Archive for September, 2009

… is all I could think about Thursday. Technically I’m not doing exactly the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. I switch up the variables, all the while feeling an unsettling conflict between the unknowable mojo of this enterprise and my need to feel like I’m making rational progress… as though unharnessing my analytical problem solving skills will actually do any good. This is what makes me feel insane.

I did what I usually do on the day of a negative test: stomped around, cried angrily to my mother, and then, between meetings, spent much of the morning on the web and phone alternating between the clinic and sperm bank making my next Highly Rational Plan, which is Undeniably More Likely To Succeed Than The Last Attempt.

Yes, insane. But apparently this is how we’re supposed to do this and I can’t find any book, article, or website suggesting otherwise.

So I’m choosing a new donor. I’ve decided that, since I can’t meet these guys and see if our phermones are doing the immediate cha-cha together, I’m going with blood type. Don’t even say it. Yes, I’m beyond even mentioning how deeply the woo woo has entered my state of fractured reasoning. Maybe this is inevitable. Anyway, turns out a lot of people (so far 3) that I’ve felt some kind of core connection with over the years have been type O, and so am I, so don’t knock it.

My old favorite – not Van – is an O and so is the new guy. I’m calling him Jerry. I don’t know why, it came to me on the plane.

I’m also traveling too much. But I’m not blaming this last failure on my inability to lie prone with an IV of local, organic fluids for two weeks and let the egg implant. I think it was a bad egg. That happens, you know. Maybe we can up my dose of follicle-inflating drugs so I can have more than one egg and be less prone to the vagaries of a bad one. Risk of twins, yes yes, well that’s another song. And still better than none at all. We’ll cross that bridge if it ever shows up folks, first things first.

I wonder if I should also have my uterus filled with dyed water (yes, it’s an extremely high-tech procedure) to find out if my little uterine hoses are twisted up. That’s on my list of October to-do’s as well. I’m traveling all month, so I get to settle down and do these experiments for a while and plan for another go in November…


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new approach

This past week… wow, I can’t believe it’s only been a week and a day… I started acupuncture. Strange thing, and of course it’s not something I ever thought I’d do. Venturing into woo woo territory, but hey, it’s time. I do wonder what tipped it… best I can do is recall that I was suddenly drawn to a note I put on my fridge last fall from a woman who’d gotten pregnant in her early 40s. She recommended my fertility doctor to me, an OB/GYN, an acupuncturist who specializes in fertility, and a couple others. All of a sudden time to try another approach. And my timing, apparently, was perfect.

I look up this fertility guru, spend a night browsing her website, get into bed with my laptop to try her intricate stomach massage, and find out she costs $300 a session. Even though I feel lucky to be local, that’s clearly out of the question. So I buy her book instead and mention the fiasco to a colleague the next morning who says “well, I’m sure there are plenty of acupuncturists where you live, lots of them are good at this stuff… look for another one that charges less.” Oh. So that night I google my city + acupuncture + infertility, call the first name that pops up, and I’m in. Appointment set for two days later, the receptionist ferrying me along on ardent reassurances that he’s the one I need.

That was a week ago Thursday. The receptionist is a gas. Talks constantly, guileless, 64 years old and hums to the meditation track playing over the loudspeakers. I’m immediately transported to something so radically different from the fertility clinic I hardly know how to behave. In the waiting area there’s a fountain four feet tall with moss, you can hear it gurgling from all the patient rooms. And the doctor comes in with a big smile and says reassuring things like “Oh, you can conceive.” I came in with a sore throat one day and he goes “Oh No!! Let me see…” I open my mouth, impressed by his concern. “Ohhh, tonsilitis” Yeah, since I was a kid, I say. “Ohhh, chronic tonsilitis… ” He looks up, raises a finger “I have something.” Charming as all get out.

6 needles per treatment, two at my ovaries, two in my calves, two in my feet. Lie there and feel weird or giggle as I did the whole first treatment, or be amazed that my post-IUI cramping is actually subsiding as I lie there. I saw the doctor 5 times since last Thursday, and have been taking the Chinese herbs he gave me with instructions to swallow 12 pills a day.

Meanwhile, 3 visits to the clinic this week. So in the midst of all this acupuncture half a mile from home, I’m also juggling work in the city and an ultrasound appointment plus two IUIs 24 hours apart this week. It took a lot of balanced mindful breathing and faux meditation to get through it. Yes, I suck at meditation. No chance of my brain not wandering off to plan the next day, but I smile and figure it’s better than nothing.

IUIs went well, my follicle was HUGE, I could feel it stretching on Monday. Crazy. So the medicine/acupuncture/wild early morning grins are clearly doing something, because that never happened before. My doctor comes bustling into the room with a huge grin, shakes my hand, is efficient and painless with the syringe “here they come!” and leaves the room with “Please get pregnant.”

And we’ll see… And either way, I’m feeling like I finally have the right team.

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