Holiday News

Baby or no baby?

As I mentioned in my last post, there have been some strange timing parallels between this and our first round of IVF. And, if you don't follow me on Facebook (www.facebook.com/imgonnabeawhat) you might be wondering if there have been any new parallels - like some good news. Unfortunately, the timing of the test(s) was the extent of the similarities. We found out on Tuesday that our blastocyst didn't "stick" and I was told to stop taking my medication. It was tough news for sure, but there was a ray of hope. I was on a strict diet that would have left me eating just turkey and green beans for Thanksgiving, but thanks to this news I was able to be fully glutinous with everyone else!

In all seriousness, it was a blow. We had kind of taken for granted that this process can be difficult since we had such success with the first attempt. We both assumed my test would be positive and that we would be on schedule for a baby in August. It's not like we had gone out and bought a crib or anything, but we were starting to let ourselves be hopeful and a little excited about the process. For anyone who has experienced a pregnancy loss, you know that's not easy to do, but we were trying. Then, to have that door closed on us again was that much more difficult. And having the holidays upon us again has been tough. There are just so many reminders of what we went through before and where we thought we would be this year. But we just have to trust that it will happen when it is meant to, and clearly that wasn't November 2012 for us.

Our specialists don't do a cycle in December (which is why we went with November in the first place) so we have to wait until mid-January to do another transfer. But now that we know things may not work out - my "magic" uterus apparently used up too much fairy dust on our first attempt - we have to seriously think about whether to try one blastocyst again or go back to two. There is always that fear of ending up with two or three babies. But the odds are so slim it's almost worth not having to pay for the whole cycle more times than needed. (It costs us about $1,200-$1,500 each time now for the frozen embryo process.) It costs the same whether we transfer one or two, so I want to ask if there is any benefit to transferring our last four separately other than the risk of multiples. At least we have some time before we have to make that decision.

Hopefully, my entire body will benefit from waiting until January. My back is still unstable and I have two more physical therapy appointments. Maybe waiting will allow me to continue to get in better shape and get my back that much stronger so I am happier and healthier for a pregnancy. This last year really took a toll on my entire body. Not only is my back still recovering from the surgery, but I have my normal degenerative disc stuff, new knee pain and inflexibility, and my hip has gotten worse. (I had osteomyelitis as a child, which left me arthritic in one hip.) Basically, I'm an old woman in a young woman's body and that makes me worry about how well my body will take any pregnancy, especially one where I need to carry twins. So perhaps extra time is for the best.

Although January feels so far away, it really isn't. I have another appointment on December 6 to talk about the next cycle and to get new medication instructions. That's only two weeks away. And the office is in the hospital for one week right in the middle of January. That's only about seven weeks from now. Not long at all, really. So in the meantime, I'm going to eat every high potassium food I can find and enjoy some good wine and maybe even a Long Island iced tea (I've always wanted to try one) through the holidays. By January, I'll be sick of gluttony, my back will be a rock, and my knees will be flexible again. And hopefully my uterus will have its magic back... but not too much magic. Just enough for one little baby who we can meet this time next year.

Twas the Night Before Transfer

'Twas the night before transfer and all through my mind swam thoughts of good doctors and nurses so kind... Forget that! I have a much better story to tell... and in a form far less challenging to fill.

When I began this blog, the intended audience was really just me, so I don't think I really wrote down my original transfer story. I thought that now, on the eve of my second one, might be the perfect opportunity. I'll warn you, the story will be humorous, but also filled with details of things that might make you squeemish. Read at your own risk.

As I've mentioned before, most baby-making processes are done in an enjoyable way and mainly as a matter between a man and a woman. Not ours. In order for us to make a baby, we needed a team of experts in white coats with clipboards and stethoscopes. On this particular day, what was to be the day of conception, we arrived early at the hospital. I didn't know what to expect, so I was essentially in my PJs, sans contacts and makeup. Lovely, right? Upon arrival, the woman handed me a bottle of water and informed me to drink it. Now, I have a weak bladder in general. If I have a lot to drink at dinner and then go to a movie, you could bet money that I'll be up at least once during the flick to use the bathroom. Now, right before I get the most technical PAP smear of my life, this woman is making me down water? Great. But I am good at following directions, so down it goes.

They eventually call me back. I don my lovely blue gown and grey booties and crawl into their poor excuse for a bed and under their even poorer excuses for blankets. (Seriously, I might have well have brought a role of paper towels with me!) Then, the nurse came to ask all of the typical questions, but there were two significant differences with this process. One, the hospital had just gone to a new paperless system and the nurses were NOT happy about it. Two, I had just gone through the first stage of my first IVF cycles, so I was literally on a gazillion different medications, none of which did I have the correct dosages for. So you can imagine how well that went. The nurse was friendly enough, but she stumbled through every screen while trying to make the most of the names and directions I could relay.

Once that was done, it was finally time. Two nurses grabbed my gurney and began to wheel me off to places unknown. Brian leaned in and gave me a kiss and off we went! The hallways got colder and colder until I knew we had to be close. (Those damn operating rooms have to be so cold! Normally, you're sedated; but not this time.) We entered a cold, sterile room and the two nurses, joined by another, helped shift me off my gurney and onto another table. It was FREEZING and I was essentially naked, so they kept piling warm "blankets" on me while simultaneously spreading my legs and guiding my feet into stir-ups. (Not the best way to keep warm, mind you.) At this point, I am in full OBGYN position here: butt scootched down to the edge of this table, feet in hard metal stir-ups. But this time, there was a swarm of medical professionals around me. At the doctor, I normally end up with the doc and one assistant; not here! There were my two regular nurses, one or two others who flit in and out, and then others who streamed through just to get supplies. Seriously? You might have well have put the water cooler in this OR!

I was then notified that I needed to scoot my butt down even farther on the table. I wasn't sure why until the whole table began to shift. It was like I was lying on a Transformer! The lower half slowly dropped straight to the floor and they put a little doctor's stool right there in the sweet spot. Awkward! But I tried to chat with the swarm of nurses until my doctor finally arrived.

When the doctor finally came in, he greeted me warmly and did a quick check of the situation. Still surrounded by my nursing swarm, I looked past the doctor over to my left (note: this is crotch-side real estate) and a window opens in the wall! It's the lab! I've now got four plus nurses, a doctor, and a window into the lab directly facing my girly bits! (My mom always said you lose all modesty when you have a baby... and she didn't have to go through this!) The doc asked for my blastocycts, the lab confirmed, and a few guys (really, do you need more than one?) passed my little petri dish through the window. Now it was time.

For any woman who has every had an annual, you pretty much know what came next. The hand moving down your leg so the doctor doesn't "surprise" you with his tools. (No, I'm not being dirty. Shame on you.) Insert speculum. The shoving of mysterious elements up into your vagina. But this time, he had to swab my cervix several times (which, by the way, isn't the most pleasant of sensations) and then he shoved a catheter-like tube up inside that contained some fluid and my two little fertilized eggs. Not that this wasn't pleasant enough, but at this point I also had to pee like you wouldn't believe. That bottle of water had definitely caught up to me and I was ready to burst. And the worst part? I didn't even need to drink it! It was just a precaution in case the doctor needed to do an ultrasound to guide him during the procedure. I expressed my need to the nurses and was informed I wouldn't be able to get up for another hour, so they decided to insert a catheter. Now, I've had a catheter before, but I was unconscious both when it was inserted and removed, and I've got to say that is the way to go. That was far worse than the whole freaking procedure had been! But, relief I wanted and relief I received. The doctor was in and out and gone. But I wasn't going anywhere.

When they do this procedure, they take a lot of precautions. Most people get to have sex and then cuddle or simply go about their day, but considering how much money IVF patients pay, they want to give us the best chances possible. This means I literally had to stay flat on my back for the next 24 hours. But first, I spent 20 minutes on my Transformer table where the drop-down part had come back up, but the entire thing had tilted so that I was in a reverse angle with the blood rushing to my head "to keep things in." So, that meant 20 more minutes of awkwardness as nurses flowed in and out around my shivering gauze-thin blanket covered nakedness while I tried to relax on an upside-down table. Sex has never looked so good.

After my time had passed, I was transferred back to the gurney and into an outpatient waiting facility while they slowly raised my bed's angle until I could sit up, get dressed, get wheeled down to the car, and sped home so I could get back on my, well, back again. And that's how I stayed for the next 24 hours. Ah, memories.

I am now ten hours away from repeating this entire process again. Yippee? I know that in our case it's a necessary evil, and luckily I don't have white coat syndrome or anything near the like, but it certainly isn't my idea of a good time. And, like my first visit back to the fertility clinic, I'm not sure how I'll feel once I arrive at the hospital. I supposed time will tell. So, wish me luck and perhaps I'll have a different transfer story to tell you in a few days... and hopefully a much better story to tell in nine months.

Weeping Angels

Lurking Weeping Angel
from Dr. Who

You know that feeling when you step into a place and you feel like you've been there before? Or you have a conversation you swear happened months or years prior? That's deja vu. It's usually pretty subtle - a hunch or fleeting feeling of familiarity - but mine has been much more concrete. Sometimes I feel like this entire year has really been an episode of The Twilight Zone, complete with flashbacks and an ending that feels more like the beginning of an entirely different creepy story. And more present than my lurking monsters is the feeling that we've done this before.

Now I know what you're thinking: of course you've done this before! You really have lost your mind! But that's not what I mean. It's more the emotion of the thing. Last year, we stepped into this process quickly and hesitantly. As you know, I went for an informational meeting (by myself) and committed us to an IVF cycle the following month. This year, I've had nothing else on my mind but trying again; however, when the time came, it felt equally rushed and I was even more hesitant. The last time, I had a really hard time feeling excited about the pregnancy. (Perhaps this had something to do with the needles, bizarre and terribly restricting diet, and the surgeries.) I bought books and we poured through baby things, from names to supplies. This time, it's hard to let myself look through those baby things and it's hard to get excited. As I told my friend today, it's hard to find the balance between skepticism and excitement. And it doesn't help that looking at baby stuff sends echoes of the past washing over me. How to you get excited to restart the thing you failed so epically at the first time?

But aside from the emotional deja vu, there are some very concrete reminders. Of course, there are the physical things like the sharps container, pill routines, and wonderfully pleasant vaginal ultrasounds. But as if repeating the process might allow me to forget, fate seems to be playing a cruel trick. Last year, we started this process in August, transferred in October, and mainly had appointments on Tuesdays and Thursdays. This year, we started in October, will transfer in November, and have had most of our appointments on Mondays. But despite those differences, and against all rational prediction, major dates are echoing each other. Our second ultrasound this cycle was on Halloween. Last year, we found out we were having twins at an ultrasound on Halloween. And I just found out that I will do lab work to determine if I am pregnant after the transfer (which, by the way, is now Sunday Nov. 11) two days before Thanksgiving. Last year, two days before Thanksgiving, I learned I was having triplets. Seriously?! What are the odds? And why do I seem to have all of the bad luck?

Sometimes I'm okay. I can see the connections and look at the past, but then look forward and into the future. Other times, the parallels stick with me and I just can't shake them. Today was one of those days. It wasn't that I was focused in on this new Thanksgiving-related coincidence. I wasn't even picturing my experience that time last year. It was just an emotion - an overwhelming sadness. I can't say I was specifically mourning the loss of my children, but I was definitely mourning something. Sometimes it's sparked by a deja vu moment - a shared date, one of my children's names in a TV show, or a smell that sends me back to my week in the hospital. Other times it seems to creep in unannounced. It's as if they are the Weeping Angels of Dr. Who. They wait for me to turn away, be distracted, try to move on... and then they strike. But I can't look back forever - even when life is throwing reminders in my face - so I guess I have to turn away and take my chances with the angels.

Halloween

Time may fly, but
Maya doesn't.

You know the saying, "Time flies when you're having fun"? Well, it flies when you're not having fun, too. I absolutely cannot believe that it's been over a year since we began the IVF process and it boggles my mind to think of all that occurred in the span of that one little year. And here were are, on the cusp of Halloween, staring this monster in the face yet again.

And a monster it truly can be - full of surprises, scares, and sometimes, laughs. Just this last Friday, I went into the office for my first ultrasound. (Not the fun "let's see the baby" kind, but the kind where they shove a wand up your vagina and poke around to make sure there are no cysts or other obtrusions.) When I went to check in, the receptionist asked in a hushed voice, "So have you started your cycle yet?" I didn't think twice before correcting her. "No. I'm still taking the birth control pills like I was told." But it was really that monster lurking and preparing to spring out from the dark. I was supposed to stop taking those pills four days prior. My heart sank and the receptionist said, "Well, he'll go ahead and do the ultrasound anyway." But what did that mean? Was I going to have to wait until January to do the transfer? I had a million questions that kept tumbling around in my mind and I had plenty of time in the waiting room to feel them turn and crash in on each other. And each rotation brought my spirits lower and lower.

Luckily, my mistake did not turn out to be as catastrophic as the receptionist implied. Since this is a frozen embryo transfer, it seems there is a lot more wiggle room with the process. They were able to push back my blood test to see if my hormone levels were dropping as they should, and I even got confirmation that, if those tests are okay, I can do the transfer towards the end of their week in the hospital so I won't have to take time off of work. And more good news: I found out the pills I had to "take" vaginally during the last cycle I get to take orally for this one. Unless you have had these types of treatments, you have no idea how happy that can make a girl. Aside from the news that I wouldn't have to endure (and pay for) meds for another two months, that was the best news I had gotten all day!

But all of this reminded me of the hesitancy I have felt since we started trying 2 1/2 years ago. Although we made this decision together, after 33 years of being childless, it's hard to imagine the changes a baby will bring. But it was even more than that. From the start of our first cycle, I knew we would end up with twins. It was our joke. I had what the lab tech called a perfect uterus. (Too bad no one else will ever see it.) Every blood test came out perfect. I had absolutely no problems at all. None. Yet something in me felt like this wasn't going to work out. Like it wasn't meant to be. And yet we planned, shopped, dreamed. But at every appointment, I waited to hear some sort of bad news. I wasn't dwelling on the negative; I just had this nagging somewhere deep inside. I don't even know if I ever articulated it to anyone, but it was always there peeking out of the crack in my closet door like the monster it was. So although I didn't expect the setback to be my fault, there was a part of me that thought, "Well, there it is," when the receptionist exposed my mistake. I held my breath when Dr. Sueldo came in to do the ultrasound because I was sure he would say I had to wait until January. But he came in, opened that closet door, and "poof!" that monster was gone.

Don't let this monster chase you;
he's super speedy!

And yet, here I am on the eve of my blood test - the one that will determine if my body is responding appropriately and is, therefore, ready to move forward in this cycle - and in the back of my mind I see myself getting negative results. I'm sure there will be some sort of hang-up and we won't be able to go ahead with the procedure. But if the test is okay, which it probably will be, I have another ultrasound (this time to check the thickness of my uterine walls to see if I'll be ready for the transfer) on Halloween. You might think, "Well, that's fun!" And that's exactly what we thought last year when the first ultrasound we had of what we then confirmed were twins fell on Halloween. Really, what are the odds? There's that pesky little monster again, popping up when you least expect him, eliciting some emotion you thought you had conquered long ago. But I supposed, just as in any monster movie, you have to forge ahead. You can, of course, do that running, screaming, and flailing; but you either run ahead or you die, and I'm not ready to die. So, tomorrow, a blood test. In a week, another ultrasound. Until then, I will do my best to peek under the bed, throw open the closet door, and march bravely down darkened halls without fear. And if, by chance, there is a monster in there... well... there may be a little screaming, but I'll do my best to make it out alive.

And So It Begins

A familiar package of meds, but
far fewer than last time.

As you know, we decided to do another IVF cycle this November and my first "protocol" appointment was yesterday. And, despite his busy schedule, Brian was even able to meet me waaaayyy out there and then rush back to work.

Just like the first time, it is mind boggling how much happens on that first appointment. But my first mistake was likening this to my informational appointment last September. As I was getting ready a the crack of dawn that morning, I thought, "I guess I should shave my legs, huh?" But then I thought about my first appointment last year - a nice, sit down and chat sort of thing, and decided I'd be fine with a little stubble and a little less speeding on my way to work. That wasn't the right call. We walked into the office to find the full spread on the counter. (Women, you know what I mean. All the little swabs and cups and tools.) I was thrilled, but what could I do?

What you may not realize is that each appointment takes forever. I know some doctors take a long time, but usually once you get back in the room, things move along. Not with my experience with IVF. Yesterday, I filled out the mountain of paperwork, waited a bit, went back into the room, got changed, waited some more, had my uterus measured (they check for a clear path as "practice" for the transfer), talked to the doctor, changed, and waited some more. Then, we saw a PA who explained one thing, went and did something, came back with more info, left again, and so on. In other words, I should always bring a book. And this is pretty standard practice.

My appointment yielded some interesting news. My doctor was very sympathetic - like genuine sympathy and concern - about how our last IVF attempt, which was nice to see. Then, he reviewed our options and our odds for each. As I heard the first time, there is a 40% success rate for one baby with two blastocysts, a 25% chance of twins, and a 3% chance of multiples. He then said that in the 25 years he had been doing this, he had only seen six cases like ours. Six! I think that's way less than 3%! (And once again, I felt an urge to play the lottery.) He then explained that there is only a 17% chance of pregnancy with one frozen embryo, which was our plan. However, their last cycle had a 74% success rate with that same scenario, so clearly these odds are not always accurate.

Since the last time we did this we did a fresh transfer, he explained the frozen process, which was enlightening. Normally, they pump the woman full of hormones, but prevent her from ovulating, which causes the production of an excessive amount of eggs. They fertilize those, watch them for 3-5 days, choose the best looking two, and freeze the rest. We already did that, so we get to use the frozen ones. Because they normally transfer two blastocysts at a time, they freeze them in pairs. So in our case, they will defrost (I'm sure there's a technical term for this that doesn't make me think of thawing a turkey for Thanksgiving) a pair of blastocysts and choose the one that looks the best. They will then refreeze the second blastocyst and prepare the best candidate for the transfer. We have five fertilized eggs, so we'll have some backups if we end up in the 83% who's transfer doesn't take.

What I think has surprised me even more is how easy this process has been thus far. By this time in my first cycle, I was putting down $2,000 for meds and scheduling blood draws every week. I also had a special diet that basically left me eating apple sauce, grapes, and toast with butter. Today, I filled all of my prescriptions, which totaled less than $350 and I was only told to limit my caffeine and sodium consumption. I did have to have a second uterine X-ray (which was no fun and also required me to show my stubbly legs on Wed) but I don't have to have any blood work done in the immediate future. Piece. of. cake.

Well then... what do I need to do? I'm already taking birth control, low-dose aspirin, and prenatal vitamins. Now I will add Luprin (hormone) shots every night. I am also taking an antibiotic to prevent infection after the uterine X-ray, which is done kind of like an angioplasty, but with clear dye and a catheter... and definitely not in your heart. (I know you're jealous.) I have other meds that I will start taking later, but that's all I have to do until my appointment a week from tomorrow when the doctor will perform a vaginal ultrasound (again, I know you're jealous) to see if I have any cysts that have developed since we did this a year ago. If all goes well, they'll put me on some more meds (yay) and I'll go back in a week and a half for another vaginal ultrasound (I can see you're turning green with... envy. Let's say envy.) to check the thickness of my uterine wall. And when that's thick enough... whammo! We do the transfer. That will happen sometime during the week of November 5.

So, that's where I am right now. The visit really wasn't very emotional for me. It's rather easy to detach when everything is tests and paper blanket covers and unending forms. And that was pretty much how I felt the last time. It all felt pretty clinical until everything began to go downhill. Hopefully, that won't happen again, but I guess we'll know before too long. I can't believe how quickly time has passed. In some ways, February feels like yesterday; but in others, it feels a lifetime away.

Thanks again for joining us on this journey. I hope that you find my posts entertaining, educational, and even therapeudic. And I still encourage you to share this with others. I hope it will become a valuable tool for people to learn about IVF and coping with preterm labor loss. I'll be posting here before too long and giving brief updates on my facebook page www.facebook.com/imgonnabeawhat. Feel free to "like" me there for more exciting, hormone-filled, clinical baby-making commentary.

There's No Such Thing as a Free Baby

I'm sure you've heard the saying, "there's no such thing as a free lunch." It's really an economics argument, but the principle is clear: nothing comes without some sort of cost. Now, most people fear the cost of having children from birth to college graduation, but having fertility issues means you pay a lot for the same privileges that random sixteen year old pregnant girl in the mall got for free. (Although she'll probably pay far more for her baby in non monetary ways.) Our first go-round cost us about $13,000. Yup, about the same as my first brand new car. I'll find out on Wednesday how much our second attempt will cost. But point being, it's not cheap.

Now, I have said over and over on this blog and on my facebook site (facebook.com/imgonnabeawhat) that I'm not in this for the money. And I'm not. Seriously. (And obviously, since I haven't made a penny.) However, with the debt of our first attempt still looming over our heads and the new costs of the procedure, medication, and frozen blastocyst storage on the horizon, I started to think monetizing the site wouldn't be such a bad idea. So I reinstated my Amazon Associate account and here I am asking you for a little help.

And helping is so very, very simple. I'm sure you've seen the ads on my page. (I figured, well, why not include them.) I know sometimes they're not so relevant and sometimes they may be a bit offensive. (I don't control the content. Promise.) But clicking on those gives me money. I know this concept is probably familiar to you, but I thought I'd throw it out there anyways. The more interesting source of revenue is actually through Amazon. Their Associates program allows me to embed links to products that they carry. Clicking on those hyperlinks (even without buying) gives me a few cents. Plus, anything you choose to purchase via that link - it doesn't even have to be the product the link promoted - gives me some kickback. So, if you know that you're going to buy something through Amazon, you can use a link on my site and I will actually get some residual pay without any expense on your end. Fabulous, no?

So this is my plea. While you're enjoying my blog, could you click on a few things once in awhile? My debt and I would really appreciate it. In fact, I'll give you a chance right now. Check this out!

Now that I'm on the verge of a new IVF cycle, I'll be returning to a couple of key pregnancy books that we invested in at the start of our last pregnancy. The Pregnant Body Book is an awesome book that allows you to see inside the female body from fertility to post-conception. It's like the Grey's Anatomy of pregnancy books. It helped me to feel more connected and knowledgeable about how my body was changing and I will be unearthing it again shortly. The other book I completely fell in love with was the Mayo Clinic Guide to a Healthy Pregnancy. It has a ton of great, relevant information to help make pregnancy less scary.

So... please click on something. Pretty please? Remember, you don't have to buy this stuff. Click on the Pregnant Body Book and roam Amazon for your new favorite workout gear or some new music. Using my link helps me financially. And/or click on some of those ads you just scrolled past (on the right). I would really appreciate it. Thanks!

Here We Go Again

First round of meds from
round one IVF in 2011

Back in August I decided that I had better switch from daily vitamins back to prenatals. It was a small decision, but you'd think those first pills were hormone injections from the feelings of hope, anticipation, and dread I felt as they slipped down my throat.

Two days ago I had to call the fertility specialist and announce that I had indeed started my period. Now, this is not something I generally announce to my doctor, let alone the world, but I was following the rules. (I guess this would be an excellent time for a disclaimer. Since I am going through this process again with a reading audience, I will be documenting in much detail what I am experiencing. I will do my best to give warning if something might offend the sensitive reader, but some things may get past my already-lost-my-modesty-through-IVF-and-childbirth-three-times sensor. So consider yourself warned.) Back to my period. I'm not sure about all fertility specialists, but in this office they run all the women on the same schedule. So, when you start your period, you call them so they can get you on birth control pills. I know that sounds counterintuitive, but it's not if you really think about it. First, it helps them to get all of the women on the same schedule so that they can have a designated week when they're in the hospital for procedures. Second, birth control pills trick your body into thinking that you are pregnant, which is why you don't get pregnant. They will transfer the blastocyst when my body already thinks it is two weeks pregnant, so starting off with birth control pills is actually a natural choice... once you've really thought about it. And tonight I take my first pill.

Once again, a very small pill signifies something great and I'll admit, I've been experiencing mixed emotions as of late. I look at friends who are pregnant or who have new little ones, and there is a blend of anger, jealousy, and happiness. I have mourned with a friend over recent pregnancy loss, which took a toll on us both (although clearly on her more than me). I feel the hope of making it through this process and having a little person - someone half me and half my husband - and that seems amazing and somewhat impossible. And terrifying. I doubt every time I do something and I feel the weakness in my back or the grinding in my hip and I wonder if my body can make it through this again. I fear that searing pain and helplessness. My head fills with memories of hospitals, injections, ultrasounds, medication, tears, plans, hopes, inquiries, and uncertainties any time I let my mind wander. And I know I have full control over this decision whether or not to move forward, and yet it doesn't feel like a choice. It feels like it's the only option I have - we have - to ever feel whole again. And so we move forward and try not to look back too often. And it's all I can do.

So what is forward? Tonight, it's taking my first birth control pill in a year... along with my horse pill of a prenatal vitamin. Wednesday, it's returning to the fertility specialist for my protocol appointment where I'll learn how exactly this process will be different from our first. Then it's on to hormone injections, weekly appointments and blood draws, and waiting.

I've had several people ask how I'm feeling about this whole process. Although the true answer changes frequently, overall, I am optimistic. I believe the major issue was what my perinatologist called a "triplet thing" and, to some extent, really couldn't be helped. The secondary issue of my cervix shortening can be discouraged through a minor outpatient surgery. These things give me hope that our second time through will not be for naught. But I haven't yet stepped foot into that fertility office again and I honestly don't know how that will feel. On the one hand, it's a step in a positive direction for us. On the other, it may feel like a dark deja vu. I suppose it would be naive of me to expect anything in this process to be simple or straightforward. So, as my mom used to say, we'll keep on keepin' on, taking it one step at a time, and see what happens. Heeerrre we go again!