Introduction

I am usually a very private person but I have decided to start this blog because it turns out that infertility really is one of those terrible taboo subjects that isn’t made for polite conversation. And unfortunately, we just don’t have any friends who are going through the process. That would be primarily because of our age. We’re rather young, and most of our friends have just started to think about babies and such. However, thanks to a family history of infertility and a very, very obsessive mother I was diagnosed with PCOs at the fine age of 11. Yup, 11. Which leads us to the medical problems …

Me, well, I’m CD 5,475 or so. One natural period in my life (well, possibly a single metformin-induced period in 2007, but it was a hard call). My sister spent years trying to conceive, and because of the very rare diagnosis she was given I have been followed obsessively by a reproductive endocrinologist since age 12. I have fertility work-up bloodwork going back over a decade. And the diagnosis is still PCOs, with possibly a side of very high cortisol.

TTC: It was a joke. We had about 3 liberating months off the birth control pill before we realized ain’t nothing going to happen if I don’t ovulate (and of course after 3 months of no bleeding I was already starting to think about cycts and cancer and such and had to find someone to prescribe something). And then enters our 2nd fertility problem: a long-distance relationship. 5 years and counting of commuting. So our cycle schedule involves a lot of plane tickets. Oh, did I mention he has no vacation days at all this year? Not a one. So I’ll be doing all the travel this year.

What will make this blog readable, and not too depressing:
1. A strong irreverence for the seriousness of medical procedures. A little story might capture this. Last year I had an u/s scheduled for 11 am on a Friday, which necessitated a 6 am flight. Which resulted in me being starving. And after being stuck, undressed in an ice box for 3 hours waiting for a 3 minute procedure, I was about to lose it. So the kindest nurse ever brought me a plate of cookies. Just as the doctor walked in the room. So, there I was scooting up the stirrups while clasping my plate of cookies. The horrified doctor asked if he should come back in a few minutes, but me, I told him, no worries, proceed full speed ahead. And really, it doesn’t. I’m just not that shy, and I’ve been through this before.
2. A full appreciation of the ironies of trying to produce a baby. I just moved to a gorgeous (but tiny) apartment that would be more appropriate for a baby (whenever one should arrive). And who lives next door? A lovely woman on her 6 week maternity leave. So I wake up most mornings to the sound of someone else’s newborn crying. Fabulous.
3. A strong liberal, feminist take on this process. We’re not really your traditional couple, from our willingness to commute long-distance in pursuit of very competitive careers, to the fact that we haven’t gotten married yet (Great stories about trying to convince my doctors that I really am not a lesbian, and that Jim Dear, when he finally showed up to an appointment, is my forever spouse and future lawfully-wedded hubby and not some for-hire sperm donor who also does doctors appointments. It gives me immense sympathy for the absurd objections to lesbian mommies).

What’s on the agenda for this year: Hopefully a le.tro.zole cycle in February, and then maybe another in March (let’s be honest, when did this stuff ever work the first time around). Hopefully we’ll be ready for more intense treatments by the summer, although given the amount of tears spilled on progesterone 2 weeks ago, we’ll have to see.