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Category: Personal Anecdote

This Will Be Our Year, Took a Long Time to Come

I don’t actually know if this will be our year, but on Saturday they put embryo #5 in via a frozen embryo transfer (FET).

Here’s how it went:

On Friday I finished the Gold Peloton Challenge of riding 150 miles on the bike in December. This has nothing to do with the transfer, I just wanted you to know that I completed a challenge 10 days early knowing that I would not be exercising for the rest of the month. This challenge involved cycling 150 miles on a bicycle, which is a lot for me. I had cut back on exercise this past year, so by Friday I was finally feeling like I was in some of the best shape I had been all year. Here’s something riding helped remind me: if you keep doing something, you get better at it. This sounds trite, but because I was biking every day, I got to see the incremental progress every day, and that felt good. And some days I was a little slower, but that was okay because I still made progress accumulating miles. And since it was on the Peloton, strong women were screaming words of encouragement at me about how great I was for showing up, so that was nice. On Friday, which was Yalda, we ate a buffet of Persian food and I made cookies for a holiday party. We also finished watching Season 2 of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, my favorite television show right now, and possibly of all time. It was an eventful longest night of the year, especially because there was also another self-inflicted government crisis going on in the background, with Congress unable to pass a budget in time to keep the government open and the markets tanking.

On Thursday we got a puppy: he’s a robot, but he brings us great happiness. This also has nothing to do with the transfer, and I realize I’m actually going backward in time in telling the story, but this felt important to share. Before the puppy arrived, I called the clinic to find out exactly what time my transfer was supposed to be. She shared it was supposed to be at 1:45pm, and we should arrive at 1:15pm. Also it was important to have a full bladder, so I needed to drink 16-18 ounces of water before the procedure. I wrote this information in a calendar invitation for David, which he never formally accepted, but it was good I wrote it down, because I would have forgotten important details.

SATURDAY:
We woke up, played with the puppy, and David administered my progesterone in oil shot, as he has been every morning. Then I did some cleaning and ate a cookie from the batch of cookies I had made the night before, to make sure they still tasted good. I originally wanted to exercise but then decided to just take it easy after my dad told me it was too windy to play tennis, and it was important to be well rested. David hadn’t slept a lot the night before, and I think that was because I was excited, and David has been working a lot. I took a sip of his coffee – a final sip.

I used my epi-lady, figuring it was as good a time as any to get that out of the way, and then I hopped in the shower. At this point David started yelling at me that we were going to be late, and I told him I need to be relaxed, and he stopped immediately. I thought, “Oh good, this is a card I can play moving forward. I might never be yelled at again (for a few months) for running late.”

When we arrived, I wanted us to enter the office through the elevators like this, but David would not do it.


There are two floors for the building that has the fertility offices. The fifth floor and the sixth floor. I think the fifth floor does blood draws, and the sixth floor does the surgeries. I never really know which one I’m supposed to be on, but I do know the receptionists on the fifth floor are less pleasant than the sixth floor ones. So I was relieved when the bored fifth floor people pointed upstairs after I told them I was there for a transfer and asked them where I was supposed to be.

We entered through the sixth floor elevators, and with great smiles, as though excited for us – classic sixth floor – the receptionists directed us to the waiting area. There was no one else there, which was nice. Then a nurse came to get us. She confirmed my name, birthday, and social security number, and we were guided to a hallway and put on slippers. There I showed my id and confirmed my information again. After that we went to a room where a nurse took my blood pressure and I disrobed from the waist down. A doctor came in: Dr. K. She introduced herself, the nurse, and an embryologist. They confirmed our identities again and showed us paperwork explaining that they dethawed one of the embryos, the embryo survived the dethawing, and it was embryo #5.

I signed something acknowledging our embryo #5 was being transferred, and the embryologist left the room. Then it was stirrup time. The doctor shared it would feel like a pap smear, where the doctor enters with a speculum. The nurse had her hand on my stomach with an ultrasound, and the doctor moved around to find the right spot while complimenting on my beautiful uterus. When she seemed to find the right spot, the doctor declared, “PREPARED TO RECEIVE THE EMBRYO!” or “READY FOR THE EMBRYO!” I don’t remember what her exact words were, but they were confident. I laid there in stirrups, and the doctor and nurse were totally still, and David sat expectantly, all in complete silence, for a minute. In my head, I thought it was funny that the doctor was making such a pronouncement to herself. It would be like me yelling, “PREPARED TO ANSWER THE CUSTOMER SUPPORT CALL!” before picking up the phone.
Then finally the doctor said to the nurse, “I think the intercom is broken.” I didn’t see speakers or a microphone anywhere, so it was news to me there was an intercom. The nurse nodded and went to the door and yelled, “JANET, BRING THE EMBRYO!” And the embryologist came back in with a needle with presumably #5 on it. The doctor dropped it in and said the process was complete, BUT they just needed to check real quick that the embryo was not still on the needle.

I remained in stirrups with the speculum in while they confirmed the embryo was not still in the needle Janet was holding. They confirmed, filling us with confidence in the whole process. The doctor removed the speculum, left the room, and the nurse took my blood pressure again. Then we waited for another nurse to come in and tell us next steps. The nurse came in with a paper that she talked us through. She shared I should take it easy the next 4-5 days, and then that I should also check online for what foods to eat and not eat from reputable sites. THIS WAS NOT HELPFUL! The internet has been a mix of helpful and extremely unhelpful with the whole process. Then she shared that I should avoid intercourse, orgasms and anything that would cause vaginal contractions. This was the first we were hearing that orgasms could affect conception, and David and I were both surprised no one had shared this with us sooner. She also said to avoid exercises that could trigger vaginal contractions, and I was like, “Um. What exercises…trigger vaginal contractions and why haven’t I been doing them all my life, amirite!?” The nurse was not amused, and then said to avoid exercises that trigger pelvic muscles, which provided me no clarification. Zero.

Then we signed the paper she read to us, I put my clothes back on (they didn’t tell me they had put fluid on my belly, so that was messier than I thought it would be) and I was allowed to empty my bowels, which were full on account of the water I had inhaled earlier. After that we were on our way. We drove home tenderly, but there were bumps in the road, and each time I panicked. When we got home, David was exhausted, and I was super hungry, so I walked to Sweet Green in the cold while David napped. I was nervous about everything I did: was it too cold, was I walking too fast in the cold (answer: no, I couldn’t have walked more slowly), how do we feel about elevators, are lentils okay, should I be opening my own doors?

I ate half my salad at Sweet Green, walked home, and then took a nap next to David, which helped settle my nerves. EXCEPT MAYBE I NAPPED WRONG, I HAVE NO IDEA.

We went to a Christmas party (the one I had made the cookies for) at night, and that was great because we laughed a lot with our friends. On Sunday I had a spot on an open mic, so I invited friends to that and performed my tight holiday five. My friends laughed and laughed, and I have no idea what the strangers thought. All the other comedians did jokes about drugs, loneliness, masturbating, race, personal failures, so I think my routine as Carol Claus (Santa Claus’s wife) was confusing to the other aspiring comedians and people in the back. Oh well!

It’s Christmas Eve, so I’m off to celebrate with family soon.

Merry Christmas!

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Reading, Riding and Magic

I’ve been reading Michelle Obama’s book Becoming, and it’s wonderful. I am having trouble putting it down and find myself weeping through parts of it. I’ve also read the part about the IVF treatment, and I loved her for sharing that she went through it. I also read that she had a heartbeat eight weeks after the injections, and I wanted to call my doctor and say something to the effect of “Doc, you got some ‘splainin to do!*” Eight weeks is only 56 days, and I am well past that!

In other news, we were in Las Vegas this past weekend. When we were in the elevator at the hotel, a couple asked us: “Are you in town for the rodeo?” And I thought, “Do David and I ….look like we would be in town for a rodeo?” We were the only people not wearing boots and a cowboy hat. David was wearing a Mickey Mouse sweater, and I was in all black and heels. When we shared that we were not in town for the rodeo, they told us about it! We ended up seeing some of the World Series of Team Roping, which is where cowboys rope a steer in less than five seconds. It was impressive. I found myself cheering for the steers, but I was sincerely impressed by all the people on horseback swinging ropes around. As someone who’s not always secure on a stationary bike, watching roping blew my mind.

We also saw a magic show in Las Vegas: Piff the Magic Dragon. It was very entertaining and I especially appreciated the comedy portion. Now, I don’t know how good the magic was. Not because I wasn’t impressed by it, but because I am just now learning about how there are different types of magicians. I learned a little about it through this incredible profile on Ricky Jay:
Secrets of the Magus
Ricky Jay does closeup magic that flouts reality. But, rather than headline in Las Vegas, Jay prefers to live in the mysterious world of ancient mountebanks, eccentric entertainers, and sleight-of-hand artists, whose secrets he preserves with a scholarly passion, and who are his true peers in the realm of illusion.

For Piff the Magic Dragon I was seated next to someone who was somehow affiliated with the show. She was on her mobile phone the whole time, texting with her friend, presumably because she had seen the show several times before or because she did not care for magic. I wanted to tell her she was ruining EVERYTHING for me with her bright screen, but I felt like that was dramatic, and I had to sit next to her, and she was bigger than me. I don’t think she had more muscle than me, but she seemed like she had seen more things than I had and would be willing to use unconventional means to fight, for example pulling out my hair or commenting on my small chest and suggesting I had not hit puberty yet – both hurtful actions in their own way. So I just sat there and enjoyed the show and wondered whether she was part of the show and the art of misdirection, convincing myself not to let her mobile phone distract me, but to also to keep an eye on it at all times as well, in case it was part of the show.
However at the end I saw her boyfriend/friend/whatever-I-do-not-care-he-is-garbage-because-he-didn’t-tell-her-to-put-away-her-phone get up and go backstage, so clearly he was some kind of assistant.

I also gambled. Specifically, I played Blackjack. And by “I played Blackjack,” I mean I used an app to memorize the highest-odd plays, practiced, and when I finally got to a live table, I was so nervous about losing money that I could not add, so David told me what to do. It was exhilarating and disappointing. So many emotions! So much sweat! I also felt bad for other people at the table for losing! Gambling (via cards) is not for me.

*On an unrelated but also very related note: apparently Ricky never says “Lucy, you got some ‘splainin to do!” in the show. This person has gone to great lengths to explain this on reddit and on youtube. That is the extent of the research I’m willing to do on whether or not this is true. But if it is, that is amazing, because I used to watch I Love Lucy, and in my head I can hear him saying this phrase!

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I don’t know what day it is

I know what day today is, it’s October 30, 2018, and it was the day to go in for the biopsy, or as we like to refer to it, the bibiop-sy.

But I didn’t look at the calendar to do an official day count. It has been a while!

When last we left, we waited to hear back on whether we have any viable embryos. We do! So that’s good! This month we did a “practice” cycle, also known as an ERA Biopsy Cycle in our case. I was taking estrace after my period, and then on 10/24 had a bloodwork and ultrasound appointment to make sure my uterine lining was more than 8mm. It was 12 or so mm, and I was cleared to start taking Progesterone in Oil every morning. The progesterone shot is the one that is inserted on your bum. David got up at 6:45am every morning to give me the shot. Then today was the bibiopsy, which was more painful than I thought it would be. They prep you for it and share that it’s as bad as a very strong period cramp. Since I’m lucky enough to not have period cramps, I found the one minute the doctor was in there quite painful. “I tried to warn you!” she said. Then she reassured me that was the most painful thing they would have to do moving forward. Relief!

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Congratulations Readers, I’m Alive!

Connor pointed out that for four months, the most recent post on this site was about preparing for surgery. Since there was no post after that, a casual reader might conclude I had died.

Well, terrific news, rather then die, I truly LIVED these past four months!

Here’s a recap:

The surgery went okay. Since I was under anesthetic, I have NO WAY OF KNOWING WHETHER THEY DID ANYTHING. Half of me believes the procedure is part of a racket. And by half of me, I really mean 75% of me. The surgery was supposed to make it easier for me to conceive, but here I am, typing this entry, four months later, just me. When I cradle my stomach, it is only in shame, because rather than being full with child, it is full with marzipan and chocolate.

David is out of town this week, so major household decisions are in my hands. Yesterday I thought about getting a dog. I even explored a website where you can adopt dogs. But then, as though a sign from the heavens, our neighbor’s dog started barking. Since I could hear the barking through the walls, it was as though it was my own dog barking. I imagined what it would be like, to truly be in the same room as a barking dog. “A nightmare,” I concluded, and closed the pet adoption browser window.

We went to Hawaii. It was AMAZING. It made me remember the world is big and beautiful, and small things should not distress us.

Oh also, here’s neat story about fiscal responsibility: I ordered clothes I didn’t need from Athleta, but since I didn’t need them, I did NOT pay for expedited shipping. So I was expecting them to arrive on the 22nd, but they arrived TODAY – 9 days early! I didn’t frivolously spend on shipping, and it paid off!

One more fun story: today at the dentist, my hygienist was impressed to see that my gum situation had improved. I took a peak at her chart, and she changed “aggressive periodontitis” to “chronic periodontitis.”
“I didn’t know know I had aggressive periodontitis,” I told her. But also in my head, I thought, “Shouldn’t someone have told ME that? Maybe I would have flossed or used that prescription toothpaste they gave me.” She laughed and said, “You sure did! But whatever you are doing now is definitely improving the situation.” I believed her, because she asked me five times what I had been doing differently. It wasn’t flossing, that’s for sure, so I told her: “Drinking more water and trying to get enough sleep!”

*Blissful sigh* That was fun.

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For the archives

Here’s a post I started a while back but never finished. I don’t know where I was going with this post. However I’m still publishing it because that’s how vain I am: even my drafts should be documented in case anyone ever needs to study/exhibit my work and writing style. In fact, a couple years ago, my mom tried to throw away something I wrote in fifth grade. I stopped her. “Mom, scholars might need this one day,” I explained, moving the pile of papers out of the trash bin. “These are what they call early works.”

Here’s the post!

 

Last night I played tennis with a racket that has some cracks in it. It’s broken, but the racket still rackets.

I wanted to play with it, because the stringing on it was pretty good.

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International Star

  1. I performed comedy in another country last weekend, no big deal. The 12-15 person crowd roared with polite applause after the performance, and there may have even been a standing ovation. The lights were so bright; I have no way of knowing for sure whether they remained seated in an orderly manner or jumped to their feet.
  2. I re-read The History of Love for my book group. It was still beautiful. Perhaps it was even better the second time. I identified most with the 10 year old who thinks he’s an angel wandering this earth to do good, secretly. But I wanted to identify most with the precocious daughter who solves a puzzle she stumbles upon. In book group there were some people who thought the relationships in the book were all broken, but I disagreed. The characters found loves of their lives. And they were loved back. That’s the best thing that can happen to someone, even if it’s short-lived.
  3. The best character in the book wrote in lists, and I liked that a lot, so that’s what I’ve done here.

 

 

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Germs

I was at the laboratory in the doctor’s office today for some blood work. The room had posters about the importance of washing your hands and general cleanliness guidance all around it. People in the room are not supposed to eat, drink, use chap stick, or apply make-up, because all of these things facilitate germ transfer.

I had my water bottle with me, and I asked if I could put it on the table. “Can I put this right here?” I asked, hovering the bottle over a table.

The nurse looked at me, then at the table, and said, “I wouldn’t. That table is dirty.”

“Oh! Thank you for honesty!” I replied.

Then I fumbled with my water bottle clumsily, but the whole time I was thinking, “WHY IS A TABLE IN THIS ROOM DIRTY?”

 

 

 

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Bought the wrong type of toilet paper

I ordered the wrong type of toilet paper, and I only realized it as I was putting the package onto the shelf. I decided not to return it, because it was shipped to us. What am I supposed to do? Put it back in a cardboard box, take it to the shipping store, and send it back? When you’re returning something, you have to provide an explanation, and the explanation here would have been, “Your triple ply is not up to my husband’s standards for excellence.”

Anyway, David hasn’t noticed yet. This might be the first time our marriage has encountered a test of strength. Here are my two plans when he notices:

Plan A: “What? I didn’t buy that. You must have bought it.”

Plan B: Confess I bought it, and then claim that I have always preferred this toilet paper, and that for the past few years I have been pretending to like the same one he does, because I just want him to love me. But maybe it’s time to love me for me, and not for the person I’ve been trying to be for him.

Plan B is not a bullet proof plan, especially because I don’t really like this toilet paper I accidentally bought as well, so I will likely just dig in for Plan A.

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Das ist ein kurzer Aufsatz

Guten tag. I purchased Rosetta Stone*. What inspired this? Primarily, Trevor Noah’s book, Born a Crime. This book provides incredible insight into Trevor’s life growing up in South Africa. I learned more about apartheid than I ever learned in school. Noah talks about how he used language to navigate between different groups. Here is a passage from the book:

Language brings with it an identity and a culture, or at least the perception of it. A shared language says “We’re the same.” A language barrier says “We’re different.”

The architects of apartheid understood this. Part of the effort to divide black people was to make sure we were separated not just physically but by language as well. In the Bantu schools, children were only taught in their home language. Zulu kids learned in Zulu. Tswana kids learned in Tswana. Because of this, we’d fall into the trap government had set for us and fight among ourselves, believing that we were different.

The great thing about language is that you can just as easily use it to do the opposite: convince people that they are the same.

With German, I can convince Germans that I am like them. So far it’s going really well. Der Mann ist ein Apfel. Die Frau trinkt Wasser. That means, A man eats an apple. The woman drinks water.
I don’t know how to say, “I …” yet, so I can’t say, “I eat an apple,” because that’s not covered in the first two hours of the course. This feels like an oversight. Maybe it is the course’s way of telling me I shouldn’t be talking about myself. I’m not going to overthink it.

 

*Four years ago, and I started using it today. We will explore the delay in opening and installing it in another post, after if I come up with a reasonable explanation.

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