Barely promoted

That other project

So -- I'm not pregnant. You knew that, I knew that, but it took an very unpleasant two days and screaming at nurses over the phone to confirm it, and then Dr. Data did our follow-up consultation just two days later and convinced me that we weren't crazy to be trying again and next time they'll use the X-ray lasers on my ovaries and he thinks we still have a 30 percent chance per cycle and... and I slurped up that sweet sweet Kool-aid, hugged Miss T., thought about how honestly more difficult life would be with anther little banshee, and tried to get some work done for a change.

But, the other 2008 project. The book. The damn book. Out, out, damn book. Leave my life and let me work on other things! Dr. Wow has insisted that we start an intensive cycle of proofreading. Two chapters a week, for both of us junior co-authors. Of course the monster must get a close reading on its way to doneness. And getting it done is, of course, the goal. But there are still giant gaps! in later chapters! that need to be filled! by me!

I just wanted to publicly record that today, some six weeks after Dr. Wow suggested the plan, I finally started in. In fact, I just filled in a missing hyphen on page 1.

Yay me!

The short version

Negative HPTs on both Sunday and Monday mornings (11 and 12dp3dt).

Superlocal lab stabbed my elbow at 7:45 a.m. Monday, but CORNELL NEVER FUCKING CALLED ME.

It's almost certainly the fault of superlocal lab, I bet they looked at those HARD progesterone and estradiol tests and said gee, it'll take us a WEEK to get those done, she doesn't really need that hCG stat, does she? but STILL. DAMN. CRMI should have at least called to tell me they didn't have results yet, and ask if I'd gotten tested.

I could call and bully my way through to the RE on call, but I'm too tired. Instead I'm just gonna leave a whiny voicemail on the nurse line tomorrow morning. And take one last PIO shot, just for kicks.

SEND HELP

KIDNAPPED BY PROGESTERONE BURP

STOCKHOLM SYNDROME BURP

PIO CONVINCED GUT BURP

GUT CONVINCED BRAIN BURP

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Yes, the crazy is here. I know it's the drugs. The hormones want me to believe. I hate it. And love it -- why not spend a few days giving in to the delusion? C'mon! It'll be fun! -- and hate it.

(The academic timing is identical to my first cycle, by the way. Five years ago that was. After that one I think I resolved to never again get a BFN after the start of a semester. Ha. Ha. So the second cycle's BFN hit a week before classes started. That wasn't any better than a week after.)

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Am going to test myself on Sunday. They only told me Monday because Cornell doesn't do betas on weekends. Saturday will be 11dp3dt, which should be late enough to be convincing. I don't want to get the news cold over the phone at work.

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Before I test:

-- finish unpacking bags from New York trip.

-- pay largest portions of largest bills for cycle.

Today:

-- order more PIO

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BURP

6dp3dt

I am starting in on my one-week-post-transfer migraine (which has occurred in all my cycles, regardless of progesterone dose, regardless of outcome) and I am going mad.

THERE IS NOTHING I CAN DO. I can fanatically try to plan out how the next cycle will go (not too early to worry at all, since scheduling will be a bitch; to do late May it may be necessary to have the co-culture biopsy during my first natural cycle following). I can think about how much easier it will be to not be pregnant while teaching. I can talk with friends who are done, quite done, with the whole IVF thing, and who remember their cycles just as those horrible times that ended in tears.

But nothing will make me stop wondering, stop overinterpreting every twinge and burp.

I have -- mostly -- stopped talking in my head to the embryos. (I don't think I did at all, last time. Four was too much of a crowd.) I no longer believe that they're really there.

My most salient remaining symptom -- still stronger than the headache, but probably not for long -- is the achiness on either side of the butt where the giant needle goes in every night.

What brings on the most crazy: going to the boards. I can't stop, though (for one thing, I had to look up the Cornell shutdown dates this spring and summer). Look! There are two 37-year-olds who put back 4, with high cell counts, and who failed! Twice each! At Cornell! There's someone who changed protocols and her response got even worse! There's someone in tears because only 5! 5 of her eggs fertilized! There's a 41-year-old with lots more follicles than me! There's someone whose last cycle was cancelled, who has lots more follicles than me!

Tomorrow is the first luteal bloodwork. That's where they don't tell you anything, and just keep the data for, ahem, "future cycles." Last time the local lab was too slow with results, so Cornell called me up and told me to double my PIO dose. Let's just say that I'm going to try a different local lab this time.

P.S. Miss T. developed a splendid cold over the weekend; high fever, raspy cough, three days of severe grogginess. She's on the mend now, and should be able to go back to Box-O-Tots tomorrow. I haven't caught it yet -- but of course any feelings of disorientation could be ascribed to early stages of that.