If the definition of insanity is to do the same thing over and over again and expect a different result, then BBT is the very act of insanity. I suppose for women with normal cycles it might offer some interesting insight or information. For the rest of us, BBT is mostly an exercise in frustration management.
For those who aren't "in the know," BBT stands for basal body temperature. It's your body temperature at rest first thing in the morning. BBT (theoretically) should tell you if you ovulate or not.
It order to keep the act of BBT from driving me stark raving mad, I had to reframe it in such a way that it spoke to my researcher soul. I looked at BBT as one big longitudinal study rather than an act of insanity. As soon as I wrapped my brain around my new way of thinking, I was overjoyed!
Longitudinal studies are relatively difficult to carry out because they take so much time and attrition can be high. (I know this because I currently work on a longitudinal study.) While longitudinal studies can be very informative, much more so than a cross-sectional one, it takes forever to get enough data to see what's going on. When a coupe is struggling with fertility they don't want it to take forever. They wanted a baby like, last year. Lucky for me I am a n of 1, and I can make myself stay in my own personal study. I refuse to let myself drop out......ever.
At first I found BBT to be a big pain in my butt because it was only one lousy data point every day. I had to wait a full 24 hours to get another data point. I decided my own personal longitudinal study was lame-o. Basically I had to wait an entire month for any of it to make sense. Even then, it didn't always make much sense.
Then.....I discovered.......VIP mode.
I use a program called Fertility Friend and while you can use the free mode, you can pay, and then obsess and add more data! It's a research girl's dream!!
The scientist in mean couldn't be contained. I had to purchase the year long subscription. (I mean, why not? I'm infertile and this is going to take a while.) Once I had resigned myself to my incredibly long TTC journey and I had access to everything, I could put in lots of data. It made me feel so much better. If I spread out my data entry throughout the day, I didn't have to wait so long to fill in another square. Granted it still takes a month to get any real data, but at least I have some way to quell my OCD data collection tendencies.
Long live BBT!
Monday, July 30, 2012
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
The Aftermath of an HSG
Nobody warns you about these things. I mean, they can make attempts to prepare you, but you're never really prepared. I could blame my Mom and say she should have told me about HSGs before she earned her angel wings, but she never had one. I guess she's off the hook.
The actual procedure is bad enough. You're stuck on an X-ray table, dressed in a tacky gown, goods hanging out there for the entire room to see, and it's cold. Not cold in a "Wow, it's a little chilly in here wish I had on socks." way, but cold in a "Is that a polar bear sitting in the corner?" kind of way. I don't know why they don't make parka hospital gowns.
Anywho, once you get over the tacky gown, the subarctic temperatures, and the resident hanging on the attending's every single move (which inevitably all involve your goods) you get some strange contraption(s)--plural I think? I didn't look--shoved up there. Up...there. It hurts. They tell you it's going to hurt, but they don't reaaaaally tell you how bad it's going to hurt. I was so lucky that my balloon thingie burst so I had it all shoved up there twice! I tried really hard to convince myself that meant I was getting two for the price of one and it made the whole ordeal a much better bargain. (Have I mentioned you have to shell out close to $800 to have this pain and torture inflicted upon you? You have to pay for the privilege of this agony. Seriously.)
Ok, so after you survive the trauma of the funky contraption(s) shoved up there, you get to see your insides. I guess that's cool except all I could think was "Don't let the radiation zap my eggs! I probably only have like two left!" I tell myself the radiation did nothing to my eggs. I don't care if it's true or not, that's what I tell myself. As for me, my right tube was totally clear. Dye shot out of that thing like an overzealous firecracker. My left tube was a little more stubborn but in the end it admitted defeat and let the dye through. I've now got the all clear and my fallopian tubes could serve as emergency runways for very tiny planes.
Once you have survived your eggs being microwaved and the dye going in and cleaning out all the fallopian tube cobwebs......yep. You guessed it. The dye must come out. There is no preparation for the exiting of the dye. When I heard dye I thought liquid. A friend described it to me like pancake syrup, and she was right. Actually she said it was like shoving pancake syrup through the head of a pin. She wasn't far off. (That explains the pain.)
On the plus side, I now know what it feels like to be a syrup dispenser. I can more freely emphasize with syrup dispensers around the world. Throw in some massive cramping, much like a sledgehammer to your lower abdomen, and that's exactly what the aftermath of an HSG feels like. A syrup sledgehammer dispenser. Great huh? I can't understand why people aren't lined up around the block for these things. ;)
The RE tells me this will increase fertility for the next 6 months or so. I better get something out of this.
The actual procedure is bad enough. You're stuck on an X-ray table, dressed in a tacky gown, goods hanging out there for the entire room to see, and it's cold. Not cold in a "Wow, it's a little chilly in here wish I had on socks." way, but cold in a "Is that a polar bear sitting in the corner?" kind of way. I don't know why they don't make parka hospital gowns.
Anywho, once you get over the tacky gown, the subarctic temperatures, and the resident hanging on the attending's every single move (which inevitably all involve your goods) you get some strange contraption(s)--plural I think? I didn't look--shoved up there. Up...there. It hurts. They tell you it's going to hurt, but they don't reaaaaally tell you how bad it's going to hurt. I was so lucky that my balloon thingie burst so I had it all shoved up there twice! I tried really hard to convince myself that meant I was getting two for the price of one and it made the whole ordeal a much better bargain. (Have I mentioned you have to shell out close to $800 to have this pain and torture inflicted upon you? You have to pay for the privilege of this agony. Seriously.)
Ok, so after you survive the trauma of the funky contraption(s) shoved up there, you get to see your insides. I guess that's cool except all I could think was "Don't let the radiation zap my eggs! I probably only have like two left!" I tell myself the radiation did nothing to my eggs. I don't care if it's true or not, that's what I tell myself. As for me, my right tube was totally clear. Dye shot out of that thing like an overzealous firecracker. My left tube was a little more stubborn but in the end it admitted defeat and let the dye through. I've now got the all clear and my fallopian tubes could serve as emergency runways for very tiny planes.
Once you have survived your eggs being microwaved and the dye going in and cleaning out all the fallopian tube cobwebs......yep. You guessed it. The dye must come out. There is no preparation for the exiting of the dye. When I heard dye I thought liquid. A friend described it to me like pancake syrup, and she was right. Actually she said it was like shoving pancake syrup through the head of a pin. She wasn't far off. (That explains the pain.)
On the plus side, I now know what it feels like to be a syrup dispenser. I can more freely emphasize with syrup dispensers around the world. Throw in some massive cramping, much like a sledgehammer to your lower abdomen, and that's exactly what the aftermath of an HSG feels like. A syrup sledgehammer dispenser. Great huh? I can't understand why people aren't lined up around the block for these things. ;)
The RE tells me this will increase fertility for the next 6 months or so. I better get something out of this.
Monday, July 23, 2012
How did we get here?
Like most baby stories, this one begins with finding a soulmate and then falling in love. I believe the song goes something like this:
Mike and Lee Ann sitting in a tree,
K-I-S-S-I-N-G
First comes love,
Then comes marriage,
Then comes Mike and Lee Ann with a baby carriage!
But what happens where there is no baby carriage? How do couples facing infertility cope? If you had asked me this a year ago I would have shrugged my shoulders and thought it wouldn't happen to me. Now, I feel like a veteran of a war that I didn't want to be a part of.
We belong to an exclusive club where membership cannot be revoked. It's called the Infertile Couples Club and if you ask me, it's a crappy club. I wish I wasn't in it. Mike wishes he wasn't in it either.
When we met and fell in love, we talked about all those things that couples talk about before they get married, including the topic of children. We both wanted a family, and quite a large family at that. (Who knew there were men out there with dreams of big families?) Like most couples, we thought it would be relatively easy to get pregnant. We were both in excellent health so why should we think any different? Turns out it's really hard to get preggo if you're part of the Infertile Couples Club. (Again, how can I get out of this one? Is there an unsubscribe button?)
Way back when (it's been so long I can hardly remember) I came off birth control, we thought we'd give this whole pregnancy thing one good shot and then back off. We were set to get married in the spring and my dress wasn't the kind that could cover a baby bump. In fact, I wouldn't be able to zip it if we got pregnant, but I was willing to ditch the dress if I could have a baby.
I spent hours just staring at my belly and wondering about the little bean hanging out in there. I talked to it. I bonded with it. I was so attached to it and it wasn't even here yet. Mike mostly looked at me like I had lost my mind but I think he was secretly talking to little bean when I was asleep.
the spotting started. I was a little alarmed so I contacted my midwife. I knew spotting could be normal and I wasn't supposed to have my first scan until 12 weeks. After all, we weren't expecting any problems so why have unnecessary scans? She had me come in to have betas drawn and my worst fears were confirmed. I was going to miscarry.
Enter from stage left World's Worst Devastation. Miscarriage is painful, and not just physically. Mentally it was awful too. How could I be losing this little bean? I stayed hopeful though. We got pregnant once and it was our first attempt so surely I would get pregnant again.
Ha.
Ha.
Ha.
Life is funny like that. We kept trying and nothing happened. My gut told me something was wrong so I pushed for fertility testing and sure enough, I had issues. We were put on preliminary membership to the Infertile Couples Club. We started fertility treatments with my midwife the same month we got married. It was more of the same. Nothing happened, and my issues clearly were not going to be fixed with the current regime of medications.
So what exactly is my problem you ask? I have what is called a luteal phase defect. It means my body is horrible at making progesterone. It means the egg doesn't have enough time to implant on my uterus before AF shows up. Even if I manage to get pregnant, I miscarry. Awesome huh? (This is so not what I really had planned for my life.)
Mike started his fertility work up just after we were married. I'll save the details about the horrifying experience of Semen Analysis for another post. It may, in fact, be the most awkward experience either of us ever have. For better or worse, Mike makes funny sperm. (I picture them with clown hats.) This pretty much sealed out spot on the Infertile Couples Club membership list. (Mike would like for me to point out that he makes like three times the number of sperm that a normal dude makes so his clown hat wearing sperm issue isn't near as big of a deal as my Hostile Uterus issue. He is so proud of his sperm production.)
Fast forward to today, July 23rd, and we were finally sitting in the RE office for our initial consult. (The RE is a Reproductive Endocrinologist and they deal with all things infertility as well as a host of other hormonal problems.)
I may have freaked him out a tad with my color coordinated medical records but I can't be sure.
Today was the first day we got serious about conceiving. It was the first day we really had to admit we have a problem. I have yet to wrap my head around how I feel about this whole thing. Mike keeps making warrior poses. He carries the hope for both of us. (I love that man!)
We call our adventure Operation Baby Johnson because we have officially declared war on my girlie parts. Mike's clown hat wearing sperm have been put on standby and are ready for battle. We will make this baby (or die trying!!)
Mike and Lee Ann sitting in a tree,
K-I-S-S-I-N-G
First comes love,
Then comes marriage,
Then comes Mike and Lee Ann with a baby carriage!
But what happens where there is no baby carriage? How do couples facing infertility cope? If you had asked me this a year ago I would have shrugged my shoulders and thought it wouldn't happen to me. Now, I feel like a veteran of a war that I didn't want to be a part of.
We belong to an exclusive club where membership cannot be revoked. It's called the Infertile Couples Club and if you ask me, it's a crappy club. I wish I wasn't in it. Mike wishes he wasn't in it either.
When we met and fell in love, we talked about all those things that couples talk about before they get married, including the topic of children. We both wanted a family, and quite a large family at that. (Who knew there were men out there with dreams of big families?) Like most couples, we thought it would be relatively easy to get pregnant. We were both in excellent health so why should we think any different? Turns out it's really hard to get preggo if you're part of the Infertile Couples Club. (Again, how can I get out of this one? Is there an unsubscribe button?)
Way back when (it's been so long I can hardly remember) I came off birth control, we thought we'd give this whole pregnancy thing one good shot and then back off. We were set to get married in the spring and my dress wasn't the kind that could cover a baby bump. In fact, I wouldn't be able to zip it if we got pregnant, but I was willing to ditch the dress if I could have a baby.
It worked!
I was over the moon when I got a positive pregnancy test that first month we tried. It was easy!! I was elated. I knew immediately that I was pregnant and tested before AF was even set to arrive. When those two pink lines showed up, I jumped around and clapped in the bathroom. (If you know me, you probably have a great mental image of this.) I went out that very moment and bought a boat load of baby booties and spread them all around in Mike's sock drawer and then anxiously awaited until he needed some clean socks. It took that man forever to need some socks! I remember him holding up that tiny little sock with a most inquisitive look on his face. It took a while before it sunk it, but he was so happy. We were going to have a family and it was so easy.I spent hours just staring at my belly and wondering about the little bean hanging out in there. I talked to it. I bonded with it. I was so attached to it and it wasn't even here yet. Mike mostly looked at me like I had lost my mind but I think he was secretly talking to little bean when I was asleep.
And then....
Enter from stage left World's Worst Devastation. Miscarriage is painful, and not just physically. Mentally it was awful too. How could I be losing this little bean? I stayed hopeful though. We got pregnant once and it was our first attempt so surely I would get pregnant again.
Ha.
Ha.
Ha.
Life is funny like that. We kept trying and nothing happened. My gut told me something was wrong so I pushed for fertility testing and sure enough, I had issues. We were put on preliminary membership to the Infertile Couples Club. We started fertility treatments with my midwife the same month we got married. It was more of the same. Nothing happened, and my issues clearly were not going to be fixed with the current regime of medications.
Now what?
Mike started his fertility work up just after we were married. I'll save the details about the horrifying experience of Semen Analysis for another post. It may, in fact, be the most awkward experience either of us ever have. For better or worse, Mike makes funny sperm. (I picture them with clown hats.) This pretty much sealed out spot on the Infertile Couples Club membership list. (Mike would like for me to point out that he makes like three times the number of sperm that a normal dude makes so his clown hat wearing sperm issue isn't near as big of a deal as my Hostile Uterus issue. He is so proud of his sperm production.)
Fast forward to today, July 23rd, and we were finally sitting in the RE office for our initial consult. (The RE is a Reproductive Endocrinologist and they deal with all things infertility as well as a host of other hormonal problems.)
I may have freaked him out a tad with my color coordinated medical records but I can't be sure.
Today was the first day we got serious about conceiving. It was the first day we really had to admit we have a problem. I have yet to wrap my head around how I feel about this whole thing. Mike keeps making warrior poses. He carries the hope for both of us. (I love that man!)
We call our adventure Operation Baby Johnson because we have officially declared war on my girlie parts. Mike's clown hat wearing sperm have been put on standby and are ready for battle. We will make this baby (or die trying!!)
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