Hair Loss

I'm at home. Trying to keep my sanity. It is my full time job since April this year. Waiting for news, hoping for good news.
My body lets me know it is hard work: little aches and pains,visual aura-without-migraine, small signs of stress. And yes, the latest thing is hair loss. I have quite a lot of hair, and always seem to lose it (this really long one here in the spaghetti, yes sorry, that is mine too, and the shower will not be mentioned)
But recently even my cleaning lady suggested I should go see a doctor about it. Geez, it's only hair. It doesn't seem important enough to see a doctor for when there is still more than plenty on my head. (Even though seeing my doctor is free) And I keep thinking that soon I'll be further along the DE journey, and I'll be happier and have less stress. (Oops, even to me that sounds a bit naive now)
It's just hard to realise that this is all part of my life. That this is happening to me. That I can spend days thinking I want to write a letter to Fof, trying to boost her into not becoming depressed for me but this is all I come up with:

If we even get past the first hurdle of her being accepted as a donor it doesn't mean smooth sailing from then on. The stimulation may be too much to continue, it may be too little to work. Follicles could grow too fast, too slow. Timing of the trigger could be wrong, there isn't always an egg in every follicle.
Not every egg gets fertilised. Not every embryo divides. Not every dividing embryo stays alive till transfer. There could be something good enough to freeze, but maybe not. If we make it to transfer I have 25-ish percent chance of getting pregnant(?) If we get to the second line I have 25% chance or more of miscarrying.
FET gives about 10% as a leftover bonus chance.
But whatever happens it stops happening to Fof after retrieval.
I guess to me having a double digit chance is so much more than before that it makes me hopeful. Not optimistic (lost my optimism when my 34th birthday rolled around and we still weren't starting TTC) but hopeful.
Much better than January. Made the mistake of looking at old posts. Sometimes it helps to know I'm a bit better now, but today, well today the here and now is all I can handle. And that should be good enough for today.

Important step

Hey, this is post number 100...!
But that is not important to me. What is, is that I finally got news from Fof!
The good news is that physically she has the clinic's OK: bloodwork all looks good and her scan was approved.
The unknown part is the mental side: the clinic needs to look into research of the risk of depression caused by the hormone-stimulation-medication. For a 'certain group' of women there is a risk, so in CCC-III they probably need to verify if Fof is in that group.
She just emailed me and she sounded so disappointed, and worried for me. I emailed her back, trying to cheer her up: the good news is great news to me.
And on the depression risk, she is trying to share her happiness as a mother with me, I'm not trying to rob her of her happiness. I can do simple stuff (pay for petrol, drive, prepare a meal) but I cannot brighten her days darkened by medication. I cannot give her family time that could be sucked away by depression.
I'm glad I'm not the one having to weigh the risks in September! And I'm glad the clinic is taking her health serious. (And I'm glad I have my BambiEyes taking care of me)

The weather turned sunny here in Amsterdam, the city is full of happy gay pride visitors and till somewhere in September I've got nothing better to do than enjoy the good news....

Maybe tonight at 3 am it will all look bleak to me, but for now... celebratory cupcakes! Made when visiting my friend with the twins running and little bigfoot walking around.

Everything takes so long

Three weeks of stepmomming, two weeks of camping, one week of rain. It took so long.
But I survived. The guys had a good time and I didn't go out of my mind with frustration, I managed to stick to boredom.
Now I'm home alone and actually enjoying the peace and quiet. I'm dry and clean, my hair is brushed and I had the whole pot of nice Twinings Indian Chai for breakfast to myself.

(It also seems to take a long time to write this, sorry)

Clinic Counsellor Conversation - II
It was Fof's turn for a CCC. She emailed they had had a good meeting about her motivation and their view of egg donation, but only covered part of the necessary subjects, so a follow up CCC is scheduled. In September.............
I know, summer holidays, super slow shrink, stupid schedule and such, but if every step of the way will take a month or two I'm afraid we'll never get there.
I got the email halfway our camping trip. And I haven't even managed to reply. (it shouldn't take this long)


I saw BambiEyes on Friday and she said that if I'm concerned about running out of time I should contact the clinic. I am concerned and worried. But I'm thinking that contacting the clinic to cry about that is not going to change anything. HB tells me I should call, even if only to know for sure that I will have done everything I possibly can. Because the 'if only-s' could haunt me later...
I find it hard to not rationalise my fear away. Rationally we are still taking steps, still in the right direction. Emotionally? I feel sad, empty handed and powerless. I feel time slipping away, I want to turn it back, I don't want to let go. I wasn't any good at being 37 , at 38 at least I made my DE decision and took the first steps, but I'm so slow! Everything takes so long! I'm 39 already!! (and I feel just about ready to try 36 again) When I find that loophole into the alternate universe of other chances I will let you know.

On Monday 18 I swallowed the last pill of that first strip. So on Friday I was also worried that nothing had started to bleed yet. Again, I didn't think it was supposed to take that long? So it seemed OK to me to ask for a clinic doctor. But Saturday I spent in bed curled under the doona (duvet sounds so formal!) keeping my stomach warm because the bleeding and cramping had started. Also a great way to avoid the other 3 people in the house.
Sunday we were supposed to go out for dinner with DP's family, complete with his brother and 6m pregnant partner before bringing the boys back to their mother. It seems such a nice way to conclude the holiday and it is really nice from his parents to invite us all.
I made it to his parents, but after 2 hours I escaped by train and avoided the rest of the gang. Went to the 'safe house' that is HB's place.
He lets me curl up on his couch and I don't have to talk. Sometimes I feel sad for me, and then I feel sad listening to his story. After his father died his mother wasn't coping well at all. She thinks he is still ill... So HB has to tell her that father died again and again. Two months now. I hope the pills will help soon.

What else is bothering me...
Oh, yep, with the clinic taking its time and not all tests 100% hurray for Fof first time around and oh, no 100% guarantee it might work in the end I was thinking that maybe I should pull my head out of the sand and slowly start thinking about a back up donor plan. At the side of some French pool filled with noisy children going off waterslides I asked DP what he thought, and he answered that he would be comfortable going to a Spanish clinic for DE. Like we read in the library book on DE that I made him read. So half my brain is happy. The other half is confused. I know it is too early to know if our known-donor-adventure is safe. But I don't even know where to start thinking about an unknown donor...

Maybe for now it is enough to admit that I'm scared and sad. This morning in the supermarket I got sad seeing my dead cousins birthday as best before date on the yoghurt I bought. I cried reading the newspaper about the Norwegian shooter.
I'm scared of the news Fof should get this Thursday from the clinic doctor about being a suitable donor. And afraid of another 'we don't know yet' ....

Agreed

Armed with a bottle of Amé rosé and a real bottle of wine we set of to Fof and partner. When we came in we had to start with some small talk because one of the girls was still awake. But sort of naturally we made the connection to the real topic of 'information management'. They agreed with us that it makes sense to wait with names till all the children are old enough. They also said it was good to align the story now already: her girls may notice her medication during stimulation, or Fof not feeling well after retrieval maybe. It is nice to tell them the truth without names, and so without the (possible) burden of having to keep it a secret. Her daughters are still young enough (6 & almost 8) to accept a story without thinking of all the consequences yet. They may be too young to remember so in a distant future a genetic half sibling could be a surprise, but by then they will be adults already...

At the clinic the counsellor had asked me if I knew Fof's date of birth so she could easily retrieve that file, but I didn't know. While arranging the meeting with Fof I sent her mine so she will not have that problem at her meeting. But we both agreed that with just the one friend in common our social lives have just the right amount of distance now. And since I'm the kind of person who likes to remember birthdays it would just be easier to not know.

All in all we had a nice evening, they are looking forward to their meeting with the counsellor, DP feels right on track and I'm slowly believing that we are taking the hurdles step by step. Oh, the clinic doctor had let it slip that I had already started taking the pill and they were a bit surprised by that. So I explained that I want to be prepared for things going wrong, like my body not responding to the pill and having to switch to another dosage or some such and losing three months in the process... and that it would be convenient for our camping trip, starting this week!

Urgh, camping... I'm already fed up with the kids, they have been here only 24 hours, but it was a bit rough and I was awfully snappy with everyone. DP wanted them to cycle through the city centre with us. Across DAM SQUARE of all places! But the kids were listening to all our instructions and we managed to keep them safe. So while their table manners are still a bit disappointing (is it really asking too much not to speak with one's mouth full?!) they are OK at times (I admit grudgingly)
So I'll fall off the grid for a fortnight. Just have to remember to take it day by day and that despite the bad days there will be good days.

Clinic Counsellor Conversation

The Counsellor was ok. Bit older than us and she spoke with a Flemish accent, which sounds to Dutch ears as Very Clear ProNuNCiaTioN. As I had thought a lot of time was spent on 'consequences for everyone involved', on the most basic level: what will we tell whom and when. Since I've been fairly open about my lack of eggs it makes the most sense to be open about donor eggs from the beginning as well. But the most important point for me was to realise that it is possible to have a known donor, but NOT share her identity till the child is ready and interested.
Experience learns that some children are interested, feel a 'missing piece' and other children are simply not.
She stressed the point that I will be the ONLY mother, that it is the clinic's point of view that the donor should not want nor get any motherly bond or contact.
While I agree on me being the real mother I have to get used to the idea of not having some kind of casual contact.

The short term outcome of this step is that Fof, our partners and I need to agree on what to tell the existing children. Probably some story of 'nice lady went to the hospital to give an egg' for DP's boys and 'mommy went to the hospital to give an egg so some nice lady can have a baby too' for their girls, without names for the 'nice ladies' involved. Of course these genetic-half-siblings only need to be told in case of actual live baby being born.
But we need to agree before Fof's CCC appointment next week. Sounds simple enough. I have no doubt it will be easy to agree, but pffffff it is another little step that I have to arrange.

O well, pharmacy was easy thank goodness. Name, date of birth, 15 euro, goodbye. Since DP had to attend some school evening for his boy I spent the evening at HB. And because it had been at his place I took my last pregnancy test it seemed the right time and place to take my first pill there too. At least that was easy.

Tiny step

Just got off the phone. My tiny step is that I tried to order a prescription for the pill through some kind of voice mail system from my gp's practice. If it works I can pick it up at the pharmacy tomorrow. Tomorrow. So if the system does not work I'll stand there in the pharmacy feeling odd. Tomorrow is also the day DP and I will speak with the clinic counsellor about Donor Eggs. I keep telling myself it will probably be nothing more than a polite conversation where some lady verifies that we know what we are doing and are aware of the consequences for everyone involved. (But of course it feels like some stranger can just say she doesn't think we should be parents and should not receive treatment from their clinic)
So ordering the pill is another step, 'proving' I said goodbye to my genetic miracle. But it will also be nice to not be spotting for four weeks without getting a period. Or a surprise flood. Especially since we will be camping for two weeks in July. Not looking forward to it, but also not dreading it as much as other summers.

You know, I've been thinking about getting a print of the picture of the goodbye basket. But it seems so hard. I kind of know what I want, a square white card with the picture in the middle. But it is hard not to be put off by the print-order-websites with all the options I don't want. I wouldn't know what text to put on it. I'm not prepared to tell my parents we named our (dream of our) little one Knut. I'm not even sure I can show them the card. I think everybody else accepted the fact long ago and it is just waiting for me to move on. I don't want to cry in front of my parents -much prefer you guys/ladies. My mother acts weird and nobody feels comfortable. My mother is great when she believes I'm fine so I'll leave it like that for now.

For my birthday I treated myself to my first pedicure ever, the weather is suddenly tropical so I might just go out and flaunt my professionally polished toe nails.

Big Steps

Life keeps happening.
I wanted to do our little ceremony while I was still 38, so we ended up doing it on the very last day. I was not looking forward to my birthday and had said to DP we would be ignoring it. On the train to the beach he apologised that he would not have a birthday gift for me and that he would not pop the question.
Ehem.
(?)
Thank you, I guess.
I wasn't in the mood for present anyway.
With my aunt and uncle I had a lovely scones-and-cakes breakfast as a celebration, small party, big breakfast though.
In the mean while I was getting nervous for news from Fof. I had convinced myself it would be more bad news and that I couldn't handle it. That I was not ready to say goodbye to my possible donor. So when her email came in I downloaded it to my phone without looking and arranged to meet HB, who could get out of work half an hour earlier than DP. After he told me it was safe to read I read it super quickly (and the three of us went for sushi). Fof mentioned hope and more appointments and more test results that had to come in, something like July 8 and 28. A day later now, and I still can't bring myself to read it carefully. I need some time to recover from my fear first.

While I was in Egypt DP had gone to the clinic because they wanted to test his sample at some stage. When he told me I thought it would have been for nothing, but now it seems he was right.
So we need a (phone) appointment to get the results for that too.
It is a good thing that our meeting with the clinic counselor is only in two weeks, at the moment the whole idea of planning things in the future feels a bit preposterous, like hubris.
Maybe I'm just afraid to allow hope back in.

Bye

Saying goodbye is hard, sometimes


This was our little goodbye basket, just before I put it to sea. And if your sense if irony is well developed you'll appreciate that everything about it was hard:
In the middle a struggling candle, that had trouble staying upright. (The candle on the beach wouldn't burn for more than two seconds before the wind blew it out again)
The white flower is from a Hortensia in my parents' garden that has been there for a very long time. My aunt gave me little blue Hydrangeas to match, and a handful of forget-me-not-s. From HB's garden some lavender, from our balcony some strands of oregano, thyme and rosemary. I meant to rub them to release the soothing aroma but DP was helping and had already put them in.
From me was a little strand of hair, tied with a ribbon from my brothers wedding.
From DP was a little goodbye letter. I was hoping he would read it, but he just put it in the basket. I managed to convince him to take a picture before we let go. (But the picture is out of focus)
Then we waited for a moment between waves, I set the basket down on the water and it floated, ... just... till the next wave toppled it over. DP picked everything up, tried again, but the waves kept pushing it back even though the tide was going out. Then we decided to throw caution and the basket to the wind, I just wanted to make it go away.
DP watched the upside down basket bobbing in the waves for a while, I just buried my tears against his shoulder. Feeling slightly silly in my grey silk summer dress. Oh deep sigh, that critical voice would just not shut up. It just kept pointing out the meaninglessness, kept saying that none of this was real, that we were faking it.

So, anyway, life and or universe don't go to plan, it is not like we didn't know.
At least the sunset was beautiful.

Dreaming away

'twas magical.

The moment I submerge I'm in another world. It takes my breath away -literally- and lifts the weight of my shoulders -also literally. It is possible to not think, not feel sad but just look, look look at the colours of the abundance of fishes, the coral and all other creatures.
My ears always protest a little at the increasing pressure, but nudging them gently they will squeak, squeal and finally squeeze into equilibrium. At first I hear nothing but the escaping bubbles of my own breathing. But then, sometimes, a parrot fish munching on coral. KrrrGGggK. Or a school of little damselfish making tiny tick sounds (like popping mini bubble wrap). A dive buddy making a metallic sound to point out a rare creature. And towards the end of a dive I can hear waves crashing above me.
And when I feel my cheeks get wet I know I smile and water is coming in my mask. I clear my mask and feel warm air on my face again.
Part of me never wants a dive to end, but the water is steadily taking my body heat away. HB, my buddy signals, our time is up and up we go. Warm in the Egyptian sun for a minute, then rest in the shade. Drink a mango lassie or a cup of Bedouin tea. And dream about our next dive....

Stupid steps

Last time with BambiEyes we discussed saying goodbye to our genetic child. I wanted to blog about that, but I almost choked with sadness.
Then HB's father died and we went to the funeral.
Now Fof had another appointment, her CD3 scan, and it yielded only 7 follicles, which is not great. In two weeks her other test results will come back and we think the doctor may have an idea if she would be a possible donor for me, fertility-wise.
I'm going on a diving trip to Egypt and pretend for a week that none of this makes me sad beyond words.