Posts Tagged 'womb energy'

And the Livin’ Is Easy

I did it. I got up and out of the house this morning. Small miracles.

I ventured across town for my first prenatal yoga class. I felt like a freshman in high school again (as I do about all things pregnancy). Most of the women in the class were much further along, but there was one woman at 16 weeks (pregnant with her second child). Even though I’ve done some yoga in the past, it has been a long time. It has been a long time since I’ve been off the couch and using my body. Even though I needed some support from the teacher, I didn’t feel judged. And the session actually felt good overall. There were some moves during which I thought, “Oh, na ah!” Not because they were hard moves—they were just hard for someone who’s been atrophying due to 20 weeks of nausea-induced stasis. Things hurt that didn’t hurt before I went to the class, but I think/hope that it’s the good kind of pain from stretching and using lost muscles.

At the end of the class, we went into shavasana, or corpse position (macabre, right?). It is actually a relaxation pose in which you lay back, close your eyes, and let everything you just did sink in. There had been music playing lightly in the background during the whole class, but after a few seconds in shavasana, the Gershwin song “Summertime” began to play. Now, I had been feeling really good, but as soon as this song started I had to relent to the emotions I knew would follow. You see, my dad used to sing this song to me often when I was a baby. At first, I smiled because I felt his presence. This happened the other day at the ultrasound as well. But my brain always jumps quickly from the happy, yay he’s with me to the eye-tearing, boo-hoo he’s not really here the way I need him to be. My brain then switches to shame for tearing up because he’d be so happy I’m finally pregnant and so happy I’m feeling better, that I shouldn’t be all sad and lossy. All those emotions in about 10 seconds. I know logically that there’s nothing wrong or shameful with missing my father, especially during this special time. But as Tina Turner should’ve said, “What’s logic got to do with it?”


Yes I Am

Magic Seahorse - 6 Wks

…nauseated, …tired, …girthy, …repulsed by food, …spacey, …hypersensitive to odor, …busty, …tired, …living on rice crackers


We did it! We found out two weeks ago today, but we wanted to see it for ourselves in order to believe it and then tell others. We thought for that whole time it might be twins (a very high HcG count on day 14 and a friend’s premonition of a boy and a girl), but today we saw and heard one beautiful, perfect heartbeat.

I never thought I could feel like puking so many hours of the day. I never thought my boobs could get so big. And the tiredness…it’s not like sleepiness or exhaustion. It’s an entirely different animal. But I’m so friggin’ happy (and in shock).

We’re still not “out of the woods”—I guess we have another 6 weeks before the all-clear whistle blows. In the meantime, a strong heartbeat is a great sign, and we’ve graduated from the fertility clinic! I know there are a ton of things I need to write about, but I’m trying to keep the eggs I finally got in me down. Distraction can be a lifesaver, but unconsciousness is best.

Thanks for y’all’s good wishes and prayers and stuff. I really believe this finally worked because of it.

To Sum Up

The past few days I have felt things/messages sent to my brain from my uterus saying, “Sorry!” once again. It’s hard to explain, and… it sucks. No one believes me because how would I know what’s going on in my body until a pregnancy test tells me?

In any case the blood test isn’t until next week. So while we wait, I thought I’d take a moment to summarize where we’ve been. I feel like I’m at the end of a long chapter, and, at least in textbooks, that’s where the summary goes.

I’ve always wanted to have a children, meaning, I used to think I wanted three (one girl and two boys, specifically). But as I grew up a little, I realized I just very much wanted the female human experience of making a baby and then raising it. I became an aunt at 10 and have loved me many a baby since. Once K and I were together, I knew she’d be the one I would do this with, but she was only 20 (I was 26). We would, of course, wait until we’d been together longer and she was ready to be a mom. After she became a massage therapist and we moved to Portland, we felt ready emotionally, but decided we should have a house first. So, we got our first home. Then we felt unprepared financially and had roommate drama to deal with. After a year or so, I got a job with health benefits and a salary. If I could wait to have a baby after my two-year anniversary at this company, I would get a lot more maternity leave. So we waited. In the meantime, I began charting and we began looking at sperm banks. Like all well-laid plans… About a year after I started this job, my dad’s health began declining pretty suddenly and confusingly. None of us knew the right thing to do, and so there was a lot of anxiety. About a month into this, K almost died. I spent a full month by her hospital bed while doctors (and our loved ones’ prayers) worked really hard and saved her. I spent the next year (and still) worrying about her and supporting her as she recovered and returned to her routine. During this time, my father got worse (with a lot of mini ups and downs). I traveled home a lot, often thinking it would be the last time I’d see him. A friend offered his services on the sperm front, and we got to try a couple of times. But six months after K came home, she had another, related health scare that just threw me over the edge. My systems shut down from all of the anxiety, and we put off trying again until after my dad passed away. At that point (early 2010), we needed to find a new donor. Once we did, we squeezed the hell out of him, thinking it was bound to work one of these times. I kept thinking there might be something wrong with his sperm, so we asked him to make changes and kept retesting him. It turns out that, all along, the problem was me. Here’s the cautionary tale part of this summary: ladies, if you’re thinking of trying to get pregnant, get your estradiol level tested, not just your FSH. For some reason that makes me so crazy mad I can’t think of it for too long, I had always had my FSH level tested, but it wasn’t until we’d given up on the “old fashioned” way and went to the fertility clinic that anyone mentioned estradiol. What we discovered is that I had a rapidly declining supply of good and/or healthy eggs. If I had known this at any point earlier, I would have done IVF then. But, as my dad said soon before he left, “What is is right.” And here we are. IVF (and the hormone injections that come with it) has turned out, for me, to be more physically, emotionally, and financially draining than I thought it would be. This is why I feel a chapter wrapping up; I don’t think I can do it again. Everyone likes to tell me that we can get a kid another way. I know this. But I am losing something if I cannot look into my baby’s face and pinpoint my father’s features. It’s this loss that will be the hardest to bear.

As I said, we find out next week. The following day is our 9-year anniversary. I made some plans for us to leave town the next day because, I figured, we can celebrate good news anywhere, but I can’t imagine all that devastation and disappointment ever coming out of our rugs, furniture and drapes if the news is bad. I want to be with K far away from things and people we know. I am hoping that, if it’s negative, we can scrub me of the horrible feelings many miles away and then bring me back a shell of my former self but one that won’t ruin our home or our friendships.

I know you’re rooting for us, and we appreciate it so much. I want you to know that I won’t be posting again for a while. I’m hoping to post sooner than later with good news, but it will still be some time. Thanks for your support and patience.

Post-Surgical Update (From: The Wife)

Hello, dear readers. I wanted to let you know that Basted’s protagonist is doing well after this morning’s egg retrieval. She was very nervous by the time we arrived at the fertility clinic, especially when the procedure was delayed for a last-minute platelet check (her platelets tend toward the lower end of normal). Luckily it took all of 20 minutes to get the news back that we were good to go.

My sweetie was hooked up to an IV, a nasal cannula for some extra oxygen, and HR, BP and O2 monitors, and then she got pumped full of fluids, an antibiotic, a pain med and a sedative. Our doctor—and I!—watched on the inter-vaginal ultrasound screen as he inserted a long needle through the wall of the vagina, through the ovarian wall, and right into the follicle. Our doc/nurse team repeatedly flushed the follicle full of fluid, then aspirated all of the fluid (and the egg!) down through the needle and some tubing into a vial. Next, the vial was handed through a little window into the adjacent room, where the andrology lab techs located the eggs and transferred them into a petri dish. This was repeated six times for a total of 6 oocytes. Yeehaw!

The sedative messed with my beloved’s vision, making everyone look like they were pinned to a rapidly spinning Price is Right wheel (her words), so she kept her eyes closed during the surgery. She developed some CRAZY itching from the painkiller that started at the bridge of her nose, then slowly spread down her face to her chest and belly. The anesthesiologist pushed some Benadryl into her IV line, which helped decrease the itching. Despite her now doubly sedated state, she labored to stay awake and express her gratitude to her nurse and both physicians (later remembering her desire to tell everyone how much she loved them, but feeling just alert enough to recognize stoner talk).

As the sedation and painkiller wore off post-surgery, stabbing cramps that went from pelvic floor to diaphragm set in and our protagonist’s face went white as a sheet. 500 mg of Oxycodone, one painful vaginal ultrasound and 45 long minutes later, our lovely nurse wheeled my girl out of the clinic, down the two elevators to the parking garage, and into the passenger seat of our car. She was given hugs, a shoulder rub, and many words of comfort and encouragement along the way.

Every little bump on our way home sent a spasm of pain up through her abdomen—I think my shoulders were glued to my ears with worry! My sweet girl was desperate to sleep when we finally got home, and she stumbled across the backyard and down the hall into bed, relief spreading across her face as her body settled into a familiar bed in a warm, dark room. She’s been napping (sometimes just lying still while her thoughts circle round and round) most of the day, waking up to eat, drink water, and take Vicodin. We’ve been able to stay ahead of this morning’s stabbing cramps, but she’s still in a lot of pain. She assures me that when she’s not moving, breathing deeply, or peeing, it’s manageable. On the upside, our nurse told us that she might not feel like eating much today, but to try to get some toast down with the painkillers—yet, our brave author ate her toast and jam and still desired a very specific cornmeal blueberry pancake from a nearby diner. Two angels (who happen to be just a week away from their own egg retrieval) helped her vision come to pass early this afternoon, and when she woke up from her last nap, she was disappointed to learn that I had not put together the slow-cooked apricot chicken Shabbos dinner she’d planned out yesterday. The course of the day has altered the menu to fish sticks for tonight.

So now what? E2’s sperm was injected into my girl’s eggs today, and tomorrow morning the doc will call and let us know how many of the eggs were mature and fertilized properly. Then the next evening brings the inter-muscular progesterone injections into my poor little blueberry muffin, but this time we’re working with the hindquarters. Meanwhile, the magicians in the andrology lab will keep an eye on the little embryos’ develop over the next 3-5 days, at which point an embryo/embryos will be transferred into a very nice new home. Ten days after that comes the pregnancy blood test. Please send your positive thoughts our way over the next couple of weeks; we could sure use them. I send my love out to all of you following along and supporting us through this long, trying experience—we appreciate you more than you can imagine.

Fun with Acrostics

H appiness
S idesteps
G irl who had appendicitis

H iring
S urrogate
G aining ground as option

H ow
S o many
G et pregnant is beyond me

H ey
S een any
G ood movies lately about a girl who has to get X-ray dye squirted through her fallopian tubes with the hope that nothing’s in there but that if there are adhesions left behind by an infected appendix said dye will push ’em out?

No? Me neither. But I hear one is coming out soon starring Sandra Bullock as an aging lesbian with a penchant for self-effacing humor, who desperately wants to have a baby. A true family film, just in time for Christmas!

So, it’s been confirmed. It’s not him; it’s me. We had E2’s swimmers tested again, and his count is great. My OB/GYN got a hold of the op report from my appendectomy a few years ago, which said my appendix was, in fact, infected. She informed me that women who’ve had appendicitis are more likely to have fertility problems, and that since I also had further infections from the surgery itself, I am probably a walking ball of scar tissue. She strongly recommended I get an HSG (hysterosalpingogram), which allows the doctor to see in my tubes. As the coming Bullock Blockbuster will portray, I will be crossing my fingers for no blockage, or for adhesions that scatter at the sight of X-ray dye. In these two cases, I am to inseminate immediately. My chances of conception will be highest in the three cycles following this test. If there are serious adhesions that don’t let the dye through… I don’t know. Don’t want to know right now. Assume it means more surgery. Don’t want it. (I apologize for my sentence structure. It breaks down and I turn four when I think about bad things.)

On the bright side (yes, I can see a blue sky, flowers, bunnies, and things like that), I’ve been enjoying a long cycle off. Actually, it was a shorter cycle than usual, probably because I didn’t take vitex or progesterone or nothin’. I gave myself a supplement break, which gave me a 22-day cycle. But still, it seemed long and luxurious with not stick peeing or temperature taking.

As of right now, I’m thinking of a December HSG test and insemination. Either my birthday or Jesus’. I haven’t decided.

Born of Lies

My future child, that is.

Today is E2’s birthday. We picked him up for today’s insemination (we no longer accept post-biking sperm) and presented him with a little gift once we got back to our place. He was so surprised and seemed to like it. Then we were chatting, and it came up how there was one day during the previous round’s insemination when we had escorted my mom to a nearby cafe for the duration (high tea for The Womb Mum). Then I said to K, “Hey, I don’t think I even wrote about that yet!” At this point the kitchen fell silent, and K did her best to defuse my comment by saying, “Yeah, Malka likes to write to her sisters to keep them updated.” Then E2 said, “Gee, I thought you were going to say that you write a blog about all this.” And that’s when I went flush. “No, no. I’d never do that.” I slipped, and I fell into my own big, fat, stinky lie.

As we waited in our room for E2 to do his thing and bring out the goods, I tortured myself about having lied. I’m a terrible person, I said. (K just smiled and told me she loves the way I say, “terrible.”) He’s going to find out and know that I lied to him. And he’ll read all those mean things I said early on about him not calling back quick enough to keep me from freaking out. K saw my spiraling and tried her best to convince me that it was a small fib. But as she knows, I hate lying. I hate it worse that I walked myself into it.

E2 is such a great guy. So much greater than we realized when we picked him to be our donor. The more we get to know him, the more I’m sad that we’ll have to not see him for at least 18 years. I know I could go delete those old posts I wrote when I didn’t really know him and couldn’t imagine that I could trust a complete stranger so intimately. But that wouldn’t undo the lie. Have I tainted the whole thing? Will E2 learn of this blog and hate me? Will the child born of this lie grow up to be a compulsive liar or car thief?

These are the questions on which I get to ruminate while not falling asleep tonight.

(Oh, and happy new year to all my Jewey blog followers. May our lord find it in his infinite wisdom to forgive me my lie and still give me an honest baby.)

No Shame

I blatantly took over the holding of a friend’s baby at a 4th of July party for my own selfish purposes. Sure, the baby is adorable and I would want to hold him anyway. But I was using that little guy for his weight in baby juju. I sniffed the head (and kissed it, too!), really concentrating on the yummy feel of him. It’s funny how the longer this process takes the more superstitious I’m becoming! If I’m not pregnant by the end of the summer, you’ll probably find me with a Ouija board or reading my tea leaves.

Actually, I’m feeling kind of down today, and not just because we’ve had cold cloudy days for the past I don’t know how many. My basal body temp has dropped 3 hundredths of a degree each day for the past three days. I know that is minuscule, but the downward trend is what has me funkin’.

I appreciate the reminder that each unsuccessful try is getting us closer to the successful one, but for right now I’m shamelessly singin’ the progesterone cream blues.

(Disclaimer: No men were harmed in the making of this blog.)

The Family

Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 41 other followers