So off I go to Philadelphia for Congress, and wouldn’t you know it I get my period while I am there so bang goes day 3 and day 6 anything for May. I reschedule my appointment with the doc and try to push it out of my mind. I haven’t had any more months where I have convinced of pregnancy and I am trying not to think about it. I am working on the assumption that if I just relax it will happen.
Vanessa comes to visit, we have a blast. I kind of view her trip as my final fling. She leaves I stop drinking altogether, make an appointment with the nutritionist – I need to get this weight off –and vow to spend six months doing whatever I need to do to get in shape. Losing weight will be good – I’ll feel better, I’ll look better and my fertility will improve. I don’t expect to ever be a size 0 or even a size 8 – but a 12 or a 14 would be lovely. I get my period at a convenient time so I finally get all of the tests done. The blood draw is fine although the volumes were a little shocking. I have a whole new respect for my patients when I take 75 – 100 mL off them. Then there was the hysterosonogram. Oh sweet Jesus. That was the most painful thing ever. I was told to expect some mild cramping. Mild? It felt like my ovary was going to come out of belly. The lovely young Fellow tried to be gentle but seriously with a speculum, a catheter in your cervix, a uterus with saline in it, and a vaginal ultrasound – it hurts! He tries to reassure me
“I’m taking the speculum out now and your cervix will relax and it won’t be so uncomfortable” he says in his soft reassuring voice.
I peer over my knees and reply “How do you know? You don’t have a cervix”
At least I get a laugh.
Then I get the results.
Day 3 Labs
LH – 4.7
FSH -11.7
Estradiol – 45
Free T-4 – 1.3
TSH – 1.75
Day 7 hysterosonogram
My uterus is sagitally 6.5cm
I have a paraovarian cyst measuring 1.9cm x 1.8cm x 2.5cm
I have 2 fibroids. One is 4.0 x 4.6 x 2.8. It is apparently intramural and approximately 25% submucosal and it’s doing something to the endometrial stripe. The other is 2.0 x 1.7 x 1.9. It is also intramural but is < 25% submucosal.
Why didn’t I pay attention in nursing school? I have no idea what any of this means. I make a fatal mistake and turn to the internet. I have a minor breakdown sitting at my desk 2 days running. I throw the results away so I won’t look at them; decide to write this so I fish them out of the trash. Throw them away again. Try to breathe but I think I may have just bought myself some surgery and some assisted reproduction.
Newborn Poppy
Saturday, July 5, 2008
Proactivity and Procreativity
The huge envelope arrives from arrives from Yawkey 10. It has enormous health questionnaires and even a rather spiffy DVD (I don’t watch it). I set about filling in all the forms which is really tricky because now I am forced to talk to my mother-in-law about that side of the DNA. She seems pleased, but cautious, and actually doesn’t lecture me – maybe when we finally have a baby I will let her be involved. The easy part however is Robert’s family is tiny with not too much exciting happening. It takes all of a page and a half to do a family history.
Then there is my huge family full of people who unlike me get pregnant just by sitting on a toilet seat (seriously), and they want history up to third degree relatives. My family history reads like a novel with various weird and wonderfuls like the cousin with AML, the one who was diagnosed with Langerhan’s as an adult, the one with the pituitary thing going on (who is also a bit crazy), the one with Fallot’s and the random craziness that seems to infiltrate certain branches of my family tree.
All of this when all I really want is an idea about what to do with the fibroids? At this point I am still firmly convinced that assisted reproduction is not in my future anytime soon. We’ll get rid of those pesky fibroids and then we’ll have a baby. Simple as that. But as I have already pointed out I am an oncology nurse, I nothing about reproductive medicine. I hated ob-gyn in nursing school and even thought childbirth was quite gruesome.
I decide to leave Robert at home for the first appointment; after all at this point it is all about me and my rebellious uterus. Dr. Styer is a total charmer. I even check out his left hand sizing up dating potential for single friends. Damn – wedding ring. I hand him my health essays – shrug and point out that OCD has some benefits – I keep great records and am a really good historian. Dr. Styer is also very pro-active I get a PAP smear and an ultrasound and an insurance referral for the assisted reproduction that I am still convinced I won’t need. The ultrasound and PAP are a little embarrassing as I had a “panty hose accident” a few days ago resulting in a nice abrasion/bruise on the top of my thigh. He of course asks how that happened. I glance at the medical assistant who I have already told about it and say:
“Nothing glamorous like kinky sex, just a very dull panty hose accident”
I get a laugh, but I also get orders for a whole bunch of labs on Day 3 of my next cycle and for a hysterosonogram on Day 6.
Why the invasive procedure? Seems my uterus is indeed being rebellious – one of the fibroids is making the shape all wrong. If it wasn’t for the fact that I am in stirrups with a vaginal probe insitu I would have hugged him. He actually tells me that this may have caused the miscarriage. After 2 and ½ years of “Don’t worry. These things happen” this is an incredible relief. Someone is actually listening to me.
Needless to say I leave his office feeling comforted and relaxed that everything will be okay.
Then there is my huge family full of people who unlike me get pregnant just by sitting on a toilet seat (seriously), and they want history up to third degree relatives. My family history reads like a novel with various weird and wonderfuls like the cousin with AML, the one who was diagnosed with Langerhan’s as an adult, the one with the pituitary thing going on (who is also a bit crazy), the one with Fallot’s and the random craziness that seems to infiltrate certain branches of my family tree.
All of this when all I really want is an idea about what to do with the fibroids? At this point I am still firmly convinced that assisted reproduction is not in my future anytime soon. We’ll get rid of those pesky fibroids and then we’ll have a baby. Simple as that. But as I have already pointed out I am an oncology nurse, I nothing about reproductive medicine. I hated ob-gyn in nursing school and even thought childbirth was quite gruesome.
I decide to leave Robert at home for the first appointment; after all at this point it is all about me and my rebellious uterus. Dr. Styer is a total charmer. I even check out his left hand sizing up dating potential for single friends. Damn – wedding ring. I hand him my health essays – shrug and point out that OCD has some benefits – I keep great records and am a really good historian. Dr. Styer is also very pro-active I get a PAP smear and an ultrasound and an insurance referral for the assisted reproduction that I am still convinced I won’t need. The ultrasound and PAP are a little embarrassing as I had a “panty hose accident” a few days ago resulting in a nice abrasion/bruise on the top of my thigh. He of course asks how that happened. I glance at the medical assistant who I have already told about it and say:
“Nothing glamorous like kinky sex, just a very dull panty hose accident”
I get a laugh, but I also get orders for a whole bunch of labs on Day 3 of my next cycle and for a hysterosonogram on Day 6.
Why the invasive procedure? Seems my uterus is indeed being rebellious – one of the fibroids is making the shape all wrong. If it wasn’t for the fact that I am in stirrups with a vaginal probe insitu I would have hugged him. He actually tells me that this may have caused the miscarriage. After 2 and ½ years of “Don’t worry. These things happen” this is an incredible relief. Someone is actually listening to me.
Needless to say I leave his office feeling comforted and relaxed that everything will be okay.
Tick tock tick tock
Robert gets his tonsils out in February and being a total dude he really isn’t up for much hanky panky for a few weeks so February was a wash. March however was a different matter. I think I know when I am going to ovulate – seriously my cycle even without the pill is 28 days. I time it perfectly. We actually have pretty mind blowing sex – almost like that we just met and can’t keep our pants on sex. We do this a lot.
I start getting really nauseous, and my boobs start to hurt more than ever and feel huge. So much so that one of my doctors can’t take his eyes off them while I am talking to him. I actually feel pregnant, or rather I feel vaguely like I did 13 years ago. I am actually so convinced I but a copy of “What to Expect When You Are Expecting.” (It lives in my desk drawer in the office). I don’t tell Robert this time – and I’ve given up alcohol for Lent. I wait. Then one day my boobs stop hurting and I get my period. Only thing is I am actually over a week early. What? I always have 28 day cycles. Where did this 18 day cycle come from? This time I fall apart.
It is really hard to get Robert to understand. I am plagued by guilt about the termination I had before I came to the States and by the miscarriage we had in 2005. As pro-choice as I am in the back of my mind there is a little voice telling me that I am being punished first by the miscarriage and now by not getting pregnant. I keep wondering about those two pregnancies being my only chances and that I blew them. It’s not a very nice feeling. I am also frustrated with myself because I don’t want to be that girl. I don’t want to be the one who obsessively counts the days in her cycle, feels her cervical mucous, takes her basal body temperature, forces sex on exactly the right days. But still that bloody alarm clock (it’s now a Mickey Mouse one) is there. Tick tock tick tock.
I finally get proactive about this. I take a deep breath and sick day to sort my head out. What do I know?
I can get pregnant – I’ve managed it twice by accident
I have been on the pill for an awfully long time
I have fibroids and a history of ovarian cysts
What can I do?
Continue the watchful wait on the fibroids?
Get myself a doctor who specializes in fibroids?
Number 2 – come on down.
I start getting really nauseous, and my boobs start to hurt more than ever and feel huge. So much so that one of my doctors can’t take his eyes off them while I am talking to him. I actually feel pregnant, or rather I feel vaguely like I did 13 years ago. I am actually so convinced I but a copy of “What to Expect When You Are Expecting.” (It lives in my desk drawer in the office). I don’t tell Robert this time – and I’ve given up alcohol for Lent. I wait. Then one day my boobs stop hurting and I get my period. Only thing is I am actually over a week early. What? I always have 28 day cycles. Where did this 18 day cycle come from? This time I fall apart.
It is really hard to get Robert to understand. I am plagued by guilt about the termination I had before I came to the States and by the miscarriage we had in 2005. As pro-choice as I am in the back of my mind there is a little voice telling me that I am being punished first by the miscarriage and now by not getting pregnant. I keep wondering about those two pregnancies being my only chances and that I blew them. It’s not a very nice feeling. I am also frustrated with myself because I don’t want to be that girl. I don’t want to be the one who obsessively counts the days in her cycle, feels her cervical mucous, takes her basal body temperature, forces sex on exactly the right days. But still that bloody alarm clock (it’s now a Mickey Mouse one) is there. Tick tock tick tock.
I finally get proactive about this. I take a deep breath and sick day to sort my head out. What do I know?
I can get pregnant – I’ve managed it twice by accident
I have been on the pill for an awfully long time
I have fibroids and a history of ovarian cysts
What can I do?
Continue the watchful wait on the fibroids?
Get myself a doctor who specializes in fibroids?
Number 2 – come on down.
Fertility schmetility - January
The New Year started with a “bang” quite literally and by January 8th I am so nauseous. Seriously I can’t eat, everything tastes bad, and everything smells bad. Surely it’s too early for morning sickness. Surely I’m not pregnant... Nobody over 35 gets pregnant within a month of coming off the pill. Nobody. What to do? Ask a doctor! So while walking around the Stop and Shop I call Lynn, she’ll know.
“So how early can you get morning sickness” I ask her as soon as she picks up
“I take it you think you’re pregnant?” she asks
“Well I don’t know I’m an oncology nurse my patients really don’t have to worry so much about fertility and I hated my maternity rotations so I didn’t pay attention and last time I had no symptoms” I blurted out. And it was one long almost incoherent sentence utterly devoid of punctuation.
“Well are you late?”
“No – I’m not due on ‘til next week” I say, “But I need to pee all the time, I’m nauseous all the time, and I’m dizzy”
“Needing to pee all the time comes later”
“No! The internet said it can happen right away because of the increase in blood flow to the kidneys” I protested, “It was on the internet – the internet knows everything”
“Jo, take a deep breath”
I stop in the middle of frozen deserts and take a deep breath. I’m being crazy, I must be.
“Maybe I’m being crazy” I say, a little ruefully.
“Look you could be, and if you are you are going to end up delivering at my wedding”
Damn Lynn and her ability to do math in her head.
I do finally come clean and tell Robert what I am thinking. His reaction is initially exactly as I expected – he is mortified. I bite my tongue when he asks those two stupid questions
“How? Why”
Well, duh, I am thinking…penis, vagina, sperm, ova, blah, blah, blah, we had sex.
“But you had wine – how could you do that if you thought you were pregnant”
“Well I didn’t think I was pregnant when I drank the wine”
He makes that “harrumph” sound that always irritates me, narrows his eyes as if he has suddenly developed x-ray vision and can see into my uterus.
“Okay, “he says, suddenly becoming the grown up in this little drama, “We need to do a test, and we need to proceed as if you are – no beer”
I smile, for a guy given to tantrums over stupid little things he really does step up when it is something big. We wait patiently for the next week, wondering if the fact that every other commercial is for a pregnancy test is a sign of some sort.
The nausea goes on for another couple of days, until the morning I rush out to work and forget to take my Prozac. No nausea. Surely not. Prozac has never made me sick before. So I miss it another day, no nausea, and another. Damn. It must be the Prozac. I have an appointment with a new psychiatrist the following week so I stop the Prozac altogether.
I meet my new psychiatrist who tisks at me for restarting the Prozac at 50mg after a 3 month self-prescribed holiday and restarts me at 20mg. It seems that the nausea was indeed caused by the drug. I stop at the bathroom on my way out of the hospital and lo and behold – not pregnant.
I was actually surprised at the way my heart sank.
And that was how it all started. It was if that one scare set off a weird uncontrollable cascade in me. I had always scoffed at the idea of a biological clock, viewing it as something invented to force women into pregnancy. Not so much now. I suddenly discovered (what I picture as) a giant old fashioned alarm clock with bells on the top living somewhere inside of me. Tick tock tick tock.
“So how early can you get morning sickness” I ask her as soon as she picks up
“I take it you think you’re pregnant?” she asks
“Well I don’t know I’m an oncology nurse my patients really don’t have to worry so much about fertility and I hated my maternity rotations so I didn’t pay attention and last time I had no symptoms” I blurted out. And it was one long almost incoherent sentence utterly devoid of punctuation.
“Well are you late?”
“No – I’m not due on ‘til next week” I say, “But I need to pee all the time, I’m nauseous all the time, and I’m dizzy”
“Needing to pee all the time comes later”
“No! The internet said it can happen right away because of the increase in blood flow to the kidneys” I protested, “It was on the internet – the internet knows everything”
“Jo, take a deep breath”
I stop in the middle of frozen deserts and take a deep breath. I’m being crazy, I must be.
“Maybe I’m being crazy” I say, a little ruefully.
“Look you could be, and if you are you are going to end up delivering at my wedding”
Damn Lynn and her ability to do math in her head.
I do finally come clean and tell Robert what I am thinking. His reaction is initially exactly as I expected – he is mortified. I bite my tongue when he asks those two stupid questions
“How? Why”
Well, duh, I am thinking…penis, vagina, sperm, ova, blah, blah, blah, we had sex.
“But you had wine – how could you do that if you thought you were pregnant”
“Well I didn’t think I was pregnant when I drank the wine”
He makes that “harrumph” sound that always irritates me, narrows his eyes as if he has suddenly developed x-ray vision and can see into my uterus.
“Okay, “he says, suddenly becoming the grown up in this little drama, “We need to do a test, and we need to proceed as if you are – no beer”
I smile, for a guy given to tantrums over stupid little things he really does step up when it is something big. We wait patiently for the next week, wondering if the fact that every other commercial is for a pregnancy test is a sign of some sort.
The nausea goes on for another couple of days, until the morning I rush out to work and forget to take my Prozac. No nausea. Surely not. Prozac has never made me sick before. So I miss it another day, no nausea, and another. Damn. It must be the Prozac. I have an appointment with a new psychiatrist the following week so I stop the Prozac altogether.
I meet my new psychiatrist who tisks at me for restarting the Prozac at 50mg after a 3 month self-prescribed holiday and restarts me at 20mg. It seems that the nausea was indeed caused by the drug. I stop at the bathroom on my way out of the hospital and lo and behold – not pregnant.
I was actually surprised at the way my heart sank.
And that was how it all started. It was if that one scare set off a weird uncontrollable cascade in me. I had always scoffed at the idea of a biological clock, viewing it as something invented to force women into pregnancy. Not so much now. I suddenly discovered (what I picture as) a giant old fashioned alarm clock with bells on the top living somewhere inside of me. Tick tock tick tock.
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