When Your Herbal Medicine Tastes Like Ass

I mentioned in an earlier post that I was going to try an herbal treatment suggested by my acupuncturist. After discussing the treatment with her, I received my herbal "prescription" in the mail -- there were two types of herbs, one for the first half of my cycle and one for the second. Each daily dose came in a plastic vacuum package, which I warmed in a bowl of hot water before cutting into the pack and pouring it into a mug.

The first batch of herbs didn't taste great, but it was drinkable. There was a somewhat pleasant aftertaste that was slightly reminiscent of anise or licorice.

The second batch of herbs has been hateful. Just hateful. I can barely choke down each dose, and the aftertaste must be what sewer water tastes like. Actually, the most accurate way of describing it is to say it tastes old and gray and rotten.

Tonight is the first night I've finished the dosage, versus pouring some of it down the drain in disgust. I succeeded this time by trying not to smell the concoction, gulping it quickly down (it's about six gulps), and by eating a square of dark chocolate as a chaser. So that technique is my tip to you, should you find yourself drinking gray-tasting herbal medicine.

I'm not sure if this stuff will help. I do think it can't hurt. My acupuncturist also recommended a lot of seemingly random diet changes that don't have any basis in Western science. This is all part of "traditional Chinese medicine" (TCM). The thing is, the reason I believe in acupuncture is that there are Western studies that show the benefits. The other TCM stuff, including the diet, not so much. The studies I could find discounted it. And I can't say I'm surprised -- what diet that allows cooked spinach but bans raw spinach could possibly be based on science? So I have tried to improve my diet, but haven't really stuck to the TCM diet suggestions.

In the meantime, I continue to be happy to be off the Western fertility meds. I'm not sure I'll go back.

In the End, the Odds Remained the Same

Lame.

Yesterday I went for another monitoring appointment, and the doctor determined that I just wasn't going to be ovulating this month. She said sometimes that happens with Clomid, and she said my regular doctor might want to increase the dosage. I noted that I already ovulated normally on my own, so I didn't think increasing the dosage would be useful. She said sometimes you just don't ovulate anyway. And she sent me on my way, telling me to call on my next Day 1.

I admit I wasn't looking forward to another two weeks of progesterone and the associated side effects. In fact, I was dreading it. So I'm actually kind of relieved that I don't have to go through that again this month.

But I'm done with the medicated cycles. The whole point of them was to increase the odds of a pregnancy each month by giving me meds to ensure my left ovary ovulated each time (that's the attached one). This is based on the assumption that someone with my condition starts with half the chance of a person with normal girl parts. Well, I did 4 medicated cycles. And two of them were canceled. 50%. My chances remained exactly the same.

Seriously, screw this. I'm not doing another one. I'm taking a few months off to do some crazy "Eastern medicine" herb treatments recommended by my acupuncturist. Why not? It couldn't possibly screw me up as much as the meds I've been on. It'll probably make me healthier, because the treatments include diet changes that involve copious vegetable consumption. In the fall I'll head back to the doctor if we haven't had luck on our own and if they have some new ideas.

Signed,
Your Happily Drug-Free Pal
Megan

Some Things Are Just Out of Your Control

Today at work I saw a presentation by Al Haynes, captain of United Flight 232, which crashed in 1989 in Sioux City, Iowa. Captain Haynes detailed 45 minutes in the air during which he and his co-pilots desperately tried to maneuver their crippled plane toward an airport after a design flaw caused engine #2, on the tail, to break off and spray shrapnel across the rear of the plane, slicing through key hydraulic mechanisms. The pilots flew the plane using nothing but the throttles on the two remaining engines. In the end, the plane crash-landed in a corn field at the Sioux City Airport. Miraculously, 185 of the 296 people aboard the plane survived.

Later, investigators tried to recreate the crew's flight and landing under the same conditions, and were unable to do so. Captain Haynes detailed conversations he had with DC-10 experts who said that the breakdown that occurred was impossible, as was flying the plane if that breakdown *did* occur. The captain said it was because of a few factors -- luck, communications, preparation, execution, and cooperation -- that so many of the passengers survived. And luck was #1.

Then, Captain Haynes moved beyond the standard disaster story into the personal. He said he gives these talks because it helps him heal, even 19 years later. He told us that his family has had its share of losses, with the sudden loss of his wife, the death of his son in a motorcycle accident, and a close call with his daughter, who needed a bone marrow transplant. He said the biggest lesson he learned is that some things are just out of your control. And in the end, you have to just keep going and live your life.

***

Monday was my one-year blog anniversary. For some reason, my thoughts turned to my Mother's Day post last year, when I wondered if I'd have reason to celebrate this year. Then I found out 10 days later that that pregnancy, my second, had ended. So there will be no celebration for me this time. I'll still call my mom like I do every year. I'm sure Steve will call his. And who knows what next year will bring.

One of the areas my job touches on is risk management, and perception is a major issue. No matter what the statistics are for the likelihood of a given event, humans tend to believe that if something has never happened, it never will (until 2005, few really believed a hurricane could devastate New Orleans), and we also tend to believe that the most recent disaster is extremely likely (prepping like crazy for hurricanes after Katrina). I guess that's what I'm doing here, too -- thinking that I'll never be able to get the job done, and that the same pregnancy disaster will happen again and again.

I know it's only been a few months on the fertility drugs, but it seems like a long time. I hate taking the hormones. I hate that one of the hormones mimics the symptoms of pregnancy. I hate that I'm bloated and my chest is too big. I hate having to insert suppositories twice a day starting on Day 9. I hate having bright green discharge and having to wear a pantyliner 2/3 of the month. I hate that some friends cut me out of their lives when they got pregnant, or when they hit the second trimester. I hate that I can't make firm plans to go out of town until I know when my Day 1 is.

I want to just say screw this whole thing. It's completely out of my control.

But in the end, I have to just keep going and live my life.

A Tale of Many Sticks

This morning I went in to the fertility clinic for a beta test to confirm what I already knew -- that I was not pregnant. I was annoyed that I even had to go, but figured I'd follow protocol in spite of the three home pregnancy tests that turned up negative over the last few days.

So I went in, and there was a new woman behind the needle. I got an insecure vibe from the start, and it made me nervous. I have very small veins, and things can go very wrong very fast for me in the blood-taking department. Sure enough, the first stick went in, and then I felt it moving around. I looked, and Bad Needle Nurse was literally sweeping it around under my skin trying to find my vein. She did this for at least 10 seconds, until I stopped trying to look away and stared at her in shock. "I don't like to fish around," Bad Needle Nurse said. "Your vein keeps moving from side to side." She pulled it out and tried again. Same result -- more fishing under the skin. At this point, I was feeling really queasy and a bit faint. Bad Needle Nurse finally asked, "am I hurting you?" and, hoping that an affirmative answer would end the amateurish prodding, I abandoned my usual stoicism and announced, "yes!" This woman then accused me of not drinking enough water. "It's not usually a problem," I replied ... and silently finished the thought: "when the nurse knows what she is doing." Bad Needle Nurse then called in Competent Nurse, who got it on the first stick, as usual. My arm hurt like a bitch. Part of me wanted to go punch Bad Needle Nurse in the neck, but I wasn't feeling so well at that point so I couldn't quite muster up my usual fierce animosity toward those who injure me or who injure people I love.

I was dismissed and wandered out to the billing/appointments lady. I was so woozy that I made no sense when discussing my next appointment. In fact, Billing Lady asked when my next appointment was supposed to be, and I said, "I have to wait until Day 1 and call." She looked confused and I confused her further by actually stating, "I already know the test is negative because I peed on a stick even though we aren't supposed to." Billing Lady looked really confused, but just said, kindly, "ok, you give us a call."

It was only after I left that I realized the POAS acronym doesn't really work when spelled out in real-life conversation with someone who doesn't spend much time on TTC message boards. D'oh!

Here Goes Nothing

Heading to my Day 3 monitoring appointment last week, I was full of angst and almost weepy. I was worried about starting the medicated cycle, afraid of the side effects, and generally dreading starting the whole process of trying to have a baby again. But I felt a lot better after coming out of the appointment. I went in there and noticed several professional women and a few husbands. Nobody was looking at each other or talking, and the women with husbands were looking extra tense. We all have a common bond, but we were sitting there in our private worlds, not sharing. The vibes passing between people are basically, "you're infertile. I'm infertile. And I don't want to talk about it." It's like a bus station full of infertile people.

After an awkward 10 minutes or so, pretending not to look at the other patients, I went back and had blood drawn. Then I was dispatched to a smaller waiting area in the back for an ultrasound, which was just to ensure my ovaries were in good shape. Another woman was sitting back there and we got to talking. She's done at least one IUI and this is her fourth IVF cycle. She went down the litany of her various tests and injections and was completely blase' about it. I felt like a big wimp.

I really hope this is her cycle.

Meanwhile, my fertility specialist suggested acupuncture, saying it seems to improve results, so I've been going and getting needles stuck into my legs and hands. I'll try to take a picture one of these times and post it on the blog. It's pretty wild. It doesn't hurt at all, though, and is actually really relaxing.

So we'll see how this goes. I'm going to try hard not to be scared, or sad, or depressed. I'm going to try to just move forward.

It's really the only thing we can do.