Fears
Only the truly diligent know they are even pregnant at this stage. It is too early to think about it, talk about, plan for anything. I may not even be pregnant right now. That is the horror of it. You are only as good as your last pregnancy test. I’ve learned to be comforted by exhaustion, by cramps, by painful bowel movements. These are all signs that something is going on down there. I even like the fleeting moments of nausea I experienced last week, that vague carsick wooziness. A loosening in the jaws, the need to eat a cracker to calm my stomach.
But some time last week, I think Thursday, I stopped feeling so awful. The cramps stopped. The fatigue remained (thank god), but no more debilitating lower abdominal pain. And you know what? This makes me nervous. My acupuncturist told me she doesn’t have needles large enough for me. Am I really that bad? I’m sure most women are this anxious. The further along you are, the closer you are to something. But as more time passes, there is more to lose.
My ultrasound is on Tuesday. They will look for the yolk sac. At eight weeks, it is considered a fetus. Right now, it’s still in the prep stage. I think about my age and how lucky we are to be where we are. I think about my age and the things that can go wrong.
Yesterday, R. and I spent the day shopping in New Jersey. The malls and large department stores, especially Target, present a frightening cross section of all that can go wrong in the world. When I crossed paths with a child or adolescent with an obvious disability, my heart sank.
I refuse to look at statistics. I know they will be revealed later. For now I distract myself, which is probably why I haven’t posted as often this week. I’m trying to spare others of my craziness. I’m trying to hide all these fears.
Waiting…
They say that the embryos float around for 24 to 48 hours after the transfer. Theoretically, they continue to grow – those little cells multiplying and mushing together. At acupuncture on Friday, Dr. A. placed the needles higher on my stomach. She said that after transfer she treats her patients as if they are pregnant. Now we want them to anchor, she says. When she came in the room, my gown was still wrapped around my belly. Usually I open the gown a little so she can get to it. I said, I must be protecting it. She said, that’s good. That’s what I’m doing too (by putting the needles higher).
Dr. B. (transfer doc) said the latching or anchoring really happens on the 5th or 6th day, which would be Monday or Tuesday. I’m confused. Instructions say to go home and relax after transfer, and to resume normal activity the following day. No jumping around. No high impact. No problem. I’m a slug. On Friday I am unusually sluggish and even more so on Saturday. I want to post something, but think I’ll sound whiny and depressed. Yesterday I woke up early with lower abdominal pain – very similar to menstrual pain – and it freaked me out all day. I felt this same discomfort about a week after my first transfer. Dr. A said it could be anything, but I can’t help but imagine the same thing is happening. How can I not be freaked out when I feel like I’m getting my period? This I know about my body: it doesn’t lie. But maybe I’m misunderstanding the signs.
The mantra for the weekend: Try not to think about. Try to be positive.
Yesterday I wrote: Right now I think I could not possibly do this again. Are my negative thoughts affecting my body? We manipulated my uterus and ovaries with precision up to this point. Now I’m on my own. Now freakin’ nature has to take over. Why can’t they come up with some new technology to make this part foolproof?
Not quite ready
I feel ready for retrieval (properly bloating, cranky, punctured), but it is not yet time. Back to the doctor’s office tomorrow (fourth day in a row!) for bloodwork and ultrasound and with luck we administer Ovidrel late tomorrow night for a Monday retrieval.
Friday is acupuncture day. My acupuncturist, Dr. A., (who also serves as my confidant, therapist, and channeler of good vibes) recommends sticking to foods in traditional Chinese medicine. We are trying to restore my kidney energy, or QI, which important for conception and childbirth.When she hits my kidney point (the area below where the big toe and second toe meet) I yelp. Don’t get me wrong. Acupuncture doesn’t hurt. In fact, I look forward to those teeny needles that I barely feel, that work hard to get my Qi going and get the blood flowing in my uterus. But that kidney point is the only one that hurts. “That’s your anger,” she says, and we nod at each other because she works with women like me every day.
According to Dr. A, foods that restore kidney energy are seeds, sprouts, nuts, eggs and seaweed. Cooked vegetables are better than cold or raw as they can reduce stomach and spleen Qi. I haven’t conducted much of my own research on this, and I probably should. But I am happy to follow her advice. This is something I have control over. It all sounds healthy — how can it not be? She says to avoid caffeine (including chocolate, grrrr), which is the hardest. I cheat with a cup of decaf (with soy milk because dairy is out as well). She also says to drink pomegranate juice, which I like, but I think that is more of an old wive’s tale, but maybe it falls under the “seed” category.
When I crave chocolate in the afternoon, I talk a walk to the closest Jamba Juice and treat myself to a shot of wheatgrass. It tastes like Saturday afternoon football games, the kind where face meets ground and you literally eat dirt. Chocolate and decaf are my cheats. If I tell Dr. A. I’ve partaken, she chastises me. Who needs that? I tend not to divulge these things to her.
This morning at acupuncture I don’t feel too stressed out, but she must sense it, or I must act it. I am anxious — for the retrieval, for the “health” of the follicles, for the potential success of the entire regimen. Today my foot doesn’t hurt. I tell her how R. and I just want to know what day we have to go in becausehe has to take the day off of work (as do I but his situation is more complicated). I want the plan, I want to know when things are going to happen. All this not knowing is unsettling. Dr. A asks if I have a friend or sister who can accompany me to the retrieval so that R. didn’t have to take off of work. I say, but he has to be there. That’s his big day! Sample day! It’s the only day he really has to do anything. R. is a trooper — this isn’t a slam on him. I know he would take the shots himself if he could. At least I hope he would.
Dr. A taps my feet, knees, abdomen with needles as I talak. She taps my ear and yow, that hurts, I say. She says, I’m sorry, I’m not trying to hurt you. What was that point? I ask. Your calming point, she says and we laugh. She stands back and looks at me. I think you need a piece of chocolate, she says. I know it’s contraband, but you need a treat. But I can’t give it to you in front of the receptionist or she’ll fink me out. After my session, Dr. A sneaks in the room and offers me a rose scented chocolate truffle. I accept with complicity, and I don’t tell her I’ve been sneaking pieces of chocolate all week. I wonder, can all these foods really make a difference when I’m tanked up on three different hormones, day and night? Can anything natural survive in this bloodstream? Is it all the more important to eat perfectly because I’m weakening my body with the meds?
