We have spent the last month working on being positive. I once read that hope is believing that something good can happen, but faith is knowing it will. I refuse to refer to this as our fourth transfer; it is THE transfer. It is going to happen for us. I go to a hypnotherapist every weekend for guided meditation. I continue to see the Mercier Therapist who keeps my positivity in check. I have stopped all alcohol and caffeine. I am ready. Jeff is ready. We are ready.
January 4th: Dr. Braverman (the Reproductive immunologist from NYC) calls for our consultation and indicates that he believes I have endometriosis. Even though I have zero symptoms, even though I already had a laparoscopy to remove my cyst/ovary and that oncologist did not discover any. He says he sees cases like this all of the time where young woman are having recurrent implantation failure and recurrent miscarriage due to the endometriosis affecting the mitochondria. He believes that Dr. Vidali in New Jersey is the best surgeon to look for and extract it and he suggests a full blood panel (20+ vials of blood) and a diagnostic laparoscopy as our next steps. If we went down this route it would cost $3,000 just for bloodwork, and at least an additional $8,000 for out of network procedures. We consider this information, but ultimately decide to continue on our path with current clinic and keeping the faith that we know we are on the correct path to our baby. God may be taking extra time, but he is busy making the most perfect baby for us.
Jeff even bought us pineapple keychains to remember to stay positive, and he bought me a pineapple necklace!
January 24th: Transfer is here! We are so excited, we know that it is our time. 24 is my favorite number (my birthday is 2-4). The transfer occurred in a different room than the others, the Dr. and the nurse had a little friendly disagreement about the location of the monitor, the embryologist was missing when they were calling for our embryo. We laughed because, “This is so us,” – this is unconventional, this is perfect, this is it! We even asked if we could stay in the room and lay on the table longer this time. I had the whole day off from work to rest, and the next day (Friday) I was in meetings, so I was off my feet, and then we took it easy over the weekend. We decided that we would not test using home pregnancy tests this time because our faith is in God, and we want to experience a positive phone call from the clinic. We also learn that beta day falls on Superbowl Sunday! As Patriot fans, we joked that this was another sign because it was finally our Superbowl Baby!
February 1: Jeff and I attended the 40th birthday of one of our best friends, and we asked the owner of the place to let us “shoot up” in a private space. Mission Accomplished!
February 2: Jeff is not feeling well so I go out shopping on my own. I find myself at the Paper Store, a place I never go. I walk down an aisle that has all Christmas items and amongst all of the decor, I discover a rainbow ornament. The only one item that was not “Christmas themed” was a rainbow! Another sign that our rainbow baby is finally coming!
February 3: Beta Day! The phone call comes……
It’s a low positive so they are cautiously optimistic. We have to wait two days for another blood draw to see if the level doubles. We are terrified, but faithful. I ran into the bathroom to take a HPT test and it was positive!!!!
No matter what, this experience was different for us, we are so much stronger now than we ever were before, and we can get through it.
Also, Patriots win 🙂
“Oh, this has gotta be the good life
This has gotta be the good life
This could really be a good life, good life
Say oh, got this feeling that you can’t fight
Like this city is on fire tonight
This could really be a good life
A good, good life”
While everyone else was getting into the Christmas spirit, we were looking into second opinions, and researching a variety of specialists.
December 7th: I went into our current clinic for a surgical procedure called a hysteroscopy to see if they could find anything wrong with my uterine lining. Unfortunately/fortunately they did not. Which I guess is a good thing, but we still do not have any answers as to what is wrong.
December 11th: I went for my first visit with a Mercier Therapist. She is so amazing and so positive!!!! Which, is exactly what I need right now. She also recommended I try a chiropractor to possibly help align any pelvic muscles.
December 14th 8:00am: Jeff and I went to our current clinic for a “wtf” (what the fuck) appointment with our current Dr. to talk about next steps. We decide to bring them Christmas cake pops as a thank you for all the support that they have shown us over the past 17 months.
Current clinic believes that we just have bad luck and we could try using the “donor egg” protocol which takes about two months, and would include Lupron shots, steroids, and antibiotics. (*I would be using my own eggs, but this is a protocol I have been wanting to try because I think that possibly my body is rejecting the embryos, and steroids could possibly prevent it from doing that.)
December 14th 10:30: Jeff and I meet with a Dr. at Boston IVF. She is wonderful, and is able to spend so much time with us answering questions. What struck me the most about her was the fact that she read our files before we even entered the room, and knew information about our situation without having to refer back to her notes. She suggested that since I have a regular cycle, we try a natural protocol with Lovenox and embryo glue. I have read about other women having success with this as well, so it is something for us to consider. She also suggested running more blood work for Karyotyping (we had carrier screening, and our embryos were genetically tested, but this would specifically test my genes and Jeff’s genes for any translocations.)
Jeff and I had some long, difficult and wavering conversations about how to proceed, and ultimately we decided to try the long protocol with our current clinic. Since we have our embryos there, it just seems like the easiest path right now (transferring embryos to another clinic is costly, and also risky, and I preferred the idea of another transfer with our current embryos over having to do another egg retrieval procedure.) We still have a phone consultation with a NYC reproductive immunologist coming up in January, but at least we would be taking action in the meantime.
December 24: Start Lupron injections
December 25: Fly to Nashville (with one of our closest/best friends) after Christmas dinner for a mini getaway and lots of laughs.
“We’ve all search for the light of day in the dead of night
We’ve all found ourselves worn out from the same old fight
We’ve all run to things we know just ain’t right
And there’s a better life
There’s a better life
If you’ve got pain
He’s a pain taker
If you feel lost
He’s a way maker
If you need freedom or saving
He’s a prison-shaking Savior
If you’ve got chains
He’s a chain breaker”
Hope. We cling to the hope that the first two transfers were just bad luck, and this time it’s going to be different; this time we are going to bring our baby home. I started documenting the PIO shots so that we can include them in our baby book someday.
The past 2 transfers we kept to ourselves because we hoped that we could maintain some privacy, and surprise others when it worked. This time, we told a select few that we knew could help us manage the stress of the weeks to come and support us either way.
I bought all the ‘stuff’ that would help our embryo implant: pineapple core, brazil nuts, pomegranate juice. I stopped alcohol and caffeine weeks before. I increased my fruits and vegetables. Embryo transfer, here we come!
The Staff at the front desk (Jeanne) wished us luck and sent us upstairs! The Dr. greeted us at the door and said, “Hey sweetheart how ya doing?” This was not typical of her, but we felt like we had so many people on our side. The Dr. showed us a picture of our embryo and told us it looked great. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I said, “Third times a charm.” The embryologist joked about being our first sitter, and the nurse joked about avoiding housework for a few days. The transfer went wonderful and they told us that we would likely be cancelling our ‘IVF follow up visit with the Dr’ because we were going to be successful! We took a ‘family photo’ with our embryo dish and two fake dogs (yes, again).
HOPE.
I decided I am going to keep my feet warm, only eat warm foods, increase my water intake, monitor my sleep patterns. No measure is too small to help us get to our baby!!!
November 22 (3dpt) I had tiny pink spotting which went away, so I can only pray it is implantation bleeding. Transfer 2 it continued on and led to an early period. This was different, this was hopeful.
“Look at the stars,
Look how they shine for you,
And everything you do,
Yeah, they were all yellow”
The doctor called to let us know that she consulted with the team, and they all feel as though we “should be pregnant by now” (umm…..me too! *eye roll*). Is that seriously what the razor sharp team of reproductive endocrinologists have for us?!
The PGS testing indicates that we are transferring chromosomally normal embryos. All of the testing that has been done to me indicates that there is nothing wrong, yet…here we are.
While we could go ahead and do a hysteroscopy, there really is no evidence that would give us any more information. She believes that we just have “bad luck,” and recommends doing another transfer. So we sit, waiting for my cycle to start (which should have been day 28).
Meanwhile,
We welcomed our beautiful niece, Emma, into the world and she is absolutely perfect in every single way.
We went to Game 1 of the World Series at Fenway Park (Red Sox!!!) and we bought Emma a World Series onesie! The entire experience was amazing and one that I will always remember!
We focused on some house projects. I realized that my cycle was a few days late so I decided to take a HPT test. (Did I really think I would be one of those make believe stories about someone’s “cousin’s, friend’s, sister who had failed IVF and then got pregnant naturally?” NO! But I thought maybe it would be another chemical pregnancy (early miscarriage) and that was worth knowing.) So we waited, and waited….
and it was blank. I am so NOT pregnant, that I didn’t even get a control line! (At some point you have to laugh because how does this stuff seriously happen to me?!)
A couple days go by and still no AF so I take another test – negative. So, I am not pregnant, but I am 7 days late, which delays the next transfer. Keep the punches coming.
Meanwhile, I have started seeing my third therapist. I could say it is helping a little, but I have 27 months worth of pain, heartache, trauma, bitterness, anger, grief, and guilt to shuffle through, so I would say I have a lot of work to do.
I have been trying to spend some time with and reach out to those friends that I find comforting, and that has helped. I managed to laugh a bit, and though they might not realize it, they are helping me find myself again.
I don’t quite know if I will ever be the same person that I was before, I can’t quite see how I could be. Infertility has changed me, both good and bad.
While I may have pain to work through, I now do a better job of recognizing pain in others. I know I have a long way to go, but I am certainly trying to build a better boat.
“I smile more despite the pain
I breathe in, I breathe out
Got friends to call who let me talk about
What ain’t working, what’s still hurtin’
All the things I feel like cussing out
Now and then I let it go
Around the waves I can’t control
I’m learning how to build a better boat
I hate waiting, ain’t no patience in these hands
I’m not complaining, sometimes it’s hard to change a man
I think I’m stronger than I was, I let God do what he does
I breathe in, I breathe out
Got friends to call who let me talk about
What ain’t working, what’s still hurtin’
All the things I feel like cussing out
Now and then I let it go
Around the waves I can’t control
I’m learning how to build a better boat”
The past few days have been rough. I am struggling.
Through this blog, I try and document my journey with infertility so that I can look back and have each moment captured in time. I don’t even know if I will ever choose to make it available to others. I try to articulate the rollercoaster of emotions that we have experienced on this journey, however, there truly are no words that can convey the amount of pain that we have experienced.
I feel frustrated with my body.
I feel frustrated with my inability to remain faithful in God.
I feel frustrated with my inability to communicate with others about what we are experiencing. I don’t even think that the two therapists that I sought out were even close to understanding how my heart is breaking. The majority of the sessions were spent explaining the process of IVF rather than what it has done to me and what I can do to move beyond my anger and sadness towards acceptance. How can I accept this when we continue to have glimpses of hope that are shattered into a million pieces, each time worse than the one before.
I can only equate it to grief: the kind of grief that offers no closure. There is no funeral of finality, no wake of condolences to show support, and no autopsy of answers. There is only constant daily grief of the dreams of a family that we once had planned with intermittent glimpses of hope that are quickly diminished with every lost pregnancy, every halted embryo, every failed transfer, every moment of waiting.
Even my strongest moments can bring me crumbling to my knees with every pregnancy announcement, baby shower, first birthday, Mother’s Day, pregnant belly, or text or social media post about challenges and complaints of motherhood.
Each birthday or holiday or anniversary that I used to celebrate now serves as a painful reminder of the length of time that has passed that we have been fighting this uphill battle to grow our family.
“Would have been” due dates linger in my mind and destroy the promises of brighter days in the upcoming new year.
*Honeymoon Baby would have been due in May
*First Transfer would have been due March 17
*Second Transfer would have been due June 5
*Third transfer would have been due August 7
Some mornings it takes all my energy to get out of bed that I have nothing leftover to face the day, let alone paint a smile on my face and pretend to be ok through small talk.
“Hey how are you” is such a loaded question, especially when the person who is asking out of kindness has no clue what is really behind my answer of “im fine”.
There is CONSTANT grief over an invisible disease that no one can see, some can empathize with, and only the very few can understand.
Relationships have suffered due to infertility. I am not my best self and I struggle every day with this. I am desperately trying to be a better wife, better daughter, and a better friend but I am limited in my ability to do so.
Unfortunately, there are friends and family members who inadvertently cause pain by offering up opinions and comments (although well-intended).
“Wow! Your car is so clean, you can tell you don’t have any kids”
“Must be nice to travel so much without kids”
“They have a lot of kids, did you ask them if you can have one of theirs?”
“You can always adopt”
“It will be your turn soon”
“Your so lucky you can nap”
“My kids drive me crazy, you can have mine”
“If it’s meant to be it will be” (that’s always a favorite of mine- so the crack whore with 5 kids is meant to be a mom but I am not?!)
Or sometimes ignoring my situation and trying to have small talk about the weather is equally as painful. How can I possibly think or talk about anything else other than this? Yes, it is just one facet of my life…but the outcome will determine the rest of my life. People post all the time about how their kids are their whole world- well trying to have kids is mine so ignoring the grief is not helpful.
I have to pull away in order to save myself from heartache and put my needs first. Some days I feel let down by some friends that I thought would have been more empathetic or supportive. I don’t wish infertility on anyone, yet I yearn for them to try and understand.
Other days I am amazed at the friends who I never would have expected that have become my greatest support system. They acknowledge that they don’t know how I feel. They don’t just say “I am here for you”, they show that they are. They check on me often via text or card or in person. They have sent me inspirational quotes to help me give me the strength to keep going, especially on the days that I don’t think I can. They have sent me flowers, wiped my tears, prayed with me, showed up at my house just to cry with me on the couch, given me shots, and texted me on mothers day to let me know that they are thinking of me (because even though I may not be a mom yet, I am fighting like hell to become one).
These ladies are my tribe and I love them.
I am also fortunate enough to have an online community of women who are on the same path. Women who just get it and say “I’m sorry”, “this sucks”, or my personal favorite “it doesn’t get easier, you just get stronger”. I am blessed beyond measure to find an outlet that allows me to unapologetically speak my truth and express my heartache without judgement or shame. They really do know how it feels and I am grateful for that level of empathy.
There are no answers nor will there ever be, as to why this is our path. While most days I want to scream from the rooftops “you don’t know how it feels”, I did find a website article that offers up a comparison that I feel comes close to explaining infertility.
Also, a woman names Katelynn Albrecht posted an open 𝗹𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘀𝗲 𝘄𝗵𝗼 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗻𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝘀𝘁𝗿𝘂𝗴𝗴𝗹𝗲𝗱 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗶𝗻𝗳𝗲𝗿𝘁𝗶𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘆…. And describes 𝗪𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗶𝗻𝗳𝗲𝗿𝘁𝗶𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗹𝘀 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲…in ways far better than I ever could:
“At times it’s paralyzing. At times it’s debilitatingly painful. It’s feeling so out of touch with reality because you’re completely consumed with your own thoughts and grief that you simply can’t muster up the energy to focus on anything else. It’s setting boundaries for yourself and walking away from conversations when people start talking about their pregnancies/babies/kids.
It’s feeling like it’s a chore to actually spend time with people because you’re forced to put on a fake brave and semi-happy face for the world while feeling completely shattered and devastated and heartbroken inside. It’s then forcing yourself and trying your hardest to make it through X, Y, Z events without completely breaking down. Oftentimes it’s wanting to apologize to those people in your circle that you’ve completely disappeared from but can’t bring yourself to share your grief and pain with them because the vulnerability in itself is too painful to talk about. Yet at times, it’s not wanting to have to apologize for what you’re going through and all you really want from people is some compassion and grace. Furthermore, you know you can’t be there for them in ways that they probably need you to be right now because you’re suffering from your own intense grief and misery. How do you pour yourself into other people’s cups when you don’t even have the energy to fill up your own? At times it’s completely avoiding people who are pregnant or not attending certain events where you know there are potential triggers. It’s saying “no” to your friend’s baby shower or kiddo’s birthday party if you don’t think you can handle it, only to feel like a bad friend for not being there. It’s threatening to ruin family relationships, friendships and marriages. It’s being on the brink of tears at any given moment. It’s self-preservation at the expense of 𝘢𝘭𝘭 of your relationships. It’s feeling like you want to completely isolate yourself so that you’re not hit with yet more pregnancy news and baby announcements. It’s feeling like you no longer have anything in common with your friends because all they seemingly want to talk about is their kids. It’s realizing that you can’t relate to them and they certainly can’t relate to you. It’s at times feeling so depressed and lonely and isolated that you contemplate what the alternative would be. It’s being put on antidepressants because you just can’t seem to pull yourself out of your funk. It’s going to therapy due to suffering from PTSD and depression due to all of the loss and trauma. It destroys your soul and your mental health and your self-esteem. It’s wondering how in the world you could possibly endure another year of this hell, let alone without the one person who has been through it all with you because he may be gone for military obligations; the one person that has been to every heartbreaking appointment with you, seen every tear shed, heard every prayer and plead with God and heard every cry. It’s questioning why God would give you such a strong desire to be a mom and then wondering why He’s not following through on His promise. It’s wondering if He’s forgotten about you. It’s wondering what you did to deserve so much heartache and pain.
It’s unfollowing certain people on social media or completely getting rid of your social media accounts altogether.
It’s knowing most people have the best of intentions, but also unintentionally taking some things personally because you just can’t understand how someone could possibly be so insensitive, especially when they are well aware of what you’ve been, and are still, going through.
It’s choosing to ignore texts or messages from people that don’t serve your well-being. It’s also avoiding those people that can’t help but constantly tell you about other people’s babies/pregnancies/kids.
It’s watching everyone around you get pregnant and start their families while you’re stuck watching and waiting and trying to feel happy for them, yet feeling incredibly sad and heartbroken for yourself.
It’s being mad as hell at God for allowing the pain and suffering to continue.
It’s surgery after surgery; it’s constant blood-draws, and endless doctor’s appointments and ultrasounds and poking and prodding and extreme emotional lows. It’s constant crying and feeling unstable. It’s depression. It’s anxiety. It’s feeling hopeless and worthless and full of shame. It’s feeling completely betrayed by your own body. It’s receiving unfavorable diagnosis after unfavorable diagnosis. It’s feeling like a failure. It’s desperately wanting something so badly that you’re willing to try all sorts of weird vitamins and supplements, and acupuncture, and chiropractic care and massage to de-stress, and spending thousands of wasted dollars. It’s diet changes, and cutting out caffeine and alcohol, and trying reiki, and going to therapy. It’s doing round after round of IUI and taking oral medications that make you feel like an emotional lunatic and doing abdominal injections that leave bruises on your body. It’s trying every trick in the book to make it happen, all to have your soul crushed and your dreams squashed every month when aunt flow shows up. It’s ending up with scars on your body and all over your heart, and still having no baby.
It is 𝙎𝙊. 𝙈𝙐𝘾𝙃. 𝙇𝙊𝙎𝙎.
It’s the loss of hopes and dreams and joy and happiness and the anticipation of starting a family the old-fashioned way. It’s the loss of surprising your partner with joyous news. It’s the loss of surprising your friends and family because everything has become so premeditated. It’s the loss of feeling happy and excited about a potential pregnancy because there is hurdle after hurdle to jump through to achieve success. It’s the loss of feeling happy/excited even if pregnancy is achieved because the fear of miscarriage is so real. It’s a complete loss of control. It’s the loss of self. It’s the loss of a future you saw so vividly. It’s the loss of a pregnancy. It’s sadness and feeling loss over a “should’ve been” due date/Birthday/holiday celebration that never happened. It’s the loss of so many more things not included here.
It’s all-consuming stress and fear and anxiety over the possibility of never becoming a parent to a biological child.
It’s having panic attacks wondering if you’d ever be okay with being 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 a dog momma. Or wondering if you should adopt. Or if you would be okay with using donor eggs or donor sperm or embryo adoption, etc.
It’s feeling like simply existing is exhausting.
It’s the perpetual feeling of fatigue from the mental, emotional, physical and financial burdens that we carry from infertility.
It’s the added stress of getting a part-time job on top of your full-time job to help cover the insane cost of fertility treatment because your insurance covers nothing.
It’s feeling like you are no longer yourself but a shattered and broken shell of the old you.
It’s feeling completely numb.
It’s feeling helpless and hopeless and that nothing excites you anymore.
It’s not giving a crap about your Birthday or Christmas or any other Holidays because the one and only thing you actually care about is having a baby, and they’re just another painful reminder of what you don’t have that your heart so desperately wants.
It’s going on another vacation, it’s getting another dog, it’s quitting your stressful job with no back-up plan, it’s doing the seemingly most bizarre and irrational things to the rest of the world in order to find some small glimmer of fleeting happiness. It’s doing whatever the hell you have to do to survive.
It’s day after day, month after month, year after year of the agonizing “wait”.
It’s completely missing out on life at times.
It’s exhaustion from so many nights of not sleeping because it’s all you can think about. Other nights you cry yourself to sleep and wake up with a headache that lasts all day.
𝙄𝙣𝙛𝙚𝙧𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙮 𝙛𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙒𝙀𝘼𝙍𝙎. 𝙔𝙊𝙐. 𝙊𝙐𝙏.
It is 𝙨𝙤 many hard and ugly and painful things and it’s not fair that some people have to endure this pain and suffering while most others don’t.
It is arguably the most painful thing a woman can experience (aside from losing an actual living & breathing child)…”
“But let me get to the point, let’s roll another joint
And turn the radio loud, I’m too alone to be proud
You don’t know how it feels
You don’t know how it feels to be me”
“I started out for God knows where… I guess I’ll know when I get there.”
I don’t think that any statement could be more accurate to describe where we are at right now. We had our “wtf” appointment with the Dr. yesterday, and we have more questions than we did walking in. Our Dr. is nice and supposed to be one of the best, but that certainly does not include her style of delivering information. She reviewed our notes AFTER we sat down with her (I am not even sure if she knew the transfer failed until she read it on her computer screen.) She tells us that we have PGS tested embryos, that I have a perfectly good uterus, and the transfer was timed to the minute according to my previous ERA test. There is no explanation as to why it did not work. She tried to joke with us and say that maybe it was the fault of the Dr. who performed the transfer, but Jeff and I were lacking our sense of humor on this day and could not find one ounce of humor in this situation. When asked about my updated blood tests and if she could compare it to last years, she said, “Last year seems like just yesterday.” I had to correct her and say that to us, it felt like eternity. Once again, my numbers looked great. In fact, my AMH (Anti-Mullerian Hormone) went up from .78 last year to 1.27 now. Which means that if I were walking into the clinic today with that number, I would not have been given a diagnosis of diminished ovarian reserve! How is that for a mind f***?! If that is not our issue, then what is?!
She informs us that she will be putting our name on the list to be “reviewed by the Doctors” this month, and she is going to Denver next week for the American Society for Reproductive Medicine conference and “might learn something new.” The “game plan,” that has been laid out for us, is to leave and wait for the phone call from the nurses in the next few weeks, to find out if she has any new information to share with us.
That. Is. It.
That is all the hope we have to comfort us and hold on to until the next time we transfer. I am not quite sure if that is enough to sustain our faith over the next few months, but I guess we don’t have a choice.
I have “Learning to Fly” on repeat every time I get into my car. I watched Tom Petty in an interview where he talks about the meaning of this song, and how it is becoming a philosophy of his. “You can lay down and let the tragedy overwhelm you or you can fly above it and I think that is sort of what I am trying to say in that song. I don’t say that I can fly, I’m learning.” I think that is all that we can do. We are learning to fly around infertility and figure out how to maintain a sense of sanity in the process. Some days are hard, and other days are impossible. We are doing the best we can and for now, we have to accept that.
“I’m learning to fly, but I ain’t got wings.
Coming down is the hardest thing
Well the good ol’ days may not return
And the rocks might melt and the sea may burn
Well some say life will beat you down
Break your heart, steal your crown
So I’ve started out for God knows where
I guess I’ll know when I get there”
We decided to test using HPT this time in order to mentally prepare ourselves for the results. The pure devastation of having the nurse call and shatter our hearts with one phone call was too much to bear last time. I think that if I can see/not see a line, then maybe I can avoid falling down into a deep dark hole of sadness again.
6dp5dt (six days past a five day transfer) : Negative, but some say that it is too early to test.
7dp5dt: Negative, but I have a few spots of brown blood which could mean implantation bleeding. Fingers crossed.
8dp5dt: Negative.
9dp5dt: Negative.
10dp5dt: Negative.
I start each morning knowing that it hasn’t worked, spend the day googling stories of women who had “late implantation,” lay awake at night with a glimmer of hope, and wake up the next morning only to test negative again. So what is worse: having your heart crushed all at once by a phone call or waking up every day with an ounce of hope, disappointment, spending the day putting yourself back together again, only to have it happen again the next day? I honestly don’t know.
Official Beta Blood Test: Negative
My hopes and dreams have been slowly ripped away over the past two years, while I watch them come true for everyone else around me. Why does it happen so easily for others? I am a spectator for others’ joy, while I wait on the bleachers trying to figure out if I will ever be qualified to suit up and sit on the sidelines, let alone have the privilege to play. My hopes and dreams of starting a family have slowly dwindled over time. The conversation of “when we have kids” has now shifted to “if we have kids.” I pray constantly. Not the cute praying where you lay in bed and make a few wishes with your hands folded in obedience. The ugly kind of praying, where you cry, drop to your knees, tears soak your shirt, your fists grasp the sheets, and your screams echo through the walls. The kind of praying that begs for mercy on your broken heart. I beg and plead with God to give me a sign if I am supposed to tread through more heartache, or if I am not worthy of being a mom and should just give up. What have I done in my life that would cause me to have to endure this much pain?
“Please have mercy on me
Take it easy on my heart
Even though you don’t mean to hurt me
You keep tearing me apart
Would you please have mercy on me
I’m a puppet on your string
And even though you got good intentions
I need you to set me free
Would you please have mercy, mercy on my heart
Would you please have mercy, mercy on my heart”
The Dr called to tell us that the biopsy results indicate nothing wrong with my uterus, and the ERA results indicate that I am 120 hours receptive. The first transfer must have been a case of “bad luck” and we are ready to try again next cycle.
August 31: Cycle begins, start taking estrogen.
Sept 6th: Bloodwork and ultrasound. The nurse calls to tell me that my uterine lining is not thickening as quickly as last time, and I need to start taking the estrogen both orally and vaginally. I had to ask her to repeat that, but I did in fact hear her correctly. Same pill, two different entrances.
Although it was news to me, it is not uncommon for that to happen. Every cycle is different.
Sept 11th: Bloodwork and ultrasound. Nurses call to tell me that the lining looks good and I can start the PIO shots tomorrow.
Sept 12th: Jeff is away and I have the day off from school, so I have a friend’s mom inject the PIO for me at exactly 11:00 am.
Sept 13-14: Jeff is still away, but I have to work, so I have to leave the classroom and have the school nurse do it!
Sept 15-16: Jeff is back and he can do the shots.
Sept 17th: Transfer! This one feels a little different than last time. We are cautiously optimistic.
“When he told you you’re not good enough
When he told you you’re not right
When he told you you’re not strong enough
To put up a good fight
When he told you you’re not worthy
When he told you you’re not loved
When he told you you’re not beautiful
That you’ll never be enough
Fear, he is a liar
He will take your breath
Stop you in your steps
Fear he is a liar
He will rob your rest
Steal your happiness
Cast your fear in the fire
‘Cause fear he is a liar”
The “waiting” cycle was hard, but we tried to focus on staying positive and spending time together.
The ERA (Endometrial Receptivity Assay) was here. This is a measure of how many hours of progesterone your body needs in order to be receptive for the embryo. Most women need 120 hours but in a small amount of cases, women have displaced “windows of implantation” (WOI) and may need more or less hours.
The first transfer I was given the option of vaginal progesterone cream or PIO (progesterone in oil) which are 1.5 needles that need to be injected through the muscle (aka your backside). CLEARLY I chose the vaginal ones! Since it did not work, she suggested I switch to the needles. This meant I had to inject shots for five days, then have the biopsy.
This is a picture of the subcutaneous needles I am used to (on the right) vs. the new needles that I now have to do (on the left).
There is NO WAY that I can inject them myself, but I decided to suck it up and allow Jeff to do it. Just when we thought the worst was behind me with 97 shots, I now had to face an infinite number of more painful ones. I was angry.
My dear friend bought me this necklace to remind me how strong I am and to keep going.
We even had a beautiful rainbow around this time which served as a reminder that I am stronger than I think.
” God puts rainbows in the clouds so that each of us-in the dreariest and most dreaded moments-can see a possibility of hope”- Maya Angelou
The day that the shots started, I needed some motivational music for me to stay strong and optimistic and I decided to play the song “Whatever It Takes” to keep me strong and focused on our baby.
August 23rd was the day of the uterine biopsy and IT WAS BRUTAL!! My previous Dr (the one who went out on maternity and performed my transfer) was performing it for me that day. She informed me that it would be uncomfortable, but I would count out loud to ten and then it would be over.
As she was “down there” it started to hurt and I asked if I could start counting. She informed me “not yet” – which meant it was about to get worse. “Count” she said!
ONE came out normal but two through nine were blood curdling screams as I cried in pain and grabbed Jeff’s hand for dear life. That. Was. AWFUL!!
The amazing nurse Angela let us know that they got a good amount of tissue for testing, so I should not have to repeat it (and quite honestly I don’t think I physically could). She had me lay on the table until my shaking stopped, color came back to my face, and my blood pressure returned to normal. She also let us know that we have to continue the PIO shots for 5 more days in order to prolong the start of my next period. Awesome. Every time we think we know what to expect, we are thrown a curveball.
“Whip, whip
Run me like a racehorse
Pull me like a ripcord
Break me down and build me up
I wanna be the slip, slip
Word upon your lip, lip
Letter that you rip, rip
Break me down and build me up
Whatever it takes
‘Cause I love the adrenaline in my veins
I do whatever it takes
‘Cause I love how it feels when I break the chains
Whatever it takes
You take me to the top I’m ready for
Whatever it takes
‘Cause I love the adrenaline in my veins
I DO WHAT IT TAKES!”
Whatever It Takes by Imagine Dragons
We were fortunate enough to have some friends in LA that asked us to house sit for them around this time. It was the perfect secluded getaway for us to be alone and process this loss.
Remember that Kate Spade diaper bag that I bought 2 years ago? Well I decided to pull it out of the closet and use it as my carry-on for a trip to LA. #fuckinfertility
They have the most lovable dog named Lexi, who was full of cuddles and helped heal my heart during this time.
When you are infertile, you live on hope, yet you are constantly subjected to the loss of that hope. I began researching recurrent pregnancy loss, testing that has yet to be done on me, called the doctor and advocated for what I know my next steps need to be. I was on a mission to get more testing done to figure out why a perfectly good embryo did not implant in a perfectly good uterus. I called the nurses and demanded testing ASAP and to move up my follow up appointment with the Dr to minimize the waiting. They agreed to a ERA (endometrial receptivity assay) test, uterine biopsy, and a RPL (Recurrent Pregnancy Loss) Panel. They also moved up my appointment a week early with the Dr. !
Although Jeff has been to every single monitoring appointment, and every single visit to the clinic, (with the exception of a handful he was out of state for) he happened to be on another business trip when I went in to meet with the Dr. The RPL blood panel came back negative and I do not have anything to be concerned about in that department.
She told me that I had to skip this July cycle because I did not start taking estrogen in time, then do an ERA cycle in August, and transfer in September. I burst into tears. Why was there a lack of communication between the nurse and the Dr?! They knew I wanted the testing right away, yet they failed to inform me that the testing required me to take estrogen pills! They cost me 4 weeks of waiting, when there was no need for it. Waiting truly is the hardest part. On this journey, every week, every day, every minute feels like eternity.
When you hear of IVF you hear stories of twins, or it working on the first try. Yet here we are hoping for a transfer over ONE YEAR from the date that we walked into our fertility clinic, and TWO years from when we started trying on our honeymoon. Every painful emotion from the last few years of infertility comes flooding back. I remember every hurt, every sting.
“Every little thing
I remember every little thing
The high, the hurt, the shine, the sting
Of every little thing”
Every Little Thing by Carly Pierce
Given the circumstances, Jeff booked a last minute trip to Bermuda to celebrate our second wedding anniversary. Time to break out the baby-less diaper bag again. #fuckinfertility
Even my strongest moments can bring me crumbling to my knees with every pregnancy announcement, baby shower, first birthday, Mother’s Day, pregnant belly, or text or social media post about challenges and complaints of motherhood.
breakdown and rally 