First update on the donor:
After 5 days of stimming, they measured 19 follicles.
As an IVF vet, I know that the first number doesn't translate to your retrieved number, but starting out with a nice high number like 19, is VERY reassuring.
The news on my progress is a little less reassuring, but not bad. On Monday my E2 level was 476. They like to see it nearer to 600, so they bumped up my estrogen injection dose--I hope it does the trick. My vow to myself is to not push it. If the E2 number doesn't climb, and the lining isn't good, we aren't going to go forward with the transfer. Unlike in other cycles, I am not going to play any mind games with myself. I'm just going to deal with what is. Hopefully, I'll respond to the increased estrogen, if not, we'll deal with that.
This is what my doctor sarcastically calls my 'positive mindset'. Holy crap. If only she knew how bitter and pessimistic I could really be, she'd think that was me being Polly Positivity!
I'm sorry I haven't been updating. I'm in a weird place. In someways I feel so worn out from all of this (4 years of trying to get pregnant), that I don't feel like I've got a pithy thing left in me. I suppose also, that after this many cycles, and this many disappointments, I don't have a lot of pep and vim left in me. I am feeling my Missouri roots: show me (the good lining, the good estrogen, the good fert rate, the good blast, the positive test, and on and on), and then i'll get excited.
One thing I have to come to realize about myself recently is that I am a far more closed and cautious person than would appear. I want to be excited, and hopeful and well, just not so damned cautious, but somehow, that last miscarriage took the starch right out of me. Too good to be true, was too good to be true.
What's worse is that I seem to have really lost the capacity to reach out to people, even you all, the most sympathetic group imaginable. I just feel so fucking traumatized. Of course, it makes sense. When you are getting to the end of a journey is when you start to feel the pain of blisters and the broken shoes and the unrelenting grit on your skin. I have this image of myself, 4 years ago, by no means innocent, scared, but so hopeful. Now I am a battle scarred warrior, wearing a mismatched uniform, wondering who the heck to take my orders from, and what the hell I'm fighting for. I have a dim memory of a flag, or shall I say a baby blanket, but it's pretty ripped up too.
I think I'll probably slog through, numb and cautious, hopefully with a huge wave of jubilation washing over me at some point. Pretty please?
Stay tuned. Donor girl and I have our next check on Friday. Here's hoping she's cooking at least 15 good ones!