Today we had another appointment with our high-risk team, to check on Baby
[Name Redacted] Little Brother’s heart.
As far as we knew, there was nothing wrong with his heart, but a Fetal Heart Echo is standard for 1) IVF pregnancies (which this was not, but I guess history counts for something?) and 2) anyone who has gestational/good ole’ regular diabetes.
His little heart looked perfect, and so did his itty bitty wittle face (pardon me, I’m biased).
I also had them confirm for me that he is, for sure, a he, since I finally broke down and started buying things I need (but also mostly DO NOT need, namely: tiny baby clothes).
While I was there, they also did a quick growth scan, and he’s currently measuring right on target for his gestational age, and is weighing in at a hefty 1 lb, 1 oz. Gus’ growth didn’t start to slow down until around 28 weeks, so I’m scheduled for another checkup with them next month to keep an eye on things.
And, speaking of Gus, I think we have a little clone coming our way (which, again, totally biased, but it’s going to be adorable in here).
(big brother/little brother)
17 weeks to go!
Every infertile has heard it a thousand times before.
Just stop trying, and it’ll happen!
Just relax, have some wine!
My sister’s best-friend’s aunt’s neighbor adopted, and then got pregnant with triplets!
You all know the drill.
And we all smile, and say thank you, but I’ve seen a doctor. It’ll never be that simple for me.
And then sometimes you lose two more pregnancies in a year, and get pancreatitis twice in a month (and think you’re really going to die). You find out you might not be able to do IVF anymore, so you look into surrogacy, and becoming foster parents, and natural cycle treatments, and adoption, and literally everything else under the sun.
But no matter what, you both agree, we’re not doing anything about anything for at least six months so I have time to heal.
And then one day, a few weeks later, you’re like, man my boobs hurt. Let me just take this last pregnancy test I have laying around, since I’m a glutton for punishment, and it’s been awhile since I’ve seen confirmation that my ovaries are worthless…
What the hell is that?
That’s a magical, rainbow-breathing, unicorn. It’s the most spectacular accident that has ever accidented. It’s the very definition of flabbergasted and befuddlement. It stops everyone who’s seen it in their tracks, with a look on their face that asks, WTF IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW?!
That’s a goddamn miracle — that’s what it is.
And SUCH a cliche.
A week ago I was just getting out of the hospital, terrified of eating, and still a little sore.
I was also pretty confident we’d be celebrating our first female president on Wednesday.
Shit happens – usually when you least expect it.
While I’m not at all excited about the outcome of the election (I’m sad, and scared for families that don’t look like mine) I am taking comfort in every spiteful Joe Biden meme I see, and proudly wearing my safety pin.
One little bright spot, at least for me, was the news that my sudden bout of pancreatitis did NOT mean that my frozen cycle needed to be cancelled. My RE suggested pushing everything back five days to give me time to recover.
A week later, transfer day is fast approaching, and I finally feel like my old self again.
Greetings friends, from the hospital. I think I get to go home today, but it’s still early and it’s the weekend, and I have yet to see a doctor and they’re still just bringing me broth to eat (NO MORE BROTH) but that’s not what I feel like writing about.
Here’s a fun side effect of being overweight and in the hospital: everyone keeps assuming I’m diabetic.
Like, they went ahead and added insulin to my list of medications without ever asking me if I took insulin.
But perhaps I should back up.
Maybe it’s my own fault. They asked me if I had any medical history of diabetes when I got here and I told them I had Gestational Diabetes in 2013. I guess somewhere along the way they lost sight of the gestational component, my chart indicated regular ol’ diabetes, and every time I got a new doctor or a new nurse I got to explain alllll over again that, nope: Just fat! Not diabetic!
I thought it was weird that they kept checking my blood sugars, and then everyone seemed surprised when my results were normal (because I’m not diabetic).
“Well, your first test was a little high,” they told me.
Oh, you mean after those two bottles of Gatorade on an empty stomach?
Since then? Totally normal blood sugars.
BECAUSE I’M NOT DIABETIC.
So color me surprised after I’m admitted and my new nurse is going over my list of medications and she says, “And you get insulin three times a day.”
Not a question, mind you.
So we start again.
Two days and two nights later I guess I finally have enough documented normal blood sugars that the order has been updated and I don’t have to keep defending my already wounded pancreas’ ability to make insulin.
Now if we can just get someone to sign off on me eating some actual goddamn food, we’ll really be on a roll.
We started our FET protocol a few weeks ago and we’re getting ready for an embryo transfer later next week.
And now I find myself unexpectedly admitted to the hospital — after days of debilitating stomach pains and multiple doctor visits — with a diagnosis of pancreatitis.
Monday I got my flu shot, and we spent the night trick-or-treating with friends.
Tuesday morning I felt a little off, but figured it was from the flu shot.
By Tuesday night I had terrible stomach pains, and extreme bloating. I was convinced there was some sort of IVF-related complication.
Sleep was impossible. On more than one occasion I almost got up, got dressed and took myself to the ER but then got lazy or repositioned, etc.
I called my RE first thing Wednesday morning and walked them through all my symptoms. They felt like it was probably a GI issue and asked me to call my GP.
Went to see her in the afternoon and her exam indicated it was a uterine or ovarian issue, and to call my RE back and ask for an ultrasound.
Sleep Wednesday night was even worse than Tuesday, but my doctor assured me it wasn’t appendicitis or anything and I figured I should just wait it out until I could get to the RE.
My RE saw us early this morning and confirmed that my uterus was perfect, and my ovaries looked just fine. But they felt pretty strongly that it was my appendix, so we headed to the hospital.
Abdominal exams, CT scans, and sonograms later, I have pancreatitis. The usual causes? Are gall stones (I have none) or alcoholism (not me) so they’re a little stumped as to why, but we can worry about that some other time I guess.
Twelve hours later, I’m still here, admitted to my own room, hooked up to IV fluids and getting pain meds every few hours.
Nothing to eat or drink until tomorrow, since anything in your stomach basically lights your pancreas on fire.
I’m feeling better, and glad to finally have a diagnosis. They tell me I should be able to proceed with my FET if I feel up to it, which is still to be determined.
The last time I was in this hospital though, I was also in the ER following a terrible car accident — a mere three days into my FET cycle that brought us Gus.
So I can’t help but look at a trip to the same hospital, the same ER, a few days before another transfer as a good omen, regardless of the circumstances.