Kicked Butt

So, I haven't mentioned the fact that I quit smoking. It has been indescribably horrendous, but I had to do it. This will be my sixth day smoke free and my husband is so proud of me. My father-in-law gave me shit yesterday for not quitting earlier. He was horrified that I was "5 weeks" pregnant and only 5 days of not smoking. He actually huffed and sulked out of the room in disgust. He doesn't get the dating from our last menstrual period (LMP) thing, so he has decided to be Mr. Judgmental and Mr. Horrified all at once. You know, it's funny, he smoked most of his adult life and quit a couple of years ago, and now he's the preacher of what is okay and not okay for everone else. It's amazing how all of his kids turned out so terrific, considering all of the cigarettes that were smoked and wine and vodka that was guzzled when they were in utero. I feel bad enough about my weaknesses, I don't need to be chastised about one of them after I quit. No medal needed or deserved, just some restraint regarding unsolicited advice and unwanted opinions would be terrific, thanks.

Don't misunderstand, I love my father-in-law to death, which is why his attitude hurt my feelings. He's been badgering us about having kids for nearly 10 years and the first time I see him since we found out that we are pregnant, he acts cold and distant. That hurt. Not even a hug when we came in the door. After a few uncomfortable moments my husband says to him, "Why don't you give your pregnant daughter-in-law a hug?" Maybe he's just paranoid or superstitious. Maybe because his daughter is pregnant, he doesn't care about us being pregnant as much. I sure hope that's not it.

When we were at my in-laws yesterday my sister-in-law (who is 18 weeks pregnant) and my husband agreed that part of the reason for my panic attacks is my quitting smoking cold turkey. This was mildly comforting in that I don't want to be insane. I wish I shared their belief, but I am leaning toward my being semi & part-time crazy. Also, my first panic attack in quite a while was May 5th, and I was still smoking at that time. That one could possibly attributed to stopping Zoloft cold-turkey, but who knows? I just hope I make it through this pregnancy with what's left of my sanity in tact.

Another Panic Attack

I absolutely must see a doctor about these G-d damned panic attacks. About 30 minutes after I went to bed last night I woke up with my heart thumping out of my chest. I got out of bed, and because I cannot take Xanax, I decided to go take Benadryl. My husband stopped me and tried to calm me down, but the shaking, heart palpitations, not being able to catch my breath, tears, confusion, and indescribable fear and panic is gonna fuckin' kill me. This may get worse as the pregnancy progresses (knock on wood, bite your tongue, etc.) and I do not think this is good for any of us (me, my husband, and Ri-short for Rice; my sister's name for the babe).

I don't even understand where this comes from, but after this panic attack, all of my thoughts turned dark. I started thinking of things that really depressed and confused me. You know how when you have a really bad dream and it colors your whole day in bleakness and haze? Well that is how this is, only on crack. I just want to be happy. Honestly, my true life's goal is to be content (winning the lottery is a very close second though).

Also, is it a panic attack, an anxiety attack, or a two-for-one combo? I understand having a panic attack on an airplane or even in a crowded restaurant, but in my bed wrested from a sound sleep? Maybe this is still an after effect of my going off Zoloft from April 24 to May 8? I don't know, but I cannot keep going through this. I so wish that I wasn't crazy. I have heard it said that people with a high intelligence have a greater propensity to suffer from maladies such as: anxiety, panic, and depression. If this is in fact true, I prefer the ignorance is bliss life model! I'll gladly trade in some I.Q. points for a little peace of mind (not really, but a pregnancy class B or even C Benzodiazepine would be greatly appreciated).

This is our cat Squeaks comforting me after my panic attack. If you click on the top picture you can see on my watch that it is 3:40 something am. I sure could have used a Xanax instead!

Panic Attack

It's official, I had my first panic attack in quite awhile. The last time was about 10 months ago when I was in the back seat of my sister's transitional boyfriend's car. He was a crazy driver, so naturally I blame him. I had my trusty Xanax in my purse, so problem solved.

About an hour ago I was jolted from a sound sleep shaking with anxiety. I woke up Iceman, got out of bed, and paced around the bedroom like a caged animal. He asked what was wrong and as I fumbled to explain what was wrong, I realized that I could not find the words to describe what I was feeling. I took off my top, paced back and forth (that's bad naked for you Seinfeld fans), then got back into bed. Got out of bed again, put on a different top, then got back into bed. Got back out of bed and went to my trusty computer. No sense in needlessly worrying Iceman, especially because he wants what is best for me and if the fertility meds make me crazy, he will want me to stop taking them; I mean injecting them. I am starting to feel better! This blogging thing may be my new Xanax. Awesome!

I am not sure if this panic attack is partly due to the multitude of fertility meds. in my system, going off Zoloft 2 weeks ago, or if I am just forever doomed to suffer from out-of-the-blue bouts of paralyzing panic. The difference between this panic attack and the last one, is that I no longer have my Xanax crutch. I mean I have Xanax, in my bathroom and in my purse; I just absolutely cannot take it. It is a class D pregnancy drug, and though I am not officially pregnant, I may be. The chance that I am actually pregnant seems rather minuscule when all factors are taken into account but, I MAY BE, and I cannot take any chances.

The panic attack didn't last that long, thank goodness, but I am still quite jittery. I suspect that it is due, at least in part, to the meds., at least I hope so. I gave myself the HCG booster today and shortly after puncturing my semi-healed belly, I became jittery. This jitteriness was a nice addition to my astounding belly bloat, searing migraine, abdominal cramping, diarrhea, nausea, dizziness, gaseousness, and my poor sore boobies. Infertility treatment is such fun!

I must state that I am keenly aware that we are astoundingly lucky that our insurance covers infertility, ahem, fertility treatment. Our jobs pay shit (Iceman's job, I lost mine last spring), but our insurance is pretty good, even though it's an HMO, which means that we cannot choose the doctor we see. I digress, we are damn lucky. My mom is always telling me how lucky I am, and as far as our insurance covering infertility treatment, she's right.

I mentioned in a previous post that immediately after the IUI, I was exuberantly happy, and optimistically content. I wasn't even (that) mad at my mom anymore ( I will write about this in a later post). I never thought that a straw threaded through my cervix into my uterus could bring such joy. There are no words to express how happy I felt. You know how when you are on an awesome vacation and you just feel good? That's how I felt. This feeling of peace with the world lasted one day, then I crashed.

Love and Xanax in Chicago

So, back to the Xanax. It is my touchstone, my savior, the one thing that allows me to to go on trips via airplane (rarely, my husband and I are teachers so we are grossly underpaid and therefore do not take many trips). Wait, I must interrupt myself! Back in December my sister and her friend were discussing their upcoming cruise with my parents and my parents' upcoming cruise (my sister is a grossly underpaid teacher too, but she was living w/ my parents at the time-poor thing). Anyway, they start talking about how great cruises are and how Mike and I should take one. My husband says, "We're going on a cruise! First we're gonna cruise to Target, then cruise over to CVS, and maybe cruise by the gas station to pick up some lottery tickets." Awesome! He doesn't talk that much, well not in comparison to me, but when he says something I am always impressed!

Usually when I interrupt my own thought I forget what I was saying in the first place, but since I am typing, I can look back an be reminded. Okay, back to the Xanax. I didn't always need/rely on Xanax. It is hard to pin down the exact moment my madness began, but I have some ideas. I usually tell people that it began after a car accident I was in with two of my girlfriends. We got in a cab on Halloween in 1996 and the cab driver took off like a bat out of hell. He ran through a stop sign, smashed into and totalled 6 parked cars, and my girlfriend's shattered face ended up in my lap. I was covered in her blood and the crazy part was that I was dressed up as a doctor, scrubs and all! When I got to the emergency room the doctor ASSumed that I worked in a hospital, fell in an operating room and that was why I was covered in blood. It wasn't a good hospital, but I wasn't that hurt, physically. Mentally, it f*cked me up.

That is the story I usually give for my claustrophobia, but that just intensified it. It actually began after my college boyfriend and I broke up. It was not a normal "I don't love you anymore" breakup; it was because of his escalating alcoholism. This break up really f*cked me up. I did not understand alcoholism at the time and control freak that I am, I just could not understand why if he loved me, he would "choose" alcohol over me. I have learned a lot since then, Master's Degree in Counseling and all, but I know it started there.

After the break up, I lost a lot of weight. I was already slim, but the accidental, because I am clinically depressed weight loss turned into an obsession to remain super-duper thin. This did not last long because A) I am allergic to exercise and B) I like to eat fried stuff. So I became claustrophobic-mostly in elevators. It may seem weird that I blame the break up for this, but I had to move back into my parent's house to do my student teaching when the original plan was for us to live together. Living with your parents in your 20's can make you feel very trapped, hence claustrophobia.

The claustrophobia was not so bad at that time and I pretty much totally got over it, until the cab accident, "NO CABS FOR YOU! NEXT!"

For the most part, I stopped taking cabs for awhile, though I still took them occasionally and I managed my claustrophobia quite well. In fact, it was mostly gone in short order. Mike and I met and started to become friends around the time of the accident. We were teaching at the same school and really hit it off. He was living with someone at the time, so we were friends, at work only! I do not f*ck with another woman's guy! The thing was, we REALLY liked each other. In fact, it was love fairly quickly and we had never even touched each other, let alone gone on a date. Long story short, He asked his nice, but not so intelligent girlfriend to move out, we dated for a millisecond, got engaged and married in less than a year and me and my soul mate began our life together.

The trouble began again the day after our wedding. We were on the plane waiting to take off for our honeymoon in Mexico when I had my first ever panic attack. Perfect timing! As I sat in my seat I watched all the people walking down the minuscule aisle to their seats and I lost it. I left Mike without a word, knocked all those nice people in the aisle on their asses, and fled from the plane. Oops, you married a psycho! Mike came off the plane to see what the f*ck was wrong with me. Of course, I could not explain what was wrong because I myself had no idea. We did not go to Mexico on that flight, but our luggage did. I was paralysed with fear. Oh my G-d, I thought. How am I going to explain this to my parents? The criticism my Mom would heap upon me would be more than I could bear. We went on a later flight, met up with our luggage and had a nice time. But how would we get home? I DID NOT want to get back on a plane, but I did. Looking back now, I cannot believe I got on that plane unmedicated!

That is how I found Xanax!

Pretty pictures of me:

• In August of 2004 I went to Vegas with my parents and my sister. This is me poolside shortly after arriving via airplane. My Mom told me that people were staring at me and must have thought that I was a passed-out whore. Nice!

• In December of 2004 My sister and I went to Orlando (awesome outlet mall). Following our plane ride I insisted that I was fine AND on driving the rental car to our resort. It truly is a G-d damned miracle that we survived that car ride. My sister deserves some kudos for remaining calm through this; I could have killed her for Christ's sake. Following the car trip/highway roller coaster ride, I passed out for quite a few hours. This is me upon waking from my "nap." I think waterproof mascara is in order the next time I travel via Xanax, I mean airplane.

Pharmaceuticals Be Damned

I never could recover my lost paragraphs from the recesses of my mind (or cyberspace), and though I am not yet over it, I always have more to say, loquacious, self-important b*tch that I am.

Oh, before I go any further I should mention that I like to swear, a lot (I blame my father), and I will most likely swear often on this blog because it is my catharsis. For the time being I am substituting certain letters in my swear words with an asterisk. Why? Well really it is because I was a teacher for 10 years and there is an infinitesimal chance that one of my former students (some of whom were fooled into thinking that I am the epitome of perfection) may come across this blog and I am trying to keep up the facade of embodying everything holy, at least for them.

Well, I have been off Zoloft (100mg) for nearly a week and I have not yet gouged any ones eyes out, though I have wanted to (no, not yours Mom, I swear). Now, the reason I started taking Zoloft in the first place was that just over a year ago I had what I assumed at the time to be a nervous breakdown. I was on the couch, eyes huge with anxiety and fear, rocking back and forth and paralyzed with confusion, so Zoloft it was. Bottoms up!

When I first learned that Zoloft was a class C pregnancy drug I was scared. "I heard that Zoloft was safe to take during pregnancy!" I screamed to no one imparticular. F*CK, I was told there would be no math on this exam (Thanks for the pic Jay).
So, for the good of my future, hopefully, maybe, baby-I stopped taking it. Then it dawned on me; maybe I am not crazy! Maybe I won't lose my mind when off psychotropic meds! And you know what? That "nervous breakdown" I had was right smack in the middle of the clomid challenge test AND my period. AWESOME!!!! I may not need Zoloft! hurray! strike up the band, let go of the balloons, I can get pregnant (Day 3 FSH level of 16.9 anyone?).

So, Zoloft problem solved; onto the Xanax. I rarely take Xanax, but it is my security blanket and I take it everywhere with me. Xanax is a class D pregnancy drug, so I cannot take it while pregnant, period. This kinda sucks because I am a huge fan of a quick fix, and without Xanax to lean on, there are no quick fixes. Wait, I must digress, as of this typing, I am not pregnant, but I am hopeful (wink, wink, nod, nod).

To be continued...

Vices, Vices, Everywhere and Not a Drop to Drink

I am sure that many of you who stumble across this blog will convulse in shock at my horribleness, but it is my blog and my reality, so if you are perfectly perfect, you should probably read elsewhere. Those of you that do not mind my honesty and admitted failings, please stay as I could use some friends. Having said that, I hope at least one person actually finds my blog.

The following represents the short list of my vices: coffee, cigarettes, Advil, Xanax, Zoloft, and an occasional Vicodin too (horrid migraines). These are not in order of preference, necessity, or regularity of indulgence, but I felt it necessary to mention them when discussing my less than herculean attempts to squelch said vices while trying to conceive. What does it matter for the moment anyway; my day 3 FSH is 16.9, I am 37, and my my pets don't complain...well, one does, but she is a cranky b*tch anyway-though I love her despite this fact.

I started this blog after becoming addicted to reading a blog that I stumbled upon. I have no idea how I got to the aforementioned blog as I have never read or written a blog in my life, but am so glad that I found it.

The blog is a little pregnant. I mention the title because it is not just a blog, it is a beautifully written novel in the form of a blog. I have found myself alternately spitting out coffee from laughter and crying from grief while reading it. It may be the injected hormones coursing through my body, but I don't think so; it really is an addictive read and I encourage you to check it out.

To give a few more props to the a little pregnant blog writer, I did not sleep one millisecond last night because I was riveted (and I am still only up to the 2/18/2004 entry) by her story, literary skills, and comic prowess. The not sleeping a wink thing was not so terrific an idea as I had my first ever IUI this morning. It sure will be great to let the multitude of puncture marks heal up on my tender belly, but I digress, I want my baby (though I hope for his/her sake that s/he does not have my nose, ahem, former nose).

I was so surprised today when just after the IUI, naked from the waist down, my feet still the stirrups, and my pelvis tilted slightly skyward, I nearly cried with joy at the prospect of my husband's sperm swimming up to my hard won egg and being allowed in. I was so freakin' happy, that it is almost scary. Happy like I just won the lottery happy.

I only had one good follicle and my RE was hoping for 2, but that 13mm just would not cooperate. "It only takes one..." I know, I know, but I have been told that TOO many f*cking times and my one may not be a good one and sadly, there may not be many good ones left. Please do not tell me to think positive, because I will puke up my coffee and Advil, with a Xanax chaser; AND, believe it or not-I am positive, just mildly realistic. Not about winning the lottery though, I am unrealistically convinced that one day, I will win.

I do feel incredibly lucky that I grew one big, beautiful, hopefully not degraded egg/follicle. It was 21mm 2 days before my IUI, though with all of my cramping I was sure I had an ostrich egg waiting to burst out of that follicle, but Ma neshtana (loosely translated from Hebrew meaning-Why should today be different from any other day), I always have horrid cramping.

Also, I did an HPT? Why the F*ck would I do that? Because 1) I wanted to see if that HCG shot that I shoved into my belly really worked, and 2) a positive pregnancy test looks f*ckin' awesome in my hand. Now, of course I am freaked beyond belief to find out how long this will stay in my system. How will I know if those beautiful twin lines are for real or just Memorex?

The easy answer is to wait to test until 15 days after my trigger like the nurse told me to do, but I simply cannot do that. For one thing I am obsessive about knowledge acquisition and I want to know the moment my baby blastocyst implants (hope, hope, pray, pray-wait, I'm an atheist). Also, 15 days makes that May 12th, which is the day after my husband's 35th birthday and news of our pregnancy would be an awesomely, fantastic birthday present.

In my quest to find out how long the HCG will it stay in my system, I searched the Internet. Do you know what I learned?? Millions of other pincushions are out there wanting that same answer. I guess I will have to accost my nurse tomorrow and demand an answer. Say it with me, "I will not test, I will not test"; f*ck it, I will just buy cheaper tests!

I made my husband take a video of my second Follistim injection. The best part (if there can really be a best part) is my husband's narration. I love that man! And he loves me too! (though at times I don't know why)