Lucky Duck

At 5:30 a.m. this morning I woke to the blaring sound of the alarm clock (it is my summer vacation mind you). At first I wanted to reach over and throw the stupid thing out of the window, then I remembered...doctor's appointment! I shot out of bed and began the preparations for you know "that" kind of appointment. By 7:00 we were in the car and on our way.

As they call my name to go in, I am confident and cool. I am expecting good news today. However, the confidence flew right out the window when I heard the words, "step up onto the scale please." Damn it! The carrot cake is getting the last word after all. Luckily, I didn't gain...didn't lose, but still didn't gain!

Once we are in the room I instruct my husband to sit in the chair behind the curtain (I am still a little modest about this stuff). The doctor however had a different approach, she boisterously enters the room like a giant ball of sunshine and says to my husband, " What are ya shy or something? Get on out of there and enjoy the show!" And he did. I didn't mind really, she was right he needs to kind of know what is going on too.
During the exam she gives us a little tour of my uterus on the ultrasound screen using words like: beautiful, adorable, and cutie pie to describe the various things that she sees. For example, my bladder was adorable, my uterus was beautiful, and the follicles on my ovaries were just little ol' cutie pies. (Secretly I was proud that I had a beautiful uterus).
Turns out that I have five follicles that could turn into fertilizable eggs. Wow...this is the great news that I was hoping for! We are stoked! We were kind of freaked by the number 5, but beggars can't be choosers, right?

As I am just about to leave the office another patient says to me, "how'd it go, good news?" And then I said something that one can only really say in a fertility clinic (or in a hen house I guess) "yes, I have 5 good eggs." "Ohhhh," she replies, "Lucky Duck, I only had 3."

And I left with a renewed sense of confidence, because I was after all a very lucky duck!

Carrot Cake

One of the perks to being barren (w/PCOS) is you get to enjoy a life free of pasta, chips, crackers, cookies, cakes, etc... All of the things that I love most in this world (as far as food goes anyway) are off limits for me. Apparently this "diet" (or torture) is supposed to help my jacked up ovaries be a little less jacked up. Being a carboholic it takes everything within me to avoid those sweet and starchy treats that I adore so much...but, I'm willing to do it, you know for the baby!

So, earlier today my husband was running up to the store for something and very kindly asked me if I needed anything. My reply..."Carrot Cake," of course! He then asks me in a very concerned tone, "can you even have carrot cake?" I pretend not to hear him and dash into the bathroom. I wasn't really serious about the carrot cake, it was more like a wish...but yes, way down deep in my carb deprived body I so wanted it!

Later on, I go into the kitchen to start dinner and what do I see sitting upon my counter top? A delicious, glorious, magnificent carrot cake! It was just sitting there as if God himself had just sent it down from the heavens. At that moment I didn't know if I wanted to eat it or make out with it. I swear it called out to me and like the good girl that I am I answered the call...with a fork!

Suddenly, I was overcome with guilt. I quickly put the cake away (facing the missing piece toward the back of the fridge), threw my dishes in the dishwasher and desperately tried to get rid of the evidence.

Oh! Crap! What have I done?? Have I ruined my chances for this month? Have I destroyed my ovaries even more? What do I do? What do I do?

An idea strikes. I frantically run upstairs pop a disc into the Wii and hula hoop my ass off!

My theory is that I can burn those carbs and sugars off before they have a chance to invade my precious ovaries. Did it work? I have no idea, but I did feel better...sort of.

Dealing with infertility has taught me something...I really, really love carrot cake!

Sweat Attack!

I am sitting at my computer upholding my daily Facebook commitment when out of nowhere sweat begins to poor from every surface of my body. I wipe my hand across my lip and...GROSS, lip sweat! Knee sweat. Elbow sweat. Everywhere is sweat-sweat! (sorry, had to do it) Then I realize...this is not normal, something is not right. I immediately go to my browser and type in the name of every medication that I am on, and yep...just as I suspected...Hot Flash! My thoughts at that moment: Holy Crap, I'm 31 years old and I'm having a freakin hot flash!

Apparently one of the side effects to some of my "baby making magic pills" is hot flashes! Awesome! So let me get the straight...I am crying at everything I see on t.v. (including commercials), I'm changing moods like it's my job, I'm starving (and would kill someone for a doughnut), let's not forget the nauseousness that frequents all too often, and now I have the power to break out into a profuse sweat at random. Sweet! Oh, wait on top of all of this...I am supposed to feel pretty and have sex at some point (you know to actually make a baby).

This just keeps getting better! Oh, but wait there's more...tomorrow I get to start injecting myself with even more medicine...Bonus!

The Secret Life of the Infertile

As I type this I am internally contemplating whether or not I should...and the winner is...I should, well, maybe not should but will!

This is a blog about infertility and why it sucks! If you are reading this I am assuming that you too have dealt with the subject or perhaps are just really really bored! So get ready...this is my story, the good, the bad, and the really-really gross!!

In the Beginning
Six years ago (almost seven really) I became a mother. No drugs, no tricks (well, that depends on what one classifies as "tricks"), no blogs...just good old fashioned conception. Viola! There he was, after 21 hours of labor and a last minute C-section...that is. Not really the heavenly lights shining down upon me and the Angels singing kind of experience I had expected, but I was a mother nonetheless. Fifteen months after giving birth I found myself unexpectedly "knocked up" again. After the initial shock dissipated, we were really happy. Being that there is a five year age difference between my siblings and I, I was excited to have children close together. Happiness eventually turned to horror when I lost the pregnancy. I cried, I grieved, I ate a lot of Cheetos, but eventually I healed and moved on with my life. Almost two years later, after only a few months of trying I saw those glorious double lines once again! Oh, but the happiness did not last long I miscarried at 10 weeks, and again with the Cheetos...wha-wha-whaaaaaaaaa! This time I was severely pissed. I was angry at everyone, my doctor, my husband, my job, the mail man. I expected the whole town to shut down and grieve for my loss, even though very few people even knew I was pregnant. I still thought I deserved some kind of memorial for having to go through such suckish circumstances. This one took a little longer to get over, especially when people heard about what happened. You see, I live in a really small town. (No, really a very small town) Word travels fast around here, and for the most part people where very kind and sympathetic to my situation...for the MOST PART. However, there are those few people who should not be gifted with the ability to speak who had the audacity to say to me "do they know what is wrong with you?" WHAT? Are you kidding me?? Since then I have come to realize that when you have 1 miscarriage people feel sorry for you and try to make you feel better, but when you have more than 1 you are instantly a member of this "they have problems" club. It's like you have a disease and people what to know what it is and how they can keep from getting it. I had friends who didn't want to talk about the subject of pregnancy around me because they thought I would jinx them or something. It is not contagious people...at least not from one person to another.

The Fertility Train
So here I am 3 years later...still not pregnant, but no more miscarriages so that's a plus!?! I am so blessed to have one son, he is wonderful and perfect, and I know this!! But, I deeply desire (with every fiber of my being) more children. I originally wanted 4, I'm Italian so it's kind of my job to have a big family. We have been trying to conceive (ttc in message board lingo) for 3 years...with no luck obviously. Last September AF came to visit as she does every month, however she apparently had decided that a "visit" just wasn't long enough so she moved herself on in...and stayed for 40 days!!!!! Yes, 40 days!!! A whole new kind of flood! (you see, this is the really-really gross part). I ended up having to go on medication to get her to go on her merry way and then began seeing a specialist, a "reproductive endocrinologist" to be exact. So, I guess that nosey old lady was right, there really was something wrong with me.

After lots of tests, and surgery I found out that I have Poly cystic Ovary Syndrome(PCOS), or just "jacked up ovaries" as I like to call them. I am only 31, what the heck?? I should not have fertility issues!!! My husband, who is 10 years older than me, passed his test (and you know what kind of test I am talking about) with flying colors! In fact, when the doctor gave us his results he mentioned that my husband may even want to put them on the refrigerator for display. I believe, "you could give some 20 year olds a run for their money," were his exact words.

So here I am, on my 3rd round of Fertility drugs, blogging about it, and on a special low carb diet - Awesome!

(Warning if I run into you and you have a sandwich there is a strong possibility that one of us will not walk away from the situation, there is an even stronger possibility that that person will not be me...I'm frustrated, on hormones, and hungry...watch the eff out America!)