I've moved!

I'm now at Musings of a Fat Chick.

Come on over and say hello!

Movin on up

All good things must come to an end, and my blogger days? My long, twisty turny love affair Blogger has definitely been one of those good good things. I started this blog all the way back on December 6, 2006. Here's a bit of trivia: Did you know that I originally started my blog on Myspace? It's true. My sister encouraged me to, and then I moved it because I wanted to be like all the other cool kids with a blogspot blog.

And this blog, and my beloved readers, have been with me through thick and thin. I'm feeling a wee bit sentimental on the eve of the big move to musingsofafatchick.com. I know it's time, but, well, I guess change is what Kleenex was made for. That, and progesterone, because maaaah laaaaws, I'm willing to bet that sales of Kleenex skyrocketed after progesterone supplements were put on the market.

Now. We'll just wipe away those tears and get to the good stuff: The new blog!

The new blog is pretty cool, if I don't say so myself. You can contact me (and soon enough I'll figure out how to enable Capcha), and tonight I'm working on telling everyone all about me.

And then there's the nitty gritty, the AWESOME that is Wordpress: I'll be able to organize my posts (and we won't stop and discuss whether or not I can be organized, oh no we won't). Here's what I'm thinkin:

Crafty
The Crafty category will be a place to talk about crafts, any and all crafts. I have some giveaways lined up for August, and then I'll also be looking for tutorials and cool free patterns and posting those there. Email me if you'd like to be featured!

Clicky
The more I play around with my little Nikon point and shoot, the more I realize that I need a special place just to feed my addiction. This will be it. I like to think of it as the Gallerie d' Mediocrity.

Foody
I'm learning to cook, what with becoming a mom and all. So I thought I'd share some of the stuff I learn, and link to great food sites so that we can all partake of great recipes. Plus, if childcare doesn't completely bankrupt me, I'll also be posting restaurant reviews and pics here.

Wordy
Mah blatherings, but I'll bet you knew that.

Aren't all the Y words just so darn cutesy? I was going for cutesy. I think I succeeded. Nauseated much?

So, without further hemming and hawing and procrastinating and fidgeting, tomorrow morning will be the first post on the new blog. Come on over and say hello!

Giveaway Winner - The second try

Well, I never heard back from Sibabe64, and since you lose when you snooze, the new winner is:

jessleigh

Congrats Jessica! I'll be emailing you today.

Because I haven't obsessed enough already

Here are some things I'm wondering about. Feel free to discuss.

1. When they transferred my Specks, The GES mentioned something about the Specks being in fluid. What, exactly, is the transfer medium? Was it glue? Because I'd really like it to be glue. And yes, I googled EmbryoGlue, so now you don't have to. (You're welcome!)

2. It would be impolitic to call up The GES and ask about EmbryoGlue, right? Like, he might take offense, or maybe the particular fluid he uses is a trade secret? Or, well, he might hang up on me? BECAUSE WHO CALLS THEIR RE AND ASKS ABOUT EMBRYOGLUE? I'll try to stop myself from calling, but I can't make any promises.

3. Is it bad to sneeze? Because I have, and it's making me edgy.

4. My beta is scheduled for August 10. Does that mean my 2ww ends 2 weeks from today, or 2 weeks from the egg retrieval?

5. If girl-blastocysts grow slower than boy-blastocysts, and my Specks grew slowly, then...

Just thought you'd like to know

I'm already learning things about parenthood, like how you never know what tomorrow may bring, and sometimes, sometimes you just have to stand back and let your bebbeh do things on his/her own timeline. Every once in a while, day-5 this and day-3 that don't mean a damn thing, not when we are talking about MY BLASTOCYSTS.

Now, Internet, if you'll excuse me. I have a lot of things to do today. I have to call my boss and tell her that I'll be working from home (again) in the afternoon. Then I have to gaze longingly at the coffee maker, and then I have to drink 24 ounces of water. And then? Then I have to get my butt up to beautiful Evanston because I have TWO BLASTOCYSTS GETTING REALLY IMPATIENT FOR THE TRANSFER.

I don't want to keep them waiting any longer than is necessary.

And my word. It's amazing the difference a day makes!

Move along

Nothing to see here.

I got to the clinic early (do you really think I'd be late?) and the lab director sat me down and told me, "It's not great news." She showed me a picture with three of my embryos. It was labeled "Discards." Then she pulled out another picture of two embryos. They haven't made it to the blastocyst stage; they are in the "pre-blastocyst" stage. I was told that I should come back tomorrow morning, that there's a 50% chance that we'll have at least one blastocyst to transfer. I might get lucky, they might be slow growers.

Then she told me that The GES wasn't happy with my stimulation anyway, and that there's other protocols that can be done. She blah-blah-blahed about how we'll know if I can stop the progesterone tomorrow, rather than keep me on it for two more weeks. I guess that's my consolation? No more self-administered intramuscular injections, and Next Time? Because that is so much more preferrable than being pregnant? Or the hope of being pregnant? I didn't say any of this, of course. How could I say anything, when she wouldn't even look at me?

And then The GES stopped into the little room to tell me it's definitely best to wait until tomorrow, and I just stared at him. What was I supposed to say? I tried to come up with something, but he left before my brain could pop anything out. Truth be told, I still haven't figured out a response.

I forgot that I had a full bladder. I forgot that I had to "check out" with the chick from accounting. I just left. And I made it outside before the tears came.

Tomorrow.

The egg retrieval, blow by blow

Beyond my current fascination with Dr. Google, I've learned a few other things in the last week, and I'm processing some others, and I thought hey! Why not share a few more intimate, embarrassing stories on mah bloggity blog? Because let's face it: I haven't done enough of that lately, you know? So here it is, all about my egg retrieval (and then some):

The fertility drugs bloat me. Like, bad. On my last injectables cycle (which, granted, included a very mild case of OHSS), I used acupuncture to lose the water weight - and in less than 3 weeks, I lost 27 pounds. 27 pounds of water. Think about that for a few seconds. It is painful, difficult to breathe, when you have that much water floating all up in your gut. Well, this time around, I was proud that I was peeing like a rock star after my egg retrieval. Turns out, though, that I had a little help: When the nurse called with the fertilization report, she told me that they had to remove fluid from my abdomen while I was under, and that they gave me a "strong diuretic" in my IV. I wish I had known beforehand that they might do that, and it certainly explains the very localized bruise and cramping. It also explains the 24-hour love affair with my porcelain friend. I also wish they'd told me immediately after my egg retrieval, but my good, logical friend S pointed out that, given the texts I sent out (but don't remember), it is highly likely that they did tell me, and I forgot. Or misunderstood. Or thought they were referring to rabbits.

But enough of rabbits. I really, really would like to forget all about rabbits.

Internet, did I ever tell you about the time I was in the hospital for dysentery and I was labeled a "Combative Patient?" I was, I really was labeled combative, with a little sign hanging off the bed and everything. It's because I kicked a doctor, knocking him onto a tray with all these jangly things that made an incredible racket which upset another patient who then threw his overflowing bedpan at a nurse. (I was in a dormitory room.) It was all the doctor's fault, though, because you would have thought he'd have read the part of the bedside manner manual that states WAKE THE PATIENT BEFORE TOUCHING THEIR ABDOMEN. Truth be told, I was kinda proud of all that ruckus I caused (but was the doctor's fault, dammit). I still get a little smirk when I think of it, actually.

Well, all of this is to say that now I have a bruise under my chin. Apparently, I punched myself when they removed the water from my gut. The nurse said I fought them, and I was all, Well, if I was fighting you, why did I punch myself? Internet, I think we have already established that I am not the most rational being on the planet, so I won't analyze this further. I'll just accept that every once in a while, you aim for A and hit C. And can I just say that, judging by the shiner under my chin, I have one hell of a swing? And the irony is that I'd actually considered asking them to tie my hands down, because I know me, and I know all about my fight or flight instinct. If there's a next time? If there is a next time, I'll ask that they secure my appendages. It will be for the good of all humanity, oh yes it will.

Also, if you are a nurse, you'll be relieved to know that I've never been in the hospital before or since the Bedpan Incident.

Anyways, onwards and forwards.

I got the seriously good drugs during egg retrieval. Given my, um, uncooperative nature (let's be kind here, shall we?), I was fully out. I'd been told that I'd be in a twilight state, but when that proved... unmanageable... I was knocked out completely. Thank heavens for that, because all I remember is feeling all floaty and then The GES saying something about What do we have here? and then a nurse explaining what, exactly, they'd be doing with the Duck of Doom, and then HOLY BEJEEBZ COULD YOU BE MORE GENTLE YOU ARE RIPPING ME APART and people looking up in alarm and then the anesthetist telling me to open my eyes. Now that I'm typing this out here, I have an inkling as to when I became uncooperative. Oops.

And then I was wheeled to recovery, feeling totally drugged and asking for water repeatedly. I remember one of the nurses looking worried when I kept asking for my water bottle, and now I know why: They had just gone and removed a bunch of water, and here was me, undoing their hard work. How ungrateful, you know? Bad Shannon. But Internet, I was thirsty.

We all know the rest of the story: 6 eggs, 12 unfortunate text messages (all since deleted, sorry), one phone call from A in the recovery room that I don't remember at all (we talked about a house, or so she tells me), and then Chipotle with S, who was so sweet to drive me home and eat a burrito with me and I'm not a soda person at all, but that orange pop was the best thing EVER, and then my cats loving all over me and staying close by my side all day long.

And then the waiting. Oh dear heavens, the waiting.

I'm still waiting.

GIVEAWAY: Winner announcement

Holy shmoley, this giveaway broke some long-standing records over here at Musings. It was a thrill, seeing how many people entered and how enthusiastic y'all were. And I agree with you: Swimsuitsforall.com is FANTASTIC! We needs us some good sites for swimsuits, you know?

There were over 900 entries, with 56 people entering. That's pretty darn amazing! Even more amazing, though, is that sibabe64 will be off and running with her $100 gift certificate. Congrats sibabe64!

Sibabe64: You did not leave contact information. You have until Wednesday to claim your prize. Please email me at shansterbaby at gmail to nab that suit.

And a little note: You may remember that August 1 is a very special day round these parts (and yes, I'm channelling the South again, I'm not sure why). On August 1, Musings will move to, well, Musings. And then? Then I'm hoping to have TONS of Etsy giveaways during the first month, as a way to celebrate the move and handcrafted excellence everywhere.

And while you are waiting - there are still a few days between now and the 1st - go on over and skinny dip with your fellow swimsuit-less giveaway enthusiasts. Many thanks to all who entered!

sassy
Cheryl
N
Kristin
Rebecca
Lisa
Renee
Kathy
Annette D
Fertility Chick
Sunny
smdrm
Bean
mub
baseballmom
Bunny B
Katie
Carrie M
casey aubut
jessleigh
saysomethingstacey
Angela R.
Kim
Mommy Daisy
Amy
carma
Pam
AJ
Debbie
Amanda
JennTRC
Omg Lia
Jen M
wwww.jewelrydelicacies.etsy.com
New York Shit
noise generation
sibabe64
Linda
Sarah
cdmtx
The Dreamer
Rochelle
MrsSpock
grudgemom
Grace Pristine
Dana
Egg Factory
Linda
bleatham
Liz
wigget
Shelly
- Marybeth I.
http://canadian-mom.ca/
Bill and Lorie Shewbridge
Diana D

A slight delay

I blame this on the progesterone, in the way that I blame pretty much everything that goes even slightly askew on the progesterone:

Internet, I am so very sorry, but I wasn't able to finish tallying the entries, so I'll post the winner tomorrow. I know I KNOW, I am just awful and a terrible blogger and somebody! get the wet noodle! I'll go give myself a spanking (and where is Dr. Hottie Pants when we need him?!), and in the meantime, hang tight Intertubes. I will work on figuring out the winner over my morning cup o' Joe and post ASAP.

Because for one more day - AND ONE DAY ONLY - I can still drink my morning cup o' Joe. And by Spaghetti, I'll be enjoying that end-of-an-era coffee, oh yes I will.

It's time to step away from the computer when...

Here are some things I've learned in the past few days, thanks to the all-knowing, always-correct Dr. Google:

1. Blastocyst transfer reduces the risk of high order multiples in an IVF cycle. I've also learned that this doesn't really apply to me, as I would probably never have several embryos tranferred anyway.

2. Blastocyst transfer has an increased incidence of monozygotic twinning. No one knows why, but they think it could have something to do with the culturing medium and the collapse of the blastocyst. I don't know what that is, exactly, but it sure does sound painful.

3. Blastocyst transfer has a higher incidence of boys than girls. It is thought that this is because girl-blastocysts grow more slowly than boy-blastocysts. Hmmm.... A little scary, considering the slower-growing blasts might not be preserved.

4. Some of the viable 3-day embryos (morulas?) may stop developing in the culturing medium, even if they might have survived transfer. This is especially debated, no one really knows for sure whether or not those embryos would have survived in the womb vs in the petri dish.

5. Blastocyst transfer supposedly has the same or higher success rates as day 3 transfers, but the difference is that fewer embryos need to be transferred. It seems to be very common (and encouraged) on the websites of REs with high success rates. They talk a lot about how the 3 dayers would have been in the fallopian tubes, while a 5 dayer would normally be in the uterus, and they think that helps with implantation.

6. Some sites say that embryos should not be frozen after day 3, as day 3 embryos are the most viable after thaw.

7. 5 day blastocyst transfer is especially encouraged for those with more than 4-8 (some sites say 4, some say 8) excellent day 3 embryos. The recommendation seems to be age related - 4 good day 3 embryos for women under age 35 (oh that magic, magic number), 8+ for women older.

I really need to stay far, far away from Dr. Google. Someone, please, tie my fingers together. With duct tape. And then super glue, and maybe after that go get some of that epoxy stuff on the infomercials, just to be sure. You'll be helping me. I am not exxaggerating when I tell you that I've been 1) trolling the CDC to find the clinics with the best success rates and 2) reading everything they have to say about day 3 vs day 5 transfers. My noggin is spinning.

I wish I could give citations for all this, but it only represents what has stuck in my head after hours of reading. Feel free to debate away in the comments, and if you have links PLEASE SHARE!

And two notes:

The transfer, G.d willing, will be at 9AM on Monday. So far, that's what they are telling me.

I promise I'll be posting the winner of the giveaway today. I'll be tallying entries and then posting the winner in the evening.