Be Agressive...Be, Be Agressive!

Last month's events brought about a whirlwind of "a-ha" moments, opportunities for growth and time for reflection and giving thanks. I was able to conquer a few fears and resolve a few unanswered questions; giving myself the sense of freedom to move forward. Each success and achievement last month was another stepping stone established along my path; each stone leading me in the right direction and providing me with a solid foundation to support me in my next steps. 

What are my next steps? Onward! I've secured a sperm donor (once again) and I'm ready to move forward! After insemination #7 failed, I vowed to take more aggressive measures to getting pregnant. Natural and clomid-assisted IUI's were clearly not doing the job! I decided to kick it up a notch and try hormones again. This time however, I would not swallow a few pills for five days. Instead, I would give myself a nightly injection over the course of three weeks. Yikes!

These hormones, called gonadotropins, are used to purposely hyper stimulate the ovaries of women. Careful monitoring is necessary while undergoing injections, as gonadotropins may over stimulate the ovaries to release multiple eggs, giving rise to multiple gestations (twins, triplets, quadruplets, etc.). I would need to visit the doctor's office frequently so that ultrasounds may be performed to track follicle growth and egg development.
 
To prepare for the hormone treatment, Kaiser required me to make an appointment to learn how to administer the injections. Thankfully, I had already booked the appointment after insemination #7 (just in case). Coincidently (or not), the day of the appointment happened to be the day after "the talk" and the day I discovered 5696 was back on the market - how's that for timing?

The day of the appointment, I arrived promptly and waited patiently to be called into an exam room to learn from a nurse how to perform the injections. I was taken back however, when the nurse stepped into the waiting room, called my name and that of another woman sitting close by and directed us to follow her down the hallway. We entered into a small conference room, equipped with a whiteboard, chart paper on an easel, and several long tables pushed together, surrounded by swivel chairs. Odd, I thought.

At first glance, it looked as if the room had been set up for an exam of sorts - paper and writing utensils neatly organized on the table and adequately spaced apart between each seating position. When told by the nurse to find the packet with my name written upon it, I got a closer look and realized the items on the table were not test materials at all.

Resting upon the tables, before each neatly positioned chair, was a packet of information providing instructions and detailing the hormone treatment process. Just inches above the reading material, sat a square-packaged alcohol pad, a syringe about 3-4 inches in length and a small glass vial containing a clear liquid. I took my seat and instantly started to feel jittery with nerves. Oh gosh, what have I gotten myself into?

 The tall blonde woman who was also in the waiting room with me, sat to my left and we were told more women would be arriving shortly. As I looked around I counted six more stations set up, just like mine. Golly, this was not private lesson, this was a class! Eek!

 One by one, the women arrived, each apologizing for their tardiness. To the left of the tall blonde, also on my side of the table, was another blonde - rather "uppity" with her beige, ruffled blouse and silver flats - I'm guessing from Nob Hill or the Marina. Across from her, rested a well-rounded, short haired woman with a barbed wire tattoo wrapped around her left bicep. Next to her was a frail and lanky curly haired brunette with cat-eyed glasses and a busy top. At the head of the tables, sat two married couples - both of which I would never have matched up and paired together. As I am thinking to myself, oh how nice, husbands here to support and learn as well, I happen to glance around the room at the left ring finger of each woman and notice that each of them are wearing wedding bands. I am the lone ranger with a naked finger.

 Class is in session. The nurse, Yvette, takes her place at the head of the room and directs our attention to the whiteboard, where she has a route map and timeline of the hormone procedure. As she begins to explain each segment of the trip, I tally the days in my head and begin to think the process is longer than the 5-10 days my doctor had explained to me. Getting to the end of the road map on the board, Yvette confirms my suspicions and says that the whole process will last approximately three weeks.

 Oh no! I leave to Hawaii in two weeks! What will I do? As my brain explores every avenue - packing the hormones in a cooler, injecting myself while on vacation and visiting a Kaiser on the island - Yvette announces sternly, "...if you have a vacation planned in the next three weeks you should not start injections until you return." Boo. So much for my alternative plan. For the rest of the class I don't give up hope, and decide to talk with Yvette one on one after the class.

 After reviewing the packet of information, introducing the drugs and paraphernalia to us, and how to mix the drug with saline, Yvette tells us it is time to practice giving ourselves an injection. She first demonstrates on herself, and then asks the husbands to practice on their wives first, so they can leave the room to give the rest of us privacy. The husbands fumble with the syringe, take several attempts to find a firm hold on the fatty part of their wives' arms and inject their wives lovingly. One, who reminds me of a blonde mail-order Russian bride giggles the whole way through, while the other, a simple mid-western looking straight-haired brunette jitters with nerves and clenches her eyes and teeth shut.

 Once the husbands exit the room it is safe to expose our mid-drifts, the easiest area to administer the shot to ones’ self. Quickly the blonde from Nob Hill pops up out of her seat, pulls up her silk blouse and grabs the syringe. I understand why she is full of confidence and gung-ho when she announces to us that she has a beautiful 15 month old, born of the same process - on the first attempt. Oh wow, that's encouraging! She quickly and easily injects herself and says farewell, as she needs to leave early.

 Next to go is the plump, tattooed wife and I am thankful for this as we're moving in a clockwise direction. Had we moved counter-clockwise, I would have had to go third. One by one, the women stand up confidently, pull up their shirts and stick themself. They all do it so easily and show no fear or pain, yet I am still nervous and notice my leg is jostling up and down. I've never really had a problem with needles but it feels different now that I'm poking myself in place of a professional.

 All of the women on the opposite side of table have completed their task with flying colors and now it's time for the jittery wife from the mid-west to practice on herself. After a few deep breathes, she follows through, and says, "Oh my gosh, I can't believe I was stressing over that!" Ooh, another good sign, I think!

 I'm up next! Yikes! Despite paying close attention to Yvette's demonstration and even after watching six women before me, I am still doubtful with every step. As Yvette hovers over me and the other women look on, I remove the cap from the glass vial of saline (we’re just injecting ourselves with salt water for practice). Next, I remove both caps from the syringe, exposing the plunger on one end and the thin, silver needle on the opposite side. Inserting the needle end into the vial, I pull up on the plunger and withdraw the saline. After removing the needle from the vial, I inspect the solution for air bubbles. I give the side of the syringe a few good, professional flicks. I rest the syringe carefully on the table while I wipe a small portion of my belly with the alcohol swab. Pinching my belly fat with my left hand (attractive, I know) and holding the syringe with my right hand, I position the syringe at a 90 degree angle from my spare tire. Chanting over and over in my head, Yvette's words, "Straight in and straight out," I take a deep breathe, firmly plunge the syringe into my flesh, apply pressure on the plunger to release the solution and steadily remove the needle within seconds.

Done! Phew! I did it! So proud of myself! Small pinch, nothing more! The hardest part was getting over the idea of sticking my body with a needle. Before pulling my shirt down, several of the ladies comment on my tattoo and ask me to turn around to show it off. I realize then how ridiculous the last hour of nervous stress and energy has been - three non-stop hours of needles searing at my skin to create a work of art on my side, and I was wincing over a measly needle being injected into my fat for under 10 seconds? Geesh Tania, how silly of you!

 We all graduate the injection class with high marks. Our diploma, a red plastic needle depository with a swinging top, that reminds me of a mini trash can, awaits our pick up on the way out the door. I follow Yvette to her office to discuss my scheduling issue. Looking closer at the calendar, she confirms that the timing for this cycle is not good. I cannot start this month. My tone of voice clearly shows that I am let down and disappointed. Yvette suggests we look ahead to the next cycle.

 I tell her my return date from Hawaii. We count three weeks from my return date...shoot! It runs into my South America trip with Julie! Ugh! Don’t say I need to cancel my trip! I’m devastated.  I thank Yvette and head to the pharmacy to pick up my first batch of hormones (they'll hang out in the fridge until I'm ready for them).

 On the drive home, I'm sad, disappointed and not looking forward to telling Julie I need to cancel our trip. I go over and over in my head other options. When I get home I count and recount the dates in my calendar, hoping to find a mistake or a loop hole. Nothing. If I plan to do the injections, then I need to begin them when I return from Hawaii. If I were to wait until after returning from South America, the school year will have started and it would be too difficult to go to all the necessary doctor's visit during the work day.

 There is no other option. I need to start the injections when I return from Hawaii and I need to cancel my trip to South America. Thankfully I did not purchase my ticket yet. And thankfully, when I explained the situation to Julie, she was more than supportive and we've already planned an alternative trip! Yay!

 So, that's what's been going on! I leave to Hawaii in less than a week for some playtime. I need to start my injections on day #22 of my birth control pill cycle (I need to stay on the pills until I begin the injections). Day #22 will fall during the first week of August, which will grant me exactly three weeks before the start of the new school year. The timing will work out perfectly! Let's hope that getting pregnant this time around works out perfectly as well!

Guess Who's Baaaaaack???

Well, in just a week's time I had made some considerable strides.  I buckled down to write a heartfelt letter, mustered up the courage to send the letter, waited patiently for a reply and finally, respectfully accepted the answer.  I felt proud of my growth, yet after all the movement, I was still left without a donor.

Not having vials on reserve or a donor number to claim as my own was making me nervous. I did have however, the details of three potential donors jotted down on a clipboard, should I need them in a case of an emergency. Well, sound the alarm, this was an emergency!  I needed to choose one of the lucky potentials so that I could have vials prepared for my upcoming cycle.

Over the course of the week, while waiting for the answer to the million dollar question, I had returned to the clipboard and actually considered settling on one of the three donor potentials.   As usual, being the thinker and planner that I naturally am, I wanted to be prepared in case the answer to my proposal was "no."  My initial thought was to purchase vials right away, not wait for this guy's response and to take care of my needs.  I couldn't let the actions of this man sway or veer me off course.

After much consideration I opted to wait for his reply.  I came to my senses, recognized that I had just made the ballsiest move of my lifetime, and opened myself up to a grand opportunity.   If I had went ahead and purchased before knowing his response, I would have not only slammed shut the door of opportunity upon myself, but I would have dishonored my growth and the momentous moves I had achieved.

So I stuck it out, waited out the week and got my answer.   Having no judgement or regrets that I waited, I got back to business the very next day after the phone call. I reviewed the donor's details I had scribbled on my clipboard.  Not crazy with any of them, I decided to visit the PRS website just in case more donors had been recently added. As I perused the donor catalog, my jaw literally dropped as I saw before me on the screen "5696" back on the catalog!  I was speechless. I was utterly confused. I was told months ago that he had reached his family limit and was off the catalog for good. Was this some kind of mistake? Or was this for real? Since it was after business hours, I set the alarm on my phone to remind me to call first thing in the morning.

Moments before 9AM, I was on the phone with PRS. Indeed, 5696 was back on the market! I inquired as to why I was given misinformation and explained the turmoil it sent me through, dealing with the disappointment and having to search for a new donor. The receptionist apologized and verified that he was barely half way to his family limit. He had been taken off temporarily as his specimens were out of stock and in quarantine. 

Ok, moving on, enough small talk! Please reserve three vials for me right away! Fearful that he would again run out of vials, I offered to pick up the vials in two days.   I was paranoid that if I purchased and stored them at PRS for too long that they would swoop them away from me to give to current families of 5696. This is a rare situation, but something that could occur, as the clinic caters to families seeking to have siblings.  So, knowing that this was a possibility, I figured if I picked my vials up, swept them off to Kaiser for storage, then they would me mine ALL mine (muahahahah)!

When I went to pick up my little guys, I was told they could only give me two vials instead of the three that I requested. Since the prepurchase, two days prior, the lab realized that several of the vials had already been prepurchased and reserved for other women. I was getting what was left. Ok, whatever, give them to me NOW!!! I wasn't going to feel satisfied and safe until the tank was placed at my feet! Of course I was disappointed I wasn't getting what I requested, but what mattered was that there were two for me! Must have vials now!!! 

Though I couldn't wait to whisk them away, I asked them to call me later in the day to let me know when more vials would be available. I was told later that afternoon that the vials currently in quarantine wouldn't be available until October! And as it stood, there were only about a dozen available, as some had already been prepurchased! 5696 was quite the popular stud! I took my chances and decided to not prepurchase additional vials. I was going to take a gamble with the pair I had secured within the walls of Kaiser. They were officially mine ALL mine!

So, a frustrating experience? Yes, indeed. Being told my donor wasn't available anymore was devastating. The stress of searching new sperm banks and other potential donors - ugh, tiring, daunting and discouraging! And was it worth it? Every single nanosecond!

You know there's a lesson in this one, right? Have you figured it out yet? Well, it hit me like a boulder the moment I laid eyes on 5696's number back on the catalog. Consider the timing. When was it that I checked the donor catalog? The day AFTER finding out my answer to the million dollar question. Still not making the connection? Let me spell it out...

If donor 5696 had never been taken off the charts, I would have gone along my merry away, trying to get pregnant. Consider however, what occurred in the weeks that followed 5696 being removed from the catalog...yes, panic, stress and overwhelming sensations. And, what did that all lead to?   The letter. It pushed me to write and send the letter. I had so many doors closed on me that I felt I had nothing to loose.   I finally addressed the question I had been wondering for months. 

If 5696 had remained on the catalog, I would never have made the moves that I did. He NEEDED to be removed! It was the kick in the ass that I needed to follow through with something I had been considering for a very long time. Thank goodness he was removed!!! I would never have felt as proud of myself as I do now. I would never have taken the risk that I did. I would have been left wondering. Thank you Creator! I clearly see and hear your message!

I will say it again - the Universe works in mysterious ways. Creator has a plan for each of us. The roadsigns along our path of life are sometimes fuzzy and difficult to comprehend, but this signal could not have been more clear. Thank goodness for the awareness I've been granted. I am thankful for every moment! Though I feel as if my path may have went in a few circles, over a number of hurdles, up steep inclines and barreling down cliff sides, I feel as if I'm on track now. I am skipping gaily along the yellow brick road...and toting along with me, two vials of 5696!

The Power of "And"

Signed, sealed and delivered.  The letter was sent.  Time was ticking.  As each day ended and another began, I felt the bubbling of anxiety well up from within.  I trusted that I would hear from him, though each additional day was a test of faith.  Four days later, on the last day of school, came the reply.  Before even opening the email, a wealth of relief washed over me, my eyes closed in prayers of gratitude and small tears of joy trickled down my face.

I was elated and I hadn't even read the response.  I had no idea what his answer was.  And it really didn't matter.  He replied.  That was what mattered.  In my heart, I had let go, surrendered and trusted that I would hear from him.  I knew that he wouldn't brush me off or ignore me.  It was so gratifying then, to see his name in my inbox.  Having placed so much trust in a mere belief, and to have before my eyes, proof of that belief come true, was rewarding in itself.             

I clicked on the email and read.  I cautioned myself to read slowly, word for word, and to not jump ahead.  He first apologized for taking longer than he had wished to respond.  He was caught up in work and wanted to have an uninterrupted moment to talk.  He preferred to talk on the phone (what a gentleman), and mentioned that he had read my blog and thought it was "great."  His tone was sincere and gentle.  I couldn't have asked for more...well except for perhaps, "Yes, yes, yes! I'll be your donor!" strewn across the page!

A few days later his named graced my telephone, and again the overwhelming sensation of gratitude weighed upon my heart.  "Surprise!"  Was all I could think to say to start the conversation.  Small talk seemed rather silly when something so dramatic loomed across the radio waves.  I gave him the floor and listened.

The discussion that commenced was the most intimate, touching and heartfelt conversation we've had to date.  He admired my decision to become a mother, acknowledged by courage in asking him to become my donor and admitted he was flattered by the proposal...and that his answer was, "no."  

"No."  There it was.  Said and done.  Oddly, I was not devastated.  I didn't even need to pretend for the rest of the phone call that I was happy-go-lucky.  I didn't need to pretend because I was really, really, ok with the answer.  Really.  I knew before taking this leap of faith that it was a long shot.  I knew that "no" was a possibility.  And, I was truly, ok.

I think what made the whole situation "ok" was that I had already reaped the benefits and felt the reward.  By writing this letter and pulling the gutsiest move of my lifetime, I could not have been more proud of myself.  I've given myself the beautiful gift of trust, surrender and unconditional love.  I don't think I've ever loved myself more than I do today.  I opened myself up to a far-fetched opportunity, defeated the doubts and negative thoughts in my mind and worked my damnedest to give myself something big, huge, monumental.  I did all this because I know I am worthy.  I deserve big, huge and monumental.  

We spoke for just under an hour.  We were honest, impeccable and trusting.  He listened as I told him in detail, the story of deciding to become a mother, meeting him, and questioning whether to tell him.  I confessed my fears of not seeing him again, had I told him my truth.  I explained the events that led me to finally share my truth and ask him to become my donor.

He reciprocated by listening intently, asking thoughtful questions, and responding earnestly.  He understood why I needed to ask, commended me on my decision to do so and even helped me to work through some of my next step dilemmas.  The conversation was a beautiful potpourri of truth, compassion, love and laughter.  I felt closer to him and the thoughts I carried of him, that he was a sincere, loving person, were instantly validated.    

After all was said and done, I had to ask yet another candid question.  (I mean really, I just asked the man to be my sperm donor, is there anything I can't ask him???)  I needed to put my final fear to rest.  I needed to know if he still wanted to see me, knowing now that I was actively trying to get pregnant.

"Are you crazy woman?  Of course I still want to see you!"  was the response. 

Long sigh, eyes closed, deep breathes.  I had a moment.  I could have died.  Everything was falling into place. 

When I mentioned in my last blog that this fine gentleman could not have picked a more inconvenient time to enter my life, I was sorely wrong.  Hindsight is 20/20.  Knowing what I know now, I realize he couldn't have come at a more fitting and appropriate time in my life.  He was just what I needed.  He has been a teacher to me in ways that I'm sure he doesn't realize and in ways that I'm still learning myself.         

So, he wasn't sent to me to serve as my donor.  Still, he was sent to me at a significantly transitionary time in my life.  A part of my life in which I had "given up" on men and love.  I looked the other way in order to focus on giving myself what I once thought only loving a man could give me - a baby.  He helped me to understand that I could have both.  The power of "and."  I could date, flirt, indulge and revel in the affections of a man while at the same time, seeking my passion to become a mother.  I can have my cake and eat it too.

This was a powerful lesson.  And there were more lessons to follow.  In fact, the day after our phone call, yet another lesson revealed itself...


   

Time to Phone a Friend

The Universe works in mysterious ways.  Creator has a plan for each of us and slowly reveals this plan in obscure, cryptic and convoluted messages.  Most often these messages manifest themselves after a difficult lesson has been learned, yet only to those in awareness.  These signs, signals, messages, and lessons are often overlooked by those who do not sit in the seat of consciousness.  The gift of reflection and meditation grants us more self-awareness, opens our minds and hearts and allows us to behold the lessons of each challenge and downfall.


I do not claim to be a Zen master, yogi or guru of enlightenment.  I can testify however, to the power of reflection, meditation and self-awareness.  This journey to become a mother has presented a number of challenges and countless moments of devastation.  Through it all, with the help of Sistren Love, I've sought to listen for the lesson of each hurdle.  My biggest lesson, thus far, has been the act of surrendering.  Giving up control and letting go.  Learning to trust that the Universe will provide and that everything happens for a reason.  

Two weeks ago, I sat in uncomfortable position, having to select one of three donors that were back-ups for 5696, who had been taken off the donor catalog.  I didn't have my heart set on any one, though it was necessary to make a decision as I was out of vials and quickly approaching my next cycle.  I just couldn't bring myself to choose, there was an uneasy feeling in my gut and a heavy force weighing down upon me.    

Confiding in my sistrens, they reminded me of one remaining option - an option that had been suggested over and over since the beginning of this journey.  One that I easily shot down each time, though I truly was tempted to execute.  Acknowledging that I had exhausted every suggestion, tried every avenue and considered every solution, I was left with this one, final proposal.  It was to time to phone a friend.  

Yes, a friend.  But not just any friend.

If this friend and I were close, if we were tight and had a history, if we knew each other back and forth, inside and out, perhaps I would have considered asking some time ago.  Or, if this was a friend that I had been in a committed relationship with, one in which we knew each other on an intimate level and had shared a piece of our lives with each other, that would have made the idea easier to digest.  Instead, this gentleman and I maintained a rather complex, yet immature relationship.  A relationship that was so young and new it had not had adequate time to develop and flourish.  We had not known each other long, we were not in a committed relationship nor were we even boyfriend/girlfriend.  

Over the months, I've met several women who have asked their close male friends or gay friends to be their donors. This concept makes complete sense to me and is an entirely reasonable alternative to using a sperm bank.  My situation, given the relationship's early stages, seemed ridiculous, absurd and downright crazy.  Asking this friend would be akward for so many reasons.  We hadn't established a tight, steady partnership, he had no idea I was actively tyring to get pregnant and his profession placed him in the public eye.  I would have to be insane to follow through with this proposition!    

Who is this "friend" you may be wondering?

Well, if you know me well enough, or if you've been following this blog long enough, than you know that have a special "friend" that I've spent time with for almost a year now.  You may recall a blog in which I described meeting a tall, dark and handsome gentleman, last summer at a concert, the day after returning home from Indonesia.  Mmm hmm, well that's the one.  He was the final option my girls had been urging me to pursue since the day he sauntered into my life. 

His entrance into my life couldn't have been more untimely...(or, in retrospect, couldn't have been more perfect).  I had had my fun in Indo, and was buckling down to start the mommy track.  I had swore off men and relationships in order to focus on getting pregnant.  Just as I did so, this suave, sexy being entered my life.  Isn't it always the case that opportunity knocks when you're least expecting it?               

In the beginning, I refused to put all my eggs in one basket.  I didn't want to get ahead of myself and expect a second or third date.  But there was.  And then a few more.  I didn't know what to make of the relationship.  And could I even call it a relationship?  Living in far apart cities, if not states, his high profile career...there were so many variables (including my own doubts and insecurities) that kept me from accepting the term "relationship." 

Our unknown "label" was just one of many reasons that kept me from sharing my journey to become a mother with my acquaintance.  I also feared that if I revealed to him my desire to have a child, he would think I was trying to trap him into getting me pregnant and I would never see him again.  It was these fears that held be back so many times from sharing my truth.

How then did I conquer the fear and move forward?  Truthfully, the fear never subsided.  The fear was squashed a bit however, by trusting, letting go and of course surrendering.  I needed to open myself up to opportunity; not place limitations upon myself.  If I didn't ask, I would never know - I would always wonder.  Perhaps this man entered into my life for this very reason???



I sat down to write the letter.  My intention was to get straight to the point, present the proposal like a contractual deal and exclude any fuzzy-warm emotions.  I didn't want him to think I was obsessed with him and looking to have his baby because of who he was.  I shared the letter with the girls.  "Um, it's kinda cold," was the response.  I was told to rewrite it from the heart.  Ugh ok, here goes...

The second draft was difficult to write.  I had to go there.  I had to tell the story, help him to understand where I came from, how I got where I was and my reasons for asking.  It was heartfelt, honest, and yes, contained fuzzy-warm feelings.  And, it felt right.  Pressing "send" took many deep breathes and three sistrens by my side, cheering me on. 

The morning after I sent the letter, I awoke feeling as if a huge weight had been lifted.  It was off my chest.  It had been done.  It was out of my hands.  I had done everything possible.  I felt so empowered and in control!  Yet I had given up so much control.  Odd.  A a strange oxymoron.  I gave up control in order to gain control.  This was a huge move for a control-freak like myself.  A monumental move!  I can't say I've ever placed myself in a more vulnerable position.  You'd think I would have felt scared, anxious and helpless.  No, instead I felt fulfilled, strong and confident! 

I am woman here me ROOOOOAAAARRRRR!   

The next few days were trying.  They were filled with a mix of sensations.  I felt proud, confident.  I felt nervous, worried.  I felt free and uplifted.  I felt panicked and frightened.  Day one and two passed quickly with confidence.  As the days continued however, the nerves started to creep up.  This was big news.  This was a huge proposal.  He needed time, right?  That was all.  Time.  

All in all, I trusted.  In my heart I knew he would respond. 
 

In search of Bachelor #2...no, make that #3!

Searching for my first donor was difficult, yet exciting and invigorating.  Searching for my second donor was a bit more challenging and troublesome.  Having to search for yet another donor, a third time around, was discouraging and overwhelming.  I had more or less memorized PRS' donor catalog and knew that my options were slim.  That meant I needed to branch out and discover what other sperm banks had to offer.  The task at hand was daunting and caused me much anxiety.

In my time of crisis and amidst panic attacks, my sistrens came to my rescue, yet again.    Sistren Sandy offered to rally the troops to help out.  She disseminated the information (no pun intended, haha) to the sistren crew, so as to relieve me of having to explain it a gazillion and one times.  I prepared for her a list of five sperm banks I wanted researched and provided a list of criteria I was seeking in a donor.  

My list of criteria had been modified significantly since the first round draft and even the second.  When I initially started my search for bachelor #1, almost a year ago, I had a loooooong laundry list of "qualifications" that my donor needed to meet.  I was rather adamant that the donor meet most, if not all bullet points listed on my clipboard.  It was as if each donor I perused was undergoing an interview. 

6310 was the lucky guy who got the job.  Unfortunately, he didn't pan out.  After four attempts with 6310, I reconsidered my "qualifications," and I guess you can say, lowered my standards and took off a few specifications, like height, weight and interests.  I decided upon 5696, as his on-line video warmed my heart and his teddy-bear appearance won me over.  I was totally content with 5696 and if I hadn't been told he reached his family limit, I would have continued further with bachelor #2. 

For this third (and hopefully final) round draft, I was keeping it simple.  That long check list was thrown out the window and was now down to a mere two requirements:  the donor had to be 1. willing to be known and 2. multi-racial.  That's it, nothing more.  Pretty reasonable, wouldn't you say?  You'd think that would make my job easier.  Hardly.  Finding a multi-racial donor is difficult in itself, as most banks' donors are predominately white.  On top of that, the majority of donors at the largest banks are anonymous.

While I dealt with my emotional drama, popped birth control pills each night (prepping for hormone treatment), and suffered through the end of the school year events and report cards, my sistrens went to work.  When Sandy finally sent me the list of potential donors, collected by my sistrens, my heart sank.  With the exception of 4-5 detailed descriptions (which was totally helpful), the list was a bunch of numbers.  Numbers were useless.  I still needed to visit the site, punch in the donor numbers and read the profiles.  This wasn't saving me any time.  On top of that, only three of the five banks had been researched.  Furthermore, as I spent hours punching in the donor numbers and reading their profiles, I discovered that more than half on the list were anonymous donors!  

What the French!?  Didn't I have a mere TWO requirements???  Multi-racial and WTBK!!! That's it, I thought I was making it simple!  Why did my sistrens suggest anonymous donors???  Immediately I felt disappointed, let down and betrayed.  Didn't they know how important this was to me???  For goodness sake, I'm making a BABY!!!  I'm not simply choosing curtains, this is a BABY!!!  

I then scolded myself for letting go of control, delegating and allowing others to do my job.  I've always been one to do things myself, cause I know the job will get done and will be done properly.  I was so proud of myself for letting go and giving up my control-freak attitude and now I was damning myself for doing so.  I went into hibernation, spent a ridiculous number of hours researching the lost banks and more WTBK donors. 

In my head I was mad, though I knew that my sistrens would never let me down purposely.  Surely they weren't as familiar with searching sperm banks as I am (Clearly I am a pro now).  Unbeknownst to me, they weren't communicating with each other as they were researching.  This led to everyone researching the top three banks on the list, and no one getting to the banks at the bottom of the list.  As I slowly crept out of hiding, I admitted my upset and disappointed feelings to my sistrens and it was suggested that we research together, with our laptops, like we did a year ago, when looking for bachelor #1.       

Soon after, on an early June evening, my girls came over, laptops in hand, prepared to hunt down bachelor #3.  There were so many decisions to be considered.  Should I stick with PRS, despite knowing they have a limited selection?  Do I branch out to a sperm bank further away and suck up the shipping costs?  And if I do, would I have time to register and go through all the paperwork before my next cycle???  Also, should I stop considering only donors with pictures???  In the beginning donors with pictures seemed to be a plus - it was easy to rule out the ones I didn't like.  At the same time, I was ruling them out left and right and whittling down my options.  Good grief!  My poor sistrens!  I'm giving myself a headache just listening to my battery of quandaries.  Sistrens, you all deserve a medal for dealing with me! 

At the end of the evening, after going back and forth, I had decided to stick with PRS.  That left me with three potential donors to consider at PRS, only one of which had a photo (who oddly and awkwardly resembles one of my cousins).  So I had decided also, to consider donors without photos.  Our work was done.  I had three potentials to choose from.

Done deal, right?  Nope.  Even after the sistrens packed up for the evening and for several days later, a feeling in my gut did not sit right.  I couldn't bring myself to choose one.  I wasn't partial to one more than another.  Not a single one of them tickled my fancy.  I was settling.  And not like I did for 5696.  Sure, I let go of some requirements when I decided on him.  But he felt right.  These guys didn't.  Time was of the essence.  I needed to make a decision, my next cycle was quickly approaching. 

What to do?  Should I just toss their numbers in a hat and randomly choose?  Of course not, that's ridiculous.  But honestly, the way I felt about each of them, it didn't seem to matter.  And truly, if it doesn't matter, why am I even choosing one???  I'm making a BAAAAAAAABY!!!! It NEEEEEEEDS to matter!!!  In my gut and in my heart I knew I couldn't choose one of these guys.  

And I didn't.  

Instead, I pulled THE ballsiest move ever.  Ever.  Ever.  As in my lifetime.  

The way the events of the next two weeks fell into place was amazingly eerie, spiritually powerful and down right miraculous....   

Not-So Lucky #7

(May 24, 2011)


A week following my consultation with Dr. Huang, I was in the high Sierras panning for gold, on a field trip with 110 4th graders.  Knowing that the date of the trip marked the end of my two week waiting period, I packed a few home pregnancy tests.  Since it was an overnight field trip, I was staying in a dormitory with other teachers, sharing a bathroom, and I didn't have the freedom to use the bathroom counter as I would at home.  This presented a problem.

Early morning, on the second day of the trip, I smuggled a pee stick into the ladies' bathroom.  Teachers were already in the bathroom showering, using the stalls and getting ready in front of the mirror.  Trying to be discreet and quiet, I tore open the crinkly wrapper, hoping that anyone who heard on the other side of the stall would think it was simply the sound of a tampon being opened.  

After peeing on the stick, I was presented with a bit of a dilemma.  Where to leave the stick?  It needed to rest horizontally on a flat surface for 3-5 minutes.  Hmm...I could hang out in the stall?  People would just think I was taking a really loooong time taking care of my business.  Looking around for a place to put it, I notice the toilet paper dispenser is rounded and there is no tank to the toilet, just pipes.  I could leave it on the ground, but someone might see...I had to take it with me back to my bunk.  Peering out the stall, I see the coast is clear.  I quickly hurried out (no, I didn't wash my hands.  I know, shame on me), returned to my bunk, and placed the stick on the ground, behind my belongings.  Phew, mission accomplished!        


After getting dressed (and washing my hands), I returned to the stick's hiding place.  "Not pregnant," read the oval shaped window.  (I bought the fancy sticks this time - deciphering all those lines on the cheapy sticks was getting confusing!)  Damn, oh well, on with the next.  Really, that's exactly what I thought.  No tears, no boo hoo.  I picked up the stick, wrapped it up in a napkin and disposed of it.  Off to the dining hall to eat breakfast with the kiddies.  


For the most part of the day, I honestly didn't think much of the morning's results.  I was kept occupied throughout the day, hiking through the forest, learning survival skills and constantly taking a head count of my class.  It wasn't until the bus ride home that afternoon that my colleague Jeannette inquired.  I was able to explain very matter of factly, no drama.  I suppose with six failed attempts under by belt, I've had practice developing my coping skills.

It wasn't until I was home that evening, alone with my thoughts that the zen mood disappeared and the anxiety set in.  This needed to be IT!  I needed for #7 to work!!!  It was my last vial from donor 5696!  I couldn't believe I needed to find another donor!  Ugh, where to begin???    

For the next few days I dealt with the stress by letting by hair down, finishing the beers in the frig that were off limits for last two weeks, and psyching myself up for the weekend trip to Vegas with the girls.  Up until two days ago, I wasn't sure how much partying I was going to be able to do in Vegas.  Now that I was clearly not pregnant (Aunt Flo arrived to seal the deal two days after the field trip), I was free to be "that girl" in Vegas - and I vowed to do so!  This vacay was going to be my free pass to let loose, release the stress, anger and frustration and make up for all the missed happy hours!

And I did.  I did it all.  Let go, released, and drank way too much.  It was a beautiful weekend to be with my closest girls, lounge by the pool, tear up the dance floor and party like rock stars.  It was a well deserved weekend.

The day after returning from Vegas, I returned to reality and got back on track.  Remember those birth control pills I picked up at the pharmacy?  The ones I was hoping to not have to use?  Well, I started them, as instructed by my doctor, to prepare for the hormone treatment.  Yup, I was going there.  No more "little, miss nice girl," I was getting serious, not holding back and going for it.  Time to get aggressive.  I gave natural cycle a good chance, I gave Clomid a fighting chance, I even gave my body a short break from it all - it was time to get dirty. 

So, I had made the decision to proceed with the naughty hormones.  There was still one more problem.  I didn't have a donor.  Once again, the sistrens stepped in to help out...
   

Time for #7!

(May 10, 2011)

The morning after the ceremony, I picked up Sistren Sandy from the BART station and we met Sistren Asia at Kaiser.  We were quite the motley crew, waiting in the ob/gyn waiting room together (For those of you who know the three of us, I'm sure you can imagine!).  This visit to Kaiser was huge for all of us.  Obviously, for me this was insemination #7!  All three of us however, have a challenging history with hospitals, pregnancies and babies.  Trust, that it was a trying time as well as an opportunity for growth.

When the nurse called my name, we (yes, I said we) all filed into the small exam room, shuffled about, and squeezed ourselves into position like a game of Tetris.  When the doctor arrived, holding the syringe filled with 5696's swimmers, she nearly had to play leap frog to get into position.  She returned to me the empty vial my swimmers were frozen in for nearly a year, confirmed my donor's number and took a seat on the stool situated below and between my legs.  As she held up and got ready to insert the metal speculum into my girly parts, Azh, seated beside me, took my hand, while Sandy winced, looked down and huddled into the corner of the room.  (It's all good, Sandy dearest, I'm proud of you for even stepping foot into that hospital!)

Within just a few minutes, the little guys sailed out of the syringe, through the thin, straw like catheter and were deposited as close to my cervix as possible!  Mission accomplished!  The doctor tossed her latex gloves in the trash, wished me luck and was on her way.  For the next twenty minutes, Sandy, Azh and I hung out and shoot the shit while the little guys set out to seek the elected egg candidate.  What an amazing experience to have two of my sistrens beside me as I set out to make a baby! 

After giving the swimmers a good twenty minute head start, I stood up and got dressed (yes, we were chit-chatting away, as I was half naked, merely draped with a blue, plastic covering).  Like smushed circus clowns crammed into an itty-bitty car, we filed one by one, out of the tiny exam room.   We reconvened for brunch, where we had an opportunity to check in with each other and tap into any emotions that may have been triggered because of the morning's events.  Though it's not my place to share these amazing women's histories, trust that being in a room with a woman trying to get pregnant was a challenging experience for the both of them.  We spoke impeccably, shared our frustrations, fears, jealousy and rage. 

Somehow this motley crew was meant to be together on this day; it was a day of personal growth for each of us and a day that brought us each closer together.  I've been so fortunate to have had several sistrens join me for my inseminations.  Each experience has been memorable, rewarding and another building block, solidifying our friendship.     

After our brunch, I darted down to Foster City, excused my substitute, and went about my day teaching my 30 4th graders - as if nothing had ever happened!  Exactly a week later, I was back at Kasier for an appointment I had scheduled over a month ago.  When #6 had not worked out, I had decided to try one more natural cycle (#7 with no supplemental hormones) before moving on to more aggressive measures - hormone treatment.  Since getting an appointment with the one doctor I trust, at a reasonable hour, is ridiculously difficult, I scheduled a month in advance.   

A week after my insemination, on May 17th, I sat in Dr. Huang's office discussing hormone treatment.  He explained that I would need to administer daily injections of hormones into my body on a nightly basis for 10-15 days, while returning to Kaiser frequently for ultrasounds to track the growth of follicles and egg growth.  If #7 did not work out, then this was the route I would take, as summer was approaching and I would need the time off in order to make all the doctor visits.  

Dr. Huang continued to explain the increased chances of multiple fertilized eggs.  Because I would be increasing the levels of hormones in my body, my body could possibly produce more than one egg, which in turn could lead to the possibility of more than one egg being fertilized.  Using hormone injections, Dr. Huang continued, increases the chances of twins by 25% and triplets by 5%.  There is, he warns, a slim chance of four or more eggs being fertilized as well. 

Because of these chances, Dr. Huang asks how I feel about "selective reduction," which as you can guess, is a gentle, medical way of referring to terminating one or more of the fertilized eggs.  Instantly, in my head, I know how I feel - absolutely against it!  I've been trying so damn hard to just fertilize one egg; I would feel blessed to have more than one!  Just as my head finishes this thought, I remind myself that I am choosing to be a single mother - one, un, uno, just little ole me.  Could I possibly give a quality lifestyle to multiple children, born at the same time?  Yikes.  I'd like to think I could, though I have disturbing thoughts of becoming the next OctoMom.  Then again, if I had to decide to terminate one, two or three fertilized eggs, how would I ever choose???  Yes, this entire mini-series drama is playing out in my head as I sit across from Dr. Huang in his sunny Geary St. office. 



No, you were not mistaken.  You did read "birth control pills."  For what cockamamie reason did my fertility doctor prescribe birth control pills to a woman who is trying to get pregnant?  Well, if you had asked me on that particular day, I would not have been able to give you a reasonable answer (another reason why I should never go to consultations alone).  I had no idea until today (more than a month later)...and I still have questions and don't entirely understand the process. 

Apparently before taking the injections, I need to "hi-jack" my body's menstrual cycle.  The doctor's, with the help of the hormones, want to take complete control of when I ovulate.  They've got everything down to a science - as I inject myself nightly, and visit for ultrasounds, they advise me to adjust the type and level of hormones in order to fool my body into ovulating on their command.  Crazy, right!?  And to think, just a year ago, I worked so hard to get off those god-forsaken pills to prepare to get pregnant!  Ugh, I am full of anxiety just remembering the drama and emotional roller coaster ride I was on when trying to get off the pill!  Now I may need to get back on them again???

So, I left Kaiser that day with three packs of BC pills, while at the same time, wondering if #7 had worked out and if I was pregnant.  One week later I got my answer...