100mg of Clomid, double the starting dose, and we’ve
decided to bank on an IUI. I wonder if I’ll wind up with twins, and despite my
initial paranoia, two seem better than none. I’m also scheduled for a
hysterosalpingogram (HSG), another piece of the infertility puzzle where a
specialist injects a dye into my Fallopian tubes to see if there are any
blockages that may hinder conception. I’m recommended to take 600mg of
Ibuprofen before the procedure to relax and ease cramping. Women’s experiences
of this procedure range from mildly uncomfortable to extremely painful,
depending on whether there are blockages and how sensitive they are to pain.
The clinic provides pads for when the dye leaks out of me afterward, like those
commercials about pads where they pour blue liquid to demonstrate their product
line’s prowess against leaks. The process “clears out the tubes,” so to speak,
so my chances for conception are supposed to be slightly better. I think of it as
a “spa cleanse” for my reproductive organs.
My husband drives me to my HSG, and a male
radiologist preforms it; his two female associates, Donna and Pam, have the
best bedside manners and ask if I needed anything the whole time. He is
professional, verbally walks me through what is being done during the
procedure, tells me when I’d feel a cramp due to the balloon inflating to keep
the dye from leaking back out, and shows me the results of the dye on the
screen. It feels like a bad menstrual cramp pinch, and then it’s over. Both my
tubes are clear, and he gives me the go-ahead to continue TTC. My husband and I
walk Stanford Shopping Center together afterward to get ice cream as a treat.
January 31st 2015, I go in for my second
Cycle Day 13 ultrasound to check on my follicles. I’m surprised to find out
that I have one mature follicle on the left, well on its way to releasing at
22-23mm. The next biggest one on my right ovary is only 17.5mm. The endometrium
looks a little thin, probably from the effects of Clomid, so if this cycle
doesn’t pan out, my OB will switch me to Letrozole (Femara). Our IUI is
scheduled on a Sunday, when my regular clinic closes, so we are sent to the
associated fertility clinic for the procedure. We have to wait an hour for them
to pull the switcheroos for scheduling, and we tour the nearby Farmer’s Market
in Mountain View. We then drive back to the clinic so they can give me my 250mcg
Ovidrel trigger shot to release the mature follicle. The nurse administers it
subcutaneously at the back of my arm near the triceps (on my left side, since
I'm ovulating from the left). All I feel is a dull ache for a few seconds as
the drug is injected.
In the afternoon, I head to my acupuncturist, whom I
still see on a bi-weekly basis. I mention that the OB is concerned that my
endometrium is looking a little thin, probably due to the Clomid. The
acupuncturist suggests goji berries and Royal Jelly as a natural supplement to
help that along. I buy organic Viva Labs Goji berries from the Himalayas, soak
them into a tea, and eat them ritualistically every night. The OB may switch me from Clomid to Femara or
Letrozole, depending on how things shape up.
The IUI itself is quick and painless, just a tiny
bit of cramping when the doctor inserts the catheter. Now we are in the Two
Week Wait again. For the first time in my life, thanks to the Ovidrel shot that
is essentially a synthetic version of the human pregnancy hormone (HCG), my OPK
test registers a clear positive, which blows me away. It's like I just stepped
into a parallel universe—it's exciting to see it this dark. HPTs also show
“fake” positives for up to 7 days after taking the trigger shot (mine stays in
the system for 4 days). That means I can’t test too soon after a trigger shot
or else I may get confused by a fake pregnancy. I gain a new respect for
Pee-on-a-Stick (POAS) Addicts. Once again, I am caught up in the emotional
thrill, sometimes blind hope, and often heartbreak of it all.
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| Smiley-faced positive OPK tests |
Husbands of women who have been struggling with
infertility gain a unique perspective into the whole baby-making process. They,
too, learn from these crazy TTC journeys—being able to tell apart an OPK from
an HPT—while other men just sit back, blissfully unaware until their wives tell
them they're going to be a daddy. They don’t know how good they’ve got it.
My temperature rises a few days after the IUI and
stays elevated. I marvel at what science has granted to me—high, sustained
temps in my LP as my eggs like it toasty and are more hard-boiled than
over-easy. My BBT chart finally has some semblance of predictability, which is
a huge relief after playing the guessing game, and often losing, for the past
1+ year. Two cycles in a row with ovulation, and I feel like I’ve finally moved
beyond first base. Now that I am moving forward, I think about getting a positive pregnancy
test least a million times a day. A few months ago before I gave up on natural
remedies and turned to Western treatment, I was just hoping to ovulate and have
just a small chance of conceiving. Small goals, big dreams, and one cycle at a
time have gotten me here.
I become ravenous toward the middle of my TWW,
wolfing down two baby Thai bananas, half a cup of grapes, a handful of
honey-roasted macadamia nuts (and usually after I get some of the fat from
nuts, I'm done, but nope!), curried beef jerky, and pasta. I drink milk tea in
bed before turning in; I fantasize about hot biscuits with melted butter
drenched in honey. PMS or pregnancy? So hard to tell. I drive myself nuts
wondering if I can make it as far as mid next week before starting a new cycle,
and which test day would technically be more accurate if I count from IUI day.
Heartened by my high temperatures, I test at 12 Days Past Ovulation (DPO)… to
be faced with a negative.
At the acupuncturist’s office, my pulse is taken on
both wrists, and I notice that she is listening VERY closely this time. After
she is done, she says, "Nothing on the right, but on this side—it feels
like you're pregnant." By this time, I am ready to jump out of my chair,
hop on her desk, and scale her walls out of excitement as this is the first
time she's said this to me after seeing her for 11 months. I ask her what the
pulse feels like, and she has trouble articulating but says, "Like it's
looping." After the ball-busting, kick-in-the-groin HPT-negative test from
this morning, my heart jumps with that infusion of hope, even if she is just
trying to make me feel better. But I don't think she would, because my Chinese
acupuncturist is brutally honest, if anything. After that, it's onto the
acupuncture bed, under the heat lamp, needle between the eyes for stress, needles in the stomach,
and needles near the webs of the thumbs "to calm your mind and your
spirit," as she puts it.
 |
| The usual Saturday morning view: staring up at the acupuncture heat lamp |
We take our dog to Baker Beach as a mini-getaway and
have a good time hiking through some parks and letting him splash around in the
ocean. We have lunch at a tiny pub, and everything looks good on the menu
yesterday when we were planning the trip, but today after glancing over the
menu, even though it’s a late lunch and I am fairly hungry, nothing is that appealing,
and I finally settle on some fish and chips (low/no mercury fish). It’s ok, but
I scarf down the pickle that comes with it and also polish off the one that comes
with my husband’s French Dip sandwich when he offers it to me. Still too early
to tell, but we both have a chuckle over how stereotypically pregnancy-craving
that is.
A note about my Cattle Dog, whom we adopted two years ago: We have no idea of his background, but I'll BET he got lost from a family that had a baby. He is fascinated with babies and toddlers, and whenever he comes across a stroller, he peeks in and looks ever so gently and searchingly. A lady even approaches me at the dog park and asks if we have kids since he was hanging around her stroller. I’m afraid he has peed on it or did something ridiculous while I’m not watching, but she quickly assures me that he’s fine, very gentle, and can’t get enough of looking at the baby. I have to keep telling him, "Sweetie, the baby you knew is grown by now—you won't find her in a stroller anymore." Then he looks at me like I should hurry up and do something about that so he can have another little human companion to look after.
 |
| Odin splashing around at Baker Beach |
A few days later, my temperature starts to make the
telltale decline, indicating the loss of progesterone at the end of a cycle. I
take another test at 16 DPO for another negative. It goes to show that even
textbook-perfect cycles can come to an end. All's fair in love and TTC.
Takeaways:
The Shettles Method claims that conception closer to a woman’s ovulation date ups
the chances for having a boy; further from the ovulation date but still within
the conception window means a girl. This is based on statistics of male sperm
being lighter (carrying less of a DNA load) and faster than female sperm, which
are slower but heartier and can live longer before fertilizing the egg.
However, research has shown that the Shettles method does not work for gender
determination, and it usually comes down to a standard 50/50 chance.
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