Clomid: The Perfect Excuse To Rip People's Faces Off For 6 Days In a Row.

Carrying on...I decided to get the scoop over the phone.

My husband trusts me to relay accurate information to him and I'm impatient. My doc called the day after Thanksgiving and we were just about to hit the road for a little holiday get away. Knowing what the next piece of the puzzle was would only make the weekend more relaxing. I could turn my brain off for a few minutes.

Here comes the Clomid, our ticket to increasing the population count.

Clomid is the most well known fertility drug out there. But like I've said before, this isn't Octomom stuff so keep your jokes to yourselves! Clomid is used to jump starts ovulation (and the success rate is 80%). Again, like I've said, we aren't totally sure I'm not ovulating, and we DO know that I've ovulated in the past. Most women that have stopped ovulating also stop having periods or skip periods. No such luck over here. I'm still feeling especially gross 4 days every month.

Here's the basics: every month when you ovulate, one of your eggs sends out a signal to the rest that says, "Hey jerks, I'm the one! This is MY month! I'm blowing this pop stand!" and that's the egg that's ovulated. With Clomid, that signal is blocked and a few eggs get ovulated, making for more targets. The more eggs hanging around, the better the chances one with get fertilized.

So let's get something out of the way right now. The most common side effect of Clomid is MULTIPLES. Twins, or less likely, triplets. But it doesn't go beyond that. In situations like Jon & Kate or the Octomom, In Vitro and other more hardcore fertility treatments were involved. That's not going to happen to us. Now the odds of twins for a woman taking Clomid is 1 in 250 (typically, the chance of twins is 1 in 2500...but MY chances were higher because my father is a twin AND has twin sisters and my mom had a brother and sister that were twins). Less than half a percent of women on Clomid have triplets. So basically having more targets increases our chances of this:

Or more likely in our case, this:

Why am I ranting?

I'm not especially happy that we didn't just get pregnant on our own. Yes, my husband's doctor solved what he thinks the problem was. But it would have been nice to just hump around and have it happen. Throw jokes about ending up pregnant with 10 babies on top of everything else...well...I guess I'm a little sensitive about it all. But we can handle twins. We can handle anything.

Moving on...

Besides multiples, Clomid has other possible side effects that I'm not really looking forward to. Very common are hot flashes, breast tenderness, nausea, some possible pain and wild, uncontrollable, glass-smashing MOOD SWINGS! It isn't nicknamed "Clomood" for nothing. But the side effects only last for the 6 days you take the meds and I've been told that if you take it in the evening, you can sleep through most of it. Damn. I was going to use the meds as an excuse to start telling people what I REALLY think!

Two scary side effects are a swelling of the ovaries (if we don't get preggo in the first 3 months, I'll go in for an ultrasound to make sure everything is the size it should be) and a build up of fluid around the heart (which my doc has never personally seen in a patient). These will no doubt happen to me because I have the worst luck.

My doc said most of her patients are preggo within the first 3 months on Clomid, and lots of chicks get lucky on the first try! If we don't luck out, she will up the dose for another 3 months. I've got everything crossed that it doesn't come to that because after 6 months, there must be more to the story than just possibly not ovulating.

But first, I need to get my period (aren't you so glad you decided to start reading this???) so I know when to start popping pills. It would be extra super if I was knocked up now so I didn't have to put my body through this, but I'm not putting any money on that.

$9 and 6 days of crabiness. That's what it's going to take.

Analyzing Semen: Why I'm Glad To Not Be a Medical Professional.

It's really not my place to talk about this. But I married these sperm, til death to us part. So while this part might not be as juicy and graphic as when I gush about my own glorious junk, it'll still get the point across. I mean, the fact that sperm count and motility needed to be checked out should be common sense.

As my doc (basically) said, why take fertility meds if he has loser sperm?

I consider these to be "loser sperm". Try and tell me otherwise.

So now my husband has a doctor to be poked and prodded by: a urologist. It's this dude's job to give his fellas the stamp of approval. He returns home from his initial exam with a plastic cup and a reason to *insert your favorite slang for masturbate here*. But even this isn't as fun as it sounds/should be. Once the cup is, um, full, he has 30 minutes to get it from our house to the hospital...which is 23 minutes away...during morning rush hour. And the cup-o-stuff has to be kept nice and toasty. Without running over any school children waiting for their morning bus, he makes it.

And the wait for results begins.

And we get the results.

And they're dumb.

This is a major set-back. If I might not be ovulating and his stuff isn't top-notch, well, we're just the poster people for fertility failures. And my doc can't/won't give me any fertility aids whatsoever until all is good on the spermy front because why put me through possibly rough side affects (I'd rather not have fluid build up around my heart if I can help it) if the chances are slim?

But his doctor believes he knows why the results were what they were, or he at least thinks the results were a fluke. So the doc prescribes 10 days of meds, a week of "resting up the troops" and a re-test. Basically, it's Groundhog's Day except this day, the results are fan-flipping-tastic! There's a cup full of strong swimmers hanging out in the lab. Both of our docs give us encouraging thumbs up. Way to go, sperm!

So now we've completed the 3 tasks we were assigned. My blood work was clean enough (whether I was ovulating or not...there's really no way to say for sure), my internal bIts-n-pieces were wide open and inviting, and his stuff was solid and strong. My doc said it was up to me whether I wanted to come into her office or discuss our next step towards making a monster over the phone.

I decided to...

Hysterosalpingograms: Another Way To Feel Humiliated With Your Pants Off.

The next pit stop on the long and frustrating road to Conceptionville had us heading to the hospital for what was without a doubt one of the more irritating moments of my life. Yes, ladies, if you didn't think things could get much worse than your good ol' yearly pap smear, just add in various catheters, inks-n-dyes, and machines that look like they may come to life and murder you.

At this moment, you're having a Hysterosalpingogram.

You'll just have to imagine a sterile tray of torture devices and elevated stir-ups.

They tell you it's JUST an X-Ray of your internal lady parts. JUST? Please. Now, I'll admit, I did some research ahead of time because I like to be informed. But being informed came with the price of being terrified. The Internet is riddled with women who said that for them, it was more painful than labor. Say WHAT?? Of course there were women who said it was a piece of cake, easy as pie. But I ignored these women in favor of the ones that were making me sweaty, teary-eyed, and panic stricken.

Enter the husband. I didn't ask him to go with me but he could clearly smell the freak-out that was brewing. He wasn't alone. The receptionist in the Radiology department, the X-Ray tech, the doctor who was elbow deep in my stuff, and the poor nurse who offered to hold my hand during the procedure were all very aware that I was wussing out. I wish I hadn't worn silver eyeshadow. I probably looked terrified AND ridiculous.

So I leave my loving hubby in the waiting room as I feel like I'm walking the Green Mile. The next thing I know, I'm siting in a hospital gown with no drawers on, wishing every pair of socks I owned didn't look like a 5 year old girls little footie. The sweetest nurse in the history of nurses brings me into the torture room and I get situated. I won't get graphic but iodine and a man I didn't know in latex gloves were involved.

So what IS a Hysterosalpingogram and why was I getting one?

That's basically a fancy and technical name for an X-Ray of your uterus, fallopian tubes and ovaries to look for blockages, fibroids, cysts, scar tissue, etc. Basically scouting out anything that could be preventing sperm and egg from hooking up. Where does everything turn sour? When they crank you open with the speculum, thread in a catheter (OUCH #1) and then pump dye into your stuff (OUCH #2). There you are, exposed to the world, cramping up, bleeding a little, and having the pleasure of watching it all on a screen.

Remember the pretty and symmetrical uterus from your text books?

Not even close. It's like panties with 2 noodles connected to random mush.

That is not my business but it's not far off. Right at that moment, legs still in splits formation, they told me that everything was wide open. Bad choice of words, medical professionals! Regardless, there was nothing blocking the path. Good news! But with the good comes the bad, and the bad came in the form of bleeding, cramping, and a few moments of dizziness and nausea (most likely because I psyched myself out before hand and hand to come back down to reality).

An attentive husband and 64 ounce boot of Spaten Oktoberfest helped.

Next topic: my junk gets a break. It's Todd turn to squirm!

The Kick-Off: Does My Blood Have Anything Important To Say?

The first step in figuring out why we can't get any buns in an oven I assure you worked in the past - having blood drawn. There's nothing cool about needles. Sorry heroin addicts.

It was the same as every time: "You're covered in tattoos. You can't POSSIBLY be afraid of needles."  Lady, I assure you I can be and am and I should punch you for even talking to me. Tattoo needles don't suck blood from my veins, filling up a plastic tube like one of those bubbling Christmas light bulbs. 3 viles later and I was free to go...and to impatiently wait for messages to appear in my doctor provided voicemail box.

The first message I received let me know that I was STD free. Not a shock but always good to hear. The second message told me that my good ol' pap smear was satisfactory. As satisfactory as those things are supposed to be, I guess. I also learned that my thyroid was tip-top. But I knew that because dim-witted doctors have been trying to blame my health problems on the thyroid for years. It was the third call that really got my mind boggled.

My doc leaves me a message saying that my blood work indicated that my FH and LSH levels were off (I don't remember which is which but those hormones make the eggs and then boot them from the ovaries when the time is right). This could have meant:

A. That I was pregnant. When you're pregnant, the levels go up and stay up.
B. That I was ovulating at the very moment blood was drawn. When you ovulate, the levels go up but eventually drop back down.
C. That I had Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome and was no longer ovulating.

For your education, from the Mayo Clinic: Polycystic ovary syndrome (PCOS) is the most common hormonal disorder among women of reproductive age. The name of the condition comes from the appearance of the ovaries in most, but not all, women with the disorder — enlarged and containing numerous small cysts located along the outer edge of each ovary (polycystic appearance). The exact cause of polycystic ovary syndrome is unknown. Women with polycystic ovary syndrome may have trouble becoming pregnant due to infrequent or lack of ovulation.

No longer OVULATING??  I ovulate ALL OVER THE PLACE!

The first thing I did was take a pregnancy test. No. The first thing I did was freak out to my oldest pal, Tessa (who is also the future godmother to the first born spawn), about how I would have been like 2 milliseconds pregnant when the blood was drawn. She brought me back down to Earth and THEN I took the test. Negative. Of course.

Then I talked to the doc and she said women with PCOS typically have hormone levels with a ratio of 3:1. My levels were 5:1. Yeah, I'm an over-achiever. Regardless, she said maybe I have PCOS and my levels are just higher than most women, or maybe I was just ovulating when the blood was drawn and my hormone levels in general are higher than most women.

My brain hurt thinking about it THEN and it still throbs a bit.

We knew for certain that I was at least MAKING eggs. I just might not have been booting them from the nest. There's no way to tell for sure. But if this was the case, all hope was not lost. Certain fertility drugs could help give the eggs the push they need. And no, these were not Jon and Kate Plus 8 or Octomom fertility drugs. But more on that later.

So we had jumped through the first hoop, but things were still slightly fuzzy.

Next up: Hysterosalpingogram. Stay tuned for that dramedy.

Jumping Through Hoops: "Infertility" and Why It's Dumb.

We aren't Ward and June Cleaver, that's for sure.

Me: Make your X-Mas list. I want to get you something you really WANT.
Him: A baby.
Me: You can't unwrap that.
Him: I can unwarp the box it comes in.
Me: Just make your list, pervert.

So if you've been trying to create life...that doesn't involve putting a brain in a dead body and reanimating it...for a year and nothing is coming of it, it's suggested you see an OB/GYN and have her poke-n-prod your lady parts. At this point, you're officially being treated for infertility. On all your paperwork is the the big neon sign shouting, "You're infertile! You're 31 and your uterus is a FAILURE!" Balls.

Our doc (who is super thorough and answered all of my husband's questions about the female reproductive system with the use of models and graphs while I died a little inside), said there were 3 hoops to jump through before we knew what's what:

1. Have blood drawn to rule some things out.
2. Hysterosalpingogram. Yep. It's as scary as it sounds.
3. Semen Analysis a.k.a. hump-a-cup.

And let's not forget that the starting point for all of this was every woman's favorite, the pap smear. I don't know if that should be capitalized or not but it sucks so badly, it doesn't deserve large letters. An STD screening was thrown in for kicks. Chlamydia and Gonorrhea can really muck things up. Duh.

So once my nether regions were all swabbed and sent off to the lab (the swabs, not my nether regions), she dubbed us "infertile" for the time being (and I say US because 40% of infertility is caused by the dude). There were 3 hoops we had to jump through but there were even some hurdles to jump over to get to the hoops. Damn, I wish I was in better shape.

Regardless...a plan was in place.

Making Monsters: A Ridiculous Introduction to Our Attempts to Breed.

Hi. Hello. Welcome. Whatever.

Most of the people who hang out here at 1313 Mockingbird Lane already know us but for those who don't...you should. But seriously, we're a couple of chumps who are bananas for each other that got hitched in the fall of 2009 and have been trying to put a bun in the oven ever since. But for 2 people who mash their genitals together more than anyone I know, we're not having such great luck.

Welcome to the Wide World of Fertility! She is a harsh mistress.

You spend most of your 20s trying NOT to get pregnant (epic FAIL) and then when you actually WANT to expand your family, it's like your uterus is a ghost town. Or perhaps a town that was infected with some sort of toxic plague. Don't be insulted, uterus. You know I love you. For a year now, that bright pink minus sign has been laughing in our faces. Well, there's only so much let down a person can take before they get rowdy.

And we KNOW that at one point or another, the parts responsible for making monsters worked because the future father, well, he's already a father to a 9 year old boy! Footnote/Sidebar: Our little family already has a child. We are ALREADY a family. He is a father, I am a step-monster. So when I say things about "becoming parents", I'm specifically jabbering about breeding together...and making this kid a big brother.

Anyway, according to our doc, a lot can happen in 10 years. Just because he knocked a girl up once upon a time doesn't mean things are still tip-top.  But I'll get into our doc and all that jazz another time...those are some crazy stories right there. Now, I'm just introducing you to our situation. We've been trying to get an eggo preggo for a year and we're tired of the waiting so in September, we started seeing an OB/GYN for a helping hand (preferably wearing latex gloves).

Cocktails are the only upside to not getting pregnant when you want to.

SO...I decided to start this blog to document our voyage into parenthood without it polluting my other blog...the rambling, blathering blog. I did the same thing when we got hitched because getting married was a big part of my life, but it wasn't the ONLY thing in my life. Just like trying to breed isn't the only thing in my life...it just seems to be all-consuming right now. So from the struggling to that damned pink plus sign (I hope) to a human being bursting worth from my exhausted loins...

Yeah. These people want to become parents.