Been here before

Transfer day. A day that everyone going through IVF/FET waits for with baited breath. Since my last miscarriage, I haven't really allowed myself to think about this day. Partly because I've been grieving the loss of my last pregnancy. Partly because I've been scared to think there could be a different outcome. Over the weekend, both Grey and I have struggled with finding hope for the cycle; seeing a positive outcome. Grey especially has had a hard time, since a co-worker recently gave birth and now his workspace is filled with images of her and her new daughter. Happy for the co-worker, but in pain from the reminder of what we've lost.

On Sunday, a phone conversation with MissConception and reading Dandelion Breeze's recent post, snapped me back to reality. On a side-note, if you haven't already, go send these women some love. The news of Dandelion Breeze's most recent IVF/PGD cycle not working is heartbreaking. MissConception is still working through grief from the loss of M&A while trying to embrace her little Raspberry.  Both of these women are amazing and inspiring individuals, but they could use the extra TLC right now.

What I was reminded of (directly from MissConception, too) was that despite the grief of loss, there can be hope. Dandelion Breeze's suggestion of finding non-traditional therapies reminded me that despite the fact that nothing is really changing during this FET on the medical end, there have been lots of chances for this cycle. I started seeing Dee regularly to work through my grief. Grey and I started putting together our adoption plan. I started acupuncture (which I love!!!). This cycle is during summer break, meaning I'm a bit more relaxed. And Grey and I are on the same page. Even though we are both struggling, we are struggling together.

The end result of all of this was the realization that I needed to lower my guard and openly admit some things. I can't be continually steeling myself for the worst, as it will negate any possible good from coming from all of this. So Monday evening, I set out to prepare for this FET.

I started by sitting down and making a list of things I hope for. This may sound silly, but I've spent a lot of time focusing on what I fear. Fear of a BFN or another miscarriage. Fear of never being able to carry a child to term. Not once since April have I allowed myself to be hopeful for this cycle.

The truth is, I want this cycle to work. As much as we've been preparing for adoption (a route we now know we will be taking no matter what), I want to carry Grey's child. I want my embryos to survive the thaw and to become pregnant, but I want more than a BFP. I want to see a heartbeat, to watch my belly grow, to have my husband hold this body while it is carrying his child and ultimately to see a baby with Grey's eyes and my nose.

In addition, I started doing things to help my body prepare. I quit caffeine when I started the Crinone (for some strange reason, progesterone makes being caffeine-free easier for me), I started the Circle+Bloom program again, I've been loading up on water to counter the effects of the Doxycyclin and I bought a pineapple. Actually, I bought two. Grey used the first one to make Pineapple stir-fry. I have no idea if pineapple actually helps with implantation, but pineapple is in season so it can't hurt.

I've also been trying to distract myself. Reading has helped with this and I need to pick up my knitting today. The night before the FET, I made pies. Probably not the best activity at 10 pm the night before FET, but I needed a distraction.

Strawberry Rhubarb with a buttermilk pie crust

And finally, I packed Polaris. I no longer care what people think about me carrying this bear.

My security blanket

Tuesday was a packed day. My first acupuncture appointment was at 9 am, so Grey and I were up early to make sure I had everything that I would need for the day. Following the appointment, which helped relax me like never before, we stopped by a local French bakery to pick up some tarts for the clinic staff. After working with all of them for so long, I figured we were long overdue for a thank you gift.

And then it was time to go downstairs to prep for the transfer.

Socks from Tami-Scrabble at Submerged. Everyone got a kick out of them

Finally, the embryologist was ready with her report. And to my astonishment, we learned that our two 3AB embryos had survived the thaw and one had been upgraded! So we were transferring a 4AA and 3BB.
*No photos this time. The University decided the clinic does not need a camera to photograph embryos.


The rest of the day was spent promoting implantation. Following the second acupuncture appointment which was immediately after the transfer (and which I managed to sleep through), I spent the rest of the day on the couch trying to out-sleep my nurses.

Movement is not an option

Today I'm home again, taking it easy. Despite everything else I *should* be doing, MissConception words of wisdom of "being a Mommy to these snowbabies" has been foremost on my mind. And with the news that they managed to survive despite the odds, I'm taking it as a sign that I need to do my part and give them every possible chance.

Somehow, someway, I'm finding hope again. Despite the fact that we've been here before, I'm praying for a different outcome.

Bracing for impact

Many years ago, I was a moderately active rock climber. Here in the Pacific Northwest, we are lucky to have a number of areas within driving distance, so the summers were spent traveling to the various climbing areas, camping and scaling as many of the routes as we could in a day. Though there were aspects of the sport I still don't like (the gorilla nature of many of the younger guys and the lackadaisical attitude from many of the new climbers about learning proper technique; both of which lead to witnessing many incidents that would classify as Darwin Awards), there were parts I loved: the community, the need for communication and teamwork and the importance of patience.

The thing is with rock climbing, if you stay with it long enough, at some point you will end up being hurt if not killed. A twist of an ankle can result in not only a strained ankle but also potentially a fall. And one injury or very close-call can end it all, which it did for me. Following my accident in 2009, I've put away my climbing shoes. Initially it made sense: Grey and I were starting our journey to expand our family. Considering there is no known history of infertility in my family, we naively assumed that this would be the easy part, hence rock climbing no longer fit into the equation. But as time has gone on and now, 2.5 yrs later with multiple BFNs, three failed medicated IUIs, IVF, FET and 2 miscarriages, I'm beginning to regret the decision to give up an activity that I loved all in pursuit of a baby.

Some of you may suggest getting back on the rock, but that's not the point of this post. What I want to focus on instead is the correlation I can draw between rock climbing and our IF journey. Especially considering the events of this past week.

Ladies and gentlemen, Grey and I have not been doing well. The emotional rollercoaster is in full swing here and both Grey and I have been riding it. This past Tuesday, Grey and I went back to our clinic for our baseline for FET #2. I've talked before how much I love my clinic, as the staff and REs are absolutely amazing. And the appointment went smoothly: both ovaries are quiet, lining measures at 10.1 mm and E2 levels at 396. Still, the second I walked into the waiting area, I knew I did not want to be there. That as much as I have grown to know and love each of the providers there, this place has become one associated with so much pain. And so I did what any grief-striken person would do: I sobbed like a baby. I cried for all the failure, cried so my lost children, cried for having to do this all over again. And I cried because I fear losing the dream of pregnancy and biological children. And when I looked up, I found Grey crying too.

Despite the good news from the appointment, the arrival of the new flooring (which has completely transformed our condo from a low-end rental to a place that civilized humans would actually want to live in) and the optimism from all those around us, both Grey and I are afraid of what is to come. Tuesday has a number of hurdles all it's own as our embryos need to survive the thaw and determining how many will be fit for transfer. Then there's the 2ww, ending with three different outcomes: BFN, BFP or miscarriage. And though I now know it's possible to become pregnant, I also have never gotten past the 5 week mark nor seen a heartbeat.

In a strange way, our attempt at fertility treatments has become a climbing problem.  In the climbing world, there are routes where the most difficult portion of the climb or "crux" exists not at the top of the route, but at the beginning. Initially, we were having problems becoming pregnant, so it was assumed that this was our crux. Then there were the miscarriages, with us running into an unexpected crux. And with those loses came the sudden drop back into pain and despair, feeling the full weight from the impact of hitting the ground. The frustrating part of this is that there is no one that has an explanation for how to get past this point. And so we sit at the bottom of the problem, tending our wounds while trying to map out the moves that need to be done to get through.

There's a lot hanging on this FET. Failure will not instantly kill us, as many are quick to point out, but it will cause more harm than many are willing to admit. Though Grey and I are communicating, both of us are grieving, which is evident in our mannerisms and our isolating ourselves from others. Even blogging has become difficult and I've found I'm distancing myself more and more from the community, which I have no explanation of other than I feel defeated. There's also the reminder that even if all of this works out, we are both forever changed. Finding our children, be it through pregnancy or adoption, will no longer revert us back to the state we were in 2.5 yrs ago; something family and friends naive to this process are hoping for. Instead, we are hardened to the world and problems of those who easily obtain what we've broken ourselves over. And it scares both of us.

But not moving forward isn't an option. To put all of this on hold in hopes of "getting to a better place" is simply putting off the inevitable, increasing our fears of the outcome. To not move forward means more madness, increased fear and ultimately regret. In the end, we are picking the lesser of two evils, running full speed into a vortex vs. freezing to death in this IF induced winter. At least with the vortex, there is the hope of coming out on the other side. So, we try again, the entire time being aware that we once again may have to brace for impact.

Tuesday is coming. And with it the knowledge that once again we will begin a journey in a very similar fashion with the hopes of a different outcome. Each hold has become second nature and the first bolt is in sight. Now, it's just a matter of reaching it and locating the second one.

The untelling

How does one find the strength to go on in the midst of so much pain? When life is so hard?

HcG levels dropped from 8225 on Friday to 1293. Diagnosis is complete miscarriage. My body has killed my babies.

We're both in shock from the destruction from this storm. But the numbness will wear off soon and we will once again be left with our grief.

For now, all I want is sleep.

Rules of Engagment?

My fertility clinic is unusual. It's a relatively young practice embedded in a women's health care center. The waiting area is filled with women from all walks of life at various stages in their reproductive life. Because of this, the waiting area is split into 2 parts: the part I and my fellow IFers inhabit is also where older patients waiting for mammographies sit. Across the way is the OB/GYN area, filled with expecting mothers and young women. Over time, the receptionists have gotten better about putting up dividers and trying to keep the two separate. Still, it's impossible not to run into large bellies and infants. Thankfully, this is the only minus of the place, so I've learned over time to breathe, keep my eyes lowered and to bring an iPod.

There was one incident, though, that could not be blocked out.

Last September, following our third and final IUI, Grey and I were waiting to meet with Dr. Optimism to discuss IVF. Our wait was longer than usual, as things were running behind schedule. As I was settling into a distracted state, I heard a loud bang followed by loud and angry shhhing. Emerging from the other side was a woman with her 7 children. Her angrily scolding them for being "bad" and shhing to quiet them. The whole time, the kids ignored her, hitting one another, crying loudly and creating a scene. As she approached reception, an older woman sighed and said something along the lines of I-understand-how-hard-you-have-it-because-I-came-from-a-large-family-too. The mother made a huge gesture of rolling her eyes and complaining about how difficult is was to parent such a large family, talking about how her husband came from a family with 11 kids (BTW: husband is no where is sight). It was then that the eldest stopped hitting his younger brothers with a plastic water bottle, turned and looked at the woman. Smiling sweetly, he announced "my daddy wanted 11 children."

Yeah. I had the same reaction

The past couple of days, I've been thinking more and more about that incident. Especially in light of the discussion going on in many of the healing salons. About how I never want to be that selfish, both to my children but also by exposing others struggling to expand their family to any pain.

Infertility is an awful disease that is poorly understood by the general populous. Because of this, IFers feel like outsiders while battling to expand their families. Finding this community is a lifesaver for many, giving women the opportunity to share their journeys and connect with others.

So what happens when you get a BFP?

Sunday, as we made our way in the second beta, my mind became filled with imagines from the past 2 years. Memories of those dark moments, where it seemed everyone around me was announcing their pregnancies. Feelings of isolation and loneliness during the months of negative results. And jealousy of women who were able to conceive without a second thought. Following our miscarriage in January, Grey and I struggled with just being a part of life. No one, outside of those who had lived through IF and a few close friends and family members, understood.

The results from Friday and Sunday haven't changed my mind-set. Despite having two excellent betas, I not all giddy and announcing to the world that I was successful able to POAS; I'm still holding my breath and proceeding cautiously. Because I know all too well that it can end.

My other problem is that this news comes on the heels of learning about failed cycles and miscarriages for fellow bloggers. Too much heartbreak for women I care about and all of whom do not deserve this pain. And if I could, I would wave my magic wand and make it so that every woman on this journey was pregnant with the guarantee that it would go smoothly resulting in a baby to take home.

So where does this leave me? Well, I'm still trying to figure that out. I plan on continuing to blog, focusing on infertility. Because I am infertile and I know that infertility is now part of my identity. But as I progress through this journey, no matter the outcome, I know that I will need to write about it to some extent. Hence, I'm at a loss. How can I proceed without hurting those I care about?

This is where I open it up to all of you. In hopes of gleaning some knowledge and insight from this community. You've taught me so much in such a short period of time, I know that I won't be disappointed.

Brief update on this end: Our first ultrasound is a week from Thursday. As many have suggested in the comments, the "T" word has been dropped a lot by the REs and their team. What will be will be.

Quick update

Fatigue has set in and I'm finding it difficult to do the most basic of tasks. Don't get me wrong, I'm so happy to have symptoms. I'm just adjusting.

I had my second beta today. Dr. Optimism called with the results: Beta #2 = 808. One of the nurses from my clinic will contact me tomorrow for the next step. In the meantime, I'm filling my days with distraction.  I'll write as I know more.

I wanted to thank all of you for your comments yesterday. Everyone is treasured and greatly appreciated. This community is amazing. And I'm beyond lucky to have your support.

Tornadoes

Growing up in tornado alley, I learned how powerful and destructive these storms can be. The summer in the midwest is tornado season, with sudden shifts in temperature giving reason to watch the skies. As a small child, prior to understanding what they were, I remember being afraid of these monsters as I was convinced they would crawl out of the sky and gobble me whole. As I grew, I learned how to protect myself from these threats. And then later on as a teenager, while working as a lifeguard, I became attune to the signs and symptoms of these storms: high temperatures forecasting thunderstorms, sudden shifts in temperature, hail, the sky turning green and even how to read the clouds. Though I've never seen a tornado, I have seen funnel clouds and seen the aftermath of them touching down. The damage ranging from bits of siding being removed from a house to streets being torn apart.

The thing about tornadoes is that after a period of living in an area that is primed to have them, you begin to learn ways to cope. Sure, the fear certainly exists (I remember accusing a friend of going on a "suicide mission" when he insisted on driving even though the sirens were blowing), but after awhile you learn that even if the worst happens, as long as you protect yourself, you'll rebuild and survive. Part of that protection meant fortifying your house, knowing which areas were unsafe when the weather shifted, finding cover and staying clear of glass. The other part involved being prepared, having a plan and not losing your cool.

Infertility is similar. While living in the land of IF, you learn through the help of others as well as trial and error how to survive. When bad news hits like a tornado, you learn to protect yourself so you are not mortally wounded. Sometimes the tornadoes catch us off guard and we are greatly hurt. But with help and time, we rebuild and heal. And we learn how to fortify with the hope that the next storm won't yield as much damage.

In December, following our first IVF cycle, Grey and I let our guard down. With the news of our first ever BFP, we began to relax and look towards the future. The news on January 1st was a class 5 tornado that surprised both of us, destroying everything in it's path. Following the confirmation that I had indeed miscarried, we began to pick through the rubble, hoping to find something that could be salvaged. Our wounds from those couple of weeks are still not completely healed and will definitely result in some lovely scars, but we are healing and have found moments to treasure from the cycle in December. In addition, we still had 6 embryos and the doctors reassured us that they still had hope. And so, cautiously, we made plans to try again, fortifying ourselves to another tornado.

Today was my first beta. The day started with signs of a storm, as my clinic was suffering a brown out and couldn't perform basic services. We were shuttled off to the main hospital for the blood-draw, performed by a new phlebotomist who was so very nervous he would hurt me (he did a wonderful job and I made sure to tell him so) and then began a process of trying to figure out where I could pick up my prescription for more Crinone if the test came back positive. What should have taken us only 20 minutes took 1 1/2 hours. At one point I looked at Grey and reasoned that if everything was going so wrong, maybe it was a good sign. After all, the last time everything went so well and we lost everything. Maybe the Universe decided this part of the process was to be our storm.

Somehow I made it to work in time to give lecture and then went off to lab meeting. All the time thinking that the later they called, the more likely it was that this cycle was a flop.

At 1:30 pm the nurse from my clinic called. She started taking about instructions for Sunday when I stopped her to ask her the result.

Nurse E: "Wait a minute, I thought Dr. Optimism had called you"

Me: "Nope. So what's the number."

Nurse E: "Well, I'm not suppose to tell you. That's Dr. Optimism's job. But I will say this . . . it's good"

Me: "How good?"

Nurse E: " Like beta = 306 good"

Cue uncontrollable laughter.

I did get a chance to speak with Dr. Optimism about the number (loss of power for 4 hours tends to royally screw up a work day) and she's really happy and optimistic. Still Grey and I are cautious.

We're cautious because we've been here before and been so greatly hurt.

And we're cautious because we are not longer naive. We now know first hand that pregnancy does NOT equal a baby. That all of this can all be taken away. That we are still in the middle of tornado season and it can destroy everything we've worked so hard for.

Tonight I am happy, but I am also nervous. Because of this, I'm staying close to my cave, refusing to think too far into the future.

Beta #2 is on Sunday. In the meantime, I'm watching the skies for funnel clouds.

Going crazy from waiting

Waiting makes me neurotic. And being neurotic makes waiting hard. So I figured instead I'd share a song that helps pass the time. One of my favorites from Hedwig and the Angry Inch.

Fighting fear

I haven't been sleeping well. The past couple of nights have been filled with strange dreams, none of which have been pleasant. Last night's was being in a room filled with babies and pregnant women. All of them chatting about birthing, diapers, toys and the wonders of motherhood. Drowning would have been far more pleasant.

Because of these dreams, mornings have become a difficult time. Monday, after confessing to Grey that I was struggling, I spent the 45 minute drive to work in tears and silence, as I was afraid the radio would trigger a full meltdown. This morning wasn't much better.

The thing that has helped calm me is looking at past blog posts from my first IVF cycle. I'm seeing patterns, which has been helpful. And usually as the day goes on, I've somehow managed to come to a more rational state (yay rational mind).

But the fear remains. The fear of Friday's results.

Mel had a post recently that helped me reset during Monday morning. She talked about the importance of distinguishing pain from intensity and how that line is very personal. She also brought up an incredibly important point of how powerful breathing is during intense times. After reading her post and meditating on it, I realized that what I'm dealing with is intensity. FET/IVF is intense! But where the pain comes is with the anticipation of failure.

Don't get me wrong, if Friday's results are negative I will be crushed. I will cry, scream, possibly break stuff and most certainly drink. But I also know that I will begin to heal. What's hard right now is the fear of that negative beta. Just as the fear of never holding my children brings me to my knees.

So, I'm fighting fear. Fighting it with all I've got. Some moments are better than others, with me breathing the whole way, but the point is I'm still fighting.

Now I just need a night without dreams of failure.

Acts of self-preservation

It's no secret that IVF gets a bad rap. Just mentioning those three letters to the rest of the world will launch the average person into a mini diatribe. During our first IVF cycle, I had complete strangers lecture me on how selfish I'm being to undergo such a procedure while "millions of unwanted children need good homes," all the while making it clear they are clueless about adoption. I had people with medical training warn me that it was likely I would end up with multiples from the procedure (never mind the fact we only transferred 2 embryos). And I've had people out right tell me that I'm hurting my children because I'm undergoing this procedure, because "we don't know the consequences of THOSE drugs."

Because of the backlash, Grey and I have been quiet with this FET cycle. Family, close friends and coworkers know what we are currently undertaking. But unlike last time, I don't feel the need to educate the general public about this process. Mainly because I'm still raw from last time. Mainly because I don't care what they think.

But I'm noticing the same thing from Grey. He's been quiet this cycle. Sure he's been supportive, but it's noticeable how cautious he is with talking about our snowbabies. It's clear both of us are scared. Scared of the tidal wave of pain that could come. And so we are both steeling ourselves for that moment, bracing for impact.

Because of this fear, I've spent the past few days looking for distraction. Friday morning, I wandered over to the beach and spent time walking along the water. I was thankful for the sun, as the few days before were cold and windy. A good dose of vitamin D always helps my mood.

St. Patrick's Day was spent with friends, passing the time talking about life, traveling and the perils of cheap bourbon. 

But mainly I've been meditating and knitting. I dug out the Circle + Bloom program I used during my first IVF cycle and have been listening 1-2 times a day as a way to connect with the embryos in hopes that they can feel the love I'm sending them. And when I can't do that anymore, I knit. Knit to keep my hands and mind busy. Knit to block out all the negative thoughts.

What I realized this morning, following a particularly tough meditation session, is that all of this comes down to one thing: self-preservation. I don't know what the outcome of this cycle will be, but I'm determined not to jinx it by spending the next week in a pit of despair. But I also can't allow my hopes to be high either. I learned that lesson a long time ago about how damaging disappointment can be. I've crawled back into my cave, waiting with my back to the wall for the storm.

Self-preservation is a skill many IFers will master. For us, it becomes a ritual. Each of us will develop habits or patterns for dealing with disappointment, fear or grief. As I read different blogs, I've found that those each act is different, a common theme emerges. Distraction and searching for signs of hope. Distraction comes in many forms, be it exercise, a mini-vacation, work, time with friends/family, volunteering or crafting, just to name a few. The search for signs usually comes from searching the blogosphere or internet, looking for cases similar to our own or stories from others who have traveled a similar path and now have a happy ending. We search for information, hoping for something that will help us turn the corner and find our happy ending.

This cycle has been laced with self-preservation. From the beginning, I've spent a lot of time steeling myself for any bad news, putting into place distractions along the way. Even now, as I look at the photo of the embryos inside me, it's hard to believe that any of this is real. That it's not a dream. Hence I refuse to analyze ever twinge or pang and I'm denying anxiety access. 

Today is 4dp5dt. Five more days to go. Just enough time to fortify my cave. 

Transfer Day, the sequel

Today is 1dp5dt. I apologize for not posting sooner, but my body decided to follow the RE's instructions and I ended up sleeping for most of the day. I'e read all of your comments and emails, so thank you for the support. Today I'm feeling a bit more awake, but the events from yesterday feel like a dream.

With my first IVF cycle, I remember being very anxious. I was anxious about the suppression check, anxious about not growing follicles, anxious about not getting good quality eggs, anxious about fertilization, anxious about embryos surviving, anxious about the cycle failing and anxious about being anxious. This time around, I've been calmer. Partly because we have snowbabies. But also because I'm tired of the anxiety. Being anxious is exhausting.

Yesterday, I woke up at 7am, greeted by these two.

As you can see, food is the most important thing at 7 am.

I then spent the morning finishing a few more things on my list, knowing full well that I was going to be confined to the couch later and nothing productive was going to be done. Finally, Grey and I traveld to the clinic with me holding my breath the whole way.

Upon arrival to the clinic, I had a flash back to the first transfer day. I remember waiting patiently for Dr. Optimism, wandering down a hallway I hadn't noticed before and finally seeing images of my embryos. I remember marveling at how beautiful they were, putting out the ICM and being surprised that 2 were getting ready to hatch. I had seen textbook images of embryos, but never ones as clear as these and at that moment I was so proud of them. Outside of me needing to fill my bladder more, the transfer was painless and quick.

This time was very similar. Dr. Practical was in charge of the transfer and the wait was a lot shorter. This was fortunate for me, as my bladder was full. So full that everyone in the room had a good chuckle. The rest of the experience was the same, with the transfer only taking 15 minutes and me then spending an extra 20 relaxing and allowing these two a chance to orient to their new home. Both Grey and me marveling how it felt like December all over again.

But it wasn't. Unlike last time, I wasn't recovering from retrieval, I wasn't dealing with a lot of unknowns, Grey and I knew exactly where to go and what to ask for. And, most importantly, we got pictures of these:

Two beautiful 5 day blastocytes. The one on the right is 5AA, the one on the left is 5BB.

Dr. Practical handed Grey the cover to the petri dish they were thawed in as a keepsake. And waiting for me after the transfer were these images as well as a copy from the ones before. Both Grey and I got teary eyed when we realized what this group was doing for us: they were giving us reminders to have hope.

Today will be spent meditating, using these images to connect with my snowbabies. Today will be a day that I spend giving thanks for the opportunity have these two inside me. Today I will have hope.

"To do" list

There are many methods for coping with anxiety: exercise, sleep, food, avoidance. Mine is "to do" lists. Whenever I'm stressed at work and need to gather my thoughts, I pull out a small sheet of paper and generate a list. The process helps me focus and prioritize. Plus there's something about checking off each item, no matter how big or small.

With Wednesday looming, I've been trying to complete as many tasks as possible to prepare for this FET. Some are practical, others are more ritual. But the knowledge my butt is going to be confined to the sofa for 24 hrs, with taking it easy the 48 hrs after that, I know I have to get things in order.

So, I figured I'd share with everyone my list (scratching off items that have been completed since yesterday). And give you some insight into the craziness Grey has to live with.

1) Clean the condo
   a) Scrub Bathroom
   b) Scrub Kitchen
   c) Mop
   d) Vacuum
   e) Dust
2) Laundry/Ironing
3) Visit Dentist for annual cleaning
4) Submit lesson plans for the rest of semester
5) Write Letter of Recommendation for student
6) Grade papers
7) Rank grant applications
8) Post reading list and problem sets for rest of semester
9) Post study guide
10) Submit receipts from fertility meds
11) Pay for FET cycle
12) Write lectures
13) Have pre-Transfer meal = Pho
14) Shave legs
15) Paint toes
16) Jog/walk for 30 mins (one down, one more to go)
17) Meditate
18) Floss
19) Post photo of fertility socks (THANK YOU TONI AND NICOLE!!)
20) Charge iPod for Transfer
21) Breathe

Totally doable, right?

How villans are created

Many years ago, Grey brought home a copy of Joseph Campbell's "The Hero with a Thousand Faces." This book is considered a seminal work, which explores the theory that important myths from around the world which have survived for thousands of years all share a fundamental structure, focused around the journey of an archetypal hero. 

A hero ventures forth from the world of common day into a region of supernatural wonder: fabulous forces are there encountered and a decisive victory is won: the hero comes back from this mysterious adventure with the power to bestow boons on his fellow man.

Though I've never read this work (shame on me, I know), Grey and I had multiple discussions based on the different passages, particularly those focusing on the hero's time in the supernatural world, facing trials and seeking to obtain the end goal or the boon.

The key to the hero, though, is that somehow, he or she is victorious in the end. Yes, there may be loss along the way. Great loss, but the hero always obtains the boon at the end of the story, be it treasure, rescuing the maiden in distress, or peace and freedom.

But what happens when the hero fails? Instead of emerging victorious, the hero is beaten?

I've been thinking about this a lot as we've progressed on this journey. Especially in light of this FET cycle. After 2+ yrs of actively trying for a baby, 3 failed IUIs and an IVF cycle that ended in miscarriage, we're still without a child in our arms. And though our journey has not been as long as others, it's been very hard to continue fighting after each of these failed trials.

Equally hard has been trying to be part of life when you feel like an outsider. Unlike most women, pregnancy is not a given for me. I don't know if I'll ever be able to become pregnant again and, even if I'm that lucky, if I'll be able to carry that child to term. Because of this, I've found I can no longer react to other people's news with joy and excitement. It's never been about me not being happy for them; but to me pregnancy is no longer a guarantee and I'm no longer naive.

So, for many in life, I'm now viewed as the villan. I'm the villan when someone surprises me with news that they are expecting again and I excuse myself after mumbling a quiet congratulations. I'm the villan when someone goes on and on complaining about how difficult it is to raise a child after starting the conversation with "you don't know how lucky you are."

What's change recently is my recognition for how villans are created. That most people rarely start out life this way but instead are created over time due to years of abuse and neglect. The funny thing about all of this is how few people are willing to acknowledge the process of this creation, instead throwing blame at the direction of the villan for making choices to take the path they are on. Rarely do we step back and acknowledge that though there are choices, sometimes those choices were made as a form of protection, of self-preservation.

That maybe the only really difference between heros and villans is success.

On Wednesday, Grey and I begin this hard journey again. The past few weeks of being on medication has really been more like a dream state, with us being pretty unaffected outside of the drug-induced mood-swings. The thing is, I'm preparing myself for another failure, for the pain that will come in the aftermath. Despite everyone telling me that this can work, I'm finding it difficult to believe that it will. Because after 2+yrs, what will be different this time? And I hate myself for feeling this way, because it's really not about me on Wednesday. It's about our snowbabies. And I already feeling like I'm failing them.

Three more days of being in limbo. Desperately searching for hope.

Greenlight

Short post today regarding the FET cycle. I'll post more soon.

Punchline: We've been given the green light. Lining is currently at 9.1 cm, no cysts (yay!!!) and ovaries are nice and quiet. Looloo did her job.

Here's the protocol for this next week:

2 more days on Estrace 3x a day; 0.25mg Lupron

Friday: Scale back Estrace to 2x a day. Start Crinone 1x a day, Misoprestol 1x a day (lunchtime), and Doxycycline 2x a day. To prevent being backed up from the Doxy, I will also up water (3L a day) and suppliment with fiber.

Next Wednesday (March 14th): Appointment at 11:30 am. Diazapan and 2L water at 10 am.

Anyway, lots to do in the next week. But at least today we have hope.

Ramblings of a bored mind

Probably one of the worst things about playing the waiting game is being in the middle of it. When you start, it's new with the promise of things to come. As you get near the end, the excitement returns, as something is about to change. Being in the middle, though, is rough. You hit a plateau, knowing that you're neither here or there.

I'm officially 3 days away for finishing up Lupron and (hopefully) starting progesterone. With any luck, the ultrasound on Wednesday will reveal a thick lining and zero follicles. In short, I'm officially in the middle of this FET cycle. And I'm bored. Not with life in general (thank goodness it's the weekend . . . finally get a chance to sleep in), but bored with the shots, bored with the pills, bored with the idea that this may or may not work. Bored with infertility.

The past couple of days I've been trying to focus my attention elsewhere to combat this boredom, hoping that a few moments of distraction will be sufficient. I started by making an appointment at a local nail salon, thinking that the fumes would be enough to deter expectant mothers or those with small children (learned my lesson), then Grey and I traveled to a more urban-focused section of the city in hopes of spending some time at a local park enjoying the sun (that was over-run too). The moment I gave up was when I witnessed a couple push a stroller into a local sex shop. Granted it's one of the better ones, but still.

Reflecting on all of this, I came to realize that though some of this stuff isn't new, there's definitely a new twist on where one can and can not take children. Part of it has to do with destigmatizing parenthood, but the reality is that it's also something a bit deeper. Despite my generation claiming that they're ready to move on to this next chapter, they do so with one foot in the past. They aren't willing to give up old haunts and habits to be parents.

On some levels I respect this. The idea that one should lose their identity when taking on the role of mother is one that I will continue to scoff at. I do believe it's healthy for children to see that mommy and daddy are a part of the world, pursing their hopes and dreams. After all, happy parents in a loving and stable relationship do equal happy, healthy children.

But with parenthood also comes change and sacrifice. So when a couple plops Jr, carrier and all, on a stool in a smoky bar, I have an issue. Most of it comes from my time tending bar, where I saw generations of human erosion and I cringe at the idea that it's starting during infancy. But another end comes down to the fact that these parents aren't putting the needs of their baby ahead of their own wants.

Infertility has taught me a number of things over the last few years. It's honed my pregdar, thickened my skin and added a whole new level of fear and frustration regarding pregnancy. But it's also helped me move beyond the stage where one foot is still in singleton land, it's strengthen my marriage and it's made me less afraid of waiting for the "right" time. But most importantly, I've learned what sacrifice truly is. To forgo luxuries like exotic vacations, bottles of wine and even daily cups of coffee. Because my family is more important and if giving all of that up to walk down this path means that one day I get to hold my children in my arms, then it was worth every step. By all means, not a fair process, but one that I'm more than willing to make for that hope. Despite the fact I'm so bored with it all.

All aboard the crazy train

CD5: Mood swings are in full oscillation. It didn't help that I spent my whole weekend stuck indoors grading. But it's noticeable. So noticeable, that even Jax and Dais will leave the room. During my IVF cycle, I remember the period right before I started stims as being one of the tougher ones. Lots of tears and constant anxiety. Initially I thought part of it had to do with the holidays. Note to self: it's all the Lupron.

Doing a Google search for "Lupron mood swings" results 1,300,000 results (all in under 0.29 seconds). The first result titled "Will Lupron make me a Wack-a-doo?" is enough to freak out anyone who doesn't have experience with this medication.  This is followed with hit after hit with "mood swings" either capitalized or having "severe" plopped right in front of them (sometimes both). Either way, there's no overlooking the cause of me turning into a mope.

The question is, how does one combat the mean reds and/or the blues? The original plan of distraction, either through burying myself in work or spending time with friends, hasn't been working. Friday's experiment involved '80s comedies (John Cusack in "Better off Dead"), which worked for the interim before calling it a night, but definitely didn't solve the problem. Today I'm experimenting with exercise, as that has worked wonders just with battling day-to-day life. Either way, it's become apparent that something has to change.

Why all the fuss? Well, part of it is I don't want to burn-out Grey. Poor guy has been amazing through all of this and I know he's worried and anxious about this cycle too. The miscarriage threw him in a way that he wasn't prepared for, so even though he's marching ahead with me, I know he's worried about this cycle failing or ending the way it did in January.

But the other issue is my students. This semester I'm working with 41 young adults ranging from 19-21 yrs, with the oldest being 26 yrs old. And as much as they'd like to believe they've got it all figured out, they don't. The deal is though, I need to not bring my drama to the table. Be that during lecture when it becomes clear half of them haven't prepared, listening to them protest about how hard it is having quizzes on Mondays (though their exam scores are SO MUCH BETTER because of it), getting excuses about why papers haven't been turned in on time (and how I'm being unfair about enforcing the late assignment policy), all the way down to working with advising for a student who clearly is struggling. My drama can't be there.

Hello Lupron, you hear that? I've got to be the stable one.

So, I'm coping. Be that through taking 30 mins in the middle of the day to go for a quick run or shutting my office door for a quick cry. I'm coping.

10 more days of Lupron. God help me.

Flashbacks

A belated welcome to all those visiting from ICLW!  A bit of background on me: Grey and I've been TTCing for a little over 2 years, with a formal diagnosis of "Unexplained Infertility" in January 2011. This past December, we took the leap and underwent IVF. The cycle was successful (8 beautiful embryos and a positive pregnancy test). Unfortunately, 4 days after the first beta, we learned that something was wrong. This resulting in a week on the beta roller coaster followed by a diagnosis with a blighted ovum. I had a D&C on January 11th. I've spent the past month healing, reflecting and preparing myself for a FET in March. 


This past week has been a rough one. News of Mo's loss hit me harder than I ever imagined. This was followed with news that a friend on an online forum suffered a chemical pregnancy, which probably could have been prevented if her RE had checked her day 21 progesterone levels, realized that it was low, and prescribed her supplemental progesterone. I've been filled with anger and sorrow over both of these losses because both of these women have been through so much and deserve to be holding their babies, not trying to remember them.

But I'm also scared. Scared shitless. This news has triggered memories of that awful day in January. The day when Grey and I learned that we would lose our pregnancy. That the brief moments of happiness and peace we had experienced were over. All that was to follow was pain. I never want to live through that again. And I'm worried that I'm setting myself up for the same thing.

Today I am officially CD1. After threatening for a few days, my period finally arrived. With that came the instructions to reduce the Lupron and start Estrace. I've heard time and time again how much easier it is to go through a FET than IVF, and so far on the physical end they've been right. But this week has reminded me that though physically I can take it, emotionally I'm still weak.

Miscarriage and infant loss is one of the biggest taboos in our society (next to infertility). All too often, people respond with suggestions like "it's for the best," "it wasn't meant to be" or (my personal favorite) "it's all in God's hands." In a lot of cases, parents are lucky to even get these responses, as people become incredibly uncomfortable about the subject and just assume that not saying anything is for the best. But the worst of all of this is that as time goes on, people assume you'll have 'gotten over it.' That because there was never a baby for them to see, it never existed. That this child was just an idea.

The problem is, like any trauma, the wounds may heal, but scars will remain. Sometimes the scars are tiny, only noticeable to those who look for them. But other times those scars are not so tiny. In fact, they are damn ugly. We try to hide conceal them, covering them with veneer to make them appear less ugly, but we know what they are.

For the past few weeks, I've been looking at the scars I've accumulated during this journey, particularly the most recent one. I've convinced myself that I'm okay with them, as they are part of me and I'm not ashamed of what I've done during this time. But this week reminded me that I'm not okay. I'm not okay with having to undergo fertility treatments, I'm not okay with having to hide my tears following a pregnancy announcement, I'm not okay with people I know and love suffering miscarriages and loving their children.

I'm not okay with the loss of my one and only pregnancy.

And yet, starting today, though I'm scared out of my mind that in a month all of that sorrow will repeat itself, I will move forward. With my husband by my side, we will try again. I will pop the pills, stick myself with needles and forgo caffeine. I will steal myself, meditate to relief my nerves and try to remember that there's a chance that all of this works out.

All because I know that if I don't, I will forever be stuck in this limbo of wondering if I had tried, would it have worked. And that limbo scares me more.

Wish me luck.

Trying my patience

Okay, I'm the first to admit it: I'm not a patient person.

You know Daniel Goldstein's marshmallow test that demonstrated that those who were able to practice deferred gratification were happier in life? Well, I was the kid who would have failed it. Hell, I would have stolen the other kid's marshmallow too.

Why so huffy? Well, I'm waiting for AF to show up. And in this first time in 20 yrs of menstruating, I'm late. And not in a "honey, I could be pregnant!!!" way.

Yes, I've ovulated (check) and I'm going through normal PMS symptoms (double check) and even had the little bit of spotting after sex one night (triple check). Still no AF and without AF, I can't call the clinic and get CD1 instructions on moving forward with this cycle.

Yes, I'm whining. I know I shouldn't be, but I am.  Someone smack me.

The joys of Lupron

Okay ladies, I need some feedback.

For those of you on Lupron, what are your symptoms?

Here are mine (what I can remember and what I'm currently experiencing)

1) Dull pain from ovaires (feels like they're shriveling up and dying) - usually in the morning after the shot
2) Hot flashes - usually at night
3) Excessive sweating - usually at night
4) Feeling incredibly cold - all day
5) Swollen breasts - probably the only perk
6) Increased need for sleep - it's been a busy work week, so I can't say for sure if this is the Lupron or my work schedule

Last cycle I was overlapping with BCPs, so I haven't experienced any mood swings, but I just started all of this again.

Back in the stirrups again

First off, happy Valentine's Day everyone. If you're like me, you probably recognize this overly-commercialized holiday as a way to capitalize on love and romance. But, it's also become a day for me to stop and reflect on where I've come during this journey. How much I've survived because of those around me through their love and support. So sending all my readers much love. That and chuckling at this poor schmuck who clearly forgot to purchase his significant other some roses (grocery store ones will have to do).

Secondly, thank you all for the comments on my last post. I'm doing better and I appreciate your suggestions. I guess one of the things I'm learning from all of this is how to address things that were broken a long time ago. Never easy, and I don't necessarily know the right path for dealing with all of this, but daily I'm learning how to navigate my way through. Unfortunately, with my family, that means no contact (long story as to why doing otherwise is not good with my family). But that's just for now. Time will tell.

Anyway, on to more important business. Grey and I went in today for my second mock transfer and the saline sonogram. Because I've had so much difficulty in the past filling my bladder, I made sure to start chugging water at 7 am. I went a bit overboard, but more on that in a minute.

The clinic I see has 3 REs who oversee all the fertility treatments. Though Dr. Optimism is my primary RE (love her), I also can be seen by Dr. Sage (the medical director for the clinic; adore him) and Dr. Practical (younger RE). In the past, I didn't really care for Dr. Practical, but since going through IVF, where she was the one in charge of monitoring my stimulation, and then the D&C, where she immediately returned my phone call when I was complaining about severe cramping, I've become more fond of her. Today though, I've decided I really do like her. And it all came down to how she handled the entire appointment.

First order of business was the mock transfer. Right after they confirmed I wasn't pregnant (routine for any SIS), they proceeded to check my bladder. To my surprise, it was full. Apparently I don't have much of a tolerance for a full bladder, as I get the urge to pee before it's truly full. Not today, which means I know now EXACTLY how uncomfortable I need to be. Anyway, the mock transfer went smoothly.

Next up was the saline sonogram. I've never had one of these, but I do remember the HSG and how painful it was. Grey was immediately by my side, holding my hand. To both of our surprises, this was painless and easy too.  Dr. Practical applied a topical anesthesia to my cervix and then made a point of slowly inflating the balloon on the catheter. Hence, no cramping. The good news is that everything looks like it's healed well and no scarring was detected!!! So we're good on that front (hooray!!!). She also took measurements of my uterine lining (very thin) and looked at my ovaries (both back to normal size with zero activity).

After I was allowed to dress and visit the bathroom for the third time, Dr. Practical brought in the FET consent forms to sign. We talked once again about the procedure and the risks of twinning. Thankfully, she didn't push for the eSET. I think due to the fact of how this last cycle turned out.  As we wrapped up, she asked if we had any questions. Though I didn't, Grey did.

The first one was whether we were moving the FET date.  Dr. Practical took a moment to count the days, reconfirmed my last day of bleeding and then ordered some blood-work. Based on today's results, we'll have a better idea if we need to push things back or not, but she's keen on trying to keep those dates.

The second question had to do with the embryos. Grey had questions about how they were frozen (number per straw, whether it was a new method called "glass freezing," etc) and instead of brushing him off, she took the time to answer each point as thoroughly as possible.

I know how busy this practice is on a day to day basis, whether it be IVF, IUIs, counseling patients, training medical students and residents, etc. So the fact that Dr. Practical took the time to work with us, even though this was not a part of the appointment, won me over. She will still be Dr. Practical to me, as she has a straightforward way of answering questions, but the animosity is gone.

I'm hoping to hear back from the clinic tomorrow morning with news on the blood work. I've never had a cycle go so long and I'm wondering if the end is somewhere in sight.  We'll see.  In the meantime, all I can do is wait and be thankful for the medical team we have working with us.

UPDATE: Heard from the clinic and progesterone is at 17.4! Highest level on record for me. Start Lupron tomorrow and instructed to call clinic on CD1 to start Estrace. So we're officially on for the week of March 12.

Getting back on the roller coaster

The main focus for the past couple of weeks have been healing and getting back into work. Work has been wonderful for the healing process, as I've been able to focus on my students and my lesson plans. Still, in the back of my mind, I've been thinking about the pending FET. Thinking about when this will happen, what it will take to prepare and trying not to worry about the outcome. Because of work I haven't had a lot of time to think about this.  Until today.

This morning, I received a phone call from the nurse that handles the IVF schedule for my clinic. I've said it before, but I'll say it again, I been very fortunate to find this clinic because of how outstanding the doctors, nurses and staff are. So, without surprise, the conversation with E went quickly, was to the point and very informative. Basically it comes down to this: I'm on the calendar for a FET in the middle of March. Seems so very far away, but in reality it isn't and there's a lot to do.

1) I need to go in for a blood draw on Friday to check my progesterone levels.  They want to see where I'm at in my cycle.
2) If I'm in the luteal phase, then I start Lupron on Sunday. You read that right, THIS SUNDAY!
3) Grey and I are being sent consent forms.  We need to sign both of these and have them notarized in order to proceed with the cycle.
4) At the end of Feb, I go in for another mock transfer as well as a SIS (saline infused sonogram). Basically, because of the D&C, they want to check that my uterus is healing properly and then they need to repeat the measurements for the transfer.  Considering all the posts I've read about transfers-gone-wrong, I'm more than happy to chug a couple gallons of water in order to go through the procedure again.
5) If everything checks out, my first ultrasound will be at the end of February.

The nice thing about all of this is that I won't have as many appointments nor are they worried about pushing my ovaries. Plus the drug regiment is lighter, resembling what I was on after retrieval through to the D&C. Simpler and calmer.

Yet, after getting off the phone with E, I immediately felt the familiar wave of anxiety begin to rise. And immediately all I could feel was a sense of dread knowing that I would once again be allowing my life to be dictated by injections and pills. The madness of it all.

I've spent most of the day in a cloud because of this. Yes, I want to be a mother more than anything, but I also don't want to go through this limbo again; it's hard and exhausting. So as I made my way through the day, I slowly came to the realization that if I was going to survive around round of this roller coaster ride, I needed a few things to change.

1) I will schedule some time for myself to meditate and relax each week. Getting back into meditation on a daily basis will be essential for staying sane on a daily basis, but I also think I've earned that weekly bubble bath.

2) I will start jogging again. I was actually pretty good at this last semester, but fell out of practice because I was so bloated from the stims. Not an issue this time, so no more excuses.

3) I will make a point to do non-fertility related activities.  This one I've already started doing with the help of colleagues.  I actually had a chance to hang out at the faculty club with other co-workers last week. I was a lot of fun and very needed. Clearly that needs to happen more often.

4) Dinner parties need to start happening again. I figure bribing friends with the promise of good food and wine is a good place to start.

5) I will make peace with this situation.  This one is by far the hardest because this is kinda it.  If this cycle fails, then things need to change.  As I've said in previous posts, I don't have it in me to keep doing treatment for many years. I'm too impatient.  So, while all of this is happening, I will take some of Grey's coworkers up on their offer of coffee to begin exploring adoption. This doesn't mean that I will forever close the door on treatment (hell, something may come up that suggests success from another round), and I reserve the right to back out of this previous statement that this is the end. But I'm also not strong enough to spend another Christmas doing the same thing over and over again.

So ladies, as of next Sunday, I'm officially back on the coaster, riding through those crazy loops and hoping that at the end there will be good news and joy. G_d help us all.