I can't even begin to tell you how many blog posts I have written in my head the past 6 weeks but never gotten around to actually writing. The biggest reason of which is that I have been too afraid. We have been so secretive about our FETs this past year, and I have opened this blog up to so many people in my life- I guess I just wasn't ready to share yet. But now it's becoming too much and I am finding myself feeling more lost than I did the first time around, and I realize how desperately I need to stop trying to keep it all in.
Infertility 2.0 was supposed to be easier, less painful and traumatic somehow. We have already endured the years of trying on our own, the tedium of temping, the anxiety of testing & diagnosis, the marathon of IVF, the hell of miscarriage and finally the joy of successful FET. We knew what to expect. We knew the problems and how to treat them. There was no reason this shouldn't work. No reason this time shouldn't have been smoother, simpler than than the first. Oh how very wrong we were.
In 2013, we had 3 failed FET cycles. With the 5 embryos lost to these failures added to the 3 that didn't make it the first time around, that puts the viability of my embryos so far at 1 in 9- far below the 1 in 3 my RE predicted based on my age, hormone levels and our combined egg/sperm quality. 5 transfers, 9 embryos, one child- I am beating the odds in a terrible way. And I was not at all prepared for this or for how it would affect me.
When we started infertility treatment 2.0 this past summer, I not only felt fairly confident we would have an easier time achieving success, but that if for some reason we didn't I would be more ok with everything than I was the first time. I think I even said so on my blog. After all, I wasn't a mom last time and now I am. Who cares if I have one baby or two? I'm a mom when I wasn't before and the headcount of my household doesn't change that fact. Which is still true, of course. In so many ways it is not as painful, it doesn't cut the same way the fight for motherhood did. But it still hurts and cuts in new ways I never saw coming.
My body has now failed me more than it had in 2010 when we were going through IVF/FET. Then, I just couldn't get pregnant without help but after the hormones and the procedures, my body did a pretty good job of behaving as it should. I felt damaged for sure, but I didn't feel quite as broken as I do now. Today, I met with my RE and discussed the possibility that fluid in my fallopian tubes may be creating a toxic womb environment and destroying what would otherwise be healthy, viable embryos. The thought that my own body is responsible for literally killing my embryos is soul crushing.
How do I maintain a healthy self-esteem when my own body is so broken and dysfunctional? How do I stave off the despair, self-blame and depression that comes from infertility when I think about my own body actually poisoning my attempts to further build my family? How do I control my anger when I realize that we have spent thousands of dollars, I have forced myself through hundreds of injections, and we have tolerated months of anxiety, false hopes and heartbreak all with absolutely nothing to show for it? How do I hold back the flood of tears when my daughter comes running into the room to show me that she has been practicing her sign language so she can teach it to the baby brother or sister she keeps begging me for? How do I manage the guilt and shame at letting all of this hurt so much when I know I am lucky to have such an amazing child, even if she is my only one? Infertility as once again made me feel like a failure, this time as a woman, a wife, an advocate and a mother. I just wasn't prepared for all the new ways my heart would break when we set back out on this road.
Writing and blogging really is such a cathartic way to deal with everything that happens in life, and I don't know why I don't make more time to do it. Mostly, just the regular excuses about being busy and distracted I guess. I mean, yeah I actually am busy and I do get distracted but I should make more quality time for myself. Especially now.
After September's chemical pregnancy, I realized how very much I want to have another child so Chad and I plunged straight into another cycle. I was already in the habit of nightly injections, so might as well keep them going. And yeah that cycle ended badly, but this next one was sure to work, right? I won't keep you in suspense, the answer is no. Today was beta and my official BFN.
Not that it was a shock. I poas'd earlier this weekend knowing Chad was leaving town for work today, and neither of us wanted to be apart immediately after getting the results, so we decided it was better to find out sooner rather than later. Both our hopes were much higher than either us had confessed though, so seeing that single, lonely line Saturday afternoon was crushing to say the least. Still, I don't regret it. Testing early didn't change the outcome and it gave us both time together to process. What knowing didn't change is that it still hurt like hell hearing the nurse say the word "negative" on the phone this morning. I knew that's what she would say. I was fully prepared for it. So why did it still sting? Why does infertility continue to find new ways to make me hurt?
When I became a mom after so much pain and heartbreak, I knew that trying again one day would be hard, but I also knew it would never hurt that same way again. It would never be as raw and intense as the pain of having empty arms. When we finally started our FETs for baby #2, I was confident that I knew what to expect, that I wouldn't be surprised by pain like I had been in the past. But here I am shocked by all of the unexpected ways infertility wracked my emotions yet again. I was still right that it isn't as extreme of a pain as I endured before motherhood, but it is still pain nonetheless, and it still tears at all of my old wounds even as it rips open new ones.
This is my first IVF/FET cycle in which no implantation at all took place. Granted I've only had one child, but I have had 3 "pregnancies". I haven't stared down a straightforward BFN, with no confusing betas or possible positives since my clomid days 4 years ago. And while this complete failure is making me question whether I could have done anything different to get a better outcome, it has also verified a long held suspicion that even though a BFN hurts like hell, it isn't as unbearable as thinking I might actually be getting what I want and having it cruelly ripped away from me. So I guess I have that as a silver lining this cycle? Yeah I am not pregnant, but at least I never was? Honestly, when you are facing this heartbreak, you have to take what you can get when it comes to finding the good in it. And as pessimistic as I sound there is some good. Or at least some hope, anyway. We are very lucky in that we still have frozen embryos left so we can keep trying without having to worry about the time and expense of a fresh IVF cycle. Although, after two failed cycles, we seem to be investing quite a bit of time and money after all.
But back to the hope. As negative and angry as I feel at the moment, I know hope is still there. It isn't over and there is still a good chance that this will work in the end. Although, if I am being honest, I am not really certain of my belief that it will work, and in fact, I am kind of terrified that it won't. I am already crushed that my so many of my family dreams have had to be re-written or let go of altogether, I am just not ready to let go of this one yet. So for now, I am not going to. Thanks to travel and holiday schedules we won't be able to transfer again until next year, which kills me, but hopefully I can use this time off to relax and recharge before subjecting myself to hundreds more needles. I can only hope that the new year brings realized dreams along with it.
Yesterday was October 15, or as it is known in the infertility and loss communities- Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. Each year on this day for quite a few years now, I have stopped to honor each of the parents that have faced the heartbreak of saying goodbye too soon. All over the world, fellow miscarriage, ectopic and infant loss sufferers send messages of support, light candles and remember the babies that live on in our hearts, despite us being unable to hold them in our arms. We say their names out loud, we share our stories with others, we mourn the lives we'll never know. It is simultaneously, a difficult and uplifting day. Every year, I am saddened by how many new members have joined the wretched & hellish world of loss but I am also awed and inspired by how many new supporters I discover. Each year there is a little bit less stigma, a tad less awkwardness and lot more love. It is amazing to witness in real time the growth that happens within society as a whole the more we talk about the realities of loss. And the reality is that it can and does happen to anyone. With an estimated 1 in 4 pregnancies ending is miscarriage or other loss, it is crucial that we are able to speak about these losses and the feelings that come with them.
It has been three years since my first miscarriage when Chad and I said goodbye to the dreams we had for our Sprout. My heart still can't help but wonder sometimes what life would have been like if that pregnancy hadn't ended in heartbreak. And now that my "Big Fat Maybe" is officially a Big Fat Chemical Pregnancy, I am already wondering what could have been if that embryo had continued growing instead of resulting in an early miscarriage. I probably will always wonder a bit about both of those pregnancies, about what could have been and I will always have cracks in my heart as result.
Those few hours of blissful hope after my positive home pregnancy test last month and then the devastation I felt once I learned the pregnancy wouldn't last, opened my eyes to how deeply I actually do want a second child. I have spent nearly three years shielding my heart and mind from believing it mattered to me as much it actually does. And seeing how much it also matters to Chad and Eliana, I can't help but dive back in, despite my earlier fears that I would need a much longer break before trying again. Granted, the actual transfer is still a little ways away, so there's still time to change my mind (and I have definitely already considered it) but for now I am moving forward to FET #3 with hope that this cycle will result in a much happier outcome.
And although October 15 is just one day and that day has come and gone this year, I will continue to honor the memories of all the little ones gone far too soon. The names of so many precious children are etched in my heart and I will carry them with me always. Ayla, Juliet, Thomas, Bayli, Rudyard, Desmond, Oscar, Audrey, Logan, Brody, Wyatt, Sophia, Caydence, TT and all the others we have lost- you are cherished, remembered and missed.
Today was the big day: Beta day. Oh how I dread beta day! The agony of waiting for that damn phone to ring after my blood has been drawn is one of the big reasons I kept putting of this FET. The day started out hopeful-ish. I went in for my blood draw early and was assured of a call before lunch. I have always waited for that call with my past cycles. I never poas (pee on a stick). Ever. I used to do pregnancy tests at home all the time back in my temping, charting, clomid days. I would squint and tilt and take photos so I could change the light & tint until I maybe saw a ghost of a second line. In reality, those sticks were always pure, stark white minus that one cruel line. And because it "could still be early", I would never truly lose hope until AF arrived and left me crying on my bathroom floor. It was a hell of a roller coaster and I have been terrified of it ever since I moved on to IVF so I always waited for beta. Until today.
Chad and I have both been so pessimistic, so afraid to even entertain the idea that this FET might really work that we agreed we wanted to find out together and on our terms. If it was negative, fine, but at least we'd be expecting it when the phone rang. So we left the RE's office & rushed to buy tests. I was too scared to look, so at first I just glanced out of the corner of my eye. One line. There was one line. But it had only been 30 seconds. So we both looked again and slowly a 2nd line was coming into view. It wasn't dark but it was clearly visible. No squinting, tilting or altering required! A second line! It was really happening! We were relieved and ready for the phone to ring. We didn't want to get too ahead of ourselves before we heard the numbers. But the call never came. Lunch came & went and the phone didn't ring. I've learned that clinic staff delays making "bad news" calls. They call their good news patients early. It only took 2 hours from blood draw to phone call when I got pregnant with Eliana. 1st beta- 737. Today, six hours had passed so finally I got sick of waiting and called them. The nurse did not sound cheerful or excited. She started with "congrats" but in a way that sounded like it had a question mark at the end of it. Then she told me my beta was 17. One freaking seven. My hope has plummeted to nearly zero. Either this is a chemical pregnancy/early miscarriage or the hCG booster I did last Monday still hasn't totally left my system. I have another beta on Thursday to see if my beta changes at all and yeah there is that small sliver of a chance that by some miracle it will shoot up but I'm not counting on it.
Honestly, it sounds awful, but I'm mostly hoping for a big drop. If this FET isn't the one, I just want to know. I don't want to ride the beta roller coaster again. Back in 2010 when I did my fresh IVF, my emotions were yanked in every possible direction with betas that rose but didn't double, then slightly rose again, then tripled. It was hell never knowing if that pregnancy was going to last. When I finally made it to ultrasound and there was no heartbeat, I was devastated and angry. If the cycle was not going to end in a baby, why did I have to endure that torture? A BFN would have hurt but it would have been easier to mourn. No ups and downs, no D&C, no miscarriage. That loss was painful and the merry-go-round that preceded it was hell. I do not want to do that again. I just want to know. Bad news hurts, it's awful, but it is better than maybes and we'll sees. Limbo sucks and I don't want any part of it.
I am so mad myself for peeing on that dumb stick and letting it get my hopes up! For those few, short hours, despite my attempts not to, I started to get attached. I began imagining whether Eliana would have a baby brother or sister in the spring. I started thinking about how it would feel to have a big round belly. I contemplated the number of weeks I would wait before telling my friends. I wasn't jumping up and down but I was truly hopeful. And I'm pissed at myself for that. I should have known better. It hurts more this way. It feels like someone offered me what I want most in the world and as soon as I reached to pick it up, they snatched it away and shouted, "Nope! Not this time!". The no sucks but not as much as hearing yes first and having it taken away.
My heart is slowly breaking. Nothing chips away at that crack quite as much as Eliana's sweet face and her requests for a baby brother or sister. Yesterday, totally out of the blue, she asked me if she could please have a baby brother or sister to hold. She wants it so badly. She tells me she will help with the baby and push the stroller. The hope and love in her eyes when she talks about it is indescribable. It kills me that I almost believed I would be able to fulfill that request nine months from now and now I am not sure when it might happen. I don't know for sure how quickly I will be ready to try again. My emotions just can't handle it. But no matter how sad or hurt I am about this cycle, I am nowhere near the point I was before Eliana was here. These are the same hurts, the same wounds, but they have scar tissue now. I will cry but I will have her to make me smile. I want another baby one day, I want her to have the sibling she craves, but she is enough. This is painful, yes, but it is nothing compared to the hurt of not yet being a mother. So, I will push through the next two days and hope that I have real, solid answers by then. I may cry, I may worry or panic, I may get pissed and hate most of the world, but in the end I will be OK. I just hope that end comes sooner rather than later.
I have started and left unfinished about a dozen different blog posts in the past month. I have simultaneously had so much on mind to work out and been working so hard to not think about what was coming, that I could never find the resolve to finish anything I started. Besides, once I write something down and hit "publish", its out there in the world and that makes it more real and infinitely more scary.
But now that the deed is officially done, I think it's time to break out of my hidey hole. I am currently, and for the third time in my life, officially PUPO (pregnant until proven otherwise). And I am terrified more than I probably have a right to be. Earlier today, I met with my embryologist and my amazing RE to have one perfect blastocyst thawed and transferred. This being my second ever FET (frozen embryo transfer) I felt simultaneously prepared and uncertain of what to expect. I remember the FET that brought us our precious Snow Pea so well, but that transfer came on the heels of a D&C following the failed pregnancy of my fresh IVF. I saw my RE and nurses constantly for months during that time. My life was consumed by nothing but trying to become a mom. Everything else came second. Everything.
This time around I could barely get up the guts to actually call my RE for the first consultation. I don't understand why, but I think the fabled "Infertility PTSD" hit me harder than I had realized. I have watched and cheered for so many of my fellow Infertile Parents as they have expanded their families with additional treatments or adoptions in the past two years. I never stop being thrilled for those friends who are fortunate enough to see their dreams come true and it is still thrilling to see it happen the second time. With each pal that embarked on treatment though, I became more nervous, more afraid. Originally, Chad and I had solid plans to start another FET nearly a year ago. But as that date drew near, we found reasons to move it back. Then the new planned time would come closer and we'd push it back again. There were always "reasons"- the sale of Chad's company, travel plans to visit family, wanting to sort out our finances. But the truth is I kept delaying because I was scared, too scared to move forward. Three years ago, we didn't let any of that get in our way. We were bright eyed, hopeful and desperate to be parents. Fear existed but our hope and our need to do everything we could in our quest for parenthood, outweighed any trepidation. We threw ourselves full force into every aspect of making our dream a reality.
Now that the dream has been realized, I kind of assumed that trying again one day would be a piece of cake. We have frozen embryos so that creates less strain both physically and financially. We knew what to expect and what our odds of success would be. And most important of all, we have the amazing little girl that made our dream of parenthood come true. If a second child isn't in our future, we are still parents. Our family of three is full of joy and happiness and if that is all we ever have, we will have more than enough. So when I realized how truly scared I was to try again, despite all of these things, I was surprised at myself. Every time I watched another friend on Twitter talk about starting treatments for baby #2, I marveled at her bravery and strength. I just didn't have it in me to even consider it yet. Strangely, knowing what to expect made me more nervous instead of less. I resented that I had to go through injections and medications and invasive ultrasounds and bloodwork and horrifically emotional waits all over again, just in the name of trying to have more of something I already feel beyond lucky to have at all. I mean, my dream was parenthood and I have that. Why should I have to go through that emotional hell again?
I have been absurdly low key about so much of this for a multitude of reasons. It feels incredibly selfish to think about baby #2 and to talk about how afraid I am to try again, when so many of those I love dearly are still fighting for baby #1. I know that my friends love and support me, no matter what mine or their circumstances may be, but I know it can still sting to be on that other side. Before my successful pregnancy, I had to avoid reading tweets and blogs from just about anyone that had moved forward to the next steps. I still loved & supported them and felt incredibly happy that their dream came true, but it hurt too much to expose myself directly to it. It may sound silly, but I felt like a jerk even considering making anyone listen to me whine about why I was afraid to do another FET. (you may have caught a vague tweet or two about this).
My crazy pessimism & fear has also made me very wary of having much conversation about the whole thing with anyone I know "in real life". The thought of giving updates to my friends and family throughout the whole process, answering questions, and putting on a optimistic, hopeful front just seemed so daunting and I wanted to do everything I could to avoid that. With that said, if we know each other in real life, please don't think I didn't want to talk to you personally. I'm just very guarded emotionally right now and it has no reflection on our relationship or how much I love you, because I promise I do. I just needed to protect myself. (also please keep what you are reading here to yourself, as I am still not sharing this widely).
The scariest thing of all of course, is realizing that in spite of my pessimism and bitterness about this whole process, hope has found it's way in. I can't help but envision our family of three becoming a family of four. I can't not see what an amazing big sister Eliana would be. How much she would love and care for a new baby. It really doesn't help my hopeful/fearful heart that she is now actually old enough to express these desires. "Mommy, may I have a baby brother, please?" is a popular request from her recently. She says it so sweetly, so sincerely, how can I not try to deliver?
The concept of family is one she is just beginning to learn and she is very excited to announce that Mommy and Daddy and Eliana are a family every chance she gets. I want to let go of the fear and be open to the hope that a new name will be added to her list soon, but if that doesn't happen for us, I know I will still be always happy, grateful and in love with the family I have. And that is stronger than any fear, guilt or stress I could ever face.
Over the past few years most of us have become accustomed to the growing presence of pink ribbons, our doctors' reminders to perform monthly self breast-exams, walks for the cure and the sale of pink-dyed baked good donating pennies of the profits to research. Breast cancer has gone from an under-diagnosed, frequently overlooked, and almost certain death sentence to arguably one of the most visible, talked about and screened for diseases in the country.
With such high visibility and awareness, I admit I often feel guilty that I don't exactly perform those self-exams monthly, or even bi-monthly. It's more like on a "when I remember and then when I actually get to it" thing. I feel even more guilty that I am so lax considering my family history- my paternal grandmother was diagnosed and had a double mastectomy in her 50s. Worst of all though, is that, I still harbor at least a slight "it won't happen to me" attitude. Which is why I am more anxious about dealing with the pain of having a needle jabbed into my boob tomorrow morning than I am about getting the results back on the sample of the lump my doctor will be removing.
I should back up. A couple of months ago, I actually remembered to do that whole boob self-exam thing and I found a bumpy spot inside my right breast. I poked and pushed until it ached and I could be certain it really did feel different the rest of the area. It definitely did. I can best compare it to a hard, round marble just hanging out in the midst of all the other squishy stuff. This may sound alarming, but I've been through this once before and the marble I found when I was in college was also poked, prodded, biopsied and diagnosed as a completely benign fibroadenoma. It looks scary as hell on ultrasound but it's not cancer and for the most part doesn't increase my risk of developing it. And reassuringly, this lump feels very similar to the one I had when I was 23.
Last week, I did my due diligence and went in for a mammogram and ultrasound to check out the suspicious spot as well as to do an overall check-up of both breasts. Having my boobs squished and pressed again wasn't exactly comfortable but I've survived worse. (HSG anyone?) The ultrasound was almost relaxing, especially since the jelly was heated instead of freezing cold. After lots of looking, the doctor agreed with my initial suspicions that this was most likely another fibroadenoma. She started talking about whether I wanted to biopsy it now to be safe or if I would rather monitor it for 6 months for changes and determine the necessity then. Until, I mentioned my history with infertility, IVF and FET. That's when the biopsy became my only option.
As if the hell of infertility and the roller coaster of treatment isn't awful enough on its own, there is this whole non-baby related list of potential health issues that affect us and may continue to do so for the rest of our lives. Not that the doctor was particularly alarmed by my IVF history. She still thinks it's a fibroadenoma and so do I, but the fact remains that the effects of fertility drugs on breast cancer rates have still only been through a handful of studies. And as is usually the case, there is plenty of conflicting information. Some studies say there is no increased risk. Others say that there is, but only for younger women. (I was only 27 for both my IVF and FET cycles.) Add to that to wide diversity of treatment fertility patients receive, and I am not willing to take the summarized version of one breast cancer survey on CNN.com as proof that the countless vials of estrogen I have injected directly into my backside plays no role in my future health. So I am having the biopsy.
Tomorrow I will walk into the office in my cute, blue, loose-fitting button up, have a large, hollow needle plunged into my breast and walk out flattened down by bulky "pressure wrap" wrapped around my chest for 48 hours. This coupled with the fact that I can't exercise or shower for those 2 days, nor can I wear deodorant or perfume to my appointment, worries me more than getting back my results next week. Or so I keep telling myself. Because no matter much I hold on to that teenage dream of "it could never happen to me" or how sure I am that this lump is just like the last one, there is always that nagging doubt in the back of mind. That thought the my grandmother wasn't exactly old when she had to have both breasts removed due to cancer. The knowledge that estrogen is the hormone most connected to increased risk and I have artificially increased my levels of it more than once (and might do it again). The images of pink ribbons and awareness posters. These things creep into my mind just when I have convinced myself that there is nothing to worry about. And the truth is, I really do believe there is nothing to worry about. This time. But I can't help but think, given my history, that it is only a matter of time before it's not "nothing". Which is why I will keep doing those occasionally remembered exams, and showing up for mammogram and biopsy appointments well before menopause dictates that I must. And I will be holding my breath just the tiniest bit when my phone rings next week, until I hear the word "benign".
It's official: my sweet little Snow Pea isn't a baby anymore. She is 14 months old as of a few days ago and she is walking and talking a little more each day. Despite my all of my attempts to savor every second and slow down time, she has become a toddler.
It is an amazing stage really. I love the sound of curiosity in her voice asking "What's that?" and I do my best to answer as enthusiastically the 400th time she asks as I do the 1st. Even better is when she asks, I answer and she responds, "ooo cool". I love watching her toddle into the kitchen every morning- step, step, fall, crawl- to pull open every cabinet until she finds the small saucepan the is just the perfect size for carrying around and banging on the floor. I love hear her exclaim "woof, woof!" anytime she hears or sees a dog. I love how absolutely nuts she goes when a playground is in eyesight, begging to go play by signing "more, please, more, please, please". Speaking of signing, I am blown away by all of the signs she does! She knows about 40 now and the other day, Chad and I spied on her pulling all the books from her shelves and "reading" them to herself by flipping through the pages and doing the signs for every picture she knew the word for. It was amazing!
Toddlerhood is not without its challenges though. As she gets older she is learning more about what she likes and does not like and can get pretty demanding and whiny. Our new nickname for her is "Yelly Ellie" because she is quite vocal with her opinions. She also has no problem physically pushing someone away if they get too close and she doesn't want them to. She has done it to both myself and Chad, as well as a few of her baby friends and even a stranger who wanted to say hi but made the mistake of penetrating Eliana's "bubble". She throws food on the floor, arches and wiggles out of our arms anytime we try to hold her and gets into EVERYTHING. Anyone with a toddler and a clean house must be a superhero.
All this toddler stuff really is great, but I feel like it snuck up on me. I knew it would go fast but I really can't get over how quickly her baby days flew by. It's like I blinked and they were over! And now that she is no longer a "baby", the inevitable questions about when we will try for number two have started. I am now very outspoken about my infertility and the nature of Eliana's conception, so thankfully most people know and try to be respectful when they ask. I make sure they know I am completely ok with answering anything they want to know. I do find it interesting though that almost everyone's first question is whether a FET means we get to choose the sex of our baby. (The answer is no, in case you are wondering. The embryos do have a genetic make-up that is male or female but there is no way of finding that out without costly and risky genetic testing, which is typically reserved for cases of medical need).
Every time I'm asked I have to really stop and think about my answer. Chad and I have had a plan for a while now that we would revisit Dr Jedi for another FET sometime in the first half of 2013. But as my Snow Pea continues to grow, I find myself daydreaming of another tiny baby in the house. I begin romanticizing late night feedings and newborn cries. I even caught myself researching baby names & texting Chad for his input, just like I did when I was pregnant. More and more I can see a sibling for Eliana. I almost feel ready to have that baby. But when I think about what it would take to make that happen, I realize I am nowhere near ready to go through that process again.
The sleepless nights, the aching back, the swollen feet, the leaky boobs. None of it was easy, but none of it compared to the anxious hopes, the empty arms, the broken heart. I try to relive what another treatment cycle would be like, and it emotionally overwhelms me. I don't think I always realize just how much having Eliana in my arms has healed me. Taken away the pain, anxiety and fear that I lived with daily. A day without tears was a rarity in my life not too long ago, now the opposite is true. It's unbelievable how much happiness she has brought into my life. But I remember those emotions, that pain. I know how easily they could come back as I anxiously hope and pray myself through another two week wait or a BFN.
I admit though, the next time around won't be nearly as emotional as the last. If we attempt a FET without success, I will be disappointed and emotional, but it won't be as devastating now that we have our sweet girl to hold on to for comfort. The stakes will never be as high as they were before I became a mom. Even if we aren't fortunate enough to ever have another child, we will always be parents to this amazing little girl. I know all of that, but I am still not ready. I want another child, I do. I want a sibling for Eliana. And if it was as simple as just that, who knows what our choice would be, but the fact is that it's not that simple and I am not yet ready to leave my happy bubble to dive back into treatment and the anxiety that comes with it. Thankfully, we have no reason to rush. I can focus on parenting our toddler and my educational goals and cross the FET bridge when we get to it. And I know that I will get through that future cycle no matter what happens. I have learned so much on this journey and connected with so many incredible, supportive people, and I know those things will help see me through any difficulty I may face. We'll get there. In the meantime, I am going to keep working on my "slow down time" machine
This is a post that has been a long time coming. I have been crafting it in my head and with little notes I've jotted to myself since July. I don't know why it took me so long to actually sit down to write it or why I decided that now was the time to do it, but now that I have the thoughts in my head have exploded and I think I might need to break this up into a few different posts. So here's part one.
I am infertile. I always will be. As such, I have heard a seemingly never ending list of cliches and supposed words of wisdom that I am sure almost every other woman and man in the IF community has rolled their eyes at a million times as well. You know what I'm talking about. The nausea inducing questions about whether you've tried this or that old wives tale, the insistence that you should "just" adopt, and the ever popular, make you want to punch someone "just relax". We've all written or read some amazing posts and articles about just how crushing these words can be, along with some incredible "what to say, what not say" guides. I've been blown away by how perfectly some of my fellow IF bloggers have opined on these well intentioned but ignorant statements and attitudes so I won't re-hash too much of what you have all read or written yourselves but now that I am an IF mom, I've realized I have a few new things to add too.
When Eliana was about 3 months old, a friend of ours gave birth to her naturally, effortlessly conceived healthy baby boy. Chad and I were excited to meet up with another couple, mutual friends, to visit the new parents and meet the little guy. I of course, carried my infertility PTSD with me through it all and felt twinges of IF emotions but mostly, we were all happy for them. Chad and I were also reaching out to the other friends we met up with, who we knew had recently been TTC without success. After oohing and ahhing over the sweet little guy, the four of us went to dinner and talked more in depth about their situation: what they had done so far and what was on the horizon. Mostly, they had just been do what married people do without protection for a little under a year. They hadn't yet reached the point of temping, charting or OPKs and still had to make an appointment to discuss these things as well as fertility testing with their doctor. So we gladly served as their information resource. Explaining how the ovulation cycle works, when to time BDing (wow it's been forever since I called it that! Thanks, IVF!) as well as what to expect as far as testing and the treatment options.
I felt good during this conversation. It was nice to have all those years of reading, googling, tweeting, researching and of course living it first hand benefit someone else. They were very appreciative of how open and willing we were to answer all of their questions. But then they said something I would've never expected to feel a reaction to, especially not the one I had. As I was explaining the treatments and the typical progression that takes place if one doesn't work, they stopped and said that they hope it never comes to IVF because they don't think they could go through all that. If it got "that bad" they don't know what they would do. I said I understood and hoped they'd have success without it as well, and I meant it. But inside I also felt incredibly defensive. I wanted to stand up and defend IVF, tell them it really isn't as bad as they think it is. That in some ways it's actually pretty great. That I couldn't imagine my life without that experience and even if I could go back and change it, I wouldn't. That I wouldn't have it any other way. After all it's thanks to IVF/FET that I am a mother today.
If I try really hard I can remember what it was like to be in their shoes, before the reality of infertility changed my life. I remember when I still believed that getting pregnant was just going to take a little longer than I thought and require just a little bit better timing. I never believed it would come to something as big and real as IVF. In my mind I wasn't truly infertile, just having a more challenging time than some people. One day I would realize I was "late" and poas and plan some sneaky cute way to surprise my husband with the good news that he was going to be a daddy. The "how I found out" story among new moms is a lot like the "how he proposed" story among new brides, and I always feel a little stab of sadness and jealousy when those stories are being swapped, especially when it's my turn and my story is met with with obvious discomfort from people who were expecting cute, light romantic stories. I have a great proposal story and I just expected that I'd have a fairy tale "finding out" story too, but the months came and went and no good news ever come with them. Things slowly got more serious. We read more, took temperatures, changed our diets, saw doctors, did tests, timed, took pills and hoped. Then finally after years of slowly turning up the heat and our stress levels we were faced with the reality and the news that IVF was our only hope.
That day was devastating. We cried and mourned the loss of conceiving a child the way we always dreamed we would. It's often hard for most people to understand but there is a such loss there and I still feel it with every "naturally" conceived pregnancy announcement. (something I thankfully know from other IF parents, is totally normal). It was crushing to know that my body couldn't do something I had always just assumed it would. I felt betrayed by body, like less of woman for being unable to do what it was designed to do. And I couldn't believe I was really here, really in this place. The end of line in options to have a biological child.
But the next day, we dried our tears and went about making our decisions about what to do next, and as you know, we decided that IVF was the right choice for us. And as soon as the decision was made and the process began, there was surprisingly a great deal of stress lifted off our shoulders. We had been timing and monitoring everything ourselves, every month for ages. Everything was timed and we often did things we felt too tired for because it was the OPK smiley face day and we thought we "had" to. Now, we had someone else doing all of that monitoring for us and we could do what we wanted, when we wanted, or not at all if we chose Sure, there were blood draws, and wandy visits and needles, lots and lots of needles. It certainly wasn't easy. But it felt like we were finally doing something other than wandering blindly through TTC hoping for success. There were tangible progressions, follicle counts and hormone levels to hold on to. And although I was terrified it wouldn't work, I knew that if it didn't and we reached the end of that road too, we would take the time to mourn the loss and then pursue adoption. We had already been certified for the foster to adopt program in our county and knew who to contact when we felt ready. I still had a long journey of head of me either way but I finally felt that I knew where I was going, and all roads led to motherhood.
I was one of the lucky ones it worked for. Although my first pregnancy ended in miscarriage, I am still blessed to have my precious daughter here through the wonders of frozen embryo transfer. It wasn't an easy road but it was a worthwhile one. And not only did the technology of IVF & FET make my dream of motherhood come true, it forced me to grow, to expand. I know so much more about the way my body works, about how conception and pregnancy really happen. And needless to say, I have met some of the most incredible people along the way. I will still always be a little wistful that I ever had to go through that growth, to learn everything I did. Ignorance is bliss in so many ways, and I am still a bit jealous of women who don't even know what a luteal phase is let alone how long theirs is. But now that I do know these things, I couldn't dream of turning back. As challenging as this road has been and although it will always be more demanding and more emotional I am forever grateful for how it has changed me and what it has given me.
There is an unspoken implication that IVF is a last resort to becoming a parent, as if you have failed if this where you end up. I have seen it on people's faces and heard it in their voices over and over again. It is evident in their carefully chosen words about how they imagine having to do something "like that". And every time I quietly speak up on the side of IVF and all ART as well as the choices to adopt or live child free. There is too much negativity, too much stigma attached to each of these choices and too much assumption about what leads people to them. There is too much fear and shame. Of course, I'd love to make infertility vanish so that no one ever has to know the pain and anguish of not being able to have a child, so that these choices never have to be faced by anyone who wants to be a parent. But as much as I wish it, I can't change mine or anyone's infertility but I can speak up. I am proud of my experiences, I am grateful for what I endured. I am not ashamed of how my daughter was conceived and I will always make sure that she and the rest of the world knows it.
Why is it that I can never stop thinking there is a right and wrong way to do everything? Really when I stop and think about it, there really are very few things in this world that have only one "correct" method but somehow I always find myself worrying that my methods and choices are somehow incorrect. . Two plus two equals four is correct and two plus two equals five is obviously incorrect, math is like that. But just about everything dealing with how to live our lives really doesn't have a right or a wrong, just a my way and your way.
Back when I was TTC naturally the fear I was doing it "wrong" was huge. You start out thinking there is no way you could do this wrong. I mean, you just do, you know "it", and nine months later you become a parent. When that didn't happen I worried about what I was doing wrong. Maybe the days weren't right, or the times of day or the amount or what I was eating. As I fell further down the TTC rabbit hole, I worried that I was charting incorrectly or not interpreting my CM the right way, Then during IVF and FET I obsessed over the "correct" amount of time to be on bed rest and whether to eat pineapple or not.
Pregnancy wasn't too much better when it came to the "Am I doing this wrong?" game. OB or midwife? Birthing Center or hospital? Which one was the "correct" choice. And if that was bad, it is nothing compared to the everyday decisions of parenting and feeling like somehow there is a "right" way and a "wrong" way. I know I shouldn't, but I continually worry I am not doing it right. I love my daughter and I shower with her love every single day and I know that's the most important thing, but when should I be introducing solids? She's 5 months old tomorrow and I have moms insisting to me I should have started a month ago and that she'll be behind and yet others who swear that you have to wait until 6 months. And naps! She naps multiple times a day, sometimes 2, usually 3 and sometimes for 45 mintutes, sometimes 2 hours. She sleeps through the night but sometimes wakes up in the middle to eat and sometimes doesn't. And I keep hearing about what a baby my age should be doing as far as sleep and routine. We have a routine but it's a very flexible one, and sometimes I feel like that in itself is somehow viewed as wrong.
Intellectually, I know that none of that is true. Yes, there are some very basic guidelines about providing for my daughter's needs but so much of what people tout as the "correct" way to do things are really just their opinions. I know this but I still have to stop and remind myself constantly that what we do in our household works for our family and that's what really matters. Yes, Eliana might be taking a 30 minute nap today at 9am and then a hour long nap the next at 9:30. Some nights she wakes me up at 1am to eat, others she sleeps right through. No two days are alike, but that that works for us. If I am happy, Chad is happy and our daughter is healthy and happy, we aren't doing it wrong no matter what the moms on the playground or the parenting magazines say.
It is easy however to fall prey to doubt and fear of getting it wrong when so much is on the line. During TTC and IVF the obvious fear was that if I missed a crucial day of BDing or took myself off of bed rest too soon, I would never become a mom. Now that I finally am one, the fear is that if I go in to comfort my Snow Pea too often when she is going to sleep or start her on rice cereal too early, I will be starting a chain reaction of problems and issues for her as an adult. And of course you can find a scientific study or firsthand experience to back up the claims of every side of an issue. For every mom who swears her baby slept through the night as soon as she started solids, there's another that insists her child became so constipated that he was awake all night crying in discomfort. Just further proving that in so many situations there is no right or wrong, just what works for you and what doesn't.
It isn't even the world around me that tells me I am doing it wrong so much as it is me. I have crazy standards and expectations for myself sometimes, and if you know me, you know I can be insanely hard on myself. I sometimes try so hard to get everything right and beat myself up when I don't, that I can miss seeing how great everything is, in spite of or even because of, its "wrongness". So I plan to keep doing what's working, what makes me and my family happy. Because that in itself means I'm doing something right.
If you missed how Snow Pea's labor started you can read Part 1 here or if you need to catch up on the sudden turn of events in her delivery, read Part 2 here. Once the call was made for me to stop pushing and get prepped for a c-section, my first thought was just one thing: water! I was so incredibly thirsty from all of the breathing and pushing I had been doing for the past couple of hours. The cup of water Chad was passing to me had barely grazed my fingertips when a nurse intervened and took it away. I nearly cried at that moment and I think she sensed my desperation so I was allowed one tiny ice chip before the staff began shuffling me carefully onto the the gurney for my trip to the operating room.
On the way, I was hurriedly trying to send a text to my friends and family across the country letting them know what was happening while also trying hold myself together in spite of my growing anxiety. Chad held my hand tight and kept reassuring me that despite my disappointment with myself, I had not failed and everything would turn out great. All too quickly we were outside the OR doors. My new nurse wasn't exactly patient with me or my emotions and despite my requests for one more minute to text my family and hug my husband, she told me to hand him my phone and sent him off in the opposite direction to be prepped as she wheeled me into the room. I had been disappointed when shift change happened but now I wished more than ever that my previous nurse was still on duty.
Once in the OR, I was shuffled onto the operating table and my gown was pulled up to my waist as the curtain was placed above my chest. My anesthesiologist arrived to re-do my IV and prepare me for surgery. As he worked and the nurses did their prep, I kept asking my nurse questions about what to expect. I was getting more and more anxious with every second and even though I knew a lot of the answers from having read the books and attending the classes, I felt as if hearing the answers again would somehow calm my nervous energy. Unfortunately, as I said my nurse wasn't very patient with my anxiety and I could tell I was getting on her nerves. it didn't help that as I talked I was staring at the door waiting for Chad to appear. I knew that he was really the only person that could truly make me feel any better.
Luckily, my anesthesiologist, Dr Thoughtful, was one of the nicest and friendliest people I have ever met and he did a great job of soothing me until Chad finally arrived. It had only been 15 minutes that we were apart but it felt like an eternity. I was so relieved to see him, and even though I was laid on the table with my arms out as if on a cross, I did my best to hug him when he swooped down to kiss me on the forehead.
Dr. Casual came in and asked Dr Thoughtful when the medication would be sufficiently in my system. He said I was all set and that we could start at 8:50pm, which was in about 10 minutes. I held onto Chad's hand and began directing my questions at Dr. Thoughtful. He said I could keep my arms unstrapped but I did need to keep them out and away from the curtain. He also told me that the anesthesia would remove all pain but that I would still feel tugging and pulling sensations. It seemed like within seconds I was feeling exactly what he was talking about. As soon as it started my focus seemed to turn inward and thanks to the drugs, I have very sparse memories from this point onward. I remember knowing that the incision was being made, and feeling the tug as my abdominal muscles were pulled apart. It didn't hurt but it did feel completely unlike anything I have ever experienced and I groaned with many of the pulls, largely aware that my insides were being tugged and moved.
The birth part of a c-section is quicker than you can imagine, and suddenly Dr Thoughtful's hands were on my temples and he was chanting my name as he guided my face up to look into a mirror he held for me so that I could see the other side of the curtain. I stared into it and saw a curved little body resting on top of a sea of red. Snow Pea's back was curved up with her legs tucked under her with a swirl of darkened, wet curls on her head. I held my breath and stared at that mirror for what simultaneously seemed like a nanosecond and an eternity before hearing her very first life-changing cry. I let out the biggest exhale of my life as I squeezed Chad's hand and looked into his tear filled eyes. At 8:57pm Snow Pea was born.
As Snow Pea was cut free from my body, Dr Thoughtful told me I would feel a sting in my hand. I quickly replied "there it is" and that was it, I was in a medicated daze. No one had sufficiently prepared me for the morphine or it's effects. I felt like my body was trying to force me into a coma like sleep as I fought against it with everything I had and that feeling lasted for hours afterward. I hate that I was so drugged for the first few hours of my daughter's life. I can only remember Snow Pea's birth in bits and pieces and so much of it is so fuzzy in my memory, but thankfully the most important moments are with me, imprinted on my soul forever.
I don't remember Chad leaving my side but once she was in the warmer, the neonatologist called him over. He hadn't wanted to cut the cord, he thought it seemed unnecessary, but the doctor extended the scissors and being in the moment, Chad went ahead and cut away the length of umbilical cord still attached to Snow Pea's tummy. He talked to her and took pictures as she was weighed and wrapped to be brought to me. Once she was ready, he held her for the first time and carried her to me.
Like I said, I don't remember this time period but I know I was still being stitched up when he nudged her body toward my face so that I could see and hold her for the first time and that I do remember. As soon as her body made contact with mine, my free arm- the right one- wrapped up around her and held onto her as tightly as possible. I nuzzled my face into her body and just fell into that moment. Nothing else existed in those few seconds but her. There really are no words to adequately describe that first embrace. It was like time stood still and the whole universe just fell away. There was only my body holding onto her tiny little body and every ounce of pure love that has ever existed seemed to flow through me. I can't describe it as intense because it was so much more peaceful than that. It was what I always imagined a state of nirvana might feel like. I didn't think of her as my daughter or myself as her mother. I didn't think about my past or my future or even my present with doctors sewing up my insides, it just me and her and nothing else. And then Chad was there holding me and her together and it was just the three of us. In our own little bubble of joy and love, nothing else seemed to exist and even if it did, it didn't seem to matter.
The next thing I remember is being in the recovery room alone with my nurse as she checked my blood pressure. I was panicky inside wondering where my family was. Why wasn't Chad or Snow Pea with me? What was going on? I felt like someone had amputated my heart, they should have been there with me! It turned out that Snow Pea had a lot swelling on her head from having her head trapped during labor in addition to some concerns about her breathing so she was in the nursery for care and observation. Poor Chad was shuffling between my floor and hers, not sure where he should be. Finally, my hour of recovery was up and I was cleared to be moved to my room.
First, my nurse wheeled my gurney to the nursery so that I could see my sweet baby girl. I tried furiously to force my eyes open as I looked at her struggling to breath under the nursery warmers. I tentatively reached out to touch her and received a very wet, rattling cry in response. I realized my hands must have been freezing to her and quickly shrunk away as I apologized. I gave my fingers a chance to get warm before placing my index finger into the palm of her hand and stroking the back of my hand with her thumb. It was the first time I had made direct skin to skin contact with her and all too quickly it was over and I was wheeled into my room to wait until she was released from the nursery.
I slept off and on until they finally brought her back to me at about 1am. The neonatologist explained the tests they had done and told me that if the ultrasounds they planned to perform on her head swelling revealed any blood, that she would be taken to the NICU. I held my breath at that and prayed that wouldn't be the case. The nurses came again at 3am and took her for her first bath. Normally they do this in the room with the parents there to be a part of it, but they were still concerned about her and wanted to do it in the nursery and keep her in the warmers again afterward. I was so devastated not to be there for that and then again when I realized she had been alive for 6 hours and I had yet to feed her or even truly hold her, let alone name her!
Morning came and the sun rose over our new view. This time instead of an ocean scene, our window faced a building. But not just any building, we were just across the street from the very building where it all began. It was the building where my egg retrieval took place, as well as the fertilization of those eggs. It was the building where our embryos are currently on ice and where one of those formally frozen snowflakes was transferred back into my body on July 15, 2010. The embryo that stayed and grew and thrived and became our Snow Pea. When I was finally able to truly hold her, I showed her that building and told her what an epic ninth month journey it had been for to get to the other side of the street.
Then at long last, just before the staff member came to collect the paperwork for her birth certificate, Chad and I decided on our daughter's name. We already knew her middle name would be Sue, after not only my sister who has the same middle name, but also both of our mother's who are Susie (mine) and Sue (his). With that much family connection, there really was no other choice for me. Her first name however, we could never commit to during my pregnancy. Finally looking at her face to face though and feeling the enormity of all we had been through to get her here as well as the extreme gratitude at having her to love at long last, we realized only one name on our list would do. I am not a religious person but I do believe in a loving spirit outside of us. Eliana in Hebrew means "God has answered me" and after years of hurt, loss, hope and now finally holding her in my arms, I know that he certainly has.
This past week I was working on updating my Belly Book pregnancy journal, reviewing past blog entries to double check on certain dates and events when I came across this: "I am continuing to stay hopeful I will hold Snow Pea in my arms, happy and healthy very soon. 9 weeks down, 31 to go." Now take that time line and reverse it. Holy crap, right? I .mean, WOW! seriously, has that much time passed already? In all fairness, I am not officially 31 weeks until this Saturday but still, the time reversal applies. My baby girl will be here before I know it! And there have been lots of little ways I have been reminded of that lately.
Shopping for instance. I was at the store today and had lots of big reminders of my nearing due date in my face as soon as I walked in the door, namely lots and lots of Easter gear for sale. Snow Pea is due 3 weeks before Easter so seeing plastic eggs, wicker baskets and pastel candies everywhere really made me notice that she will be here sooner rather than later. Of course, I know retail sores do tend to push this stuff on to the shelves way before it's necessary, but even though I always mock the early holiday sales, those events do tend to get here quicker than I expect.
We also have finally begun preparations on Snow Pea's room. We live in a two bedroom and we've had quite a few guests in the past couple of months, so we delayed converting our guest room for a little while so that our visitors would have a comfy bed to sleep on. After visiting for two fantastic weeks, my little sister just left yesterday and by the end of the night our guest bed had found a new home. Today, I began boxing and moving all of our books and Friday we have painters coming to turn the wall from neutral to nursery. I can't wait to really get this room going and see it go from an office/guest room into our baby's room! I promise to post updates and pics.
Yet another reminder of just how close my due date is getting, tomorrow is our last childbirth class. It feels like we just started them and now they are already at an end. This past Sunday we also had a tour of labor/delivery and the mother baby unit at our hospital. It was so exciting to see the rooms that Snow Pea will be born in. The rooms are really nice and some even have gorgeous ocean views. I know I am probably a freak but I am starting to get so excited about the birth! Not just the end result of finally meeting my daughter face to face, I am also excited to experience labor and delivery itself! I know I might not still feel this way when it really does get close though, so feel free to remind me I said this. The tour made me realize I am a little behind on preparing though. Apparently I should have pre-registered at the hospital by now and I have yet to do that but luckily it's as easy as mailing in a form and a copy of our insurance card so I am not worried about getting it done.
Oh and last week I got to see my OB again, and this time I saw MY doctor and not his annoying alternate. This visit went so much better than the last. Dr. Casual continued to be true to his nickname and was very relaxed and laid back throughout the visit. We discussed how classes were going, our search for a pediatrician and touched on some basic labor preferences like whether I'd like an epidural. He did a short ultrasound that showed Snow Pea is currently breech but he said chances are she will turn head down in plenty of time for delivery since only about 3% babies that are breech at this point still are by the time they are full term. Then he pointed out the position of her head inside my tummy and showed Chad and I so that we could actually grab her head through my skin! It was crazy! Very weird and surreal but also kind of cool.
I am sure some of you are also wondering if Dr. Casual discussed the weight concerns with me but he didn't even mention it and I didn't bring it up. I am officially of the position that my last appointment had much more to do with water retention than anything because at this visit I was a full four pounds lighter than the last. This just reaffirmed for me that I will not be seeing Dr. Inconsiderate again if I can help it and that all of you were completely right when you told me not to worry. Thank you so much to everyone that sent comments of support. You have no idea how much it really did help.
Overall, though I just can't stop thinking about that blog I wrote at 9 weeks and how much has happened since then. It feels like some sort of crazy time warp sometimes. Honestly, it feels like just yesterday I was anxiously writing about my beta results, still in utter disbelief that this FET worked and now here I am anxiously searching for a pediatrician and hoping I can get the room finished in time. Part of me can't wait for Snow Pea to be here but another part of me will be sad to see this time come to end. As an infertility and IVF survivor I have definitely had a different and sometimes more anxious pregnancy than many others may have, but overall I truly have enjoyed being pregnant these past 7 months. It has been a dream come true. From seeing the 1st flutter of a heartbeat to feeling those 1st flutters to experiencing real kicks and the bonding that comes with them, there have been some amazing moments so far. Sometimes I wish I could take a jump to the left and a step to the right to relive some of those magical moments of this pregnancy all over again. Luckily, I still have 2 months left to enjoy and I will definitely soak up every second.
P.S. My hubby started a project 365 that will follow us in 2011 through a picture a day. Please stop by and take a look! It started on January 1st so feel free to scroll back see what we've been doing so far this year. http://greggpad.blogspot.com/We also have a baby website with more belly and u/s pics as well as a timeline of Snow Pea's growth and a doppler video. I will continue to update it with news and pictures so please stop by if you're interested! http://snowpea.ourbabychannel.com/
I know a lot of you have been patiently waiting on the edge of your seats to hear my beta results and some of you may have noticed me not so gracefully dodging your questions about exactly when the test would be. I am so sorry for leaving you all hanging like that. You all have been so amazing and so genuinely supportive during this FET and I don't think I would have survived this cycle without your encouragement. Please don't think I have avoided answering your questions for any reason other than my own crazy nervousness. My blog and twitter followers are the best and I adore you all! So without dragging it out any longer than I already have I can now tell you that I did indeed have my beta and the results came back positive!
I had the first test at my RE's on Tuesday the 27th. Chad and I both took the day off so that we could be together when the news came and either cry or smile privately. I woke up that morning feeling convinced that it would be a bfp (a far cry from how I felt just a few days ago, thanks very much weekend getaway!) but of course then I was immediately terrified at how awful I would feel if I was wrong. I went in for bloodwork at 8:25am and at 10:33am the nurse called and told me that my beta number was 737. Neither of us jumped for joy the same way we did for our first BFP and Chad kept telling himself he wouldn't get overly excited yet, but we couldn't help but smile and get a teeny bit giddy when we called our parents and siblings to tell them the results.
After listening to all the happy voices of our mothers and sisters, we had to again face reality and the anxiety of the 2nd beta. If you remember my first BFP experience, my beta tests and following ultrasounds became a roller coaster of exhausting and heartbreaking emotions as I kept having blood drawn and kept being told that the numbers were rising but not quite enough. The ride ended crushingly in a miscarriage and D&C at 8 weeks. So yesterday morning, I was more nervous waiting for the call to hear whether my hCG had successfully doubled or not than I was waiting to find out whether it was in my system in the first place. After what seemed like the longest 4 hours of my life, the nurse finally called and told me that my beta was 1315, a rise of 78%. She then went on to say this is "not necessarily a bad thing", wording I wish she had thought out before saying because it only increased my anxiety. My next beta is Monday morning.
I want to say that I am as excited and overjoyed as I know I should be, but honestly I am a big pot of nerves with a heap of hopefulness and a dash of excitement thrown in. And that is most likely the state my emotions will stay in until we can hear a heartbeat. I know the heartbeat is not everything, and there will be plenty of other things to get nervous about after that, but since we never made it that far with Sprout, I feel like I can at least begin to embrace and get excited about being pregnant. Right now I still have a hard time using that word in relation to myself. It just doesn't feel really real yet. I am excited and happy and so incredibly grateful, but also very scared that history will repeat itself and this will end badly too. Every time I have a happy thought for myself, a frightened one is in the back of my mind. But I am fighting those fears as best as I can and I know I can win.
Again, thank you to everyone that has supported and encouraged me these past few weeks and especially to those who have hoped for me when my hope was gone. You have no idea how much your support means to me, I truly don't think I would be here without it.
Thank you so much to everyone who has commented and offered support and advice during this past week. As you may have noticed the 2ww had me pretty stressed out and pessimistic. So, Chad and I decided to get away for a little bit and try to relax before we both lost our minds. We went away for a couple days to Catalina Island just off the coast. I am happy to report that our trip was a complete success and we not only had a great time but we also managed to obsess over the 2ww a little less. I was distracted enough that I didn't even think about POASing and I came home feeling refreshed and much more optimistic. While we there I really stopped feeling certain this cycle wouldn't work and actually started to think it just could be it! Nothing feels as great as having hope again!
I don't really know if I should admit this but I don't have a good feeling about this FET cycle. I know I am supposed to be optimistic and positive but I just have a gut feeling that this will be a BFN. It's not that I am feeling defeated or trying to be negative, it just seems like one of those times when you just "know". I want this cycle to be it, but my intuition is saying otherwise.With my IVF in March, I was of course nervous and excited and so many other emotions. I hoped for a positive result and tried to prepare myself for a negative, but somewhere in my heart I just had the feeling it would be a BFP. I was overjoyed when that hope and prediction came true. Then when it came time for the first ultrasound, I had this gut feeling that it wouldn't be good. I have never really talked about this, but the day before the u/s I just knew it wouldn't go well. I wasn't nearly as surprised by our bad news as I could have been because my instincts had warned me ahead of time.Or at least I think it is my instincts. My good friend Lisa reminded me today that my doubts and fear aren't proof of anything. She said it is just my head trying to protect my heart. And she is right but what my head is missing is that my heart will hurt whether I am optimistic or not. And this got me thinking even more about instinct and intuition.I have always been a believer in gut feelings but I am starting to really wonder if that belief is slightly misplaced. I mean I also used to think everything happened for a reason, but after all I have been through, I don't believe that anymore either. (a blog post for another time) There is a big push in the world around us to trust our guts, to live in connection with our intuitive nature and let it guide us, but honestly how often are our instincts really right? Do we just convince ourselves of their accuracy based on the times they are correct and conveniently forget when they're not? I wish there was a way to truly test my instincts.
Speaking of testing, I am going to go off topic here because I need some advice from my dear bloggy friends. To test or not to test. My beta is coming up and of course I have to do the blood work no matter what but I am starting to wonder if I should poas before my appt or not. Last time, I was too terrified of a BFN and I waited for the phone call from my RE's office. This time around, I know that a BFN could never be as devastating as the news of my miscarriage, so part of me just wants to get it over with. If my instincts are right and it is negative it seems like an HPT would allow me to rip off the band-aid in minutes instead of waiting hours for results to come in. Then again, do I really want wake up early and go to the RE's office already knowing I will be getting bad news? Any advice or first hand experiences would be so greatly appreciated on this!
As for my intuitive nature and my negative so-called instincts, I am doing my best to focus on the positives. I am reminding myself of the many stories I have heard first hand of those who just knew without a doubt in their minds that their cycle had failed only to be proven completely wrong when the day of truth finally came. If the scientific theories surrounding instinct have any bearing, instincts exist simply for the purpose of self preservation. We know to retreat from unseen danger, just as a squirrel runs from an oncoming car, to keep ourselves safe and protected. If this is the case, my instincts don't know the outcome of anything, they just know that the outcome has the potential to hurt me and is setting off those alerts to keep me as safe as possible. My brain is just doing it's job trying to protect my heart.
It is time once again for ICLW! (International Comment Leaving Week)
For those of you visiting for the first time, I will give you the short version of my story. My husband, Chad, and I married and began TTC in 2007. After a little over two years with no success, I was diagnosed with blocked fallopian tubes and I began IVF treatments in 2010. My first IVF cycle in March resulted in a BFP and 13 frozen embies. We were overjoyed to have our Sprout! Unfortunately, in April, we learned that the pregnancy was not viable and I miscarried at 8 weeks. After a very long wait for AF to return, we finally started our first FET earlier this month and transferred two snowflakes on July 15. Which means that I am now in the middle of the 2ww.
After my miscarriage, I was in blog and TTC limbo for a while and it feels good to be back in the saddle again, so to speak. Although now that I am in the 2ww, it feels more like I am in the saddle of a wild, bucking rodeo horse rather than a peaceful trotting pony. I am doing my best to tame the wild beast that is my anxiety though, and of course hoping with everything I've got that my rainbow is on the horizon.
Thank you so much for stopping by and keeping me sane during this crazy week. I look forward to getting to know you all through your comments and blogs. Please feel free to poke around in my past posts and to come back next week to either celebrate or cry with me when this wait is finally over.
I am happy to report that yesterday's transfer went smoothly and I am now enjoying a cozy day in bed so that my little embies can snuggle in for the next nine months. I was nervous about the thaw and had wondered whether I would get a call from the lab before we went in. When I didn't, I assumed that no news must be good news and hoped for the best.
Thankfully we were able to meet with the embryologist as soon as we arrived at the lab. He told us that both of the embryos selected for thaw were defrosted successfully and we had 2 blastocysts, one 4AA & one 4AB, ready for transfer. (for info on blastocyst grading click here) He said they were thawed using a newer technique which makes their chances of successful pregnancy pretty comparable to the blasts we transferred during the fresh cycle. This definitely gives me some hope since, although I miscarried, that transfer was successful.
Dr. Jedi was, as always, a calming and optimistic presence and he was very pleased with the way everything went. My uterine lining was ideal and the placement was perfect. Even the lab technician responsible for the embryos commented on how great everything looked. The best part though was that they positioned the ultrasound screen just right so that I could actually see the transfer. I cannot tell you how amazing it was to see those two little tiny white dots enter my body, my beautiful little snowflakes. Once, we were alone in the room, Chad and I both had tears in our eyes, overwhelmed by the emotion of that moment. Now comes the truly hard part, surviving the anxiety ridden 2ww. I have a list of things planned to try and keep myself occupied but I know that my embies and my hopes for them will never be far from the very forefront of my thoughts. Right now though, I am doing everything I can to stay relaxed and hopeful for my tough, little snowflakes.
A few months ago I won an amazing giveaway hosted by Ashley at "For the of Shoes...And A Baby Too" to design my own charm from CT's Design It Your Way Jewelry Etsy shop. It took me a little while to come up with the right necklace but after working with CT, I designed the perfect charm to help me keep Sprout close to my heart. 
I love it. It is so beautiful and perfect and I am so grateful to Ashley and CT for making it possible. I feel so close and connected to Sprout when I wear it. I plan keep Sprout close to my heart and wear it to my transfer tomorrow, hopefully it will bring me a little luck. Although I am excited about the possibility of a new pregnancy, I will always love and miss my Sprout and I love having this memorial.
