The hysteroscopy has been scheduled for 9:00 in the morning in Waltham, so Jeff and I plan on leaving the house at 7:00 to make sure we arrive on time. Piggybacking on the rest of our “bad luck,” there were unusually high amounts of traffic, and we barely arrived on time.
They prepared me for surgery, and although the new surgical center added some nerves, I was not feeling too anxious because I knew that I just had this procedure done four months ago and everything looked great. The nursing staff was just as incredible as the staff at my previous clinic, and they did an amazing job at making me feel as comfortable as possible. They commented on my “pineapple socks,” and I joked about how we consider them lucky. The last thing I remember is Dr. L walking in the room. Next thing I know, I am waking up on the recovery side, and the nurse is monitoring blood pressure, heart rate, and offering me crackers and juice. I was in some amount of pain, and they gave me pain meds and ice packs. Jeff was called in to sit with me, and I tried offering him some crackers. Dr. L comes in to tell us that they found some scar tissue, and while she retracted what she could, this puts all of our plans on hold because we cannot transfer an embryo into a uterus that has scar tissue. At this moment, I felt defeated. I know that I now have Asherman’s syndrome – scar tissue of the uterus – (which diagnosed alone can cause infertility). How could infertility and losing a pregnancy cause even more infertility? What little hope we had on this new path was gone.

After recovering and grieving what was yet another roadblock, we had a follow up with Dr. L. She informed us that during the surgery, she also took a uterine sample which tested positive for endometritis (infection in the uterus). I would now have to take two weeks of antibiotics, skip a cycle, and then wait for the correct timing of the next cycle to have another hysteroscopy to make sure the scar tissue was gone. Since we had to do more waiting, Jeff and I asked if we could do another egg retrieval during the waiting process because we only had two embryos left at the previous clinic, and we wanted to preserve as much of my fertility as we could while we could. She agreed that it was a good idea and once that cycle comes, I just have to call the clinic and get medications delivered.

It was also during this time that Jeff and I found out that Dr. Braverman passed away.

 This had become my new favorite quote.  We have tried to make so many plans, and even backup plans to our back up plans and yet we keep getting punched in the face.  Since it seemed as though our options were becoming limited, we knew the difficult conversation of possibly using a gestational carrier (a surrogate is someone who uses her own eggs and carries a baby for you, a gestational carrier uses the couple’s embryo and carries the baby) had to happen. What if the scar tissue did not resolve in a few months? We could not take the chance of waiting several more months only to find out that we should have taken action sooner. Jeff reached out to someone he knew that had used a carrier, and she highly recommended her agency. We had a two hour long conference call, asked a million questions.

We had to fill out answers to questions that we had never considered before:

-Do you want a veteran carrier who will be paid $50,000 for her services, or a first time carrier who will be paid $40,000?
-Do you want someone who is married, or do you mind someone who is single?
-Do you want someone from New England? (In, New England is a surrogacy friendly state, and therefore the majority of couples are looking for a carrier from this region, in which case the wait time can be significantly longer.)
-Will you be using one embryo or two? ( If it results in twins, the pay is higher.)
-How involved do you intend to be? What appointments would you want to attend, if possible?
-What do you expect from your carrier? Do you require certain foods, exercise, restricted travel (If so, pay is higher.)
-Do you want the right to make difficult decisions such as medical termination? (Most carriers do not want that.)
And there were so many more.

We had to contact a lawyer who specializes in reproductive law, and schedule another two hour long consultation to review the contracts we needed to sign.

On May 1st, we answered them to the best of our ability, filled out our “intended parent profiles,” added some pictures, and paid $1,000 to be added to the 10-12 month waiting list.

We were so eager for the day that something would go right for us. Until then…we wait.

“Well I came home
like a stone
and I fell heavy into your arms
These days of dust
which we’ve known
will blow away with this new sun
But I’ll kneel down
Wait for now
And I’ll kneel down
Know my ground
And I will wait, I will wait for you
And I will wait, I will wait for you”

I Will Wait by Mumford and Sons

Jeff was traveling out of state again, and I had a day of appointments with Dr. C (our original RE at W&I) and Dr. L at Boston IVF.

I had been preparing all week looking over my records, researching clinical studies, reviewing ASRM guidelines, and inquiring with women around the country about their protocols. Having recurrent implantation failure and recurrent miscarriage is very rare, and the research surrounding it is lacking, to say the least. Woman’s health is underrepresented in medical studies in general, and recurrent pregnancy loss only affects 1% of the population. Only some of that 1% ever get a clear diagnosis, and the others (like me) are left with the term “unexplained infertility.” I desperately wished that I could find answers as to “why” this is happening to me, but the best I could hope for was, “Where do we go from here.” I had a LONG list of questions and protocol possibilities for which I would like their perspective.

Boston IVF:
Continued to suggest that I try a natural FET with Lovenox and embryo glue. Although the Lovenox is not typically prescribed in the IVF world, Boston IVF has run its own in house studies, and it has been shown as effective for women with recurrent implantation failure. “Lovenox works by preventing the formation of clots in the placenta or embryo, while increasing the growth factor hormones (insulin-like) in the uterus, making it more likely the embryo will remain implanted. Lovenox also suppresses the immune system’s response to the IVF treatment, so the body will not reject the implanted embryo.” (ivfprescriptions.com) Most clinics will not use this because 1. They do not believe in the immunological factors, and 2. I test negative for blood clotting. The embryo glue is a nickname for hyaluronic acid which is supposed to mimic the conditions of the uterus and help with implantation. The natural FET is just a protocol that requires more monitoring because it is based on your body’s natural cycle. Since I ovulate regularly every month, she would like to try and sync up with my body’s natural schedule, as opposed to using the medication to “take it over.” I absolutely love that this is a completely different plan than we have tried before, and I have read some success stories of women who have used Lovenox.

As an alternative, if we choose to do so, she is also willing to consult with Braverman in NY, in the event that we decide to seek his opinion. This would save us on expenses, since Boston IVF is in network. She could prescribe the medications, and I could have my bloodwork and monitoring appointments all close by and covered by insurance, rather than completely paying out of pocket and traveling to NY.

After leaving optimistic about that meeting, I left and drove across town to our current clinic.

W&I:
I met with our first original doctor (that had gone on maternity leave). This clinic does not stray from any ASRM guidelines, and will only use protocols that have been proven effective in random clinical trials. This is a problem for me because there are not many random clinical trials that address women in my situation. I asked about Lovenox and they have only used it for women with blood clotting disorders, and never for a frozen transfer.
They have not heard of embryo glue (which is crazy to me because it is fairly common terminology among women undergoing IVF). This doctor is suggesting a Receptiva DX test (another uterine biopsy that would test for BCL6 markers that COULD indicate endometriosis). She mentions that she has not done this test with any patients before because it is fairly new, but she would be willing to try it. This is concerning to me for three reasons. 1. I have been asking about the possibility of endometriosis for six months now, and it was completely brushed off by the other doctor as not even being a possibility, 2. Receptiva DX is not “fairly new,” the research behind BCL6 has been available since 2017, and 3. The treatment plan if I tested positive would be three months of Lupron shots (which basically “suppresses” the endometriosis by putting your body into early, but “temporary” menopause). The research I have done on Lupron is not positive, and can have detrimental effects on your body and hormones long term. If I was going to pursue the possibility of endometriosis, I would rather have another laparoscopy done by Dr. Braverman’s team, specializing in endometriosis, to accurately diagnose whether I have it, and then effectively remove it, versus taking 3 months of Lupron to temporarily suppress it, and risk long term complications.

Based on these meetings, Jeff and I talked, and decided to proceed with Boston IVF for a transfer. In the event that it was unsuccessful, we would pursue Dr. Braverman for a full immunological work-up. This plan seemed like the best option because if the transfer failed, we would still work with her in conjunction with Braverman (after July 1 when my out of pocket insurance re-set).

We are confident in our decision, but first…
Even though I had a hysteroscopy in December that determined my uterine lining was clear, it is standard procedure to have another one after a MVA. This has to happen at a certain time in my cycle so I have to wait for my next period, and then schedule it.

“Sometimes we never know what’s wrong without the pain
sometimes the hardest thing and the right thing are the same…”

All at Once by The Fray

Fortunately for me, I had a girls’ weekend planned with some work friends. Although I could not drink, I was able to dance to some great music and laugh until my cheeks hurt. This helped to pass the time and make the wait just a little more bearable. On the tenth day (Dec 14th) we went into the clinic for our morning blood draw.

Once we returned, I made Jeff wear our matching pajamas, set up our iPad for any results to be documented, and waited impatiently for the call. When the nurse told us that my beta was 454, we were in complete shock! This high number was foreign to us. We both burst into tears and apologized to the nurse on the phone. She told us that we would return in three days to make sure that number doubles.

Once we hung up the phone, we composed our tears and reminded ourselves that we have been here before, and we just need to take it one day – one step – at a time. Three days later (12/17), we went back for another blood draw and awaited the call. This time it was our incredible doctor congratulating us on our pregnancy, and letting us know our beta more than doubled to 1723. Still in shock, and completely unsure of how to process the news, she told us that we no longer needed blood drawn, but rather would wait until the seventh week (January 3rd) for an ultrasound to see the gestational sac. She also told us that would be our last appointment with them, and to call my OB to make an eight week appointment with them. We were excited, but also so very guarded and refused to celebrate until we could see our baby on the screen. I picked up the phone several times to call my OB, but just could not seem to dial the phone to say the words, “I am pregnant.” Logistically, I knew that if I wanted an appointment quickly, I had no choice but to muster up the courage and do it. As soon as I hung up, I burst into tears, praying that I did not jinx things.

Christmas came and went, and we kept thinking what a blessing it would be if this was our last Christmas as a family of two.

January 3rd – We brought cake pops and left them in the car, just in case we had good news and this was our last time here. We were called into the room and in the quickest, most anti-climatic way we heard, “There’s your little nugget.” Jeff jokingly asked, “Where’s the confetti?” The technician printed us pictures, and offered congratulations. We sat with the Dr. for a minute, and I had Jeff go grab the cake pops. I couldn’t help but cry and attempt to find the words to thank the one person that guided us towards this path. If it were not for her, we would not be here. From the first day I met her, she saw the pain in our eyes and empathized with our story. She was knowledgeable enough in her profession to never have to check her screen for protocols, or look down at her paperwork to learn about us. She saw us, and for that reason, we trusted her. She is my hero. Before we exited her office, I had Jeff hide the ultrasound pictures and I made us take a deep breathe to contain our excitement. I knew we would be walking past a lobby full of women who were still fighting so hard for their baby, and I knew with every ounce of my being what that was like.

“And it’s a great day to be alive
I know the sun’s still shining
When I close my eyes
There’s some hard times in the neighborhood
But why can’t every day be just this good”

It’s a Great Day to be Alive by Travis Tritt

Jeff was away traveling and I had a day of appointments with Doctor 1 (our original RE at original clinic) and Dr L at a new clinic, Boston IVF.

I had been preparing all week looking over my records, researching clinical studies,reviewing ASRM guidelines, and inquiring with women around the country about their protocols. Having recurrent implantation failure and recurrent miscarriage is very rare and the researching surrounding it is lacking, to say the least. Woman’s health is underrepresented in medical studies in general, and recurrent pregnancy loss only affects 1% of the population. Only some of that 1% ever get a clear diagnosis and the others (like me) are left with the term “unexplained infertility”. I desperately wish that I can find answers as to “why” this is happening to me, but the best I can hope for is “where do we go from here”. I have a LONG list of questions and protocol possibilities that I would like their perspective on.

Boston IVF:
Continues to suggest that I try a natural FET with Lovenox and embryo glue. Although the Lovenox is not typically prescribed in the IVF world, Boston IVF has run its own in house studies and it has been shown as effective for women with recurrent implantation failure. “Lovenox works by preventing the formation of clots in the placenta or embryo, while increasing the growth factor hormones (insulin-like)in the uterus, making it more likely the embryo will remain implanted. Lovenox also suppresses the immune system’s response to the IVF treatment, so the body will not reject the implanted embryo.” (ivfprescriptions.com) (most clinics will not use this because 1. they do not believe in the immunological factors and 2. I test negative for blood clotting) The embryo glue is a nickname for hyaluronic acid which is supposed to mimic the conditions of the uterus and help with implantation. The natural FET is just a protocol that requires more monitoring because it is based on your body’s natural cycle. Since I ovulate regularly every month, she would like to try and sync up with my body’s schedule, as opposed to using the medication to “take  control” of my body’s cycle and force it to ovulate via medication. I love that this is a completely different plan than we have tried before, and I have read some success stories of women who have used Lovenox. As an alternative, if we choose to do so, she is also willing to consult with Braverman, in the event that we decide to seek his opinion. This would save us on expenses, since Boston IVF is in network, and she could prescribe the medications and I could have my bloodwork and monitoring appointments all close by and covered by insurance.

W&I:
Does not stray from any ASRM guidelines and will only use protocols that have been proven effective in random clinical trials. (This is a problem for me because there are not many random clinical trials that address women in my situation). I asked about Lovenox and they have only used it for blood clotting disorders, and never for a frozen transfer.
They have not heard of embryo glue(which is crazy to me because it is fairly common terminology among women undergoing IVF). This doctor is suggesting Receptiva DX test (another uterine biopsy that would test for BCL6 markers that COULD indicate endometriosis). She mentions that she has not done this test with any patients before but it is fairly new and she would be willing to try it. This is concerning to me for three reasons. 1. I have been asking about the possibility of endometriosis for 6 months now and it was completely brushed off by the other doctor as not even being a possibility. 2. Receptiva DX is not “fairly new”, the research behind BCL6 has been available since 2017 and 3. The treatment plan if I tested positive would be 3 months of Lupron shots (which basically “suppresses” the endometriosis by putting your body into early, but “temporary” menopause). The research I have found on Lupron is not positive and can have detrimental effects on your body and hormones long term. I would rather have another laparoscopy done by Dr. Braverman’s team who specialize in endometriosis to accurately diagnosis whether I have it, and then effectively remove it versus taking 3 months of Lupron to temporarily suppress it and risk long term complications.

Based on these meetings, Jeff and I decided to proceed with Boston IVF for an egg retrieval, and transfer. In the event that it does not work, we will pursue Dr. Braverman for a full immunological work-up.

But first…Even though I had a hysteroscopy in December that determined my uterine lining was clear, it is standard procedure to have another one after a D & C (or MVA in my case). This has to happen at a certain time in my cycle so I have to wait for my next period, and then schedule it. More waiting…

I will wait by Mumford and Sons
“But I’ll kneel down
Wait for now
And I’ll kneel down
Know my ground
And I will wait, I will wait for you
And I will wait, I will wait for you”

We had been testing at home using hpt and we were getting negatives. We knew the embryo failed to implant again but we still had to do the PIO shots ‘just in case’.

We walked into the clinic on the morning of the 29th and the tears cascaded down my cheeks. The receptionist gave me a look of empathy and I took my paperwork to the back room. Once the blood was drawn, I could not hold it in anymore. The flood gates opened and I sobbed out loud as Jeff put his arm around me and guided me out of the waiting room, through the lobby. Two nurses and two receptionists were standing behind the desk watching us and crying with us. The pain in our eyes and the breaks in our hearts were obvious to everyone. How is this happening?

a miscarriage, a chemical pregnancy, a cancer scare, and three failed transfers?! How is it possible that we have to endure this much pain?! Why us?

The next day, I cry on the way to work, wipe my tears and compose myself to get out of the car, bite my quivering lip as I take the long walk up the hallway, enter my classroom and the tears burst out of eyes uncontrollably. I only have a few minutes to breakdown before my Kindergarten students walk in so I have to find the strength to rally. I don’t rally because I am strong, I rally because I don’t have a choice. I have to go to work every day. I have to find a way to get through the day because even though my entire world has stopped, the rest of the world continues on.
This pattern becomes my life for the next few weeks. Breakdown. Rally. Repeat.

Jeff and I have a few conversations about next steps and we decide to get a second opinion from Boston IVF, and a third opinion from a Dr. Braverman in NYC.

I fully realized that I needed to take time to grieve this loss. But the reality was that grief was with me every single second of every single day. It did not matter if I sat in silence for a few days, it would still be with me when I got out of bed tomorrow. Time would not heal the emptiness that I feel in my heart from the babies that we continued to hope, pray, work and plan for, that never came.

And while I have never been the person to say, “My biological clock is ticking,” the honest reality is that it was. I was 36 and Jeff was 42.
We had many heavy conversations about “Where do we go from here?”
Conversations that most couples have the privilege of never having to experience.

Do we stop? While that may seem like an obvious possibility to some, we had to acknowledge that the idea of living without children seemed much more painful than any shot, procedure, or heartache. We discussed this, but we honestly were not ready to face that possibility and didn’t know if we ever would be.

“Just Adopt”
We get this all of the time.
Person: “Have you considered adoption?” or, “Why don’t you just adopt?”
My thoughts: “I don’t know ____, why don’t you?! Did you want to have children with your own genetics? Did you want to see whose eyes they had, or whose personality they take after? Well so don’t we.”
Adoption is a beautiful way to build a family…for those who choose that path. It is not just reserved for those who are having challenges. Someday we may choose to adopt. Heck, we talked about the possibility of doing that before we were married. But adoption is expensive. It can take up to 3-5 years to be matched with an expectant mom, and can cost around $30,000. There is also no guarantee that the adoption will go through. I have followed blogs of women who have been expecting for months, signed paperwork, witnessed the birth, put names on birth certificates, made medical decisions for 3 days while being called mom and dad by medical staff, only to have the birth mom change her mind and they return home empty handed. Maybe someday we will have the strength to consider this path, but that time is not now.

Continue with Original clinic because “At least you got pregnant.” Yes, it was very exciting that we finally saw 2 pink lines. But quite honestly, that pain was way worse. We believed it was finally our time, and then it was ripped away. If we get pregnant again, at what point do we get excited? Seven weeks? Ten? Sixteen? That said, we were glad we got a little further than before, but how many times can we continue doing the same thing and expecting different results? That is the definition of insanity. I loved them, and I knew they were hurting with us, and trying their best, but I was uncertain if they had any other tricks up their sleeves at that point. We had a wtf appointment the following week, so we planned on hearing about what they had say.

Boston IVF had given us a second opinion back in December about using a natural frozen transfer cycle as opposed to a medicated one. We considered this option at the time and ultimately choose W&I medicated “donor egg” protocol. However, given that this one started to work on the meds, I didn’t know if a natural one was the right option. We had an appointment the following week to talk about possibly switching clinics, but I needed to hear more information. This was no longer a routine case of IVF, this was a 2 hour series finale of “Grey’s Anatomy” or ”House,” and I needed a Dr. who would treat it as such.

A Gestational Carrier was something I had been researching. Obviously any woman desires, and assumes, that they will be able to carry their own baby so any thought of not being able to do that is a loss. I would not be able to feel our baby kick, I would not be able to look at my husbands face as he puts his hand on my belly to feel the baby kick, I could not breastfeed. I would grieve all of this. However, I feel as though I can let go of those desires if it means bringing our baby home. It is a loss, but one that will bring us our miracle. The average cost is between $100,000-120,000. I asked Jeff if we could fundraise some money in order to consider that a possibility. I thought about renting a hall (I love planning parties) and selling tickets. $50/person and we can have food and maybe get our friend Jess to DJ for us – what a great idea! I am sure we could get 100 people to come! “Great”, Jeff said. “100 people at $50/person would be $5,000, and then subtract the cost of food. We might net $3,000.” Unless, we throw a fundraiser every Saturday for a year, this does not seem like a possibility at this moment.

Dr. Braverman in NY is a strong contender right now. He is one of 3 doctors in the country who believes in immunological factors affecting pregnancy.
He said he sees cases like ours all of the time where the woman has silent endometriosis that causes lower egg quality, and PGS (genetically screened) embryos do not implant and/or cause early miscarriage. This sounds like hope but it also comes at a high cost. $3,000 for the initial blood work (which is 20+ vials of blood in one sitting), a six week wait for results, then a diagnostic laparoscopic surgery to POSSIBLY discover something. From that point, I will take at least a month to recover, before going through a six week protocol to retrieve better quality eggs, to wait a month, then to transfer back. The transfer protocol usually involves weekly intralipids and/or iViG (blood infusion). So, the absolute soonest chance we have at being pregnant is sometime at the end of 2019, and we started trying in the middle of 2016. Let that sink in. Not to mention, ALL of this would be OUT OF POCKET! (Now I have no right to complain about that, since the majority of infertile women have ZERO coverage for anything, and have to sell their homes and arrange fundraisers, and we have already had insurance cover more than $150,000 worth of stuff.) However, I do complain because 7 out of 8 women pay $0 to have a baby, and we are already in it for $16,000. Call me a bitter Betty, but it’s bullshit. The idea of adding another $15,000 for the hope that something can be found is scary.

We continued to talk about every scenario, and each one was a top contender for our next steps at different moments of the day. When this process began, I felt like we were in the passenger seats, while the doctors drove the bus for us. Now it felt like Jeff and I were in the driver’s seat, with many doctors shouting suggestions of where to turn, and we have no idea who to listen to. I have never even been good at choosing where to go for dinner so having to make a life decision as heavy as this is difficult. The right decision is the one that works. The wrong decision is the one that doesn’t. The only way of finding out is to make a choice, cross your fingers, and pray that it doesn’t add anymore emotional scars or weight on our already burdened hearts.

“I keep fighting voices in my mind that say I’m not enough
Every single lie that tells me I will never measure up
Am I more than just the sum of every high and every low?
Remind me once again just who I am, because I need to know (ooh oh)
You say I am loved when I can’t feel a thing
You say I am strong when I think I am weak
You say I am held when I am falling short
When I don’t belong, oh You say that I am Yours
And I believe (I), oh I believe (I)
What You say of me (I)
I believe“

You say by Lauren Daigle

Monday: MVA procedure.

Tuesday:
Jeff told me not to get the mail. (Packages that he had ordered for the baby were delivered.)
Jeff dragged me out of the house to grab a salad at Chelo’s for dinner.
While we were eating, I received a text from the clinic confirming our ultrasound for Friday (to hear the heartbeat). GUT PUNCH!
Wednesday:
Woke up crying and Jeff handed me a sweet care package that my mom had dropped off.
Went for coffee, came home and cried.
Went to spend time with my sweet niece, Emma. Came home and cried.
Trying to talk myself into getting off the couch to go grocery shopping and make dinner.
“Get off the couch Kristy.”
“It’s only the grocery store, you can do it.”
“Jeff has been carrying so much of the load lately. Do this for him.”
“Start by putting one foot on the floor.”
After 6 hours, I managed to get in my car and drive to the store. I couldn’t get out of the car and ended up sitting in the parking lot for half an hour. I drove home, Jeff consoled me, and we ordered take out.

Thursday: Scheduled a last minute appointment with my third therapist. (Advice given, “The odds of this happening were extremely small, but it did happen and it is your reality. You just have to take the hit on the chin and keep going little sister.”)
I knew I would survive this, but it seemed impossible right now.

Friday:
Should have been the day we heard the heartbeat.
I booked a facial to try and get my mind in a better place.
While my face felt refreshed, my heart still felt broken.

Monday:
Woke up, cried in the shower.
Composed myself to say goodbye to Jeff so he wouldn’t worry about me for the day.
Cried on the drive to work.
After pulling into the parking lot, I dried my eyes, hoping that no one would notice the red puffiness as I walked up the long hallway.
As soon as I turned the corner into my classroom, I shut the door and broke down again.
At 8:30, I heard students outside my door, so I dried my eyes again and rallied because I knew I had to let them in.
Pretended like everything was fine to make it through the day.
Got back into the car and cried the entire ride home.

Thursday:
Jeff was away. Two hour delay. As I was getting ready for work, I started having stomach pain and nausea. Since these were listed as warning signs after a D&C procedure, I called the clinic. They explained that I should not be concerned unless I developed a fever. I drove to work, and throughout the day I continued to experience stomach pain, nausea, and some vomiting. As soon as the clock hit 3:10, I left school and headed home to sleep. When I woke up from my nap at 4:50, my temperature was 101. I called the clinic again, and they told me to go to the  emergency room for evaluation. Since Jeff was away, my mother drove me. For three hours we sat in the waiting room, and had a front row seat for excited fathers whose wives were about to deliver, and expectant couples who were touring the hospital. I witnessed at least 10 pregnant bellies, all while keeled over in pain wondering if this was a complication from the MVA that could lead to more reproductive challenges. My mom asked me if I wanted to go to a different area and wait, and I had to explain that there was no other waiting areas. This is my reality – we constantly have a front row seat to others’ joy that serve as reminders of our loss.

When they finally called me in the room around 8:30, the nurse asked me how far along I was. With a puzzled look, I explained that I had the procedure at 6 weeks. She thought that MVA meant motor vehicle accident. I explained the situation in detail and she apologized for her mistake. She kindly told me that she would keep us in her thoughts and prayers. My mom was brought to tears at having to experience this moment with me. For the first time, she had a glimpse at the constant reminders of infertility that I face every day, and in that moment I think she truly understood.

After two hours of blood work and physical exams, they determined that it was not an infection related to the procedure, but most likely a stomach bug. (You can imagine how awesome it must have been to have a vaginal exam while you have the aches and chills of a stomach bug?!) Sarcasm. We returned home.

Saturday:
Jeff was outside shoveling snow in the driveway, and called me outside to retrieve an Amazon package on our steps. I can’t remember what I ordered but I was opened it and…
It…….was…….

diapers?!?!?!?
How on earth did diapers get delivered to my door a week after a miscarriage? I closed the box and looked at the mailing address. It was meant for our next door neighbors. Jeff and I just laughed at the irony because at this point, that is all we could do.

This is actually our life.

This loss was by far the hardest. Maybe it was a culmination of all the losses that had come before it, and this one put me over the edge. Maybe it was the fact that we were testing positive and feeling like this was finally happening. Maybe it was because we have no answers and really no solutions.

At my lowest point, I remember draining the water from my bath and just laying in the tub sobbing naked, and praying that Jeff didn’t hear me. I was terrified that he was going to get tired of picking up the broken pieces of me, and I honestly did not know how I was going to continue on, let alone get out of the bathtub. I felt like such a burden on him, and yet somehow, someway, he always found a way to support me and love me anyway. I loved my husband on our wedding day, but as we have learned to navigate the depths of heartache, I learned to love him more. No matter how many times I pushed him away or threw a shoe at him in anger (thanks hormone meds) he never once threw my body’s shortcomings in my face. No matter how emotionally crushed I was, he never made me feel like I was wrong to feel that way. He learned new ways to help console me, and never once stopped trying to show his love for me. On my darkest days, it was his love that saved me, and I know that with all of my heart.

I also have to acknowledge some amazing ladies in my life who put together a basket of sunshine for me. It was full of yellow items and cards, and funny sayings about strength. I was completely speechless at this gesture and their kindness and friendship. They truly got me through some of my darkest days, and while I may not tell them enough, I love them fiercely.

“Well, I wish I could say
That I’ve never been here before
But you know and I know
That I’ll always come back for more
Your love might be my damnation
But I’ll cry to my grave
Fire away
Take your best shot
Show me what you got
Honey, I’m not afraid
Rear back and take aim
And fire away”

Fire Away by Chris Stapleton

There really are no words that can even describe what is happening in our life. The pain continues to pile on, and the grief continues to grow without any sign of hope for a brighter day.

We headed to the clinic for 8:15, and for the first time ever, there were no words spoken between us on that ride. We both knew that there wasn’t anything to say. Just silence, holding hands, and slow dripping tears. We signed in to the clinic and they sent me for a blood draw (4 vials). My arms looked ravaged, so I had no idea where they planned on sticking the needle, but I honestly didn’t care. The woman (not my usual) was filling out paperwork to include with the viles and asked, “Have you been pregnant in the last 3 months?” Aggravated with her insensitive question, my response was, “Yes, right now but I am going upstairs so they can suck it out of me.” I didn’t mean to say it, but I was so numb to our reality that the words just came spilling out of my mouth. How could they even ask that question right now?

We headed upstairs to the surgical waiting room. We were only there for a few moments before my favorite nurse opened the door and called my name with a somber expression. Jeff and I kissed, and then I was brought into a small room where the nurse offered her condolences. At this point, the routine of surgery was all too familiar: answer questions, sign consents, doctor reviews surgery, anesthesiologist reviews, wait, surgery…

ANSWER QUESTIONS: When I first started at the clinic my answer to the question, “How many surgeries have you had?” was, “Wisdom teeth, ear tubes, and deviated septum.” Now, my answer is, “Wisdom teeth, ear tubes, deviated septum, 3 egg retrievals, laparoscopy, and hysteroscopy.” Just to be clear, the longer your infertility resume grows, the less promising it becomes.

SIGN THE CONSENTS: The nurse asked if we would like to test the fetal tissue, and I signed the forms. This required another vial of blood and the phlebotomist came upstairs to stick me, yet again.

DOCTOR REVIEWS SURGERY: Current Dr. walked in, grabbed my hand to hold, and asked me how I was doing. I was shocked by her comforting presence because that is very unlike her. I teared up and told her that we were hanging in there. She lets me know that she is not giving up, and she will not let me give up either. My words said, “We will keep fighting,” but my heart was whispering, “I don’t know what we have left.”

ANESTHESIOLOGIST REVIEWS: Once the Dr. left the room, the anesthesiologist came in with more questions and consents, and stuck me in the same place as the two previous blood draws. Ouch!

WAIT: I spent the next ten minutes or so waiting in the chair under warm blankets and reading my ttc sisters’ instagram updates.

SURGERY: The nurses came in to let me know it was time. I walked to the operating room and as I crossed the threshold, it hit me that it was over. Every other time I entered this room, it was for the promise of a better day to come. There was always hope of retrieving eggs, or discovering answers. Every procedure meant that we were one step closer to our baby. This time was different. This time felt like the finish line. I laid on the table with my lip quivering and tears streaming down my cheeks. My heart was in agony, and I didn’t know if it would ever end. I welcomed every drip from the IV meds because, even if only for a moment, I couldn’t feel the pain of infertility that has stolen our joy and controlled our lives.
“’Cause you were just a small bump unborn for four months then torn from life
Maybe you were needed up there but we’re still unaware as to why.”

SmallBump by Ed Sheeran

Tuesday the 5th we went to the clinic for an early morning blood draw. Even though we had tested at home, we had to still make it official. My most favorite receptionist gave me a look to say, “How are you doing?” and I just shook my head. She always tells me that she lights a candle for us, is thinking of us, and we just love her. I also inform her that I would like to switch Drs at the clinic. While I like my Dr, we are now 0 for 4, so we think that we need a change. The rest of the day was a struggle, but I am strong. I didn’t know that about myself before, but I know that now. Jeff and I are two of the most badass people I have ever known. We have endured SO much, and we can get through anything.

I had some of the sweetest teacher friends send me a plant that was delivered by two of my most favorite students. It brought tears to my eyes, and made my heart smile knowing that I have people thinking of me during my darkest hours. The past year has truly been the absolute worst time in my life. But I will be forever grateful to the ladies that keep showing up for me and praying for me.
At the end of the day, I get a phone call from the clinic letting me know that our hcg number doubled! It was 73! I said, “Wait..what did you say?!” She repeated herself and tears of joy fell down my cheeks. We have to go back again in two more days and make sure it doubles again! But…WE ARE PREGNANT!!!!  Jeff picked me up at school because we had plans with his parents for dinner.  As I sat down in the car I asked him “what do we always say about this process?” He responded “expect the unexpected”. I shook my head in agreement and told him our numbers doubled! 

Thursday the 7th we went in for early morning blood draws. I joke with the receptionist about how wrong I was, and how this embryo must be a fighter. She called it “the little embryo that could.” That afternoon, Jeff took the phone call at the end of the day because I had a meeting. 164! It more than doubled!! The clinic is happy with that, and we go back in next Thursday for another blood draw, and then the following Friday for our first ultrasound! This is really happening!

Friday the 8th I woke up and tested again…still positive and it’s getting darker! OMG!!!

Saturday the 9th we did not test because Jeff had planned a little birthday celebration with my family and a few friends (escape room- which I LOVE, and pizza). We had such a fun day, and were busting at the seems to just scream the good news from the rooftops…but we couldn’t. We have waited so long for this moment, and we want to surprise the people we love around us at the right time.

Sunday the 10th Still positive!!! We went to church, and Jeff pointed out the lyrics to one of the songs.
“Lord on the day that I called for help, you answered me”
We couldn’t help but smile and tear up just knowing that God has finally answered our prayer. We don’t care about what we have been through, we don’t care about the time that he took or the shots, medicine, surgery, scars, disappointment. All we care about is that we are finally pregnant.

Monday the 11th Still Pregnant!!!!

Tuesday the 12th We lay on the couch together and can’t believe that it is finally happening! Every moment of pain was worth it.

Wednesday the 13th The line is getting even darker!

Thursday the 14th Valentine’s has the darkest line yet!

We go in for our early morning blood draw and I smile at our receptionist. I told her we’re still testing strong, and it’s looking like our miracle is finally here!

I was full of excitement all day long, and couldn’t help but think that next Valentines Day, we will have our baby! That afternoon, I received the phone call while I was watching my Kindergarten class perform a hoedown dance for their families. I left the crowded gymnasium, and snuck into a dark and quiet classroom. The nurse informed me that the beta only went up to 944. While it is still rising, they would have liked to see 1200 by now. They want us to come in the following day for another beta and an ultrasound, to determine if it’s a viable pregnancy, ectopic pregnancy, or a miscarriage. My heart sank to the floor, and I sank down to the floor of the empty classroom crying, hugging my knees. How could that be?! The test line was so dark?! I thought for sure the beta was going to drastically rise. We have been pregnant for 2 weeks. We have a euploid (normal) embryo inside a “perfect uterus,” so the chances of a miscarriage are 10%. The chances of an ectopic are 2%. I rush to my classroom and start putting together sub plans for the next day. Jeff Ubers to me so that we can hug, and I don’t have to drive home alone. (Have I mentioned how incredibly blessed I am to have him?!) We decided to stop for dinner at a restaurant close by, and the conversation was minimal. What could we possibly say? We ate, we were somber, and we kept trying to understand “why” and “how”.

Friday the 15th the hpt is still testing positive.

Maybe, just maybe…there is still some hope. We head into the clinic and my favorite receptionist is there to greet me. You can see the tears starting to form in her eyes. She hands me the paperwork to sign, and gets up from her desk to come around and give me a hug. It was so nice to have a comforting embrace during this stressful moment. My blood gets drawn, and they call us in for the ultrasound. It was our initial Dr. (the one we were going to switch back to last week). She lets us know that she sees a gestational sac, but cannot see a yolk sac. This could be because it is too early, or it could be that the pregnancy just stopped, or it could be that it is an ectopic. Most likely, she feels as though it’s a miscarriage. At this time, our current Dr. walks in to see us, reminds us that we are still a team, and that they are all still here to help us. She offers up a hug and the other Dr. follows. That afternoon, the Dr. called to let us know that the hcg went up to 1116. We will see how it progresses over the weekend, and go back Sunday morning for another blood draw. We feel tortured by the stress and the unknown of living in “beta hell.” How do we just go about our weekend not knowing if there is a baby living or dying in my body?

Saturday the 16th The hpt test is still reading as positive, so we are still holding out some small amount of hope.

We don’t have much energy to do anything, so we spend the day watching episodes of “The Office” for some laughs, and we head to 5:00 mass. I pray to God for a miracle, but let him know that if this isn’t going to happen for us, to please just end this quickly , because I just don’t know how much more we can take.

Sunday the 17th we head to the clinic for an early morning blood draw. At this point, my veins are destroyed. I have a blood blister on the right side and a bruise on the left. I place both my arms on the armrests, lean back and close my eyes and tell her choose the arm that she thinks will work the best. Thankfully, the woman chose the left side and did a great job (phew). Jeff had a game dinner that day, so I just sat around updating this blog and waiting for the phone call. Around 2:00, the Dr. called, and the hcg level plateaued at 1200. We were instructed to come back tomorrow morning for a manual vacuum aspiration (MVA).

*(“MVA is as effective as conventional dilatation and curettage for treatment of early pregnancy failure while it causes less blood loss, is less time consuming, requires a shorter hospital stay and thus costs less.)

Devastation.

“Would you know my name? If I saw you in heaven?
Would it be the same if I saw you in heaven?
I must be strong and carry on
‘Cause I know I don’t belong here in heaven
Would you hold my hand if I saw you in heaven?
Would you help me stand if I saw you in heaven?
I’ll find my way through night and day
‘Cause i know I just can’t stay here in heaven
Time can bring you down, time can bend your knees
Time can break your heart, have you begging please, begging please”

Tears in Heaven by Eric Clapton

Today was my birthday, and I woke up in the morning to Jeff standing above me with a birthday cupcake and a candle and I make a wish (Spoiler alert: it is the same birthday wish I have made for 3 years.)

I go to the bathroom and pee on a HPT.

Negative.
Just like that, it is over. I yell down to Jeff and break the bad news. He tries to convince me to call out of work, but I know that being at home will be even more difficult. I am better off going in and keeping my mind busy.

I drive to school with tears, sit in my car in the parking lot long enough to wipe them dry for the walk up the hall, open my classroom door and exhale the breath I was holding on the way up. Emotional breakdown on my desk, and rally at 8:30 when the bell rings to let students in.
Although I did not hear it, I know that they announced my birthday on the loudspeaker that morning because I was receiving many birthday wishes from colleagues. Normally, that would make me smile, but today… every mention of my birthday was like a dagger to my heart. I received so many sweet text messages, but I just could not respond in a way that made sense to me. I was grieving on my 36th birthday, and it was anything but happy.

Somehow, I made it through the day, and Jeff decided to take me out to dinner at Meritage. We discussed the fact that we have been here before, and we are able to handle this loss in a better way because we know what to expect. We had some in-depth conversations about our next steps and I enjoyed the most delicious glass of wine.
With this man by my side, I know we can get through anything. We went to bed sad, but thankful for each other.

“You’re shattered
Like you’ve never been before
The life you knew
In a thousand pieces on the floor
And words fall short in times like these
When this world drives you to your knees
You think you’re never gonna get back
To the you that used to be”

Tell your heart to beat again by Danny Gokey