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Thanks Everyone

...for your kind comments, emails, and even, in the case of one kind soul, chocolate.  We're feeling a bit like Fate's punching bag around here at the moment and may be laying low until the crapfest passes, but be assured that your thoughtful remarks are much appreciated at this time.

Love,
TLB & Brando

All Over

It's official...IVF#4 a bust.

Bleeding started in earnest today while I was standing behind a podium talking to a bunch of high-school students.

Am contemplating Death by Chocolate.

Your Agent is Coming! Your Agent is Coming!

It's been more than a year now since I've written anything significant, since I turned in the final draft of Icebergs and took a very, very big but well-deserved breather.  Several times over the past year I've made attempts at starting a novel that wouldn't quite get going, but this spring I hit on an old idea that had some new vitality.  I started it only to have to put it aside for the Summer of Hell--teaching, tornado damage, IVF. 

It's not like I've been sitting around doing nothing the past few months, but the novel has been decidedly neglected.

Now comes word that my agent is coming to town in early Nov., and in his own words he's "very excited" about it, so it's time to get off the couch and start writing again.  Every day.

Trouble is, writing the second novel is nothing like writing the first.  My first novel started out as a short story, then grew into a novella, then a novel.  By the time I knew I had a novel on my hands, I was 100 pages in.  Writing a novel seems a lot more doable when you have 1/3 of it already finished.

The new novel has only a handful of pages.  Good pages, but a handful nonetheless.

Then there's the self-delusional aspects of the first novel.  The first time, you think you have unlimited time and an unlimited well of emotional and physical resources to draw upon to get the thing done.  You don't yet know about the panic attacks, sleeplessness, and obsessiveness that are coming your way.   You think those first 100 pages were so easy, the rest of it will practically write itself.

The second time you sit down to write a novel, it's like you're standing at the bottom of Mt. Everest, looking up.  You already know what's coming.  You think, If I'd only known what I was facing the first time, I would never have done it.  Now, you're actively choosing to do it again.  And worse--if it works the second time, you'll probably take on a third.

I'm now looking at, potentially, nine months to finish the second book.  That's not a lot, and this time I won't be able to put myself through the sleeplessness and panic attack wringer to get it done.  The best thing I can do for myself: take a deep breath, and just write.

If This is the Universe's Way of Scaring the Shit Out of Me, It Worked

Had a bit of a scare last night with a very little bit of spotting, but it was bright red and therefore terrifying.  Had to call the Gyn resident at 9:30 at night only to be told to "get some sleep" and call my clinic in the morning.  Yeah, right.  Not much in the way of sleep happening around here. 

Spotting seems to have stopped this morning, but I am still left with the feeling this pregnancy is pretty precarious.  Waiting for the clinic to return my call.  Not as miserable as I was last night, but still anxious.

On a happier note, the folks surprised us with a pop-in yesterday.  They only live four hours away, but now that they're retired the pop-in is more doable.  Would love to regale you with tales of my crazy family, but they're only crazy in ordinary ways, so it would be a fairly short and uninteresting tale, alas.  Had a nice dinner before I freaked out over a little blood.

Here's hoping the clinic calls soon and puts me out of my misery.

UPDATE (12 p.m.): Finally got ahold of the Fabulous Nurse, who shooed me in for another beta since it's still too early for an ultrasound.  Blood taken by the Very Emotional Nurse, who hugged me before she would let me leave, but I could have kissed her, with feeling, when she called me back with the news: 737.  That's more than triple since Thursday, even better than I was hoping.  Suck it, Existential Angst!

And yet it's hard to describe exactly how much terror one feels after five years of assisted reproduction when the matter seems to finally be resolving.  There's both a giddy sense that yes, this could be IT at last, followed immediately by a deep, deep despair that we've been here before and it still didn't do us any good.  I am Afraid to Let Myself Be Happy, as B puts it.  And yet, just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they're not out to get you.

I won't truly feel we're out of the woods until after the second ultrasound, when we should be able to see (and more importantly, measure) the heartbeat.  That's where we got blindsided five years ago, almost to the day, when the docs took us aside and said our first pregnancy would not continue.  That was our first ART, also in the fall.  This is the last.  Nice sense of symmetry, isn't it?

In the meantime, thanks for all your good wishes.  It's nice having friends in the computer.

It's Official...

Beta #2: 149.

That's more than double, for you newbies, meaning good news.

I am Knocked Up at last.  Only took nine and a half years.

Early ultrasound still scheduled for next Friday, so keep your fingers crossed that things continue to go well.

Tagged

Am now in full obsession mode about why the secret-agent hotline remains silent, as on Tuesday by this time of day I had an answer.  Meanwhile, I have been tagged by the Motel Manager and thought I'd get to that post at last:

1. Deodorant.  Umm, I use it?  Every day?

2. Throwback.  Some days I feel like one.  Actually this reminds me of the time I went fishing with my sister in the crappy little lake near our house when I was growing up, and she caught a very tiny and nearly translucent bluegill.  I told her to throw it back, but she insisted on taking it home and cooking it.  It was about the size of a quarter. 

3. Period.  Got mine at 10 years old and it freaked me out.  The less said about this, the better.  Period.

4. Blossom.  Related to the above two anecdotes, I developed breasts at nine years old and had to be taken to the doctor (by my father!  the humanity!) who, because I was the oldest and because I was officially Too Young For Breasts, thought there might be something wrong.  Had to endure years of crap from both younger sisters about the appearance of the girls.  Sisters have conveniently forgotten about this incident.

I hereby refuse to tag anyone else with this meme, because most of the people I know in blogland have done it already and because I now need to call the hotline again.  Luckily for all of you.

While I Wait for Beta #2, Here is Something Else to Look At

Here is the newest member of the family, Jonesy, taken yesterday while I was putting the fall blankets on the bed.  As you can see, he looks completely traumatized by his change in location:

My 10-year-old cat has come to accept him, but my 17-pound baby of a 13-year-old continues his campaign of hissing and spitting and running away.  Here is Jonesy's response to all that shite:

Not Quite an Update

Thanks everyone for your good wishes and emails.  I'm feeling like things could go either way.  Still, getting to this point is something of a victory after all we've been through, even if my betas tomorrow are a total bust.  It gives me (a little) hope.

The garage is going up in the backyard, finally finally.  But we still have plywood over a couple of windows, and that makes it feel like the tornado happened just yesterday.  The Slow Construction Company assures us everything will be done by the end of the week, but because I didn't see a single person outside this morning when I left for work, I'm doubting these claims substantially.

Cat negotiations continue apace, slowly, with some hissing and much cowering and only one actual swat so far.  When I'm not home I keep Jonesy locked in the bedroom so the fur won't fly.  A shame, too, because he loves to climb right into your face the minute he's released from prison.  The other two will come around eventually.  Maybe I'll put pics up when I get home this afternoon.

When a Positive is Really a Negative, Part II

So a mixed bag of news this morning: My HPTs were not false positives, they were real positives, but so faint that my HCG levels are probably not high enough to indicate actual good news.  The nurse said I should be "cautiously optimistic" and handed me all the pg literature, including my so-called "due date," but with rather a bit too much caution and not enough optimism for my taste.

Betas coming in later on the secret-agent hotline.

UPDATE (12 p.m.): Beta was a whopping 65.  Still a little lower than the docs would like, given that this was a d16 test instead of 15, but much, much better than what I was expecting this morning.  They scheduled me an early ultrasound for Sept. 29th just in case.  Second beta Thurs.  Cautious optimism more optimism and less caution--but only a little, for now.

When a Positive is Really a Negative

So I've been POASing like mad the last day and a half, though I know I shouldn't be doing this to myself because I had two HCG boosters after the IVF and the test could be picking that up instead.

The first test showed a +.
The second test showed a +.
The third test showed a +.
So did the fourth and fifth, the last taken just this morning.

But...

Is this actual good news, or the HCG booster shot (the one that B gave me late) still in my system?  The test lines are all about equal in darkness.  The INCIID web site says that by 14dpo (which would have been yesterday) I should be able to take a reliable HPT. 

But but but...

I am driving myself nuts with this one.  Nothing will be certain, even if the beta tomorrow proves +, because from experience I know that even rising betas can go bust.  I can barely concentrate on work with all this on my mind.  I shouldn't have POASd with this kind of uncertainty, but I think part of me just wanted to see that positive HPT, even if it's negative tomorrow.

The good news is that we got approval to pick up our new (third) cat, the one that B promised I could have if this cycle was a bust and then relented and said I could have him anyway.  I'm picking him up this afternoon and introducing him to my two older cats, so there will be one good thing to occupy my mind.

Wish us (and the cats) luck.