Science!

I am just stunned. Floored, really. Science!

I dutifully took my Letrozole on CD3-7. It was fairly uneventful – a mild headache on CD5 was about the worst of it. I was instructed to take an OPK on CD9, and I did, though frankly I thought that was a bit silly. I always ovulate on CD 21. It’s clockwork. Surely these little pills won’t change that!

On CD9 it was negative. On CD10 I got a blaring positive. I double checked with a digital OPK and got a peak smiley. Holy smokes! This is so early! Is my lining thick enough? Is an egg mature enough?

I hurried to my RE who did an ultrasound. I have a big, ripe, lovely 19mm follie on my right ovary. I also have a 10mm, two 12mms, and 4 8 mms. I have really responded well to the drugs, and it’s ideal to have one mature egg. My lining is about 8 mm, which is thin, but viable. My doctor said I have too many follies to trigger (we risk OHSS or multiples), so the plan is wait to ovulate naturally and keep things spicy in the bedroom 🙂

Today is CD11 and I don’t think I’ve ovulated yet. My doctor predicted it would be Friday (tomorrow). While CD12 is on the early side, it’s not crazy early, and I’ve clearly got a mature follicle.

In other news, I finally got my lab work back. Everything looks good, except my AMH is crazy high – 10.94. This means I have an excellent ovarian reserve, but also most likely indicates PCOS. All the pieces are starting to come together, which is helpful. I feel like I have a grasp of what was causing the early miscarriages, and, hopefully how to prevent them.

Please work, magical little pills. Please bring me a tiny miracle.

Deaf Ears

I had to move mountains to get to this place, but here I am. I am on cycle day six, well into my first round of Letrozole. I fought three battles to get here.

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  1. Initially they wanted me to wait 6 weeks post-miscarriage to run the RPL panel. I fought back on this front that if the issue is ovulation, the RPL panel is irrelevant. My doctor finally agreed.
  2. The only two tests the doctor insisted on were karyotyping and genetic carrier testing. My karyotyping took FOREVER; I literally got the results Wednesday afternoon, which is the day I needed to start the Letrozole. They were normal. I rushed into the office at 4 pm, bearing hot chocolate chip cookies and begging for an ultrasound. I succeeded.
  3. My genetic carrier testing yielded, in retrospect, an unsurprising result: I am a carrier for deafness. My mother has extremely poor hearing. This is not an issue for me, but it is an issue for my RE. He insisted on “genetic counseling” before any medication. We paid $325 to hear a genetic counselor explain how genetics work, as if we were in fifth grade. She explained the risks. We got it. She pushed hubby to get tested. We said we were okay with risks and didn’t want him to get tested. She pushed and pushed. We defended our decision. Finally she gave in, and allowed us to sign a waiver. We understand that we have about a 3% chance of having a child with hearing loss, and we will take our chances.

Three hard battles won, and I am feeling victorious.

Grow little follies, grow. Please.

The Plummet

I think I knew when I woke up, alert and stunned, at 6 am. I cooed calming words to myself as I took the test, and watched it, painfully, eternally, nauseously. I willed that line into existence. “Please,” I whispered. “Please.”

But that mean little test was stark white.

Here we go, again. This is the quickest one yet. A line, and then no line. If I hadn’t photographed it, I would swear I dreamt it: that sweet, ephemeral line.

I have a big presentation tomorrow, in front of 500 people, which feels like such deja vu. In June, as I was going through my second very painful miscarriage, I had to give the same presentation to a similar audience, in Vancouver. I was oddly numb the entire time, with no stage fright, the coolest I’ve ever been on stage, poised and calm. When I made it back to my hotel, I crumpled into a ball on the bed and stayed up all night Googling “two miscarriages in a row.” Google did not make me feel better.

This one is the easiest, honestly. I know now that there is a medicine that might make it all better. In a week or so I get to embark on a new path. Onwards and upwards.

That Second Little Line

You know that feeling as you approach the top of a roller coaster? You’re about to plummet, and you’re nervous, excited, giddy, anticipating what’s ahead.  You hit the top and look down, terrified but euphoric.

That’s how I feel right now. I hope that this time, just this one time, I’m not stumbling off of the ride, broken and alone.

Today, I am nervous, excited and giddy as I anticipate the plummet. This morning was 10 dpo. There it was, that second little line, infantile and uncertain, making its way into the cold, hard world.

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This time around, I didn’t update my status on Babycenter, I didn’t text my best friend, I didn’t even tell the hubby. I just went to work, and spent most of the day forgetting about it.

The next week will be a tough one for me, and the best I can do is try to focus on work (have I mentioned that I find my job in tech both invigorating and fulfilling?), on a presentation I’m delivering on Thursday, on my weekend getaway with hubby.

Stay tuned as I cling to this roller coaster.