A ticket to Texas

I entered the era of Trump 2.0 from deep in the heart of Trump country: Texas. At long last, I scheduled my first trip down to the Austin office. (Okay, no so Trump-y turf.) And honestly? I liked it more that I expected. Admittedly, I didn't get to see much of the city itself: there were some long hours in the office. The converted Hatchet Alley has serious early-day Neuralink vibes, but not just for the worst. Whenever a catered meal arrived, we all clustered along the bar counter and connected, regardless of team. I missed the sort of comradery that came from the scrappy small team dynamic. In between the work hours, I got to enjoy the local circus studio and scoped out the Belgian brew scene. The music poured out of bar after bar, upholding the city's lively reputation. The idea of a potential move really got my wheels turning by the end of the week, though perhaps I'm just getting the itch as I roll into my seventh year in California, officially making it the longest stretch I've ever lived anywhere. It often feels like I'm living someone else's dream: California's fine and all, but I could leave it tomorrow and wouldn't look back. My thirties are looking like a solid investment in a life I'll one day want to live. I wish that day would come already.

Snapshots of a week in Austin: a half-mast flag on a snowy inauguration day despite Trump's orders, a drink at Mort Subite, and other images from evenings downtown. 

Some (belated) resolutions

I'm not normally one for resolutions, but I'm also not totally sure what normal means yet. Now that I'm finally free from the shackles of fertility treatments, I'm trying to wrap my head around what to make of myself and my time, at least before we have cash on hand to make something of those embryos. So here are some ideas for 2025:

1. Resume silks and get back into choreography-performing shape
2. Run some more competitive 5k's and get that cholesterol lower
3. Revive the Bay Area Bucket List (thrown together at the start of 2024) to make the most of whatever time is left in California
4. Return to regularly hosting folks at our home, kicking off with chandeleur in just a couple of weeks
5. Travel more:
1. Hong Kong in February
2. New Jersey & PEI in June
3. Los Angeles?
4. Seattle?
5. Milan 2026 - nab some Olympics tickets
6. France around Thanksgiving or Feb. 2026 while in town for the Olympics?
6. Pick back up the pace at work, starting with a long-overdue trip to our Texas office
7. Trim down my well-overgrown tea collection (now that I'm finally allowed more than one caffeinated drink per day) from the current selection of 21 black teas, 1 white tea, 1 green tea, 1 herbal tea, 2 oolongs, 1 pouchong, 1 hojicha, 1 golden matcha, and 10 rooibos. 🙈
8. Consider resurrecting the Christmas card tradition? The jury's still out on this one...

Not sure if I'll regret putting myself on the record on these, but I hope this is the first step to becoming a fully realized person once more.

A fresh start

2025: a new year with so much potential. A full quarter century since my nearly-teenaged self rung in a new millennium to the ball drop in Times Square and the Y2K bug failed to materialize. More than anything, I'm excited for what this year won't be: a fertility year. Nope, my biological clock has been neatly tucked in a freezer. Ovarian reserve - what ovarian reserve? Any of my remaining eggs missed their shot. No, instead of being a disappointingly unproductive fertility factory, I can go back to actually being me: a circus artist; a hostess of board games and social events; a renewed runner; a world traveler; a high-value OG Neuralinker; a caffeinated tea connoisseur; and now, a (knock on wood) future mom.

Enjoying the holidays in the Bay, finally freed from the shackles of fertility treatments and figuring out how to just be me.

2024 wasn't all bad, either. I ran my first 5k race since high school. I got my first US patent! I went to the Olympics for the very first time, in Paris no less. I finally mostly figured out how the nonsensical American health care system works. I got over a childhood phobia of blood draws. I got to be a part of the team that took Neuralink over the finish line into human users. And I made fourteen (or fifteen) genetically normal embryos.

You read that right: since my last update, we got news. So much news. That failed fifth cycle where nearly all the embryos had to be re-biopsied? Turned out all re-biopsied embryos were genetically normal: two girls and a boy. So, though they are unlikely to successfully implant, they're back-ups in the bank.

Feeling mixed emotions over learning all three of the destroyed embryos from our fifth cycle were genetically perfect.

And that seventh and final egg retrieval? We got SEVEN embryos - what a way to finish out the fertility journey. Genetic results came back a few days ago: three abnormal, three normal (all girls), and - get this - one more laboratory accident, something that occurs in less than 1% of samples handled at the new lab we switched to. That final embryo will also have to undergo a drastically damaging re-biopsy for us to learn its sex and chromosomal state. As one of the two day-5 embryos from our final cycle, it's statistically most likely to be normal.

The amazing news? We pulled off three cycles in a row with at least three genetically normal embryos per cycle! Including five day-5 embryos, something we never saw in our first four cycles. And, across all three cycles this fall, seven of the nine euploids were female! Less amazing (besides the fact that the first of these aforementioned cycles' embryos aren't exactly usable): we're still not done with embryo testing. Another embryo returned "no result" even with our new fancier lab, so we have to once more endure a highly destructive embryo re-biopsy to potentially learn we'd had a perfectly good embryo that a lazy embryologist destroyed through a poor biopsy on their first go.

I'm pretty salty about our luck: of twenty-three total cryopreserved embryos, we experienced four "no calls", a rate of over 17% whereas the national average is a mere 2%. Something's fishy in our clinic's embryology department. But when all is said and done, we have six not-rebiopsied euploid girls and four not-rebiopsied euploid boys. The collection includes one 6AA-scored embryo of each sex, and three day-5 3AB embryos (two girls and a boy). Not too shabby. Most importantly, all we could possibly need.

So in 2025, I get to just be me.

A good week

I hate to say it and jinx myself, but there aren't many other ways to put it: this has been a good week. On Monday, mid-girl-chat-text-message, a 415-area-code call came up on the phone. It's hard to ignore the 415s and 510s as they actually might not be spam, so I finished typing, hit send, and picked up THE call. A week ahead of schedule (because the new lab takes extra time), our cycle 6 embryos' genetic report was ready. I nipped off to a call booth, braced myself, and was blown away by the news: All. Three. Embryos. Are. Healthy. And just like that, not only had we met our embryo banking goal of 6 euploids, but even exceeded it. And the cherry on top? Two of those embryos were girls! We now have 3 euploid girls and 4 euploid boys plus a low-level segmental mosaic girl (statistically performs almost as well as a euploid upon implantation), plus any back-ups that might be revealed by the re-testing of our cycle 5 no-calls, plus any embryos we might get from this week's retrieval. Suddenly all the pressure was removed from my upcoming surgery.

Three whole euploid embryos in just one cycle. Two of these are even day 5, the sort of fast-developing embryos normally reserved for youthful non-advanced-maternal-age ladies, thank you very much. That's nearly half of my euploid population in just one single retrieval, and not just any retrieval but the one that had appeared poised to potentially be my worst. Nothing in the world of fertility makes any sense but for once, I'll take it!

Who has two thumbs and can finally stop stressing about whether she's banked enough embryos? (Knocking on wood that I don't regret this statement in years to come.) Table pulled from this scientific journal article. Note: LB = live birth; FET = frozen embryo transfer.

On the topic of the aforementioned upcoming surgery, my body somehow pulled through like a rock star this month. Despite kicking off the cycle with my lowest-ever baseline antral follicle count (the little bubbles spotted in my ovaries that look poised to each yield an egg that month), I power-housed my way up to nearly my highest-ever follicle count at my final monitoring appointment. And my estradiol (estrogen) levels magicked their way into my strongest and best-sustained. Way to go out with a bang, body.

Higher estradiol levels are indicative of a greater number of potential eggs and/or higher egg quality. Feeling like a rock star after Tuesday's final estradiol measurement for this cycle (starred) came in.

And you know what? Today's retrieval—my FINAL egg retrieval—yielded 17 eggs (my new record), 14 of which were mature (also a new personal record). And yes, yes, before I get ahead of myself, high numbers are no guarantee of embryos; if anything, they can just mean a higher height from which to watch your hopes fall. But you know what? With 8 perfectly implantable embryos in the bank with a lovely gender balance, this is all just icing on the cake. It's now time for me to recover—physically, financially, professionally, and administratively (okay, well that last bit will still take a couple months).

Just like that, one day shy of the anniversary of signing my first intake form with Spring, it's a wrap on fertility treatments.

Gotta hand it to him, Santa really delivered just in time for Christmas this year.

Another Thanksgiving, another recipe

Thanksgiving in the time of fertility treatments: not the easiest time to feel thankful. There is a lot to be grateful for, most notably having access to healthcare that actually allows me to blow a year of my life banking embryos. But it'll be easier to feel gratitude once the banking is over. For now, saddled with this headache, I've got to keep the drinking to a minimum. As such, this year's new recipe was a non-alcoholic mulled wine, which actually turned out good enough that even the booze drinkers were helping themselves.

Thanksgiving 2024: good friends, good food, and a third consecutive year without moving (after moves during 6 of the first 7 years we were together). Overall, we've got a lot to be grateful for. I'll work on the gratitude stuff once I'm out of the fertility trenches.

I promise I won't be one of those nightmare bloggers with a five paragraph story before getting to what actually matters, so here you go:

Non-alcoholic mulled wine

Ingredients (for 4 servings)

• 750 ml bottle of non-alcoholic red wine - we grabbed the non-alcoholic Chateau Diana Merlot
• 2 cups of water
• 8 cloves
• 6-9 blackberries
• 1 cinnamon stick
• 3 star anise
• 1 sliced orange
• 1/8 - 1/4 cup brown sugar (to taste)

Instructions

1. Mix all the ingredients in a saucepan and place on medium-high heat just until the wine begins to boil.
2. Reduce to low heat and simmer for 20-30 minutes.

Easy! And it's flavorful enough that several people even asked if there really wasn't alcohol in it. A nice little fertility-journey-inspired success.

Not totally broken

I did a thing! I sneaky ran a 5k 5 days post-op. In a year where my body's felt generally worthless, today it showed me it's not totally broken. In fact, after having actually respected doctor's orders and not run for the past two months, I did better than I'd expected. (You're not supposed to run while taking fertility stim meds nor during the first two weeks post-egg-retrieval-surgery, which means no running at all while back-to-back cycling like I do.)

Initially, I'd signed up for this race as a way to reclaim my body post fertility treatments. So much for that. But the registration fee was non-refundable, so I figured I'd find a way to be a finisher. I'd been prepping for today with a whole lot of morning power walking with Lily, much to her chagrin. Five days ago, on the morning of my latest egg retrieval, I heard a nurse tell the patient on the other side of the curtain to abstain from all but "light" exercise including "walking or a gentle jog." The seed of an idea took root, and I obviously had to test how gently I could possibly jog today without feeling any sorts of scary pain. It turns out, respectably so. I didn't give it 100%, but I ran in a focused style to ensure minimal gut jostling and I came out the other side with no ovarian torsion and a solid finish time. It was so nice to get to be proud of my body for once in 2024.

Not too bad for five days post-op.

Capable

Today I was capable. I dragged my behind to another egg retrieval, the most seemingly hopeless one yet. From getting the news mid-baseline-appointment that we'd lost all my embryos from the previous cycle and having my doctor suggest we cancel this cycle due to poor initial indicators, to having some last minute rallying of the follicles only for hope to be dashed by dropping estradiol levels forcing me into a premature retrieval, all while bearing the news of this past week's election results, I'm amazed I rode the emotional rollercoaster all the way into today's surgery. With a heavy heart, I negotiated special terms to today's retrieval to cut our losses by electing not to fertilize (and save on the out-of-pocket costs) if we retrieved fewer than five mature eggs. I wasn't finding much hope to hold onto.

Having awoken at 3am today, I peaced out of our condo around 4:30am and walked all the way to the clinic just because I couldn't bear waiting around anymore. The universe did its best to cheer me on with an inspirational sign in the window of a car parked around the border of Emeryville and Oakland telling me I was capable of more than I know. Shout out to the random car owner who felt folks might need a cheerleader. After a quick pre-sunrise tour around Lake Merritt, I headed into my clinic to face the music.

What followed was confusing and hopeful and hard to digest. We got eleven eggs, ten of which were mature. That's good, really good by my body's standards. I don't trust it. There have been too many dashed hopes and disappointments this cycle for any of this to make sense. But I was capable of making it through today, and I'll get up tomorrow, and in three days I'll begin priming for cycle number 7.

Cycle 6: heavy on the heaviness, light on the hope, but we made it through.