Big Fat Maybe

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.

Frozen in Fear

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.

Jimmy Fallon's "Coming Out": Celebrations and Concerns

Most anyone that with access to social media the past day or so, has no doubt seen the heartwarming headlines about the birth of comedian Jimmy Fallon's daughter, Winnie, via surrogate. The infertility community in particular, is buzzing with the hashtag #thankyoujimmy and celebrating the celebrity's openness about the struggle with infertility that he and his wife endured for five years before finally welcoming their child. 

With infertility still a taboo and misunderstood condition, and the treatments for it often even more so, it is the rare celebrity that speaks out so candidly about having struggled to become a parent. And anytime an actor, musician or public figure is willing to share this personal part of their lives, I am grateful. Grateful because their voice is frankly more public and therefore louder, than mine. I can blog all day long about how it feels to long for a family that you fear you may never have, how emotional and exhausting the treatments are, about the heartbreak of trying and failing or succeeding only to lose what you worked so hard for- but I will never have the reach of someone like Mr Fallon who has thousands of fans across the globe and a recent Emmy nomination. So when he shared the real, honest and emotional things about his and his wife's struggle it really meant a lot to me and other infertile men and women across the country. 

Every time a celebrity "comes out" about their infertility, the rest of the world gains just a bit more understanding. Ordinary people who may have had no trouble conceiving, are able to see that infertility really can affect anyone. It also opens up conversation and I often have friends and family become curious and ask questions about what infertility really means, how a treatment actually works. Walls come down and silence is broken. Celebrity confessions take the disease itself out of the shadows. They encourage those of us that have been suffering in silence to share our stories with friends and families.There is so much good that comes from speaking out and celebrating all of the ways families are made. For that I am and always will be grateful to Jimmy and have respect for him. 

I do however, have some concerns about his remarks as well. The first and most obvious being the one that comes up in just about every celebrity infertility story- their access and ability to afford treatment. In his interview, Jimmy encouraged anyone struggling to have a child to try every avenue in the quest to become a parent. But as we all know, that just isn't a realistic option for everyone. Infertility treatments are very rarely covered by health insurance and even when they are, often have caps that would prevent many people from ever being able to afford expensive options like surrogacy. I consider myself incredibly fortunate that my husband and I had the resources to assist with our IVF and FET cycles, but for many that option just doesn't exist, let alone more expensive treatments like egg donation or surrogacy. If it were up to me, we would all have the option to "do whatever it takes" as Jimmy encourages, because cost wouldn't be the barrier that it currently is, but we have a long way to go in making that a reality. 

The other concern that struck me immediately, even before the cost barrier, is what his message of hope and never giving up must sound like to the childless community. To those who have already tried everything they are financially and emotionally capable of trying and have decided that a life without children is the best resolution to their infertility, the constant barrage of "always keep trying" becomes a dagger in the heart. It seems as if the rest of the infertile community is accusing them of giving up. It unintentionally alienates and discounts a large part of our community and can be very painful. I understand completely where Jimmy was coming from when he said what he did about not losing hope. As someone who has fallen on and off the hope wagon herself, and finally realized her dream when hope was at an all time low, I know that feeling of relief that "one more try" really did do the trick. It's a message that so many of us desperately need to hear when we are in the trenches. Hope is pretty much the only thing that keeps many of us going some days. And often because our own hope is depleted, it is messages of support and encouragement from others that gets us through. Hearing Jimmy Fallon, or anyone that has been through it, tell you to keep going, keep trying because you will end up with a family and that all the work is worth it, it's the most worth it thing, can be powerful, inspiring and give you hope when all seems lost. But it can also feel like a slap in the face to someone who has already moved forward from treatment and onto adoption or to finding other "worth it" things to make their lives complete. 

Of course, I don't mean to imply that Jimmy Fallon meant any ill-will or has done anything wrong. He doesn't have any sort of obligation to anyone and I appreciate the way he empathized and showed support for fellow members of this community. I applaud him for his heartfelt openness and congratulate him and his wife on becoming parents. But I do wish to see more conversation and understanding about the concerns I mentioned, as well. I hope that the positive reaction he has received in the media and from his fans encourages more discussion, more education and more change with the way infertility is regarded and that one day this illness is no longer something to "come out of the closet" of. Thank you, Jimmy, for sharing your story and for being a voice. And to all of you who aren't necessarily famous comedians or producers, or even suffering from infertility- thank you for speaking out, thank you for taking the time to read and learn more, thank you for being involved, thank you.

Wordless Wednesday: Lumpy Boobie Drama

Well, just one word:

 BENIGN!

P.S. Thank you so much to everyone for the support and well wishes. Love to you all!

My Lumpy Boob & Me

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".
 

A Message From The Southern California Walk Of Hope Chair

I am proud and honored to serve as the Event Chair for RESOLVE’s inaugural Walk of Hope in Southern California. It is incredible to have this opportunity to raise awareness about the disease of infertility, to support those suffering through it, and to share HOPE with everyone whose life infertility touches. It is my hope that this first annual Walk of Hope will see not only those goals achieved, but will also pave the way for a future in which infertility will no longer be a walk that anyone is forced to face alone.
 
Six years ago, when my husband and I decided to start a family, we never dreamed of the roller coaster of tests and treatments that awaited us. Not knowing where to turn and being too afraid to reach out for support at first, I began blogging in order to cope with our infertility battle. It was through my blog, “Ready to Be a Mom”, that I found RESOLVE and the wealth of support and resources they provide to all of the 7.3 million Americans suffering from this heartbreaking disease. The more I learned and became involved with RESOLVE, the more I realized just how deeply infertility impacts so many families. Each time I share my story, I learn about an aunt, brother, best friend, son or cousin who is enduring the struggle to become a parent. Even if it is not you that suffers from this disease, with 1 in 8 affected, someone you know probably does.
RESOLVE has helped me to uncover my passion to help all of those faced with infertility and to serve as an advocate for this community. I want to be sure that everyone that participates in the 2013 Walk of Hope feels cared for and supported, no matter where they may be in their infertility journey. I want to reach out and provide support to the newly diagnosed, the patients in treatment, the families pursuing adoption, parents who fought to get there, and individuals who resolve their infertility by living child-free. I want every person that faces infertility to know that they don’t have to face it alone.     

On September 29, I will walk alongside men and women from all over LA, San Diego, Orange County and beyond in the Walk of Hope to honor each one of our unique journeys. I will walk for my daughter, who would not be here without the amazing advances in reproductive technologies. I will walk for those who shared their struggles with me and supported me when I shared mine. I will walk for those still suffering in silence. I will walk to raise awareness that infertility is a disease that affects millions of people from all walks of life. So whether to honor your own struggles or to support a loved one, please join me at beautiful Aldrich Park on the University of California campus in Irvine on September 29, 2013 for a beautiful and symbolic one-mile walk to show support, raise awareness and most importantly, to spread hope.       
                                                 
To create your team visit www.resolve.org/socalwalkofhope, select “Start a Team” and following the directions. Then send an invitation to your family and friends so they can walk with you on your journey.

From Passion to Action: Advocacy Day 2013

The California advocates taking on Capitol Hill

The past month has been a non-stop travel fest for me. I drove the California coast, flew from the west coast to the east and back twice, went on a camping adventure and boarded a boat to a nearby island for a day of fun in the sun. Now that I am finally home and catching my breath, I finally digesting the amazing trip that started this crazy month- my trip to Washington DC for RESOLVE's Advocacy Day.

Since I first became aware of RESOLVE, I have heard about what an empowering experience Advocacy Day is and I always knew that one day, I wanted to be a part of it. Talking to the men and women in politics that make things happen, sharing my story, speaking out for the millions of Americans that struggle with infertility, making a difference toward passing legislation that will help so many of those sufferers, how could I not want to be a part of something so meaningful, so cathartic, so powerful? But living on the opposite side of the country, I have also long assumed it would be too overwhelming, time consuming, and expensive to make the trip anytime soon. This past year though, my inner advocate has come out in full force and become a huge part of the outer me. There isn't anyone in my life that doesn't know what an important cause infertility support is to me. I knew that there was no room for excuses or delays. This year was the year. This Advocacy Day was the day. 

And what a day it turned out to be. The rumors were true. Telling my story to the aids and staffers of my Senators and Representatives was cathartic. Walking miles across Capitol Hill to share information about important family building legislation with political offices was invigorating. Connecting with other advocates from across the country and from my own backyard was was inspiring. Everything about my experience was enlightening and empowering. I not only learned a great deal about the political process, I took an active part in it.

Each time I met with a staffer to tell them about The Family Act and The Women Veterans and Other Health Care Improvements Act, I was asked why this was so important to me, why I thought these measures mattered so much, how they would help someone like me, who despite my struggle with infertility has had the good fortune of becoming a parent. After all, an IVF tax credit will come too late to offset the costs of my previous treatments. The truth is, it's not my personal story or struggle that matters, it is giving EVERY aspiring parent the ability to build their family. I am one of the lucky ones. Yes, I spent my daughter's college fund bringing her into the world but I had the option to do that. So many who learn that IVF or adoption are their only family building options, don't have that ability and parenthood shouldn't be a luxury afforded only to those who have the means to finance expensive family building options. 

The struggle with infertility, as many of you know, can be so lonely, so isolating. Finding the community I did online was incredible and such a source of support and comfort for me. But being in a room or crowded DC hallway with hundreds of other women and men who knew what this fight was like, gave me a sense of community deeper than I had ever imagined. After years of chatting with amazing women on Twitter, I was able to give them the real life hugs I had always wished them virtually. I heard, in person, the emotion and rawness of what someone else had gone through to become a parent or how they had come to their decision to live child-free. I could squeeze the hand of those who came to Advocacy Day mid-cycle or in an adoption wait and let them know I was hoping & rooting for them. The power of that in-person contact was unbelievable and amazing and it is something I will always cherish. And there is nothing quite as awesome as enjoying a cocktail and dinner in a private dining room full of a dozen or so women chatting loudly about ovaries, homestudies, and wandy dates without ever having to worry if anyone is confused or uncomfortable- well except maybe the waiter.
 
But just because you could not be there on Advocacy Day, it doesn't mean that you can't still be a part of this community by being a voice for it. Write to your Congressional Leaders and ask them to support these measure that help those in the infertile community. Speak out. Share your story. Support others doing the same. Every little step makes a difference. Remember what you learned from School House Rock? 



Just like Bill's friend says, passing any new legislation requires lots and lots of courage and patience, but we have faced infertility! We have found more patience and courage within ourselves than we ever realized any one person was capable of possessing! If any group can show the fortitude and bravery required for this process, it is us! 

Here is the info you need to know about the legislation we were advocating for on Capitol Hill this May:

The Family Act: This bill makes infertility treatments more affordable to middle class families.

http://www.resolve.org/get-involved/family-act-of-2011.html

The Women Veterans and Other Healthcare Improvement Act: The bill gives access to the needed infertility treatments that wounded veterans need to conceive and start a family.

http://www.resolve.org/get-involved/women-veterans-and-other-health-care-improvements-act.html

Take time to learn more about the legislation and then make your voice heard! Thanks to my own struggle to become a parent, issues related to infertility naturally became a passion for me and thanks to amazing events like Advocacy Day, I am excited to be taking action too.