Things Happen As they May (in September)

Jenni says:

Well I have to admit that things have been very rough for the past little bit of time. Getting back to the swing of things from Guatemala was very difficult. Not only the "going back to work" part, but dealing with the recovery; that we didn't have the things that we wanted to have.

My dread of coming back to work and having to tell everyone my experience was a little misguided. I forgot that the people at my workplace neither care nor are interested in me, generally speaking. It's not that I dislike them, or that they dislike me, more that they would rather not talk about it (or the hard things) and I didn't bring up the conversation. It's kind of strange, because there is a lady here at work that has had ectopic pregnancies, and I thought she would be more willing to talk about it, but I suppose people have their own pain, and that it's hard to get into it with someone else's too.

We decided to help ourselves, and we got another dog. I should say, that Anai wanted another dog. It was very emotional as a decision, because we went online to our local shelter website, and there was a dog there named Poppy. The name that we gave our baby that we lost to ectopic pregnancy... so it seemed like it was a sign. We went to go visit the dog named Poppy, but--in a strange twist--our dog, who loves all dogs, and people, decidedly did NOT love Poppy. They just didn't get along. But while we were there, our dog met another dog, appropriately named Clarice. And our dog thought that she was the greatest.

As you may have noticed, "Clarice's" head looks like it was taken and put on another dog's body. Rottweiler on the front and Hound on the back with spotted white legs. I think that's why she had such a silly name. We promptly renamed her "Navi" and she fits right in. Our dog loves her, they are very similar to one another. And having another kooky figure in the house has probably helped us out as well. I think our dog knew what we needed, and we didn't need a Poppy, we needed a weirdo like Navi to help us along. 

But life keeps going, whether you want it to, or not.

Life has a way of pushing and pulling you in directions you didn't think you needed to go.

About a week ago, I made an impromptu call to the Calgary fertility clinic, which is about a three hour drive from our house. I had put in an application to be accepted last year in September. I thought they didn't have space, or they just didn't call. So I reached out to the office, and they said that they had tried to get a hold of me in April. Obviously, while I was in Guatemala. 

Shocked, I asked if I was still able to go to the clinic. They said that I was, but I can only be on the wait list for a year before having to go back and try again. My first application was received September 12, 2014. My consultation would have to be sometime before September 12, 2015... I held my breath on the phone while the receptionist clicked away, hmm'ing and hawwww'ing about it... and she finally said "Does September 8th work for you?"

With excitement, nervousness, and shock, I said yes, of course, we will be there. I'll call in sick to work that day, whatever works, we will make it.

I told Anai about it, and wondered, was it too soon? Was it a good idea? Was it what we wanted. She was over the moon for me. It meant that we could move on with our fertility treatments, and so much faster than we thought. We had assumed, after coming home, that we would have to wait another year, maybe more, until the clinic had space for us. But to come back in July and have an appointment set up in September was a shock.

Anai has had a long number of medical doctor visits to try and sort out what was happening with not only her ectopic pregnancy, but also the miscarriage she suffered in July. She has had her regular period, and everything seems back to normal, but there are lots of tests to ensure that that is true. While she was in with the doctor, she asked for a referral to both the Calgary clinic, as well as the Saskatchewan clinic. Saskatchewan is a province over, but only about 4.5 hours drive away--similar to the 3 hour drive away it is to get to Calgary. So we thought we would maximize our chances of being able to go to a clinic. 

I got the mail two days ago, and I saw a letter from the Saskatchewan clinic. I rushed it over to Anai to open, and she looked at it with shock. It said: "Your appointment is September 9th at 11am."

My appointment, 600km away is September 8th. Anai's is the next day, in another province,on September 9th. All of the issues with Guatemala, the emotional and physical problems, the miscarriage, the loss of Poppy, coming home, dealing with the knowledge that one day we would have to try again if we want to chase our dream... who cares about driving into two provinces in two days? Who cares about taking sick leave from work because it's too soon to ask for time off? Who cares that we might, if we have to, be receiving treatments at the same time as one another, 600km apart?

This isn't the craziest thing we have done. But life is giving us a push. Telling us to explore options we never thought of before. Telling us that we have to try again, that it's OK for us to try again. We can grieve and try again. We can still be ourselves, and try again. 

If we can, we will try to get either: myself accepted into Saskatchewan, or Anai accepted into Calgary. But if it's not possible, we may just have to make it work, one province at a time. 

Thanks to everyone who stuck with us, or is just joining us. We're finally headed in a good direction, and it's up. xxo

It's Time

It's July already. It hasn't felt like that long has passed. I keep thinking about coming back here but somehow time is time, things move on. I did not really want to leave the blog. It's just that the mood shifted. This wasn't an adventure anymore. It just became real life and I couldn't really bring myself to write about it.

I've written it in my head over and over again, like a would a story. From the excitement of waiting hearing a heart beat to lying in a oversized hospital gown with my wife holding my hand, but, again, I couldn't write it down. Not when it happened to us. Not when one of the happiest moments of my life and the worst happened just a few weeks apart.

It was too fresh then, a few days after when Jenni started a post and it just sat there as a saved draft. It suddenly feels too fresh now.

I remember writing that my worst fear of this trip was that we would have to come home and tell people that it just didn't happen for us. It never occurred to me that it could be much worst than that. Because we've both still have had to do what we thought could not get any worse. Jenni has to tell everyone that at the moment she has unexplained infertility and that her wife had an Ectopic pregnancy and I have to say the same. I have to try not to cry when I say it or try to stay strong, because I'm at work or on the street and no where near my bed and most of times no where near my wife. Yes, those are two most comfort zones.

I have to say to everyone, 'Yes, I healed quite quickly' and 'we're just glad to be home.' which is so true. Physically, I'm my normal self and home is everything I needed it to be. But there is so much I could say. Like, I am crossed. I feel like I want to give up. This was harder than we ever imagined and now we know that things can go down from here. I want to write the story of how I felt when there was just black in my ultrasound and my giddiness turning into darkness. I don't want to relive the feeling of waking up from surgery but sometimes I just want to talk about it.

Sometimes, I want to talk about all the little rude and careless things people said or did to us while this was going on. Sometimes, I want to go on about how amazing my wife was. I want to paint a picture of her, this tall hero, sleeping crunched up on what the hospital described as a recliner, which was just a chair that wasn't as vertical as your standard chair, but she was there. She was so strong with her back ache and her own unmatched pain, in a word so unlike ours. I know that I rather be me, not because the of chair but because I can't put myself in her shoes and still be able to survive this.

I want to tell people that all I want is a child. I want to tell them about all the children I dreamed happening but those words don't come out. Sometimes, I don't want to even think about it and sometimes I want to cry about it. Sometimes I fantasize to myself, thinking that time does pass and that our future will become our lives.

Yet, when I go to say it, it's not the right person in front of me. No matter who they are it just feels like they aren't the right people to tell. It feels like no one is, and that it would be easier to tell a stranger. It feels like the pain belongs to Jenni and me alone.

It could be because there is no right thing to say, or words to sooth this. Sometimes I fell like. I don't want to be babied. It was just a few cells that would never be more than just the size of a poppy seed. Sometimes I feel like we lost something so much bigger than that.

A lot of people say, 'It will happen.' but it won't just happen. We have to through all of this again. It's frightening and discouraging and I have to add expensive. I got a referral to both the Calgary clinic and one is Saskatchewan . We can wait now, save up, and that seems like the only things we have in our hands.

One of the best ways I have been able to describe this journey for myself is that I'm standing is a field filled with landmines. Each bomb is just another statistic. At any moment, it can all blow up again. There's no direction we need to be going, and not a lot we can do. It's all just blind steps. With Jenni's treatments, we never even got passed the first step. The pieces get harder to put together with each failed attempt. The stats grow against us; the bombs are lined up more closely together. It's hard to say that it's all worth the end game. We could very well end up right back to where we are now, the same place we were three months ago when this all started.

I have yet to face that possibly.

The Canadians

Anai says:

I have been feeling like two different people these days. Well maybe not exactly, maybe I feel like two different states of me. The most overwhelming is the joy I feel for having started my pregnancy. We've spent a lot of our time reading up about what is happening to my body and how, who we are affectionately calling Poppy, is progressing. They are no longer the size of a Poppy seed but has stretched out to the size of a sesame seeds and has a creepy not-face developing. Poppy also has a sort of brain and a heart beat. One we will get to hear in an ultrasound within just a few days. Our appointment will also rule out the possibility of twins and probably make this feel all the more real.

I don't always feel pregnant. However, every once in a while it creeps up on me and slaps me in the face. Like how yesterday I cried because Jenni left me hanging during a high five and when I discovered about a dozen tiny skin tags popping up in a bunch of different places. Those moments make this feel real and though I had a panic attack about the tags and Jenni had to spoon me until I calmed down, they have brought me an unimaginable happiness.

Then there's a part of me that it very down. I love my birth country very much. It is a wonderful  place that can show off it's beauty despite it's short comings. Even when things seem like they are so wrong, the gorgeousness of its people and its landscape strives. I've always seen that, I have always felt pride of having been born here and lived a few years of my life here. Yet the times I have returned as an adult, I have failed to find a home here. I don't know what changed. Was it me? Or was it my country?

Whatever the change, I cannot seem to find a way back. I am in Panajachel now. It's a lovely little town where my parents started raising their young family. It sits at the shore of Lake Atitlan which even in photographs is breath taking. Being here is the closest I have gotten to comfortable and has always had that affect on me. It is what my grandparents home used to.

I fear that my own disassociation with Guatemala has made it impossible for Jenni to find a place here. How can she fit in when I have outgrown mine? It feels like the open arms are not long enough to embrace us. As a normally timid person, who has to exert a large amount of energy to open up or even hold conversations, I feel like every time I have reached my arms out to close the distance I come out miserably short as well.

Part of the problem is that my family here doesn't know me. My short comings have come across as cold and distant. My efforts have been lost to them. They labeled my wife and I as cold Canadians and have removed the Guatemalan part of me I want so much to reclaim. It is something I want so badly for my children to have. It is the reason we came here to start our family.

On our earlier trips, I thought the crowd had drowned us out and that the excitement of having the whole family arrive together overwhelmed the opportunity to shine as an individual. I thought this time would be different and Jenni and I would be able to connect. I don't know where to go from here.

I want to focus of my little growing family. I want to attend to Jenni and our own journey. It is my responsibility to maintain our state of being and ride the ups and downs of fertility treatments. I want to be the most supportive and strong as I can be and maybe that makes there be three versions of me these days.

The most overwhelming of all is my joy and my urge to keep our dreams for our family inline. My hopes for my time here in Guate are now torn. If I knew how to best tackle it I might be able to move forward. I recognize that it is not all in my hands and that it cannot be as helpless at it seems. But for now, while it's just Jenni and me enjoying Panajachel, I will let it lie. I will focus on our slow going TWW and making plans for Poppy and their siblings and give my wife lots of kisses.

Have the Heart to Try Again

Jenni says:

Well as you may have been able to tell from the last post I wrote, I had been pretty down the last few days. The homesickness combined with some sad news really hit me hard yesterday.

As I mentioned before, I had decided to take Femara, a fertility drug, despite some of the apprehensions I had about it. I started it on cycle day three, and continued for five days. I felt some side effects, mostly sleeplessness and dizziness as well as a general feeling of wow this is shitty. But since it was a good chance, I tried to reign in how awful I felt and was really looking forward to seeing how well the pills worked. Would there be an ok number of follicles? What if there were too many?

But on my appointment, the ultrasound revealed that in fact, nothing had worked at all. I was completely resistant to the medications. I had one follicle, on the left side, exactly the same as last month. Hearing that was very upsetting. All that time, money, side effects...and my body did exactly the same as it wanted to. One follicle. Not even a second smaller one in sight.

After that appointment, Anai and I cried at a coffee shop. It was very overwhelming; having made a decision to try medications and knowing this was so important, it was a lot to digest. I would only have the "regular" chance of conception. The same as any spontaneous cycle.

It was (still is) difficult. Why me? Why would I fall into the 1% of hormone resistant people? When I didn't get a positive on my 15% chance of conceiving last month? But we talked a lot about it, and I had a good chat with my sister, and we decided we should still stick with the plan. Try again, even if we have a regular chance.

I had the procedure today, and I had to laugh when the doctor brought in a practicum student. (Nice to meet you...I am not wearing pants and am laying on paper...) why me? But I am taking this ridiculous universe shit in stride now. Why me? Why not? Screw it, bring on the drug resistances and weirdo students. Sure, why not?!

We decided it can't get much worse. There's only up from here. If I don't get pregnant, we have Anai and baby poppy seed. If I am resistant to drugs, we have another try after this. If the sky falls, we will deal with that too.

I am on my next two week wait. In 8 days we see if Anai and poppy seed are poppy seeds. Twins? Only the ultrasound will tell and I am excited to know. I will roll with the punches and try my best to think positive (even if I am a skeptic) and we will see in two weeks. Thanks for the positive thoughts and well wishes. I have definitely needed them.

always up!

Mixed Emotions

Jenni says:

I'm struggling with a lot of feelings right now, and I think a lot of them are compounded by the fact that I am sick, tired, and mostly... homesick.

I still have a cough, and have been having a lot of headaches. I think a lot of this is due to the weather here: very hot and muggy, then cold and rainy, and so very very smoggy. I have had way too many sunburns, and I seem to never be the "right" temperature. I am always too hot, or weirdly moist but kind of hot/cold, or uncomfortable generally.

I am so very excited that my wife is pregnant! But I was rather blindsided by a lot of sad feelings for myself. I didn't know I would be anxious and feel forgotten in the tide of happiness. Swirling around in my head is the thought that we can, or should, just go home after my second try, regardless of if it works or not.

That's not the plan, but I am discouraged right now, and the thought of being home is vastly tempting. We already have a baby (babies?) that it suddenly seems unimportant for me to be pregnant, even though it's something I want very badly.

But I think to myself that I could be home, safe, comfortable, and happy. Not that I don't cycle through those things here in Guatemala, I just don't have them all at once it seems. Nothing beats your own house. I miss my dog and my family. My garden and my own cooking. We have been gone a month, and to think of being away for another month just seems unbearable.

I am struggling with this very much. The want to go home. But having to give up on my last try to do so. Of course, I am hoping with everything I am that it works for me this time, but I can't help but doubt it. Anai will support me whatever decision I make, but right now, I don't think I have it in me to be here another month.

My ultrasound appointment is tomorrow, Anai's blood test confirmation of pregnancy is tomorrow too. I will have to decide in the coming days what I truly want most. I didn't think it would be such a difficult choice. Wish us luck.

Two Weeks Down... Forty to go!

Anai says:

Yesterday we made an impromptu decision to go to Antigua. It's only forty five minutes away from the Capital. My grandfather had a business meeting so we caught a ride with him. We booked a nice little hotel just off the main square. It has a beautiful garden, the bed is perfectly firm and the pillows just right. We had an pretty tasty meal last night on a Terrance with a moonlight view of the volcanoes and cathedral and arch. We barely touched the subject that tomorrow (which is now today) we planned to take an at home pregnancy test.

It seems that the theme of this trip is, don't sleep well the night before something important. I'm still fighting a cough and Jenni was lucky enough to re-catch the cold we have been fighting. We were a perfect duet of hacking as the early hours of the morning approached. Jen eventually got up and took some Nyquil, it calmed her or should I say zonked her out way passed our free continental breakfast.

I, on the other hand, was awake early. The thought of the wait being over was looming over me. I could get my results any minute, as soon as Jenni wakes up, I kept telling myself. I knew the darling needed her rest. I entertained myself by watching a telenovela (Spanish soap opera) and cooling my families heels as they whatsapp'ed about my upcoming pee test. It was a fun morning, I enjoyed both immensely.

Once Jenni was awake, we decided to take a shower, and discuss the best time to take the test as we did. It wasn't until we were about to get in that I admitted to holding in my pee all morning for the test. I probably shouldn't have held my pee in for so long because admittedly my steam was quite powerful and I managed to make a bit of a mess.

We put the test down and left it on the vanity. We stood outside of the shower discussing the results. The allowed three minutes must have passed we thought shortly after and we checked it....

The control line was strong but really blurry, the results window completely blank. We laughed. I had peed all over the damn stick. After all that tension we got anticlimactic results. We had to go buy another test because I ruined the damn thing. We threw it out and jumped into the shower. Once we were out we thought we should tell my family, who we have been keeping in touch with in a group chat.

We shared the story, still laughing at ourselves. My sister asked for photo evidence so I went back to the bathroom and fished the test out of the garbage can. I had my phone camera ready and when I flipped the stick over I saw it clearly. A faint pink line is the results window, a positive. I called out to Jenni twice. She says she thought I was whining about getting pee on my hands but when she rounded the corner she knew. I handed her the test and the tears started flowing from both of us freely. We laughed and cried and hugged and kissed. It will be always one of my most cherished moments.
I called my mom, father and sister and brother. Everyone got extremely emotional.

Jen looked up our due date and we got a few different answers. One thing she did read was that our baby is right now the size of a poppy seed. I thought that was so neat. So Jen took me and what will now be known as baby Poppy for now to lunch, to celebrate our first triumph.

One down, one to go.

Vacation within Vacations

Jenni says:

we are headed off on another impromptu adventure. Anai pees on a stick tomorrow (!!) and I have started to take Femara. It was with much internal struggle that I came to that conclusion, as it isn't a drug that you are able to use for fertility in Canada. But here, it seems common and our doctor said that he has had better results with it, rather than Clomid which he is less familiar with. So I decided to give it a shot and I am on cycle day five, and Femara day two. Fingers crossed that this works out for me this time.

Anyway, our adventure now takes us to Antigua. (Old Guatemala) we decided about an hour ago that we should go as I have until the 18th to go back to the doctor and find out how my follies did on Femara. Coincidentally, Anai's grandfather told us at lunch that he was headed there. Today! So instead of waiting until tomorrow, we are going to go tonight and have a vacation within our vacation. We are looking forward to some relaxation with just the two of us, and finding out our results.

More later :)

Speak of the devil and She will come.

Anai says:

It was with some relief that Jen got her period on the 28th day of her cycle. It doesn't sound like much but those two days before were quite emotionally loaded. Even if the unknown held hope for a pregnancy, the known calmed us greatly. The disappointment brought sadness but came with a tranquility that the two week wait makes you crave. Yet, it's hard to make sure that disappointment doesn't true into feeling disheartened. But I'm sure that's just the way it goes with these things.

You can't help but have your it break when you put your whole heart into something.

I've gone from being certain that I was pregnant to feeling like oh shit what if I am not. From even before the procedure I was sure that this was it for me. I have this out of nowhere gut feeling that I am the most perfect fertile person. Other than being quite regular and twenty five years old I have nothing to back this thought process.

I don't feel any bit pregnant. I let some stomach pains get to my head. This must mean I'm pregnant. It must be it and God pregnancy is awful. The feeling was fleeting and more than likely part of this horrific cold that I still have. There's no way to feel pregnant right now, no matter how much people say they knew they were pregnant the moment it happened.

The doctor himself said there are no symptoms in the first two weeks. Morning sickness itself doesn't usually occur until four weeks in. Symptom spotting is a load of stress and that's all. I don't feel pregnant and it is starting to get to me.

We can't both have negative results. It would change our moods substantially. The optimism needed for this is stressful. Trying not to stress is also stressful. That's the nature of stress and it sucks.

I think it is mostly because we are home sick. Jen misses English and my brain misses it too. We miss or bed and our dog. Every time I think about my mother I have to hold back some tears. The sooner we get pregnant  the sooner we cam make our way back to the place we love and need. It's under your own blankets, in your own house that you can let all your stress go.

Not to say we haven't had a some really nice times lately. Yesterday was Mother's day. My aunt brought me and Jenni some beautiful lilies from her garden as a gift for Mother's to be. Then we drove to Tecpan, where the oldest Mayan city once lay. The ruins were wonderful. The ground had grown around them and the trees had made their root beds within the tallest stone structures. Everyone was having picnics and lying around in the shade like if it was just any sort of park. It was the perfect environment. Apart from watching these two adorable sisters dancing and running to one another, I didn't think of the babies we might have.

Negative Nancy

Jenni says:

It's pretty early in the morning, but I've been lying awake thinking too much so I thought I may as well post.

Yesterday morning I woke up early as usual, went to the bathroom, and there was blood on the tissue. I was really disappointed. I sat there for a bit, not one to cry easily, but wondering if I should knock off a sniffle of feeling totally bummed out. I was also running the "what if's" through my head. It was a little weird, getting my period two days early. I always, like clockwork, get it the night of day 28 and then in full force the morning of day 29. I don't think I have deviated from that pattern since December, when I got it the morning of the 24th, instead of the evening. (I'm that regular that a "difference" like that sticks out in my mind!)

So I was thinking, what if it's some sort of spotting/other symptom/not my period...so that's when I decided the only thing to put myself at ease would be to pee on a stick. We had just bought one the night before, some sketchy Guatemalan-brand one that promises 99.9% accuracy!! Don't they all. Anyway, the instructions were in Spanish, and we had difficulty understanding the conservative nature of the wording. What pregnancy test refuses to use the word "period" or "cycle day" or "conception"? It said, use up to 7 days after "the day you think you have become pregnant." We thought maybe this would be 7 days after the day of ovulation. I thought maybe they meant 7 days after your first day of missed period, but with instructions like that it was guesswork anyway.

Yesterday I peed on the conservative stick and it was negative. I wasn't surprised, as I had just had what I assumed was period-startings, but I was still disappointed. Not even a hint of another line. Just one singular, solid "not this time" line.

That being said, I am ashamed to admit I have a 1% feeling of hope. This morning, there was no blood, which, if yesterday was period day 1, has never, in my life, happened before. I like to joke with Anai--the joys of same-sex understanding partners--that day 2 is Dexter Day for me. (Bloody horror show for those of you who don't get the reference). But today, nothing. So I am clinging to a tiny, ridiculously misguided, hope. That the sketchy test was wrong. That the bleeding was...something else, some other symptom, and that today later on, it doesn't just resurge into the regular way of being and I get my tiny, ridiculous, 1% chance hope snuffed out.

I feel more weight on my shoulders just writing about my hope. Does anyone get the feeling that writing or saying something means it won't come true? That by mentioning my tiny hope, I cement its demise? Well, I had to say it. I sleep badly as it is, so, I'll hold off on my sad vodka binge until that 1% hope goes away. And I hope with fingers crossed, that the hope only grows.

Sun, Sand, Sunburns, Mosquito Bites and Impatient Natures

Jenni says:

 

I present to you, the blessing of having "Omg you're so tasty" written all over me in mosquito language. This is just a small selection of the damage. Overall, I'd guess I have somewhere around 40-50 bites, 12 of which are on this one foot.

 

I also managed to get a sunburn on my forehead (!!!) of which, a picture will not be included in this post, for obvious embarrassment reasons. Sidenote, did you know that the best Guatemalan remedy for sunburn is to powder you with cornstarch? True. Can't say it didn't work--can't say it did work, but at least I'm less shiny?

But overall, our trip to El Salvador was really very lovely. We spent a lot of time doing a lot of nothing, lazing around the pool, eating, walking the beach, watching the sunset, watching Indecent Proposal for the first time ever for both of us (I would like those hours of my life back please).

It was nice to spend time with just us, and the pool, and read and relax. And through treatments including a lot of Vicks Vapor Rub, Halls and some kind of strange Anti-Cold & Flu tea, my cold has managed to transfer from me to Anai. Sorry, love. I hope that she recovers faster than I did, as it was a solid 6 day cold.

We purchased a pregnancy test today, and I am killing myself thinking about if I should just pee on it already. I have three days until I am "supposed" to check and see if anything is going on, and 2 days until my period would most likely show it's ugly head if nothing is going on. The doctor told me to wait until two days after I missed my period before doing a test, but it's called a "Two Week Wait" not a "Two Week and Two More Excruciating Days Wait" so I made my goal to wait until Saturday, the day my period was supposed to come.

I have never been late. I have been early, by a day, usually always even though I ovulate on the same day (almost) every month. I don't know why, but it's as if I have a 28 day cycle with a 29 day ovulation prediction. So I usually get Aunt Flo like clockwork on the evening of day 28. I am not one of those girls who can anticipate it coming or not. I never get pre-cramps, or bloating, or any other feelings. I just that it's there, and then day 2 is the cramping from hell, and then we carry on the usual way So I don't really have that pre-emptive "I know I'm not pregnant because I feel PMS-y" thing going on. If it comes, it will blindside me as usual.

But seriously, sitting here thinking about it is worse. I wonder if there's much difference between Friday night and Saturday morning. Couldn't I just do the test on Friday night and it's the same as Saturday? But then I am pushing it back too many days. I think I should try to finish out the two weeks properly. But it's obviously harder the closer you are to the end of the weeks. I hope that I can make it to Saturday, or even wait until Sunday (what an idea!). My doctor's appointment is Monday, to do blood work, if I haven't got a visit from AF by then.

Other than a lot more waiting, and scratching, and some peeling skin, things are going well. I wish I could just sleep until it was time, and then find out the answer. It also is a little--OK a LOT--ironic that I will find out the results for Mother's Day. Yikes, pressure much??

My 1st exposure to Sperm... and Rabies.

Anai says:

A laughing fit got in the way of a successful butt poke. My ass was out as I was face down chewing the bed sheet with Jenni was leaning over me. It might have been the nerves or the fact that at any moment any conversation my wife and I are having can take a turn for hysteria, but we couldn't go through with it. We called my Abuelita into the room (everyone who heard about the LH Surge injection raved about her capabilities with a needle). She said she would show us how to do it and was coaching Jenni. She said you have to get the blood moving by pinching/slapping the skin. As she demonstrated she poked me, completely without warning.
Thanks Grandma.
Either way it went well. It still felt sore in the injection site for a few days after but all in all the shot worked out exactly the way we planned it. At my ultrasound on Thursday, three of the five possible follicles that were in the running to become babies had reached mature size. Three being the magic number as that was the max we were willing to have to go forward with the insemination. (um hi, 20% chance for twins here.)
We had to get up before the sun the morning of the insemination. My appointment was a nine am and we had to get there an hour early to sign the paperwork. It that stated the sperm they were defrosting was indeed the one meant for us. It seemed pretty important so we arranged to be picked up at my grandparent's house by my cool veterinarian aunt.   We were running on what I will call zero sleep. There was a magnificent thunderstorm lighting up the sky, that simmered only for a an hour around two am and then returned at full force right after. I know this because I was up all night.
It had nothing to do with nerves and more to do that Jen was busy dying of phlegm and cough attacks.
We positioned ourselves on the bed so that the big window in the room was like a big screen and we watched the lighting light up the sky so brightly that we could see the details in the leaves on the threes. So even though we were tired it was also a beautiful sight. There isn't a rainy day that passes without me having to exclaim that I love the rain. It wasn't too bad until we had to get up and moving and ready for the big day part two.
We were sleepy and exhausted and the world of traffic made it so that, dropping off my cousins at the university, solely unlocking the doors at the Vet Clinic and getting to the Doctor's office took two and a half hours. We arrived right on time to our appointment only to be told that the doctor had been in a car accident and would be arriving who knows when.
I wasn't surprised that there was a accident since every time we leave the house we are surrounded by terrifying near misses. I would keep a running tally but I might start giving myself nightmares (wait I already had one) We've been rear ended twice already anyways.
The wait lasted almost three hours, during which my Jenni was dwindling in health and becoming increasingly hangry and I was trying not to freak out that I could ovulate at any minute and my that my five follicles would mature at any moment as well. The Doc had a few stitches on his hand but seemed as calm and collected as ever. Always friendly, he greeted us and the procedure went underway.
I'm going to go into the details because that's just me.
The speculum the lady had laid out for the Doctor was plastic, he immediately scorned her for giving it to him. He's a metal guy apparently, and I soon learned why. There's no KY (his words). It, apparently, is no good for this procedure. So it has to go in just as is. My damn cervix is a little to the side (I knew this already from previous pap tests.) but it was never a problem. But since IUI means intrauterine insemination, the Doctor needed a look at my lopsided cervix. So the damn speculum was being twisted about and I was trying not to make a scene (and squeeze Jen's hand off) but it was passed uncomfortable. Doctor Salguero finally gave up and ordered the metal speculum. I was relived but also upset that it wasn't over and that it was all for nothing. From there everything else went well. The insemination feels like getting a needle but without the pain, you just feel it move in deeper. It's strange to feel your insides. The only part that hurts is that you get immediate cramping that hurts from your ovaries to your ribs and the pain lasts for most of the day.
It certainly isn't nice. But I prefer it to getting a filling.
The Doctor set my next appointment to May 16th. Five days after Jen's. If we are pregnant we might skip the blood test. I don't know why. Maybe because it's hell to even try to get to that part of town. If we have to go again for a second attempt those will be the dates of our first ultrasounds.  I don't feel any different into my second days of my TWW. I feel like just me and paunch just like any other day. Yet I am optimistic. There we no signs of possible disturbances and for that Jen and I decided to celebrate and eat a giant lunch.
We planed on going to this delicious looking burger shop we pass by every time we go to the clinic. But it wasn't open. We couldn't wait the half hour because it was almost noon and we hadn't eaten. That usually doesn't bug me, I can wait that long but we had been up for seven hours already and that makes a difference. We settled on the only place that was open and that so happened to be IHOP. (international is right) It wasn't horrible. We ordered more food than we needed we soon found out but it was all good. We were happy and relived to be done with attempt one. We were ringing in the waiting period the best way possible (after booze) FOOD.
We hung out at he mall a few hours. Just sitting at a café, so that we could relax our tired selves and mostly let Jenni rest. She wasn't feeling too hot but we had to wait for our ride quite a long time. Since it's so difficult to move through the city we had to chill at my Aunt's Vet Clinic for a few hours before we got to go home. It was already a long day but we had to hang out and loiter. I was prepared for this and brought us each a book.
The clinic is small and we were confined to the front room where there is three seats so patients and owners can wait for service. It seemed to be a slow day for the clinic. Jen was a bit restless and a lot hot and was pacing around and seemed most comfortable when sitting on a bag of dog food. I had to pee real badly but you have to cross into the operating room to get to the washroom. It wasn't in use but I still feel like a bit of an intruder going back there.
Eventually I couldn't help it anymore and braved it when the room was finally empty. Like I said it's a small space. They have the operating table and passed that there's a space where there's a big sink for the washing of fur babies and a narrow black spiral staircase that leads up to where my Aunt keeps the pets she's looking after and then a small bathroom.
On my way back to the front room I looking around the dog wash station for some paper towel to dry my hands with when I heard a THUD sound which was immediately followed by another THUD.  The source of the sound was a little Chihuahua. It wasn't crying as it stumbled down the spiral staircase. It had attempted to walk down but each step is quite steep. They are taller than the little pup could reach. Which had sent the little thing literally (literally used the correct way) flipping down each step, feet forward, flip, ass forward, like cartwheels. He was struggling to catch himself and as soon as he did he feel forward again. I reacted immediately. He feel down like three steps plus the two thuds I heard earlier before I caught him and brought him close to my chest.
He didn't seem hurt but I knew that if he was here he wasn't doing so well. I cradled him and ran over to my aunt, WHO FREAKED OUT BEFORE I HAD A CHANCE TO EXPLAIN.  She told me to hold him away from me and DON'T MOVE. Her and the other Vet were panicked and as they rummaged around frantically looking for something. I tried to say what happened but they weren't listening. My aunt was trying to shove on rubber gloves and the other Vet had located a blanket and was the first to take the poor scared dog out of my hands. Once she did, my aunt instructed that I go to the washroom right away, not to touch anything and to wash my hands as thoroughly as possible. I did as explained not sure what the fuzz was all about but starting to get an idea.
I washed myself as if I was scrubbing up for open heart surgery. I even had to wash my chest since I had held him to my skin and then switch shirts and disinfect anything I touched on my way to wash my hands.
The poor little pup had rabies. He wasn't going to make it. I don't regret grabbing him. Was it stupid of me? Maybe. It is a Veterinarian office and I should not assume anything of the animals there but I couldn't let it happen to the poor boy. He won't make it and maybe my affection was the last he ever feel. His heart was going so fast, he was so frighten. I find myself emotional just thinking of it now. It was such a scene that I never did get a chance to explain myself to my aunt.
It was quite an eventful day. Long for our tired selves. When we made it back to the house I made some Caldo for Jen to make her feel better. It's an amazing traditional soup where you throw any veggie you can imagine into a huge pot and some stewing meat and spices and cilantro and let it cook thoroughly. It's the best remedy for colds and for stress and exactly what I needed. It was delicious and when we tumbled into bed we slept wrapped closely to one another deeply and contently with the sounds of another thunder storm lulling us.       

Day Three of Fourteen

Jenni says:

I am on the dreaded Two Week Wait (Tww). In a few hours I have to put a trigger shot in my wife's butt and then on Thursday, she starts her two week wait. I think surviving one wait is hard enough but when it includes yet another two weeks, it sounds downright impossible!!

So far I have had a lot of Guatemalan family rub my belly and make comments of "you both" when referring to me. I really appreciate their enthusiasm, but I really don't feel a bit different. Other than a cold, which I have decided to blame on the donor, even though I have no proof. (Long story short is there's a virus called CMV that 80% of people already have, but can be passed through bodily fluids. Many sperm banks test for CMV, even though most donors are positive for the antibodies. Our sperm bank didn't provide us with this info, so as CMV can cause cold-like symptoms and sore throat, I have decided the reason I suddenly feel like shit is the donor. Unfounded, but why not blame the anonymous one, eh!?)

Am I supposed to feel some "inner knowledge"? Or some weird twinge, weak elbow, fluttering sentiment? All in all I feel snotty and exactly the same. But it's been three days, and if I'm pregnant or not has nothing to do with me--consciously, I mean--so we just have to wait.

We're planning a trip to El Salvador for a beach break and a nice hotel stay. Unfortunately it's all inclusive and neither Anai or I will be able to drink our faces off. It's almost worth wishing to know early if I'm pregnant or not so I could wallow my sorrows in some vodka. But I don't pee on a test until May 10 and we go on May 3; so if I know by then it would only be via virtue of an early period.

Speaking of pregnancy tests, they are so bloody expensive here. 75Q, which, to put into perspective, we bought a pay as you go phone for 95Q today. Granted, that's about $12.50 for a pregnancy test, and $15.80 for a phone... ok, so that's cheap, but not for Guatemala standards haha. I suppose I should be happy that it's only $12 rather than bitching about it. ;)

Speaking about costs, our IUI with ultrasounds, donor, and doctor visits, runs about $700 per cycle. Anai, since she is on pills and a trigger shot, only adds $40 to that. I am very thankful that we are able to afford this without taking out a loan. It also makes me less worried about when/if I need a second cycle, as our budget is solid for a full six tries, three between us.

Other than waiting, and having a cold, and seeing lightning, and finishing a book, (The Heroes by John Abercrombie; I ate those 600 pages in no time) I'm just hoping Anai's appointment on Thursday goes well. Now to Google how to give someone a shot in the bum... :)

Our Favour

 

Anai Says:

This morning we went to the Doctors. On our last appointment, he postponed the procedure a day in order to time the insemination better. Dr. Salguero called it ‘Following the Spontaneous Cycle.’ To arrange a ride for early this morning, we stayed the night at my Aunt and Uncle’s house. We’ve stayed there before for something similar. Last time we were here, Jen braved going in to get her vision corrected.

Their house is so lovely and cute, and what I would love in a house. It has the same thing as ours; three bedrooms, two bathrooms. It’s smaller though and everything fits in nicely. Jenni and I shared a twin bed, which we are usually the best at. We are the queens of cuddles. The only flaw in the way we like to sleep is that there’s a lot of skin contact (what?! That’s a problem?!) Only in plus 30 degree Celsius and one-hundred-damn-percent humidity. 

Jen let out a half asleep grunt if I leaned too close to the middle of the bed.  I wanted her to be comfortable and relaxed but the mosquitos sensed her magnificent–childbearing-white-girl-blood and they feasted on the richness of her foreign and exotic substance (I woke up without a single bite.) We did not sleep too well or much at all. Our giddiness didn’t help either. Phrase of the night: Go to bed Jen.  

I wasn’t the one in the backless dress today. I was more of the hand holder and the inappropriate joke maker. I kept my cool on the last task and kept, the several new names for spunk that popped into my head, to myself. That head of mine was buzzing because of it all. These are our choices, our decisions and our actions. Yet, they do not always feel real. Maybe it was because my main task was hand-holder, and ‘sssht don’t take that picture’ girl, that it hasn’t sunk in. Perhaps, I am trying to let it take its time. We are entering, what I can only imagine is, a long two weeks as we wait for the results of this morning’s procedure.

We haven’t made a plan yet. If we can find them here, we might jump into doing an early pregnancy detection test.  Yet, they can give you both false-negatives and false-hope. We can wait until Jen’s blood test on the 11^th of May. Or just wait until Jen’s period is late and let the up-coming week might distract us a bit.

I am due for an appointment on Monday. Maybe that might quell our nervous excitement or add to it. I’ll be having an ultrasound and checking up how my follicles have grown and if the hormones I am taking will result in a few more percentage points in our favour. If I’m lucky we will be setting a date for my insemination.  

There are so many things we can dwell on while we wait for Jen’s pee stick day. Stats being a part of each of those things. Straight from the man that crutches his own numbers, Dr. Rodrigo Salguero says with each attempt to get pregnant we were looking at 25-30%. It's hard to visualize what that is. I thought about it a while and made it into my own layman terms. 

 

Say I flip a coin and call tails. It spins up and then back down and it might land on tails. I will have been right and I've won. Good for me, except that I still have half those chances. I don't know if that's a bit bleak, optimistic, or just plain wrong (probably the latter) but either way it seems irrelevant.   Because there is no way of knowing if Jen or I will fall into the seventy percent or the lucky thirty.

Chances be damned because they yield no true result. In the end, when we are making our way back home the chances will have turned tables and will be on our side. With three attempts each, which is what we've budgeted our time for, leaves us at an 85% chance of conception. Not too shabby but way still too simpleton.  Conception and chances of pregnancy do not necessarily mean that there is a child.  I don't really want to live by the stats. I do not really want to let them rule me. I know Jenni feels the same.

She said something to me, in one of our many discussions about the chances. She said. If someone told you, you had 25% chances of winning the lottery there is no way you wouldn’t buy a ticket.

Another wonderful woman, my mother, said something along that line too. Everyone here has already won the lottery. The Doctor used 80 million spermies (yes, we call them that among other things) for Jenni’s insemination. One of those could very possibly be our child, just like one of them out of all those millions resulted in each of us.

The odds are there and they are really just numbers, none that can tell you what the next two week will be like, or the week after that. In the end, it’s not a numbers game. It’s a waiting one.

Boo. Hiss. Argh. Woot Woot.

 

Tomorrow is only a Day Away

Jenni says:

Tomorrow is the day! Going to the doctor, that is. I have been diligently peeing on a stick and no ovulation yet, but my body is telling me that Saturday or Sunday might be the day, which would put me right on my "usual" schedule.

I'm not even sure what we will be doing at the clinic; some more ultrasound and wanding, I am sure. (oh joy.) I don't think tomorrow is THE day, because if I don't ovulate until Sunday that would mean the procedure would be Saturday and then I would start the two week wait to see if it worked.

Anai's grandma asked if I was nervous? No, because I don't think it's actually happening tomorrow! I'm a big procrastinator so I kind of feel like I'm procrastinating on being nervous too! But if it actually happens tomorrow, THE DAY then I will be nervous but I won't even have time for that.

For now, I'm just excited! More tomorrow :)

Making a Choice

Jenni says:

As our next appointments are Friday for me and Monday for Anai, we have been doing a little bit of lazing around. We discovered that we have access to Guatemalan Netflix and that it is far superior to Canadian Netflix. So as Anai's grandparents went into the city, we stayed in at their up-the-mountain house and did a whole lot of nothing. Which was awesome.

We did get one big thing done: we chose a donor.

A lot of people ask all sorts of questions when we tell them we are going to be using a donor. What will you be looking for? What attributes do you want? Will it be anonymous? Etcetera. The long story short for us, is we really don't care.

That might sound weird, but ultimately, we aren't into a "designer" choice. We have looked at donor profiles online before, and there is a huge variety of things that people seem interested in looking for. Many sperm banks even have options of purchasing the donor's baby picture, or buying an essay, or a sample of their voice; the list goes on. I suppose people may want to give those things to their children as a momento? But the reality is that it is coming from a company who is attempting to make money. You don't know if the essay, or the picture or even the voicenote is really what they say it is. Ultimately, if you choose an anonymous donor, you or your children won't be able to know who the donor is.

That being said, the clinic here in Guatemala certainly didn't give us many options--at least if we wanted to choose a local donor, which we did. There was no option to pay more money for an "Open I.D." donor (someone who donated and was willing to meet the child when they are older). The only choice was an anonymous donor. I felt a little relieved at that, because it was something that I wasn't sure of. Making that choice, to choose to have an anonymous donor, was something that I struggled with morally. I read some websites/forums from people who were donor-conceived, or who had used donors, and a reoccurring theme was sadness at not being able to find their paternal/maternal donor.

I do understand that not all people would feel that way, and it definitely doesn't mean our children will feel that way. But while I would prefer an anonymous donor for a lot of reasons, I still felt like I was taking away an option for my own personal reasons. I don't want to share my children with anyone (other than Anai of course) and that probably is a very selfish reason for wanting anonymous donors. So when this clinic didn't have an "open I.D" option--I was relieved that the decision was out of my hands. I don't know what would have happened if they had the option, I only know that this is what is available for us.

Since we need donor material for at least six tries, it also complicated the choice for a donor. We need six samples because even though we hope it works first time, if Anai were to get pregnant and not myself, for the second go around we would need the same donor for try number two, and so on. So the clinic gave us a small folder with donor profiles and told us to pick one we wanted, call them and they would tell us if there was six samples.

When I say small folder, I mean...very small. There were only four donor profiles to choose from. This was because we needed samples very soon (Friday) and their process for recruitment of donors included a six month quarantine period for any sample. The clinic runs their own sperm bank, but they have only been using this process since 2013, so it limited the number of samples that are available now, this week, immediately.

There was also an option to buy from a California sperm bank and have it shipped, but not only did it cost an extra $1000 US, it wasn't what we wanted. We wanted a Guatemalan donor, even if we were doing this in Canada, as we want that connection to Guatemala itself. We want that heritage for our children, so that when the tooth rat comes instead of a tooth fairy, it can be a part of their sense of self. (Ok, ok, tooth mouse, I don't think it's actually a rat. But even so, it's super cute.)

So here it is, the choice of a (hopeful) lifetime:

 

All we really know is the very basics. Eye colour, hair colour, height, weight. And that he apparently likes music, and is a university student. Or was at the time. I think that there could be a lot of ethical issues with how you choose, or why you choose, but really, when we think of it, we want to have kids. To do so, we need to choose a donor. I was happy it wasn't some sort of weird gambit where you fight it out with oh this one has a better education, but this one is taller. I liked that we chose what we did because we want a connection to Guatemala. Not because we want a certain ethnicity of a child, or with a certain hair colour, or eye colour. Because Anai was born here, and we want to embrace and love that culture, and we want our children to love it and know it.

 

I hope that we can bring them here often, and that they can see it the way we do right now. As a place that started a lot of things for our family. Anai's family is here, and without that, I wouldn't have met her. We're using a clinic here, and without it, we wouldn't be on this journey to having kids. I want our children to know that ultimately they were wanted (more than anything!!) that they're beautiful, and I hope they feel at home here in Guatemala and in Canada, and they get to enjoy the best of both worlds.

 

Home Coming LaLa!

Anai says:

It's only the second full day of being here and already lots has happened and happened quickly. Why was a complaining so much before?

I feel like I have come home, and have left home and am carting home next to me in the form of a shy Gringa wife. Either way we are very happy to be here. The Arrivals gate at the Guatemalan Airport always makes me feel so anxious and excited. You have to exit the airport before you see your loved ones. Outside there's an area roping eager family members off from crowding the exit and combing the faces is always so exhilarating.

Finding your faces makes your heart skip, it moves faster that you do and rips out of your chest before you can drop your bags. It beats you into the embrace and when you are finally in your families arms your heart falls back into place fuller than it was a moment ago. It's an unreal feeling that follows you as you hug, the whole crew.  And the whole crew was there. All my cousins, my aunts and my uncle. Three cars full of people waiting over an hour just to see your face one day sooner.

It was ten pm and by the time we got to my grandparents house I was emotional and beat. Seeing my grandparents, in their pyjamas, tired but ecstatic, it broke my seal. I teared up. I cried because my grandmother looked so much like my mom and I miss her so much already.  There was a lot of noise and a lot of excitement and a lot of people crammed into the a hallways since for whatever reason see decided it was best to hang out there. It was probably because it felt so good to be so close to one another again.

Jen was a tad overwhelmed. It isn't her first time experiencing the uproar. But I believe the immersion of Spanish was hitting her right when she was most tired. I was proud of her, she did not let it show. We rode in different cars up to my grandparents house and she told me how well she had done on her own.

Everyone slowly made their way home, reluctant to leave but visibly exhausted. My grandparents stayed up with us, chatting about our plans and our goals until early in the morning. The next morning, we slept in. Nice and cozy and rested, we got up and my grandma was excited to make us breakfast.

I can eat a million eggs in Guate, I can eat one a week in Canada. The eggs here are bright yellow and taste real. To me our pale eggs at home are not quite what they should be. Maybe a Canadian eating an egg here feels the exact opposite. I guess I should ask Jen. But man they are tasty, and my grandma knows how to make em' great. Served with freshly squeezed orange juice, it is a sign. We will be living the life.

After our meal, my grandma rushed us upstairs eager to give us a surprise. She had a Christmas gift bag full of hand made baby clothes, baby boots and baby blankets. All made by her, she admitted to starting the moment she heard that we were coming.

It's comforting to feel so much support. This isn't a medical vacation. It's a family one. It's theme is family ,starting one and reinforcing the bonds with the people I have here. My grandparents have been using the Duolingo App just like Jenni has. They are making the effort to communicate with her. It warms me more than the Guatemalan heat and more than my upcoming Clomid hot flashes will.

So it Begins

Jenni says:

Today we had our first appointment with the doctor! As always, it was a bit of a crazy ride getting there, but we were lucky to have our aunt Karla drive us there. She navigates the roads perfectly fine and didn't seem phased at all by all the honking and giant busses trying to squish into the same lane as us.

The building where the clinic is was very nice. To get access to the elevators, you had to sign in at the front desk to get a swipe card, and there was security visible at the entrances as well. We went up the elevator and found the clinic easily on the second floor. The clinic itself was also very nice and clean. The receptionists greeted us quickly, and had us fill out some forms. It was nice to see other patients waiting, as there had been some (probably well intentioned, but misguided) concerns raised by the family of what if they were just trying to rip us off, and didn't actually intend on helping us with pregnancy? I thought of a very old Law & Order episode with a sketchy fertility clinic...but this clinic was full of other patients, and we even saw a couple gushing over an ultrasound, and we overheard they had been to other clinics before finding success here. It put the mind at ease--it definitely didn't look like a clinic that was looking to scam some Canadian medical tourists. (Whew).

We got into the office pretty quickly, and had a weigh in for us both, with some hip and stomach measurements (unsure of why, but sure why not), as well as took our blood pressure. Karla came with us, and wanted to take pictures while we had the blood pressure sleeve on. Cute, but not getting posted here.

We met with the Doctor, Dr. Salguero, and I was pleased that he was willing to speak to us in English. I feel a little better about listening and understanding Spanish (except I never know if someone is asking a question or giving me a statement as it takes me so long to catch up to what I'm hearing), but I was happy to have him speak in English. He explained a lot that we already knew from our research, about the pros & cons of taking fertility medications vs. having a spontaneous cycle. Because my body decided that the earlier the better, I am already on day 9, so no medications for me. I'm fine with that, as I wanted to try once as a dry run anyway. Anai on the other hand is on day 3, so we decided that she should try the medications. They had previously mentioned Femara, but our health insurance at home won't cover that particular medication for fertility use, whereas Clomid is covered--even if we get it out of the country. So Anai got a prescription for it, and starts her round of 5 pills, 50mg each day for the next 5 days.

Next, we went for an ultrasound to see how everything was going. No one likes being in a backless dress, but Karla used the moment to take another picture, this time a picture of "I'm on a table about the get wanded." Also, not getting posted here, hah. My uterus was in great shape, and my follicles were of a good size, the dominant one being 11mm. The doctor said that 17mm is ideal size, and that they grow about 2mm per day, so if I ovulate on day 15/16 that puts me Friday/Saturday/Sunday. I have my appointment on Friday, and will be peeing on a stick hoping to get an LH surge. As a side note, we should have purchased our ovulation prediction sticks in Canada, as we had to pay $30 for 3 sticks, whereas in Canada we could get a pack of 10 for $40. Public documentation of "I told you so" to Anai! We're going to check Walmart here to see if we can get them cheaper.

Anai was also doing well, and will start her meds right away and her appointment is on next Monday. Dr. Salguero was very clear with what he was saying, when to start things, when to come in. He gave us his cell phone number and told us to call if I get an LH surge before the appointment on Friday. Next, he told us that we could pick up the donor profiles and choose one of them either here at the clinic or take the profiles home and just call in with which one we wanted. We paid for our appointment(s) which was 1,080Q, $180 Canadian dollars, which included the $30 ripoff for the LH surge predictor sticks.

I felt comfortable at the clinic--except for the backless dress and circumstances of course--but everyone was friendly and it seemed very professional. I was very thankful that Karla came with us, not only for moral support but also for the assertion that it all wasn't just a rip off, or some weird scam. She said the doctor seemed very nice as well. They didn't bat an eye that Anai and I were together, that we wanted to use the same donor, that we were both getting pregnant at the same time. Overall, it all feels a lot more real. I'm excited, and I hope that even if this is a "dry run" of one good try, for me, and an all out go for Anai, that it goes well and that there is minimal time in the backless dress, even if it was 29 degrees with 100% humidity today.

Grease me up and call me Sally

Jenni says:

As a sort of unrelated sidenote to the fact that our first visit to the doctor is less than 12 hours away (!!);

If you're thinking of buying this:

 

 

thinking it's a nice spray lotion, don't. It is, in fact, oil in a can. And on the can, from my oily hands. And all over me. Anai's grandma was dabbing me with toilet paper a few minutes ago. Nothing like being a glowing, moist, oily lady to keep your mind off the nervousness.

Now to slip into bed--literally--and wait for tomorrow. I hope the giant spider we saw earlier doesn't add some salt and vinegar to me and enjoy a tasty midnight snack.

Are we there yet? Or what happens when you write on a plane.

Anai says (while in cursing altitude)

 

Through extensive use of Google, Jenni and I were able to get in contact with a Fertility Clinic in Guatemala. The first one I attempted to contact, I had had a conversation with via email a few years ago; two, I think. It seemed quite nice and catered mostly to people abroad wanting IVF or IUI. Their website even suggested a week was all it took to get the job done. They basically partnered up with your current fertility doctor and your own constant egg drop monitoring and got the job done like in and out. (sounds like the regular process, no?)

I tried to speak to them again this time around, but I found that their site had not been updated for quite some time and their last tweet was ancient. Yet, we still tried to get a hold of them. Calling them directly resulted in a panic attack. Reaching our first option, resulted a confusing phone called to a foreign bank. We were thwarted and frustrated. It was misdirected angst since finding another doctor did not take us too too long. The internet is a wonderful place, and even though we had to now navigate in Spanish, we found one.

Nervous about the language barrier but desperate to secure a doctor, I called right away. It was four months before we even planned on arriving. The receptionist made it sound like I could come down the next morning. She even transferred me directly to the Doctor who gave me the whole low down.

My Spanish got me through well enough since all the medical jargon is pretty much the same word. Insemination versus inseminacion. The Doctor did not falter when I mentioned that both my wife and I wanted to the do procedure and he even made me feel comfortable enough to explain why we wanted to go about starting our family this way.

It was a nice conversation. I hung up the phone well informed and happy with the result. I hung up the phone having taken the first official step from just talking about it to planning it to even putting it into action.

We’ve corresponded since the clinic ever since. Happily ever after. Last on my do to list yesterday as we left home was to give them a final phone call. The appointment is officially book for both of us this coming Monday at 11:30 in the am.

It’s exciting but also a bit strange. Everything feels like the first step.

Packing, first step check.

Leaving work, the adventure begins.

Saying goodbye to the dogdog and family, not ready, set, go!

Arriving at the departures, introduction.

Going through customs, security, getting on the plane, layover, next plane and landing, this is where it all began.

It all always just feels like the start. I know that it all is but wasn’t the phone call to the clinic the start? Wasn’t the first conversation about it all the beginning too?

The anticipation is killing me. When is part two? Will it be at the clinic or will that just be what this is? It feels like we are opening the door to the room we are already in. Maybe it’s the anticipation, or the altitude or mostly likely because I didn’t get to sit next to Jen (and wasn’t given a complimentary snack) but I do not feel like I have not passed go even though I keep rolling the die.

It’s not a bad thing, but it certainly derailed my post and speaking of derailed what will happen when it all finally goes forward. When will that be and can it be this Monday at noon?

The Big Stuff

Jenni says:

Don't sweat the small stuff so I guess it's ok if I sweat the big stuff, right?

I am a self admitted complete worry-wart. I stress about everything and anything, especially when I'm lying comfortable as big spoon and trying to sleep. I don't really know when it started, but I've always been able to catastrophize almost anything at the drop of a hat. So when I suggested we write about our biggest fears and greatest excitements, I told myself I better not spend the whole time writing about all my fears (what if my feet swell so much I can't buy shoes? What if we have children who hate doing all the things I like doing? What if I didn't pack enough underwear?) etc. Too late for that last one as we are sitting at the gate waiting for our first leg of the trip to Houston, then on to Guatemala.

But my worries are similar to Anai's: the nature of us trying to have kids means that we don't have the luxury of saying "Surprise! We are pregnant!" It also means that instead of waiting 2, 4, 6 weeks to let people know, we might be a few days pregnant. It also means that people will be asking "did it work?" and it might be sad or hard to say no, it didn't. I keep trying to tell myself that 'what if's' aren't something to worry about, but my 3am brain doesn't listen.

I think, though, my biggest, number one, sleep deprivation-causing worry is that I really suck at speaking Spanish. Yeah, I know, this is about baby making, but that part doesn't quite feel real yet. (I say as I sit in an airport...) I have trouble imagining a baby, or two, or it working at all, or what the clinic will be like, or what I will feel finding out if it didn't work... but about five minutes ago a border guard spoke to Anai in Spanish and I felt like a deer in headlights. Ask me to do anything else, but Spanish words coming out of my mouth is akin to public speaking. Naked. On fire. Covered in wasps.

I want so badly to express myself but my vocabulary is that of a two year old. Meeting Anai's family again, I want to be included and talk and chat and at least say the basics, but my panic kicks in and I just can't make words come out, even the fifteen of them that I actually know. So yes, I worry about success rates, and multiples, and health concerns, and safety concerns, but dammit I hate learning languages. Here's hoping some immersion therapy will help.

My biggest excitement is for spending two and a half glorious months with my wife. It's difficult to remember the last time we had this much time with each other without work to get in between. (see previous note of "I stress about everything"; and a huge part of that is that I get very worked up about my job.) I am so excited to have time off, and to spend it with Anai and spending time with her family. I'm excited to get to know them better, despite my kindergarten Spanish level. I'm excited to be moving forward, and taking charge of our lives.

That first step is the hardest and I am so excited to be sitting here and actually doing something, even if we're just waiting for a flight. We've always talked about starting a family and that first step was a doozy. Whatever the outcome, we know we tried, and tried hard.

And I'm also excited to drink some tequila. Better get going, as our first doctor's appointment is Monday! Larulo!

A Most Post

Anaí says:

 

As a departure entry Jenni suggested we talk about what we are most nervous for and what we are most excited for. I agreed, hence intro sentence, and then rolled over and fell asleep. Yes, I do fall asleep that quickly; I assume most little spoons do. We did not discuss it again until now in the car when I said I would start the entry. We are on the way to my sister’s where we will be staying the night before our flight.

I’m in the passenger seat, because this little spoon also isn’t the best driver, or the big spoon is too much of a worry wart. Either way, I am by default the first to admit my fears and shout my enthusiasms. It’s been a few days since Jenni mentioned we should write this post, however somewhere in the whirlwind of laundry, packing and making sure the dog has enough meds, we haven’t discussed it amongst ourselves.

These are usually the things we always discuss. Yes, usually always. The usually is only in there because I don’t know what Big Spoon is most afraid of or if her fears match up with mine. Don’t get me wrong, I know what is making her nervous and what is making her look over to me and toss me a smile every half kilometer or so. It is just that we haven’t attached the word ‘most’ to any of our apprehensions. For whatever reason that matters a lot to me right now.

‘Most’ it feels like whatever her answer to that is the thing I have to work the hardest to prevent and take the longest time to enjoy. I can take a fair guess in saying that ‘most’ of Jenni’s excitement matches mine…. Making babies. GETTING BABIES… BRINING HOME THE BABIES. Of course.

But it is more than that really. Leading up to this entry I thought about it a lot throughout the days, mostly while in the shower and while slicing huge logs of provolone cheese on the meat slicer at work… because that’s my ‘me’ time.

It turns out that I have two sets of ‘most fears’ and two sets of ‘most excited’. One set pertaining to being in Guatemala and the other to our IUI treatments. I’ll start with Guate because I am so ecstatic to see my family. A piece of me lives in that part of the world. Although in recent years I have been back to visit quite often, I haven’t been back on my own. We have always done family trips and with that comes an amount of chaos that has made it hard to have real time to connect. I have been daydreaming about doing crafts and painting with my grandmother and playing cards with my grandfather. I have been wanting them to get to know the woman I married. This is our chance.

The downside is that, while I love Guatemala, its roads scare the living life out of me. Hate hate hate. We will be spending a lot of our so called vacation wedged in between chicken buses, daredevil motorcyclists and no concrete road rules. We have to keep our stress levels low during this process. Which may be difficult when we have to go through that every time we head to an appointment.

From one fear to the next. I am not even afraid of coming back home without a positive pee stick. However if the treatments don’t take, I don’t want to be struggling with our circumstances and have to watch everyone around us deflate when we break the news. We didn’t get pregnant. We would have to have this conversation over and over. To the point that I will more than once have to say, ‘No random friend of a friend, we are not having a child.’ The exchange itself will be awkward and difficult as Jen and I work to transition into Plan B. (Plan B to be discussed later, when I haven’t already rambled on).

It might be silly or irrational for that to be what takes the ‘most’ out of me. But there it is. I believe Jen and I can work with any outcome, therefore I fear very little of what may come our way. I am a firm believer in whatever happened happened. And I can only hope that what happens is our family. I want wave two pee sticks in the air and claim triumphantly that we are both pregnant. I’m most excited for that… yes, the pee stick thing.

In which things all began

So, you're doing what, exactly?

Jen here. There's always talk of a big plan, and in this case, we have an admittedly kind of crazy one.

Step One: waste spend your time looking at the local options, only to find out that they are way too expensive, and the wait times for us would be somewhere along the lines of 6 months to a year. Fun fact, we contacted them in 2014 and still have yet to even get a call back. Wallow in despair. As a sidenote, for anyone wondering, we are pursuing IUI rather than IVF, as we don't have any known fertility issues, other than being two ladies.

Step Two: begin to look at international options, and discover that Guatemala has everything we need. Research into the clinic tells us it is a part of the American Reproductive Society, or some voodoo, and the doctor at the clinic gives us prompt responses over the phone and via email. Rejoice!

Step Three: big decisions in the who and when department. We know that we both want to get pregnant and give birth, but it's a question of who first? We decide that we should both try at the same time. The reasons behind this are numerous: we would have a year off together for maternity leave, the kids will be similar in age (and half siblings), we won't have to decide who has to be "breadwinner" and who has to be "stay at home", and because we hope this is our only try. We are going to try three cycles of IUI each, six tries in total over 72 days, and if it results in two babies, awesome!! If it results in one, well, pretty rad! If it results in none, we live the lives of rich, early retired, world travellers with no kids. But seriously, the first one is my fingers-crossed-come-on-let-this-work option.

Step Four: come back to Canada and figure the rest out while we go! We are going to try and keep our minds open and try and have as much fun as possible during this process. While we might not be sipping mai tais ( or maybe non alcoholic ones) we will be on the beach and will be enjoying a full two months in Guatemala with family, and most importantly, with each other. Whether it works or not, we always know our bottom line is we are taking a huge step in the right direction.

Step Five: Start a blog instead of packing. Oh. Check!

Informal Introduction aka Making a Long Story Short (and Sweet)

Informal Introduction

There's two of us embarking on this journey; Wife and Wife. We are a team and the smallest size family you can have. She and I simply fell into being  that family. It was natural and easy and happened in what felt like an instant. Expanding from two to more has not been anything like that.

I do not think our situation is unique, but our solution seems to have become something along that line. Our story certainly is, as it hers and mine alone. We do, however wish to share it. So, it seemed fit  to together be involved in the cataloguing of the events waiting to unfold and the memories that have brought us to this point. 

You'll soon get to know us well. I'll be the one with the horrible grammar and too many passive sentences to count. My wife will be smart and witty with all the facts.

*Disclaimer: Always believe her over me. If you already know us, you already know this is true.

Either way this is a story as told by two very similar yet opposite women. It did not start today but is certainly taking an interesting turn. In a few days time we will be crossing the into the Southern Hemisphere to get some much needed vitamin D and some babies. 

This is the start of all that.