The last time I talked about my health was a little over two months ago, when I struggled with how to approach our infertility woes. Since it's been a while, I thought I'd provide you a bit of an update.

As most of you know, we had planned--as directed by my OB/GYN--to undergo three cycles of the fertility drug Clomid (part of the strategy for dealing with my initial diagnosis of PCOS), which is supposed to induce ovulation. Because, in the last year and a half, I'd only ovulated two or three times instead of the customary 18, you can see why our chances of conceiving were probably pretty limited.

Unfortunately, Clomid came with unfortunate side-effects, which I had heard about from a friend and had read about more than made me comfortable. We only made it through two of the three cycles, which was not our choice, but I have to admit I was relieved when I went off the devil-drug. My OB said it wasn't really working, because during that time, I never ovulated on my own. Soon after, she referred me to a specialist.

Luckily, we were able to start seeing a specialist within the same practice in the hospital near our home. In that first appointment, the new doctor said, "We can make this as much of a science experiment as you'll let me make it" and assured us she would help us explore everything up to invitro-fertilization (IVF), which she would refer to yet another specialist if deemed necessary (and at which point, we would most likely drop out anyway, as IVF at over $10,000 per "try" is just a bit more than we can afford.) 

Drew was won over immediately by the new doctor's scientific, take-charge attitude, and I sobbed the rest of the day. For him, going about this very methodically was, finally, sounding like the most logical approach. And he was right. This new doctor was right, too. But I was the one getting poked and prodded, and I was already exhausted and overhwhelmed from the unsuccessful Clomid cycles...feeling very hopeless and depressed. It was a lot to adjust to all at once. By the end of that first appointment, she sent us on our merry way with a lab slip ordering 11 different blood tests for me (the ladies in the lab gave me the title of girl "with the second most tests ordered at once, ever"), a "special" test for Drew, and another ultrasound for me.

Drew, though traumatized by his little test, was happy to find out that his "guys" weren't the problem. That narrowed it down a bit...down to what we already knew to be true--the problem was me. The ultrasound the new doctor ordered showed that the major cyst on my left ovary had grown more than 5 mm since November--not good knews, she said, but ovarian drilling was an option, down the line, to deal with that. The initial blood tests she ordered showed that my FSH (Follicle Stimulating Hormone) was low and that I'm borderline anemic (which I have been several times in my life before). After ordering a couple more blood tests and a post-coital exam a couple of days later, she was well on her way to de-bunking my original PCOS diagnosis. I have some of the symptoms (ovarian cysts, for example) but not others (obesity, although I am over-weight, insulin resistance). The post-coital exam showed that my body also produces an antibody that kills off Drew's "guys," thereby making it even more difficult for us to conceive on our own. Her suggestion to deal with that: FSH shots (to get my eggs going) followed by an IUI (putting the guys where they need to go so that they don't die on the way).

We haven't been through any of the suggested procedures yet, because there were some other things that the doctor wanted to rule out first (still sticking to her scientific experiment approach), such as blocked tubes. She ordered an HSG, which would help determine that. Also, earlier this month, we received some other test results that required some further investigation before moving forward on anything else. We go back in again next week.

There, now you're caught up. Exciting stuff, eh?

-Em

So, I finally uploaded some of the pictures that had been patiently waiting in the Nikon for a few weeks. I didn't really take any photos at my sister's wedding, partly because Drew had the camera up until later in the reception (and partly because, duh, Tiff had it covered), and the couple photos I tried to take of Rachel, Jason, and Ben when they visited a couple weeks ago didn't turn out at all.  I will spare you these photos as well as my many other "oopsie daisies" that come from trying to use the Nikon in complete manual mode and playing around with the aperture, shutter speed, ISO, etc. As you can obviously tell, I have an awful lot yet to learn!

Still, it is fun to get out there and experiment when the mood strikes...to practice.

There. I feel like I accomplished something.

Will write more soon.

-Em

During our carpool drive into work this morning, Drew tunes into the local Oldies station, while I try to stay awake in the passenger seat. I'm looking out the window and half-nodding off, when suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I see Drew start to "dance."

First, he sweeps large vertical, then horizontal, strokes as his wrist bends with each stroke. Next, his index finger presses down on an imaginary nodule, as the horizontal, sweeping movements continue. Then his hand re-positions, as though he were holding a gun, never ceasing the grand gestures. Finally, his fist clenches around an imaginary handle, and the "W" strokes begin.

Can you guess what these new dance moves were emulating?

1) painting with a brush

2) painting with a spray can

3) painting with a Wagner sprayer

4) painting with a roller

Part goofball, part mime...back off ladies, he's all mine!

I think his inadvertent dance moves are his subconscious' way of begging for a house project, what do you think?

-Em

So, apparently, since being on a blogging hiatus for that six week stint, I have forgotten how to post. It's not that I've forgotten how to log in to my blogharbor account, or click the 'Post New Entry' link, or write (well, that could be argued), or upload photos. I just don't think about doing it as much anymore, because it's no longer a habit. Before, I would often think, "Hey, that'd be a cool blog post!" or "Hmmm, I should post about this topic on the blog." It was on my mind more often.

But now...I'm out of practice. So, without having uploaded the many pictures still patiently waiting on the Nikon's memory card, without thinking about a well-written or somewhat engaging blog post to write, I'm just going to do it, already.

Lucky you for having to bear with me while I get my bearings!

(Photos soon, I promise!)

-Em

and a new attitude (hopefully). The blogging hiatus has been good for my psyche. I was feeling so overwhelmed with my health woes (and the emotional instability that piggy-backed right along), that I didn't feel I could devote any time to this hobby. Let me revise that statement: I could've devoted time to it, but I don't think any of you would've liked what you saw here. The ugliness was reserved for elsewhere.

There is a lot to catch you up on. Our yard is looking better than when we moved in--all of the weekends of yardwork has paid off. And Molly and Sammy are enjoying having free reign of the yard with the privacy fence. I have a lot of pictures of the yard to upload and share, too. And guess what? Drew and I bought bikes! Yikes! It has been fun making use of all the bike trails right near our house. We are definitely trying to make the most of being where we are right now, and I think it's helping get our minds off of other things, too.

Well, it's the first day of June. Though the calendar doesn't agree with me, I'm announcing today as my first official day of the summer...and I don't know about you, but (even if sometimes I don't want to, or it seems like too much), I plan to relish every minute of it.

My psychiatric advice to myself? Baby steps to the elevator. (Thanks, What about Bob?). 

I'll see you around.

-Em