Whack-a Mole, Lunatic Edition

Where to start?

Hey people. Hi. Sooooo….guess I haven’t written in a while? (I sound like Olaf from “Frozen” when I read this to myself.  That makes sense to me, but probably only also to Marlie.  Well, it’s a sheepish tone, I’ll tell you that.)  “Hi Sven’s family, nice tooo meeeeeet youuuuuu.”

Anyway.

Hey, I’m no Hemingway.  Did you know that Hemingway used to write 500 words a day?  Or was it 5,000? Well it was a damn lot, I’ll tell you that, and it was 500 (or 5,000) more words than I’ve written since my last post.  And he still kept up a vigorous business of drinking through Paris streets and camping at the base of tall mountains.  Come on, man!  I digress.  I just mean to say, I’m aware that most writers…write.  Even when they have nothing to say.  Especially when!

So I’ve perfected the Art of Anti-Hemingwayism.  (aka “Not Writing”)  I kept waiting for THE GREAT UPDATE before writing, but I have to say, the whole Baby Battle has turned into a game of whack-a-mole, Lunatic edition. (That’s the edition where, just as you get the hang of whacking the moles, they add more holes – but now with baboons and blobfish and that spitting dinosaur from Jurassic Park that steal your mallet and just laugh at you with ugly animal faces). 

Except the blobfish.  He can’t laugh.  He just stares at me, blobbing.

So, my Anti-Hemingwayism can go the way of the dodo, and I’ll be a mature adult with perspective (it’s hard! <whine>) and say that, while I don’t have THE GREAT UPDATE, I do have AN update.  After almost 4 months since my last post, I’m still on IVF #3.  I had my Egg Retrieval right before Christmas, and after some testing, and re-testing, and waiting, I am left with ONE embryo who is frozen in happy lullaby while my body prepares to transfer it.  And my body is NOT BEHAVING. I’ve started, stopped and restarted a couple different hormone regimens and now, at 5 estrogen pills a day, I’ll just tell you that if my next appointment doesn’t show the right results I am going to HULK SMASH the exam room, wield the ultrasound wand like Don Quixote, take ALL the pink starburst in the office FOR MYSELF and throw the yellows and oranges at the nurses’ station. 

Wait.  Mature adult.  So yeah, I’m fucking tired.  And I am SO SICK OF WAITING.  I’m just sick of thinking about it.  Sick of talking about it. I’m sick of putting everything else on hold while I WAIT…while I try to steel myself to handle more unknowns and to be strong and optimistic, which feels like a full time, conscious, exhausting effort. This has become so all-encompassing.  My friends and family have been SO amazing, listening to me talk about this for over 2 years, I PROMISE when I eventually have a baby, they will not only be a superhero (no, really, this baby better be able to fly, or have x-ray vision, or create chocolate cake from thin air), but they will be so kind and loving and grateful to you all, who took care of their mama when she was trying to whack-a-dinosaur.

I’m just realizing that the blobfish would be the worst creature to put into whack-a-mole cause he doesn’t move.  He would just pop up, slowly and blobbily with his squishy nose, and when you whack him he just smooshes.  But I guess at this point the baboon stole my mallet anyway and Jurassic Park dinosaur paralyzed me with his spit, so I have to just watch Blobfish ooze onto the board.  See what I’m dealing with?

Love to you all!

Fertility warriors:

17 eggs retrieved

10 mature

7 fertilized

3 survived to Day 5 blast and sent for testing - AA, BA, BC (BA and BC were actually Day 6)

AA and BA: chromosomal abnormalities

BC: chromosomally sound, and frozen

Feel free to message me if curious about estrogen/progesterone cycles.