Bathroom Breakdown

Have you ever cried so hard you thought your eyelids were going to flip themselves inside-out? No? Hm, ok, that probably means you're normal. As I sat on the cold, tile stairs leading up to the bathtub in our bathroom crying, I momentarily thought I might cry my eyes out. That's not a figure of speech either. The morning my questionable spotting turned into full blown bleeding, my eyes bulged from my head as I doubled-over in emotional pain that turned physical. "Crying" doesn't accurately describe it. No word in the thesaurus ever will. The pressure from bending over and crying from the deepest part of my gut had me convinced my eyes might literally pop out of my head. With all the sorrow I was feeling at that moment, I wouldn't have cared if they did but, in hindsight, I'm glad my eyes are still in their sockets.

Teddy, our rottweiler, came charging into the bathroom as soon as he heard me start to howl. As many times as he's seen me cry, it still creeps him out. He stares and me and tilts his head from side to side. He tried licking my tears but then he just rolled over on his back in a really awkward position and waited until I was done. You know how I said I don't use tissues or toilet paper to wipe my tears anymore but rather hand/dish towels? As I sat there, feeling sorry for myself, I didn't even grab the hand towel that was within arms reach. I just let the tears drip straight from my eyeballs onto the floor. I was folded in half so the tears didn't neatly stream down my cheeks, they dripped like faucets onto my socks. Do you ever cry so hard that you drool uncontrollably from the corners of your mouth? No? Yea, I figured I was alone on that one too. I had a snot mustache that eventually strung itself to my yoga pants...but I didn't care. I didn't care that the window was open and our old-lady neighbor, Ute, could hear my wails either. (Yes, "Ute" is a name here.)

Like I said before, this was just attempt ONE, people! What kind of a nutcase will I be by the end of this cluster-f? What will I do if attempt two doesn't work or if it does and I lose it later? God help us all. Seriously, reserve a room for me in a psych ward. I'm telling you now, I - will - need - sedated.

Ok, I'm getting ahead of myself again. The funny thing is though...I probably won't be admitted into a psych ward. I cried for a good 30 minutes on the bathroom floor...but Ted and I got up. I put my hair in a ponytail, blew a few snot-rockets into the sink (sorry, I'm my dad's daughter), splashed water on my face, and walked out of the bathroom. Eventually, I turned the lights off in the bathroom when moments before I was convinced I would never get enough air back in my lungs to breath let alone walk. How crazy is it that? No matter what comes at us, with the help of my faith, family, and friends...I'll heal. Maybe never completely, but I'll at least function again somehow. I guess that's the wonder of the human spirit.

Don't get it twisted now though. It's not like I kept it together ever since the bathroom breakdown. I still cry daily but I'm back to hiding it again. My breakdowns aren't nearly as dramatic. Even though those little embryos were no bigger than a period, they were mine...they were still ours. I miss them and feel sad that they didn't become more. I searched for reasons within myself why it might not have worked. Did I not take the hormones as I should have? Should I not have taken that headache medicine on Sunday? Did I stress myself too much? Is there something else wrong with me?

I prayed hard and often that day but by the end of the afternoon it wasn't a usual prayer anymore. I didn't thank God for anything and I didn't ask for anything either. My prayer went something like this -
"Dear God, I'm tired...I'm tired...I'm tired...I'm tired...I'm tired...I'm tired...I'm tired...aren't you tired too?"
I don't know how else to say it besides I'm just so tired.

I appreciate all your support too. Your messages of advice and encouragement truly help me. I hoped for it to be implantation bleeding too but as it evolved throughout the day I had to accept the fact that it just didn't work this time. I slept horribly that night. I woke up at 3:30 AM to take a pregnancy test. (You remember, the one I cried over as I plucked it from the shelf?) Through tired eyes I watched it develop. I was alone again in the bathroom as Eddie slept peacefully in our bed. (How do men sleep so soundly?) I saw it skip the first line and only produce the one test line. After that, I watched about 3 hours of German TV before God let my mind rest again.

(A cheap German pregnancy test...correction, a cheap German NEGATIVE pregnancy test)

I've talked about hope before in another post but it amazes me how much it fights to stick around. I still had a little bit of hope before I took the test. After I took it, I thought, maybe, just maybe, it's wrong. It only cost 4 Euros, it could be faulty. On Friday, I still hoped that the blood test would show something different. I had imagined making that 1 hr drive to the clinic that day with a completely different feeling but instead, I was headed there with mostly dread and a little speck of hope. After I parked the car, I took the stairs up to the clinic. I thought about taking the elevator up but then I saw it had a yellow sign taped over the button that read "In Service."  "Good one, God, wouldn't want to make any part of this trip just the slightest bit easier on me."

That trek up the stairs could be comparable to climbing Mt. Everest. It was emotionally and physically taxing for me to climb the stairs. The higher I got, the more I was convinced that there was less oxygen. I felt dizzy, my mouth got dry, and I started to hyperventilate. "Rachel, do not have a nervous breakdown in the stairwell...again." I told myself. "You're fine. You'll be fine. Keep climbing."

I hated every second of that appointment. Having to give more blood and wait an hour for the outcome...when I was pretty sure I knew the results already. I hated the awkward silence after I sat down in the doctor's office. "How are you?" She asked. "You already know how I am, don't you?" She confirmed my feelings that it didn't work and my hope officially died. Our 6-celler and 3-celler just didn't make it.

Again, thank you for all of your support. I'm doing ok. The thing that helps me the most is Ed. (Cheesy, right?) The moment I see him walk into the room, it cheers me up. It's sickening, I know, but he lights up my world. Whenever he rubs my back I can't help but look dreamily into his eyes and tell him "When you touch me, I feel like I could fart rainbows." When I cuddle with him on the couch, it's like I'm recharging my battery. When he hugs me, my whole world blurs and I look up at him half cross-eyed. He always tell me "Oh no...you're getting that drunk look in your eyes again!" and quickly lets me go. He calms me and comforts me. I need him.

It's been asked "How do you know when they're the one?" Well, I'm not sure what the general consensus is on that one but you want to know how I know it with Ed? (Besides the fact that he could make me fart rainbows.) I could/would kill for him. I would commit homicide, with my own bare hands, if anyone tried to take that man from me. Perhaps that's a brutal description and doesn't fit with my Christian claims but he's all I need in this world...well, him and his babies would be nice. Hypothetically, if someone told me there was another woman that would take Eddie from me...there is no doubt in my mind that I would destroy her. No weapon needed. Hypothetically, if someone pointed out a man and said that he was about to kill Eddie, I would get him first. Put me in a cage with a lion going for Eddie...I'd crack my knuckles and say "Let's do this, lion..." This just took a weird turn but these are the thoughts in my head at the moment. In case you didn't know, Ed means a lot to me. I don't want to commit homicide...so don't make me. Sometimes I feel like my love for Eddie is so intense that I can hardly imagine that my heart will ever expand to love something else just as intensely...if not more. God help the people that ever hurt my future children.

On that creepy note, I will leave you with just one fact.

Average life sentence in Germany: 21.5 years
Average life sentence in America: 29 years.
In both countries, prisoners are eligible for parole in 15 years. I'm pretty sure I'd get out early for good behavior.

In case the Feds are reading this, I'm totally joking about all that the "killing/homicide" junk.

A Long Two Weeks - An Even Longer Two Days

It’s been about 2 weeks since my last post and I apologize for leaving you hanging. I know many of you are curious how it turned out. To those that called/texted/or sent personal messages asking because you couldn't wait any longer, thanks for your concern. I took some time off to just...chill. I just tried to relax and grow some babies! The procedure went ok…not optimal, but ok.

I did not receive any phone calls - from any of you (thank you) or from the doctors (thank God) - for the remainder of the time so my appointment went on as scheduled. For the replacement of the fertilized eggs, they ask that you come with a full bladder. A full bladder aids in the visualization of the uterus and placement. Sounds easy enough, right? Um…wrong. Let’s just say that it could be filed under cruel and unusual punishment. I chugged a bunch of iced tea on the drive up. I peed about an hour before we left the house so I was worried it wouldn't be full enough. And you know darn well when you arrive for any doctors appointment you don’t get called back immediately. Oooh no, no, no, no, no…they make you wait in a waiting room for at least 15 minutes before they move you into another waiting room to wait for another 15 minutes (at least)! Ughhhhh! I was pacing back and forth because if I sat, I thought for sure I would burst. I went to the bathroom FOUR TIMES during this waiting period. It was complete torture to only be allowed to empty my bladder "halfway." Eddie was laughing at me the whole time but I was so uncomfortable. I was laughing too...but it wasn't funny.

(This was the only position I found semi-tolerable. I'm smiling but I assure you, I am painin' here!)

By the time they called me back for the procedure, my bladder was full to the brim again and I couldn't concentrate on anything. Luckily, Eddie came with me this time and was able to come back into the procedure room. (Unfortunately, I don't have a picture of him in his scrub gown, hat, booties, and mask.) He listened intently to what the doctors and nurses were saying while I chanted to myself “Do not pee on the doctor’s head, Rachel. Do NOT pee on the doctor’s head!” Especially when she put in the speculum. When they handed me the weird, mysterious phone I didn't even greet the woman in the lab this time. "Rachel Frick!" I blurted and handed the phone away. Let's get this show on the road, people, or we're going to have a big mess!

She told us (more Eddie than me) that of the 3 eggs they took out, just 2 fertilized. At that point (3 days after the retrieval/fertilization) they like to see the embryos with 8 cells – 1 of ours had 6 and the other only had 3. They put both back in, regardless. The doc seemed pretty optimistic about the 6-celler, and said “You never know!” with the 3-celler. She was pointing things out to us on the ultrasound but at that moment, I didn't care, all I wanted to do was take a piss.

(Strange to think this could be the first picture we have of our “babies.” Note: These are magnified pictures, they are only the size of a period ---->  .  )

On the left is the 6-cell and the one on the right is the 3-cell. We nicknamed the one on the right “Hannes,” after my brother-in-law, because it’s a little slow/behind. ;) Everyone roots for the underdog so "Go, Hannes! Grow more cells!"

It was weird to know they were back in there. It was now my responsibility to grow them. For almost 4 years our sperm had been frozen in Switzerland and for days the embryos were multiplying in a petri dish. Finally, FINALLY!, they were where they were supposed to be, where they belonged…in me. It was a strange feeling marked with a little bit of comfort. No scientist can grow my babies like I can. "Thanks, but I got it from here, guys!" As we left the clinic, we made another appointment in 2 weeks where they will do a blood test to see if I’m pregnant!

I prayed every day after that. I always pray but I prayed hard and on my knees. I can't remember ever wanting anything more than for those embryos to stick. I searched for signs of pregnancy. Twice I had a headache so bad I started to gag and I hoped for morning sickness...even though it wasn't even morning...and they had only been in there 2 days. I jokingly asked Ed if he thought my belly or boobs looked bigger. I immediately stopped drinking caffeine/alcohol and tried to eat healthier.

Some days after, I went to the store and bought a pregnancy test. Eddie and I said we would take a pee test 1 day before the blood test just for S's and G's. It would be nice to find out ourselves that we're pregnant rather than a bunch of doctors telling us. I stood in front of the pregnancy tests and cried. Anyone else in the aisle probably thought I was nuts but I was finally buying a pregnancy test with a REAL chance of being pregnant! The tears weren't ones of joy...I was crying because I was scared.

Today is October 16, meaning just 2 days until my next appointment on Friday! What a long two weeks it has been...

only yesterday...I started my period.

Please God, No Phone Call

The procedure on Tuesday went well. Thank you all for your prayers. We have gotten so much support throughout this whole ordeal that I doubt I'll ever be able to express the extent of my appreciation. I hear daily that we are part of prayer chains and people are lighting candles for us. I've received messages from people I've never even met. It's almost as if you all want this just as much as we do! Dankeschön!

It was my first time being put under anesthesia and I tried really hard to be a good patient. I swear. Before we went in, I told myself that I wouldn't talk a lot before they put me under or when I woke up. I said I would try not to tell them where to start my IV. I wouldn't mention anything about the sip of tea I had that morning, even though I was supposed to be NPO after midnight. Ooops! ;)

My mother-in-law ("Mama Frick," as I like to call her) accompanied me and we giggled a lot. She especially liked the fancy footwear she was required to wear.

As we arrived, the nurse asked me if I had my long T-Shirt/nightgown with me... 

"Umm...no? I didn't know I was supposed to bring anything with me...besides my ovaries."

"The doctors usually tell you to bring a long T-Shirt."

"Hm, no. I feel as though I've been poorly informed this whole procedure..."

...awkward silence...

"Ok, Mrs. Frick, I'll bring you something to wear."

And off she went to fetch me my makeshift nightgown.

I read on a little sign in the changing room that I'm allowed to keep on my underwe....no, sorry, "undertrousers" and jewelry. They didn't mention anything about a bra or socks but I made that decision myself. I didn't realize that morning that my socks would be visible to everyone. Hell would freeze over before I walk barefoot in any public place, plus my feet were cold, so I left them on. I was (am?) a bit behind on the laundry so it was slim-pickin's that morning. I came out of the changing room like this:

Tada! XL purple scrub top, no pants, complete with bright pink and purple leopard socks. I figured, what the hell, this isn't a fashion show...I'm just here trying to get pregnant, people.

They showed me to my bed, which had a little post-it note stuck to the foot - "Frau Frick." Eventually, the anesthesiologist came and talked to us. Random thought as she was jibber-jabbering:

"I wonder if she thinks Mama Frick is my lesbian lover..."

She placed an IV in my left antecubital (typical) and asked me some questions. 

"Have you eaten or drank anything after midnight?"

"Nope." ::poker face::

Some time later they came and wheeled me back into the operating room. I was instructed to take off my undertrousers and put them under my pillow. I laughed thinking that it's like some sort of twisted tooth fairy thing. Maybe while I'm asleep, they'll exchange my underwear and leave me a baby under my pillow! I walked from my bed to the table/chair-looking apparatus. There were three women around me preparing machines and tools. At some point, someone put a telephone in my hand...

...???...I answered it.

"Uh, hello?"

"Guten Morgen!"

Then I noticed the big glass window in front of me. I assumed it was the laboratory because I saw a bunch of computers, monitors, and microscopes. I could see another woman with a phone to her ear inside the lab smiling back at me.

"Guten morgen..." I replied.

And then there was silence. With the phone still to my ear I looked to the other women like "WTF, a little guidance would be nice!" Then they decided to tell me what the heck is going on. I'm supposed to say my name into the phone. Oh, um, ok?...

"Mein Name ist Rachel Frick?"

"Ok, Dankeschön!"

And then someone took the phone from my hand. Weird...

I "assume the position" and the women start to strap in my limbs. The anesthesiologist is there and tells me that I will feel weird for a moment and then "the dreams will come." I see her push the syringe of milky, white liquid into my vein..."Propofol" I state to myself. I look down at my legs in the stirrups and smile at my neon leopard socks right next to the doctor's head. As I stare at the ceiling and wait the anesthesiologist asks, "Are you an English woman?"

"No, I'm American." I reply.

...and that's the last thing I remember.

My nose got a little tingly and then I slept. It was peaceful and easy. I hope that's how it was for our pup, Tyson when we had to put him to sleep.

The next thing I hear is Mama Frick digging through her purse. It feels like a Sunday morning. I'm so tired and I just want to sleep a little bit longer but someone is already awake and making noise. All I want is for her to be quiet so I can sleep some more but I'm waking up slowly. The nurse in me counts my own respirations...they're about 5/min. (Mama Frick later told me she thought I wasn't breathing at all until she saw my eyelids flicker.) At some point, I reluctantly open my eyes and notice, for the first time, that there is a stork above my bed.

Yea, I look drunk and the XL scrub top makes me look like a sphere but that's as good as it gets. Again, I'm just there trying to get pregnant. I feel like we just got there but hours have passed and I can tell Mama Frick is getting antsy from sitting on that uncomfortable chair. I remember I'm not wearing any underwear and find them right where I left them. I slip them on under the blanket and start to take out my IV (see picture). Suddenly, the doctor comes around the corner and sits on my bed. I pretend like I wasn't just removing my own IV. She's talking and I'm trying really hard to listen but I'm only about 70% awake at this point. I try to wake myself up but it's useless.

She informs us that they took out 3 eggs. That's not very many but "hey, it's better than 2!" I tell myself. Things are still a bit hazy but she seems optimistic. She asks me one more time about "assisted hatching." With assisted hatching, they laser off a small part of the embryo membrane in hopes to increase the chance of it implanting on the uterine wall. I told her it's up to her. Eddie and I already signed paperwork for it and I told her money isn't an issue. I told her that we will go with her suggestion and not do it unless she sees the need.

She said that they will fertilize the eggs that afternoon and I am to make another appointment for Friday for implantation. She told me that they will call me if, for some reason, the embryos do not develop to cancel my appointment. She told me to make sure the phone number they have on file is correct. There were more instructions but I assumed Mama Frick was in a better state of mind to absorb the information.

In order to leave, Mama Frick had to accompany me on one walk so she escorted me to the bathroom. I was a bit wobbly but I made it into the stall. No one mentioned anything about bleeding (?) but I assumed that's normal. I went back to my bed and the anesthesiologist came to check on me. I asked her how I got from the table back to my bed and what happened to my hair net. She said two of them helped me walk.

I've been drunk before...pretty schwasted at times...but I've never blacked out. I've always been some-what conscious of my actions. It's weird to think that there is an hour of time that I don't remember. People were talking to me (in a foreign language, at that!) during that time and I was doing things that I have no recollection of. Again, it was my first time under general anesthesia and, for some, this happens often, but to me it's still creepy.

After what feels like eons of waiting, we figure out that we're free to go and that the nurse will take (finish taking) out my IV at the front. I make another appointment for Friday and double-checked the phone number they have saved. I resisted the urge to give them a fake number.

I've never not wanted a phone call so bad. I remember in middle school hoping for a phone call after cheerleading try outs. I would wait by the phone for hours...but this is the opposite. I walk around all day with my phone in my pocket. I double, triple check to make sure the volume is as loud as possible. It comes in the bathroom with me. When I shower, I hurry out and check if there are any missed calls. I don't want a phone call. Please God, don't let them call me. I routinely check the clock. I try to calculate what time the people in the lab probably get to work. When the clock strikes 6 PM I exhale because I assume they have gone home for the day. That's one more day that our embryos survived. Each night, Eddie and I give each other a triumphant smooch because our "babies" made it another day.

I don't know what I would do if I got the phone call canceling my appointment. I'd probably puke. No, seriously, I'm almost certain that I would vomit into the phone, on the ground, and all over my feet. Maybe I wouldn't even answer it at all. If I ignore it, maybe they will still grow? Ok, I'm getting ahead of myself.

I just looked at the clock. 12:15 PM Germany time. That means in exactly 24 hours and 5 minutes until the embryos will be placed back inside of me. Tomorrow afternoon at 12:20 PM they will place, depending on how many developed nicely, 2 of the 3 embryos back inside. The one left over will be frozen. Then the worrying will stop...

Hah! Yea right, then I'll be worried whether or not they'll implant. Ugh, so much stress. As sick as I am with worry, at least my worrying is evolving and changing. We're nowhere out of the woods yet but it's nice to no longer worry when we will be able to start this process. It's been a lot of waiting. I feel like they do one small thing and then we wait. One more appointment and then more waiting.

Mama Frick and I went to KFC (yes, I said KFC) after the appointment and I talked to her about how I'm tired of waiting. She said when we get pregnant we still have to wait 9 months to meet them. And then I joked and said,

"Yea, then we'll probably be waiting 18 years to get rid of them."

And then she said "Maybe, but then you'll wait and hope that they come back around and visit." And I realized she was talking about herself.

"...yes, but when they do, hopefully it will be with lots of grandbabies!" I added.

So, not that any of you ever call me, I am ordering complete radio silence on my phone until about 1 PM tomorrow. Don't call me...if you do, I'll probably have a heart attack and not make it to my appointment at all tomorrow. Keep up the prayers! All your extra praying squeezed out an extra egg! :)

Germany vs. America

201.   They have Ben and Jerry’s ice cream in Germany but, much like all American products, it is ridiculously overpriced. Oh, and might I add, that at times, I pay it because, well…a girl has cravings!

202.   German cars (Mercedes, BMWs, etc) are cheaper in America. Someone please explain the rationality behind that.

203.   Eastern Germans : Germany :: West Virginians : America, you followin’ me?

204.   Once, on a long boring drive, I brought up a random detail about the Holocaust I remembered learning in school. After explaining the tragic fact, Eddie responded with “What’s the Holocaust?”

…

I was momentarily stunned and we figured out that they call it something different. I’m interested in knowing what the German history books say about it.

205.   On the same note, I had to travel to Germany and proof read Eddie’s younger sister’s English paper to learn that during the years of segregation, white bus drives would make the blacks pay to ride the bus but then get off again and enter through the doors further back. But while they were walking to the back door, the bus drivers would drive away after they paid!

206.   It goes without saying that, dating someone from another culture can be difficult at times. Sometimes I just want to make a simple statement about something but end up explaining who/what something is and the original statement loses it’s meaning.

i.e. Eddie doesn’t know who Jimmy Buffet is…

“You know… ::breaks into song:: Cheese burger in paaaradise. PARADIIIISE!”

“…no.”

“Ok, nevermind, forget it.”

It’s not a huge deal but sometimes we get stuck on small details like that, and it reminds us we come from different upbringings.

207.   The cost of living is high in Switzerland. Eddie lives in Germany but works in Switzerland. Our plan is for me to do the same. Ideally, one lives in France and works in Switzerland.

208.   Our grocery carts typically go front to back. Their carts can go from to back and left to right. Something small I noticed while grocery shopping.

209.   Speaking of grocery shopping and carts…you have to pay for yours in Germany by putting in a 1 Euro coin and then unchaining them from each other (like at Aldi stores in America). During one of my earlier visits to Germany, Eddie's sister, Elisabeth and I went grocery shopping. After loading the groceries we bought in the car, Elisabeth, asked me to take the cart back and she would pick me up at the front of the store. I said ok, happy to help out further! However, while I was walking the cart back, an old woman came up to me and (in German) asked me if I could just give her my cart and in exchange for the 1 Euro coin in her hand, so I did! I got in the car, happy that I understood what the old woman wanted and thinking I did a good thing. I handed Elisabeth the coin and…her face dropped, and in turn, so did mine.

“What? What’s wrong? What did I do?!?”

Apparently, it wasn’t a coin in our cart, but rather a little token Mama Frick had given Elisabeth years ago that she uses every time she shops. She told me it was ok and we didn’t have to get it back but what am I supposed to do? Jip an old woman out of 1 Euro and lose a gift from Mama Frick to Elisabeth? Bravely, I told her I was going in to get it back!

Once I bought another cart, I went in the store and I realized that the place was packed with little old Omas (grandmas). I finally found the right one and tried sneaking by to see if that was the cart with the coin. Finally I just explained to her, in my horrible, broken German, what happened. I was so embarrassed, I think my cheeks where so red. She put her groceries in mine and we switched carts. FYI I said “Kart” when I should have said “Wagon.” Karte = card/ credit card. Great. Needless to say, I don’t make eye contact when returning my grocery carts now…ugh!

They just need those areas that take up a whole parking spot where we just push the carts into when we’re done and pay a young lad to come out in the rain to collect them!

210.   America has a much freer attitude more along the lines of “Live and Let Live.” Germans are much too into each others business, "nosy," if you will. For example: I often catch Germans looking in my shopping cart! ?!?!? Why do you care what I’m buying? Back off!