Mommy Wars: The Get Over Yourself Edition

As the mommy war wages on I think I’ll just step lightly over the shells of women lost in making motherhood their entire identity and slide over to some neutral ground where women can talk like friends. This whole mommy thing turns people into monsters willing to defend their righteous camp to the death, or worse, make a cock fight out of it between two friends. Not sure why motherhood has turned into a dick measuring contest, but it has. It’s hard to even ask for advice without having your parenting abilities attacked. How does that foster growth and development of mothering? It doesn’t. What’s the purpose, anyway? To be the best mommy? The best one ever? OMG. We should all get necklaces made. It’ll be a jagged broken heart with “Best” on one side and “Mommy” on the other and we can ALL fight over who gets to wear the “Best” part. Stupid. I’ve had my share of experience with this dirty little war. I had a good friend who is a stay-at-home-mom. Not just any stay-at-home-mom…but the guilt-monger-one-upper-stay-at-home-mom. It became her identity, completely. And that’s when things got messy. My favorite thing was when she’d offer her opinion/advice on some topic related to parenting, then follow it with “but don’t let me make you feel bad.” That pretty much summed up her thoughts on her parenting vs. mine - she was better at it and surely I could see that, but I shouldn’t let it get me down. I brushed it off thinking that it was my postpartum brain stuck on bitch interpretation. But, it wasn’t. Her outward righteousness just kept growing and growing. Everything was up for belittling – from inoculations, formula feeding, number of illnesses, food choices, right down to clothing of children. There was hardly any actual conversation left through the piles of mommy-pretension. I finally had to end the relationship. And I’m not the only one. My best friend recently had a baby and when getting together for dinner she began asking questions about appropriate first foods. Myself and another mother started sharing ideas and thoughts with her when suddenly another friend made a comment about her not knowing that kind of stuff because she’s a part-time mom, aka a working mom. The logic behind the comment was faulty since the mothers who were familiar with the topic were working mothers, too. However, it was supposed to be dismissed since it was a joke. As if anyone has ever brushed off a jab to their parenthood with the ‘ol “haters gonna hate” rationale. Needless to say, it shed light on the sharp contrast seen between the stay-at-home-mom camp and the working camp of mothers. I’ve seen it online a lot, too. All the comments about stay-at-home moms being boring, uneducated, playground drinkers and working moms being absent, refrigerator mothers allowing others to raise their children. Blah, blah, blah. As if the only factors to be considered when evaluating parenting is the mothers proximity to the child. Guh, please. It’s vicious and so cliché. It’s the equivalent of the teenage girl who is all, “Ummm…I just get along better with guys. Girls are all beotches.” Yeah, yeah, yeah. And here were are decades later still singing the same tune trying to shake each other by the throat until the neck snaps. It’s ridiculous. We should all pull together what sanity we’ve got left after months and years of sleep deprivation and help each other out. Asking for help shouldn’t end in public flogging and giving advice shouldn’t be the means to feed an ego. So ladies, if you’re one of those mommy-monsters out there – get over yourself and stop being a boob. You’ve cleaned a ghost turd out of a full tub after your kids bath just like I have.

Egg retrieval

I marched into the ART center at the hospital today armed with a bag full of necessities.
-Adhesive heating pads
-Tylenol
-Panty liners
-A good book
-Comfortable clothing
I was a bit nervous about the egg retrieval since I clearly remembered the pain after the first one.  The kind of pain that makes you writhe, the kind that makes you want to run away from your own body.
I laid quietly in a hospital bed for the first 1 1/2 hours of my stay at the ART center, hooked up to an IV, meeting a plethora of health professionals who would soon see my goodies, and answering the questions "What’s your full name?", "Date of birth?", "Social security number?", "Are you allergic to anything?" over and over.  Which, I don't mind.  I don't want anyone to mistake me for Michelle or Trisha down the hall.  But, the anticipation was killing me.
Finally, they came for me.
I was rolled into a sterile operating room with stirrups, surrounded by people I'd just met, shamelessly naked under a too-loose hospital gown and asked to position myself on the table with my legs in the stirrups.  Exposed.  Before I could pass out from modesty the anesthesia got me.  Thank God.
I woke up to the soft laugh of my friend who came with me.  Apparently I'm quite repetitive when coming off of anesthesia and just couldn't seem to thank the staff enough and remind them of the great job they did.  Then, the pain.  Then, the Demerol.  Brief relief, more Demerol.  Vicious cycle.  But, I finally got the good news.  They aspirated 16 eggs.  I'm happy with that.  I'll learn over the course of the next several days how many fertilized, how many are developing properly and when my embryo transfer will be.  I'll be getting a phone call every day about the status of my little embryos, and I'm praying for good news.
In the meantime, I'll try and shake this awkward posture the pain in my lower abdomen is causing.  It's very Disney movie villain.  Try and work through the pain with heating pads and Tylenol, take my medication and stay busy enough that my days fly...hopefully.

Follistim, Menopur and Cool Mint Oreos...Oh My!

My ovaries deserve a pat on the back.  They're workin' hard and puttin' in over time, so I'm paying them in cool mint oreos.  Which, are brilliant by the way.
First off - they didn't sabotage my cycle this time by prematurely ovulating.  And now they're growin' follicles.  And doing an amazing job. 
Informational Insert: In IVF they keep up with the measurement of your follicles while using and comparing all kinds of scientific information that would make my brain explode, until the body proves its ready for them to retrieve multiple eggs.  
After 3 nights of stimulation meds my follicles jumped from 7 to 11.  They're lookin' for anything between 18 and 21 in order to retrieve.  So, I'm gettin' closer and in a very short amount of time.  They scaled back some of my meds in order to control the stimulation. (I was on 150 IU of Follistim and 2 amps of Menopur...but, they're cutting the Menopur back to 1 amp)   Hopefully I'll be scheduled for egg retrieval Sunday, Monday or Tuesday.  I've got another appointment on Saturday, so I'll know better then.
Now, for the down-side.  Injections hurt.  I don't remember them hurting so bad my first cycle, or maybe I've just aged a lot since last year and my skin is closer to being paper thin and prone to unexplainable cuts.  Or maybe its because the dosage is higher this time.  Or maybe I'm just a cry baby because I'm hopped up on hormones.  Which, by the way, do make me a crazy lady.  I'm forgetful, ultra sensitive, tired, have occasional headaches and just generally unpleasant.  Probably best my husband is deployed for this part.
Ohhh, look at the time!  I gotta run, it's time for my remedies...adl..adlfkjaw...asdkfjkawmekcnlaseropl

Trust Him, He's A Doctor...

Between surfing through online support communities and good old fashioned googling, I’ve come across some pretty interesting things.  In order to increase their chances of success with IVF people start acupuncture, laser acupuncture (?), hypnosis, Royal Jelly, shots of wheat grass, Bee Propolis, a vegan diet, deep breathing techniques, self-help/motivational reading, and a plethora of other supplements, fads and magic.

I understand it.  I do.  I just can’t subscribe to it.

Yes, a healthy lifestyle is…healthy.  Good for you, good for biological processes.  I agree.  But – I don’t think the party-girl who gets accidentally knocked up (7 times) is hopped up on dark leafy greens and self-improvement reading.  Think we can blame that one on the al-al-al-al-al-alcohol.  

As for me, I’m doing what I was before.  Watching what and how much I eat, exercising and laughing.  My doc says to not take any other supplements outside of a prenatal - so that’s what I do.  I trust him, he’s a doctor- and his reputation in the fertility community rests on the shoulders of my success.  At what point is a team of highly educated trained specialists, a $10,000+ procedure and thousands of dollars worth of specialized medication just not enough?  Is the pimply faced 19 year old at GNC or the power crystal peddling love child really in on some kind of hidden truth about pregnancy through IVF that my doc isn’t?  Its superstition and the ever-present guard against it, when we should just be saying Inshallah.

What I’m trying to say is if you’re out there, and you’re going through IVF minus the Royal Jelly, “The Secret” and hypnosis – you’re not alone.  If you’ve found yourself raising your eyebrow at the thought of using a push-pin to relax – you’re not alone.  And, if you find yourself feeling slightly bad about being so skeptical – well…on that one, you might just be alone.

My Milkshake Brings All The...Specialists To The Yard?

Condoms.  Birth control pills.  Morning-after pill.  Spermicide.  All my sidekicks during the years I spent focusing on preventing pregnancy.  The years during which I thought alcohol was the leading cause of pregnancy.  The years before I met a man who had it all, including a vasectomy.

No problem, right?  A reversal will fix that.  Hey, even the Army will pay for that.  Until we found out that you get what ya pay for.  No success.  That was in '09.

Next step - IVF.  Only first we've gotta get a sample from my husband, that means he's got to undergo yet another ball surgery.  The MESA.  Check - 2010.

Since my husband officially had frankenballs and we finally got the coverage for IVF, we began.  First cycle was a bust.  Big. Fat. Negative. Second cycle, cancelled. 
Now, I’m starting our third cycle.  Alone.  My husband is deployed to Afghanistan and I'm here on the home front.  The hormonal, crazy-lady home front.

At this point, I'm on the antagonist protocol.  (I speak IVF)  I'm on the Nuvaring - which is quite the experience by the way.  It's this creepy little ring that just seemed to disappear inside of me.  Couple that with the break-through bleeding that requires a tampon and the occasional dildo ultrasound and it's like a treasure hunt in my pants.

I've got my next appoint on the 10th.  Dildo ultrasound, hopefully no cysts or signs of ovulation, and then I'll begin the stimulation meds.  I'll give myself injections in my stomach for nearly 2 weeks and morph into Mr. Hyde...Mr. Hyde who cries...a lot.

But, the juice is worth the squeeze.