Friday, March 04, 2005

Ladies in waiting

Not much to share today, except the bit of whimsy that follows. I've been a bit down. They say that women experiencing infertility have depression deeper than women undergoing cancer treatment. I believe it.

Earlier this week I called my egg donor coordinator for no real reason at all. I just wanted to hear her voice (isn't that sweet?). Our donor will be coming in sometime this week to see if she's down-regulated and ready to start stims, at which point the coordinator will call and strike my chains: No more Lupron! I can't wait for a mainline hit of Estrace, so I can stop sweating and start sleeping.

You know what gets me about this whole donor egg process?

Don't answer that. The replies would be legion. Today, however, my issue is with Waiting. And her hag of a sister, Worrying. I am a child of the first TV generation; I was born in 1964, the very last year of the Baby Boom. My attention span (unless I'm reading a really good book) has been irrevocably shaped by episodic drama and news-at-eleven sound bytes. Delayed gratification? Not.

So yeah, Waiting and Worrying drive me bughouse. They've been stopping by lately, hanging out, like good girlfriends do. Waiting asks me out to lunch a lot, trying to fill up my time. Worrying yap, yap, yaps in my ear and goes at me with her little rat teeth if I don't find some way to shut her up. I wonder sometimes, how many of our infertility decisions are driven by sheer exhaustion. We're tired of Waiting and Worrying. They're such bitches.

First I Waited to reach the top of my clinic's egg donation list. That took about a year, but I filled that time profitably by having my fibroid-infested uterus cleaned out, getting pregnant twice with my own eggs, and having miscarriages. Worrying had a field day during both of those pregnancies. After each ended, she smiled a smug and self-satisfied smile and said, "I told you so."

Reaching the pinnacle of the egg donation list was a less-than-welcome achievement after the worst year of my life, but it finally happened. Next, I Waited until a donor we liked became available. We passed on three donors for various reasons before we were matched. And then Waiting piped up: "Are you sure you didn't jump the gun a little bit? The next donor they offer might be just perfect. Maybe you should think about this. C'mon, let's you and me go out for a drink...."

I loved my donor's profile, and when I looked at her picture, I felt an instant click: Yes, that's the one. But our donor is not proven. I was just bored with Waiting. And Worrying reminded me that some other couple could snatch her up while I was dithering. (Our clinic gives you a week to consider a donor before they'll offer her to the next people on the list.) I caved.

Then, I Waited for our donor to recover from bronchitis, poor girl, and to get "Day 1" of her period. Never has the old auntie been so welcome, especially when not coming to my own house. Since then my donor and I have both been injecting ourselves with Lupron, in an attempt to downregulate and match up our cycles. This process is taking a very long time, but I have kept myself busy exchanging e-mail with Waiting and Worrying. (Is our donor taking care of herself? Is she taking her shots? Am I taking care of myself and taking my shots?)

In fact, I must thank Waiting and Worrying for this blog. It was their idea.

As soon as this cycle starts for real, Waiting and Worrying will be moving in to my house. I think they'll be sleeping in my bed and eating my food. They'll be very busy girls after my donor begins her stimulation drugs, and we face the whole how-many-eggs, how-many-embryos agony. And after transfer, they'll call their mother...the foul Queen of all the Waits, who reigns in the special circle of Hell named for Her: the Two Week Wait.

"Assuming you get that lucky," Worrying reminds me. "Not everyone gets pregnant from their first donor egg cycle." She's sitting on the edge of my desk, filing her nails to nice, sharp points. The better to scratch me with, later.

"Shut up," says Waiting, hovering behind me. She glances at her watch. "I told her to write a blog to kill a few minutes, and her lunch break is almost over."

Worrying pouts. "Well okay. No need to be rude. I was just saying."

I could get used to these two. I'd better.

11 comments:

Anonymous said...

Ohhh Bee :), you definately have a way with words.
I too was born in 1964. Those two horrid twins are in my house right now along with the Queen. They fight like cat and dog around here... :). Now it's wait for that line and worry if it's fainter than the one yesterday and worry that the pg will make it to the lab test on Mar 10 for the "official" yes.
All I can say is that if I don't go insane before I get there, it will be worth the wait.
Kat.

Bee said...

All hail the Queen!!!! Kat, I'm so excited that you have a LINE on those HPTs. I have heard of false negatives but NOT false positives. I think you are PG!!!

Millie said...

Man, I feel young. '65 here. First year of Gen X.
Why don't you just send those two witches to me? I'm used to them and know what to do with them.

I've got a tiny little houseguest myself. She's not very strong yet and I think she'd do much better at your place. I'm calling her Cautious Optimism for now but that's way too long. She said in a very quiet voice her real name is Hope. I don't really have room for her for a couple of months. Can you help me out?

Bee said...

Send her over, Millie. We'll have a sleepover and she'll grow tall and strong and will cheer me up immensely...and when you've got your guest bedroom fixed up, I'll send her back to you. :D Bee

Anonymous said...

Waiting and worrying over here too. I started lupron on 3/3 and my donor's on track so a potential transfer date has been set for 4/1.

I was born in 1963, so I can tell you that waiting doesn't get easier with, um, maturity either!

Oh, and that Hope has been calling my machine, but hanging up without leaving a message. (I just know it's her though.)

Love your blog--it helps. Pam

Anonymous said...

1965 was a good year for producing wait and worry. It's like having that tatoo of 'love' and 'hate' instead over the knuckles of each hand (forget which movie that is from).

Emily

Anonymous said...

I guess I am the old timer here,1962. The twins were visiting me all last night, and made such a racket that they kept waking me up.
Worry kept telling me that I was never going to get my period. Day 1 of my cycle is supposed to start on Monday and it still is not here yet.
I kept telling her to pipe down but to no avail.She then reminded my donor has a time deadline of April 1st(not sure why).
So I wait and wait....
Suzee

Anonymous said...

LOL :)
I finally beat worry over the head w a big stick... after the 6th +++ pg test, I think I realised that I'm pg. And perhaps I'm naive, but I'm refusing to let her back in the house bc I'm determined not to worry about mc. Been there, done that. I hear hope calling :)
Kat.

sniper said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
Bee said...

Hi Everyone,

Looks like Waiting and Worrying have cloned themselves and gone trick-or-treating everywhere.

Let's get Hope and her buddy Good Luck to take 'em down... :D

Bee

babyfevermolly said...

Oh, Bee....thank you, thank you, thank you!!!
I'm looking at a 9month wait to cycle. Our first. Hmmmmm wonder what they can do to me over that much time. Maybe I'll take up psychotherapy-TaeKwonDo to teach those bitches a lesson about WHO'S YOUR MOMMY.

Millie: you made me actually cry sitting here at the PC, darn you.

Love to all the good girls,
babyfevermolly '64