Kleenex From the Ashes

It's 2018, ya'll.

How in the fresh hell did that happen? One minute I'm shopping for Valentine's Day cards for my kid's daycare and the next minute I'm asking Alexa what Christmas gifts I can order that will arrive in 48 hours.

                              

I literally cannot even.

(Side note: I made a resolution to never say 'I literally cannot even' ever again.)

Moving on. 2017 was a year of the highest highs and the lowest lows. One of those lowest lows coincided with the highest of highs and it made me feel all weird and sorta sucked the life out of me.

Literally.

We'll begin with the highest high. 

We bought a new house. Not only were we not in the market for a house, but also we had just completed updates on our existing home and were finally ready to enjoy the fruits of our labor. 

Only about five miles away, nestled in mature trees and windy roads was a neighborhood that my husband and I have always been drawn to. Uber eclectic, great schools, 80's architecture. It's so very, very us. Every now and again we would 'dream drive' through that neighborhood and do the Wayne Campbell about one particular house.

Spoiler alert: dreaming works.

In early August that house came up for sale. It should have been financially unattainable. Thankfully it needed some major love, which is exactly how we prefer our houses because it makes them cheap and customize-able to our super picky tastes. Quicker than you can say are we seriously doing this we made an offer and bought it. Oh and we sold our house in 28 hours. 

'Slow and steady wins the race' clearly isn't our bag.

So there we were in the dead heat of August, getting ready to close on the house of our dreams. Needless to say we were preoccupied, operating on all cylinders.

The day before closing the craziness got to me and I snapped at Hubs for something incredibly important like one of his socks was higher than the other. He rolled his eyes on his way out the door for work and said, "Note to self - Kim's period will be here tonight." 

I shot him a well you aren't getting laid tonight look and then abruptly stopped short. Wait, was my period on its way? I started counting...

           


When I got to 42 days since my last period, I started to panic. This resulted in a 6:30 AM trip to the store to buy a pregnancy test and ingredients for nachos. 

In an unrelated story, I love self checkout.

Anyways I came home and peed on the stick and also a little bit on my finger. Pregnant. Six weeks pregnant.

Okay but hooooow? I've only been pregnant once and it took injections and pain and tears and loads of money and depression and all the rage. Oh and WE JUST BOUGHT A HOUSE.

Could we afford another child? Did we even want one? (Because remember, I had just posted this not long before.) It didn't seem that the Universe particularly cared about my infertility or our new house. I was pregnant.

Right away I told my husband. Hindsight is 20/20 and I may or may not could have done it a little more eloquently. As it happened I asked him to go to lunch at 10:59 AM, put the pregnancy test in a Warby Parker glasses case and gave it to him as we walked to the restaurant. He opened it and looked at me like this:

Needless to say he was shocked. Our lunch mostly revolved around me sobbing and freaking out while he tried to reassure me it would all be okay. He basically became Matthew McConaughey in "How To Lose a Guy in 10 Days."

                             

Anyways. We decided I should go to the doctor first and foremost. After all, the child we do have is an IVF baby so chances are this one would need extra love and care as well. We made an appointment for that Monday morning. 

But first we had to close on the new house. It was exhilarating and scary all at the same time. This house was an upgrade. Of course we would never buy something we couldn't afford, but staring down the barrel of another $1000 a month in day care costs will certainly make you ask is this a good idea? Despite those reservations, I found myself getting excited. A baby. A brother or sister for our son. A new member of our family to love in this new house. A new start. It seemed meant to be.

We signed the papers and started our renovations on the home. The whole weekend all I could do was think I'm pregnant I'm pregnant I'm pregnant. But that initial excitement I had felt was running low. Years of infertility had made me less optimistic than I had realized. I was doubtful. But I didn't want to say that to my husband. I wanted to think positive.

That afternoon I remember walking into what would become my son's room. My husband looked around at the empty walls and parquet wood floor and said, "Yeah, this would be big enough for two kids...if it all works out." It shook me. The if. The fact that the both of us were already expecting the worst.

(Question: on a resume under "Qualifications", can you write handles the bitch of reality very well?)

Ultimately, we were right. My HCG levels never got high enough for it to be a viable pregnancy. We knew what was coming. The doctor wanted to do a sonogram to be sure, but the night before we went in, I started bleeding. By the time they did the sonogram, there was nothing left. The baby was gone as quickly as it had shown up. 

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't devastated. Because I really was. More than I thought I'd be. Even though this wasn't planned, and even though it would make more sense to use any of the 13 amazing embryos we already have if we want another child...it still hurt. It seemed like the Universe was saying "You can't decide if you want to go through with another one? Well I'll just make the choice for you."

But then to take it away?

Why?

Why give a woman, who had finally accepted that she couldn't get pregnant on her own and was given her miracle child, why give her a pregnancy and then yank it away? It just seems cruel. Heartless. Mean.

I didn't talk about it much when it happened. I only told a handful of people. At 7 weeks, I wasn't showing. And part of me felt like I didn't even have a right to grive. So many women have had this happen to them multiple times. They never share it, so why should I? So I mostly dealt with the anguish on my own as so many women do. I woke up every morning and knew that something inside me had changed, even though the outside still looked the same.

After some time had passed, I realize I wanted to share. I've always been a sharer. (Clearly.) I shared my battle with infertility to get my son, so why wouldn't I share the after-shock of it as well? Just because I have my child now doesn't wash the infertility away. Two years after becoming a mom, I'm still, in the end, an infertile. It is a part of me. I am a part of this community. There are those of us (most of us) that are silent about it, and that is understandable. But I feel there are those of us that choose to be vocal. To inspire understanding. To inspire empathy. I'm happy to take that role on.

From this experience, all I really know is, I am changed. Forever. Maybe this happened to me so I could better understand the infertility community. Before this, I only knew the pain of not getting pregnant. I didn't understand the turmoil of having, then losing. Women and their partners who have gone through this, you are troopers. You are warriors. You are amazing.

Today I am a little bit softer and a little more broken, but a whole lot stronger. This miscarriage tore me up, but I've put myself back together...with a lot of emotional Scotch tape. 

Emotional Scotch tape pictured below:

famous last words

Earlier this week I complained on Twitter that my monthly friend was taking longer than usual to get here. For once, I needed her to arrive so I could begin my lovely Depot Lupron shots for two months prior to my retrieval and transfer. I was tired of waiting and pissed off that my period would decide that this was the month we'd enjoy a 34 day cycle.

I went to the bathroom each day and hoped and wished for AF to arrive. When she didn't, I would whine to Hubs and bitch about AF's failure to just GET HERE ALREADY. Poor Hubs. It was such a departure for him to hear me complaining about AF being late. For months on end, he's heard me hope for her late or non-existent arrival, and now I'd turned everything on its head and hoped for her arrival as soon as possible.

When finally my monthly friend showed up on Sunday, I immediately got excited, ready to start my injections and get this damn show on the road. But of course, AF wasn't going to go without a fight (my injections will make her disappear for two months). This has been one of the ickiest, crampiest, American Horror Story-esque periods of my entire existence. 

Naturally, I whined to Hubs about it.

"OWW!" I screamed from the bathroom. "Why does it HURT so much this month. And why is it so heavy this month? JESUS, I HATE HAVING A PERIOD!"

"Babe," replied Hubs, incredulous. "Two days ago you were begging for this, remember? You wanted your period to show up. You said you'd be excited when it did. I don't get it. YOU ASKED FOR IT."

Those four words: you asked for it. They haunt me. Mostly because they're true. I have been asking for my period for a week. But, it doesn't mean I really WANT it. I just needed it to get here so I could move on to the next step. There's a big difference between wanting something and needing it. I want to get pregnant. I needed Flo to show up in order to get what I want.

I feel like I need to warn Hubs to tread carefully in the next few months, because I'm going to get a lot of things that I've "asked for" in the name of getting knocked up. Injections, blood work, general anesthesia, cramping, bloating, pain, misery...they're all coming.

And guess what? It won't stop there. 

If I get pregnant, the list of things I've "asked for" is just beginning. If we're successful in IVF, I'm likely going to get a sundry of new discomforts: swollen ankles, weight gain, hemorrhoids, mood swings, back pain, withdrawl from my nightly glass of wine, etc. The list will go on and on.

But here's the thing. Just because I've technically "asked" for these things doesn't mean they are any less painful or annoying or upsetting. Injections are painful whether you ask for them or not. Hot flashes are annoying whether you ask for them or not. PREGNANCY is painful and difficult, even if you beg for it.

So all of this begs the question: does "asking for it" mean I don't get to hate it a little bit? 

Does the fact that, for the last four years, I have begged on my hands and knees for a pregnancy mean that if I get one, I'm not allowed to bitch when it's miserable?

That doesn't seem fair to me.

I worry that when I finally do have my retrieval and I'm laying in my hotel room, moaning to myself about it hurting or being uncomfortable, I'm going to have to hear, "Babe, this is what you wanted. You asked for it."

And he will be right. I will have asked for it. Is it selfish of me to want him to be sympathetic just a teeny weeny bit longer? Will it be selfish of me to want him to be sympathetic for the FULL 9 months that I am (hopefully) pregnant? I don't think so.

I realize it sounds like I'm dumping on Hubs and I promise I'm not. I can't imagine what it's been like for him, sharing his home with a living, breathing one-woman circus of emotions every day. But I need him to understand that even though I've asked for all of this, at the same time, I didn't ask for it.

I didn't ask to be infertile. I didn't ask for endometriosis. I didn't ask for ovaries that don't seem to work right. I didn't ask for a huge portion of our savings to go toward medical treatment that may not even work. I never asked for any of that.

All I'm asking for is a solution to it all. And the path that we're on is, hopefully, the solution. And that solution will make me crazy and ridiculous and nutso. Together, we're going to have to get through what we've both asked for...no matter how hard it gets.

Ultimately, we're going to get what we've asked and begged and hoped and done voo-doo dances for all along. And then, it will all be worth it.

what a tangled interweb we weave

Three years ago when I finally came to grip with the fact that Hubs and I needed help in the baby making department, I became best friends with a horrible, nasty, awful bee-otch.

Her name is Internet.

Don't get me wrong. The web is good - maybe even great - for all sorts of things. If it weren't for the Internet, I wouldn't have this blog and access to all of you ladies and gents who can share in my reproductively challenged misery. After all, without the Internet, I would actually have to ask my doctor in person, "now where exactly are my ovaries again?" Thanks to the magic of Google (and not Bing. Never, ever Bing), I can just bring up a wonderfully explained and graphically colored diagram of my inside lady parts and figure it out on my own.

Too much of a good thing, though, is not so good. And after about three months into our fertility treatments, I found out just how not great the Interwebs can be for me and other ladies like me.

Take for example, my dive into Clomid. I knew Clomid helped me ovulate and therefore produce follicles, but the Internet opened me up to all kinds of things that could go wrong with Clomid.

Hot flashes (those turned out to be legit)
Weight gain
Decreased urination
Increased urination
Chest pain
Vision Changes
Insomnia
Nausea
etc. etc. etc.

As usual, reading the list completely freaked me out, but I knew that not all side affects will hit every person that uses the drug. So I did the logical thing and went to some infertility message boards on Clomid.

OH. MY. GOD.

I planned to be there only a few minutes, but got sucked into this huge thread where a girl used Clomid and it made her gain 20 pounds and bleed internally and she puked three times a day and her husband left her and her dog died.

Okay, it wasn't that dramatic, but her story was scary as hell. Which prompted me to call my husband at work and relay the entire story. It went something like this:

Hubs: Hello?
 
Me: Carrie gained 20 POUNDS on Clomid.

Hubs: (shuffling papers) I'm sorry, what? Who is Carrie?

Me: This girl on an infertility message board. She gained 20 POUNDS, babe. TWENTY! And she puked a lot.

Hubs: Is this someone that's being treated at our clinic?

Me: Um, no. She lives in Andover, I think.

Hubs: So you don't know her personally and she doesn't live anywhere near us?

Me: No.

Hubs: Is she the same height as you?

Me: No.

Hubs: Is she the same build? Are her circumstances anything like yours?

Me: No. Actually, she doesn't ovulate ever. And I think she has PCOS. Her dog's name is Gino.

Hubs: You don't even have PCOS, babe. And you ovulate every month. So she's nothing like you and you don't know her situation. (mumbles to his co-worker about where to eat for lunch) You're making yourself crazy. Stay off the Internet.

Me: BUT WHAT IF I GAIN 394394 POUNDS? Will you still love me?

Hubs: I'm hanging up now.


***

But I can't stay off the Internet. In the early days, before IUI's and potential IVF cycles, I would get online right around cycle day 27 to symptom spot for preganncy. And I always had them all.

Dizzy?   Check! (Although I did forget to eat lunch until 3:00 yesterday. That could have contributed.) Let's see what else there is.

Discharge?     YES! 

Sore boobs?    YES! But always yes with the sore boobs. Every damn month.

Metallic taste in mouth?     OMG I TOTALLY HAD THIS ON SUNDAY. I remember my Cheetos tasted like pennies. I am so pregs.

And then Flo would appear three days later and my heart would be crushed and I'd want to die. And Hubs would - once again - remind me to STAY OFF THE DAMN INTERNET.

The real issue is, the Internet gives me hope. I see all those flashing emoji's that say "BFN on 5-12!" and I think to myself, "that could be me next month!" I want to have a flashing emoji!

So I hope. I carry it with me every day.

My current fertility doctor encourages hope, but vehemently discourages going online because there is such a huge amount of misinformation out there. If every time I come to his office I have a list of all the reasons he's treating me incorrectly, then what the hell am I paying him for? I mean, we want our doctor's to be experts, but then we second guess them? And while there is nothing wrong with being your own advocate and researching options, at some point, we have to just 

LET. GO.

We have to try and trust in our doctors and believe they are doing all they can to get us knocked up, short of crawling up in our vaginas and implanting the damn egg themselves. 

So ladies, use the Internet. Use it for support, use it for laughs, use it to look at funny cat photos, use it to shop. But if you can, steer clear of using it to self-diagnose and second guess your doc. Your job is to lay back (literally), put your feet up (literally) and let the magic happen.

And try not to gain 20 pounds.

no fear

This is a story about the day I walked into my current fertility clinic to begin the journey to IVF. The day I had waited for for months.The fertility clinic in our home town wasn't doing it for me. I felt like a number, I felt like a chore. I didn't feel that my opinions mattered or were even considered - I just needed to shut up and do what the doctor told me.

No thanks.

I approached my husband very carefully about the idea of switching clinics. We'd spent quite a few dolla dolla bills on treatment at our current clinic, and to him, all seemed fine. But in my gut, I knew I wanted to try somewhere else before we moved from IUI to IVF. So being the thorough gal I am, I did my research. I printed out the live birth rates of the clinic in town and the clinic in Colorado I wanted to try. There was a nearly 20% difference in live births between the two. 

That is massive.

In addition, I calculated how much one round of IVF would cost at home, and how much it would cost in Colorado with travel included. It was about a $6,000 difference, which is no small potatoes. But when you're already spending $40k, what's another 6 for a 20% higher chance of success?

My ego loves to think that my research and carefully crafted speech is what convinced Hubs to go for it, but my ego is full of it. Hubs will do whatever it takes to make me happy, and if flying to Colorado is what's going to do it, he'll sign on the dotted line. 

If we get a baby out of it, even better.

The day finally came for our "one day workup" in Colorado. That's just fancy shmancy speak for "we're going to poke a lot of holes in you and look up your hoo ha a lot. Oh, and Hubs gets to make love to a plastic cup."

All new patients at this clinic who are participating in IVF go to a one hour "class" before they begin their work up. This class is meant to give you a bird's eye view of what is coming down the road. The class began at 7:00 AM.

Hubs and I pulled our rental car into the parking lot at 6:40. Because preparedness.

We were the first to arrive, so we had the conference room all to ourselves. We were instructed to go in, relax, and wait for the other couples. I had been nervous/excited the entire night prior when we flew into the airport, but now I was really feeling something new.

Fear.

We pulled open the glass doors to the conference room and stepped inside. It was a large rectangular room, with the requisite wood table in the middle, a projection screen against the wall, and several boxes of tissue boxes perched on the table. Standard stuff.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, I started shaking, unable to catch my breath. Tears streamed down my face. My poor husband. He had no clue what was wrong. Was I getting cold feet? Did I want to go home? After all, this is what I wanted, what I begged us to do!

I stood there, crying, and couldn't take the thoughts floating around in my head and put them into my mouth.

How did we get here?

Four years ago when this all started, I never thought it would go this far. I made jokes after the first year saying, "well, maybe I'll just have to do that thing where they take the egg out and cook it in the microwave!" I joked about it, because I didn't think I'd ever get there.

Four years ago, if you had told me that Hubs and I would be going to go to Colorado for potentially two weeks in 2014, I would have said, "Shit, what contest did we win?" Never would I imagine that it would be for this.

And yet there I was. In a conference room I shouldn't be in. It shouldn't have come to this. It should have been easy to get pregnant, because we're good people. We deserve to be parents to our own biological children. We deserve to have something tangible grow from the love we have for each other.

Why the feck is this happening? Why do we have to do this?

And what if it doesn't work? In that moment, I was completely crippled with fear that IVF wouldn't work...and then where would we be?

Hubs put me in a much needed bear hug and softly reminded me that this is necessary. With infertility, if you're not moving forward, you're standing still. If we want a child, this is what has to happen. We made it this far, and we have to keep pushing on. Past the fear, past the anxiety. Forward.

And so we did. We pushed on and made it through the day. A lot of information went in my ears, but I don't know how much of it stuck in my brain. It didn't matter though, because I left feeling hopeful. I left feeling glad we came, and my husband's thoughts echoed my own.

Forward. Always forward.

Our journey is finally beginning. We just have to have the dedication to see it through.

Go for launch...

Houston, we don't have a problem.

I just heard back from the doc office and my 3 day levels (which were tested via my blood last week) are all good. I can't remember what all they tested. Something with an F and an L...all I know is put my personal brand of vampire food under a microscope and looked at it and were happy with what they saw. This means we are on track to do an IVF cycle in September!!

Pardon me while I hyperventilate.

This hasn't been an easy week for me. I traveled a lot for work, I saw 3 pregnancy announcements on Facebook, I fell off the horse and got back on Dr. Pepper...I don't know. It was just rough. But news like this, even though it's small news, is recharging my batteries.

This is what it's like with infertility. The smallest, most mundane thing can make all the difference in the world. Just hearing my RE say, "your levels are exactly what we were hoping for" put me right back where I wanted to be. Back in Hopeville.

To make things even better, I heard back on the terrible, awful endometrial biopsy I had to endure a few weeks back. I found out that the protein the biopsy tested for is, in fact, missing for me. This could help to explain why I haven't had any luck with getting pregnant. At the very least, it is a contributing factor. Just having that teeny bit of knowledge has taken me from "unexplained infertility" to "we might sort of understand what's going on infertility."

It's a small step. But I'll take it.

Happy weekend to you all!!

Inside Out: My Super Awesome Experience with an Endometrial Biopsy

Warning: this post is a little graphic.

Getting poked and prodded and tested and evaluated is an annoyance and necessity that infertile and sub-fertile women endure. We put up with it and allow it because it is a means to an end that we so desperately want - but that doesn't mean it's fun.

As a woman who began testing for potential issues during the last year, I'm pretty far into the procedures. For those of you who haven't gone down this path just yet, allow me to enlighten you on a few of the joys you might get to experience.

1. Blood work: Lots of it. Lots and lots and lots of it. Get used to your arms looking like they belong to a recovering heroin user.

2. Transvag ultrasounds: A penile-looking device goes up in your lady parts while the nurse looks around for your ovaries, uterus and her lost car keys. You'll watch it on a screen and it won't make any sense. The tech will say, "See? That's your uterus." And you'll be like, "Ummm. Where? It looks like blankness."

3. HSG - Basically the doc shoots some weird purple dye up your vajayjay to see if anything is blocking your Fallopian tubes. Oh look! There's a blockage! Let's increase the velocity and speed of the dye to see if we can get that puppy out of there. It's basically like when you dump Drain-O down your bathroom sink. Except in your vagina...

4. Hysteroscopy: This is just a bundle of fun. Doc puts a thingamajig (also called a hysteroscope) way up through your cervix and into your uterus. He then shoots some gas up there to expand the uterus so he can look for polyps, fybroids, etc. After a few seconds he pulls everything out and you're done. But remember the gas he used? It needs to escape. So it slides up into your shoulder like a sadistic snake and you feel like you're having a heart attack for about 20 minutes. Wheeee!!

5. Endometiral Biopsy - This one requires a more in depth explanation. Mostly because I just had mine last week. My hands are shaking just thinking about it. Let me tell you what happened.

We recently began infertility treatments at a clinic in Colorado. Most of you probably know which one I'm talking about. (I don't know if I should say their name, so I won't. Even though they're awesome thus far.) Hubs and I went in for our one day workup, which consists of a round of baseline testing. Once completed, we did have a small list of tests that we needed to have performed back home. One of those tests was called an E-tegrity test. In plain terminology, this is a uterine biopsy. The biopsy is sent to a lab and the lab then looks at your sample to see if your body is producing a certain protein that helps the fertilized egg implant. If you don't have this particular protein present, it could be one of the reasons pregnancy isn't happening.

The hardest thing about this test was finding someone who would actually do it. I called my OB, I called my prior infertility doc...no one knew what the hell an E-tegrity test was and refused to do it. After I made about 20 calls, I discovered that I was asking for the wrong thing. All your doc needs to do is an endometrial biopsy (which is a relatively standard procedure) and the E-tegrity part is just the test the lab does on the sample.

Are you following? It's okay, it doesn't matter anyway.

The long and short of it is, I finally found a doc who agreed to do it. I scheduled the appointment and that was that. Hubs asked if he needed to be present and I seriously considered asking him to come. However, I had done my homework. I read up on endometrial biopsy and the general consensus was, if you can tolerate some mild cramping (similar to an HSG) for about 10 minutes, you're golden. Incidentally my HSG was minorly awful, but I survived it, so I knew I could handle this solo. I told Hubs to skip it.

The day of the test arrived. I checked in and was led back to an examination room. A moment later, the nurse practitioner arrived and basically said, "Okay, what exactly are we doing again? I'm confused."

I re-explained that I just needed a uterine biopsy and the sample would then be sent to a lab where the test would be performed. She looked confused but ultimately seemed to understand. And so we began.

I assumed my favorite position and waited. The nurse informed me there would be some cramping as she got that little catheter through my cervix. No biggie, I'd had this done several times. I waited for the cramping and it showed up quickly. And then it got more intense. And more intense. 

I teared up a bit.

Thankfully, a moment later it was over. Until the nurse hit me with, "Um, don't get excited. I didn't get through. I only made it about half-way through your uterine wall...I need to get all the way through. Let me try again."

So she did. Three times. Pain pain pain. No luck.

At this point she enlisted the help of an actual doctor. When he came in, he explained that there could be an issue with the way my uterus was sitting. Would I mind if he kind of twisted it around and moved it?

Sure. Play tinker toys with my insides, doc.

He pulled, he clamped he yanked. I prayed to any God that would listen to make it end. Eventually he said he thought he had a better angle to get where he needed to get and do what he needed to do. So it was time to try again.

He tried 5 times without success. At this point, I heard the nurse say, "Okay, honey, we're going to try and stop the bleeding and then come up with a game plan to see what we might try next."

By all means, please stop the bleeding before anything else.

I sat up and doc told me in no uncertain terms, he couldn't get through the uterine wall. Would I consider returning tomorrow or Friday? He may as well have said, "A serrated knife doesn't seem to be working for removing your head. Could you come back on Friday and we'll try the guillotine?" 

Here's what I knew in my heart. If I left that office without the test being completed, I was never going to come back and I might possibly even burn the building to tiny little ashes and wee wee on them. It had to happen now or never. The doc and nurse quietly consulted with each other, used a bunch of terms I didn't understand, and finally came up with something.

"How about this?" Doc sighed, running his hands through his hair. "If we take you over to a room where we can do a sonogram, I might actually be able to see what I'm doing, and it could help. Would you be willing to do that?"

At this point, I was willing to do anything if it meant this awful process could be over. I got dressed and the nurse led me down the hall to the sonogram room. Same drill. Bottoms off, assume the position.

Doc came in and informed he would begin by clamping my cervix so he could hold it still. 

"I'm sorry, did you say CLAMP?" I asked, incredulous. I hadn't heard the word clamp since my 9th grade shop class.

"Yes, I know," he replied. "But if I can hold it still, it will help me out."

Fine. Whatever. Do it. 

The sonographer put the goop on my stomach and suddenly,up on the TV were my insides in all their HD glory. I felt him reach up and grab my friggin' cervix and I felt the clamp. So fun. Then on the screen, I saw the little catheter appear and I watched as he tried to get it to the correct spot in my uterus. With the help of the sonogram, he was able to very quickly determine where he was being blocked and bent the catheter around the trouble area. Bingo. He was in.

I thought that was it. I thought it was over. No no. Not even close.

If you read this website, it will give you a clinical explanation of what has to happen next. I'll give you layman's terms: he puts a friggin' wire through your uterine wall, roots around for a few seconds, rips out a sample of the LINING OF YOUR UTERUS, then pulls the sample out.

I didn't know what to expect, but when that wire went in...I swear I can feel it right now all over again.  All I saw was light and stars and red and blue and green and pain. The kind of pain where you can't even make noise. You just gurgle and basically have a full body seizure. I might have kicked the doctor in the face. I know I practically broke the sonographer's hand.

I felt the wire retreat and the pain began to subside. Through tears, I sniffled, "Please tell me that was it. Please." 

I didn't get an answer. I know now it was because the doctor didn't get a large enough sample. He needed to go back in but didn't want to tell me.

And so he did. 

The pain hit again and this time I really thought I saw the other side. The light everyone talks about in near-death experiences. I think I saw my grandfather. He was smiling. 

Actually, turns out it was just the doctor standing over me and telling me it was all over. He patted my hand and apologized for going back in, but thought it would be better to ask forgiveness than permission.

I won't like to you, I wanted to rip his man parts off. But I didn't, because I can't get pregnant if I'm in jail. Besides, it wasn't his fault. He did what he had to do...but I still kind of hate him.

The nurse gave me a pad to catch the inevitable blood that was going to occur, told me I was a brave girl and sent me on my way.

I made it all the way to the car before I had my meltdown, and for anyone in the parking lot that day, I'm sure it was quite a show. I couldn't help it. The physical pain was gone, but I was mentally and emotionally exhausted. I just couldn't take it. I cried for at least 10 minutes before I had the strength to dial Hubs' number and tell him everything. Of course, he felt terrible for not being there for me. Personally, I'm glad he wasn't there. No one wants to watch their spouse go through pain and suffering, even if it is only for a few minutes.

From the hospital, I drove straight to my favorite Mexican food place and got the largest cheese dip they offered, complete with a huge vat of Dr. Pepper. I came home, crawled under the comforter and didn't move for the rest of the day. 

I'm not telling this story to scare you. I could have been a rare case. I've talked to other ladies who just experienced that "mild cramping" the internet promised me. I've heard other women say their doctor let them have VALIUM before the procedure. (I want that doctor next time.) More than anything, I want you to know that I take pride in my experience. As women, we're often told we're wimps, whiners, not tough. Well, I challenge any man to have a needle stuck up his swizzle stick over 9 times and just "tough it out." Ladies, we are unbelievably strong. We are emotional and physical warriors to put ourselves through all of this for the CHANCE that we might get a baby out of it. There are no guarantees and it might not all work out. But that fact that we are willing to try is amazing and it should be celebrated. With lots of presents. :-)

Don't be afraid to say it hurts. If you need to cry, cry. If you need to yell, yell. Don't try and tough it out. That causes wrinkles and constipation anyway. This isn't easy. And just a hunch, but I don't think it's going to get easier for me anytime soon. IVF doesn't sound like it's going to be a walk on the beach with a mimosa in my hand. It's going to be hard. But dammit, I can do it. I will do it.

And it's so going to be worth it.

PS- I still don't have the results back on my biopsy...stay tuned