- We closed on our house and moved in with my brother in law.
- Ironically found our "forever home" the day we closed on our house. Offer accepted! We hopefully move in January. Including the finished basement, it's over 4,000 feet of space for our kids to grow up.
- Jordan learned how to wave!
- She's also RUNNING around holding furniture.
- I have my master's degree in Theoretical Psychology! Will post results of study soon.
- Tim is going in for surgery consults. Thankfully it is supposed to be a low risk surgery.
- It's snowed twice here, and it all reminds me of my boys and of bringing Jordan home.
- I desperately need a spa day. I don't even look like me anymore.
- New obsession: New Girl is hilarious.
- Went in for an FET consult today! Depending on lab results, I may have a transfer in January!!! (Yes I saved that for the end!)
Showing posts with label infertility. Show all posts
Showing posts with label infertility. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 2, 2015
KETCHUP
So many things... where to start?
Tuesday, June 3, 2014
Baseline
Welp, baseline was yesterday. You should have seen that ultrasound. They aren't kidding when they say that your uterus stretches after you've had a baby. I remember seeing my uterus before I was pregnant, and it was this slim, straight line. I saw it yesterday and almost started scanning the premises for a baby. Why the hell was it so big? Oh yeah, because I had twins. Regardless, everything came back looking good and I started the dreaded Estrace and Ganirelix yesterday. Those doses of estrogen make me nauseous and actually quite tired (this happened during my fresh cycle last year, too). Isn't that weird? It's like all these extra girly hormones are exhausting me. Ok, I guess that's not weird. Now that I've put it that way, it makes complete sense. Ganirelix is notoriously known for having the dullest needles known to IVF and loves to sting it's host even after the needle has been removed. Aw, I think I'm going to hop on the vomit comet just thinking about it.
After canceling two cycles in a row, I thought I would be excited to finally be started meds. Embryo transfer is in two weeks and I thought this would be something I would be looking forward to. I'm so naive (read: I'm stupid). Honestly the only thing I feel like right now is DUMB. What the fuck was I thinking? I don't want another baby. I want Conner. I want Benjamin. I want to NOT be doing this cycle until the spring of 2015, which was the plan had I been able to bring my babies home. I feel guilty for even doing this. I'm a bad mama. I don't even have high hopes for this cycle, and quite frankly, neither does my RE since we are being advised to only transfer one embryo. If I get a negative pregnancy test, I'll be relieved, depressed, and drained all at the same time. If I get a positive test, I'll be scared, anxious, and maybe just a little happy.
Maybe. But maybe I'll feel even more guilt. Is this really the right thing? Or am I just subjecting another baby to a potentially volatile environment? If I lose another, it will destroy me. If I get to bring a baby home, I don't even know if I'll be the kind of mother he or she deserves. I'm jaded after my loss.
Hey universe, a little slack would be nice.
Your gift bag for attending my pity party.
Wednesday, May 7, 2014
5 Surprisingly Outdated Problems Infertile Couples Face
I have this post set to publish while I am in Bermuda. Turns out I just can't leave Blogger alone! But I've never actually done a scheduled post like this before so knowing me, I have totally done it wrong and this won't post at all. I found this article online written by this girl and it just hit the nail right on the head when it comes to infertility. If any of you out there are going through infertility treatments, trust me - you will laugh your ass off at this (as you also nod your head in agreement). Enjoy.
If you're part of the 10 percent of couples who have taken a ride on the infertility bus, you know that it's not easy having a reproductive system that doesn't do so good at the "reproductive" part. Hell, there are spiders out there that can make hundreds of babies while one of them is eating the other, and here's your evolutionarily advanced self struggling to produce a single human child. Unfortunately, being unable to name your firstborn "Norsehammer Thunderslap" is just the first of the problems you'll have. There's also stuff like...
#5. It's Surrounded by Weird, Outdated Beliefs
In some parts of the world, infertility is still considered a literal curse. Then again, in some parts of the world they arrest goats for witchcraft, so I don't think we should put much stock in their medical theories (modern science has proved that 98 percent of ungulate witchcraft cases are caused by donkeys). But even in a supposedly modern country like America, the existence of babies still comes with a whole biblical theme park worth of religious issues. Maybe it's because of the pro-life movement always sticking pictures of babies everywhere. Maybe it's those reality shows about fundamentalists with 125 kids. Maybe it's just a holdover from a time when nobody understood reproductive science very well and all children were considered literal blessings because you could use them as labor on your subsistence farm and then maybe do a bit less starving to death.
Whatever the reason, there's still this weird idea, even among secular people, that the inability to conceive children is not simply a medical problem. Rather, it's a clear sign that you're being judged by an angry deity. Articles and books on the subject assure readers that infertility is "not a curse," whereas it's difficult to imagine similar articles having to tell people not to worry because their restless leg syndrome is not caused by nightmare demons. And then there's those stickers people put on their cars telling everyone that "Children Are a Gift from God."
You don't see many bumper stickers saying "A Healthy Spine Is a Gift from God" or "Not Having Crohn's Disease Is a Gift from God," and that's because they're dickish things to say. People with terrible illnesses are having a hard enough time already. They don't need to know that the guy who just cut them off in traffic thinks they're sick because God is picking them last for his Health Dodgeball team. But when it comes to babies, the attitude is somehow still acceptable. I don't want to pick on American Christianity here, because pretty much every belief system is equally bad about this. Practitioners of Eastern religions will tell you you're barren because you haven't been meditating enough, Satanists will tell you it's because you're doing your black mass all wrong, and so on.
#4. Everyone's Medical Knowledge on the Subject Is Completely Terrible
Infertility is one of those things that medicine just doesn't understand well. Even after couples go through all the expensive tests that science has to offer, about 20 percent of them will still be told that their infertility is officially "unexplained." Doctors are often completely baffled as to why babies sometimes happen and sometimes don't.
But while reproductive endocrinologists will at least usually admit that they don't know why your or your partner's womb resembles the dry barren plains of Mars, some non-doctors lack such humility. These laypeople once read something about infertility in an email forward they received 15 years ago, and by God, they are going to repeat it to you. "It'll happen if you just relax!" is one of the most common advice-prizes these people hand out, because of course if you look back in history, you'll find that all those women ravished by Genghis Khan conceived children after he gave them a soothing battlefield bubble bath and a nice back massage.
An even better one is: "You should adopt a child, it's easier to conceive naturally after that!" This cure-by-adoption happened in a Sex and the City movie recently and was presented as an established medical fact, even though it's about as effective as trying to impregnate yourself by shooting a Civil War-era cannon into the nearest guy's junk and hoping the ricocheting shrapnel will pierce your uterus. And even if it were true, I'm not really sure about the ethics of adopting a human being for the sole purpose of one day scoring another baby.
#3. You're Held to a Higher Moral Standard
Over the years, a few people have asked me: "If you want kids, why don't you just take in some foster children?" I'd usually say that I didn't think I was a good enough person to be doing that, because children with difficult or traumatic backgrounds would do better with a foster parent who doesn't get mad when the fizz takes too long to go down on a soda fountain drink. Inevitably I'd get disapproving looks, and sometimes even the implication that I clearly wasn't worthy to be any kind of parent at all.
Now, I should point out that every one of the people who made this suggestion had biological children of their own that they'd conceived easily, and that none of them had ever considered taking in a foster child themselves. This didn't stop these people from judging me (and all infertile people) for not doing it, though. And hey, it's understandable: There are plenty of people out there who are happy to exhort others to do things that they know they'll never be obliged to do themselves.
This kind of thing happens a lot, especially online. If you choose to use infertility treatments to help you conceive a child, you'll soon come across plenty of people whose typing fingers are itching to call you selfish for not adopting, because there are "so many needy children in the world who need parents."
Now, don't get me wrong, I think adoption and fostering are great things. But as I've said before, the adoption process is far more difficult and expensive than most people realize. There simply aren't as many international orphans in need of American rescue as people think there are, and adoption is an extremely limited option for a lot of people (you'll have more trouble adopting if you are single or gay, have medical issues, or have any kind of criminal record). But much more importantly, fostering and adopting are things that potential parents should want to do, not something that they feel obligated to perform just because some people on the Internet think that it's their duty.
This attitude might have something to do with why ...
#2. The Medical System Hates You
When it comes to helping out infertile couples with medical costs, America's usual method is to tell you that there's an angry bald eagle right behind you, wait until you look, and then run away. In most states in the U.S., insurance companies are not required to cover any kind of fertility treatment. To put this in perspective, Medicare offers coverage of vacuum-powered dick pumps and inflatable dick implants for seniors with erectile dysfunction. The government thinks it's important to subsidize Gerry and Myrtle's geriatric crotch-rubbing, but not to ensure any coverage for Joe Middle America, who wants somebody to throw a baseball back and forth with.
Even the states that do require insurance to cover treatments often specifically exclude in vitro fertilization (IVF), a procedure that helps women with blocked Fallopian tubes to conceive and which, without coverage, usually costs infertile couples around $12,000 per cycle. Because of this, in most of America, fertility treatments (and especially IVF) are procedures that are done mostly by people who are able to throw the equivalent of a new car at a doctor every time they want a chance at a kid.
The worst part of this insurance brushoff is that it has created a vicious public-image cycle. Treatments like IVF are often perceived as something that only obnoxiously rich people do, like owning a butler, or riding snowmobiles around on their mountains of cocaine. And of course these treatments are mostly for the rich, because the lack of insurance coverage means that average people can't afford them. But the IVF/money connection has been around for a long time, and people have this idea in their heads now, and why should taxpayers or insurance companies pay for a vanity-based luxury like that?
Part of this misconception is there because ...
#1. It's Still a Crazily Taboo Subject
In our society, being unable to reproduce your genetic material is a subject that's kept tighter to most people's chests than their sexual attraction to Olympic mascots. Over 60 percent of infertile couples hide their condition from people close to them, and that number seems to include a lot of celebrities and public figures. Natural pregnancy in a woman older than 40 is rare without copious amounts of modern medicine, and natural pregnancy after 45 is approaching "albino unicorn" territory. Yet there's a whole slew of middle-aged celebrities popping out babies like it ain't no thang. As pointed out in that last link, a lot of them are clearly undergoing extensive medical treatments, using donor eggs and even surrogates to conceive children, and a lot more are adopting because of infertility. But the standard thing to do is to keep quiet about one's baby-manufacturing problems, which means that the general public ends up believing that these famous 40-something women are either adopting children for reasons completely unrelated to infertility or miraculously conceiving babies the old-fashioned way.
I'm not saying that celebrities are obliged to talk publicly about their medical issues; if an actor comes down with Lyme disease or kuru or whatever, then it's up to him whether he decides to share it with the world. But it would be nice if more celebrities did make the decision to talk about it. Up until now, it's been rare for any public figure to publicly admit that their uterus doesn't work right or that their sperm motility is low. Maybe it's because so many celebrities make money off their sex appeal, and they think the information will make them lose popularity because all their fans have some sort of deep evolutionary desire to mate with them.
But the thing is, a lot of other medical issues used to be as misunderstood and taboo as infertility is today. Decades ago, just telling people that you had cancer was about as socially acceptable as carrying around your excised tumor in a jar and showing it to them, especially if the cancer involved embarrassing body parts like the breast or prostate. Then public figures started coming out of the cancer-closet and talking about their own malign crotch growths, and gradually the stigma almost disappeared. Maybe if more famous people started talking about their problems with baby-forming, the same thing could happen here. Only one way to find out, right? Yep, I'm talking about proof of conception through celebrity sex videos.
Friday, April 25, 2014
You never know who is struggling with infertility
As many of you know, this is is National Infertility Awareness Week. I have chosen not to "come out," for various reasons. But I came across this list of things to be aware of when you are friends with someone battling infertility. I would like to share them with you. I've only shared my struggles with infertility to a few people, and they can be quite insensitive with what they say. I've chosen to stop telling anyone in my personal life about our journey to expand our family. People's hearts are sometimes in the right places, but their words aren't. Words hurt, especially when they can be avoided.
You never know who is 1 in 8. Please consider that:
1. Infertility is a disease; a medical condition. No amount of ill-considered advice is going to change that.
2. Other people’s fertility hurts my feelings. I know it’s not their fault, that’s what our bodies are meant to do. But I can’t do it, and it is upsetting to me.
3. Strangers, friends and family speaking to me as if I am ignorant because I don’t have children is hurtful. Ie: You’ll understand/you’ll change your mind/you’ll know better…when you have kids.
4. Infertility affects every part of my life. My relationship (physical and emotional) with my spouse and others, my self-esteem, my mood (all the time, up and down), my future plans (or lack thereof, because I can’t plan past the next treatment), and we can’t forget, my bank account.
5. If someone doesn’t have kids it is not appropriate to ask them if/when/how many children they plan on having. Even if they do already have a child/children, don’t. I don’t ask you what your salary is, or your sexual preference. Please do not ask me about the status of my uterus.
6. The point of marriage is not (necessarily) to have children. Sure, it is generally the by-product of marriage, but not the sole purpose. And not everyone wants to get knocked up on their honeymoon. Keep that in mind, and see #5.
7. Fortunately (for you), and unfortunately for us (suffering from IF) you cannot understand what this is like. You may have an idea from what we’ve told you, or you’ve read. You’ll know that it is horrible, and be able to sympathize with the fact that we are in pain. But there really is no way for you to fully understand. The psychological effects have been compared to having cancer. Keep that in mind.
8. If you are someone I have let into my IF world, sometimes I will want to talk about it, and sometimes I won’t. Respect my fickleness, and please be patient with me. A secondary note to that one, don’t ask me every month if “it worked”. I will tell you when it is appropriate for you to know.
9. I am not ashamed of being infertile, but I deal with enough trying to hold myself together while managing IF, never mind fielding questions/ignorance/pity from other people. That is why it is none of your business.
10. I will emerge on the other side of IF, no matter what road we take to get there or if it ends up including children or not, but I will never be the person that I was before. Unfortunately, I have visited a very ugly, dark place. Pain will change a person, and I will have to break free of my broken self to emerge anew.
A big thank you to Infertile Girl in a Fertile World for letting me share this on my blog!
You never know who is 1 in 8. Please consider that:
1. Infertility is a disease; a medical condition. No amount of ill-considered advice is going to change that.
2. Other people’s fertility hurts my feelings. I know it’s not their fault, that’s what our bodies are meant to do. But I can’t do it, and it is upsetting to me.
3. Strangers, friends and family speaking to me as if I am ignorant because I don’t have children is hurtful. Ie: You’ll understand/you’ll change your mind/you’ll know better…when you have kids.
4. Infertility affects every part of my life. My relationship (physical and emotional) with my spouse and others, my self-esteem, my mood (all the time, up and down), my future plans (or lack thereof, because I can’t plan past the next treatment), and we can’t forget, my bank account.
5. If someone doesn’t have kids it is not appropriate to ask them if/when/how many children they plan on having. Even if they do already have a child/children, don’t. I don’t ask you what your salary is, or your sexual preference. Please do not ask me about the status of my uterus.
6. The point of marriage is not (necessarily) to have children. Sure, it is generally the by-product of marriage, but not the sole purpose. And not everyone wants to get knocked up on their honeymoon. Keep that in mind, and see #5.
7. Fortunately (for you), and unfortunately for us (suffering from IF) you cannot understand what this is like. You may have an idea from what we’ve told you, or you’ve read. You’ll know that it is horrible, and be able to sympathize with the fact that we are in pain. But there really is no way for you to fully understand. The psychological effects have been compared to having cancer. Keep that in mind.
8. If you are someone I have let into my IF world, sometimes I will want to talk about it, and sometimes I won’t. Respect my fickleness, and please be patient with me. A secondary note to that one, don’t ask me every month if “it worked”. I will tell you when it is appropriate for you to know.
9. I am not ashamed of being infertile, but I deal with enough trying to hold myself together while managing IF, never mind fielding questions/ignorance/pity from other people. That is why it is none of your business.
10. I will emerge on the other side of IF, no matter what road we take to get there or if it ends up including children or not, but I will never be the person that I was before. Unfortunately, I have visited a very ugly, dark place. Pain will change a person, and I will have to break free of my broken self to emerge anew.
A big thank you to Infertile Girl in a Fertile World for letting me share this on my blog!
Monday, April 21, 2014
Because 1 in 8 is someone you know
Yesterday marked the beginning of National Infertility Awareness Week. As many of you know, I haven't been open about my infertility. I am the kind of person who gets overwhelmed easily, and I knew that being open about our experience in expanding our family would garner criticism, questions, and judgement. I would love to say that we would have a ton of support from our friends and family. I have no doubt that some of them would be there for us, but to be honest, I'm not sure who it would be. I have a ton of reasons for why I haven't shared my PCOS/Anovulation, including, but not limited to:
- Judgement. All of my friends and family are super, super fertile. I'm talking the kind of people who get knocked up on accident, over and over and over again. I was once told, right after I got married, that having babies right away in my husband's family was just how they did things. It just happens. And I believe they expected that from me. To those who don't understand infertility, it is easy to judge people for using IVF. They still think of these babies as "test-tube babies." It is something out of science fiction for them. I have already had a few people (who do know of my infertility status) ask me why I haven't tried more natural remedies to get pregnant. Or they tell me to just relax. Just have more sex. Just don't think about it, and it will happen. Does this also work for heart disease? Because I wasn't aware that you could just make a disorder/disease go away by relaxing.
- Religion. I am Catholic, although I have been attending my husband's Lutheran church since my boys were born. Decades ago, eight big-name Catholics came together to decide if ART/IVF was ethical according to the Catholic Canon. Seven of them said yes, one of them said no. Because there was one dissenter, the official status of the Catholic church is that IVF is a big no-no. They say that babies have the right to be made in love. I assure you, Catholics everywhere, that my babies were made in love regardless of the fact that no actual love-making occurred. Every time I took a needle to my belly, every time I missed work for a doctors appointment, every tear I shed over infertility - that was all in love.
- Questions. I don't want to answer them - not about my cycle, our next steps, how everything works, how much it costs, what I am planning to do, etc. No. I just can't. Questions are not a form of support. They feel like a form of attack.
- Gossip. Once the cat is out of the bag, people will talk about it among themselves. That poor Krystal, they'll say. She went through all that and lost her babies. Now she has to go through it again. And suddenly I'm part of their dinner conversations. I'm the reason why they become thankful that they are not infertile. "Better her than me."
- Insensitive comments. Maybe you're not meant to be a mother. Maybe it's just not your time. Maybe you should adopt instead. I can hear the comments coming already.
- Failure to see my babies for what they really are: miracles. This may be my biggest reason for not telling many people. I do not want them looking at my little Benjamin and little Conner and thinking, "wow, science babies." NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO. THEY ARE JUST BABIES. LITTLE MIRACLES. In fact, given our struggles, bigger miracles than any other.
But then I realized that I may actually be part of the problem. Maybe people judge, question, gossip, etc. because they don't realize that infertility is a disorder. We have the right to seek medical treatment just like someone who has a disease has the right to seek treatment. There is a stigma that women who can't conceive naturally are not really women, or that this is God's way of saying that they are not meant to be mothers. If someone has cancer, is that God's way of saying they should die? No, that is outrageous. Maybe, if people were more open about this, myself included, it wouldn't be such a big deal to share all of this.
I definitely have some things to think about this week. I am not committing myself to NIAW just yet, but I am thinking about stepping forward. In the meantime, below are some links for infertility awareness:
A big thank you to Chickin for the resources and bringing this movement to my attention!
Thursday, April 10, 2014
Surprise! Ready or not....
FET, here we come!
***For those of you unfamiliar with the IVF world, read the following paragraph. For those of you familiar, skip this paragraph.***
FET stands for Frozen Embryo Transfer. In August, we did a "fresh" IVF cycle where doctors retrieved 24 of my eggs (you read that right). They then attempted to fertilize them with my husband's sperm. Nineteen of them fertilized! Fifteen of them continued to mature. Ten of them looked great the day that the doctors were going to do the embryo transfer. We transferred two of them (Conner and Ben) and froze the other eight. They are our little snowbabies. While all of this sounds very unnatural, for us dealing with infertility - this is magic. And there is nothing, and I mean NOTHING different between a baby conceived through IVF and "naturally." I do hate that phrase. My babies are natural, I assure everyone.
Continue on.
I was torn on when to decide trying to have another baby. Right after our loss, the lunatic in me wanted to get pregnant right away. RIGHT AWAY. I think it was more of a physical want than anything else. My milk had come in. I missed the kicks of little babies in my belly. I missed carrying a little one (or little ones). When we met with our doctors, we got different answers as to when we could jump on the IVF train again. My MFM said six months (although she was very open to trying sooner). My OB said no sooner than three months. My RE said right now (always a man with a plan).
We went in for a consult with our RE to get a plan in place sometime in March. He took the time to grieve with us, looking at Conner and Benjamin's pictures. I could tell he was just shocked at what had happened to us. He agreed with my other doctors that we should just transfer one embryo. "God forbid something happened and you lost another two... I wouldn't be able to sleep at night," he explained. Ok, one it is. But when? I explained that my OB (well, both of my OBs) said that I should have at least three cycles (periods) before I tried to conceive again. But we all know that my ovaries do not ovulate... so I do not have periods the way most people do. So what were we looking at? A year from now??? "Oh honey," my RE said. "We induce those bleeds for you. Don't worry." Thank God.
We drew labs and as it turned out, they were perfect to start a cycle for April. We were ecstatic. April was three months out, the earliest we could try to get pregnant again. So in came the box of needles and medications. I started Provera to hold me until baseline (my labs apparently looked better to hold me on Provera than BCP).
It didn't work.
I bled right through it. They said that it was breakthrough bleeding, but I knew better. Sure enough, they drew labs and it was my period. No matter. I had canceled the cycle on my own anyway. I wasn't emotionally ready. I was terrified that I would get a BFN and that would send me over the edge. I also wanted to meet with more specialists to have a plan in place before I tried to get pregnant again. I needed more time. I was still a mess and I was already beginning to hate this pseudo baby for not being Conner or Benjamin.
So the cycle was canceled, and Tim and I booked a couple of trips for May. We decided to go to Bermuda and to go to Galena for Mother's Day and the boys' EDD. But then, oh change of heart... we signed up for a cycle in May.
We have eight little frozen embryos waiting for us from the fresh cycle with Conner and Ben. I need to go back for them. I keep thinking... what if that were Conner and Ben waiting for us? Oh, God, I couldn't just leave them there. I need to get them. I will get them. Please, little snowbabies... snuggle in.
Yes, I've been going nuts saying I am not ready for this. But it took awhile for me to realize I never actually would be. Next month, or one year from now, or ten years from now - I won't be emotionally ready. But I feel physically up to this. I can do this. I just hope this cycle gives us a positive pregnancy test and a take home baby. I want to have a little sibling for Conner and Ben. Someone who will celebrate their big brothers' birthday with us, who will read to them with us at night, and remember our Ben and Conner long after we are gone. And I really, really need something positive to focus on. I am drowning in grief right now.
Also - hoping my baselines go well on May 2nd because I literally head to the airport four hours after labs to go to Bermuda. If I need to repeat baseline... well then, looks like I'm either skipping the May cycle or not going on vacation!
***For those of you unfamiliar with the IVF world, read the following paragraph. For those of you familiar, skip this paragraph.***
FET stands for Frozen Embryo Transfer. In August, we did a "fresh" IVF cycle where doctors retrieved 24 of my eggs (you read that right). They then attempted to fertilize them with my husband's sperm. Nineteen of them fertilized! Fifteen of them continued to mature. Ten of them looked great the day that the doctors were going to do the embryo transfer. We transferred two of them (Conner and Ben) and froze the other eight. They are our little snowbabies. While all of this sounds very unnatural, for us dealing with infertility - this is magic. And there is nothing, and I mean NOTHING different between a baby conceived through IVF and "naturally." I do hate that phrase. My babies are natural, I assure everyone.
Continue on.
I was torn on when to decide trying to have another baby. Right after our loss, the lunatic in me wanted to get pregnant right away. RIGHT AWAY. I think it was more of a physical want than anything else. My milk had come in. I missed the kicks of little babies in my belly. I missed carrying a little one (or little ones). When we met with our doctors, we got different answers as to when we could jump on the IVF train again. My MFM said six months (although she was very open to trying sooner). My OB said no sooner than three months. My RE said right now (always a man with a plan).
We went in for a consult with our RE to get a plan in place sometime in March. He took the time to grieve with us, looking at Conner and Benjamin's pictures. I could tell he was just shocked at what had happened to us. He agreed with my other doctors that we should just transfer one embryo. "God forbid something happened and you lost another two... I wouldn't be able to sleep at night," he explained. Ok, one it is. But when? I explained that my OB (well, both of my OBs) said that I should have at least three cycles (periods) before I tried to conceive again. But we all know that my ovaries do not ovulate... so I do not have periods the way most people do. So what were we looking at? A year from now??? "Oh honey," my RE said. "We induce those bleeds for you. Don't worry." Thank God.
We drew labs and as it turned out, they were perfect to start a cycle for April. We were ecstatic. April was three months out, the earliest we could try to get pregnant again. So in came the box of needles and medications. I started Provera to hold me until baseline (my labs apparently looked better to hold me on Provera than BCP).
It didn't work.
I bled right through it. They said that it was breakthrough bleeding, but I knew better. Sure enough, they drew labs and it was my period. No matter. I had canceled the cycle on my own anyway. I wasn't emotionally ready. I was terrified that I would get a BFN and that would send me over the edge. I also wanted to meet with more specialists to have a plan in place before I tried to get pregnant again. I needed more time. I was still a mess and I was already beginning to hate this pseudo baby for not being Conner or Benjamin.
So the cycle was canceled, and Tim and I booked a couple of trips for May. We decided to go to Bermuda and to go to Galena for Mother's Day and the boys' EDD. But then, oh change of heart... we signed up for a cycle in May.
We have eight little frozen embryos waiting for us from the fresh cycle with Conner and Ben. I need to go back for them. I keep thinking... what if that were Conner and Ben waiting for us? Oh, God, I couldn't just leave them there. I need to get them. I will get them. Please, little snowbabies... snuggle in.
Yes, I've been going nuts saying I am not ready for this. But it took awhile for me to realize I never actually would be. Next month, or one year from now, or ten years from now - I won't be emotionally ready. But I feel physically up to this. I can do this. I just hope this cycle gives us a positive pregnancy test and a take home baby. I want to have a little sibling for Conner and Ben. Someone who will celebrate their big brothers' birthday with us, who will read to them with us at night, and remember our Ben and Conner long after we are gone. And I really, really need something positive to focus on. I am drowning in grief right now.
Also - hoping my baselines go well on May 2nd because I literally head to the airport four hours after labs to go to Bermuda. If I need to repeat baseline... well then, looks like I'm either skipping the May cycle or not going on vacation!
I'm going to touch the butt. In May. Wish me luck :)
Friday, April 4, 2014
Well. Here we are.... and hopefully here we stay.
If you're here, it's because you figured out (or I told you) that I changed the web address to my blog. And you've seen that this is an exact replica of my old blog, with no comments or posts lost. Thank you, Blogger, for export and import functions.
I found that I couldn't be honest on my old blog because I made the mistake of sharing that blog address with people who did not deserve to know the deepest parts of me. They didn't deserve to know how I felt or what I was going through. And I didn't want them to use it against me. I didn't want to add ammunition to their guns, per say.
So here we are. Most of you who are reading this have been loyal followers/readers that come from infertility and infant loss communities. Thank you for sticking with me. I hope that this slight change will benefit everyone. I can now really share everything that I want to share.
Monday, March 31, 2014
The Road to Here
So it's no secret that I love the Dixie Chicks. Two of the members of the group, Martie and Emily, have gone through infertility and IVF/FET and were very open about their journey to create and expand their families. The band wrote a song about infertility called "So Hard." What I love about them is that they took a very controversial subject matter than hardly anyone talks about (especially those going through it) and laid it out for everyone to hear. They even opened up about how hard it was to see Natalie (the other "chick") get pregnant so easily. To all of you infertility veterans and newbies out there - I hope this song gives you something to relate to. I listen to the lyrics and I just think, "finally, a song that says exactly how I feel." And you know, not a song that reminds me of what I do not and cannot have.
Back when we started
we didn't know how hard it was
Living on nothing
but what the wind would bring to us
Now we've got something
I can imagine fighting for
So why is fighting all that we're good at anymore?
And sometimes I don't have the energy
to prove everybody wrong
And I try my best to be strong
but you know it's so hard
It's so hard
It's so hard when it doesn't come easy
It's so hard when it doesn't come fast
It's so hard when it doesn't come easy
It's so hard
It felt like a given
something a woman's born to do
A natural ambition
to see a reflection of me and you
And I'd feel so guilty
if that was a gift I couldn't give
And could you be happy
if life wasn't how we pictured it?
And sometimes I just want to wait it out
to prove everybody wrong
And I need your help to move on
cause you know it's so hard
It's so hard
It's so hard when it doesn't come easy
It's so hard when it doesn't come fast
It's so hard when it doesn't come easy
So hard
I can live for the moment
when all the clouds open up for me to see
and show me a vision
of you and me swimming peacefully
Last night you told me
that you can't remember
how to feel free
It's so hard when it doesn't come easy
It's so hard when it doesn't come fast
Thursday, February 6, 2014
Ode to my ovaries
Before I starting writing about Conner and Benjamin, it only seems appropriate that I include a crash course on what happened to get us here in the first place.
Tim and I were married in September of 2011, and shortly after that we pulled the goalie an in effort to get pregnant. We weren't necessarily trying, per se, but we weren't NOT trying. After about a year and some months of baby dancing and peeing on sticks, nothing happened. Something was obviously wrong with my body, otherwise the only other explanation was that I am so old and such a homebody that they have updated sex and no one has told me yet.
We went to see a reproductive specialist. I wasn't ovulating. In fact, my hormones were so craptastic that it was giving me false ovulation tests. We tried four rounds of Clomid, an evil little pill that is supposed to get your ovaries to produce eggs. Again, nothing. No eggs = no babies. Damn you, ovaries! What the hell have you been doing all these years?! We were given the choice to do IUI (artificial insemination) paired with a series of shots to get my ovaries to produce eggs, or to do those series of shots but with IVF (in-vitro fertilization). IUI had a 30% chance of working, while IVF had a 60% chance. My ovaries, in all their polycystic glory, were good candidates for IVF. Um, if we are going to stick needles into my abdomen everyday, let's just jump into the deep end of the pool, shall we?
So begrudgingly, I let my husband stick me with needles every night to get my ovaries to mass produce eggs. I was a chicken (in more ways than one). I let teams of people proke and prod at me. This reproductive team probably saw more of my vagina than my husband did. On days he was working, I drove to whatever fire house my husband was at with my needles and drugs on the passenger seat. Might I add: we do not live anywhere near Storybrooke, Maine (or any other whimsical place that entails fairies and magic. Where is that? Disney World? Hawaii? Hooters?). I was terrified of getting pulled over and being arrested for possession. "Hello, officer," I would say, trying to explain that yes, these drugs were legal and that it was only a coincidence I was driving in the hood. Thankfully, that never happened. Whatever this cocktail of drugs did, it worked.
On August 24th, we transferred two of these little guys into my uterus:
Hello, Conner and Benjamin!
On August 31st, 2013, this happened:
Yes, I am holding the wrong end of the sticks, and yes, I told my dog before I told my husband that we were pregnant.
Being infertile does something to your psyche that shouldn't exist in 2013. It takes away your sense of womanhood. I'm not talking about something that can be fixed with burning your bras in the middle of the street and demanding equality. Your body is meant to carry babies and birth them. And then all of a sudden, a fancy medical degree tells you that your body is not meant to do that without reproductive help. You swim in your sadness for awhile, realize that you're exhausted of treading the water, and give in. In my case, I was excited to get pregnant by any means, but afterwards had this immense guilt that only a mother can have about my babies not being conceived inside me. Regardless, once I saw my babies I knew instantly that they were perfect. Even though they were premature and even though they are gone now, I know that they were meant to be here. So, thank you God and thank you science for IVF (am I allowed to thank them both in the same sentence?).
Tim and I were married in September of 2011, and shortly after that we pulled the goalie an in effort to get pregnant. We weren't necessarily trying, per se, but we weren't NOT trying. After about a year and some months of baby dancing and peeing on sticks, nothing happened. Something was obviously wrong with my body, otherwise the only other explanation was that I am so old and such a homebody that they have updated sex and no one has told me yet.
We went to see a reproductive specialist. I wasn't ovulating. In fact, my hormones were so craptastic that it was giving me false ovulation tests. We tried four rounds of Clomid, an evil little pill that is supposed to get your ovaries to produce eggs. Again, nothing. No eggs = no babies. Damn you, ovaries! What the hell have you been doing all these years?! We were given the choice to do IUI (artificial insemination) paired with a series of shots to get my ovaries to produce eggs, or to do those series of shots but with IVF (in-vitro fertilization). IUI had a 30% chance of working, while IVF had a 60% chance. My ovaries, in all their polycystic glory, were good candidates for IVF. Um, if we are going to stick needles into my abdomen everyday, let's just jump into the deep end of the pool, shall we?
So begrudgingly, I let my husband stick me with needles every night to get my ovaries to mass produce eggs. I was a chicken (in more ways than one). I let teams of people proke and prod at me. This reproductive team probably saw more of my vagina than my husband did. On days he was working, I drove to whatever fire house my husband was at with my needles and drugs on the passenger seat. Might I add: we do not live anywhere near Storybrooke, Maine (or any other whimsical place that entails fairies and magic. Where is that? Disney World? Hawaii? Hooters?). I was terrified of getting pulled over and being arrested for possession. "Hello, officer," I would say, trying to explain that yes, these drugs were legal and that it was only a coincidence I was driving in the hood. Thankfully, that never happened. Whatever this cocktail of drugs did, it worked.
On August 24th, we transferred two of these little guys into my uterus:
Hello, Conner and Benjamin!
On August 31st, 2013, this happened:
Yes, I am holding the wrong end of the sticks, and yes, I told my dog before I told my husband that we were pregnant.
Being infertile does something to your psyche that shouldn't exist in 2013. It takes away your sense of womanhood. I'm not talking about something that can be fixed with burning your bras in the middle of the street and demanding equality. Your body is meant to carry babies and birth them. And then all of a sudden, a fancy medical degree tells you that your body is not meant to do that without reproductive help. You swim in your sadness for awhile, realize that you're exhausted of treading the water, and give in. In my case, I was excited to get pregnant by any means, but afterwards had this immense guilt that only a mother can have about my babies not being conceived inside me. Regardless, once I saw my babies I knew instantly that they were perfect. Even though they were premature and even though they are gone now, I know that they were meant to be here. So, thank you God and thank you science for IVF (am I allowed to thank them both in the same sentence?).
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