Two down, two to go

We went to our childbirth-education class on Saturday, then to an infant safety/CPR class last night. Now, we'll have a couple of weeks off, then a class on breastfeeding and another on parenting the newborn. We'll be experts! Ha.

In my opinion, the all-day childbirth-education extravaganza is the way to go (ie, instead of weekly sessions). I think I would have started to dread it if I had to do it every week for six weeks, but in this case we only had to get up the energy once. And it wasn't so bad. The nurse who was doing it was very competent, and she was debuting a brand-new PowerPoint, with brand-new videos in it. I was a little disappointed to miss out on the 1970s videos that so many of my friends all across the country have seen, but I appreciated the up-to-date nature of this. And the nurse communicated an approach that was anti-interventionist in many ways - low rate of episiotomies, etc. - which also seemed very sensible. That having been said, someone in my prenatal aquatics class went to a 'childbirth refresher' session at the very same hospital, and that nurse was cesarean- and induction-happy. So who knows. The highlight of the videos was seeing one woman with these incredibly gnarly stretch marks all over her belly - they were vertical and looked like flames.

The class itself was about half professional people in their 30s and half people who appeared to be unmarried and were between 16 and 20. There was one young married couple who didn't fit into either group. It was hard to be snarky, even internally, about the teenaged couples, since their lives are obviously not going all that well. I felt particularly sorry for one girl who was with a guy who was a bona-fide half-wit. Of the thirtysomething professionals, there was one extremely earnest man who was going to be a stay-at-home dad. When asked what he had liked most about his wife's pregnancy, he said that he was looking forward to reinventing himself as a "homemaker." He was one of those people who are so sincere and kind that you probably couldn't hang out with them for more than 10 minutes.

At the end of the class, we went on a tour of the labor and delivery and mother and baby units. Holy crap - they were nice! Hardwood floors (or faux hardwood, I suppose, given all the leakage that must occur), sleeper sofas for the partners, whirlpool tubs, DVD/CD players, internet access, etc. The M&B unit had double beds, too. They were all like hotel rooms, aside from the medical equipment discreetly hidden in closets or - I kid you not - behind paintings. The food will still be awful, though.

The infant safety/CPR class was taught by two nurses, one of whom was an IVF nurse. She hugged me when she saw me and remembered I'd had hyperemesis - nice memory for someone at a large IVF clinic. The other woman had just been certified as a lactation consultant, so I grilled her after class about how I can get help if I need it post-delivery. She was also very nice, although she had an incredibly irritating habit of saying "make for sure" instead of "make sure" - e.g., "make for sure that you babyproof your house." Anyway, the class was fairly useful, although I'm not sure (or for sure!) that I am a CPR expert just yet.

What else? The baby is still breech and still wiggles, punches, and head-butts a great deal. Sitting is sometimes hard when his little head is pressed up into my ribs. I'm definitely a bit more tired than I was a few weeks ago, and I am very conscious of time flying by. We still don't have a name picked out. Nor do we have a rocking chair/glider, swaddling wraps, a new roof, or childcare lined up. Apparently, I should have been on daycare waiting lists before I was pregnant. Yeah, like any infertile is going to jinx herself by doing that.

Tomorrow: my 34-week OB appointment.

Nesting/procrastination

Suddenly, it has occurred to me how much I need to get done in the coming weeks (including minor tasks like, oh, picking a name for our tot). Is this nesting? I think nesting may just be the same thing as getting down to the wire once you've procrastinated for as long as possible. I'm realizing that I really should have everything ready to go by 38 weeks, since our baby will probably show up early, given his parentage. That's five weeks. Shit!

We had a successful visit last weekend to see our friends and stimulate the economy at Tra.der Joe's and IKE.A. We got some good hand-me-downs from the friends (including newborn diapers, a My Bres.t Friend pillow, and two types of baby bottles and accessories: Av.ent and Dr. Br0wn's), and we were also deeply impressed by the fact that they stayed out until 3am on Saturday night. Meanwhile, we were in bed by 10pm, as was their six-month-old. At IK.EA, we got some dressers, storage-related items, and a window shade for the nursery. They were out of a couple of things we needed, but the dressers were the main thing. Our nursery will be mod but frugal - ie, the very definition of IK.EA. (Pictured at right is my 32+ week belly at brunch on Sunday in Chicago.)

Oh! The best thing was that we went to the landfill before our trip to drop off three detergent bottles full of IVF medical waste, as well as many old gallons of paint. It felt good to unload all of that crap onto someone else. Why is that sort of errand so deeply satisfying?

I've been in a logistical, money-hemorrhaging frenzy. I arranged for window washers to come tomorrow. I'm investigating IRAs so that our offspring do not have to care for us in retirement. I'm getting estimates for a new roof. I went to Tar.get yesterday to return a couple of things and ended up also stocking up on necessities like toilet paper, paper towels, saline solution, etc. so that I won't have to drag my ratty-haired, engorged-boobed self to the grocery store in those early post-partum days - or for six months afterwards. I am taking some clothes to the consignment shop this afternoon. I have completed all the tax stuff I needed to do and dropped it off with the accountant. I need to get estimates from gardeners, since I am physically incapable of bending over to weed at this point. On Saturday, we go to our all-day childbirth-education seminar. We will definitely be covertly mocking the other participants in the class. This will help pass the time, and also we are bad people.

The baby is wiggling and head-butting regularly. His hard little skull is usually right around my sternum or pressed up into my right ribs. I expect this will become even more profoundly uncomfortable as time passes. At this point, I am indifferent between a regular birth and a c-section because both seem profoundly unpleasant to me. I should probably just stop thinking about birth altogether - denial has its advantages.

(Pictured at right is the nursery that desperately needs to be organized....)

Boring, laundry-list update #2 (Or: That's Our Boy!)

The ultrasound went well. I feel confident that there was no mix-up in the embryology lab, for our little boy appears to be exhibiting characteristics consistent with each of us. To wit:

1. He already has a full head of hair. (I was born with TONS of hair). The ultrasound tech marveled at it.
2. His head is big. (I have a large hat size myself.)
3. He is still breech. (My husband is stubborn.)
4. He had his hand on his testicles. (Also characteristic of my husband.)

He also has huuuuuuuuuuuge, cute cheeks. He may also have a slight clubfoot after all, but whatever - it's correctable, and I can no longer be bothered by such trifles.

If I had a scanner, I'd scan in the ultrasound shot of his fat little face. He's over 4 lbs. now, allegedly, and is in the 57th percentile for size.

Boring, laundry-list update #1

I saw the OB this morning; the ultrasound will be in the afternoon. (Fortunately, I work very close to my hospital.) The results: blood pressure 114 over 62; urine fine; fundal height measuring at 30 weeks; weight up 1 or 1.5 lbs; heartbeat 140ish.

My OB has decided no longer to care about my weight gain - whereas she used to be very by-the-book and harp on me if I hadn't gained precisely 2 lbs. since the last appointment, she now thinks that because I am consistent in my weight gain and because I am exercising and not on a donut-only diet (though that sounds appealing), everything is all right. I think I'll be up 30 lbs. by the end, which sounds just right to me. She is not concerned that my fundal height is two weeks behind my dates since it also has grown consistently.

I left with a prescription for Pep.cid because I've had a few episodes of waking up to find that (TMI alert) my most recent meal has traveled back up my esophagus and into my throat and nasal passage. It's Reflux Deluxe! I had tried to avoid this by changing my eating patterns such that I have my biggest and most complex meal at lunchtime - e.g., yesterday I had an XL salmon nicoise salad at lunch, then just had cereal and a banana for dinner at the judiciously early hour of 6:30pm, but I still got to meet that light meal again at about 11pm. I am forced to pull out a word from my youth (approximately middle-school-era) to describe this experience: GRODY.

Finally, I got a list of pediatrician recommendations from her. Most of them are men. My instinct had been that I'd want a woman pediatrician, maybe someone who'd had kids and breast-fed, etc. What are your thoughts on this? I've always strongly preferred having a woman OB/GYN, although it didn't bother me at all that several of my REs were men.

Insufficient update

I have been waiting to post because I wanted to upload some photos, but I haven't done that yet. Maybe I'll come back and add some to this post, since it's not much of an update otherwise.

Tomorrow, I have both an OB appt. and an ultrasound, though, so I can tell you more then. My trips to see my parents and to see friends in SF were both great, and the showers were successful and resulted in many gift cards, which are useful and easy to store. I nearly choked to death at the first shower - really, this was the scariest time I have ever choked on something (in this case, baked brie), but fortunately I could get in tiny gasps of air and ultimately managed to expel the offending morsel. This experience prompted me to consult Dr. Google later to find out how to adjust the Heimlich during pregnancy. The search results made me glad I didn't need to be Heimliched - sounds a bit dicey.

My little guy has been moving up a STORM. I hope this doesn't mean he's a total psycho. Also, after telling someone I was sure I hadn't felt hiccups yet, I realized later that I have in fact been feeling what are probably hiccups for some time now. I think he's still breech, but we'll find out for sure tomorrow. He put on quite a hyperactive display of wiggling, kicking, swatting, etc. last night for my husband.

This weekend, we head to IKEA (3+ hours away) to get some cheap dressers, bookshelves, and storage items. We're also going to visit some friends to borrow some baby items. And then I think we'll just be here for the next eight weeks. I can't believe it's that close - it's a bit frightening all of a sudden.

Your advice needed.

Next week, my mom's friends are throwing me a shower, as are some of my friends in SF. In each case, there are seven hostesses. The first group is all women around 60 years old, and the second group is all professional women (some moms, some not) in their mid-30s. Any ideas for nice/clever/cute thank-you gifts I could give them that won't (in aggregate) break the bank?

I forgot to mention the most exciting thing of all!

I am off the Z0fran! Which means I am off the C0lace! Which means my digestive system is back in working order - and how! Apparently, some people see a resurgence of nausea around 36 weeks, so I will keep the drugs on hand and enjoy the next six weeks.

I just had my OB appointment. Somehow, I was only up 1.5 lbs., so I am supposed to gain more weight - this is surprising to me, given how much I've been eating. My uterus measured at 28 weeks (not 30, which I am today or tomorrow, depending upon how you count), but the OB said that this didn't concern her. I suppose my next ultrasound will check that growth is okay.

The baby is still breech - apparently, he finds the pike position quite comfortable. Heartbeat was 154. Results from last time: I passed my one-hour glucola test with a score of 79, and my hematocrit level was 40%, which apparently is fine (to my dismay, given my diet and my lack of iron supplementation). My blood pressure today was 104 over 74. So everything looks good - I felt blissfully normal.

I saw someone from my prenatal aquatics class in the reception area. She'd failed her one-hour glucola test by a mere one point and was sitting there enduring her three-hour test. That would stink.

Next OB appt. and next ultrasound are both in two weeks.

Embryo Motel: Swimsuit Edition

Warning: shot of bare, heat-rashed belly appears later in this post.

So, unsurprisingly, Hawaii was great! We went to the Big Island, which is lovely. Our typical schedule: (1) wake up weirdly early, (2) work out in amazing open-air gym, (3) eat many, many things at the breakfast buffet, generally including fresh fruit, scrambled eggs, turkey bacon, dried mangoes, waffles, and more, (4) establish position in desirable cabana next to desirable pool, (5) read books in cabana, (6) eat lunch in cabana, (7) work out again, perhaps at a class at the fitness center pool, (8) take a walk along ocean, (9) nap, (10) take outdoor shower (a feature of our room), (11) eat dinner with in-laws, (12) read more, (13) go to sleep weirdly early.

I did get a heat rash all over my body on about day 2. You can kind of see it in this 29-week belly shot. Now that we're back in the winter climes of our home state, it seems to be subsiding. I think my belly has really popped out in the past week - it's either from a growing baby or the breakfast buffet. Or maybe from the rootbeer float I had for lunch one day - it included two generous scoops of Haa*gen-Dazs, which means like 93 grams of fat.

While there, we met this Brazilian model who was 3.5 months pregnant with twins. She was still incredibly thin (as well as 6' tall). AND she'd just found out that she was pregnant. For those out there who find themselves wanting to ask someone if their twins are "natural," I think the way you can actually more subtly find out (if you must, you nosy boob) is to listen to when the woman found out she was having twins - if she found out at 11+ weeks, then she probably wasn't doing IUI or IVF. I hope that this tip spares many twin moms the exasperation of having to answer whether twins run in the family or whether they "meant" to have twins. Gah! Anyway, this Brazilian chick made me feel very portly.

Thanks to local friends TLB and Brando for clearing our walks and watching our house during a hideous week of weather here. They are saints!

This week: another OB appointment, another therapist appointment, then off to visit the parents and some friends for a week. After that, my air travel is done!

Discuss amongst yourselves

Here's a question for the lucky ladies out there who have had success with fertility treatments after having had some failures. What do you think made the difference in the cycle that worked? Was it the treatment? Tweaking the treatment? Just landing on the right side of the odds? I've been meaning to ask this for a while.

For us, my best guess at what made IVF#3 (FET#1) work was that we had good-quality blastocysts. Cycle 1 had been unlucky, probably because of too few days of stimming. Cycle 2 was a bust because we put back day-3 embryos, whose quality doesn't have as much correlation to ongoing quality as day-5 quality does. But we got some good embryos there, and they finally got to bloom at day 5 during the FET. My back-up theory would be that the FET was just gentler. My back-up, back-up theory would be that I had a piss-poor attitude, which shows that positivity means jack-shit.

So, for you: what made the difference? I am leaving town today (I hope - bad weather is movin' in), but I will eagerly check back in on the responses.

OBGYNpalooza, day 2 (or: My Baby is Average)

Today's ultrasound revealed that my baby is breech, as usual. He is in a pike position with his feet up by his head. This explains why my bladder gets really whacked - he kicks it with his heels, I think. He is apparently 2.9 lbs, which puts him into the 55th percentile. The MFM doctor assured me that average is exactly where I want to be.

I had the MFM doctor look at my cervix on ultrasound, and I also had my OB inspect it in person. They concurred that it was high, tight, long, and closed. It had better be. It was so hard to get into that damned thing that at least I should enjoy the benefit of having it be hard for anything to get out. Anyway, I feel better about my long flights and my being far, far away from my team of experts.

The glucose tolerance test was, well, tolerable. They'll call today or tomorrow if I failed. I hope I didn't - the drink itself was palatable to me (as I have a sweet tooth), but it didn't feel great sitting there in my gullet afterwards.

Other stats: uterus is measuring a bit over 27 weeks, blood pressure was 113 over 62 (so somewhat higher than last time, but apparently not worrisome), and I was up a couple of lbs. I've decided to count my weight gain from my normal weight, so I am up 20 lbs now. That seems good, right, and just to me. They are checking my hematocrit level today as well - I hope that's all right, although I sort of doubt it, given my lack of iron consumption. I don't even take a prenatal vitamin, just a normal multi, since the idea of being even MORE constipated was a nonstarter for me.

OBGYNpalooza, day 1

Today, I had my appointment in the OB-GYN clinic with the psychiatrist who is an infertility/PPD specialist. I really liked her. She's probably younger than I am, like my OB, but I respect young people who have pursued one line of work and are thus quite qualified at this age to perform it (instead of being partially qualified to half-assedly pursue numerous lines of work, like me). We are going to have appointments every two weeks or so for a while, then we will ramp them up as my due date approaches. She's mostly focused on medication management, but I demanded therapy from her first.

Tomorrow, I have an ultrasound, the glucose-tolerance test, and my regular OB appointment. I have developed a fear/neurosis that I will go into preterm labor in Hawaii (or at 35,000 feet en route to or from), so I plan to have my cervix inspected for signs of misbehavior. I've had a few painful sensations while out walking the past couple of days, so my neurosis isn't as completely unfounded as it usually would be.

We leave in two days on our trip. Yay! Although it's finally warmed up here (from the snot-freezing cold we were experiencing just two weeks ago), I will be glad to experience some 85-degree days. I will also be glad to attack the breakfast buffet daily.

I'll be 28 weeks tomorrow. I will try to get another belly shot in before we go.

In other news, there have been a few BFPs out there in IF land lately, but I don't want to jinx anyone by naming names. So congrats to those who've received them, and lots of commiseration to those who haven't. And here's sending lots of easy labor vibes to Beth, who's suffered severe HG up until the bitter end but who will be induced tomorrow morning. May your labor be a breeze and may the nausea disappear as soon as LC debuts!

Nursery, Phase 1

As an exercise in resolving marital disputes, my husband and I assembled the crib this weekend. We are generally not good at assembling things together, as (a) we are both quite moronic when it comes to putting things together and (b) we have historically engaged in - ahem - snippy behavior when reacting to the stress that comes with being faced with one's own idiocy while in the presence of another. I am pleased to say that we assembled the crib, even though the instructions were far, FAR from illuminating. We only majorly fucked up one thing, and we managed to fix it.

Anyway, here it is - the nursery's first few items: the crib and mattress (only Tar.get's finest, naturally) and vaguely colonial-feeling rug (Over.stock.com). I had hankered after a friend's lovely modern nursery set from this company, but when I found that each piece was more than 1000 clams at a local retailer, I decided that frugality is best taught starting at birth. Will our son's first word be "IKEA"? It seems likely.

Ah, 2006.

Last weekend, we were collecting our tax forms. In this process, I separated out all of our 2006 medical bills, since it is possible that we'll hit the threshold to deduct our expenses. Here's a shot of the file of just the bills - not instructions, waivers, clinic materials, photos of doomed embryos, etc., which make up a folder about twice this size.

One thing seems likely, though - 2007 will (knock on wood) be cheaper in terms of medical bills for one key reason: Z0fran's patent expired, and it is now available as a generic, and generics are free under my insurance. Wahooooooo! I shared this news with the barista at our local (non-Starbucks) coffee joint, since she'd had eight months of hyperemesis with her son, who is now two. She practically wept with joy and said she'd now consider a second child. She'd had no insurance with the first, so she would save up $600 at a time to buy 10 full-priced Z0fran.

And this is the way I see it, Michele Johnson of Wamego, KS

You know how Starbucks cups have these little quotes from people on the sides? It's a series called "The Way I See It"? Yeah, I don't usually read them, either, but my cup today happened to catch my eye. Here's what #208 by Michele Johnson, a Starbucks customer from Wamego, Kansas, has to say. Allow me to apologize in advance for my reaction to it.

"I wish couples who desperately take every means to conceive a child would realize that adoption is a wonderful alternative. A child who becomes your child through adoption completes a family. Just as when you commit to your spouse or partner there are no biological ties, yet a family was formed. This child enters a family the same way! It is not blood and flesh that form a family, but the heart."

Thank you for your helpful insights, Michele, even though I would have put a comma after "partner." I don't even know where to start. First, who wants to bet that Michele has at least one biological child? Second, what's with the condescension? Does she think infertile couples don't realize adoption exists? Does she think that infertile couples think adoption is inherently odious? Does she think that people who do adopt have done so without trying anything else?

And then there's the word desperately. Yes, many infertile couples feel desperate - but the way it's used here is much more damning, much more patronizing, like You boob, can't you see how idiotic you look? And how about that lecture about what makes a family? Strong finish, Michele. Thank you for your helpful explanation. I'm sure Starbucks-drinking IVF patients everywhere will cast off their Folli.stim shackles, now that they've seen the light!

Discuss. Or respond.

OB report

My visit to the OB was uneventful. I had only gained one pound since last month, even though I am much larger. I think this is because last month's stats had included a robust weight gain, and also I'd eaten an XXL breakfast right beforehand, which wasn't true today. My total weight gain is hard to measure. If you go by my post-IVF weight, I am up 13 lbs. If you go by my normal weight, I am up 18 lbs. If you go by my hyperemesis low point, I am up 28 lbs. So many choices!

My blood pressure was good - 108 over 62. The little fellow's heartbeat was in the 140-152 range, and he kicked the ultrasound probe (I do think it had it coming). My uterus measured perfectly on target for 25 weeks. The nurse thinks my rib pain is just expanding ribs, and the cramping I get during exercise isn't a big deal as long as it goes away within 30 minutes (which it does). I get the glucose tolerance test in three weeks, as well as another ultrasound. Yippee! Actually the real "yippee!" is that the day after that appointment, we go to Hawaii for a week! Hooray!

Navel Gazing

WARNING: belly shots appear later in this post.

Well, I had lots of ideas for posts, but I wanted to wait to include them with a belly shot, and now of course I've forgotten what they were about.

I have now been to two prenatal aquatics classes - very enjoyable, if also very effective at producing scalding heartburn - and one prenatal yoga class. My prenatal yoga teacher is also a labor doula, which is good to know in case I decide I need one. As predicted, I was among the least flexible people in the class, but at least pregnancy is a good equalizer of flexibility - it narrows the distribution of talent, so while I was still in the bottom 20%, there wasn't the usual gaping abyss between the top 20% and the bottom 20%.

What's that you say? Yoga isn't supposed to be competitive? Yes, I realize that. I don't begrudge anyone else their flexibility, strength, balance, etc., but I do hate to be the worst person there.

Anyhoo, I have my monthly OB appointment tomorrow. Topics to discuss include a strange pain I have in my ribs (expanding uterus? bra too tight? cirrhosis?) and some occasional light cramping during my spins on the elliptical machine.

After eating my way across Omaha last weekend, my belly is now OUT. But my belly button remains deeply in. I swear, it may even be getting deeper, although What to Expect assures me that everyone's navel pops out. We'll see.

24 wks, 6 days. Enjoy!

PROFILE & FULL FRONTAL BELLY

Among the Fertiles

Last night, I went to my first prenatal aquatics class. It was rather enjoyable, but the two other people there (the instructor and a woman who's a regular at the class) were blithe fertiles with multiple other children already. I did not reveal myself to be as neurotic as I am, although they may have sensed it when they asked whether I would be doing a natural childbirth with the midwives (which they are), and I replied something to the effect of Ahem, I don't do anything reproductive without a team of expensively educated experts. (Speaking of experts, when we have to talk about the birds and the bees someday with our son, that story will begin: "First there was Mommy and Daddy - and a team of experts....") In any case, the class was fun, and it was enjoyable to be weightless and bouncing about in the pool to hyperkinetic remixes of "It's My Party and I'll Cry if I Want to" and other classics. I start prenatal yoga later this week, which should be hilarious, given that I am less flexible than most men. Most ninety-three-year-old men.

In other news, I was solipsistically mulling over my symptoms so far, and I've determined that there are benefits to being someone who normally is absent-minded, pees frequently, sleeps poorly, has bizarre dreams, etc. - it means you don't even really notice severe effects of pregnancy! But there is an exception: clumsiness. Oh, I am definitely graceless normally, but I really have been dropping a lot of shit (not actual shit, mind you, which is still not dropped often enough, if you know what I mean). I don't know why it's so hard to hang onto things. Yesterday, I knocked a venti hot tea (fresh from the hot-water dispenser) all over my thigh, which resulted in five (5 ) blisters. Nice. And then I almost did the same damned thing today. I need a handler.

Today, I bought my very first nursery item: this rug from Overst0ck.com. I dislike blue stuff in the house (although I do frequently wear various shades of blue myself), so we're going with a cheerful yellow look and animal theme, I think - no going overboard on blue or, like, trucks until I'm sure that my kid digs that stuff, which isn't at all assured since I am probably secreting hormones to make him gay so that he will be especially devoted to his mommy. We'll also buy some IK.EA furniture, which will necessitate a trip into the Chicago suburbs, which I find harrowing in their indistinguishability (at least from a navigational standpoint). I was sure that my engaging in Internet commerce had doomed me when I felt a bit of a warm gush from my own personal South America, but nothing seems to have happened, and the little feller just keeps kicking me in the bladder.

Naming and Necessity

That's the title of a philosophy book that I can never hope to understand. Since I can't understand it, I am instead using the catchiness of the title to refer to the naming of offspring. (How banal!)

Some of you know me in real life, and you know that I have a very, very boring name. All three of my names are common. To provide some context, at nearly every place I have ever been educated or worked, there is someone else with my name - first and last names, and even sometimes first, middle, and last names. My name is the equivalent of, say, Emily Ann Smith.

At my first job, when I was a young professional, I once found that suddenly I was receiving no emails at all. What soon came to light was that a secretary in the London office had recently gotten married, and she had changed her name such that she was also now Emily Smith. The IT department had simply changed her email without checking to see whether anyone else already had emily.smith@thiscompany. I distinctly remember being on a business trip and calling the Help(less) Desk from a pay phone (this was before the days of widespread cell phone usage; I am old), trying to get them to change her email to something else, and they kept trying to tell me that I had to change my email now to emily.a.smith@thiscompany, which resulted in my blurting out, venomously, "But she's a secretary!" Yes, I sold out the sisterhood. I am not proud of this. But I got my email address back and she had to be emily.a.smith. Ha!

I didn't change my name when I got married. I wasn't inclined to do so to begin with, since even though my name is dull, I was rather used to it. Also, I often sign my emails with my initials, and I identify with those initials - some people even just call me by my initials. Moreover, my husband's last name, while less common, isn't really any more exciting. It's no Spinoza or Slater or Del Toro, no Hamburger or von Trapp or Boutros Ghali. His whole name isn't much more thrilling than mine - and he's a Junior. His mother tried to lobby us to name our little fellow the same name, and I didn't even pretend for a moment to consider it. I may have even said, Pish-tosh! or Poppycock!

What I'm getting at is that I feel a burden to name our son something interesting. But then I am afraid of naming him something too interesting, since that isn't my style, either. We've bounced around a few candidates, all of which will remain secret until he debuts (knock on wood). There were a couple of names that looked particularly promising - slightly left of center, just like us.

Well, in the past three weeks, friends of ours have stolen our names! (Okay, "stolen" isn't the right word, since we uncharacteristically hadn't breathed a word of our ideas to anyone, but you know what I mean.) First, my husband's ex-almost-stepsister named her son one of "our" names. Of the two names in question, this one struck me as much more likely to become fashionable, so I rolled with it. But then today I learned that our across-the-street neighbors (and fellow IVFers) named their son the second name, which I thought no one would ever come up with. All this goes to show that we are all breathing in the same influences, I suppose, and that resistance is futile. We will just have to pick a name we like, even if that means "taking" a name someone else has already used. (But, for the record, note that I would never steal someone's, like, family name or really unique name or anything like that.)

What are your thoughts on names (your own, your existing or prospective children's, or other people's)?

22 Weeks, 5 Days

Warning: belly shot appears later in this post.

I may have mentioned this before, but I am too lazy to check. I once saw a post on a "Pregnant After Infertility" message board that was to the effect of, "Does anyone wish they could hide their pregnancy until the end?", to which several people replied in the affirmative. At the time, I was kind of like, you've got to be kidding me, but now I am totally with that woman, whoever she was.

I am now officially outing myself at work, but I can't rid myself of the feeling that I am going to jinx everything by making it more real. I haven't ordered a single piece of baby gear yet, even though I recently learned that some things, like cribs, take a while to arrive. So I need to get on that. But, damn, I'm superstitious. I was emailing yesterday with a friend of mine who had a miscarriage not too long ago, and she was complaining about a mutual friend who had just announced her (effortless) pregnancy - inexplicably, this woman had had CVS done, but was telling everyone before the results came back. What's the point? Anyway, my friend who had the miscarriage said she wouldn't announce any future pregnancies until twenty weeks. You can get away with that on the first pregnancy, so I say go for it.

Anyway, what a difference a month makes - I now have a gut! See photo below. I was wearing a loose sweater on top, so I probably could have gotten away with just looking tubby, but I started telling work people today. I'm pregnant. It's still so odd to say.

Welcome advice

When I was on my recent travels, I solicited advice on parenting and how to survive it. I thought I would share what I had learned; if you have anything to dispute or add, please do.

- Sleep when the baby sleeps. (This one came from multiple sources.)
- Steal as much shit as you can at the hospital, such as infant-sized caps and swaddling blankets.
- If you're having a boy, you will learn a lot about insects and dinosaurs.
- When someone comes over to see the baby, let them help - don't try to host them.

There may have been more pieces of advice, but those are what I remember.

I realize I have been over-blogging lately, but never fear - I am about to leave town again for a few days in NYC for work, so things should calm down, unless some extra-late amnio result comes back or something.

Regular OB visits are very unsatisfying, since you don't even get to take off your pants.

First, let me say that my third wedding anniversary was yesterday. One thing that's bad about a January 3 anniversary is that it's right after the holidays and you're too wiped out to celebrate or exchange gifts, but of course that's also what's good about it. We were in bed reading by 8:20 - it was awesome. We did reminisce briefly about how friggin' drunk everyone was at our wedding, which we often cite as a point of pride. There were also at least five hookups, which is impressive for people in their thirties, don't you think? One of those couples is now engaged and planning a New Year's Eve 2007/08 wedding, extending the chain of love (we met at a NYE 2000/01 wedding).

In other news, I had another level II ultrasound today. I go to a huge teaching hospital, so there are always like 90 people in the room whenever I have anything done, and I seem to have established a rapport with one of the maternal-fetal medicine fellows. I feel that I am doing the various medical students, residents, and fellows a service by demonstrating how an overeducated, neurotic, infertile patient behaves. These doctors-in-training will be well equipped to take positions at clinics in affluent urban areas and college towns all over America.

The ultrasound itself was good. The technician was very verbal and helpful, showing me my baby's ass, brain, bladder, stomach, legs, perfect feet, hands, and nose, as well as my placenta, which is apparently very attractive. The baby was breech and I expect that he will choose that position again later on, since that's the way things go around here. The MFM doctor was not my regular doctor, but thankfully the stalwart fellow was there to provide continuity. They thought things looked fine, but they also grilled me for info as to what the UCSF people had said, which doesn't exactly inspire confidence. They agreed to schedule me for more ultrasounds to check the baby's growth - I'll get another in late February and then another at 34 weeks. Yay for me!

I then went to my regular OB appointment, which was - how shall I put this? - both quick and boring. Not much happens at regular OB appointments, you know? You pee into a cup; they check your blood pressure (111/67 today); they make you get on a scale (I'm now 10 lbs up); they measure your uterus (21 somethings - cms?); and they listen to the heartbeat (ranged from 150-163). It all takes about five minutes, and you don't even have to take off your shoes, much less your maternity jeans. I did manage to extend my visit for an extra two minutes since I needed to find out whether my OB had strong-armed my way into an appointment with the infertility/PPD specialist, and she did! I go in in late February. I wish I could have seen this woman during the throes of IVF, but I'll take what I can get.

The difference between fertiles and infertiles

Okay, this is a common topic of posts on infertility blogs, but that's never stopped me before.

I was staying with a very dear friend in San Francisco, a woman who has seen me through many difficult times and who has endured many difficult times herself. I say this as a prelude so that you don't think I am complaining about her - really, I am not, as she is a truly wonderful person and deserves as much happiness as the universe can muster on her behalf. Instead, I bring this up merely to illustrate the differences between the pregnant fertile and the pregnant infertile.

My friend and her husband recently succeeded in becoming knocked up (first or second try), and she is currently seven weeks along, or about fourteen weeks behind me, or about five "real" weeks pregnant (ie, three weeks post-BFP). She has not yet had an ultrasound since bona fide fertiles aren't allowed to have one until eight weeks or later. But here are the things I observed when I was staying with her:

1. She already had a subscription to the Ba.byCenter pregnancy magazine.
2. Her husband had already bought the baby a teddy bear that has "My First Bear" embroidered on it.
3. She was already heading out to buy maternity jeans, since hers were feeling tight. She also asked if I could send her the maternity things I had borrowed from a mutual friend but didn't want (which I am happy to do).
4. She and her husband were already clearing out and organizing their spare bedroom so that it can become a nursery.
5. They had already told many, many people that they were pregnant (some on purpose, some accidentally when the news just slipped out).

Meanwhile, I am still having a hard time not trying to hide my pregnancy (though it is physically difficult to do so at this point), and there have certainly been no baby-related gear purchases.

I've long read blogs of pregnant infertiles expressing this kind of sentiment, and I've always kind of thought that you'd get over the weird, superstitious infertile behavior at some point, but it sure is hard to rid yourself of the idea that everything is going to come crashing down, and that any presumptuous behavior on your part is bound to cause such a calamity.

(Speaking of calamities - on a happier note, Jane of Jane's Calamity has debuted her adorable twins, Clio and Elsa! And she gets the tax break on them for 2006! Good girls.)

Relapse: don't do it

So I'd been having some good days and some bad days, but my overall hyperemesis trend had been positive. I was most prone to nausea in the late afternoons, and had probably puked twice a week during that time for the last five weeks - not so bad.

Until yesterday (ie, New Year's Eve). I started feeling fairly nauseated in the afternoon. We were staying with friends who like to eat and stay up late, so I thought that maybe I was feeling ill because I hadn't slept well or enough. I took a nap, but when I woke up to help prepare for the NYE dinner party (which started at five), I was really not feeling good. I popped an extra Zo.fran, since Zo.fran is my BFF.

The party began, and I was really feeling like crap - huge waves of nausea, etc. I tried to nibble on some bread, but no luck. Fortunately, this was a dinner party of close friends, so no one really minded when I said, "Excuse me - I need to vomit." And vomit I did - oh, did I vomit! I believe the puke left my stomach at a rate of no less than 75mph and possibly as high as 90. I did make it to the toilet (bad form otherwise, though surely NYE has seen many non-toilet-based pukes). This turned into the heinous, heaving feeling that I knew so well from the early days of hyperemesis. I repeated this pattern several more times until finally I realized it would be more polite to excuse myself from the rest of the dinner and lie down in another room. My husband and I snuck out just after midnight to stay at a quieter friend's house.

I managed to keep down my Uni.som and B6 and a megadose of Zo.fran before bed, and I do feel somewhat better today. I am just relieved I didn't have to go to the ER in a big city on NYE - that is one experience I can live without, although I'm sure one encounters many colorful characters there.

We fly back today, and I am excited to see my little dog tomorrow. Happy 2007 to you all!

Holiday rundown

This will be brief since I am still a-vacationing, but here's my holiday, by the numbers:

49: The number of hours I spent staying alone at my mother-in-law's house because my husband was supposed to fly via Denver and got delayed by two days instead.

183: The number of farts I have emitted in the greater LA area in the past few days. I would particularly like to apologize to those of you who may have been shopping on the Third St.reet Prom.enade on Christmas Eve; if you wandered into a rank miasma, that may have been left behind by me.

7: The number of times I think I may have felt the little feller move inside my belly. I think I'm finally feeling that "goldfish" sensation that people cite.

Okay, this last one doesn't fit neatly into the numbering conceit, but I definitely have a belly now. If you didn't know me, you might think it could be a burrito gut, but if you did know me, you'd definitely think I look pregnant. My belly popped out in the past week or so. My husband immediately noticed it when he arrived two (2) days late after we'd been apart for a week.

I hope you are all doing well!

He who suffers remembers.

That's what my fortune cookie said last night. Nice, eh?

I had my appointment and ultrasound today with the UCSF people. The prenatal genetics doctor was reassuring overall: she said that they see a few instances of mos.aic tri.somy 20 each year, and her feeling was that if a detailed ultrasound showed no structural abnormalities, then the chances of a birth defect would be closer to that of the general population (4%ish) and not 10%. The ultrasound came back fine (and no clubfoot!), which was a huge relief, especially as the doctor doing it did not speak until she was done with the entire thing. My baby doesn't move much at all - he seems constantly to be asleep - but I will worry about that later.

The next thing to do would be an echocardiogram, which I may do when I get back home - this would just confirm no structural abnormalities of the heart. And I should get regular ultrasounds to check that the growth is okay. As of right now, the baby measures on track or maybe slightly ahead of dates. I would be happy to get frequent ultrasounds, so that is fine with me.

And the icing on the cake was that my insurance agreed to cover this visit - I had to keep going up the chain, but finally I traded messages with someone who agreed that it was necessary and that they would cover it (instead of trying to make me fly back home). I would have gone ahead with the appointment regardless, but I'm sure my adventures today cost at least a thousand clams, so it was nice to get official approval.

All in all, a good day! I will try to be optimistic, even though this might require a personality transplant.

Thanks for all of your kind wishes!!

The 5% Nation, Continued

Thanks for all of your posts below - they really mean a lot to me. I now have an appointment tomorrow at UCSF with the main prenatal genetics doctor, and then I have a level II ultrasound there as well. I was impressed that I got in there so quickly - either my doctor is very important or I am in a bad situation. I am assuming the former. Or, more realistically, he probably told the UCSF people that I am neurotic and high-maintenance and would likely spontaneously combust if I couldn't get some more information. We'll see.

It is difficult to be rational. Like, I know the chances are much better than not that things will be okay. One of my friends took her son to the pediatrician today (a very experienced, in-demand doctor) and she asked about trisomy 20 mosai.cism. He said that in 20 years, he'd never seen it actually happen - ie, people get the bad result on their amnios, then the kids are fine. But it is so hard for me to feel reassured by that, you know? And I know that this would probably come up in plenty of people who never have amnios, and thus never know. But it is still anxiety-inducing.

I was supposed to have lunch and go walking with a pregnant friend of mine today, but she had her baby a couple of days ago (two weeks early). I still went walking (running, even!), which was lovely, but I have since returned to the friend's house where I am staying and have basically been napping, crying, and consulting Dr. Google, who doesn't have as much info as I'd like.

Another thing that concerns me is that I can't feel this kid move yet, I don't think. I know there's a range of when people feel movement, but I know so many people who have felt it way earlier than this. I guess I'll find out more tomorrow.

The Five Percent Nation of Casiotone

The title is a reference to a lyric in a Soul Coughing song that keeps going through my head. Why? Because the 5% of a bad outcome seems to be where I continue to fall. I think Beth had a post to this effect on her blog.

So fewer than 5% of couples need IVF. Fewer than 5% of pregnant women get hyperemesis. We know where I/we fell there.

Now let me tell you that FISH results are supposed to account for 95% of the things that can be wrong with your baby as shown by the amnio.

Guess who's got that last-5% abnormal result? Us. 20% of our baby's cells have tri.somy 20 mosai.cism. Could mean nothing, could mean a bunch of terrible things. The chances are that nothing is wrong, but there's a 5-10% chance that something is wrong - it could be heart, kidneys, brain. It's hard for me to be optimistic.

I am away from home for two weeks. The doctor is trying to get me an appointment at UCSF tomorrow or the next day for a detailed ultrasound to see if any issues appear there, but of course they might not be able to see if anything is wrong, since what's wrong could be invisible for now.

I am so tired of being on the wrong side of the odds. I was just starting to feel happy and confident in this pregnancy, and now this. If they can't see anything wrong on the ultrasound, I am still going to worry for the next five months - and probably longer, since whatever's wrong (if something is wrong) could take a while to show up.

Taking care of business (or not)

I realize that it's bad enough when an infertile blogger gets pregnant and starts complaining about side effects of pregnancy and posting belly shots, but surely it must be worse when that blogger starts describing her shits in detail.

But so it is.

Dear readers, although I was still constipated by the Z0fran, I felt that it and I had reached a sort of detente: the Z0fran would let me nominally move my bowels once a day, and I would deal with the fact that said movements were somewhat painful and, frankly, stingy. And, over time, with the help of more and more C0lace, those craps were at least less injurious than they had been - sure, there would be some straining, but no longer did I feel as if I were giving birth from an inappropriate location. Until yesterday.

I don't know what the problem was. I try to eat a lot of fiber, even though I don't know if it makes a bit of difference when confronted with the awesome constipating power of Z0fran. It was true that I had experienced a bit of a nausea relapse and temporarily re-upped my dosage, so maybe that had something to do with my issue. Maybe that panini that I ate with local reader MSF a couple of days ago just had too much goddamned starch in it. Whatever the case, I found myself on the toilet yesterday. For forty-five minutes. As a turd got STUCK while I tried to get it out of my tortured ass.

Nothing worked. Not straining, not relaxing, not trying to stress myself out in the hopes that my good old nervous stomach would return. Not reading an entire issue of the alumni magazine, not praying, not cursing, not primally screaming, not even weeping (for, yes, a few tears were shed). I even resorted to more desperate measures that one can read about on hyperemesis message boards; no dice. I felt I might simply have to take up residence on the toilet while the concrete marbles and gravity battled it out. My husband would be home in just five short hours, and the dog had water in his dish. We could all live, right?

Finally, as I was considering whether dying was really such a bad alternative, I was saved by gas: a few bubbles percolated downward and shoved out the recalcitrant turd. I almost passed out from the effort. My poor, beleagured sphincter was so pummeled that every time I farted (and, hey, pregnant women fart) later on, it felt like a rubber band snapping against a sunburn.

Needless to say, to my normal evening cocktail of C0lace and various drugs, I added a double shot of Milk of Magnesia with a water chaser. Also, upon my release from the Abu Ghra1b of elimination, I immediately checked the baby's heartbeat with my rented doppler to make sure that he hadn't been rendered unconscious by the passing of a nearby piece of concrete.

Today was better, but I remain scarred by the experience. An elective c-section suddenly looks rather appealing.

Old wives' tales, analyzed

Warning: belly shots appear later in this post.

Now, onto the topic of the title: old wives' tales, specifically those about gender prediction. Let's see how they did.

1. Higher heart rate = girl; lower heart rate = boy.

Clearly, the old wives failed me here. The heart rate of my little alien has consistently been on the high side - 150-160. I guess he's just high-strung like his mother.

2. Good skin = boy; bad skin = girl.

Give this one to the old wives. My skin has been very clear since BFP. Now, my skin isn't, say, as prone to eruptions as a teenaged fry cook's, but I do get a zit here and there. This isn't to say I look radiant - I am still as pasty as ever.

3. Morning sickness = either boy or girl, depending upon whom you ask.

I'd always heard that more morning sickness meant a girl, the theory being that you have more female hormones wreaking havoc on your body (which I think is the same idea behind #2). But some people swear that, no, it's boys that make morning sickness worse. I do know that with hyperemesis, girls are statistically more likely, though not by a huge amount (56% vs. 44% or so). So who knows how to score this one.

4. Craving for sweets = girl; craving for salty foods = boy

The old wives are clearly not to be trusted. I have heavily preferred sweets (during those times when I have been able to eat) to salty foods, although I do occasionally yearn for "all natural" cheet.os (those white puffy ones in a paper-ish bag).

I think that about covers it. Any other classics you've heard?

I continue to feel better, though not well. I am down to 16mg a day of Z0fran, but I still can't take a shit. On Friday, we went to my office holiday party, and I felt awful afterwards, although one can't help but guess that the all-fried menu (and my joyous embrace of it) might have had something to do with it. Chicken fingers, potato skins, etc. - mmmmmmm. I would have eaten 10 mozzarella sticks, too, if they'd had 'em.

Anyway, here are some belly shots - both at 17 weeks. One shows the bare belly, and the other gives you an idea of how I've been trying to camouflage it with clothes. Both pictures feature my new fleece yoga pants from Victo.ria's Se.cret - one of my friends told me these were all she'd worn in late pregnancy (well, she'd had the classic version, but it's cold here, so I went for fleece). I never ordered any since, well, I was never pregnant, but now that I have some, I can tell you that they would be PERFECT for day six onward of stims during a fresh IVF cycle. If only I'd known.

SHOT #1: The goods



















SHOT #2: Incognito (sort of)

Results, round one

The FISH results are back and the baby doesn't have Down syndrome or some other trisomies (15 and 18, I think; or maybe it was 13 and 18), nor any X or Y issues. And he is really a he.

I had my regular OB appointment yesterday and all seemed well then - heartbeat was chortling along at 154, and my blood pressure was something like 116 over 70, so pretty good, if a bit higher than my normal blood pressure. The OB does think I am "THE" prime candidate for postpartum depression (thank you very much) so she's twisting arms to get me into meet with this very in-demand combo OBGYN/psychiatrist who focuses on infertility and PPD. The hospital clearly needs about five of that woman.

Modest fetus

I had my amnio and ultrasound today. The baby had its legs crossed over its groin (and its hands over its face), but the ultrasound tech got some glimpse that made her think it's a boy. The FISH results will be back in two days, and those will tell us definitively. The full amnio results will be back in two weeks.

The baby looks more like a baby than a peanut now - he had real arms and legs and a little nose. He doesn't seem to move all that much, although he did flip over between the initial ultrasound and the one they did in conjunction with the amnio. He is one cute little feller.

Remember how I said I'd stop worrying if the amnio results came back fine? Well, I can already tell you that that is a lie. You see, the only thing the doctor didn't like on the ultrasound was the baby's feet - he wants another ultrasound in three to four weeks to check for clubfoot. He said it's early, and also the baby's position kept him from telling whether there was an issue there, but of course I will now worry about this. At least clubfoot is correctable. But it would nice to have no known issues for once. I will focus on retaining my excellent health insurance in the meantime.

The amnio itself was no big deal. I had the head of the maternal-fetal medicine group perform it, and I definitely felt like I was in great hands. It was short and practically painless - less painful than your average, well-executed blood draw - and the needle is inside this stabilizing contraption that keeps you from actually seeing its full length. Anyway, we'll now hope that no complications follow, and that the amnio results come back perfect.

I hope you are all doing well!

The Week in Review; The Week Ahead

Thank you all for your posts below. I compiled the happy-ending brain-cancer stories and sent them to a friend who's kind of the point person for conveying info on my friend who just had surgery. They'll get the final path report on the tumor this week, which will then dictate treatment (and likely outcomes). I am keeping my fingers crossed that the news is as good (or as not-bad) as possible.

In other news, I found a dead mouse in our house this week. We have a bathroom that is off of our kitchen, and it contains a shower that never gets used since there are bathrooms right off of the bedrooms in our house. We do use this bathroom for quite a lot of peeing, however. But we never open the shower door - for reference, it's one of those hard-shell, frosted-glass varieties. Anyway, I went swimming one day this week (in my normal bathing suit, which was abruptly rendered nearly obscene since my tubby middle caused the high leg holes to ride up even higher, necessitating board shorts), and I figured I'd hang up my wet towel and swimsuit in the kitchen bathroom. I threw the towel over the shower shell, and, planning to hang my suit over the showerhead, I opened the door. There on the drain was a dead mouse (fortunately, a freshly dead mouse). I yelled, "Ack!" and then "Goddamn it!" (why not "Fuck?" Hmm.) and slammed the door shut. I considered getting rid of the mouse myself, but instead I just shut the door to the bathroom and waited for my husband to come home. Normally, I am the bug-killer in our family, but somehow I didn't feel prepared to be the varmint-disposer. A pest specialist visited the next day and posited that this mouse was a lone ranger, but he set up a bunch of traps anyway. I guess I should be glad I went swimming (which I rarely do) and thus discovered the mouse before he started to rot. But I also panicked about the disarray of our house. This weekend, I have undertaken an MCI (massive cleaning initiative). It is about 4 degrees outside, so I might as well be doing something indoors.

On another topic, I was emailing with an online buddy this week - we had our FETs the same day. I was saying that I was using the Bell.a Band a bunch now, and she said I should just go for maternity pants - that I'd wonder why I hadn't done so sooner. Well, the big box of stuff from my friend arrived this week, and I made the mistake of trying on some of the maternity jeans. Holy moly - I am almost afraid I'll never wear anything but elastic-waisted pants again! So comfortable. I am going to try, however, to continue wearing my stretchier normal pants and the Bell.a Band for two more weeks at work - easier to remain undercover that way. Then I'll be off for a month and no one will see me. I can then make a dramatic reentry in January, looking like a beach ball.

My amnio is on Wednesday this week. I asked for FISH results (in addition to the main ones), which you get sooner than the amnio results, which take two weeks. I learned about this on the Internets, and I am very willing to pay $524 that could otherwise be used on pest control or housecleaning services or Christmas gifts, just so that I don't have to suffer in limbo. Also, my amnio results should be back around Dec. 21, so I was afraid I'd be getting bad news right in the middle of the holidays. I keep saying I'll act more normal and confident in this pregnancy if the amnio comes back good, but I will probably be insane until the very end. They are going to do the level II ultrasound at the same time as the amnio, I think, so I do hope to know gender that day. If not, it will come back with the amnio results.

Perspective

I just learned that one of my friends has a malignant, aggressive brain tumor. Last week, he had several seizures and was taken to the ER. He was then transferred to a brain-tumor specialty center (one of the best, luckily) and had surgery yesterday. The biopsy confirmed the tumor's malignancy and aggressiveness (3 on a scale of 1 to 4), and they couldn't get everything out, so he'll likely do chemo and radiation - a long, tough road, obviously.

My mother's father died of a brain tumor when he was 48 - this was long ago, of course, and treatments were no good. But brain cancer is still so scary. I don't have any happy stories to tell - everyone I know who's had it has died from it. If you know of any good stories, please tell them to me.

So please think positive thoughts for my friend, even though the thoughts will be vague and disembodied. He is married to one of the most wonderful people I know, so he has a good support network, but what a frightening turn of events.

Greetings

I have been traveling much of the past week and have a few minor things to report.

1. I am feeling a bit better. I've gone down from 24 mg of Z0fran a day to 20 mg. That might not sound like much, but it's progress. I still feel nauseated much of the time, but not as severely, and I occasionally have stretches of one to three hours when I feel totally normal, which is awesome. I've been eating more and have even - gasp - managed to drink plain water on occasion. I'm sure I'm gaining weight. Yay!

2. I just scored a shitload of maternity clothes from one of my high-school friends. She has some nice stuff, too - good work clothes, especially.

3. I found a fantastic black winter coat (Ag.nes B) from a secondhand store for $45. It's a size up from my normal size and looks like it'll accommodate at least a few months of a pregnant belly.

4. The weather here (in my hometown) is great. Since I've been feeling a bit better, I've been walking every day with my husband and my brother. I can now do 45 minutes. That may not sound like much, but spending so much time on the couch over the past 10 weeks has really sapped the cardiovascular fitness.

5. One of my younger cousins (she's 20 or 21) is engaged and is planning to have five children ASAP. That is a still a bit astonishing to me. I'm sure she's extremely fertile and I'm also sure that she and her siblings think I am definitely way too old to be procreating.

6. I didn't bring the fetal heart monitor I rented, so now I am panicking a bit that something has gone wrong with the baby. We return home tomorrow, and I'll check it then. And run right to the ER if I can't find the heartbeat.

7. When I was in Chicago, I went to Bl00mingdale's to get fitted correctly for bras. Normally, I wear a 34B in the first part of my cycle, then switch to a 34C in the PMS period. Well, I am now apparently a 32D. But I made the woman sell me a 34D since I kind of felt like I couldn't breathe in the 32. It may be psychological, but whatever. My ribs will expand anyway. My friend who loaned me the maternity clothes said she's currently a 34F (she's nursing). That is sort of horrifying to contemplate, no?

8. I continue to have vivid, weird-ass dreams. I already generally have disturbing dreams, so I could live without this particular side effect of hormones.

I hope all of you are doing well!

Five things

I've been tagged by Spark to tell you five things you don't know about me. I've wasted some of my standard answers to these in my illness/disease/hypochondria post below, so I will have to try harder.

1. I can write backwards in cursive. You know, so that when you hold the writing up to a mirror, it shows up as normal. I have always been able to do this - it was never something I had to learn.

2. I went to a Baptist grade school and, as a result, can still name all of the books of the Bible in order (and spelled correctly - and backwards and in cursive, if you'd like).

3. I can swallow air and thus belch the alphabet (or say whatever you request). Great party trick in college, less so at age 34.

4. I share a birthday with Henry Kissinger, Andre 3000, and Shiloh Jolie-Pitt.

5. I have a cowlick, and when I was born, hair grew in a full circle on my forehead. Luckily, it went away, as I was born in the days before laser hair removal.

And with that, I tag the following illustrious individuals:

Beth at Prop Your Hips Up Afterwards
Jane at Jane's Calamity
Bihari at Iowadrift
Emmie at Fertility Lost
Hope at Not Like I Thought It Would Be

No need to play if it doesn't seem fun.

Now, this will be a test.

I will be in Chicago on Friday, and I arranged to meet up with two friends for lunch. I have found that I can go into restaurants and do okay as long as I don't have to stay too long. So when my friend asked where I thought I could go (she knows about the HG), I said that anywhere casual should be fine - I just can't deal with a long, formal lunch. She said okay. And then she emailed back with the name of the place she'd picked. Let's just say the word "fishmarket" is involved. I looked online at their menu, and it really is 99% seafood-based. I mean, really - a fish restaurant? Sheesh. Maybe they'll give me a PB&J if I pretend to be under 12.

But I do thank my lucky stars that I can go into restaurants and grocery stores without too violent a reaction. Some women with HG can't even walk into a grocery store without hurling - and forget about restaurants. My issue is more that the thought of certain foods (and the type of food is rotating, with something being palatable one day and gross the next) can send my body into an imagination-fueled wave of nausea. There are only a few foods that are always revolting to me - mostly bland things that I ate early on when I was puking 20+ times a day. Saltines, mashed potatoes, sour candies, ginger ale (which I used to LOVE), ginger snaps, pita, and Coke are all non-starters for me. Eww.

My nausea doesn't really seem to be improving, but my pants have suddenly become tight, so I think the right things are growing. My boobs have finally started to hurt a bit as well and I am getting regular headaches. I am on the delayed pregnancy-symptom plan, it seems.

Assorted topics

Yesterday, I ventured to an outlet mall about 25 miles away. My brother had requested some ties for Christmas, and there's a Br00ks Br0s. outlet there, along with an 0ld Navy outlet that allows me to encourage good hygiene in my husband through my purchase of dozens of pairs of inexpensive boxers. (Truth be told, he still wears the same pair for days on end.) As further background, we live in an area in which you can go low-end (0ld Navy, Tar.get, etc.) or high-end (expensive boutiques where you can get your Paper Den1m jeans or T0ry Burch ensembles), but we lack the stylish middle ground (JCr.ew, etc.). So imagine my great glee when I drove into the outlet mall and saw that there is now a Ban.ana Republic outlet there! Awesome. I'd rather have a BR outlet than a real BR anyway. I got my father, brother, and husband many gifts, and I got myself a swingy baby-doll-style velvet dress for $11.99. I've decried the fashion trends in recent years - you know, the trapeze dresses and the non-fitted tanks that make you look pregnant unless you're the age and shape of Misch.a Barton. Now I am taking advantage of it. I also got two empire-waisted non-fitted stretchy tops. Good times.

Now, on the topic of disclosure. I disclosed my condition(s) to friends and family recently. My mother was delighted, but my decision not to tell my parents any earlier was vindicated when, not 24 hours later, I was bcc'ed on an email that my father had apparently sent out to everyone he knows, updating them on my mother's cancer treatments and their impending grandparenthood. In short, the word is out.

But I have not disclosed at work yet, and I am hoping to keep it mum for a while longer, at least until after my amnio (Dec. 6, with results two weeks later). I think I am a bit more cowed at work because most people here are my acquaintances, not close friends, and the idea of having to say, "Well, actually, it all went to hell," is not that appealing. There is a woman who works here who was visibly pregnant a year or so ago when she found out that her fetus had anencephaly, and everyone knew that she terminated. I don't really want to be in that situation, even though I think most people are understanding about such things (but I would be in danger of punching anyone who wasn't). I am taking three weeks off at the holidays and then have to travel for work for a week, so I'll be out of the office for a solid month. The question is, can I stay undercover for another month or so? It may be unlikely. But I have my new BR duds to see me through.

Later this week, I must take my first plane flights since I have been ill. The first one, on Thursday, is short (35 minutes). The second one, on Saturday, is a bit longer (2 1/2 hours). I shall carry dog-waste bags with me in case I need to hurl at 35,000 feet. I had a nightmare that I forgot to pack the Z0fran. God forbid.

The universe again proves it is adept at sucking

I had been having a great day today - it's an unseasonably warm 75 degrees here; I wasn't feeling barfy (after two very barfy days); I took a REAL SHIT yesterday (thanks, 3 Co.lace + Milk of Magnes1a); I was wearing one of the cute new long tees I got from 0ld Navy Semi-Disposable Clothing for $12.50 last weekend; and let's just say I am pleased by recent current events. Oh - I also have a facial scheduled for tonight (from a gift certificate a friend gave me after failed IVF #2). Point being, things were good.

But then one of my good friends emailed me to say that her fetus had no heartbeat at 10 weeks. She is a PCOSer who was en route to IVF when she got pregnant with the help of acupuncture, and, obviously, she was just a few weeks behind me. She wasn't "out" yet, but I had told her immediately when I got my BFP, and she had done the same - I think I was one of her only friends to know. She and her husband had just come back from a great vacation, and she'd just had a good ultrasound two weeks ago, right before they left. I can only imagine how heartbroken they are right now. D&C is in a few days.

As MWDB once put it: universe, you suck big, dirty donkey balls. And how.

And by my diseases and injuries, you shall know me

Infertility blogs obviously grow out of the physical and psychological stresses that come out of a diagnosis (whether it's specified - like PCOS - or the always-frustrating "unexplained" infertility). You get to know a great deal about the blogger's mechanics and treatments and the emotional effects of both, and, even when an IF blogger gets pregnant, this tendency is so ingrained that it is likely to continue - ESPECIALLY when said blogger is neurotic and hypochondriacal. And, really, what longtime IFer isn't?

During an episode of insomnia last night, this got me thinking about the real and imagined ailments I have experienced over the course of my lifetime. I suspect this is the equivalent of telling someone else about your dream (ie, interesting to you, not to them), but because I don't mind hearing about others' dreams or ailments, I'm going to list my ailments here, in rough chronological order.

ACTUAL DISEASES, AILMENTS, AND INJURIES I HAVE EXPERIENCED:
* broken arm (on mother's 30th birthday)
* chicken pox
* repeated ear infections, 5-15 a year, from early childhood through mid-20s
* broken toe (on parents' anniversary)
* scarlet fever (started an outbreak at school)
* pronounced myopia (literal, but perhaps also figurative)
* strep throat (repeatedly)
* dislocated patella (4-5 instances)
* mononucleosis
* ocular migraine (4 times total)
* fractured tibia
* pityriasis rosea (aka the "Christmas tree" virus; twice, very rare)
* amoebic dysentery (from shrimp from a street stall in Bangkok - dumb, dumb, dumb)
* sprained rhomboid muscle
* sesamoiditis (inflammation of little bones in foot; result of high arches and high heels)
* stress fracture in foot
* food poisoning (two very bad instances - one in Peru, one on honeymoon at five-star resort in Hawaii)
* endometriosis
* polymorphic light eruptions
* hyperemesis gravidarum

AILMENTS I HAVE CONVINCED MYSELF THAT I HAVE, ONLY TO FIND THAT THE ONLY AILMENT I SUFFER FROM IS AN OVERLY ACTIVE SENSE OF MELODRAMA THAT MIGHT COME IN HANDY IF I WERE TO WRITE LIFETIME MOVIES
(in no particular order)
* lymphoma (both Hodgkins and non-)
* HIV/AIDS
* poisoning via inadvertent contact with yard plant my mother told me was poisonous (I was 4 at the time and lay solemnly down upon the sofa to die; nothing happened.)
* melanoma (repeatedly)
* Lyme disease
* brain tumor (okay, I still often think this)
* pneumonia
* Alzheimer's, early-onset (there is some evidence to support this, I suppose)
* torn rotator cuff (turns out I had the wrong region in mind)

Now, you, dear readers - what have you had, and what have you persuaded yourself that you've had?

A creature who lives with us

I can't quite remember how this started, but my husband and I occasionally ponder how odd it is that people have dogs. I mean, there is this furry creature who lives with us. He rides in the car with us and hangs his head out the window and cries when he sees a squirrel or a cat that he wants to throttle. He eats the same thing for dinner every night (which isn't so different from my husband) and he occasionally goes into a sort of trance in which he cannot stop digging a hole in the yard or at the dog park. We look at him and say, "You are a little creature who lives with us," and he looks back at us as if to say, "Yes, now let me go outside."

Anyway, that's sort of what I feel like after having seen a little creature in my pelvis on ultrasound today. He or she was facing upward at the transponder and looks very much like a little alien. I also heard the heartbeat - a solid 160 beats per minute. The companion to this little creature stopped developing fairly recently, so there is another sac still in there. I am very pleased with the one, though, and look forward to my next appointment, which isn't for five weeks. Five weeks! I may have to rent one of those doppler things. It took the OB a while today to find the heartbeat, so I should be prepared to panic a bit, I suppose, when I'm the one trying to find it. I was greatly relieved when she did hear it, even though I had recently seen it on the ultrasound. (But you never know what can happen in an hour!)

In other news, my diet of whole chocolate milk has gotten me back up close to my normal pre-pregnancy weight (although not my post-IVF weight, but that's okay). I asked the OB about my constipation, and she suggested more water. As usual, I dissolved into demented laughter over the concept of drinking water. In my past life, I drank SO MUCH WATER that I would pee three times on a two-hour flight, and now the stuff completely repels me. Water. Ha!

Prediction

I occasionally dip into a pregnancy message board these days (though I really feel comfortable only on IF boards), and I have noticed that people are always asking how they can prevent stretch marks - like whether certain creams work, whether diet makes a difference, etc. I consulted What to Expect When You're Expecting on this topic, and it says that it's either genetics or the result of being well hydrated and having a good diet.

In my opinion, this is a load of hooey - I think it's all genetics. And I will tell you why - I am the best hydrated person I know, and I already have a shitload of stretch marks. I have them on my hips. I have them on my arms. I have them on my inner thighs and my buttocks and my boobs and my biceps. I may have them in places that I can't see. My body looks like a bobcat swiped it in multiple locations decades ago. In reality, they were all the result of a rather drastic growth spurt (seven inches of height in five months) when I was in the 12/13 age range. I remember noticing them in my mid-teens and asking my doctor, and he advised me of the proper terminology.

So if I am lucky enough to continue with this pregnancy until the end, then I know I will have a few more to add to the collection. (After all, I need some for my stomach.) For those of you who might be incredibly worried about this (oh, wait - only a fertile would worry about something like this), I am here to tell you that they do fade away to silvery streaks that are barely noticeable. And you could always claim you got them while wrestling a hungry bobcat away from a freshly born litter of puppies.

Backlog (or: the TMI post)

You don't realize it yet, but the title of this post is a revolting pun.

Yes, I'm here to talk about constipation. Now, I should lead off by saying that, in my normal life, I am blessed with regularity. Enviable regularity. Regularity on long trips across time zones, regularity whether I'm eating All Bran or baguettes and cheese, regularity that comes from having just the right amount of a nervous stomach. I have no problem shitting in the woods or in the stall of a busy restroom at work; it takes no time at all. Usually, I can just think about taking a crap, and that's enough to make it happen.

I realize that this is the digestive equivalent of "My husband just has to look at me and I get pregnant." And having had several friends who suffered from major intestinal slowdowns, I realize that I have been lucky to be such an insouciant crapper.

Clearly, I knew that women are often afflicted with constipation when they're pregnant. And I read the "side effects" on the Z0fran insert (as well as many comments on hyperemesis message boards) and saw that constipation is the most commonly cited one. But I also kind of thought, (a) this won't happen to me, at least not to that extent, since shitting is one of my core competencies and (b) even if it does happen, how bad can it be?

You see, I thought of constipation as maybe feeling pretty stopped up and bloated - not a pleasant state, but one that would be relieved from time to time by a stool softener or twenty. You know, you'd clear out the pipes, then maybe experience some issues again, etc. - it'd end up as a sort of cycle.

Ahem. What I did not realize is that constipation makes it almost impossible to shit, even when you feel the urge to, and that this state is incredibly painful. I can't tell you how much time I am now spending on the toilet, straining with all my might to emit one tiny lump of coal. I only take shits at home now, since I often have to yell out in the manner of Martina Hingis. And I think the main consequence of my efforts is going to be hemorrhoids and varicose veins in my ass.

This, by the way, is on two Co*lace a day. At the recommendation of Beth and one of my online buddies, I called my clinic to ask for Mira.lax. The nurse said she had to ask the doctor, and, as luck would have it, she asked the one doctor (out of seven) with whom I have had a bad experience. He said no to the Mira.lax. Instead, the nurse said he suggested drinking more water or taking Meta.mucil. When I stopped laughing hysterically, I asked whether there was anything else I could do. She suggested high-fiber cereal. Once I again regained my composure, I pressed further. Finally, they gave me permission to use Dulco.lax suppositories, which I plan to attempt later today. I'm hoping this can clear things out and give the Co.lace more of a shot at working.

Diversion

This week has been a bad week so far, nausea-wise. I am spontaneously gagging for no apparent reason. Makes meetings at the office interesting. In other news, my stomach is starting to pooch out a bit - the boozy-sorority-girl look, as Jane has called it. It may be due to my massive intestinal backup, but at least it feels like progress.

Speaking of pooches, here's a photo of my dog. Isn't he the cutest? (Other than your dogs, I mean?)

Disclosure

I've noticed lately that I seem to be in the minority among IFers on something - namely, disclosure to one's family about the details of IF treatments and (for the fortunate) pregnancy. Other people seem to involve their parents much earlier.

Now, we don't live in the same city as any of our parents. And our parents are WASPy - oh, very, very, WASPy. To give you an idea of how WASPy, my mother was visiting us in the spring and revealed in passing that she had just found a huge lump in her breast. She prefaced this revelation by saying, "I wouldn't even trouble you with this, but since I'm here...." (Her treatment, in case you're wondering, has gone well so far.)

My parents would never in a million years have asked us about our plans to have children or pressured us to do so, even though I'm sure they were dying to know (and my mother treats her cousins' grandchildren like her own). They learned about the basic infertility stuff when I was forced to disclose my laparoscopy to them because they were visiting for Thanksgiving a few days later and I wasn't sure how I'd be feeling. I probably would have told them about it anyway since it involved general anesthesia and that seems to kick the whole thing up a level in terms of gravity.

I didn't tell them anything about my first IVF because I didn't want to be beholden to reveal every occurrence. Also, my mother tends to tell everyone everything. For example, after I had my laparoscopy, I was visiting my parents for Christmas. My mother was throwing a birthday party for one of her friends, and this friend (whom I adore, but still) said, in front of the entire party, "So, they fixed you all up in there?" or something to that effect. Now, this friend's daughter did a bunch of IVFs and has two kids now, so I should have deduced that if I were hearing all the details about this woman's IVFs, then my mother was probably sharing all kinds of details in return.

My brother spilled the beans to our parents about IVF#2 because it affected some family travel plans. I confirmed that we had done one IVF and would be doing another, but I was intentionally vague on the details. And they've never asked. And my mother was undergoing chemo, surgery, etc., so it was easy to avoid this topic, although we did have one amusing conversation in which we compared assvice offered up to cancer patients and infertility patients.

So now, here I am, slogging through the first trimester, the end of which isn't too far off, and my parents have no idea. (My brother is in the know, however.) I'm trying to figure out when to tell them. After the next ultrasound? Or do I just wait to spring it on them dramatically in person at Thanksgiving?

Small favors

So I went to pick up a month's worth of Z0fran at Wa7green's today. That's 90 pills, which should have equaled about $1800. I was prepared to hand over my credit card with steely resolve and sign the slip without really looking. But lo and behold - my total was something like $67. Apparently, my insurance has either decided to start picking up the Z0fran tab, or I reached some out-of-pocket maximum, or there was some major billing error. Whatever it was, I'll take it.

Cheap Zofran! Wooooooooo!

Update:
I looked more closely at my prescription printouts, and I realized I actually paid ZERO dollars for the Z0fran (which, according to the slip, should have been $3800+, so I guess my insurance was already partially covering it, even before now). The $67 I paid was for my PIO and needles. The PIO will get reimbursed, too.

I am so grateful I have good health insurance. I can't even imagine having to pay everything out of pocket - I think I'd get a heart condition just from the stress of it all, which would be counterproductive.

The upside of hyperemesis

Nausea is a very consuming, focusing state. It totally sucks. But it is also useful in that I find myself being a lower-maintenance patient than I might be otherwise. My next ultrasound is 11/2, and that's okay with me - no begging for ultrasounds here. I spend no time agonizing about whether I am still pregnant or if everything is okay - I just don't have the energy to worry. I try to get through each day, and each week, and as I tick off another week here (I'm now nine weeks along, seven real weeks), it feels like an accomplishment, if one with no real outward manifestations yet.

I find myself hanging onto weird, irrational hopes. Like, HCG levels peak between eight and ten weeks, so maybe this is the worst it'll be? (Of course, hyperemesis sufferers don't seem subject to the same rules of thumb as your average pregnant woman - just look at what poor Beth has been through. Also, it's unclear whether HCG is really the reason behind hyperemesis.) And when another week passes and I still feel like ass - well, I have always shown a remarkable ability to come up with some other delusion to grasp onto.

I've stopped losing weight. I haven't gained any weight, but I'm glad to have stopped the slide. I go through phases where I can keep down a certain food or beverage for a couple of days, and then it repels me. Right now, I have been able to slurp some Od.walla Mango Tan.go each morning and have nibbled on a fresh gingerbread cookie from time to time as I go about my business in the office. I've had some success with Boy.lan's seltzer water, which is the only water I've been able to get down at all since all this crap* began. Water...it might as well be camel piss! I am on a strict schedule of Z0fran at 8am, 4pm, and midnight. I take Uni.som and B6 at night and crunch down one Flinst0nes chewable vitamin a day - I had forgotten how delicious they are. I'm serious. If they made a spree-like candy that tasted like Flintst0nes, I'd have a mouth full of cavities.

My husband and I were supposed to go to a wedding in Santa Barbara next weekend. We met at a wedding in Santa Barbara, so this trip would have been fun. I am definitely not going now (the idea of a plane ride - vomitous), and I have asked him to stay home, too, since it would be his third weekend in a row away. I hate that I am so needy and lame right now.


* Please note very few actual craps have occurred in recent memory.

Unfortunate reality

As you may recall, a few weeks ago I dreamed that my REs found my blog, and their feelings were hurt. The situation was so uncomfortable that I felt embarrassed and ashamed for a solid minute after I woke up. At last, I realized it was a dream, and the relief that washed over me was like, um, the warm and therapeutic waters of a geothermal pool. (We went here over the summer.)

Well, this unfortunate occurrence actually happened to Thalia. And she's decided to go dark for a while. I am sure I speak for many when I say that this is a huge loss to the blogosphere.

Good days and bad days

On Friday, I managed to stay at work for five hours, which was pretty awesome. I felt really quite good for most of those hours, too, and I kind of thought maybe I'd hit upon a system that would work for me and that I could make most days like Friday.

Well, Saturday, Sunday, and today haven't been quite so good. I've felt on the verge of vomiting frequently, although I've managed to keep my juice and snacks down. Showering is very nausea-inducing for some reason. Sleep is interrupted and filled with bizarre dreams, but that may happen to everyone.

I've been trying to detect other symptoms so that I can finally feel pregnant instead of just sick. But my boobs haven't done much, my stomach is more or less where it was before, and while I am constipated, that may be more from the Z0fran than from the pregnancy. I'm sure most people don't really feel pregnant by this point, but I'm sort of desperately hoping to feel that way soon so that I can at least get some mental enjoyment out of this state that I'd shed so many tears desiring.

On an unrelated note, one of my young cousins was killed in a car crash near the university where she was a freshman this weekend. The same thing had happened to another cousin of mine (same university, also when he was a freshman) years ago. It is so devastating - I can't even imagine what her siblings and parents are going through right now. I hope I can schlep my sorry ass onto a plane this weekend for the services.

Tidbit

Today, we went to see the perinatologist. He was quite jovial. As our appointment wrapped up, we were chitchatting about higher-order multiples. My husband asked him what the most he'd ever seen was. He said the most embryos he'd ever seen in one of his own patients was ten, and the most he ever saw, period, occurred when he was in training, and some poor woman had nineteen embryos gestating away. Both had occurred from ovulation induction (ie, stimulation drugs, but not IVF). Presumably, there was some irresponsible medical advice given out, since someone with that many follicles should obviously not be doing an IUI or even doing it the old-fashioned way. Or maybe the patient threw caution to the wind - with a vengeance.

Nineteen! Shit.

Then and now

A little before-and-after for you - before HG, after (well, during) HG:

BEFORE:
Worked out 5-7x a week
Took multivitamin, extra folic acid, and fish oil daily
Ate mostly organic diet with lots of fresh fruits, vegetables, whole grains, and lean proteins
Guzzled at least three liters of water daily
Sipped antioxidant-rich wine nightly
Wrote fiction two hours each morning
Worked a respectable workday at fulfilling job
Walked, cuddled with, and generally showered dog with affection
Cleaned house occasionally
Left house frequently
Showered regularly
Enjoyed regularity of digestive tract

AFTER:
Eschew vitamins because of possible nauseous characteristics
Reluctantly sip diluted apple juice, lemonade, Sierra M!st; despite feeling incredibly thirsty, find self unable to gulp any liquids without feeling immediately seasick (and water - forget it!)
Avoid dog because of intensity of his aroma (thanks to new bionic nose)
Scrape by at job, avoiding queries as to nature of illness
Strain, strain, strain to emit one tiny turd each morning (thanks, Z0fran!)
Lie down immediately after eating in hopes of averting vomiting and retaining nutrition
Shower when forced to by husband (or own pungence)
Lie on couch so much that left hip is sore from facing television
Sleep on back to keep food inside and otherwise violate every paragraph of What to Expect When You're Expecting
Notice large collections of dog hair stampeding through living room; sigh disconsolately
Spend hours ruminating over what you might possibly be able to keep down; ponder whether XYZ food will be regrettable on the way back up; upon reaching a decision, issue proclamation to husband to get it NOW (said in Jack Bauer voice)
Go to great lengths to avoid refrigerator (oh, the smell! bleahhhhhhhhhhhh)
Fart frequently, but still only a small fraction of the frequency of husband; berate husband for said farts, reminding him of bionic nose and intense nausea
Find yourself hostage to the clock and when you can take the next pill
Spend 21 1/2 hours a day inside house
Burst into tears; bemoan fate; feel stupid

Update

Well, I still feel like shit. I realize that this blog is just one long complaint these days, so I'll try to keep the keening to a minimum.

I had an ultrasound last week when I was admitted to the hospital, and there were indeed two sacs in there. They both had heartbeats, but one had a much lower heartbeat that wasn't quite where they wanted it to be. The other one had a good heartbeat, and I am thankful for that. I'm assuming that the second one may not be lodging for long, and that is okay by me. I feel so weak all the time.

There are going to be some hard decisions about work for me, I think. If I quit my job (which I really like), I will lose not only my salary, but, more critically, my amazing health insurance. So I am trying to figure out some way to keep working, but do a lot more from home. I don't want to go into too many identifying details, but it is safe to say that this will be difficult, especially if the HG continues for a long time. We are seeing a high-risk maternal-fetal medicine doctor this week or next to discuss my situation.

I keep losing weight. My weight has been more or less constant my entire adult life - 125 lbs, give or take a few - and now I find myself well below that. I'm on Zofran around the clock, which is expensive, but I guess the upside is that I'm sure not spending any money on food, entertainment, or bigger clothes.

My husband has been wonderful. I can tell he's worried. He's also supposed to be out of town the next three weekends in a row, and I'm not sure I can handle being alone all that time. Our poor dog doesn't know what to make of me these days - I think he's a little afraid of me now since I no longer go on walks and spend most of my time immobile on the couch.