Transatlantic Musings

So, I meant to post this a couple of weeks ago, when I got back from London, but of course I got sick, and then the start of semester craziness set in. There’s been an unexpected development, after I did a lot of soul-searching on my trip to London. As I was visiting old haunts, I thought a lot about my living situation. There has always been a strong pull to live in England again, although I don’t think I could do it permanently. I love New York, Keith is here, and, of course, Friends Lake is here. I have a lot of friends here too, although I do have good friends in England now. But I thought a lot about whether I could find a way to spend a few weeks there each year. And that got me to thinking about my life in New York.

When I started this blog, I talked about how I wanted to stay in New York City. And even though I knew I couldn’t afford a two-bedroom in the City, I had a plan to make a nursery at the far end of my living room, using a temporary pressure wall. But, as time has progressed and I’ve given more thought to how I want to live with my child (or children), I’ve realized that I don’t want to cram a family into a tiny apartment, just to stay in the City. As my friend Maria said, are the sacrifices I would have to make worth it for a zip code?

As I believe I also mentioned previously, I’ve been obsessed with baby furniture since I was a kid. And I realized that I don’t want to sacrifice having a proper nursery for my baby, and a proper bedroom as my child grows up. I’ve dreamed of my baby’s room for thirty years, and I want to make that dream come true. Also, since I am trying to be a stay-at-home mom, staying home in this apartment after making it smaller, essentially, would be very difficult.

It’s not just the space, of course. Back in the Fall, when I was driving back and forth from Friends Lake, I was getting frustrated with the long drive, the inevitable traffic in the City, the loading and unloading of the car with the luggage cart. Having to make multiple trips because of the dogs. You name it, it was getting to me. I started to wonder how I would manage it with a kid or kids, and the dogs, and all our stuff. I started to wonder if I wanted to stay in the City.  I thought, once I was no longer driving back and forth, that I would feel better and fall back in love with the City. I did, to an extent. But, in the last few weeks, I’ve come to understand that, while I still like living in the City, I don’t love it anymore. The novelty has worn off a bit, and I don’t know if it’s something I would want to do forever.

My lifestyle would, naturally, change as well once I have a child, and I won’t be taking advantage of the things I do now in the City. I won’t be walking home from the theatre at midnight, or buying bagels at one in the morning. Grocery shopping would be harder, and so would walking the dogs. I also would have an issue leaving the balcony door open for Cali and Brooke if that’s the baby’s room.

So, you see where this is going. I know plenty of people raise kids in the City. And plenty of people do it in small apartments, with dogs. Even single women. And they figure it out. But, there are too many sacrifices that I’m not willing to make. And that includes the financial side of things. To stay in the City would cost too much. And even if I could find a way to do it, I would be sinking all my money into an apartment and have nothing left for living. Mom used to always talk about not being “house poor.” I understood what she meant, but never fully appreciated it until now. Even if I went back to work full time (which would eliminate the possibility of being a stay-at-home mom), I would probably just manage to pay for a small two-bedroom. But I wouldn’t be able to do anything else. I want to travel with my child and take him or her to museums and Yankee games. But that would not be possible if I had to sink everything into an apartment. So, I’d be working all the time, never see my kid, and not be able to do anything with the kid when I’m not working! Not my idea of a family life.

Back in the summer, I had come up with a potential moving plan, in case I had twins. But, I’ve made the decision that I’ll move regardless, once I get pregnant. The initial plan was to move to an apartment in Riverdale. At first, that seemed like a good idea, because it would keep me near Manhattan, and I could get a bigger place for a lot less money. But, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that, if I’m not in the City, I don’t really want to live in an apartment. The truth is, I really want a house. But, a full house might be too much for me to take on. So, I’ve found a compromise – I’m going to look for a townhouse in Westchester. It’s the perfect compromise. I get the house feel, but if I buy in a community, they’ll take care of outdoor maintenance, etc. And, if I have dedicated parking and a garage or basement, I can save the money I’ve been spending on the garage and storage space.

Naturally, I will be looking for something that costs less than this place, so I have to see what I can afford in my price range. It’s not likely to be luxury, unless I go farther away from the City, but again, not a sacrifice I want to make – I want my kid to be able to take advantage of everything that the City has to offer, just like I did growing up in Westchester. If I can free up money from the sale of this place, I will also be able to afford to stay home, at least for a few years. Then, when the kid is school aged (or kids), I can look for teaching jobs again. I’ll probably be ready by that point anyway.

And it’s not like I’m not going to keep trying to make my name (and fortune!) as a writer. But I know I can’t depend on that. And, the funny thing is, I’m not entirely convinced that if I had all the money in the world, I would move back to the City (at least not until my kids are grown). Three’s certainly a lot of perks to growing up in the City, but I don’t know anymore if I’m willing to put up with the inconveniences – unless of course I have a staff to handle all that stuff! ;)

But that’s a decision for years from now. This decision is made, but I won’t take action until I’m actually pregnant. On that note, we did start the cycle when I got back from London. I should know more about its potential success, and be able to post an update in a few days.

New Year's Wishes

First, in the interest of full disclosure, I should mention that I hate New Year’s. Always have. As a kid it would make me very depressed. While everyone else saw it as the dawn of a new year and the promise of new beginnings, I saw it as the end of another year, and couldn’t see why people would be so happy to lose another year of their lives. That was a bit of a fixation for me as a kid, actually. Every time I blew out the candles on my birthday cake, my wish was always the same – to freeze time so that everyone I loved would stay the same forever. No one would get older and nothing would change. I always feared losing the happy childhood and family togetherness that I was privileged to enjoy as a child. Yeah, I was a real cheerful kid.

In retrospect, maybe my younger self knew something subconsciously. At any rate, I dreaded New Year’s every year, but still made a point to try and enjoy the family parties at Gilbert Place. Today, I have a much more mature attitude toward it all, but I’m still not a big fan of the holiday. My reasons are a bit different now, I suppose. I guess what troubles me these days is partly missing the parties of old. New Year’s is a lot quieter now. But I also have issues with the illusion of it all. First, everyone feels the pressure to do something amazing, and have someone to kiss at midnight (as a kid, New Year’s was about family, so I really didn’t understand this part of it). There’s a sense that you’re lacking somehow if you don’t have incredible plans.

Then there’s the whole New Year’s Resolution thing. I don’t know why people think that one day is going to change their whole lives – or why they think they are more likely to make a change today than any other day. In the end, people make all kinds of unrealistic plans for themselves, and when they fail to fulfill them, they just end up feeling bad for themselves. I think people would be a lot happier if they didn’t make New Year’s resolutions and just tried to live a good life every day.

Anyway, this is all a long-winded way of explaining why the title of this entry is “New Year’s Wishes” and not “New Year’s Resolutions.” I don’t have resolutions. Sure I need to lose wait and I need to write more and I want to find online work and to get an agent and to sell books and scripts and all kids of stuff. But I’m not going to promise myself that all of these things will happen and end up disappointed in myself. What I have for 2014 are wishes – or one wish, really. I just want to get pregnant with a healthy baby. Even the last day of 2013 brought discouraging news – bloodwork showed elevated HCG beta levels. After IVF, this is a good thing because it is a sign of pregnancy. Before IVF, not so much. So far it has belayed me being able to start the next cycle. I go for more bloodwork tomorrow, but then I leave for London the next day (Mother Nature willing!), and everything will be set back another month. And I worry it will mean that I can’t try another IVF with my own eggs. As much as I am willing to use donor eggs (I am on the waitlist, having taken the class and met with the psychologist), I still want another chance to try on my own.

So, for 2014, I wish for a baby. And I wish for only positive changes in my life and the lives of the people I love. 

The 24-Hour Rule

In the words of Florida Evans, “Damn! Damn! Damn!” Yeah, unfortunately, there’s really no other way to express how I feel right now. The worst possible scenario played out yesterday. At 10:15 yesterday morning, I got the phone call from the doctor’s office that my lone embryo had not survived. It stopped dividing on Saturday, meaning it essentially died. And that was that. No little miracle baby. We didn’t even get a chance to transfer the embryo and see if it would take.

The news was the hardest I’ve gotten in a long time, probably since Mom died. And what made it worse was dealing with it alone. Most couples that get this news have each other to find comfort with. I called Keith and talked to him about it a bit, but I spent the entire day alone, crying, in my apartment. Back when Mom and Dad were around, they would have been there for me. When I had the crisis with my Comps at BC and called them, upset, Dad said, “We’ll be there in 3 hours.” And they were. And there was never any doubt that they would be. No matter what was going on, when I needed them they would drop everything for me. There’s no one like that anymore in my life. That’s not a slight on the people that I know care about me, but there just isn’t anyone who would (or could) drop everything to be there for me. If I had never had that, maybe I wouldn’t feel the lack of it so much now. But I did have it. And yesterday, I wanted that more than anything – someone to say, “I’ll be right there.” Someone to give me a hug and say it’s going to be all right, even if I didn’t want to believe it in the moment.

But lamenting something I can never get back is pointless, as is wallowing in the heartbreak and disappointment of yesterday. That is to say, yesterday was all about wallowing. But that ended at 10:15 today. See, I have a little rule about heartbreak and disappointment, which I call The 24-Hour Rule. Basically, you have 24 hours to be completely devastated about a major loss or disappointment (deaths get more time). After that 24-hour period, it doesn’t mean that you are no longer upset or disappointed. But, now you have to regain perspective and decide what to do moving forward. 24 hours of wallowing, and then it’s about action.

So, I took my 24 hours. I wallowed. I cried. I acted like the world was coming to an end. Now that time is up and I look to the future. What’s next? I’m not entirely sure. I know I can’t do another IVF before the end of the year. Then I’ll be in London at the start of January. But, I should be able to start another cycle mid-January.  I know that I have to do at least one more cycle with my own eggs – I can’t just do a “one and done” because everything can’t hinge on one attempt. But the reality is that I may not do any better than I did this time. So, I’ve decided that the next step after that is to try one or two cycles with donor eggs. If that doesn’t work, then I will consider adoption. In the meantime, there is a chance that I may be able to do one last IUI in December. I have to ask the doctor. It may be worth taking the shot on the off chance that something could happen. As I move forward, I know that finances are going to be an issue, but I also know that selling my place and moving to Riverdale is more of a reality now anyway (and one I am comfortable with), so I’m not really that worried about it. This is all going to cost me a bloody fortune, but it’s worth it in the end. And I know I have fallback positions that will keep me out of the poor house! (on that note, during my 24-hour wallow-fest, I did actually apply for a new job).

So, onward. Yesterday sucked. But today is a new day, full of promise, and 24 more hours to work toward making my dreams come true.

Autumn Harvest

Well, as detailed in my last post, I have a bit of a brown thumb when it comes to growing things. But, all is not lost. On Tuesday, I went in for Egg Retrieval for the IVF, and we ended up with the predicted two eggs. Not exactly a bumper crop, but at least something came of the harvest. Of course, that was only the beginning. I still needed to wait and see if either of the eggs made it to a healthy embryo, after mixing and mingling with James Bond. The average rate of fertilization is about 50%, but with only two, it was a long shot.

All night Tuesday I tossed and turned, and I was a basket case on Wednesday, just hoping I could manage one embryo, especially given that this may be the best that I can do. I pretty much felt physically ill through my first couple of classes on Wednesday. Finally, I got the call during my 1:00 class. I had it on vibrate and did not answer, since I was teaching, but I heard it vibrate and really couldn’t focus anymore on Elements of Drama. I finally let the kids go fifteen minutes early, and went outside to check the voicemail.

And it’s all for one and one for all! I have one embryo. And yes, one is all I need (twins are even still a possibility as the embryo could still split after transfer). But I am still a bit of a basket case, I guess. Because I worry that something will happen to the embryo, or it won’t develop well, before Sunday’s transfer. I know, I know. But what can I say? I’m not happy unless I’m worrying about something. Two more days of worrying about whether the embryo will make it to transfer stage. Then, Sunday, I get to worry about the discomfort associated with the transfer (there’s been debate over taking a valium or no – I prefer no).

Then, of course, the worry shifts again. I get to worry for about a week and a half more before they do a pregnancy test to see if all of this worked. In the meantime, I get to keep jabbing myself, only this time, it’s not in the belly – it’s in the bum, with Progesterone. Never say I’m not committed to this plan – what says commitment more than baring your bum for a nurse you just met to draw black circles on it with a Sharpie? Gotta say, my flexibility is worse than I thought – reaching back there with a needle is no easy task! Oh, and the needles are massive! Well, two more days of jabs, then transfer. Then more jabs. On so on, and so on…

Oh, and despite my brown thumb when it comes to growing things, rest assured, I do not worry that it will carry over into the actual raising of the child (just through gestation). After all, Cali and Brooke are still here!

Ch-ch-ch-chia!

Hey, kids! Get ready for the exciting new product from the makers of Chia Pet – it’s Chia Ovary! Just add water and it grows! OK, so it takes a bit more than water. It takes a ton of expensive, injectable medications that turn you into a human pincushion. Oh, and maybe it doesn’t grow so much. Yes, apparently my brown thumb when it comes to all things gardening extends to trying to grow eggs in my ovaries.

I’ve been trying to write this entry for about a week now, but every time I sat down to do it, something changed, and the direction of the entry seemed to change. It started as a reflection on being a human pincushion. Then it was going to talk about the overall process of medication, bloodwork and ultrasounds. But then I started getting results, and didn’t know what to make of it all. Because, of course, there’s been another setback. Apparently, when taking these medications (Gonal F and Menopur), you should grow at least a half dozen follicles on each ovary. Me – I got 2. Total. On the right side, too, which means doing IUI instead would be out because that’s the side with the blocked tube. There are a couple of smaller follicles too, but the doctor doesn’t feel that they’ll mature in time for retrieval.

So, here’s the deal – going to egg retrieval with only two follicles is a risk. I might not even get two eggs, and if I do, they might not become viable embryos. And if that’s the case, I’m out the money. If I cancel the procedure before retrieval, then the package I paid for will carry over to a new cycle. The problem? Oh, there’s more than one. First, if I cancel now, I’d have to delay until the end of January because of the lead-time needed for the process, the holidays and the fact that I’m going to London in the beginning of January. And, Dr. K. has been pretty clear that, given my age and egg reserves, this may be the best I can do anyway. In fact, in a future cycle, I could do worse. On the other hand, he said that two 39-year-old eggs are better than two 45-year-old eggs, so there’s more hope than if this were even a couple of years down the line.

The long and short is that I’m going ahead with the retrieval, probably on Tuesday. It may be a waste of $12K, but I know two things – 1. I don’t want to wait up to three months to try this, especially if there is little likelihood that I’ll do better in producing eggs. 2. If I delay, and the next cycle turns out worse, I will always (ALWAYS) regret not doing it now.

All my life, I have tried to live without regrets. And the few regrets that I have all have to do with things I didn’t do, not with things that I did. Even when I have done things that did not work out the way that I hoped (and I pray that this is not one of them), I have always at least had the comfort of knowing that I tried. It’s when I back down and get scared, and choose not to take the risk, that I end up wishing that I had. And this is too big to chance regrets. So, maybe I’m about to blow $12K, or maybe I’m about to get pregnant. After all, two eggs is one more than I really need, right?