It begins

I am five months pregnant. There. I said it.

Our story began in early 2002. We'd been married for almost four years and we thought--hey, let's have a kid. Our hope was to have the first one before we were 35, then think about a second one, perhaps before we turned 40.

Fast forward to 2006. After two miscarriages, three rounds of Clomid, two rounds of IVF, acupuncture, yoga, and fertility massages, we were starting to think that we should perhaps really start to look into adoption. But we decided to go one more round. We're not 40 yet, and Mac, our veteran fertility doc from the South who is loud, funny, and very wise (if he was a cartoon, he'd be a rooster with a bow tie) said that if we had the energy to go through it again, people who have gotten pregnant will get pregnant again and have a high percentage of carrying it to term. OK. So we decided to go again.

IVF is grueling. You never get used to seeing that big box of meds and syringes arrive in a mail. Meds and syringes that will go into your body in the matter of two weeks or less. For this round, Mac's clinic has changed its lab to this new, very high tech place with "great success rate." But we know better. Our luck has been lousy. So we were not impressed. Facility is impressive, people seemed nice, except for the receptionist who seemed constantly confused. When your tension and stress levels are high, the smallest things can set you off. DAMMITTT!!!! Why is the medication this difficult to supplement?!?! Why don't they know how much each bottle of progesterone is? Why do they say the pharmacist will send a receipt with the exact amount, when they don't? Why can't they be perfect? Why do bad things always happen to cute people?? We're cute!! WHYYYYYYYY?!?!

Then you step back. Do yoga. Downward dog...and namaste.

The oddest part of IVF is that you begin your cycle with birth control pills. No, really, that's what you do. When I first learned that, I wanted to say, "no, but I REALLY don't think I need that." But you do so that your reproductive activities are totally controlled artificially. Three weeks of that which could vary from fine to nuts. During the second round, I plummeted into depression, which is so not my nature. But the day after I got off the pills, I was skipping down the road with my dog. So there you go. This time, it was fine--or I was already so disturbed no one could tell. Then begins the injections. This one wasn't bad because I just had to do two in the evenings as opposed to two in the morning and one at night. But it had to be between certain hours so while I was directing a show-I had to sneak off to a bathroom to stick myself. I felt like a THS (True Hollywood Story)--but instead of meth, I was doing Follistim. Must. Make. Eggs. During the first round, in which I hyper-stimulated, my uterus was so enlarged that they couldn't see my ovaries. They had to literally dig around for it to look at egg production in the ultrasound. Really fun. And because of that, I felt like a sea turtle. I asked Philip to please call National Geographic if I started to head towards the ocean to dig a hole.

Then comes the retrieval. You go totally under for it-which is good, but it still takes a toll on your body. During this year alone, I had done one retrieval, then a transfer, then a D&C. My body was starting to say, "Hey! It's that thing again where you go to sleep and wake up and vomit at home!" I gotta say it IS the best sleep you will ever have. Mac leans over right before and says, "Don't write a play about this." To which I said, "If I do, it'll be a comedy," He laughed a very big Mac laugh and I was out.

The thing about IVF is that despite all that effort-you can come up with nothing. There is no guarantee. Conception is still so much chance and mystery that no amount of medical research and experience and promise you good eggs. Mac came to us after and said that they were only able to retrieve 4 this time. That's low. Going in, it looked like I had about a dozen follicles, but only 4 were any good to go any further. In the second round, Philip overheard a nurse saying to a couple next door, "we got 20". TWENTY?!? We didn't even know that was possible. Show off. Ours are cuter. Then you have to wait 24 hours to see how many mature and how many fertilize. They want to make as many as possible because during the 24 hours numbers dwindle. So 4 to start is not good. We're disappointed. But remain stoic. We go home and I sleep. I have some juice and toast but they don't stay down. So I just lay low. Philip goes to my rehearsal to cover for me and our friend Naho comes -- with soup! -- to keep an eye on me. My head is blank. I can't feel anymore.

I go back to work the next day-though I'm tired and bloated. During the break from rehearsal, I notice a message from Mac himself. He NEVER does his own calling. His assistants do. My stomach gets tight and my heart sinks. I beg Philip to call him back. We got one egg. ONE.

So we decide that this one probably won't take, but we'll do it anyway. It only really takes one. Who knows? But we're tired of the game. We can't possibly stay hopeful anymore. It's a sign. My body is saying it's done. Philip suggests we sing ONE from Chorus Line. So that is all that is going through my head until the transfer.

More later...