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Tuesday 27 May 2008

Something starting with mustard

I have no idea what it is, but I want it. Now. It's probably ham. Ham and mustard sandwiches. More mustard than ham. Coleman's mustard too. Mmmmmm. Ham. Excellent news that cured ham is No. 1 on the banned foods list, and a baked ham will cost about 6 packets of preggie pops and half a day hovering over the oven to get my hands on and by then No. 9 will have decided that ham is the devil's food anyway, indecisive little toadstool.

Lucky for me, the Laird also seems to urgently require salada crackers with piccalilli and cheese which I can kind of do. I don't have the piccalilli, but he seems to be satisfactorily fooled if I chuck a chopped up brown onion on top of the cheese, and thank heavens I had the saladas. Even better, since he's already made me hurl today, I'll probably even get to digest my crackers in semi-peace. Weee! (It's the little things.)

The next question is how many salada crackers are too many salada crackers? ... I've just had 12.

I think No. 9 has had a growth spurt in the last 24 hours or so. Yesterday I had sharp pains and cramping all day (freaked the pants off me, not so quietly. One thing a women in early pregnancy does not want is sharp pains and cramping) and today, he just seems ...uncomfortable ... like I'm stretching and there's something pushing up under my ribs. And he just feels bigger. (I really have to start using something for stretchmarks.)

So, now, I'm completely giving up worrying that it might be twins, because at least if there are two of them they'll be individually little (in theory), and concentrating very hard on worrying about exactly how big the gargantuan baby may actually grow should he be a singleton.

Equally depressing, I ran into a friend the other day who is a nurse. She asked me how I was going while looking at my bump trying very hard not to laugh. You know how people suck in their cheeks and go a bit cross-eyed, while trying to keep their faces composed? Hmpf. This is the same friend who said with wide eyes, when I told her my HCG levels and that we were a bit worried about twins, are you sure there aren't three of them? Good friends are so difficult to find, it's a shame when you have to kill them.

Learning something new every day

Cheese on toast with marmite tastes the same in reverse.

No. 9 and I are going to have a wee chat later about the cost of cheese and wastage.

Monday 26 May 2008

Noted

Normal unadulterated water in the morning is ok.

Lemon infused water in the morning is not.

Wednesday 21 May 2008

Someone is playing clever buggers

We had a wee disagreement last night, me and No. 9, which, at the time, I thought was a little on the nose. I fed us as usual, hoovering a marvellous '50's dinner' of roast lamb with roasted vegetables and broccoli. But, somewhere between the last mouthful, my getting off the couch to get seconds (yes, I know. We have about another 12 months or so before the habit of sitting anywhere but at the kitchen table to eat dinner will go bye bye), and my reaching the leftovers in the kitchen, No. 9 decided he abhored the small of roast meat, and no I would not have any seconds.

Obviously, I was not of the same opinion, but I let it slide because he's new.

But tonight, tonight, the little ...... blob of preciousness decided that he felt like one of my favourite dinners, made me think about it all afternoon, let me spend an hour preparing and cooking it, let me serve it up whilst salivating my little heart out, let me take two mouthfuls and then decided he didn't want any. And, no, not just a "Mum, I'm so sorry, but I don't reeeeally feel like this anymore". No. Oh, no, no, no ... it was a "I don't want it and you're not having it either HA HA! See if you can make it to the bathroom before I reverse those two mouthfuls you already had! Run mummy, Run!!".

Whose idea was it to have a kid again?

(I did make it to the bathroom, by the way, so it's kind of 1 all. Kind of)

All good in the house

Today's blood test showed my HCG levels are right on track. HCG should double every 36 hours, and today's measured 8,532. HCG last Wednesday was 518.

There's a lovely graph supplied in a handbook by the good people at Diagnostic Medlab which, if I'm reading it right (we've discussed my aptitude for mathsy type things before, so I've probably looked at it upside down or something equally backward) No. 9 is in about the 75th percentile for the HCG he's throwing out. Clever little toad. I'd have put a linky but they had this great big copyright warning and I'm too pretty for prison. That, and I couldn't work out how to get past the 'you need to download something to do something and to do that you have to click over here and have an intelligent moment' box thingy that flipped up to open the damn thing on my home computer. Way too hard basket.

8 week scan is booked for Thursday 12th June and all being well, we'll be able to see No.9's heartbeat.


And now, I must go. I am sitting at my computer looking through to the lounge at the copius quantities of dog snot covering the lower half french doors, and thinking that I really should clean them ...so I need to move somewhere where I can't see it.

Tuesday 20 May 2008

5 weeks down, 35 to go

You can see why we're just a little concerned that No. 9 might be sharing his house. This has the potential to be very, very interesting.

That's my arm hanging down on the right of the photo, and no, I'm not poking my stomach out. That is very much as it is. I hadn't even had lunch in the recent past.




We'll do budgety seriousness another day

There are things you have to have, and then there are things you have to have.

Way too cool for school.

Besides, just think of how I can torment my kid later in life with the cheesy coincidence of it all.

Plus, the husband gets a corporate discount at Egg so I really should make use of it so that the Egg girls and the husband's work know that the effort they've gone to to establish said discount is worthwhile and appreciated. It's the decent thing to do.

Crap on toast

It cost me $71.20 to fill my car up this morning.

$71.20!!

That'll get me to work for a week.

I only have a sneeze of a car too (VW Polo). Imagine if I had a real car!

The husband has a real car. Argh. I wonder if he'll mind walking to work ...?

Monday 19 May 2008

I knew it was too good to be true

They gave us the wrong kid.

This one doesn't like chocolate.

Or lollies.

On the whole though, this morning sickness business seems to be limited to the occasional bout of queasiness, long may it last. Oh, except for Saturday afternoon. No. 9 had a sudden and irresistible need to reverse my lunch while I was out walking puppies which was very uncool.

Otherwise, we're good. Le tummy is growing at an alarming rate, and Al is having regular serious talks to No. 9 to remind him that his 'house' is a one bedroom and he's not allowed to have friends over. I guess we'll find out at the 8 week scan whether our kid is starting out life ignoring us.

And in other news, Al and Pal Stu went hunting on Saturday and murdered 4 ducks. Clever lads! After the great finger chopping incident of whenever it was that I gave Al new knives, I was a bit worried he might do something terrible like shoot his foot off. Or even worse, shoot Stu's foot off. But he didn't! I'm so proud! And, me and No. 9 are having roast duck for tea tonight.

Stay tuned for tomorrow's post - Budgety Seriousness. Eek!

Thursday 15 May 2008

What idiot called it morning sickness?

It is not in the morning. It is all. blimmin. day. Although, admittedly it does start in the morning. Thankfully at least, it usually starts after I have managed to shove at least some form of sustenance into No. 9 (he has a weird thing about eggs so we do eggs for breakfast).

I'm a little bit baffled though as to how something that seems to want me to eat so much, is so inclined to have me throw it all back up again?

On the bright side, Al did steal me a whole pile of sick bags off an aeroplane in case I happen to be sitting on the motorway on my way too or from work, or I don't make it from my desk to the bathroom at the office should the nausea take a nasty turn (thankfully it's only done that once so far). Such a thoughtful, loving, immensely practical man.

He wasn't quite so thoughtful and loving at about 10pm last night mind when I elbowed him in bed to tell him I was hungry. He just gave me directions to the pantry.

Wednesday 14 May 2008

Balancing on a knife edge

I can't describe to you what the last few days have been like. I've sat here trying to put my finger on ... something which might give you an insight into the end of the wait, but I have very little. In fact, nothing at all, really. The closest I can come is that we've felt completely disjointed and everything going on around us has seemed a bit unreal. I've felt fractured, as though everywhere I look inside myself shows me a different picture. A different version of reality. A different me.

The difficulty of waiting for the result of an IVF cycle is that it's nothing like when you're trying to get pregnant naturally. It's nothing like the usual (normal) waiting to see if your period arrives every month, and wondering if this month is the month. It's different because we saw our embryo. We saw it at five days old, and we saw it there, inside me. It was right there, and I carried it. The question is, did it dig? Was No. 9 strong enough, and inclined to stay? Did he like the view?

The result could, of course, only go one of two ways. Either it would be positive, or it would be negative, and there was nothing we could really do to influence either outcome. We were completely helpless, despite wanting it so much to be positive. No. 9 would stay if he stayed, and if he didn't? Well. We couldn't do any more. Sitting this morning, waiting at the blood place for them to draw the blood sample that would tell us within hours whether No. 9 had stayed or not was like an ending in itself. From that point, there would be no more wondering. It would be done. But, it would be a new beginning too. Whether positive, or negative, we would move on in one direction or the other.

I can't explain to you either what it was like contemplating either of those outcomes. Throughout the cycle, I've had to find strength and determination I never knew I had as we met each obstacle and made it through each step. There was fear and relief in equal measure, and then, once the cycle finished there was lots and lots of fear as we waited.

I can understand how IVF breaks people. I can understand very, very well.

We're not the same people we were six weeks ago. It's not a bad thing, it just is. We've come out the other side stronger, with an increased awareness of each other and what we're capable of - individually and together. We've grown, and we feel as though we've been through something enormous. We have been through something enormous. We've fought the good fight. In many respects, we've brought down Godzilla.

I wondered, and was afraid before IVF, how I might feel at the end, and I sat down and thought about that some more last night, how did I feel? knowing what today was bringing us. Do I feel scarred? Destroyed? Angry? Hurt? Not particularly. I feel like I've achieved something incredible with the greatest of motives, and I feel like I've realised a new level of love. For my husband, my family, my friends and, of course, No. 9.

The pregnancy test was today, and the result is positive.

For those of you that get what this means - HCG today was 518.

For those of you who have no idea - that means No. 9 dug in good. And we'll be waiting for the 8 week scan to make sure there's just one of him!


(Also, I wrote this yesterday - everything except the result, to make sure I meant every word I said about how it's been. It would have been easy to say after a positive result that it'd been a walk in the park. It was anything but, believe me.)

Tuesday 13 May 2008

Some would argue that I asked for it

Scene - The husband and I have just had a gorgeous chicken and mustard pie for dinner and obliterated the entire thing. The husband went one step further than me, and opted for dessert as well (I'm still recovering vaguely from a couple of quick barfs mid afternoon. Bleh!)

Me, patting the husband's tummy affectionately, but prepared to leap out of swiping distance at any moment "Are you growing a No. 9 too?"

Him "Nope. I'm growing a number two."

Boys are great.

Signs from above?

I'm into signs when they suit my purposes. I'm dead against say, not being able to find my credit card when I want a new pair of shoes, but I'm all for ... I don't know ... seeing something in a shop window, going to walk past, and a sudden thunder storm forces me into the shop to shelter and to pass the time I have a closer look at said whatever and it turns out that it's perfect, and there's only one and it's in my size and so I was destined to have it (What? It could happen!)

Anyway. I digress.

Signs from above...

Pal Sarah and I went out for drinks at lunch time (a chai latte and a hot chocolate in case you're feeling stalky and are interested ... and think that by 'drinks' I mean a whisky or something. Blah, by the way!).

Guess what table number we were given while we were waiting for our respective beverages?

Oh, and I only had a drink (not lunch or something lunch like) because I was feeling the need to barf. That might be relevent to the coolness of the sign.

Heh.

Number 9.

Heh.

(and no, there were no lines under the number to indicate that it might have been a 6 upside down, so don't even think about it. It was a nine).

A little something while we're all waiting ...

Let's have a contest.

How many times can you twiddle your thumbs in a minute? (It seems relevant)

I can do 129. I think. I got my thumbs caught up a few times, and I lost count somewhere in the late 70's too.

The winner gets the prestigeous title of The Person Who Can Twiddle Their Thumbs The Most Times In A Minute.

Thank goodness we're in the last week of this waiting business. I do not do patience. Especially where No. 9 is involved as it turns out.

Friday 9 May 2008

I love that about life

The instant I hit 'publish' on a post which says that there hasn't been much activity in the uterus department today, and have joyous celebrations about it, there starts to be activity in the uterus department.

Blimmin cramps.

I wonder if this is No. 9 preparing me for those inevitable moments where I will loudly declare in front of witnesses that my child would never do such a thing (whatever 'such a thing' may be) as my child does exactly that such thing right there on the spot. Just because.

Or maybe he's just paying me back for the singing...

I hope I haven't stunted the growth of his ears.

In which I buy new shoes. Again.

No. 9 made me do it. He told me he really, really wanted them. Honest. He loves my new shoes. He thinks they're great. The husband thinks it's a trifle suspicious ...as if the mother of his embryo would make such a thing up to suit herself. Can you imagine it? (That's a rhetorical question people, to which the implied answer is "No, no I couldn't possibly!" and possibly a shocked gasp for good effect)

I really wish there was some news, believe me I do, but there isn't yet. The waiting phase of this IVF cycle is quite evil. One minute I think No. 9 is in there, the next I'm convinced he's gone.

I'm not enjoying it a bit. It's been a very long week.

We have the date of the scheduled pregnancy test, but we have decided that it's one thing we want to keep to ourselves just now. We'll tell you, of course, probably straight away, once the result is in, but this way if we need time with the result, we can take it. The last thing I want is to hear that No. 9 has gone, and then turn around and tell a long line of hopeful, excited, expectant family and friends. You can imagine that that might be a bit horrendous.

But, I will tell you that we will know by the end of next week and the announcement to the general admission audience will be made here.

And so, the week that has been ...

Monday and Tuesday I spent on the couch recovering from my cold and lying very, very still every time my uterus even thought about cramping (and ... errr ... singing it 'twinkle twinkle little star'. At least we'll know that if No. 9 doesn't stick, he probably just died of fright ...and, obviously, next time there will be no singing to embryos), but by Tuesday afternoon I was starting to go a bit mad with what ifs and so Wednesday I crawled back into the real world.

I had cramping on and off all day Wednesday - nothing interesting, just twinging and cramping. Annoying, painful, constant, fun and games (no singing though because I was at work). My uterus was not my friend on Wednesday. I've had a bit of a backache too, which I imagine is uterus related. Unless it was jealous and wanted me to sing to it too, but I can't see it somehow.

At about 3am give or take Thursday, my uterus was even less my friend when it woke me up with the most unholy feeling that it was coming out. Yes, lovely picture that presents, don't you think? It was a solid, painful, dragging feeling that kept me awake pretty much until it was time to be awake ... eurg. Marvellous.

Thursday morning was the morning of the bubbles.

It must have been around 6.30 or so, and I just got this sensation of bubbles in my uterus. You know how in a fish tank the oxygen pump every now and again sends out a burst of little bubbles? It felt like what I imagine that would feel like. Little a little pop (I don't know how to describe it) and then bubbles letting go, moving up and disappearing. That happened three times and I haven't felt it since, and things have been pretty calm since then.

Last night my insides got a bit grumpy going for a short walk with the dog-meisters, but as soon as I sat down everything was fine. I had a great night sleep, and today you'd never known my uterus had been recently traumatised at all. It's all cupcakes.

You can, and I do constantly, read any number of things into any of the above, and I think the workings of my internal bits have been analysed more in the last week than the rest of my gingery life to date. Any of it could mean No. 9 is still with me, and I desperately hope that's so, but one must remember that my uterus is also being artificially supported by hormones at the moment and my body is adjusting after being assailed for the last 6 weeks with all sorts of things which were making it do both the opposite of normal and extreme versions of normal, not to mention invasive medical procedures. It's enough to make anyone's uterus feel unloved.

Even if you don't have one.

Monday 5 May 2008

Oh, for the love of ... Seriously??

I have a cold.

A cold.

A big ol' snotty ol' sneezy ol' my-head-is-going-to-fall-off-any-second ol' cold.

Yesterday I didn't. Last night I kind of did. Today I definitely do.

Whilst my rational mind appreciates that this is actually a good thing - my immune system has depressed because my body recognises that No. 9 is in residence and it wants him to stay as much as my head and my heart do - I still think it's completely on the nose.

I am going to sulk for the rest of the day under my blanket.

Blankets. Plural.

And cat.

On the couch.

With my tissues.

Honestly.


(Surely all that sneezing can't be good for No. 9? I feel a ridiculous need to cross my legs every time I sneeze, just in case)

Sunday 4 May 2008

No. 9

It was embryo No. 9 who proved himself to be the strongest on day 5, so he got the proverbial nod for transfer and is currently kicking back in my uterus.

The transfer was successful, and 'easy' according to the specialist who did it (He didn't have have a tray of surgical instruments up his yoo-hoo at the time though) and it was heart-breakingly amazing to see our little embryo snuggled in my uterus on the ultrasound afterwards. Of course, he's only about the size of a full-stop at the moment, so it was more the pocket of protein enriched fluid that he was sitting in that was really visible, but he was there and we saw him and we'll never forget it. We were both a bit bowled-over to actually ask to a picture of it though. We remembered in the car on the way home. Woops.

I managed, barely, not to wee myself. It was a closer call that I'd have liked though. It's not easy keeping your legs crossed (figuratively speaking) when you've got a litre of water wanting to escape and things pressing on your bladder from all directions. We really don't want to do that again.

And now, it's couch rest for the next few days. Yesterday, once I got home from the hospital, I only moved for loo-stops and spent the entire day and evening otherwise prostrate on the couch under a feather blanket, topped with a wool blanket, topped with the cat. It wasn't hard to stay put though - I was cramping constantly and badly (my body is apparently getting a tad pissed off with frequent invasive procedures. I can't say I blame it really), but today it's easing which is a relief. I'm still not going far from the couch though. The slightest twinge and I'm flat-out and trying to think relaxing thoughts (which mostly revolve around thinking about new shoes ... but stopping short of the imaginary price tags).

The general plan from here? To make things as homey as possible for No. 9 and keep him happy so he decides to stay (but not so happy that he decides to divide in two. Or more). It's a very serious business, this looking after No. 9 - I've even been eating carrots (among other things. He seems to like salt & vinegar chips, but he's only been allowed a few so far) so he gets lots of vitamins and minerals.

I had a blood test this morning to make sure that all my hormone levels are as they should be for this stage of the game - I haven't heard anything from the hospital and they were going to ring if anything was off-key, so it seems that all is well in that direction which is an enormous relief (the danger of hyper-stimulation is still there, but good bloods at this point are a good sign).

The specialist told me yesterday that the embryo will be talking to me over the next few days, so I've got to listen to him and talk back, so, despite feeling like a complete ass, I've been doing exactly that. I've even been watching my language. Who knows whether one of those little cells we could see might be an ear eventually? Thankfully though I was the only one in my car on the way home from my blood test this morning and no one else heard me telling my stomach for the better part of half an hour all about its new family and all the things we're going to do when it's born (which does not include playing with staplers until he's a bit older).

I have no idea whether the specialist meant talk to him literally of course, I'm just not taking any chances.

As for the other embryos, this is how it worked out on the wash ...

No. 1 had passed on to the big petri dish in the sky by yesterday.

Nos. 2, 5, 7, 10 and 11 passed on to the big petri dish in the sky overnight.

Nos. 3, 4, 6, 8 and 12 (GO Rupert!!) have been frozen.

So, one in processing and five on ice.

And a partridge in a pear tree.

Thursday 1 May 2008

Rupert and friends

We're calling embryo No. 12 Rupert. He somehow seems like a Rupert, and he really does deserve a name since he's being interesting, so that's what it is.

All of the embryos divided into 8 cells overnight - except poor wee Rupert who appears to be having a bit of trouble counting to 8. Mind you, he's got no fingers or toes to help, so what's an embryo to do? He's definitely our kid though - unco-ordinated AND crap at maths. He gets the maths thing from me. I'm so proud! I never understood division either.

Embryo transfer was tentatively scheduled for 10.15am this morning, but since all the embryos are doing the same thing at the same time (except for Rupert - he's obviously special, but not reeally the sort of special we're after), we're now waiting until Saturday to see if one stands out from the rest as being stronger, prettier (yes, prettier), etc. Never fear though, at the moment although the embryos are "not classically beautiful, but they're doing exactly what they should be". (Huh? Classically beautiful? They're blobs in a petri dish!)

I have a few concerns about Saturday's transfer (11.30am by the way).

One is that I have to have a full bladder for the procedure. I'm blimmin concerned about them fiddling around down there for an extended amount of time while I'm completely busting and then having to lie prostrate for a while, in theory relaxing, but most likely frantically praying to every God there is that my pelvic floor muscles are still good.

The other concern is also related to the full bladder.

One assumes that as soon as they give me the all clear to stand upright again, the first thing I'm going to be doing is dashing to the loo...

But, what if the embryo ... you know ... falls out?

I tell you, this business is fraught with worry, it really is.