The Long Story

So back in January we started the break after finishing our last cycle of Clomid without success.  At the time my doctor wanted me to start taking progesterone in order to maintain the appearance of a cycle.  Essentially I was supposed to take progesterone during the days of my "cycle" when a normal woman's body would produce it on its own.  This would promote a period and would be safe if I got pregnant. 

Its a long story...

So its a long story and if you've been reading here for a while you know that I love to tell a story.  And that they can be pretty long and drawn out and really have no purpose whatsoever. 

We were on a break!

So I read through my post for the past few months and I realized that my posts have been heavy on the fertility and the doom and gloom.  Since we've decided to take a break from the medication, I will give you all a break from my bemoaning every little aspect of TTCing.  Its been a lonely trek and I appreciate this outlet.  Thank you! 

Commence the fun posts!

No Thoughts, Just Feelings

So I guess I need to write a follow up to this post.  As you can tell from my lack of enthusiasm, a cute little photo-reveal and general poopy attitude towards everything baby,

Clomid Chronicles vol 4

I typically blog in a post mortem style after each cycle.  This time I'm going to shake it up a bit and post before we know how it all plays out.  After successfully ovulating but not getting pregnant the last cycle, we did the same dosage of Clomid hoping for the same result but a better outcome.  This round was a strategic nightmare.  We were hesitant about doing it because the holidays are already insane we weren't so sure we were ready to throw in timed intercourse.  But we both agreed that we were closer than we have ever been so eff it.  Game On! 

When I started my temping chart it predicts when I could possibly ovulate based on my past charts.  Imagine my surprise when I realized that I could potentially ovulate on Christmas.  While we laughed about giving me the best Christmas gift ever, logistically it was a potential disaster.  You see Christmas Eve is spent at my parents' house where all my sisters and their families spend the night so that we all share Christmas morning together.  I love that, but I was not interested in getting it on in my parents' house with The Boy sleeping in the same room.  The potential for disaster increased when a week before Christmas The Boy got sick and then I did too which was all very dejavu-y.  Last cycle I got sick and the ibuprofen I was taking for the aches and fever masked the ovulation so we missed the first part of the window.  But this time I powered through - SANS DRUGS!  Then a few days later Juanito gets notice at work that there is a major job that needs to be completed before the first of the year and its out of town.  Awesome.

We agreed to take it in stride and do what we needed to do.  I continued to temp like a hawk waiting for that elusive temperature spike or EWCM.  I was a little all over the charts because of being sick and then we had a cold snap and we turned on the heater which changes up the temps.  But we were covering the chart, every other day, like rabbits.  But not at Mom and Dad's house.  Eww..

Then after Christmas Juanito had to leave again.  I had a feeling that I was going to spike while he was out of town.  Luckily the job was only a hour away.  So one night he made a secret tryst back home.  To have sex.  Like we're 16.  Assuming I was having sex when I was 16, which I wasn't!  Because I am me, I giggled a lot about the whole thing because it felt naughty and fun.  My hunch ended up being right and I ovulated around that time.  We had good coverage and we were waiting. But waiting means I'm thinking.  Over thinking.

I started thinking if we don't get pregnant this time we are inching our way closer to the 2013 holidays for a due date Do we want to have a baby then?  Juanito and I talked about.  We both weighed in our pros and cons.  Then I went to my doctor.  I told him our thoughts.  He completely, 100% supports our decision to wait 4-6 months. I love him.  He is an amazing doctor.

So there is it.  If we're pregnant than YAY!  If we're not, then we're taking a break.  Hellva New Years Resolution, huh?

I go back and forth between how I feel about it all.  I mean I don't want to have a baby around the holidays.  One of the benefits (and before Scorpio or Sagittarius gets all bent out of shape I need to find the benefits of TTCing because its not like we get to have a birth control whoops or anything so let me have this).  Anyways, the benefit of TTCing is that I can pick and chose, to an extent.  Because if I could have really picked I would be pregnant right now.  I digress. The other benefit of waiting is that I will take the time and lose some weight.  It has shown that it could increase our chances of ovulating on our own.  Depending on how much I lose I might be able to use less Clomid which is healthier for me.  It will mean that when I do get pregnant, it should be a healthier pregnancy.  All good reasons to wait.  But all I can think of "Too Fat to Function."  That some how this is all my fault.  If I was thinner it would work.  If I could handle The Boy being two better then I would be able to get pregnant.  But now I am on edge so often with him and its like a sign.  If I was better equipped as a mom to handle him then I could have another baby. 

All thoughts that I will share with Dr. Curmudgeon.  When is my appointment with him again....

Clomid Chronicles

Not sure how to start this installment of the Clomid Chronicles.  I mean it was a stellar 45 days with so much to tell.  So let’s just start from the beginning.  We upped the dosage, again.  I was taking a small child’s handful of pills every morning.  Then a wave of germs hit our house turning our lives on the side for a few weeks.  I ended up with a cold, Juanito with some “stomach issues” and The Boy had both.  We were all a mess.  I took a lot of ibuprofen to handle the aches and pains of a cold.  Only to find out that it would mask any ovulation indication on my temperature chart.  Oh, good to know.  When I went into the doctor they checked my CM and said that per that I did ovulate.  I didn’t get too excited because they said that last time.  Then they did the blood work.  When they called back the next day I was told that my blood work did not show that I ovulated but come in again.  They think I might have ovulated late.  Again, same routine as last month.

When I was feeling better I quit taking the ibuprofen and after a few days my chart indicated ovulation, but way after time intercourse or also know as DTD, or baby making time or happy fun time.  So I was already thinking that yes I did ovulate and hoping we did it close enough to whatever that timeframe would be.  The blood work came back AFTER the Thanksgiving weekend, which was no fun waiting, but it confirmed that I did ovulate.  I was officially in the 2WW (two week wait) to see if I would start a period or be pregnant.  Everything was positive.  I had sore boobs, I had the right kinda CM, and my temperature remained elevated and most important I passed the date that I should have started a period without starting one.  I WAS LATE!  I hatched a plan on how to tell my family at Christmas.  But I was afraid that I was wrong.  I was afraid that I had all this hope, bigger and brighter than ever, and that the test would be negative.  I didn’t want to test. I didn't want to even buy tests.  I was gun shy.  You see it’s like I divide in half during the 2WW.  I have this hope and I carry it in my heart.  I think if I care and nurture this hope it will somehow cosmically make me pregnant.  But the other half of me is the stoic, sensible side that says don’t over think this and wait until its confirmed.  Go on about your business.  Nothing to see here. 

Finally Sunday morning I tested (Juanito bought tests for me).  I left the test on the side of the bath tub and made Juanito go in and read it.  He came back into the bedroom and shook his head no.  The Hope Side told my head that since I ovulated late then it’s too early.  Yeah, that’s the ticket.  Do it again in a few days!  So I did and still negative, no matter how many times I looked at it.  So a few days later when I still hadn’t started my period I called the doctor.  They wanted me to wait before taking the Provera (the regular protocol).  Ironically that night I started my period.  I woke up in the middle of the night with stabbing cramps.  It was a delightful little present.   

We contemplated taking a break because its been an emotional few months.  Juanito said he wanted to continue because we’re getting closer, but that it wasn’t his body going through it.  I love him for listening to me when I rant and cry about all of this and for retaining the more important points.  When the dust settled I decided that we are getting closer and this stupid PCOS isn’t gonna tell when and where (even though it really does).  I’m not stopping because of a bunch of crying.  So here we go round four.  Lucky Round Number Four. 

the Impossible, again

Its Tuesday, or Turkey Tuesday as our local TV station has dubbed it. And while I want to write something entertaining and pithy or even pithily entertaining about Thanksgiving, my mind is a jumble of things. I met with Dr. Curmudgeon last night and it was really one of the first times that I’ve been with him when I wanted to lay down on his leather love seat and just pour out my head onto the floor and say please fix this and put it back. I did not leave his office revived or with a clear vision of what the days ahead would be like, which is sometimes part of the after-glow of counseling. Instead I left blurred and muddled and a little heavy-hearted. But I think I’ve been heavy –hearted for some time now.


You see, I had my appointment with the gyno-doctor, what they call the Clomid Check. It’s to see if I ovulated and if I developed any cysts. And while all signs look good, it is hard to hold on to hope. I feel like I am hanging on to a balloon and every elevated temp, every fertile looking CM, every indication of ovulation and possible pregnancy inflates that balloon. But by this point in the game, I’m standing here with a ginormous balloon that I am scared will pop at any moment. And I am scared that it’s going to pop and leave me with nothing. So I start to step back the hope.  Reel in the prayers.  Slowly letting a little bit of air out at a time.

I struggle with letting the balloon continue to grow and rise and float away or that it will become overwhelmed with all this hope and want and desire and wishes that it will explode in a loud burst and leave me as the debris. I never know how to handle this part of the fertility dance. But bottom line, if the balloon float away or if pops; only time will tell. And since it’s that season, give thanks for those I have, have a little faith and believe in the impossible, again.

Messages

Many many moons ago, before Juantio and I were Mr. & Mrs., we took our living in sin to the next level and moved out of an apartment and into a house. It was a real house that I got to decorate and clean and maintain. Oy, the maintenance. Juanito fought those damn sprinklers like every weekend and we rarely had green grass to show for it. Anyways….

So it was like the first week that we had moved in, bright and early in the morning. The sun was barely starting to rise and of course Juanito was already gone to work. I woke up all groggy and saw plain as day a little boy standing at the foot of my bed. Scared the crap out of me. I buried myself in blankets and then peeked back out. Yep, he was still there. Little tow-head boy with a black tee shirt on that was obviously an adult size because it hung on him down to his feet. I called for Cass to get in bed with me, which of course she did. I cuddled her under the blankets and a few moments later checked the foot of the bed. He was gone. I remember that this was when we first moved in because we didn’t have our TV set up yet so I couldn’t turn it on to drowned out the fear. I was convinced that every time I woke up he would be there. But he never re-appeared so eventually the fear subsided and over time I completely forgot about him.

Fast forward through a wedding, some health scares, buying a house, fertility treatments and then pregnancy and giving birth and having a baby. As the The Boy grew and morphed from an infant to a baby to a bigger baby to a toddler, I realized how eerily he looks like the little boy that was at the foot of my bed. I have come to think that the little visitor was just a heads up of sorts. Just my guardian angels telling me “you’re gonna go through some crap but this is what is waiting for you on the other side.” It’s a good reward.

This morning while we were getting ready for the day, I walked out of our bathroom and The Boy was standing there watching the TV in our room. Standing at the foot of the bed, he was leaning on it and striking a very similar pose of that little boy. I have never seen or dreamt of that boy or any other children since that August morning. I do wonder if there is a companion for that little boy. Will there be another tow-headed little person in our house some day? I wish my guardian angels would tell me that.

Self-fulfilling Prophecy

I woke up this morning and my temperature has not changed. I am on round three of Clomid at CD 17 and nothing has happened. I am sad. I am down. I am lost. I am afraid.

In the beginning of this cycle I really thought that this was the dose. This was the one that was going to make it happen. I’m pretty sure this was the dosage we got to before, right? But I’ve had this overwhelming feeling that this is not working. This is not the time. My heart is heavy and don’t know how to reconcile these feelings.

The first time we tried we didn’t know what was going to happen. So we took our hits and came back for more, none the wiser. This time we know that it can work. We know what it’s like to be pregnant and have a baby. We know all about it and desperately want it again, in spite of all the current craziness.

And nothing else seems to be going right. The Boy is fighting everything because his world is constantly changing. I feel guilty and uneasy about all the changes we’ve made. I feel unsettled in my job. I can’t seem to find stable ground anywhere and when I do, it’s not for every long.

I posted the other day in a chat room of other PCOS moms who are TTCing. I commented that I wish there was a magic 8 Ball to tell me when it would happen. Like if I could shake an OPK and it would tell me everything. When I would ovulate. When I would conceive. What do I need to do differently.

Unfortunately, that’s not an option. What’s the old saying, hope in one hand and shit in another and see which one fills up faster? Well if the recent bought of diarrhea in our house is any indication.....

The clomid chronicles

So Round Two was at 100 mg of Clomid. I track my ovulation through temping which means I wake up every morning and take my temperature. Come hell or high water. I take my temperature every morning before doing anything else. I might need to pee so bad I can’t see straight but I’ve got to wait the 30 seconds to take my temperature. It sounds minuscule but it’s a major pain in my ass. EVERY. MORNING. It’s relentless. The thermometer isn’t always accurate and must be checked before moving, which requires the lights being turned on. And sometimes (read all the time) I worry that I might have moved too much and skewed the temperature. It’s just a constant that I don’t remember hating as much the first time around.


Oh and to clarify because I was asked once, I take my temperature orally. Not vaginally. Ahem.

Anyways, the cycle was pretty uneventful I thought. There were lots of pings, as I call them. I know that there was some activity in the ovary-region but nothing on the temperature chart. Also there was no indication in my cervical mucus.

But when I went in for my appointment with the doctor he was fairly certain that I did ovulate. So they took blood and two days later they asked that I go in again for more blood work, in case I ovulated late. A glimmer of hope and a sliver of maybe. But then nothing. Nada.

For me there is discomfort when I’m on Clomid, physically and emotionally. Bloating, lower back pain, and the pings that don’t stop, they are like constant reminders that something is trying to happen. Every pang and twinge is a promise that you will see your dream realized. It’s hard on your psyche to feel everything and not have the promise fulfilled. It’s hard not to think that it’s your fault that it’s not working. I know rationally that this is not within my control, as hard of a pill that is to swallow, but my heart aches.

We, Juanito and me, talk about the second baby. We plan for her and envision her in our lives. Yes, her because it’s not so much a secret that we really want a girl. We make plans for the future including her, like we will plan a trip to Disneyland when our second is old enough to enjoy it. We asked The Boy if he wants a baby. Sometimes he does and other times he is indifferent. Juanito talks about the second more than when we were trying for The Boy.  I think Juanito feels there is an insurance that we'll get pregnant again since we did before.  Its just a matter of time.  But I can’t fully commit to this with Juanito. I feel like I stand with one foot in and another foot out. Precariously perched. 

Sometimes I’m so scared of giving into the want of a second child. It’s as if I were to let go and believe that it were to happen, the crushing realization of nature saying NO will be too much for me to bear. So here I am straddling a fence between accepting what I have and wanting more. I am wordlessly and cautiously holding my heart out to the universe. Please see what is inside my heart and make it so.

Hot times in the city.....

I’ve been thinking a lot about the sex life of married people. It started during a conversation with a friend about the sexual compatibility of her and her husband from the get go. This was interesting to me because well, as I stated before, Juanito and I first met when I 14 years old and our first kiss was only my second one ever. So needless to say I was horribly inexperienced and the word fumbling doesn’t even begin to describe our first few encounters as teens. So to have that spark that you read about in romance novels from the very beginning is fascinating to me. I won’t lie, a part of me assumes that she’s lying about her hot sex life merely because I think it’s a hoax perpetuated by chick lit and Nora Ephron movies. I sound jealous don’t I?

While on a mini-vacation with Schmacey, I started reading a completely trashy novel quintessentially named Bad Boys Down Under. It was soft porn at its best and perfectly placed during this carefree weekend. The love stories, or should I say lust stories, centered around a gorgeous woman and a chiseled, wild man-child and their undying love for one another blossomed within days of meeting one another. While I internally laughed at the raw passion what gave me pause was wondering when did I miss the passion boat? I think I might have ignored it when it came by.

I’m pretty sure the answer is hidden within the therapy I’m in. It’s most likely tied to the anxiety issues that I can’t seem to find the way to articulate. I feel like I’m on a mission to rekindle the passion within me. I think when people have kids they do things to try and reconnect with their partner as a person and not as a parent. But what I think I missed was that Juanito and I share a connection unlike anyone else’s. And my friend with the hot sex life has a completely different connection than me and Juanito. And so on and so forth. Our connections, regardless of their electrical charge and frequency and strength, are unique unto ourselves. But the longevity of that connection is dependent on the people. Which is why I am not looking to reconnect with Juanito on an emotional level but a little more basic, primal perhaps. 

In the past when Juanito and I talk about the fertility process when we conceived The Boy, the timed sex that is required is a major low point. I really wanted to make an effort this time around that the timed sex, or as Juanito calls it Robot Sex, is better, enjoyable for all, a postive memory. I’m not aiming for earth shattering but check back during the post-coital glow. This goal was hard to meet this last go around. And I’ll be honest, reading Bad Boys Down Under did help me get me in the mood to be able to initiate and be the aggressor, which is a role I'm not comfortable in the bed room. I think we accomplished what I set out for but as always there is room for improvement. 

While passion is hard work the payoff is so damn worth it.

Round One – A Recap

So we completed our first round of Clomid. That was back in August. I hemmed and hawed about writing in the midst of it all but decided to hold out. There were some revelations that I think need time to percolate and distance to digest. I want to document this process but I don’t want it to be all doom and gloom and hormones, which in the moment it can be. Apparently.

To start with there are a lot of things that I forgot. There was a reason I forgot them too because they suck. For example it was the second (maybe the third) day of the pill, which by the way is so super small it’s hard to wrap my mind around how we are putting our hopes and dreams into something that I could easily drop down the sink, but I digress. I got into bed that night while Juanito was reading and I threw my limbs about the bed, kicking off covers and loudly complaining that it was so damn hot. Yes, it is Phoenix and it was August but good God! I felt like I was on fire. Melting from the inside out. Juanito very nonchalantly mentioned that I was on the drugs. And then it dawned on me, he was right. Clomid has a way of sky rocketing my body temperature making me feel like I’m boiling, slowly. I’m a hot-blooded person by nature coupled with living in the Valley of the Sun Stroke which means air conditioning and me are like the sorority sisters I never had with a secret handshake and everything. So when you throw in some Clomid I’m a four alarm fire of whining. Juanito offered to bring a fan into the room that would be directly on me, which is what we did when I was pregnant. I declined because it would throw my temps. Which brings me to my next complaint.

I hate taking my temperature every day the exact same way. I hate that if I move too much in the morning to try and get my thermometer that it will affect my temps. I hate that if I forget to take my temp and instead focus on my screaming bladder of screaming son then my chart is all off. It seems so simple and even petty when I’m writing this but truly and honestly I forgot about the temperature tether.

Oh, I tried OPKs this time around. (OPKs = ovulation predictor kits) They never worked for me the first time around but I thought hey, I’ve got some under the sink why not. I also found my Satin Hands kit from Mary Kay under there and might do a little Satin Hands treatment on my feet. Maybe even Cass’ feet. And while I know that they don’t work for me (OPKs not Satin Hands), I was still sad to pee on a stick (POS) and get a negative. For anything. It was disheartening to not see a double line.

I never got a positive-OPKs. I never got a temperature spike on my chart. I never got a positive home pregnancy test. I never ovulated during my first round. I wasn’t expecting too much because logically I know my body. But I did have a lot of hope going into this. Hope that I need to bottle for the forthcoming rounds. I did get to go see the doctor mid-cycle for him to ensure that I did not develop cysts (which I didn’t) and they checked my hormone level to see if I was even close to ovulating (which I wasn’t). They will up my dosage for the next round.

I’m a little sad. I’m a little less excited. I think we started this time around thinking well we did it before we can do it again. I guess we forgot to tell my ovaries. The value of hindsight, ya, I’m still waiting for that. I know that we are doing everything we can to make this happen. I know that in time it will happen. I find myself wondering if this is what my family is supposed to be and to be happy with what is in front of me. I need to remember to not settle for what I have but believe that there is more to our family.

The power of hindsight

Yep, I am sharing yet another lovely snippet of sweet, sweet fertility memories. This time it’s my turn! I honestly forgot that this happened which is strange due to the enormity and weight of the situation, at that time. I guess I glossed over a lot of the bad stuff in light of the good outcome.

My good outcome. 

When you first realize that you have a fertility issue it’s like your whole world gasps in shock and never exhales until you're ready to do something about it. For me it meant starting to try for a baby. (Others' exhalation might come from another event, it’s a crap shoot.) After determining what Juanito was bringing to the party I had to undergo some invasion testing. More invasive than the inter-uterine ultrasound where they shove a dildo on a cord into your hooha and look and around and don’t have the common courtesy to show you around your own damn babycave!

I digress.

When it was decided that I would have this procedure mind you I was knee deep in a support group online of lovely ladies who walked me through every appointment, procedure and “what if” I could throw at them. I am forever in their debt. When I was scheduled for a hysterosalpingography (say that ten times fast!) these girls told me that an HSG is a common procedure in an infertility work up. Basically they flip you over, fill your uterus up with contrast dye like the cup that it is, lay ya down on a table, put an x-ray over your nether region and watch where the dye spills out to, preferably from you uterus to your fallopian tubes to your ovaries. Not on to the table. Basically making sure that your plumbing is intact and not clogged. Here is where WebMD started to fuck with my mind beforehand. So much of what I was reading talked about blocked tubes. I was nervous to say the least. (I admit I logically assumed that Drano would be part of the treatment plan. That or one of those metal snake thingies.  I'm very logical that way.)

I could not stop thinking about what it would mean if they were blocked. More money, more procedures, more time. My employer at the time was unaware of what we were dealing with (at that time and perhaps that’s another story) and was beyond reluctant to give me time off.

When the HSG was actually performed Juanito went with me. I wasn’t as scared of the procedure itself but more of the outcome. The appointment was at an office I hadn’t been at and while it was bright and clean and the staff was nice, not knowing my surrounding area heightened my nervous soul. We were taken back to a little room that was more like a dressing room than a doctor’s exam room which was because it was a dressing room. They had me change into a gown and go into a very cold room where the lights were dim and a huge metal machine dominated the room. Most importantly; Juanito was not allowed to go into the room with me. I had to do this on my own. Hold my own hand.

When the technician asked me to get on the HUGE table I had to use a step stool and then position myself on this metal plate, spread eagle and have her fill‘er up. (Ok, they don’t really flip you over and fill you up but it’s very gas station-y.) I asked to see the screen like I had some medical background and knew what was going on. I watched my uterus on TV. It was a proud moment. I saw the dye. I saw it move about in my lady parts and then it looked like it just flooded out into nothing.

I don’t remember much about the ending of the procedure. Except for: 1. I don’t know what fluid in my uterus is supposed to do so I was still scared. 2. Later found out that the contrast spilling out of my cooter did not have a color. (too much information? Sorry I warned you.)

Ultimately there was no problem with the plumbing. I think one tube spilled slower than the other or something like that but ultimately we didn’t have that as another card in our hand. We only had one. Me. I needed to ovulate. (oh wait I still do!)  Thinking back to 6th grade when all the girls went into Mrs. Jonas’ class room…that part is key to this whole shabang.

Him....

When I was diagnosed with PCOS and we decided we wanted to have a baby, my doctor wanted Juanito tested as well. Basically they wanted to know what cards we were holding in this whole fertility game. We ladies have our issues and for some there is what they lovingly refer to as “male-factor”, which could really mean a variety of things. So this test became what we called a “spunk-in-the-cup-test.” We don’t mince words around our house. A spade is a spade. So Juanito took his cup, did his thing one day while I was at work, and drove it to the lab. There was no comical room with a TV and buffet of porn. He got to use his own porn.

Anyways, when the lab results came back a nurse from my doctor called and explained that the results needed to be read by an urologist. That struck me as strange since they never mentioned this when they gave me the order. Nonetheless, they recommended one and we had an appointment which we planned to go to together.

Let me say that until that time I had never attended a medical anything with Juanito. He had been through some scary shit with me but I was never the one sitting in the chair off to the side. A spectator without control. So the doctor came in and he was dressed in blue scrubs, he was youngish, Asian and very professional. He started off by doing a physical exam. First let’s recap that we were at an UROLOGIST. Second I guess going into this appointment I wasn’t really sure what we were doing there or why we were there.  I really just focused on what the test results were. I was completely unprepared when Juanito had to drop trou and the seemingly nice doctor fondled my husband’s junk. In front of me. I was not prepared to keep a straight face and definitely not prepared to NOT fall apart into giggles. I was not prepared for the struggled between my inner 13 year old versus the adult woman who still (to this day) giggles if Juanito has on no boxers and a tee shirt because his little butt cheeks make me giggle. I know that my face had to have been lit up like a lobster. But to make matters worse, Juanito made eye contact. I remember jerking my eyes away and mentally pleading not to look at me and don’t make me look at you. I will just stare at this ceiling and you will remain to be the same person I have always known.  Not the man who was medically molested.

We both survived the exam, barely. Then we sat and had a conversation with the doctor, after he groped my husband. His first few questions were benign but then he threw a curve ball. “Have you ever been around toxic chemicals?”  Um…uh…Juanito?

No. But I mentally stumbled and couldn’t keep up with the questions and where this line of questioning was going. He had to have seen the confusion through our glazed-over stares and perhaps the drooling. So this is what I understood from the bits of speech that I could remember. Mobility, count, liquidification and morphology. Heads. Tails. 1 in 10. And a crude drawing.

Later, after talking, discussing, reading WedMD and other web sites this is what we surmised: Morphology describes the physical shape of each sperm and one in ten of Juanito’s men were perfect. The other nine either had no head or no tail.  Do you know what that means!?  Ninety percent of his spunk had no idea where they were going (no head) or they couldn’t get there if they did (no tail). Its like the blind leading the paraplegics in there!

All the other factors of the sperm; quantity, mobility, liquidification had some resolution.  Morphology meant the factory was broken (the doctor's terms).  Few solutions, big ticket price.  This now meant we had a male-factor. Indulge my emotional side.  This was shattering to  me at the time.  I didn't even know that I wanted kids until I found out that I might not be able to because I possibly had cancer.  Then to get the blow that you don't have cancer but you do have something that makes getting pregnant extremely difficult to then be hit with this??  You start to think that you can't handle it all.  This was not how it was suppose to be. 

After a bit of a mourning period, I read whatever I could get my hands on to see if there was a way to correct this. We reasoned that it didn't matter that nine out of ten didn't work because I wasn't shooting off an egg.  If I could just fire off an egg we only needed one sperm...not ten!  I found vitamins. I purchased a couple of bottles of vitamins for him to take to improve the function, shape and quantity. But he couldn’t remember to take them every morning. Mind you I was taking up to 14 pills a day and he couldn’t remember to take 2 pills. I also found some potential surgeries you can have to improve the morphology.

Around this same time, Juanito decided to see a doctor about persistent pain in, the well, um, his balls. His balls hurt. (Sorry Juanito for sharing all of this…) Come to find out he had a deep venous thrombosis (DVT). Google it to see what that is. Basically, in my laymen terms, his balls were bruised, on the inside. Now I can’t remember how we came to conclusion, if it was medically assisted or we just thought it was funny but we believe that the DVT was caused by vigorous sex. Now the surgery that might alleviate the discomfort for the DVT had a possibility of fixing the morph problem too. So surgery was scheduled, but with a different doctor.



I marked his leg not his balls.

  It was to be outpatient and I took the day off to tend to my husband’s balls. We got to the hospital and got all checked in (after a painful appointment with the administration who took a couple of thousands out of our checking account to do this procedure). The nurses got him all set up. I got to mark which side the surgery was to be performed on to avoid any mistakes. The anesthesiologist came in and checked him out. We were all ready, just waiting on the doctor. When the doctor came in it was again someone who Juanito had not seen before. He came in to the curtained off room, sat down and starting telling us how he has been reviewing the chart and feels that this surgery is not necessary.  Sorry for the inconvenience, please go home. Ok, it wasn't that abrupt but it was surprising like a slap with a frozen fish.  I was pissed and confused. We left (after getting a refund) and went for breakfast since Juanito had been fasting. It was beyond anti-climactic.  It wan void. It was as if the path that this surgery opened up for us was closed once again.  No new options.    

Ultimately, the new doctor felt that there hadn’t been enough testing of the sperm to warrant the surgery and the DVT should resolve itself over time. Subsequent spunk-in-a-cup-tests revealed that there was no male-factor just poor handling of the first test. The new doctor questioned why the first doctor (the nice Asian guy) didn’t order additional testing after getting such extreme numbers the first time. So lesson learned, question everything. Educate yourself when facing fertility so that you’re not sitting in a doctor’s office, dumbfounded, glazed look, and drooling or make sure you ask enough questions so you don’t leave the office looking that way. Our road took many turns but ultimately still lead up to this….

This is the actual test I took when I found out I was pregnant. 
Juanito was out of town and the dogs couldn't tell if it was positive or not. 

Here we go again on our own.....

Pardon me we saw Rock Star over the weekend and the ballads are still racing through my brain. 

My PAP is scheduled for Thursday. Too much too soon? Well none the less, my annual is due in June. Last year at this time I asked to go off of birth control and to start charting. It's a year later and I have yet to ovulate. I have had four periods all chemically induced. I attempted to be normal and it did not happen. So I want to talk to the doctor about getting his blessing for starting on the fertility road. 

Insurance with the new company is a little strange. I have never had this insurance and not too sure how it all works. Found out that my therapist is obviously not a fan of them. So I called the customer service line, which I’ve spoken to as much as I’ve spoken to any other insurance company during the totality of my enrollment. I digress…..

So the dingbat at customer service yesterday, and yes I did clarify yesterday to differentiate between the other dingbats I’ve spoken to in the past, told me the following:

1. My OB/GYN who I’ve been with since my son is not in the network and

2. I must pay all costs up front until my deductible is met and when its outside of the network then my deductible is $2500.

Tears immediately sprung into my eyes and I choked back tears and told her that this was shitty coverage and hung up. I never claimed to be an adult.


Thankfully it was the end of the day so I quickly shut down my computer and dashed out of the office to call Juanito and fall apart. While I cried, I drove through the watery blur of traffic and blubbered to my husband.

I don’t want to leave my doctor or that office. They have a lab and ultra sound in the office and I have spent so much time with Tamika the lab tech between the blood glucose during pregnancy and the diabetic screening that I feel like she is an old friend. The nurse practitioner is a fellow cyster so when she gives me tough love I know that it’s coming from a genuine, educated place and not a place of judgment. After having The Boy I went to a few appointments for either incision checks or just routine postpartum. One time the baby was crying so hard and I was naked from the waist down and my doctor wanted to talk to discuss how things were going (aka how are the baby blues) so he just took him out of his carrier and gave him a bottle right there so we could talk. What other doctor takes such care? Another time the nurse carried The Boy around and showed him off to the office so that I could get my appointment over with. These people are not just medical staff with a smile. They are people who understand, have been there and are on the other side encouraging you to walk the trail. I can also say that the other doctors in the practice have delivered friends’ babies. I love that community and camaraderie. I don’t want to have to leave and find a new doctor.  And hope to God that I’m comfortable with that new person. Fertility and PCOS are sensitive issues and I’ve had bad experiences. I don’t want some asshat telling me that I just need to lose weight and then I’ll be fine. I want this office.

As I was driving home last night breaking down all of this for Juanito he is saying all the right things to make me feel better. Not that they are true or plausible but they soothed my breaking heart. And it’s not just because I can’t go to this office that breaks my heart. It’s because I am so paranoid/afraid/anxious/fearful/jinxed that we won’t be able to do it again. That The Boy will be an only child. That I won’t be able to experience pregnancy again. That I won’t have one more baby. I’m afraid that this is a sign that it will forever be just us three.

After picking up The Boy and having dinner of chicken strips and temper tantrums. After pajamas, brushing teeth and watching Poppy Cat and Nina tell Star a sandy story and giving hugs and kisses to every stuffed animal on his bed, I got back on the insurance web site. I eventually found my doctor in their network. For whatever reason the dingbat at customer service couldn’t find him but he was there. I wanted to cry again, only tears of joy. Regardless of cost (yet again) we bravely will move forward with our family. 

I do recognize that I had, what for me is a major melt down over what is essentially a PAP smear appointment. I totally see how that is crazy and yes I worry about adding in dosages of hormones to heightened that.  Yes, I am concerned.  I feel that there is so much pressure this time around.  I'm afraid to tell people that we're gonna maybe try again.  See I can't even say it here.  I've had people tell me that since we've had one it's super easy to do it again.  They don't know shit about my situation, let alone fertility or PCOS.  When it was the first time I guess my feelings and emotions where hardened against the pain of failure.  I didn't know what I was missing so it was easy to brush it off.  This time I know and I want it even worse than before.  Before I could resign that we weren't meant to have a family.  This time I know we can, but can we again?