So the HCG trigger did indeed give my ovary a nudge. I set the follicle free on Friday,  a good three days earlier than I would normally in a medicated cycle.

So now it’s down to the one week wait. I didn’t test the HCG out daily, I gave it a test a few days ago and it was still coming up positive. So who knows? I am being pretty loosey-goosey with all things fertility right now. Temping, and doing progesterone pods, but not meditating daily, not doing yoga (which I do actually want to do, I need to get on that)and just kinda seeing what happens.

And things have moved on the adoption front as well. We have moved from applying to be foster parents to now being licensed. Our application has been accepted and now it all gets moving. The home study begins in just under two weeks. We will have so many things to fix and to buy and organize and OH MY GOD.

They might let me be somebody’s mom!


Apparently I needed a break.

I was fine. Until I wasn’t fine.
We had good timing in October, coinciding with our 18th wedding anniversary. And then I swear there was a smudge on a wondfo test. My temps were the highest they have been, my luteal phase was nice and long. I was really hopeful. And then the next day there was no smudge and then the cycle was over.

And it all kind of settled in then, the sadness for my loss. So much sadness.

We did an HSG and my left tube is hosed. Which is also sad. There is nothing to be done for it. It could have been in spasm, but since that is where my egg implanted it’s not likely. The HSG itself was just…ugh.
This is pretty much my cervix when it comes to anyone needing to poke at it:

And it was difficult. I had to pull my knees up to my chest and contort while they poked and poked and poked. Finally they got it, it was up super high facing back AND to the side. Hiding. They had to pull it down with the tenaculum (google defines that as a surgical clamp with sharp motherfucking hooks in it. I may have added a word there….)
But I managed to not fart while being literally in the yoga pose to make you fart and they got it done. And as evidence of how many fucks I don’t give at this point, I didn’t even know there was a guy in the room the whole time. The guy behind the screen doing something with the controls for the xray machine. Oh well.

So then we did all my preconception labs again. My AMH is about the same, my estrogen was lower than expected for PCOS, but nothing said that I am in perimenopause. So since those were OK I finally decided to have the draw for the Counsyl genetic screen kit done and send it off. I can’t remember anyone in my family having anything genetic. I figured I’d send it off and nothing too major would pop up and away we would go.


Of course it’s not that easy. I carry the gene for Congenital Defect Glycosylation type 1A. It’s like the shit jackpot. An enzyme processing disorder, profound developmental problems, infant death from multiple organ failure, stroke or seizure like episodes, etc. There is no treatment,  babies who are mildly affected are the ones I just described, babies who are severely affected are stillborn. We met with the genetic counselor. The Man’s blood was drawn and sent off and we are waiting for the genotyping on the 16th chromosome pair to now if he is a carrier or not. In the meantime, we wait and this cycle is now on day 49 with no egg on the horizon for me. Last cycle was natural and I ovulated.

In the meantime, we have begun the process of becoming foster parents so that we can adopt from the foster system. We went to a meeting, we sent in our survey, and we just got the application in the mail last week.

We are ready to be parents and it doesn’t really matter how we get there.

The shittiest club

So, my RE left the practice in July, the week that I had my miscarriage. I met with the woman who replaced him last Friday. She wants new labs and an HSG to make sure the tube is clear and there isn’t anything in there that will cause a problem in the future. They gave me the procedure codes to call and check for insurance coverage for it. Generally, it’s a fertility procedure, but mine is more medical since it could head off a second ectopic and its complications.

Much to my surprise, it looks like they will cover it. There was a moment where the woman helping me on the phone said that generally they don’t cover it until three miscarriages, but my age could make it more necessary. And from her experience it’s good to have it checked. It took a second but then I realized she meant her personal experience. I gave her an invisible fist bump of solidarity down the phone line for being in the miscarriage club.

I know they aren’t going to cover the follow up semen analysis from my husband tomorrow morning, but that test is like $65, we can swing it. The HSG is about $2k, though. I’d prefer to not get surprised by that kind of bill.

I love the nightlife, I got to boogie….

I am listening to the Circle and Bloom PCOS package for fertility meditations on the daily this cycle. It is definitely not dangerous to spend 20 minutes a day focusing on being calm and relaxing, and it makes me feel like I am doing something.

Today’s session had a lot of visualizing the perfect egg being released from my healthy ovaries.

In my mind, my perfect egg is like a wee small disco ball. So sparkly.

Day 5: The ovaries are restless.

It’s another medicated cycle. Because it’s a big old infertile party all the time here at Chez Barren. Day 3 of Letrozole. It hurts. It always hurts, but it’s hurting earlier than usual. And the hot flashiness has begun. And feeling weepy.

I only let myself cry for 5 minutes about last cycle when I failed again. For one thing, The Man was home and I didn’t want to scare him with my toilet sobbing.

If I don’t get pregnant this round, my fifth time on Letrozole, then we have to go see the RE for a consultation to see where we go from here. IUI is a possibility, but it’s $1500 a pop and that’s not something we can just keep doing endlessly. I feel like realistically we have six more months of this.

The weekend was especially hard, it was my half-birthday. I have serious aversions to any acknowledgement of my birthday going back a very long time. But now I know in six months I turn 42. And it will be what would have been the due date for our little speck of baby. I will be fine for days and then suddenly I run into something and it’s suddenly just as raw as it was at the beginning. And then I pick myself up and hope  that we get a sticky one soon.

Not an awesome combo


knit night action photo with croissant!

This blanket is half done. I need it to be all done ASAP so I can send it on before my sister has her baby. I am pretty sure that this cycle is ending and we didn’t get pregnant this month.

And I have to knit on a baby blanket pretty much nonstop today and tomorrow. I think it’s about 20 hours of work left to do.

So much suck. So much.

The glamour never ends.

I’m 9 or 10 days past ovulation, the hot flashes are back, but not quite as bad. Or I am adapting a bit to them and trying to plan things better. Had my annual physical on Monday with my GP and she decided since I have had a bajillion ultrasounds that she didn’t need to do a pelvic if I didn’t feel that there were any changes or had any signs of infection. I was thrilled because the progesterone suppositories are just irritating and uncomfortable.

The progesterone queasiness seems to peak in the morning this time. So this morning I woke up, temped, went to the bathroom and then made my usual protein shake for breakfast.
Then I went to lay down for 15 minutes to deposit the morning pod and listen to the Circle and Bloom meditationy thing.

And Marge the cat comes in and flops down against me on the bed. He  (yes, he) is a 17-18 lb cat so he packs a punch. And I am imagining the blanket, the perfect blanket from childhood and taking deep breaths and then I realize that the rotten cat has basically just dutch-ovened me. Obviously I got up and GTFO of there and left him to wallow in his wretchedness. But I swear I was on the verge of horking for the next hour. GROSS.