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).
Tuesday, 13 May 2008
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.
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.
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.
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)
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.
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)