Saturday in the Polar North

It's Saturday morning. JB is on call until Sunday afternoon giving me plenty of time to sit and do what I love most -- write. Actually he had to leave at 6:45. I tried to go back to sleep after the alarm clock woke us up, but I ended up getting up with him and driving him in to save him 15 minutes and allow me to have the car. I plan to work on my story for Rochester Women today, do some writing for RLSF, and maybe even do some personal writing that I have been wanting to start on. So it is a writing-filled day, and I wanted to start with writing about ...

I work on the 6th floor of the Guggenheim Building when I am at my job at Mayo. Unfortunately, my cell phone only gets service on this floor if I set it on the window sill which I definitely don't do everyday. Everyone on this floor actually knows that this is the only spot in the building that gets service so we often have a gathering of people in our office. (I share an office with another woman, Char, who is awesome, but about to retire!) (I especially like when the callers are British because I get to hear words like "brilliant" and "cheers".) Setting it there is a good idea. Unfortunately, I don't often remember to take it with me when I leave at the end of the day so I have avoided this unless I am waiting for a very important call.

Yesterday at 5:00 my phone begins whistling as soon as I walk out of the front door of the building, indicating all the calls I missed while slaving away in "the Gug". Since I am not a phone person and most people know that, this doesn't happen on a daily basis, however, it does happen enough times a week to allow me to feel adequately loved.

When I say that the phone whistles, I mean just that. Imagine a hot woman in front of a construction site and you can imagine my phone's tune when a message is waiting. This also makes me feel important and valued in a fairly twisted and convoluted way.

It is important to feel valued. This is especially true when you work with post-doctoral fellows who do not speak good English. This lack of good English results in compliments that don't come out very complimentary-like. For instance, yesterday, one of the post-docs looked at the picture of JB and I on my desktop background and said, "Wow, that picture must be very old because you look much older than that now." Since it was taken only two years ago I didn't consider this a compliment. She also told me on another occasoin that if I didn't have children I wouldn't be complete as a woman. I chucked this comment out to language-confusion as well even though I am not sure it was.

Just another reason I like to hear the whistle. Not that I would like to hear men whistling at me. That's rude. But the thought of it is good.

Well, surely you understand. Enough of whistling. I'm starting to hear ringing in my ears.

I got one of these whistles yesterday from my nurse, Ruthie, at the IVF clinic. Unfortunately, she wasn't calling to tell me she loved me. She was calling to tell me that the week we have our FET (frozen embryo transfer) scheduled, my doctor is out of town.

Yes, you heard it right. Yet another postponement.

Okay, so let me recap our FET postponements, errr ... schedule for you:

June: I was not physically ready.
July: The IVF lab is closed due to cleaning.
August (1st week): They are booked already.
August (remaining weeks): JB is in Florida. While technically he doesn't need to be there for the moment our children are dropped into my womb (try to wrap your mind around that for awhile), he would like to be there, and I have agreed he is an important factor.
September (1st week): IVF is scheduled but NOW doctor is out of town.

So I am supposed to call Ruthie back on Tuesday to tell her that, sure, we'll wait another week. No big deal. I am sure she will give me the option of using another doctor, but in these situations, you want to feel as comfortable as possible, and I can't feel completely comfortable (despite the Valium they give me which causes me to tell everyone I meet that JB and I like them) without Dr. C there.

Only there is one problem with the notion of waiting another week. My boss has a grant due that week, and he has reminded me on numerous occasions he will need me to work days and nights that week. Okay so that week is out. The next week JB has to take a test in Chicago.

Need I continue? I think the picture has been painted fairly accurately.

Anyways, the two of us have to sit down and really look at things and I have to meet with my boss and discuss things, but, quite possibly, it could be the end of September or even October now. All of this to drop two little embryos into my womb. Ugh!

I just feel the need to complain for a moment. I try to look at everything positively and not get down, but when your attempt at pregnancy is affected by the ring (or whistle) of the phone, it already indicates that things aren't going exactly according to plan.

In three years, we have had, six attempts at getting pregnant. Two of these were through IUI and three with drug assistance. These five attempts were most likely facing rather pathetic odds due to our new-found "JB's sperm hate my eggs problem" or is it "Wendi's eggs hate JB's sperm problem" (we aren't sure, but like to blame it on each other repeatedly). This of course is on top of the original problem that Wendi's eggs feel very cozy inside her ovaries and prefer to stay right where they are.

Double whammy.

The sixth attempt was our IVF in May. Our seventh attempt in a total of 36 months will be in September, but no longer the first week of September.

If you can't tell, my sadness over our first failed IVF attempt has dissipated greatly. I can now talk about it again and make jokes about the irony and peculiarity of the fact that we currently have children who are waiting for implantation in a freezer at the Mayo Clinic.

There are still moments, however, that a wave of grief will wash over me. I had one on Thursday night while we were finishing watching Usphizin. If you haven't seen this movie, I strongly recommend it. I really enjoyed it. However, there was, unbeknownst to us, an infertility subplot. If you want to see infertility accurately and appropriately portrayed, this is the movie! Watching as people teased them about why they didn't have children and the conversations that developed between these two devout Jews in the privacy of their home was breathtaking and got me all choked up again.

However, despite these fleeting moments, I really am doing well. The problem is that once I start those shots and the hormones start flowing and the headaches start pounding, and the appointments start piling up, it is difficult not to get obsessed and hopeful. Through counseling, I am hoping to handle each attempt with as much grace and faith as possible.

Okay, completely off track now. Do you all realize that we are going to Florida in AUGUST? August when Florida is squelching and Minnesota is breezy and cool. By September Florida is cooling off and so is Minnesota. Oh well. My complaining is now done. Off to my Saturday list of things to do. Thanks for listening. I'll keep you updated on how our FET schedule ends up working. I have no clue.