Just as Sane as I Am

There have already been so many times I’ve pondered here about normality. I’ve wondered why I cannot be normal, or what makes anyone normal to begin with. Driving home the other day I thought of how I often pride myself on not being normal. So why is it that in this instance, I still long for more of a sense of normality? It's an interesting question. Part of me feels maybe it's because I want to know what it's like to not have to worry at all times. Not that there aren't plenty of people who have scares and worries throughout their pregnancies, but there certainly are those who haven't had issues and breeze through it all. I wish I knew what that was like. I wish I had just started to feel a little nauseous one morning, then realized I was two weeks late, then peed on a stick, then had the happy jumping up and down dance when I got two lines or a little smiley face. Not three years of peeing on sticks prematurely and getting negative outcomes and crying and th...

Last week, I had my first appointment with my ob-gyn pertaining to my pregnancy. Everyone in the office was very congratulatory, which was nice, even if it did feel a little premature. I guess after 10 weeks, I should get over that feeling. Things are looking good. (And I am mostly optimistic, really. I think anyone who's pregnant, though, has concerns and worries for the first trimester, probably because of how paranoid the internet, etc, has made us about this. I know many moons ago, women told everyone they were pregnant as soon as they knew. They didn't wait and worry, which is more common practice these days. I want to be nothing but happy and positive, but doubt creeps in occasionally. I also want to support the women in the Infertility Groups I'm in on Facebook, though a lot of them post when horrible things happen. Just this weekend, a woman lost her baby at 19 weeks. There isn't a huge amount of positivity, and that's probably because a) people need mor...

Being on bed rest for several days was not the most fun I've ever had. I'm a writer and a reader, and a lot of people (including me) thought I'd get so much of that done. But how could I do as much as I wanted when there are fun, time wasting phone games and episodes of "This is Us" to be watched? Plus my parents came to visit. They brought me lunch one day; pho, a delicious Vietnamese soup. Unfortunately , the pho that we order is served with raw beef that does get cooked by the steam from the soup, though not when you get it to go. It also comes with a heap of bean sprouts, which aren't recommended for pregnant women due to salmonella. I still had delicious noodle soup, but it cut out the enjoyment a smidge. That weekend, we had dinner with some family friends of my parents. Their daughter, her husband, and their two children were there. Amazingly, it's still not the easiest for me to be around young families. It's easier than it was, but it still ...

Friday was a big day - our first post-transfer ultrasound! I insisted that hubby go into work a little late to see if we could see our girl together for the first time. We had a doctor I had never met before, and as soon as he came into the room, he congratulated us. That's always a good sign. He reviewed how well my levels had gone up and told us we'd be looking for a gestational sac, a black dot in the middle of the uterus. I had already demanded that the universe let us see it. I know that some people don't, and though that doesn't necessarily mean they're not pregnant, it wouldn't exactly put my mind at rest if that happened. But almost as soon as the wand was inserted, the black dot was clear. And inside that was a smaller white dot, which was the yolk sac. I was told that I was 5 weeks and 2 days on, and the ultrasound matched up perfectly with that. (After my last entry, a friend directed me to a due date calculator that factors in IVF. It told me my ...

After an embryo transfer, the (what’s the right word/phrase here? Patient? Couple? Woman in question? Desperate sods? Take your pick) has to endure the dreaded two week window (TWW to those of you down with the infertility lingo). This is the two weeks between the transfer and the pregnancy test. Everyone who’s gone through this says it’s the worst, most stressful, longest feeling two weeks of your life. Luckily, the clinic I’m using only makes you wait 10 days. (Not sure why; assuming it’s because the embryos they use are already 6 days old when implanted, as opposed to clinics that do fresh transfers.) Also luckily, between my job, which is ever unpredictable, and the process of house buying/selling, I didn’t have a huge amount of time to dwell on the impending blood work. I also decided that I wasn’t going to worry too much, and, for possibly the first time ever, I listened to myself. I wasn’t even tempted to take a home pregnancy test. Clinics advise against this because results ...

Day Before Transfer: Get bloodwork and ultrasound done. Receive phone call about time to come in the next day. Before bed on the day of transfer: load up this turkey baster-like object with Vandazole gel and shoot it all up in my vagi-sness. Morning of transfer: Insert progesterone suppository, which, btw, comes with no applicator or instructions. Other than to make sure you wear a pad because the suppository will burst while inside you. Does this sound like fun yet? No, really, none of it was that bad. The progesterone injections still take the cake so far. At around 9:30 on the 31, I still hadn't gotten a call confirming what time to take the suppository. I called and left a voice mail. Shortly thereafter, the same amazingly nice woman who I had spoken to the previous day called back. "I saw that my sister Shauna called, and I was like, 'Oh no, I can't have her being confused!'" She explained that she works in embryology; the second woman who had...

After two or three of these shots, I was sore . Like having trouble walking, waddling around, possibly doing more injury than good to my back and thighs because of the way I was walking kind of sore. I took a picture of the giant needle I was injecting myself with, thinking I would include it here as I did with my bruised stomach. My brain also tossed around the idea of posting it on Facebook, as I'm pretty sure that most of you reading this are friends with me. I figured I could throw the picture up there as an illustration for what's occurring. I did waffle - is that TMI? Are there people who I don't want to know what I'm going through? Eh. I'm an open person about these sorts of things. (Maybe too open, but I know that about myself. I can't hide my emotions on these difficult topics, and I can't lie about why I'm feeling a certain way. I don't like when people are vague and cagey with me, so I'm not with others.) Up went the picture. I...