Women are from Venus, Men are......

Yep, they're from Mars alright.  Sometimes I wonder what the heck Joe is thinking.  (Except I usually think hell instead of heck, but I'm trying to be less of a potty mouth)  I thought I would share a little conversation we had the other night with my lovely and devoted blog followers.  This would be the time for consoling if you feel compelled.  At least make me feel better by dogging your hubby too.

We're lying in bed Sunday night and I told Joe that this was going to be a super stressful time for me and he had to promise to be extra sweet and understanding.  Of course he swears he's already extra sweet and understanding.  Really?  Is there not ANY room for improvement?  Considering that I'll be SHOOTING MYSELF IN THE STOMACH WITH NEEDLES FOR THE NEXT MONTH, do you think you could muster a little something extra?  So he promises he'll "do better."  That's about as lame as when you're 10 and you ask your Daddy if you can go to the fair and he says, "We'll see."  Of course that means hell no...I mean heck no.  Come on Joe!  Gimme your word!  In my fantasy, Joe will say, "Certainly I will be super duper sweet my beautiful Baby Love!  I will give you daily back and foot rubs, bring home Rocher chocolates, empty the litterbox and do all the laundry."  Is that too much to ask?  Did I mention I will be stabbing myself with giant needles over the next month?

No other IVF update today.  Feeling pretty normal on the birth control.  Doesn't it seem weird to take birth control pills to get yourself pregnant?  Talk about ironical!

Happy Day!

Can I BE any busier? (in my best Chandler voice)

Life is just crazy, let me put that out there.  I've always thought I crumbled under pressure, but I seem to be thriving.  What's up with that?!  Here's what's on my plate:

• New job (includes training, lots of reports, lots of reading, lots of webinars and a good bit of driving around Baldwin county...have I mentioned I love my new boss?)
• Packing my house (how can it take an entire day to pack my office closet? I hope Mamma is still planning to help this week....)
• Paperwork for new house and lot (jeesh I'm sick of paperwork, contracts and phone calls!)
• I found a cute rental house today, but boy is it tiny.  3 bedrooms and 2 baths never seemed so small.  On the flipside, the yard seemed disproportionately large.  Joe won't appreciate that when it comes time for yardwork.  Sucks to be him. 
• Fixing all things broken as agreed upon in home inspection.  How did we go 4 years with broken glass in the door and never fix it??!!
• Did I gain a pound overnight?  I guess wine and sushi does that.  Note to self:  no more wine and sushi.

Wasn't this blog supposed to be dedicated to my IVF??!  I'm happy to report, nothing is new today.  No tests, no bloodwork, not even the infamous ultrasound.  I talked briefly with my IVF coordinator, Sabrina, and all things are on schedule.  My FSH (google it) is 6, which is perfect.  My estrogen is also perfect.  That's what continues to baffle me, all tests are basically normal and we need medical intervention to have a baby.  Joe keeps suggesting we meet at a bar, get rip roaring drunk and go to a hotel for a "hookup."  If only it were that easy....

Infertility does not make me weak, it makes me stronger!

The medical community defines infertility as the inability to become pregnant after 6 months of trying to conceive (otherwise known as TTC) if you're over 35.  I'm 35 and one month old.  I am infertile.  Interestingly or perhaps ironically, I am not in tears as I write this statement.  I have definitely shed my share of tears over the past 16 months, but as of today, I am more hopeful than sad.  I can even joke about my inadequate reproductive status sometimes, so feel free to comment/console/question accordingly.

Today starts my IVF journey to become a mommy.  I had my very first cycle day 3 blood work and ultrasound this Sunday morning at 8:15.  I didn't even know Drs. worked on Sundays!  In the infertility world, ultrasounds are either "tooty" or "nontooty."  Okay, that's just my description, the Dr. really doesn't schedule me for a tooty ultrasound.  Tooties are the ones where they put the ultrasound wand in your...uhh....hoo ha, versus the traditional ones on your belly.  Now that we've cleared that up, please excuse my blatant disregard for propriety throughout my blogging journey.  If I have to forfeit my modesty, then you have to read about it.

According to Dr. Koulianos (otherwise known as Dr. K, the Reproductive Endocrinologist) my uterus and ovaries are better than average, but have a few extra follicles.  I've always considered myself an overachiever, so I was pretty proud of that.  He then explained that extra follicles could be a bad thing and that may be why I haven't gotten pregnant yet.  Hmmph!  So much for excellence!  I've always only had female Ob/Gyns, so I was kinda embarrassed this morning when Dr. K (a DUDE) was poking around down there, but my excitement over the whole process prevailed and I was glad to have the expert in my nether regions.  I guess Joe is *truly* the expert, but you know what I mean.  ;-)

Here's what will happen over the next 9 weeks:

1. Birth control for one month to "quiet my system and make it do what Dr. K wants it to do."
2. Lots of injections (i.e. shots) with medication that stimulates my ovaries to work in overdrive and produce bunches and bunches of eggs.  The more the better!
3. Retrieval of those eggs in an outpatient surgery procedure under anesthesia.  (Drugs are cool....mmmkay)
4. Fertilize the eggs with Joe's swimmers in a petri dish
5. Transfer of no more than two of the now embryos back into the uterus (through the tooty)
6. Wait for two weeks to find out if it worked!
7. Rinse and repeat (hopefully not necessary!!)

My goal is to blog daily about my thoughts and feelings going through this process.  I'll also post updates to keep you apprised of my progress.  I am a firm believer in prayer, so if you could add me to your prayer list, I would most appreciate it.  If you're a finger crosser, I'll take that too please.

Love,

Lindsey