idea for breast feeding, because it binds to fat soluble vitamins.  Lovely.  Just lovely.

So, I fell like I'm totally scr*wed.  The responsible thing to do is to talk with the surgeon that the doctor recommended.  I've never heard of him, and I can't pronounce his name (nor could the nurse who scheduled the appointment, and she sees him regularly).  If I can't understand him, I will find someone else.  Biased?  Yes.  But only against people whose English I can't understand (and I'm pretty good at listening); I really don't care about heritage.  I guess that I figure that if I can't understand him/her, then he/she can't understand me, and that is not the basis for a good relationship.  Because I'm all about the talking (and talking and talking and talking, even though I know surgeons are not really into all of that).  He is based out of a hospital I've never been to; that makes me uncomfortable.  But the alternative is to go to my regular doctor (who pooh poohed me for coming in for an annual exam several years in a row, because statistically speaking, I didn't need to do that until I was 50(!), since I was getting regular GYN exams).  So yeah, he is not my favorite person either, and I can understand him perfectly.  He is part of a university hospital system, and they do good work, but it would probably take forever to schedule the surgery, and for crying out loud, I only did this because I wanted to have a healthy pregnancy and a healthy baby and holy sh*t why is this happening to me?

So yeah.  I'm a little freaked out right now.  But I'm not going to tell my RE tomorrow.  The last thing I need is for him to demand that I have the surgery when there's a remote possibility that the surgeon may think otherwise on Thursday.  But why am I even thinking that there's a possibility of a good result on Thursday?  Not with my luck.  And seriously.  A surgeon?  Who cuts for a living?  What do YOU think he will say?  Yeah, I think so too.  And then I will have to come clean with my RE.  And who knows what he will say.  And that makes me want to cry.

Damnit.

I'm Just Generally Pissed Off, I Guess

This is all just general whining . . . plus some miscellaneous.  DH says that I'm always pissed off about something.  Hmmm.  Maybe.  I think that it is a reflection of a passion for life.  But maybe I'm just bitchy.  No, I think it's passion.

Today, it took me THREE HOURS AND FIFTEEN MINUTES to get home.  Last week, during the last snow that we had, it was fifteen minutes more.  I would say that each time, DD was in the car for at least half of the allotted time.  To say that this pisses me off is an understatement.  However, DD's vocabulary was enriched, though not in a good way.

Last winter, I complained about the washing machine drain pipe freezing up every time the thermometer dipped below 20 degrees.  Our wonderful handyman fixed it for us so I no longer have to haul my laundry to the laundromat for weeks on end during the cold spells.  Long story, but I guess the "S" part of the pipe was buried in some dirt (it's in an area that we can't really get to from the rest of the basement).  He was able to raise it up, and it works like a charm.  Go, M!  He also added a couple of pipes coming off the furnace to heat the area to keep the drain pipe and the kitchen sink water lines from freezing.  But that meant that more air flow volume was taken away from the rest of the house.  So we decided that we would put an accelerator on the line that went upstairs, which most directly leads to our bedroom.  The net effect of this is that our bedroom is toasty, and the rest of the house is freezing.  Literally.  The windows in my office (soon to be DD's bedroom if I find the time) have ice on the lower part of the pane.  Have I mentioned, again, that I f*cking hate winter?  Of course, if we had any insulation, or more than single pane windows, it probably would help.

My cell phone company insists that my bank dishonored a check for insufficient funds.  The problem with this is that my on-line bank statement has no record that the check was ever presented, and my account balance on the date that they said the check was dishonored could have paid the bill more than twenty times over (and at no time has the balance ever dropped below a few hundred dollars).  This is the second time that they've done this to me.  The first time was back in March 2006, and that time they actually turned the phone off and charged me $20 to turn it back on, and $20 for a late fee (and my daughter was 18 months old at the time, and my mother was suffering from end-stage liver disease).  It took them MONTHS to refund the money.  This time, it was a $20 late fee or else they would shut it off.  You know, I'm guilty until proven innocent.  But I'm not allowed to send them a copy of my bank statement.  It must be a letter.  From my financial institution.  And it can't be mailed, because they won't give a street address.  No, it must be faxed.  And then I get to wait forever for a refund.  T-Mobile?  F*ck you.  This time, you can answer to the state attorney general and the FCC, because your actions certainly appear to be nothing less than consumer fraud.  May I suggest that you consider this fair warning if T-Mobile is your carrier?

Nothing much going on with the baby front.  We haven't heard anything about our donor's test results.  DH went in for his blood work and sperm evaluation.  I came today for "cultures." 

I had a long talk with the doctor about their forms, which neither my husband nor I remember signing the last time.  They talk about giving consent to enter a "program," which will require monitoring throughout the pregnancy and beyond.  Um, no thank you?  We are supposed to sign that we received "the legal statement," but no one has any idea where this statement is. 

We are also supposed to tell them the number of embryos that we want transferred, but we are kind of up in the air about that at the moment.  No more than two.  But maybe one, since the donor is only 27.  My doctor told me today that the risk of twins is about 14%, the same as when we did injections.  Ha!  We did injections for TWO YEARS and couldn't even get a singleton.  (I stupidly mentioned that to someone in the lounge today, and I could kick myself for doing it -- she was just starting down that road.  I wasn't trying to be hurtful, it was part of the flow of the conversation, but I should have shut the h*ll up.  I remember when I was that full of hope.  Sigh.)  But, he said that with two embryos transferred, there are 1.4 pregnancies on average.  And he also said that a lot of the time the patient wants to use her sister, who is usually close in age.  This tells me that the stats are probably higher when the donor is younger.  But, he insisted that no, it's about 14%.

And, we are supposed to check one of three boxes that instructs them what we want to do with the leftover embryos -- donate to another couple, donate for research, or destroy them.  I know that this is an emotionally charged issue, but DH and I are in complete agreement -- we would donate the embryos.  I would like an open arrangement; he wants anonymity.  (We never completely agree on anything.)  The nurse told DH if he checked the first box (donate to another couple), it would mean thousands more dollars in tests, so he should just pick one of the other two for now.  WTF?  If we don't have the tests done on the donor, then I don't think we can donate them under the new FDA regulations.  But I'm not an expert.  My concern is that our donor might not want to have any part of this after she's donated once (it is really pretty rigorous), and she might walk away and not want to be tested at some point in the future.  If it means the difference between being able to donate the embryos or not, then we should get the testing.  The doctor didn't know the answer, but he did say that the donor would be tested after donation.  He thought that met the requirements, but he said he'd let us know.

The doctor also thought that karyotyping was probably not worth the time.  He said that they only do it when a woman has three miscarriages or more, and then, only 2-3% of the time is there an abnormality.  It just gives them an idea of chromosome structure.  It doesn't tell them anything about specific diseases.  He said that our donor does not have a history of miscarriages in her family, so it is probably not an issue.  And it would slow things down by two-three weeks while we wait for the results.  He was in favor of the cystic fibrosis test.  He didn't think we needed any others.

I haven't described all the paperwork, which seems to go on forever.  Sometimes, I wonder what it is like to just have a bottle of wine, have sex, and then see two pink lines on a stick?  Without the paperwork. 

I guess I'll never know.