Love, Passing Woman, Pregnancy, Volatile bodies

A Miracle

I’m pregnant. I’m almost four months along now and starting to believe it. By starting to I mean that I don’t check the toilet paper for blood every time I go, just every other time. Also, I’m becoming huge. Surprisingly none of this has been a problem for Wonderboy. You should see him. He’s so happy all the time it’s impossible to remember what he used to be like. And he can’t go more than a couple of minutes without groping my huge boobs. I’ve already upgraded a cup and I fear I’ll have to upgrade my winter coat and every clothing I have in no more than a month.

I am happy. It’s been so much easier to negotiate sexual things even though I’ve barely been able to share any with Wonderboy in these passed months. There’s such a sense of fulfillment. It’s not only in my body, although it most definitely is in my body, it’s also in our relationship and in my relationship with the world at large. I’ve fulfilled this potential I had, this demand I faced within myself. Sex can finally be lifted out of the hole of having anything to do with infertility and it can start to be itself again. It has surprised me how much happiness the news brings to people close to me, even people I don’t know that well. Especially women. They don’t know about our struggles but yet they tear up, want to hug me and make sure I’m okay. This makes me believe even more that there’s something deeply engraved in us, that it wasn’t just me with the pain, that it’s in us (most of us anyway). The desire to be fulfilled and fulfill the potential like this as a miracle worker.

It’s quite disillusioning, being pregnant. Seeing that little critter spasm inside my uterus didn’t exactly bond me with it. Nor did the fact that I learned that it doesn’t have brains yet and that’s why it moves like that or that it’s entrails aren’t even inside its body. Still, everything is like it’s supposed to be. It’s healthy, it’s growing, it’s going to be our child. And seeing it was important. It made the fact real that it’s a another person, not just my ever changing body.

I’m guessing you’d like to know what happened? How did we conceive finally after almost four years?

Our money was running out. We’d had to move onto a private clinic because of the treatments I needed. This was the third IVF at the clinic, our fifth all together. I’d had to stop taking the hormones that helped me produce more and more viable eggs, because they gave me pretty severe cardiac dysrhythmia. In the end I also started to suffer from breathing problems during the treatments. My throat kept closing up and sometimes I would wake up startled and try to catch my breath sitting down. It was pretty clear that my body wasn’t handling the treatments well anymore and it was endangering my health.

After the first try after the help of the hormones, with the starting pregnancy with the twins that twindled so early on, on fourth to sixth week like all the eight other pregnancies, we decided that it wasn’t worth putting my health at risk. What was wrong even the doctor couldn’t guess. The embryos were perfect. My uterus, the hormones, everything was perfect. Except the result. We decided that we would make one last attempt and then settle in on the donor program to get eggs from someone else.

To my doctors (positive) dismay I already had three donors lined up, because my little sister and my friends love me to death and I will never forget what they promised me and how they changed my life when they did. Everyone just wanted for us to have a child. Everyone wanted us to be happy.

But we still had that last chance. And since it was the last chance I begged the doctor, like I’d asked a number of times before, if we could try the cortisone treatment. I’ve had a lot of time to read in these 3,5 years and I’ve read a lot of research. If I had an immunological decease, like the celiac decease, my body could be attacking the embryo thinking it was a virus. And the only thing that would help with that is cortisone. They didn’t find any antibodies in my blood to suggest I had celiac decease, but our first doctor had put me on gluten free diet anyway. And it had helped. It changed my body shape because I lost so much weight. It changed my bodily functions, my activity levels, pretty much everything for better. But they couldn’t find the antibodies in my blood, so they wouldn’t put me on cortisone with the IVF treatment. The doctor finally caved. Since this is the last try, she said.

I started the cortisone straight away since the treatment was right around the corner. When we started with the injections I already felt the difference. It didn’t hurt. My ovaries didn’t burn, I couldn’t really feel anything while the eggs were growing but some mild discomfort. I knew straight away that this was it. I knew that we had found the answer and that this was what I was supposed to feel all those other times. Even the doctor was intrigued when I told her about the pains not being there this time.

We got fewer eggs than the last time and like last time none of them were considered ripe. The doctor had noticed that all our viable embryos had sprung from the raw eggs and from the ones they didn’t use ICSI for. So it turns out that Wonderboy’s sperm was actually doing its job best when it was left to fend for itself like it’s supposed to. So we chose to put them all on the petri dish and hope for the best since there weren’t many eggs to begin with. There were six when we left the clinic.

And when I went to see the doctor a couple of days later there was only one that had developed normally to eight cells. Only eight little cells put together! How could that ever grow into a child? Its inner workings weren’t perfect so they couldn’t do assisted hatching like we had talked, but they had added this embryo glue to help it attach. And in it went.

The excruciating pains started four days later when it was supposed to attach and I knew of course what was happening. But it was like all those eight other times. I was just more in pain than before and the pains didn’t subside. I spent the weekend under a duvet with a painkiller and a hot water bottle. After that I got used to waking up every night at 0.30 am and 3-4 am to pains that the painkillers I was allowed to take weren’t really combating very well. And I became pretty hopeful. Since the pains were continuous, they weren’t fading like before, they were getting more strength.

And then one thursday morning I did the pregnancy test. It was the fourteenth day after conceiving in the lab and I was due to take a blood test the 18th in the clinic. I had barely had time to put the stick down when it brightened with two crossing lines. No doubt, I was pregnant. But doubt there was… so much doubt and fear. Wonderboy wouldn’t believe it until we saw what the blood works would say. On monday I went to the clinic and later that day I called for the results. With the twins my hcg levels had tipped a bit to 6-8 hcg. I knew that it was supposed to be 280 by now and I was scared. But there was no need. It was over 800. I was most definitely pregnant.

I went to the first ultrasound on week 5 and we already saw the heartbeat. Then we went together at the end of 6th week and it had grown to twice its size. Everything was good. Everything was normal.

And every night I woke up twice to the excruciating pain that even my doctor was a bit concerned about. But I wasn’t. If I had felt pains the eight times we conceived before, it was only natural that this would hurt even more. Because this time it had worked.

I haven’t had a lot time to process this. I haven’t had a lot of time to be happy. I’ve been so sick, the pains have been at times unbelievable and I have suffered from near continuous migraine for the first time in my life. This is the first time I am able to write anything this long without puking or having to go into a dark room to lie down. This is the second week there has been some normal days. Yesterday was the start of the week 15 of the pregnancy, and it was the first day I didn’t suffer from anything until late at night.

It must be self-evident that I don’t care. I don’t care. We will probably only ever have this one child. And it will be so loved, it is so loved already. We have fought this battle together and we have conquered. Everything is better now. I didn’t think it would be, but it is. Everything is easier, well, except moving and maybe sex. And even that doesn’t matter so much anymore. We have had to learn to wait, to be patient, to tread lightly with sexy things. But we have had ample time to learn the skills to do that: negotiate, be frank and unassuming when it comes to sexual acts.

Last time I said I didn’t want him to hit me or strangle me at all. There was a pause, he was scared and uneasy, because he had noticed that my responses were different and didn’t know what he could do now. We cuddled and talked and then started again. And when his hand went gently on my throat when we were getting close it wasn’t enough for me. I pushed his hand to grip more tightly. Because he had listened to me and I had spoken to him, I could do that. I could ask for it.

There were some droplets of blood, and even though our nurse had said after the first ultrasound and my freaking out on some blood that it was perfectly normal, I asked that we’d not have intercourse again. The blood was too scary. It’s not worth it. I don’t know if we will or won’t, if I change my mind. But I know it will be different. It will all be different. And it will all be the same, too.

Standard
Love, Male Lead Relationship stuff, Wonderboy

Radical Acceptance

It occurred to me today as I was making my way home from another part of the country. I sat on the bus, excited, my stomach fluttering with anxiety. I was looking forward to meeting Wonderboy again after just three days. And I was giddy as a school girl.

I don’t want to be tied down. I want to be tied together. 

That’s what I thought. It puts together what I’ve been feeling. How I’ve been feeling about this thing we do. It’s not so separate anymore. It’s not just sex or just anything. It’s a part of who I am. What is between us is love and a relationship that can fulfill us both in a way we need it to. I don’t really have any qualms with it anymore.

I expect to grow old with Wonderboy. I see it happening already, the receding hairline, the changes of skin, the aches and the problems we didn’t have even five years ago. With a sexual relationship like this, with a desire like this I see a way to the future as fulfilling, or even more, than now. There’s so much to explore and every step always takes a step or two back.

It’s never ready, there can never be perfect certainty. We change and the relationship must do so too. We have learned how to communicate, and this blog, all of the friends out there reading and commenting and writing experiences of your own have helped me learn to speak. But I’m not done learning and I doubt I ever will be. It’s exciting. I doubt that will ever change either.

I will always feel butterflies in my stomach when I make my way back home. Because it’s scary. Love. Not being ready. Having to learn everything all over again, every time. And that’s what makes all this worth it.

Standard
Fertility treatments, Love, Wonderboy

Tears

A lot of crying going on here today. I had to leave work straight when I got there, because the cramps were so painful I almost didn’t manage to get out of the bathroom. This is, I think, the first time that I’m setting this up like this within myself: why can’t I carry his child? Why can’t I give him a baby? Wonderboy’s been so unhappy this past few days that it has made me unhappy too. I’ve never seen him like this. And I can’t change a thing. And I’m hurting.

Standard
Fertility treatments, Love, Wonderboy

Carrot Soap

Another one of those possibly pregnant weeks of my life has just ended. What a relief. My period was over a week late today, so I called the clinic. They don’t know yet, if they can still treat us before the summer holidays or not. We’ll have to wait and see when my next period will start. I hate that everything is decided by my body. You’ve all heard about the dichotomy between body and soul, mind and matter? Well, this so makes it official. How can I grow better follicles or bleed more quickly? I can’t. I can’t change the body I got and I can’t really help the hormones either.

They gave me this youth hormone, DHEA. It’s not even considered a real drug, if you live outside Europe, but here it’s a prescribed drug that I was fortunate enough to be given. Our doctor is trying to get better follicles out of me, if she can. I hope and then I despair. It’s hard to believe that it could happen, and still I mostly do.

It’s really hard to see my coworker’s rounding belly. Almost even harder, because I know they were in treatment too. It worked for them. So, we’re in a smaller and smaller minority. Will we soon be in the minority that gives up, childless? I hope not.

My little sister will be donating her follicles to my big sister in the Fall. It’s arranged and everything. There’s a small chance that she’d donate to us at the same time. That’s why I want to do this now. I don’t want to wait forever. I can’t.

It’s devastating to think the child wouldn’t be mine biologically. But when I dreamed about having children, when I made the plans, I was working under the mass illusion we have in our civilization that children pop up wanted or not and it’s almost impossible to stop that. So, obviously after a lifetime of laboring under that sort of illusion it’s hard to steer my mind in to a new kind of tomorrow. One were social parenting becomes as meaningful as biological. One where love isn’t only romantic, but also between siblings.

True love conquers all. Yeah, I’m beginning to see what they meant by that. If my sister and my husband can give us a child, I am forever in debt. To love.

I am crying again. But isn’t it beautiful? Can you imagine a better way to express your love? I know I can’t. I am so loved, and now I finally feel that I deserve it. And I will shine it all back to everyone. That’s the way love works.

This childless life is so hard, Wonderboy said yesterday. He was in the dark of the bedroom, alone, just lying in bed looking at the window with closed curtains. Everything is all sad. Nothing makes us happy. 

A lot makes us happy! Look, I made a funny face. Look, look here, I am caressing you, hugging you, tangling into you and kissing you and – oh sorry – crying in your ear.

When we don’t have any little babies just toddling around here, I answered and he looked even sadder, if possible.

He wants to have children with me. He is sad that we don’t have them. He’s scared that we won’t have them. It broke my heart a little bit. I want to give him babies. My body and soul are agreed on that. He even fantasized one day, out loud:

I could be a stay at home dad. I could take the babies into the park and play to them.

He has never talked like that before. He has never made plans or even been at all interested about the babies, just the trying. I can see it, now, in my mind and I can’t shake it off. My Wonderboy sitting near the sandbox with all the other mommies and with our Wonderchild. How lovingly he would take care of our child. He will be a great dad. And he will let me be who i am: very attached to my work, so worry passionate about it.

Doesn’t it break your heart too?

That’s why… I bought handmade soup today. Two different hues: avocado&olives and carrot. How could anyone stay unhappy, when they wash themselves with carrot soap? Obviously they can’t. I have the answer to everything. I am the master of this body. Which will soon, very soon, smell like a carrot.

Standard
Passing Woman, Pregnancy, Self-Questioning, Volatile bodies

I’ve been reading a lot of research about settling for not having kids. I met a fellow fertility treatment buddy of war the other day, but she wasn’t a war buddy anymore. She had given up. On Facebook I’ve seen enough to realize that three of the women I know in addition to the first one have given up hope. One of them even was so bold as to say that it was a huge mistake to even start the treatments at all.

I read about a study today which stated that one third of the couples in fertility treatments just give up. The study, or the article based on it, made it sound like they were giving up against their better judgement. But really: if these women are giving up six to eight years into their career as trying to become moms – is that giving up? Really? Should they keep on trying and for how long? How long would it be prudent? How long would suffice so that everybody could agree that it’s not going to happen?

I feel so conflicted. It makes my skin crawl that people have an opinion or a say in the matter of someone else’s treatments or their becoming a parent. Is fifteen years enough that you can give up? What about three, if it makes your marriage crumble? What about one, if you fall completely apart?

And why would it? If I was in your shoes, I’d just... sprinkle on some fairy dust and conceive? Yeah. I used to think like that too. Just do it. Stop complaining. Why can’t you do anything about it? Well, with fertility, there’s really not much a woman can do. 

I don’t want to settle. But…

It comes up more an more. In my thoughts. In Wonderboy’s words. 

What if. How’s our life going to be, if we don’t have any children, ever? 

At this moment I don’t really even see anything changing anymore. I got this huuuge deal closing in in a few months and it might change my life. My boss also talked to me about us working on getting me up the ladder an into the management. She also commented that now she could talk about these plans since there was no news. I guess my tragedy is working for me. I don’t even feel betrayed by that, I feel blessed. I’m able and competent enough to start leading these enterprises. 

I’ve been up this whole week, working up until 8 pm  three whole nights. I ain’t got nuthin against it. 

I’m drinking my Cabernet now, while Wonderboy sleeps away his insomnia. It’s funny really what it only took to take this sleeplessness of his away. I only had to tell him that my womb hurts, I bleed some, but it hasn’t started yet and it makes me want to scratch myself to death. He was like “is that all this was?” I don’t know what his all this entails really, but I guess my moods, my not wanting to cuddle, because he went on to say that he only wanted to be cuddled. I apologized and bought a stupid ass panty with a fucking lipstick pink bow on the back and pink lace and I put on my new lace bra and smoky makeup the way I know he likes it…

We got to watch two episodes of the Fullmetal Alchemist before he started to droop and it was time for him to go to sleep. 

This reminded me of the Perverse Cowgirl’s post about 5 love languages, because it amused me to realize that for Wonderboy to feel loved it was enough that I bought us some wine and offered him some and – made myself look very pretty just for him. That wouldn’t be enough for me, I think, but it made him feel so safe and loved that I didn’t even had to cuddle him but a minute before he was almost asleep. 

I was left here with an opened bottle for the longest time and I can’t even tell you how liberating it has been to just drink without any fear of consequences. I chatted with my sister some and now… I guess I’m gonna sleep, too. What am I gonna do – call a cab and go to a club by myself? No. I wanna wake up with my warm Wonderboy and fuck his brains out. a woman with a plan, right?

Maybe more than 6 hours of sleep will finally start my period and release me from this limbo of boiling emotions. I hope… Because otherwise the fucking might be left out of the equation but the rest will not. 

 

Buying panties and reading studies – Just an ordinary day

Aside
Fertility treatments, Love, Male Lead Relationship stuff, Passing Woman, Pregnancy, Volatile bodies, What Women Really Want, Wonderboy

Survival of the Fittest to Adapt

We have been trying to keep doing a small token thing, a ritual if you like. I think it was Lily’s wonderful book that gave us the idea. When we haven’t been able to do much else, and even when we have, Wonderboy has always commanded me to prepare the tea for us. I haven’t been able to do even that with the procedures and my body being so sick.

When I got out of the transfer, I was so proud of myself for doing it all by myself. I was so happy to finally get there that I needed to reward myself, so I bought these hand made chocolates. They were for us both, but Wonderboy’s been on a strict diet so it has mostly been me to consume the chocolates. Somehow Wonderboy still figured a new ritual could take place in this: it is my job to bring the golden chocolate box to him, if I want them. He will pick and choose one for me. Only one. And then I get to eat it. If I ask and he thinks it fits, he can grant me another. This… makes me oddly happy.

We tried to have sex yesterday. It was tentative, I admit, but I was actually turning a little horny. It has been almost three weeks since last time and I do feel a little alienated from my body. From him.

I’m glad that we tried. I’m glad about everything we did. About the nakedness, the warm skin, his scent, his lips. We caressed ear other from head to toes like I’ve never imagined Sex going. It was very loving and we were pretty scared. That’s probably why it didn’t hurt our feelings that we couldn’t do it. The progesterone capsules I have to use go straight into the vagina. They stay there to give me progesterone through the day. (3 times a day, so at work too. That’s been a treat, I’m telling you.) Turns out they also burn like hell, if you go on meddling in the orifices. No amount of lubrication helped, we were both burning. So we stopped. We kept hugging and kissing little, sweet and innocent kisses.

Do you want to do something else? To play? I asked.

Not really, Wonderboy said.

Me neither. It’s because of the burning, it kind of took the desire away.

Yeah, he admitted.

Then we caressed each other for a while.

It’s kind of miraculous that we can have a conversation like this – a situation like this – and both feel pretty happy and serene. We weren’t really even that disappointed. It was about something else entirely. It would’ve been nice to be able to have an orgasm together, but… it wasn’t as important as I once imagined. Huh. We exchanged our love yous there and then went on to read and play games by ourselves. It isn’t such a big deal considering the stuff we are going through.

I woke up tonight with soul shattering cramps. They almost made me throw up and wouldn’t subside in an hour before I took some pain medicine. I had to go sleep on the coach because the pain would stay away in only a certain position. At night I still thought that these could be the pains associated with the implantation. But today… when the cramps kept on rolling and kept shaping into a more familiar shape. I’ve nee here before. All the other times I thought I was pregnant I suffered for these same kinds of cramps and pains and stabs. They remind menstrual cramps a lot but aren’t exactly the same.

Now I feel I know. I know already. It didn’t work. There isn’t going to be a baby, not this time either.

The next time we have a chance will be in another hospital, with another doctor, after some waiting because of our move. It will probably be before next Christmas. Probably. But they might want to treat us differently. We might end up losing time again, doing treatment cycles that don’t result in any embryos. It’s not like it’s self-evident anyway – I got 10 follicles and only one was developed enough that they could transfer it (and only 3 fertilized at all).

Same all fears began to rise. Same all thoughts. Will we ever? Will we have to use someone else’s sperm or follicles in the end, anyway? Will our money run out? Will our will run out?

It’s not for certain yet. Wonderboy still believes I might be pregnant. I don’t anymore. I feel my body too well. Damnit. I was so happy for a while, even to be given a chance.

I don’t really know how I feel yet. But not devastated. Disappointed. Expectant. Sad, a little hopeless even. If it didn’t work, we still don’t know, if we can get pregnant. We still don’t know, if it will ever work for us. We still just have to wait. It’s quite a big thing to ask of someone, this waiting,  without a promise for the hopes to be fulfilled.

Standard
Fertility treatments, Love, Pregnancy, Wonderboy

Bigger Than Us

Things have changed. Change is so hard to see, though. When it’s here, you’re already used to it.

I want to give you an example. I found this on my computer. I had written it before starting on the IVF extreme adventure, before I knew any of this.

He’s worried…

That we will have a child

That it’s forever

That he’ll end up losing (some part of) me

That it’ll be terrible for him

That he won’t learn to love the child

That the child won’t learn to love him

That I will gain weight when pregnant and stay that way

That our sex life will suffer (oh boooy, like it hasn’t already)

That we won’t have time for anything fun anymore

That I will change into The Mom

I’m worried…

That the procedures won’t help

That my feelings and pain will go unheard

That we will NOT have a child. Ever.

That I will grow tired, exhausted, stop believing

Of needles. I’m scared of needles. There. I said it!

I can say now, for certain, what Wonderboy’s biggest fear is. It’s not any of the above. It’s losing me.

Whenever we face a setback in the battle against infertility, he gets scared. But he’s scared of a different thing I am. I’m scared that we can’t have a child. He’s scared that we can’t have a child… and then I’ll leave him.

He has voiced it many times in the past. When we got the news on Wednesday, the devastating news that none of my eggs had been fertilized even with the latest and most advanced medical techniques western medicine has been able to produce, he knew enough to suspect that the fault was all his. His sample had been poor. My eggs had been perfect.

This could be true of course. We can’t know for certain, though. It could be my body’s antibodies which attack his sperm. You can’t see those, even through the microscope. But for now, seems that the ball is in his court. When he got home, after cancelling all of his plans and lessons for the night by way of lying he’s sick, he hugged my for a long time and then he said,

I don’t even have a chromosome. Not even one!

It was a joke, but it was also his biggest fear. What if he has Klinefelter’s syndrome? There’s no cure for that.

I laughed and hugged him, and I don’t even remember what I said. Probably something along the lines of us both not having any chromosomes at all. It’s still possible, although my six perfect eggs would seem to suggest that I am in fact fertile. There would’ve probably been some kind of abnormalities in the shape, ripeness, size or cell intactness (is that a word?), if the problem was in my eggs. It was such a huge relief for me. They got out so many perfect eggs from me. It seemed that finally things were going to be alright, because the poor quality of the sperm should’ve been treated with the ICSI procedure.

And then it wasn’t.

I was so fortunate that I got to speak with our wonderful midwife/nurse from the hospital. She assured me that even some chromosome problems can be solved by way of testing the embryos and only using the healthy ones. She also said that it’s not very probable, even considering our zero result IVF ICSI, that we would have a chromosome problem.

These things do happen, and sometimes there’s just no reason for it that we can find. The second run could go without any trouble at all. We just have to try and see, she said.

The clinic doctor did comment that I should be tested for the coeliac disease (allergy for wheats, in the short and scientifically spesific terms), because that has a tendency to cause “Recurrent miscarriage and unexplained infertility”. But I was already tested for that in the Spring, because I had a hunch I am indeed allergic to wheats. And the things is, I’ve been keeping to a strict coeliac diet almost 6 months now, because that’s what the infertility doctor recommended. Sometimes the tests only show the allergy after you’ve been suffering from it for years, so I could very well have it, even if the tests don’t show any autoimmune bodies in my blood.

I don’t know how long the autoimmune disease could affect my fertility, if I’m on a right kind of a diet, but certainly not forever, right? It does seem probable considering all of my five early miscarriages that there might be some kind of a decreased maternal immune tolerance towards the fetus. That would explain a lot, and also more importantly, it can be fixed.

So, it all comes back to Wonderboy. And you know what he confessed to me, when we had been cuddling on the bed and the worst of my crying was over?

I already though how awkward it was gonna be, if me met at a bar somewhere. After we’d broken up.

It might sound really bad to you, I don’t know. But this is very like Wonderboy. It seems to always be his biggest and first fear that this will be the end of us. I guess this just was the first time that I wasn’t worried about it at all. I was actually very upbeat all things considered.

Why would we break up? I asked him. And then I asked him The Question again. I did give a bit of a back story to it by describing how I would feel, if we had to resort to my little sister’s eggs, which she has bravely and lovingly promised to us, if things don’t go as we hope. It’s not ideal, but we do share the same genes. We even laughed with my little sister, that then we could get the best genes of our grandparents and named the awful one, my dad’s mother, who’s kind of an asshole a lot of times. I asked Wonderboy does he still feel totally against donor sperm. And he answered no, no I’m not against it.

Why would we ever break up then? I ask and hug and kiss him. Then we will have a baby, one day.

**

Finally being on the IVF treatment – the real treatment that shows him that this is serious – has made him change so much. He now sees, how it isn’t in my head or in my body. It’s visible to him and understandable. We are injecting medicine to me. I was in an evasive operation. There were doctors and biologists handling our sperm and eggs. When that doesn’t work, it doesn’t leave you a lot of room to deny the fact that you are infertile.

He was sad about the results. He was sad about the results of his sperm and about the results of the procedure. He had to face, I think for the first time, that it could be his fault, and it could be forever like this.

I have tackled those feelings for almost a year and a half now. I’m way past not considering donor eggs or sperm. But it still isn’t my first choice. I want to see this through. I need to see, if we can make it. Us.

But it occured to me for the first time that it’s not only him who has to give up on being a biological father. I have to give up seeing him in our children too, if it comes to that. I’m not saying this, because I suspect the fault’s in him. I’m saying this, because if we were to use my sister’s eggs, it could be possible that they would have our father’s eyes – the same eyes I have, or our grand grandmother’s stature – the same I have. But if we use donor sperm, it will have nothing to do with Wonderboy. In either case Wondeboy could see me in the child. That is amazing. An amazing thought. Because he loves me and he has always said how he would want our children to look like me. He would still get to have that. He would recognice my big and dashing smile, or my low forehead or my hazel eyes. How could he not love that child?

It seems that there’s nothing wrong with my womb, and the progesterone deficiency I seem to have is actually easily fixed with these capsules I still have to take to make sure I get a normal cycle again. (And heal, thanks for pointing that out Jnakabb!)

**

It’s been so hard since Wednesday, but I’m beginning to feel better. Most of it is perhaps, because Wonderboy was just so wonderful with the news. He cancelled all of his plans and came home. He was sad too, but not as devastated as me. He still believes we’ll be able to do it. He got me to smile and to laugh. We got all hopeful and loving again, together. We are so good to each other, it doesn’t matter what we face.

That’s actually what my little sister said on the phone, when se heard. Why do people who have the best and loving relationship ever not get to have a child? It’s CRAZY!

I totally agree with her. 😉

The next step, according to our nurse, is that they’ll take the chromosome tests out of our blood (and they especially want to see about the (male) Y chromosome on Wonderboy) and they’ll also test for antibodies that I might be producing to attack the sperm and keep it out. That will probably be next week, already. The results will be in once again only after 2-3 weeks, but at this point I feel that I need the time in between. I’m still on sick leave and I can’t really even walk fast because of my ovaries hurting so much, so I’m not in any hurry to be back on the operating table. Although the Diapam high was quite a laugh, afterwards.

I actually remember that we talked with the infertility doctor about taking cortisone with the IVF cycle because of the possible coeliac condition, but somehow they forgot about it. We will probably go through the next cycle with cortisone to make sure that doesn’t affect anything.

I’m not sure, but I got the impression that none of the eggs even started dividing. The doctor said that the 6 eggs were all perfect (two weren’t mature so they threw them out). And they did the ICSI, so we know for certain that the sperm reached the ovum, so now we have to figure out why nothing still happened.

But the doctor and the nurse both said that it’s also possible that this just happens in some IVF cycles, and they can not find any reason for it. They said that even some people who have children from IVF can have a cycle like this. So it’s not as sure as I first thought that we’d have a chromosome problem.

I’m going to hear from the doctor today or next week about our blood tests and the next round, so I’m really focusing on the future now. There’s really not much else we can do. We can’t decide about the IVF cycle ourselves, but I believe the doctor might be willing to put me on a medically assisted cycle after this one being budged as Jnakabb has suggested to me personally. I’m not sure why she wanted to do the short one even when I had so few eggs, but it’s better now because I didn’t have to go through all the terrible side effects of putting down my own hormones before kicking them up again. Maybe she thought about that – that I’m prone to having terrible side effects from the hormones and wanted to spare me. That would’ve been the first.

Today when I woke up, I had gotten an SMS from Wonderboy. It said I love you so fucking much! Kisses! And good morning! This is what has changed. We are in this together, now. I feel so much more loved than I have felt ever, ever in my life. If this has taught us one thing, it’s taught us that sex is certainly not the only glue to keep love together. Sometimes love grows out of hardships. Sometimes it grows precisely because there can be no sex. There has to be something else.

What else could there be?

❤ ❤ ❤ ❤ ❤ ❤ ❤ ❤

Standard