Fun with etymology

Urofollitropin is derived from...

a) space dust cast off of Uranus

b) the "black blood" of the Uros, pre-Incan people who live in Peru and Bolivia

c) the urine of post-menopausal women

d) don't be ridiculous, Amy, these are all completely absurd

If you picked c, you are correct. I am injecting old lady pee into my abdomen. I am alternating the injection sites across my belly with Lovenox, a blood thinner that, in theory, will help the blood flow issues that may or may not have caused my previous failures. Lovenox-Bravelle-Lovenox-Bravelle, like so:

Heh. I'm perforated.

This made me so happy, I had to fight tears

Those of you who have known me since my single-digit years are well aware that The Sound of Music is my absolute most favorite movie ever. And I mean ever. But Amy! You'll say. You watch Bring It On every time they show it on TBS! How can that possibly not be your favorite? There are many reasons, but perhaps the most important is that Bring It On would never inspire 200 people to do this:

OMG! A Sunday Seven!

Well, hello there. Long time, no see. This week's Sunday Seven is titled: The Funny Thing About Infertility. No, seriously. Sometimes this shit is just amusing.

1. A new diagnosis

My doctor decided it would be best to have me tested for various immunological issues in an attempt to pin down exactly why I keep failing to get knocked up. Twelve vials of blood and two weeks later, I received an email from him explaining that YES, thank you Jebus, there IS something wrong with me that we can fix easily. I have a mutation in my methylenetetrahydrofolate reductase gene. Say that three times fast. Or, use the abbreviation – MTHFR. Yes, MTHRFKR, indeed.

2. Desperate Times

I have spent a great deal of my life trying to maintain at least a modicum of anonymity. I eschew public speaking at all costs and I hate seeing myself in pictures or video. Well. When someone offers you thousands of dollars worth of medical services for free if you speak on camera, things change quickly.

Have you ever Googled yourself? Time was when (like, a month ago) that if I wanted to check out my presence on the interwebs, the only hits I got were this blog, and my Facebook and LinkedIn pages. But now… go ahead. Do it. Google me.

3. Desperate Measures

I could totally win a game of "Never Have I Ever." Ever been interviewed on camera without any pants on? Just asking.

4. When you can't pray to anyone

One day, when my children ask me where they came from, I will tell them that storks brought them. And I won’t even be lying:

This is a Polish fertility talisman bestowed upon me by Theresa’s mother-in-law, Linda, and holds the esteemed position of being simultaneously the most charming and the most hideous thing I’ve ever been given. It has a long history of granting the baby-making wishes of women. The woman who gave the statue to Linda was “deadly serious” in her insistence that this was not to be taken lightly, and that it was highly effective. We shall see.

5. When it really is DIY

At our last go-‘round at the fertility clinic, I was waiting to be brought into the Procedure Room for the egg retrieval. The doctor came around to tell us it wouldn’t be long, and Ben asked when it would be time for his contribution to the process. The doctor reassured him that someone would take care of him. A short pause followed and he then felt the need to clarify (and reassure me, I suppose).

“Well, it’s not a service that we provide.”

6. He does it all for the presents

Ben: Sweetie, it’s Father’s Day, and I did not receive a gift.

Me: [thinking he was gonna get all mushy and serious] …

Ben: I give, and I give and I give into little cups and I have NO PRESENTS to show for it.

7. Plastic tubing gets me soooo hot

Last Saturday I was in Boston at Theresa and Chris’s wedding/baby celebration. Chris was discussing the possibility of inappropriate shower games wherein the guests have to answer questions like “What date was the baby conceived?” or “What position were you in?” I was thinking that my answers to these questions would be absolutely high-larious – “Well, I was definitely on my back. There were three other people in the room and it involved about 3 feet of plastic tubing…”

The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly

Part 3A: The Good

It seems there finally came a point where the universe decided it had been shoveling shit at us for long enough.

We met with our doctor a couple weeks ago to discuss what we wanted to do next. He was not keen on us trying another frozen embryo cycle. We’ve done two, and something is obviously not working. He suggested we try IVM, a relatively new method (in the US, at least) that was developed for women with PCOS. (Hi! That’s me!) In vitro maturation, rather than in vitro fertilization (IVF), requires little or no stimulating drugs. If you recall, that’s what nearly killed me last year. Instead of maturing eggs and then retrieving them, immature eggs are removed from the ovaries and matured over 24-48 hours in a petri dish full of some sort of special, magical media. Once mature, they’re then fertilized and three days later transferred back to my yooteris.

We will be part of a study of IVM. Because of my history and diagnosis, I can’t be randomized. We WILL be in the IVM group. Thank you, medical ethics. And. And-and-and-and-and. If we fail, they will continue to use our frozen embryos – the seven we already have plus however many are created from this new egg retrieval and fertilization – until our insurance cap runs out and then keep going for free until we succeed or run out of embryos, whichever comes first. In exchange, we have agreed to do a little PR for them and for IVM in an interview with a reporter from the New York Times. Fair? Yes, very.

So once again, this could be cool or this could suck. We won’t know for a few weeks which way it will swing. We’ve decided to tempt fate and order a few bottles of wine from wine.com, just to screw with the universe a little.

The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly

Part Two: The Ugly

I’ve walked around for about six weeks now blaming the extra pudge I’m carrying around my midsection on all the hormones.

But now I’m off the hormones.

This is just how fat I am. Phooey.

The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly

Part One

Not in that order. We’ll start with the bad:

It didn’t work.

“Not so comfy, akshully.”

Big fat fail.

Negatory.

There’s not really much to tell here, really. We did the embryo transfer earlier this month. Eight days later – on my birthday, no less – we found out my hCG level was less than 1, far from the 5 it needed to be. Awesome. The extra kick in the nuts was that I had to continue to jab myself in the ass with giant needles for two more nights until I got the official word after the second blood test that it was a bust. Phooey.

Fingers Crossed