IVF.1

Excuse the typos, but I am writing this while breathing rapidly into a brown paper bag and I am not very good at multi-tasking.

I just bought airline tickets for us to go to DC on the 17th. On the 20th we will meet with the RE in Washington, do a mock embryo transfer, take a needle class and... something else. I don't remember exactly what because everything got fuzzy when I started to freak the bejeexums out.

I confess I wasn't expecting to be starting an actual IVF cycle quite so soon. We did a phone consult a week ago and now I am scheduled to start birth control pills in about 10 days. Then lupron. Then, um, something else and something else and then, god willing and the creek don't rise, we will be retrieving eggs in the middle of January. (JANUARY!) That's the right verb, isn't it? Eggs get retrieved?

Look, I am sorry! I have read every word that every blogger has ever written on the subject, I swear I have, but I just sort of glossed over the details. I know I should have a better sense of what occurs during a cycle (as 400 billion of my closest bestest friends have done at least one) but I am about as clueless as my mother when it comes to the whats-and-whens. Which is saying something. Wowza.

I am feeling rather ambivalent about this. No, not about doing an IVF cycle (that is evoking quite strong feelings of terror and anxiety and hopelessness, thank you) but about writing about doing an IVF cycle. Because who cares, really? I mean, it is very important to us to have another child but I am having trouble relating that to an overarching sense of global urgency. I don't suppose any of you would begrudge me a baby, should we be able to have one, but it is not like I can now pretend to be all casual and cool about the process, can I?

"Oh! Yes, we would like to have more children but we are just going to wait and see what happens. And while we are waiting and seeing... we will be moving the family across the country for the month of January (ok - two weeks) and handing thousands upon thousands of dollars over to a reproductive endocrinologist in exchange for a 25% chance of success. So, you know, it's all totally copacetic."

I guess I feel like an assplum writing about this. How do I explain that it isn't greedy for us to be doing this when, really, it looks pretty greedy from where I am sitting? If my life is a plastic sandwich bag then I have already crammed an entire loaf of crusty French bread in there. And a smoky ham. Now I am going to great lengths to squeeze in two dozen chocolate-covered strawberries and a bottle of wine. How can I expect you all to sympathize? I cannot.*

So if you do not feel like rooting for me on this one, if in fact you find yourself hoping that it fails utterly and I get inadvertently de-pants in the process... well, that's ok with me. I can relate to that kind of reproductive schadenfreude myself.**

Anyway, now that we have made peace and promised to be friends forever and ever (even if you do hope that we are pushing all that money into a pile just to burn it) I will get back to the pre-IVF freakout. Please note: 1) IVF will not work for us because we will be incredibly lucky to get even one normal embryo and that is just the starting point for IVF failures; 2) we are proceeding because we do not know what else to do; and 3) I have no Plan B so I am just pretending that I am the sort of person who does not desperately need to have a Plan B. But, squids, I AM THE SORT OF PERSON WHO DESPERATELY NEEDS TO HAVE A B PLAN.

In other news Patrick is absolutely delightful and I am thinking about having him freeze-dried. He still hasn't started speech therapy (o! accursed insurance committee! next week, I hope) but he is more and more understandable by the day. I am not sure if the fact that he produces more or less complete sentences helps or hinders the process. For example, I think if he just tried to say, "Patrick go out" we would have an easier time deciphering his needs then we do when he says, "Turn all the lights off! Let's all go in the blue car."

He is a big fan of hide-and-go-seek (as in he wants to play for hours upon hours each and every day) and prefers to hide in the powder room or between the hanging folds of a garment bag in our closet. However, he is flexible and always willing to just close his eyes in a pinch.

He then nudges us along by shouting, "Where did Patrick go? I don't know! I don't know where Patrick is! Is he under the table? No-oo-ooo. Is he in bed? No-ooo-oooo." It is so flipping adorable and I love his vaguely Norweigan accent ("No" sounds more than a little like "Nu-u-u.")

When we finally break into his one-man carnival act by asking, "Is Patrick (in the bathroom, in the garment bag, sitting right there with his eyes shut)?" he shouts with laughter and yells, "Yes I am!" before immediately racing off (or shutting his eyes) and starting again.

He's a lot of fun. Oh, and I forget who asked but yes, he did give up the pacifiers completely after I forced him to go cold turkey by throwing out the old ones at Target. Not realizing, of course, that it was the thick layer of diptheria that made those particular purple ones so especially good. And yes, bedtime and naptime sucked BUTT SALAD for about five days and then he was fine and we have never spoken of pacifiers again.         

*I know, I know. There is nothing about having a second or third or seventh child that is inherently greedy, as I realize and you guys have soothingly reassured me at intervals. Most people want more than one child, I believe. Somehow, though, I feel awkward writing it all down. I worry about articulating just how involved and expensive it is going to be, I guess because if you asked me WHY? I could only answer, "Because we want to." And what kind of an answer is that?   

**I mean, within reason. If you decide to vocalize (visualize?) these feelings too vehemently I might have to smite you. Just so you know. I am due for a good smiting.

**New freakout, just added: I randomly took my temperature this morning and it was, like, 62.1 or something. In addition to providing concrete evidence that I am actually slowly freezing death I am now horribly worried that I did not actually ovulate last week as I a) should have; b) appeared to; c) have done more or less on schedule for the past six years and d) am relying upon (!) hence the travel arrangements and ivf schedule and generally bompstableness. Damn it!