"Your dream will change... and that's okay"

If you haven't already, I urge you to read or watch Conan O'Brien's commencement address at Dartmouth from earlier this week. It's funny to read & even funnier to watch, if you have 25 minutes to spare/kill/waste. But he winds up with a serious message, and as I thought about it in relation to my own life, my pursuit of a family & my ultimate decision to remain childfree, I could recognize something of myself in his words.

Some excerpts:

In 2000, I told graduates "Don't be afraid to fail." Well now I'm here to tell you that, though you should not fear failure, you should do your very best to avoid it. Nietzsche famously said "Whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger." But what he failed to stress is that it almost kills you. Disappointment stings and, for driven, successful people like yourselves it is disorienting. What Nietzsche should have said is "Whatever doesn't kill you, makes you watch a lot of Cartoon Network and drink mid-price Chardonnay at 11 in the morning."

Now, by definition, Commencement speakers at an Ivy League college are considered successful. But a little over a year ago, I experienced a profound and very public disappointment. I did not get what I wanted, and I left a system that had nurtured and helped define me for the better part of 17 years...

But then something spectacular happened. Fogbound, with no compass, and adrift, I started trying things... and guess what: with the exception of the blue leather suit, it was the most satisfying and fascinating year of my professional life. To this day I still don't understand exactly what happened, but I have never had more fun, been more challenged—and this is important—had more conviction about what I was doing.

How could this be true? Well, it's simple: There are few things more liberating in this life than having your worst fear realized... Your path at 22 will not necessarily be your path at 32 or 42. One's dream is constantly evolving, rising and falling, changing course....

But the point is this : It is our failure to become our perceived ideal that ultimately defines us and makes us unique. It's not easy, but if you accept your misfortune and handle it right, your perceived failure can become a catalyst for profound re-invention.

So, at the age of 47, after 25 years of obsessively pursuing my dream, that dream changed. For decades, in show business, the ultimate goal of every comedian was to host The Tonight Show. It was the Holy Grail, and like many people I thought that achieving that goal would define me as successful. But that is not true. No specific job or career goal defines me, and it should not define you. In 2000—in 2000—I told graduates to not be afraid to fail, and I still believe that. But today I tell you that whether you fear it or not, disappointment will come. The beauty is that through disappointment you can gain clarity, and with clarity comes conviction and true originality.

Many of you here today are getting your diploma at this Ivy League school because you have committed yourself to a dream and worked hard to achieve it. And there is no greater cliché in a commencement address than "follow your dream." Well I am here to tell you that whatever you think your dream is now, it will probably change. And that's okay....

Not that I will ever consider losing Katie a good thing... but yes, it most certainly was a catalyst in my life, and nothing has been the same since then. Sometimes that's been good, sometimes it's been bad. But I survived. I'm still here.

My dreams today at 50 are different than they were when I was 20, or 30, or even 40. (Sometimes, I'm still trying to figure out what they are.) But as the guy said, that's okay. Thanks, Conan. : )

Picnic 2011

Another year, another picnic & memorial butterfly release, put on each year by the support group where dh & I were facilitators for 10 years. In the almost 13 years since we lost Katie, we've only missed one picnic -- the second year we were attending group. It began POURING rain just as we were getting ready to leave. Disappointed, we unpacked our bag & stayed home for the day. We later learned, to our chagrin, the weather at the picnic site had been overcast, but no rain. Lesson learned. We haven't missed a picnic since then.

Some years the weather has been chilly & other years sweltering. (This year, it was mostly overcast with a cool wind. But somehow, I still managed to get slightly sunburned on my neck & nose.) But no matter what the weather, there's always been warm hugs from dear friends, some of whom we only get to see once or twice a year at group events.

Over the years, many of the friends we've made through the group have drifted away. I'm still in touch with some of them, but we no longer see them at the picnic. And while there are still a few people we know we can always count on seeing there, the numbers get smaller each year. Some have other events to attend (birthday parties, bridal showers, etc.) that conflict with the picnic. Some have moved away, too far to attend for an afternoon (particularly when the weather is iffy). Children get older & no longer want to attend a picnic that's largely focused on kiddie entertainments such as pinatas, face painting and magic shows. It's summer, the weather is good and the family cottage beckons. Sometimes the families feel they have moved on and no longer "need" to attend in the same way they once did. Sometimes they haven't, and find it difficult to be around reminders of their loss, around other families' small children.

Things change.

For dh & me, who don't have other children, & whose lives haven't changed in the same way that many of our friends' lives have changed over the years as their families have grown, it's been a little disappointing to watch people drift away. A sizeable number of our friends weren't there at all this year (& were sadly missed); several left shortly after we released our butterflies and, as the others began chasing after their kids, leaving us standing by ourselves amid a cluster of empty lawn chairs & picnic coolers, we decided it was time to leave too, even though we'd only been there two hours & there was still another 2-3 hours to go.

Still, it felt good to be there and to see the people who did show up. And to watch our butterflies flutter around the picnic area, each one representing a much-wanted baby, and many broken hearts. I don't foresee a day anytime soon that we will not be attending.

Picnic 2009

Picnic 2008

(Guess I didn't blog about last year's picnic...??)

Article: "My photos are memorials to lost little lives"

Wonderful article in today's Globe & Mail, written by a photographer for Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep. How I wish they had been around when we had Katie!

Article: "A Good Enough Life"

I read an article in this morning's Globe & Mail that I can't stop thinking about: "The Secret to Happiness: Live a Good Enough Life." (One of our friends could have written it: he always used to joke about setting the bar low to avoid disappointment later.) Infertility & childless/free living is not mentioned (of course), but I can most certainly see some parallels here, can you?

*** *** ***

The secret to happiness? Live a 'good enough' life

by Sarah Hampson
From Monday's Globe and Mail
Published Sunday, May 29, 2011 4:00PM EDT

Here’s some counterintuitive news. You should aim for The Good Enough Life.

Oh, I know. It sounds pathetic, defeated: the goal of someone who lacks high standards and a good work ethic, someone who is willing to settle for mediocrity. Not a doer; a pessimistic loser.

Well, happiness experts say satisfaction is largely a matter of expectations. Expectations can sink you. You always thought you would live in a nice house with a double-car garage, have a couple of lovely children, an influential, well-paid job, a devoted spouse and savings in your bank account.

And when you don’t? Yeah, help yourself to a slice of misery pie.

On the other hand, when you don’t expect much, when you manage the ideas of what you think your life should be, you can be pleasantly surprised – and grateful – for the good fortune that comes your way.

The trouble is, that attitude doesn’t fit with society’s prevailing imperatives. There’s a fundamental tension at play in how we’re encouraged to think about our lives. We’re exhorted to achieve our dreams and never give up, to think positive, and yet the resulting expectations – some unrealistically high – can make us dissatisfied, even depressed.

Go ahead, start by blaming your parents. “Have you ever heard a parent say ‘I only want what’s good enough for my children?’ ” offers Barry Schwartz, a professor of social theory at Swarthmore College in Pennsylvania and author of The Paradox of Choice: Why More is Less.

“You can’t even get that sentence out, can you?” he says, laughing. “Whatever standards we have for ourselves, they’re not true for our children. We create people who are perfectionist because they observe us trying to provide the very best, showing us day after day that good enough is just not good enough for our precious jewels. And when the time comes to make their own decisions, children adopt the same standards.”

The idea that realistic parenting might yield happier, more well-adjusted adults is also at the heart of Alina Tugend’s new book, Better By Mistake: The Unexpected Benefits of Being Wrong. She identifies a similar tension in the conflicted messages that mistakes should be avoided (and even punished) even though they’re our greatest teachers.

“There are no simple fixes but there are ways all of us can shift our thinking about mistakes, starting with our children,” she writes. “We can emphasize effort and de-emphasize results. We can appreciate that we – and they – can’t be perfect, nor is it a goal we should aim for.”

Apart from the influence of parents, Prof. Schwartz also fingers the culture of abundant choice. Everything about modern Western life encourages a pursuit of “the best,” he says, adding that “every time a company comes out with a new product they’re trying to convince you it’s the best so you will throw out the old one. This notion of best so suffuses the culture that you almost look like a shirker if you go through life trying to live the good enough life.”

The solution is not about lowering standards, he says. It’s about adjusting the way we think. “High standards are very different from wanting or expecting the best all the time,” he says.

And the same is true for how we should think about our personal accomplishments. “Having very high standards of achievement – working hard, persevering, not being satisfied with what is merely acceptable – no doubt spurs people to achieve things that they would otherwise not achieve,” Prof. Schwartz says. “But there’s a crucial difference between shooting for perfection, realizing you can’t achieve it and yet still being satisfied with your accomplishments and shooting for perfection, thinking you can and should achieve it and thereby living a life of misery and perpetual disappointment.”

What’s required for a contented life is a personal investigation into what matters most. “It’s having to figure out what is worth pursuing. If you have high standards, you need to say ‘this is what’s important to me,’ in a job, in a college, in a relationship, in a house or whatever. It takes more reflection than simply allowing externally imposed ideals dictate what you should want.”

Of course, increasing age can make a person adjust the sails on her ship of expectations. Who among us mid-lifers hasn’t had to weather the knocks of life and realize that sometimes just being healthy, solvent and connected to good friends is more important than the big job you lost, the marriage that failed or the house you had to sell?

It’s about how you redefine what is excellence,” observes Dominique Browning, author of Slow Love: How I Lost My Job, Put on my Pajamas and Found Happiness. The former editor of House & Garden lost her job when the magazine folded in 2007 and found herself reeling from a number of changes. Her two sons had left home. Her post-divorce relationship of 10 years ended. She sold her “forever” house and downsized to Rhode Island. A high-achiever, accustomed to the kind of success people could see from the outside – a limo lift to a high-powered job, a house in New York, a social life among the media elite – she was suddenly adrift, caught in a “feeling of loss and disintegration.”

But one step at a time, she built a new life – freelancing, working in her garden and enjoying the beauty of each day – that didn’t have all the external markers of fulfilled expectations that she once had. “It’s about making a distinction between structure and values,” the now-55-year-old explains on the phone from Rhode Island. “My values remain the same. You can still keep your values even if you lose the structure, which can look like failure to others. I want to do the best that I can do. I care about meaningful work. I want to work with people I admire. I want to grow and I want to overcome fear.

“That’s how I would define my good enough life. That’s not defeatist. It’s the best life for me.”

Right Where I Am: 12 years, 9 months

Angie, the brilliant creative mind behind the blog Still Life With Circles and other related blogs & projects, recently came up with the great idea to have bereaved moms (& dads) write about where they are now in their grief -- how far they've come (or not) & what life after loss is like for them at this point in time.

I have only read a fraction of the 40-odd posts linked to Angie's initial post for this project, but I suspect I am probably further along in my journey than most of the other writers: coming up to 13 years since August 1998.

I have written about this topic before, I think -- most notably on a guest post for Glow in the Woods two years ago. Most if not all of what I wrote there still applies.

Thirteen years later, Katie is still very much a part of our lives. I still miss her, and feel her absence, even though she was never really "here" in the conventional sense, & her prenatal existence less than 7 months.

We still visit the cemetery every weekend. Most times now, I don't cry, unless maybe it's Mother's Day or a special "anniversary" date or just a crappy day for whatever reason. Mostly I just feel sad & wistful about what might have been, & happy to be there, close to her for a little while. She is always with me, of course, but the cemetery is her special place, a quiet place where I can set aside all my other thoughts & obligations, and just be with her and focus on her and think about her for awhile, before resuming the regular rhythm of my life again.

But there is never a day that goes by that I'm not thinking about her in some way -- about my all-too-brief pregnancy and how it ended, about our struggles to conceive again, about how old she would be & what she would be doing now.

In that regard, of course, we have (Not So) Little Girl Next Door, six months younger than Katie would have been, to act as our constant yardstick. Last night, she and half dozen friends were whooping it up for several hours on the trampoline in the backyard, which I can see from my living room & bedroom windows. They were jumping and shrieking and giggling in youthful exuberance, well after dark, even after dh & I had settled into bed with books before going to sleep for the night. I wasn't sure whether to be sad, knowing that Katie would probably have been among them, had she been here, or secretly, smugly pleased, knowing that at least it wasn't MY daughter out there creating a ruckus in the neighbourhood ; ) and that's one thing I will never have to worry about.

Probably the biggest difference between my life 13 years ago and my life today, however, is that I am not a mother (to a living child). I wasn't then either, but I still hoped to be. I am almost 13 years older now -- 50 -- and I know now that the motherhood ship has sailed permanently, that I will never be a mother to Katie's brother or sister. I've had 12+ years to think about this, and write about it and adjust to this reality, but the truth is that I still sometimes feel like the odd woman out, even among other parents who have dealt with loss &/or infertility.

The vast majority of other bereaved parents who lose a child in pregnancy or infancy either already have a child, or go on to have another child, or maybe both. This doesn't minimize their loss in the least, of course (although outsiders to the world of grief might think it does, or should) -- but the fact is, they are still actively parenting and experiencing parenthood in all its joys & sorrows & frustrations (just not parenting the child they lost). The rhythm of their lives is very much the same as most people's -- but much different than mine and dh's. Their lives are full of bedtime stories and temper tantrums, soccer games and daycare arrangements. They will know, eventually, what it is to see a child celebrate a birthday, graduate from high school, leave home to go to college, maybe get married and have a child themselves some day. They will, more likely than not, have someone to worry about them and visit them in the nursing home and leave their most precious belongings to.

I will not.

Already, some of my peers -- my friends & cousins -- are becoming GRANDPARENTS, reminding me that not only did I completely miss the parenthood boat, there is another new, related phase of life that will not be mine to share with them. In many ways, my life (& my life with dh) has continued on exactly as it always has. Their lives have expanded and changed in ways that mine never has & never will.

At the same time, my life HAS changed -- just in more subtle ways, and in ways that parents who have never experienced loss will never know or understand. They may know the joys & pains of parenthood in a way that I never will. I have known grief, and I would never have welcomed it willingly into my life -- but it has brought unexpected gifts and richness to my life in ways I never could have imagined.

I have watched, sadly, as friends & relatives have become distant in the years since we lost Katie. At the same time, we have made wonderful new friends, both "in real life" and online, who have also struggled with infertility & childlessness and who have experienced the pain of perinatal loss, who understand us as perhaps no one else can. We've both developed much greater empathy and compassion for the pain & struggles of others, and not just in the sense of infertility and loss. We have given back to the support group that helped us so much, volunteering for more than 10 years, something that many of the parents who attended (who would also have made wonderful facilitators) just don't have time to do. We know that grief has the power to tear some marriages apart -- ours, thankfully, has survived and become stronger. We spend more time together than most couples we know. We appreciate the good things about our life together.

We have endured subtle and not-so-subtle digs over the years about how "it must be nice" to be able to sleep in late, to afford whatever new purchase someone is admiring, to be able to retire early, as we are planning with hope -- the unspoken implication being that we can have and do all of these things because we don't have children. They don't stop to consider -- will never know -- the awful price we paid to have the life we have now. (If they did, I don't think they would envy us quite so much.) We both know that there are much, much more important things in life than things, or money, or clawing our way up the corporate ladder. At the same time, though, I refuse to apologize for having some things that others don't (both material & non). I would give it all up gladly to have my daughter back, but since that isn't going to happen, I will gladly take whatever advantages & nice things life sends my way.

Almost 13 years later, my life IS better than it was, immediately post loss. I have survived.

But I still wish things were different. I still wish she was here.

The Treatment Diaries: Weighing our options, August 2000

The entries in my journal hint at, but don't entirely reflect, the emotional strain and turbulence that I remember dh & I were going through at this time. The results of our first two Clomid cycles hadn't exactly been encouraging, and the early-morning routine of clinic visits was already taking its toll. At the same time, Dr. RE hinted that better results could be had with injectables, and that was tempting.

We spent the first few weeks of August on vacation visiting my family -- & celebrating my parents' 40th wedding anniversary (without any grandchildren for the guests to fuss over, of course, which just added to my guilt & stress). August 10th, day 28 of my current cycle, I called Dr. RE's office to make an appointment to discuss our options & next steps. The appointment was for August 17th, which happened to be day 2. If we wanted, we had the option of launching into a new cycle immediately afterwards, with the routine day 3 ultrasound & bloodwork.

In my journal, I outlined some of the points & questions I wanted to cover during our visit:

• How do you decide which meds I should take?
• Which injectables would you recommend for me?
• What will it do? (Good/Bad?)
• How much $$?
• How taken? (Injectables = training?)
• How many days?
• IUIs/wash: want to try!!!

Our conversation with Dr. RE was the usual maddening mix of encouragement & discouragement. On the negative side, I said I hadn't responded very well to the Clomid, & that my LH & FSH numbers were almost inversely proportionate to what they should be. I was only producing half the number of follicles he would expect to see. Ovulating on day 21 was "way too late."

Taking injectables, he said, would be like "stepping on the gas." Even so, he said the success rates for a woman my age were only 6-10% -- "for you, it would be less than 6%." He predicted that we would be spending at least $1500 per cycle, including the sperm wash for the IUI, but said we could return any unused medications for a refund. He assured me that learning to inject myself would be very, very easy & loaned me a video that outlined what to do.

We took the video & a pamphlet & said we would think about it and let him know. In my journal, I recorded dh as saying, "On the one hand, pretty low odds... on the other hand, don't want you to have any regrets. Can't do this indefinitely -- but if it would make you happy, can max out the credit cards."

Below that, I pasted my horoscope for the day: "According to your solar chart, you are on the verge of giving up on something that you just can't seem to crack. What you don't seem to realize is that you are closer to a breakthrough than you have ever been before. Hold on a little longer -- if you give up now, you will always regret it."

!!!!!!

Still, we dithered. I have some notes in my journal, outlining what I wanted to say in a phone message I left on Dr. RE's voice mail that night: "We've decided we're really not ready to make a decision yet... we need some more time to talk this over. We've been away on holidays, we've just passed the second anniversary of our daughter's stillbirth, we've been out the past two nights, so we really haven't had the time we wanted to mull this over. We know that, at this stage, every month counts, but we don't want to be pressured into making a hasty decision that we might regret later. We're going to take another month off to explore this a little further and will call you once we've made a decision one way or another."

In my journal, I wrote these lists:

Factors

• on holidays
• parents' 40th wedding anniversary
• no grandchildren (alive) = GUILT
• 2nd anniversary of daughter's stillbirth
• out two nights last week
• out Wednesday night AND tonight = no time to really discuss
• period = v. emotional
• bad back for two weeks
• = this is no way to make a decision!!

Should we continue with injectables?

Pros/Yes/Positives

• increase our chances (however slight)
• keep hope alive...
• we haven't tried this yet, OR the IUI -- do at least once (= no regret)(could/should have done more...)
• would only do if the numbers were right (= maybe not that often)
• less expensive than IVF
• we could set a limit on # of attempts/$
• if we give up on drugs, do we give up altogether?
• biological clock: time is running out -- make the most of it while we can
• I WANT TO HAVE A BABY!!!!!!!!!!
• if I don't try at least once, I will probably regret it and always wonder "what if"

Con/No/Negatives

• 6-10% chance (more like 6% max) -- @ $1,200-1,500 -- a gambler wouldn't take those odds...
• setting ourselves up for more disappointment, if #s not right this cycle, or if we do it and it doesn't work
• cost factor (less than IVF but still substantial...)
• always the urge to keep going: when do we stop?
• more early mornings, dr's appointments, etc. -- STRESS & EXHAUSTION
• NEEDLES (YUCK)... feel like a druggie
• possibility of side effects (what am I doing to my body?)
• even if pg, no guarantee of a baby, esp. w/bicornuate uterus
• lack of support from husband? -- he'll do what I want, but... (enthusiasm lacking) = stress and strain on marriage

And below all this, a notation: "Dh agrees: see infertility counsellor, get neutral 3rd party perspective."

*** *** ***

Several months earlier, I had attended an all-day Saturday seminar on IVF, sponsored by a local infertility support group. The guest speakers included various local REs (including my own), embryologists & researchers, representatives from sperm banks, and a couple of infertility counsellors who addressed the emotional aspects of treatment and parenting after infertility. I was particularly impressed with one counsellor who seemed friendly & down to earth, and had some great, practical points in her presentation. I picked up one of her business cards at one of the display tables, which said she did individual & couples counselling, specializing in grief, loss and reproductive issues. Perfect. I mentioned her name to one of our support group colleagues and was told that we regularly referred clients to her for individual counselling, when they requested it.

So on August 18th, I left a message requesting an appointment for dh & me with the infertility counsellor, briefly outlining our story and how I had found her, including the fact that we were wrestling with the decision whether to move on to more aggressive treatment. Our first meeting with her was on August 30th. We left work early and took both the subway and a streetcar to get to her office, in a funky old building in one of Toronto's ethnic neighbourhoods.

The night before our meeting, I had a strange and vivid dream that I described in my journal. I was trying to decide whether to give myself the Gonal-F injections... and I decided to just try giving myself shots -- so I was drawing up fluid from Vitamin E capsules (!) & injected myself in the stomach with them. It HURT, & I had blood and Vitamin E oozing out of holes everywhere on my stomach. Yuck.

Then the dream changed, and dh and I were on a bus with all of my coworkers -- only instead of seats, there were beds up & down the aisle. We were in bed, & I woke up and started fumbling with my thermometer to take my temperature (beep, beep...) & with the stuff to inject myself with. Dh rolled over, got up and went to the bathroom -- came back, but walked by me and crawled into bed with one of my (younger) coworkers!! who patted him on the back!! I started crying & crying, and hissing at him (trying not to make a scene), "Come BACK here!!"

I woke up in a cold sweat. I figured it reflected my subliminal fears that dh would quickly get tired of all this infertility crap and move on to a younger, more fertile woman. :(

My horoscope for the day read: "Someone you work with or know socially can be of inestimable value to you today -- all you have to do is let them help you out. Not even a Capricorn knows all the answers, but you will meet someone today who has the one answer you really need. Listen and learn."

*** *** ***

We hit it off with the counsellor immediately. Besides having infertility in common, she was originally from my home province, and we discovered we even knew a few of the same people. She told us a bit about her story, and we told her ours.

She started off by asking us what we needed from each other, and what we feared. Dh said he personally was ready to call it quits, but he didn't want me to have any regrets. He said his greatest fear was actually another pregnancy. The counsellor told him that was entirely understandable.

I said that while I wasn't wild about the idea of further, more aggessive treatment, and I didn't think I wanted to still be doing this when I was 45, I didn't want to give up just yet. I wanted to try the IUI at least once and see if the numbers improved. My fears: (1) the money & stress, (2) what am I doing to my body?? & (3) the needles. The counsellor said that was a very common fear.

The counsellor commented that to limit ourselves to just one try would be putting a whole lot of stress on ourselves (all our eggs in one basket). She suggested three trys -- setting a limit, as Dr. RE had suggested at our very first meeting. By three trys, she meant three "good" cycles, where we actually got to go through the whole cycle & do the IUI. If we were unsuccessful after three tries, she suggested either moving on to IVF, or stopping treatment altogether. "Call me then," she said. "It will help in making the transition."

She recommended Alice Domar's "Healing Mind, Healthy Woman" to me, and suggested a website I might want to check out (I didn't write down what it was & I can no longer remember).

We left feeling MUCH better and that it had been an hour, and money, well spent.

The Treatment Diaries: The Clomid Capers I & II, May- July 2000

We decided to go ahead & try Clomid for the next cycle. I got my first package on my day 3 visit to the clinic on May 10, 2000, & got the go-ahead to start after my bloodwork came back later that afternoon. (I also got told my triglycerides were slightly elevated, & my thyroid readings were slightly out of whack, which led to an adjustment in my medication.)

I started off on a dose of 50 mg (one pill per day). Cost: $32. In my journal, I listed the side effects I was feeling: sensitivity to bright light, FATIGUE, dry mouth in the morning, and a constant, dull headache.

We were at the clinic for ultrasounds & bloodwork on days 3, 8, 11 & 15, which (like today) was our Victoria Day holiday Monday. The follicles in my right ovary that day actually measured smaller than they had on day 11. "I'm shrinking??" I wrote in my journal. When I returned on day 18, the follicles in the right ovary were measuring more or less the same, but there were NO follicles visible in my left ovary. ??? Did I ovulate? I was asked to return on day 24, at which point there were no follicles in either ovary.

My notes from my conversation with Dr. RE that morning include this quote from him: "Your follicles went ppphhhttt." He said either I needed a higher dosage of Clomid or a different drug, & that we'd try a higher dosage first. Later that evening, he called me at home: my progesterone levels were way up, indicating I had ovulated. "How? I can't tell you," he said. "You can't be making that much progesterone & not have ovulated." He once again expressed interest in seeing the film of my HSG, & I signed a release form at my next office visit (on day 26) so that he could get it from the hospital.

We were back on day 33 for a pregnancy test -- which was, of course, negative. Dr. RE said he wanted to increase my dosage for the next cycle, although he warned that it would also likely increase the side effects.

*** *** ***

AF arrived on June 1, kicking off Clomic cycle #2. My dosage was increased to 100 mg or two pills per day (cost: $64), and the side effects I had experienced during my first Clomid cycle continued.

When we arrived at the clinic for our usual day 3 bloodwork, however, V., the friendly girl who had been taking my blood & answering my questions, was gone. She was replaced by N., an older woman who said little & had a much heavier hand with the needle (OW!). By Wednesday, I had a big yellow bruise on my arm. I later learned from the girls in the lineup at the u/s clinic that the dr had let V. go, wanting someone with more clinical experience. :( What a shame -- she made the experience so much more pleasant.

Day 7: the follicles on my right side were minuscule & on the left side, none could be seen. Great. :p

Day 14: We sat in the waiting room for 20 minutes, while N., the new technician, wandered (seemingly aimlessly) from the fridge to the lab & back again. There was nobody else in sight. Finally, as the waiting room began to fill up, I actually went to find her and ASK her to take my blood. Dh hates to be kept waiting at the best of times, & he was furious. It was almost 8:30, a half hour later than usual, when I finally slunk into the office (& we hadn't even seen the dr, either). Day 18, I had six women ahead of me in line at the ultrasound clinic, had to wait half an hour to chat with the dr, & didn't get into the office until nearly 9.

The chat hadn't been that encouraging either: Dr. RE walked in, shaking his head & saying, "Lori, Lori, Lori..." He told me my estrogen levels were half of what they should be, and (not for the first time) hinted that I might want to consider "other options." He told me to return in two days, but suggested that if my results continued to be poor, I should consider timed intercourse, instead of spending money on an IUI. Which was what happened.

My notes quote the dr as saying, "You have to think about what you want to do... how long you want to keep doing this..." and "there's no point in having you come in every two days if your numbers aren't better than this." (Reading this now, I keep wondering how I managed to keep slogging on as long as I did...!)

Later that night, dh & I must have had a talk, because I have some quotes from him too (along with a note: "discouraged/angry"): "I know he's just giving us the truth as he sees it... but he could be nicer/less negative about it!" And: "I'm most concerned about you... Maybe we should just live our lives. Don't need negativity, feeling bad about ourselves." My notes end: "Agreed: will talk more later."

Surprise! Our next visit on day 20 showed an LH surge. TI it was.We returned on day 27 (our 15th wedding anniversary) & day 34 for a pregnancy test -- which was negative.

"So what do you want to do next?" K., the office manager asked me over the phone, after delivering the bad (but not unexpected) news. "Have you thought about getting a little more aggressive?" What we were thinking about most, actually, was our upcoming vacation. I told her we would call when we returned.