We decided not to test at home using hpt’s because we didn’t want to stress about seeing a line and watching it get darker. We were so sure this was our time, we just knew it was going to work out.
I was in the middle of a therapy appointment when I received the phone call that my worst nightmare had come true:
Beta was negative.
The embryo did not implant.
No viable pregnancy.
Stop taking medications. Come back in two weeks for a follow up appointment.
How do I share the news with my husband that once again, I can’t make him a father? How do I stomach the fact that my body is failing me, failing him, and failing all the plans we had for our future? Our hearts shattered on the floor. Grief floods over me and steals every ounce of joy that I worked so hard to restore over the past month. I want to know why God is doing this to me.
Then the phone rings. It is my dear friend (not my oldest friend, not my closest friend, but an angel that God sent to me during this critical point of my life for support. She is going through a heart wrenching chapter in her life, and we have been able to bond over our struggles. Although different situations, she has been able to see me, see my pain, and just empathize). I mention that I am struggling with my faith and I asked her how she does not get angry with God. She said it is not God who does this to you, but he is how you will get through it. I know that God put her in my life to help me and made her pick up the phone on that day at that exact time to call me.
“I’m so confused
I know I heard you loud and clear
So, I followed through
Somehow I ended up here
I don’t wanna think
I may never understand
That my broken heart is a part of your plan
When I try to pray
All I’ve got is hurt and these four words
Thy will be done
Thy will be done
Thy will be done
I know you’re good
But this don’t feel good right now
And I know you think
Of things I could never think about
It’s hard to count it all joy
Distracted by the noise
Just trying to make sense
Of all your promises
Sometimes I gotta stop
Remember that you’re God
And I am not
So
Thy will be done”
We took a trip to Nashville to celebrate the end of egg retrievals, and what we hoped was the end of our “DINK” (dual income no kids) life.
We smiled. We laughed. We started to enjoy life again. Maybe we had to learn patience and give up our desire to plan. Maybe we had to go through pain in order to fully experience the joy that was about to come. Although everyone knew we were going through fertility treatments, no one knew that we were in a position to transfer an embryo back in. We chose to keep the number of embryos we had quiet from now on in order to avoid conversations about our next steps. Even if only for a moment, it finally felt private. It finally felt normal.
We met with the Dr. and her resident who joked about wanting to know if we wanted 6 kids, because having 6 PGS embryos was incredibly good odds! I questioned my original diagnosis of “Diminished Ovarian Reserve” because my ability to create the quantity of eggs and genetically normal embryos seemed beyond the scope of what they said was possible for that condition. I asked if it only appeared that my egg quality was lacking due to the mass on my ovary and the fact that it had taken over. The Dr answered “we just don’t know” and looked at her resident and said “that would make a great case study for your thesis”. So I guess science has not quite caught up with cases such as mine?!
The preparation for a frozen embryo transfer was so much easier than an egg retrieval. Day one of my cycle, I started taking estrogen, and came back in a few days for a sonohysterogram (an imaging study of the uterus where Dr inserts fluid into the uterus via the cervix to examine its lining-which was normal). After a couple weeks, I went back to the clinic where they took a blood draw and checked my uterine lining. Everything looked great and they told us I could start using my progesterone suppositories, and after 5 days – transfer!
The doctor said that we had pretty good odds because we had a genetically tested embryo and a good looking uterine lining (I never guessed I would receive that kind of compliment).
You are instructed to drink lots of water before hand so that your bladder is full and they can see a better image on screen. I signed consent to be part of a study that collects data on frozen transfers of PGS tested embryos, so I had some extra blood work once I arrived. They call you up to the procedure room and there is a nurse, doctor, and an embryologist in a small window. My original Dr would be performing the transfer and it only seemed fitting that she was the one who began our infertility journey, and she was now the one who was about to end it. We were excited to see her and she let us know that she follows our case closely (which just warmed my heart). Once you are in position, the embryologist hands the doctor a long narrow catheter and the Dr places it carefully inside. You can see a tiny flicker of white light as the embryo is placed in your uterus. In that moment, I feel like my baby is finally “home”.We transferred one embryo. When we got back to the car, “Here Comes Your Girl” was playing on the radio and we joked that it was a sign we were having a girl. (because of PGS testing, we have the option of knowing what the gender is, but we do not want to – we have waited this long, what is a little longer?) They gave us the top of the petri dish that our frozen embryo was being stored in, and we took pictures. We had even brought our 2 fake dogs along for the ride (long story).
I even started to get excited at the idea of being able to surprise others with our announcement. I could tell my parents and my brother the week after their baby shower. How cute would it be to get them a onesie that said “BIG COUSIN”? I would be going back to teaching right around the 12 week mark, so it was perfect timing to be able to share our news with colleagues. Our due date was Saint Patrick’s Day, and I got a kick out of that because Jeff’s family is very Italian and my family is very Irish.
We were finally experiencing joy. I finally started feeling like myself again. I was back in the high life again.
“I’ll be back in the high life again
All the doors I closed one time will open up again
I’ll be back in the high life again
All the eyes that watched us once will smile and take me in
And I’ll drink and dance with one hand free
Let the world back into me and on I’ll be a sight to see
Back in the high life again”
The phone call the day after egg retrieval revealed that 14 eggs were mature, but only 10 fertilized. Although disappointed, we held steady to the thought that we only needed one embryo (in our hopes of adding it to our other 3). On the sixth day, the embryologist called to say that 5 made it to blastocyst and would be sent out for testing. FIVE!!! I remember collapsing on the bed, and Jeff and I just cried and hugged each other full of so much excitement and relief.
Two weeks after the embryos were sent out, we learned that we had the most amazing results yet. Three were normal. THREE!! Our best results yet! GOD is good!! The doctor informed us that we “could start building our family”.
97 shots
1 oncologist, 1 ovary removed, 1 cancer scare
4 scars
40+ acupuncture sessions
30+ blood draws (over 50 vials of blood)
3 egg retrievals
2 reproductive endocrinologists
2 therapists
25+ ultrasounds
oceans of tears
Every moment of pain seemed worth it to me because we could finally implant our embryo and bring our baby home.
I kept this song on repeat for weeks as a reminder that the worst was behind us now. In my moments of weakness Jeff would remind me that it was like we were swimming. We were not drowning, we just couldn’t see the island yet, and we had to keep treading water. I feel like we could finally start to see land. We made it through the storm, and I could start becoming who I was before.
“We have kept a light on through the trouble
Treaded water – in a sea of tears…
…If we can make it through the storm
And become who we were before
Promise me we’ll never look back
The worst is far behind us now
We’ll make it out of here somehow
Meet me in the aftermath
Oh, meet me in the aftermath”
While we now know we have 3 embryos waiting to come home, we have been advised that each one only offers a 50-70% chance of implanting, so we should continue to preserve my fertility now before my egg quality declines even more. Our personal goal is to have four embryos (we think that will give us the best chance of hopefully having 2 children), so we head into this cycle optimistic and hoping for just one more.
The week before injections begin, my brother came by to tell us that he and his girlfriend were pregnant. In the spirit of transparency, I felt the floor open up beneath me. (Note: Every pregnancy announcement stings, as it is a reminder that others dreams and prayers are being answered while we are being told to wait. It hurts. However, you can be happy for others while still being sad for yourself – just like those of you reading this with children may feel joy for yourself, and sadness for us). I would be lying if I said that it didn’t catch me off guard.
This announcement felt different though, as it was unexpected and close to home. During the season of waiting, you start to anticipate where announcements may come from in order to protect your heart. You know what weddings you attend and you guess who has been trying and where the “we are pregnant” moments could happen. Every time you see and/or hear from those you suspect, it almost feels like you are winding the wheel of a jack-in-the-box, just waiting for the “pregnancy bomb” to pop out at you. When you are able to anticipate the surprise, you can shield yourself from the shock. In this case, I did not see it coming and I wasn’t quite prepared.
When you start planning for a family, you also imagine all the experiences that come along with pregnancy (the fun of trying, the privacy of being able to conceive in a bedroom, the excitement of sharing the news with your husband after peeing on a stick, selecting baby names, the Facebook announcement, etc.). Infertility has stolen all of those things from us. There is no fun in IVF. There is no privacy (doctors, nurses, residents, and oncologists have seen more of my junk this year than my own husband), and after 2 years of no baby, it is pretty obvious that we are trying – even to those that we don’t confide in. There is nothing that I can tell Jeff that he doesn’t already know (although Jeff will try and convince me that calling the lab every day for embryo progress is just as exciting). Yet, in our waiting, I always looked forward to the moment that I got to tell our parents that they would be grandparents. As every other aspect of our family planning was stolen away from us, this seemed like the one thing left I could hold on to. I don’t know why, but I guess it was something that could resemble a “normal” pregnancy.
I was a zombie the next day, grieving yet another thing that infertility has stolen from us, and then I decided to go and talk to my parents. I went to their house and just cried. I hugged my father and I sobbed. At that moment, I realized that they too could be happy and sad at the same time. Happy for my brother and his girlfriend and happy to become grandparents, yet sad for my husband and I. I realized that although every baby was a blessing, this baby presented a unique situation to our family, and not for one minute did I ever want my sadness for myself to ruin a moment of joy for anyone else, especially my family. I went to talk to my brother’s girlfriend that night and we laughed, cried, and hugged our way through the conversation. She gave me grace for expressing my feelings, and I honestly do not know if there is another woman on this planet who could have handled the situation with as much respect, love, and maturity as she did. She truly is an amazing person, and I am so very thankful that she will be the mother of my niece/nephew.
I know that others who learned of my infertility and my brother’s pregnancy, felt uncomfortable asking me about it. However, the truth was that I was very excited to become an aunt, and I looked forward to having a baby in our family. When that day comes, I will love him/her with my whole heart. I pray (and I know my brother and his girlfriend pray too) that their baby will have a cousin someday soon.
“Face down in the desert now there’s a cage locked around my heart
I found a way to drop the keys where my failures were
Now my hands can’t reach that far
I ain’t made for a rivalry, I could never take the world alone
I know that in my weakness I am stronger
It’s your love that brings me home
Brother let me be your shelter
I’ll never leave you all alone
I can be the one you call
When you’re low
Brother let me be your fortress
When the night winds are driving on
Be the one to light the way
Bring you home
Brother let me be your shelter
Never leave you all alone
I can be the one you call When your feeling low”
Need to Breathe by Gavin Degraw and
IVF 3
The meds arrived and I was ready to go! I no longer needed Jeff to dismantle the boxes, because I was a badass and could do it myself! I am sick of this IVF roller coaster and I am ready for it to end.
225 Menopur, 225 Follistim, and Cetrotide.
My body responded well to this cycle and we had such high expectations. During the 2 weeks of stims, the ultrasounds indicated that I had 12 measurable follicles and my E2 level was 2193. They decided to have us “stim” 13 days, and then the HcG shot!
April 30th: 14 eggs! Even the doctor who is always so serious was playful with Jeff in making him guess how many.
It took a little longer than normal for my cycle to resume. Since it was the first one since my surgery, it was suggested that we skip that cycle and wait for the next one. My original Dr was back from her maternity leave but the new Dr suggested that we stick with her as she joked that she would have more time for us given that our old Dr. was busy with a newborn. We honestly liked both so we were fine with that.
The first night of shots coincided with the Patriots Superbowl and my 35th birthday.
While I was eager to finally be “doing something” and taking steps forward, the strong optimistic, hopeful woman who embraced the first IVF cycle was replaced with a terrified, exhausted, and sad girl. I was devastated that I was experiencing another trip around the sun without a baby. I went through the motions but every shot brought stinging, bloating, and tears. (picture by @infertilityillustrated)
Knowing that we were sending our embryos for genetic testing, and would have time off, Jeff booked a trip the week of retrieval (and my April school vacation) for Napa. Jeff was amazing at lifting my spirits by giving me something to look forward to while we awaited results. (If I havn’t mentioned it before, I am extremely grateful for the man that I married. He continues to amaze me with the love and support that he gives me each and every day. His strength is what keeps me going, especially during this IVF cycle.)
We made it through another 12 days of “stims”. This time my protocol consisted of 450 units of follistim, 75 Menopur, and Cetrotide.
The day of the egg retrieval the doctor on call (not one of my 2) told me that my body did not respond to the medication as well as they would have liked and he was not confident that we would have any embryos make it to day 5 for testing.
He advised me to start taking progesterone suppositories in the event that they had to do a day 3 transfer of an embryo. My heart sank. I have done my research and I know that the odds of a day 3 embryo leading to a viable pregnancy are slim compared to a day 5 transfer. This plan was the equivalent of a “Hail Mary”. I remember laying on the operating table and saying a prayer out loud for the Dr., anesthesiologist, embryologist, and several nurses to hear.
Once I was brought out into recovery, I looked down and my hand and saw that the Dr. had written the number 9! We had 9 eggs retrieved, this was such a confidence boost because the first cycle produced 10 eggs, which gave us 2 healthy embryos! We now had the belief that the same great results were possible! “Wont Back Down” was even playing on the radio on our drive home! What a sign!
The next day, we made the phone call to the lab and they informed us that only 6 eggs were mature and only 5 fertilized. Unfortunately, there was still a chance that we would have to take our chances of implanting on day 3. Replace joy with fear.
The night before our scheduled trip (Day 2), we were unsure whether we were going to be spending the next few days in Napa drinking wine, or staying home “PUPO” (pregnant until proven otherwise). We did our best to mentally prepare for either scenario. At 3:00pm, the doctor called to tell us that all 5 embryos were progressing so they were going to take our chances and allow them to grow to day 5. We left for our vacation full of excitement. We called the lab on Day 4 to check on their progress and all seemed to be growing ok. Although they were not quite ready on day 5, they were optimistic they would become blastocysts on day 6. We woke up to a phone call in Napa the next morning telling us that only 1 embryo made it to blastocyst. Knowing that the research indicates a 50% possibility of being normal, there was a 50% chance that the entire cycle could be a fail. Best case scenario, it was normal but we would still need to face the reality of doing a third IVF cycle. Defeat. I remember laying in the bed crying for a few extra hours that day and Jeff just hugged me. Eventually Jeff peeled me from the covers and we went to drink our sorrows away at several different wineries.
“There is no pain, you are receding.
A distant ships smoke on the horizon.
You are only coming through in waves.
Your lips move but I cant hear what you’re sayin’.
When I was a child I had a fever.
My hands felt just like two balloons.
Now I got that feeling once again.
I cant explain, you would not understand.
This is not how I am.
I have become comfortably numb.”
“Infertility is an emotional roller coaster.” I read this many times in my research but I could never have anticipated that the emotional pain would far exceed the physical pain.
During a cycle you feel excited, hopeful, and have the illusion of control as you are the one responsible for injecting medication (or in my case, my husband). As you lay on the table for egg retrieval, every ounce of that control disappears with each slow drip of anesthesia. You are completely helpless and any results that you have are a combination of science and God.
The waiting between cycles, or in this case between surgery, is AWFUL. There is absolutely nothing that you can do to start your family any quicker. You are helpless, and left only to “take it on faith”.
Jeff and I took a trip to Nashville with 2 of our dearest friends. This proved to be food for my soul as I belly-laughed the entire time and started to feel like myself again. Jeff also managed to book us an AirBnB in a sketchy neighborhood somewhere so that provided us with hours of entertainment.
I am so thankful for these friends and the way that they love and support us in the wait.
To prepare for surgery I was ordered to get FDA virals (6-8 vials of blood in the event that I will need a gestational surrogate) and sign a consent form authorizing the oncologist to remove my ovaries and/or perform a hysterectomy if he finds cancer. Tears fell down my cheeks as I signed that paperwork, and I was terrified that it could become my reality. However, we had to trust that they knew what they were doing. We were scared, but faithful.
The day of surgery, Jeff did everything he could to keep a smile on my face. (including taking silly snapchats)
I came out of surgery and the Dr. informed me that in removing the cyst, he also had to remove my right ovary because the cyst had taken over and there were no viable eggs coming from that side. Could that be the reason for my diminished reserve?
The pain after the surgery was intense. Every time I moved, it felt like my stomach was ripping apart. I had to sleep on the downstairs recliner for about a week and Jeff was the perfect nurse. During the healing process, I watched the entire season of Mad Men (great show!).
What seemed like an eternity, was actually only two weeks that we had to wait for the biopsy results.
Benign! (Thank God!) We left the appointment crying happy tears and hugging in the hallway.
It took me about 3 full weeks to completely heal from the surgery and begin the journey towards IVF #2.
“The waiting is the hardest part
Every day you see one more card
You take it on faith, you take it to the heart
The waiting is the hardest part”
The box of medication arrived and my husband was amazing enough to disassemble it while I was at work. He knew that seeing the size of the box would intimidate me, and if he could separate the meds without me present, the shots would not seem so daunting. I bought bandaids, gauze, alcohol wipes, travel pouches, and ziplock bags to store the needles. I made calendars and visuals in order to help keep organized and avoid any mistakes. This is not like missing a daily vitamin. One small error could cost you eggs, and essentially a baby. I was trying to maintain the minimal amount of control that I had. I was able to learn about one person I knew who had gone through IVF and I reached out to her with some questions to help prepare.
Since I did not know anyone else who had experienced IVF, I was desperate to find others who could relate. I started looking up hashtags on Instagram and discovered all sorts of women who were in similar situations as me. It was amazing to connect with others who understood even a fraction of what we were going through.
Jeff agreed to administer all the shots, and he rearranged his travel schedule to accommodate this. We were ready to start the process of what building our family would look like for us. The first night was here and I set an alarm, iced the area, had my ziplock full of items, and placed the buzzy bee (a gift from a friend) next to the spot that was targeted for injection. We put Tom Petty “Won’t Back Down” on in the background and I braced myself. Jeff stuck me and as he pulled away, he cried. He hated the fact that I had to endure needles; that I had to face one of my greatest fears; the one thing that I said I would never do. I surprised myself. No tears. I was brave. Not because I found some kind of inner strength but because I didn’t have any other choice.
My protocol included 375 follistim at night (which was injected using a pen and sometimes meant 2 needles for 1 dose of medication). After a few nights, we added in 75 menopur and then a shot of cetrotide in the mornings. This meant that some days I had 4 needles. Bloodwork and ultrasounds occur every other day before work, and they monitor your follicles until they get to a certain size.
During these 12 days of “stims” we were thrown a few curveballs.
– We had a power outage, and it threw our routine out the window! No ice pack to numb the area beforehand, and we were forced to keep the medication in a cooler!
-We had a rehearsal dinner one night, and did the shot in the parking lot of a restaurant. We laughed and said that we hope no one saw us and thought we were drug addicts!
-We went to a wedding and I had to call the coordinator ahead of time and ask for a private space to inject needles, other than the bridal suite where anyone could come in. She was very kind and noted a locker room we could use. When that day came, my ovaries were enlarged with super eggs, so the dress was a little snug. I wore spanx (which proved later to be difficult to have on when you have to have your husband inject 3 needles in your stomach.) I also had severe back pain that day.
Most women “stim” with needles for 8-10 days and I take 12…figures. After those 12 days, we were directed to administer a trigger shot of HcG at a precise time at night, and then exactly 36 hours later your retrieval is scheduled. My Dr. was now out on maternity leave and I was switched over to a new Dr.
November 12th: We show up super early for the egg retrieval and sign in. They wish you luck and send you upstairs in the next waiting room. A nurse comes to greet me and tells Jeff to stay until he is called to “do his part”. I am brought to a small room where they check height, weight, prep for the anesthesia, and sign consent forms. Once the OR is ready for me, they walk me in and I hop on the table. I lay awake as the team positions my legs and I slowly drift off, anxious about how many eggs they will collect.
When I awake, I am being wheeled into the post-op waiting area. The nurses are incredibly kind and offer me crackers and juice. 10 eggs. Completely surprising for a diagnosis of diminished ovarian reserve! The next day the lab calls to say that 9 eggs were mature and 9 fertilized! That was egg-cellent news! (see what I did there?!) The next few days are stressful because you want to make sure the fertilized eggs grow into blastocysts. (You can call on days 2 and 3, but not 4.) Each day we call the lab and hold our breath to hear how they are doing. On the fifth day, we had only 1 blastocyst, but they would see how the others make out with one extra day. On the sixth and final day, we had 2 more blastocysts! That meant that three embryos would be sent out for testing. (Some couples would just implant these embryos on this day, or others might just freeze them and move straight to a frozen transfer. However, since we have had miscarriages, they recommended sending them out for Pre-Genetic Screening (PGS). 75% of miscarriages are caused by chromosomal abnormalities. If they can test our embryos ahead of time to make sure that they have 23 chromosomes from Jeff, and 23 from me, then we have a better chance of them implanting and leading to a pregnancy.)
More waiting….On November 30th, we received a phone call notifying us of the results: 2 out of 3 were chromosomally normal. This was more than they had expected for someone with dismissed ovarian reserve. However, the RE noted that during the procedure, she did not like the look of the cyst and advised us that we should have it taken out immediately. We headed back to the oncologist, and booked my surgery for the week of Christmas vacation (so that I am taking out as little days as possible from work). We wait, and continue to pray that the cyst will be benign. We take a deep breath and put all of our hope and faith in God’s plan.
Jesus Take the Wheel by Carrie Underwood
“Jesus, take the wheel
Take it from my hands
‘Cause I can’t do this on my own
I’m letting go
So give me one more chance
And save me from this road I’m on
Jesus, take the wheel.”
As I continued to be angry with, and pull away from God, Jeff insisted that we look towards him. We began our faithful weekly ritual of attending mass and praying for answers. Each week I begged for the answer to the question: “Why me?” One week I prayed for a sign of how to proceed. We desperately wanted to start a family but I have a huge fear of needles and I am terrified and confused as to how things changed so quickly for us. At one point on this path I told Jeff “I will do anything but needles to build our family”.
While pulling out of the parking lot that Sunday morning, we felt God was giving us a sign. The song “Won’t Back Down” was on the radio and we instantly knew what we had to do. I struggled with going down the path of IVF, knowing that it was against the beliefs of the church. Yet my mind kept returning to a story that I once heard:
A man was on a roof while the town was flooding. He prayed for God to save him. A small boat came by and a passerby told him to get in. He declined and said that God would save him. Another boat came and he declined. The flood rose, the man died and when he asked him why he didn’t save him, God said, “I sent three boats.”
Maybe IVF was our boat. We decided this would be our next step. I can manage one cycle with a few shots (with Jeff injecting them!), how hard could it be!? If we want a family, this is what I have to do.
In an attempt to let a few people in on our secret, we would mention IVF and the majority of responses were comments about excitement, twins, and knowing others who had success on the first try. Jeff and I were hopeful that this was the answer to our prayers and we could finally start our family.
While returning to the fertility clinic to sign paperwork, the Dr. said that I should have an MRI done of my dermoid cyst to rule out any potential complications. I scheduled an appointment the following week, and awaited the results. I was leaving work one day as I got the phone call from the doctor herself. She indicated that the MRI results concluded it was not a dermoid cyst on my ovary, and they could not determine what the mass was. She referred me to the Woman and Infants Oncology department. This cycle of IVF was put on hold as I had to wait for an appointment, and agonize about what this meant for my body and my health.
After weeks of re-playing different scenarios in our heads, my appointment finally came. Insert our male oncologist and his male intern. When they asked me to strip down, Jeff said “Is it more awkward if stay in the room while 2 guys look at my wife or if I stand in the hallway”. Valid point Jeff. 🙂
After the visit, my scans and blood work was sent for analysis to the tumor board. My doctor said that they reviewed the pathology and that they are also unsure what it could be. Although probably unlikely, the cyst could be or has the potential to become cancerous so it needs to come out prior to having a baby. We mentioned our IVF plan and he determined that preserving my fertility through egg retrieval was a good idea because in the event that it was cancer, he would do a full hysterectomy and I would lose all reproductive potential. Any anxiety that we had about IVF was now replaced with pure fear about what kind of mass was on my ovary.
Back to the fertility clinic – We meet with the nursing staff to create our IVF plan, sign consent forms, and learn how to order and inject medication. We have phone consults scheduled with a financial coordinator about payment options. (more on the financial aspect later)
Since I am a bridesmaid in an upcoming wedding, I need to delay my start date by taking an extra week of medication. There is a possibility that my egg retrieval would fall on the date of the wedding and what possible excuse could I offer up for skipping such an important day. Postponing the process even more was frustrating but with the help of Tom Petty, we were motivated to stand our ground and not back down.
“Well, I won’t back down
No, I won’t back down
You can stand me up at the gates of hell
But I won’t back down
No, I’ll stand my ground
Won’t be turned around
And I’ll keep this world from draggin’ me down
Gonna stand my ground
And I won’t back down
Hey Baby, there ain’t no easy way out”
The cruise was amazing, and provided temporary relief from the pain, frustration and stress of our first year of marriage. Unfortunately, we were unsuccessful in our one last attempt to conceive naturally before seeking fertility treatments.
My first appointment with the reproductive endocrinologist was intimidating, as I had to go alone. Jeff was in another state on a work trip and I was left to navigate the drive, the building, and this whole new world independently. My doctor was young, kind, and seemed like she was on a mission to help find answers for me. She ordered more bloodwork, urine samples, and another ultrasound for me, as well as future blood work and tests for Jeff. We also scheduled a follow up appointment to discuss the results. (When she stood up to see me out, I noticed that she was in her third trimester of pregnancy…oh the irony.)
A few weeks went by and the follow up appointment was here. I was so thankful that Jeff was able to attend and walking in, we were confident that she would offer up the same suggestion of clomid (for low progesterone) that my Gyno did. We were just excited that we would have someone who would monitor my body’s reaction to it more closely. However, the information that I was forced to ingest after sitting down took my breath away.
Diminished ovarian reserve.
Do not take clomid, do not try IUI, go straight to IVF.
At the ripe old age of 34, I was told that my eggs were lacking in quantity and/or quality.
In that moment, in that chair, my womanhood was given a death sentence. I could not speak, and I could barely listen as my husband asked all the questions. She noted that while we could continue and possibly be successful trying naturally, it could take years. The best course of action for starting our family was IVF.
She clearly saw the pain and shock in my eyes and suggested that we go home to process the diagnosis and decide if we wanted to proceed.
At this time, our house was under construction and we did not even have the opportunity to mourn this news in private. The days that followed involved painting a smile on my face in front of the construction crew each morning as I walked to my parents house, up the stairs to my childhood bedroom, and face planted on a spare bed. I spent the majority of my days laying in that bed, pleading with God to give me answers. I was ashamed, embarrassed, and have never felt more alone in my life. I did not feel that there was anyone that I could share this with, as no one could possibly understand. No one that I know has ever been through infertility. In fact, everyone of my friends conceived on their honeymoon or within 8 months. I truly felt so alone.
At times when I attempted to drop breadcrumbs of information to test the waters of sensitivity, it was met with platitudes or brushed off with comments like “just relax”, “it takes time”, “have more sex”, “go on vacation”, or “I know how you feel, it took us 8 months”. Although well intentioned, these comments dismissed my pain and caused me to put up more walls.
One of my loneliest days (which came only days after my diagnosis) was spent laying on the beach at a bachelorette party listening to moms – younger than me – talk about the plans they had for their second child. They talked about the exact month they desired to conceive and deliver, and the plans of the vasectomy that would follow because two kids “was enough”. All I could do was walk to the water’s edge and stare off to the skyline as the tears rolled down my checks. I was jealous and bitter of their blissful ignorance. I had that once and I wanted it back.
“Don’t go looking for the reasons
Don’t go asking Jesus why
We’re not meant to know the answers
They belong to the by and by
They belong to the by and by”
Jeff:
asked his doctor for testing he gave him a script for 3 samples (which we later find out was not needed, 1 is standard so we have many laughs about this): all normal
Kristy:
Day 3 bloodwork: normal
HSG: normal (excruciatingly painful-some women report it feels like a very bad period, and others report pain. There really is no rhyme or reason as to why, but in my case it was painful.)
Day 21 blood work: slightly low progesterone but basically normal.
The nurse calls to inform me that they will put me on clomid to force ovulation and that should do the trick. I began to do my own research and learned that while clomid is the first action step for infertility and provides success for many couples, it can be problematic to women with ovarian cysts. Since I have a dermoid cyst that is 5cm, the size that could possibly warrant removal, there is a chance that the medication could cause the cyst to twist, torsion, and rupture. This scenario would prove to be detrimental to my reproductive potential so I am hesitant to take the medication if my ovaries can’t be closely monitored during the cycle.
We decided to try naturally for one more cycle as we planned a cruise to Bermuda next month to celebrate our one year anniversary (the only beach location we could come up with that was Zika free). We thought this was a much needed distraction from the highs and lows of infertility that we were suddenly thrown into. Upon our return, we decided we would seek a fertility clinic in order to provide us with more monitoring and support while experimenting with this suggested medication. When we return from this cruise, we will be rested, recharged, and ready!
“Skies are crying, I am watching
Catching teardrops in my hands
Only silence, as it’s ending
Like we never had a chance
Do you have to make me feel like
There’s nothing left of me?
You can take everything I have
You can break everything I am
Like I’m made of glass
Like I’m made of paper
Go on and try to tear me down
I will be rising from the ground
Like a skyscraper, like a skyscraper”
(picture by @infertilityillustrated)
breakdown and rally 