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.

Anatomy of a hater

Haters. Our society is filled with them. No matter where you go, you're bound to encounter a hater. They wear their hate like a badge of honor, prepared to argue with anyone who disagrees and quick to pass criticism. Haters are quick to anger, scoffing at ideas they announce are naive. But one thing is clear with all haters: they all are deeply afraid of what they hate. 

Since being diagnosed with infertility, Grey and I have encountered our fair share of ART haters. Both of us have been lectured about how immoral and selfish our actions are, how we are overpopulating the world, how our infertility is G_d's way of telling us we are unfit to parent, etc. Over time, we've both become hardened to this hate. The hate from those who are clearly ignorant about infertility and the pain of miscarriage. But we've also learned that there is more behind this hatred than presented; the need of the individual passing judgement to feel superior, the inability of the hater to empathize with our pain, the lack of love this person may be experiencing in life. 

Being at the crossroads have introduced us to a new breed of haters, the ones few expect to encounter: the adoption haters. These haters are ones that I've been well aware of for some time. Being from the midwest, I'm aware of the white-trash value that "no loving parent would ever give away their child," but for Grey this hatred is new. His family's embrace of adoption and the assumption that love can conquer all has shielded him from these people. So initially he poo-pooed me, assuming my observations were simply a by-product of an abusive past. And then he began finding websites. He began reading the lies these cowards spread; the fear that they try to instill in others. And like most, Grey responded to the haters in a way most of us do. He responded with anger and rage, condemning them for their bitterness. If he would have been allowed to persist, the haters would have won.

So how does one counter hate like this? Honestly, it's something I've been struggling with since I first began becoming the focus hate and being the subject of attack. With the ART haters, I found it easier to confront them when necessary, but mainly I've been quiet. Partly because I've been tired from battling everything else in life in the pursuit of children. Partly because it's been easier to be quiet, since ART haters are some of the most misinformed individuals out there. But with the adoption haters, it's become evident that I can no longer be silent. Because it's no longer just about me; these people will attack my children. So, even though I'm not holding them in my arms, it's now my job to counter this hate, to defend my family. 

In order to understand how to counter hate, one needs to understand the anatomy of a hater. And in order to illustrate this best, I need to share the topic of my recent therapy sessions with Dee. I need to share the truth about something that has been haunting me; something very dark. 

It's no secret that this recent miscarriage broke me, causing more damage than anyone could have predicted. The salt in the wound was the pregnancy announcements following the miscarriage. I found myself able to be at peace with the announcement from Grey's close friend. He had no idea our struggles nor of the previous loss. The announcement from BIL has been harder. BIL knew about our struggles. BIL knew about our pain. Yet when news came in April that we had lost our children, he didn't call for two weeks. And when he did, it was to share the news that they were expecting again. Meaning they decided to trying during the same time we were actively in treatment.  And though I believe that no one should put family planning on hold because of others, this was a huge blow. Because now I will have a niece/nephew who will be a reminder of what could have been.

So how does this example relate to someone filled with hate? Well, hate is breed from pain and fear. Most anti-adoption advocates have had something happen related to adoption to be so bitter with the process. Some may have been forced by family and religious officials to give up their children and during the process, they may not have been able to properly say good-bye nor process the emotions surrounding this decision. Others may see themselves as victims for losing custody of their children, refusing to analyze why the state decided to terminate their parental rights and pull the children. And then there's the adopted children who may not have been able to attach with their adoptive parents, resulting in them romanticizing their birthparents. You get the picture. The point is, there is pain and fear from loss. 

The truth is, like these haters, I now have the elements to hate my BIL and his wife. If I chose, I could easily develop arguments painting them as selfish and conniving beings. But what stops me is this hate will isn't productive and is actually very destructive. What is to be gained from villainizing this couple or those that can conceive easily? This hatred will not bring my children back. In fact, going this route turns me into a person my children would be ashamed of. 

And that's where I struggle to be different from someone who hates. A hater has been wounded, but they never find peace. They refuse to forgive, assuming that forgiveness absolves the offending party of the pain they afflicted. And, as time goes on, they expand their hate. They blame everyone who questions them for their fear and pain. Because it's easier. It's so much easier than confronting yourself and making the decision to move beyond the pain. It's easier to hide than to chose to live.

What this journey towards our children has taught me is that easier is not always better. Thank the universe for Dee. We've already spent three sessions with my anger over this news mixed in with my grief of losing both these pregnancies. And we likely will spend many more sessions. Honestly, healing will take time and the pain will probably never go away completely. But I work daily towards peace and forgiveness. 

So, knowing this, how do you counter hate? Some argue that love is the best solution. This can work, but wrapping people who are hardened with hate in love usually isn't enough. What I've been trying is love and information. To apologize to those who are so angry for being wronged and then to counter with examples of why they are incorrect. Honestly, the best responses I've gotten has been silence and/or the hater turning tail. Not once have I witnessed them resolving their pain or being willing to admit that maybe they are wrong. Still, I have to try. It's all I can do to resist the urge of slapping some sense into them.

In the end, I'm still learning. I'm learning to deal with haters, learning how to counter their poison. I'm also learning to forgive those who cause me great pain. But, for me, understanding the anatomy of a hater has made it easier to confront haters as well as to find peace. It reveals that these monsters are human. Scared, hurt humans who have allowed their hearts to be poisoned. It doesn't mean they are any less dangerous, but it does mean that if one choses they can be cured.  

Heal

I remember the first time I really injured myself. I was 10 yrs old and riding my bike down a steep hill. Somehow, I managed to gain too much speed and was not skilled at being able to handle the incline. I ended up crashing, sliding along the asphalt. The pain was blinding. I managed to make it to my location, and as I began to clean myself up realized how much pain I was actually in. Panicked, I called my dad who came to calm me down and help clean my wounds.

In the years since, I've managed to injure myself in more interesting and memorable ways. There was the climbing accident that almost took my life, the large metal door that slammed down on my arm, the car accident that even the paramedics marveled about me walking away from and, finally, the skiing accident that left me with a black eye on Valentine's Day. You get the idea. One thing I've learned over time with injury is that there's a pattern: the initial shock from being wounded, followed by the pain setting in and me realizing how severe the situation is. Then comes the healing; the aches and pains of my body trying to regain normalcy. Sometime with healing it's just a matter of ice, a bath and some TLC. Other times more aggressive measures need to be taken.

Following the happy news last week that left me convinced the universe was out to get me, I realized that I needed aggressive measures to begin recovery from this recent miscarriage. What I had done up to this point as simply to bandage the wound and hope that healing wound come quickly. What I failed to do was remove the cause of this injury, causing the wound to deepen and begin to fester. So, with Grey's initiation, I agreed to meet up with one of his coworker Tina, her husband and 11 month old daughter E for brunch.

Grey has known Tina for many years and has always been on friendly terms with her. A few months ago, though, he learned that she too was infertile and had recently resolved. They began talking, Tina sharing her story and Grey filling her in on our treatments. The more I learned about E, the more I hoped that we could have a similar outcome of having such a happy ending. Then January happened. And then March. With this past news, Tina offered to meet up for coffee to talk. And until Sunday, I was reluctant.

You see, E is adopted. And though I've been open to adoption, it wasn't until Sunday that I was ready to hear her story.

Meeting E gave me hope. To see this little girl who came from a less-than-ideal situation be so happy, energetic and vibrant. And to see her parents completely in love and filled with joy. Tina looked at me at one point and with tears in her eyes said something that left me choking back tears. "There was a period where I had this hole in me. This child-shaped blackhole. Now I feel filled."

Following brunch, Grey and I began to talk about how we would do this. Meeting E made me realize that I want to go the open adoption route. I want to meet the birth mother of my child, forming some sort of relationship so that one day I can tell him/her about how they came into the world. But most importantly, I felt like we may have found our calling, our path.

Today I had my meeting with Dee. Like all of you, she sympathized about the news from last week, telling me "it must feel like the universe has shit on you." How true. Yet telling her about E and my feelings had her smiling softly. I think she sees how this fits too.

Our session was spend attacking the image of my broken body, helping me remove the IF/loss shaped knife from my heart and cleaning the wound. She helped stitch my broken heart back together, wrapping it lovingly with fresh bandages and helping me find my new mantra.

It will be okay. Some way, some how.

Tonight I feel the dull ache from this most recent wound, but for the first time in a long time I no longer feel despair. Mind you, I'm not brimming with optimism and hope that this next FET will work and we'll bring home a biological child. But I do have hope that there will be a child. My faith is restored in wrapping my arms around them and I find myself day-dreaming of that moment, that day.

CD4. Five more days till the SIS. Tami-scrambled at Submerged sent me the BEST socks to wear that that appointment. May they work their magic.

Thank you Tami!!!

Changed

First off, thank you for the responses on the last post. I've had a chance to calm down and reflect on this issue. The decision was to not go to the meeting last night (I'm voting with my feet) and instead try to get into contact with RESOLVE about my concerns. Thing is, I'm having trouble doing that! Tried finding an email address or a contact for the WA chapter with no luck. I did call the main office today and am hoping for a response, but I think I'm missing something. If someone has a suggestion, please let me know. 

A couple of nights ago, I was looking back on photos taken before Grey and I jumped on the TTC bandwagon. In a lot of ways, life was simpler: we both had an idea of what we wanted out of life and the paths to obtaining those goals were generally clear. We had our rough moments (most people do), but my motto was "with a little hard work" whenever attacking a task that seemed difficult.

The past 2.5 yrs. have changed all of that. Looking back, I now realize how naive I was with this "sunshine and roses" line of thinking. Though it is true that a happy-ending to this story is entirely possible, what's also undeniable how changed both of us already are and will forever be because of this journey.

On some ends, this change has been for the better. Grey and I were always close, but living with infertility has strengthened our marriage in ways I didn't know possible. He has journeyed to the pits of hell with me, standing beside me during moments where it would have been easier to simply walk away. Before this experience, I was simply happy to be married to someone I loved. Now there isn't a morning I don't wake up and thank the universe to bringing this man into my life. Many other things have changed too, like learning to put the needs of myself and Grey first, learning to be more patient, etc. All these life lessons that would not have come if we had not been on this path.

But not everything has been for the better. Since losing this second pregnancy, I've become hardened. The grief has caused me to be less sympathetic to the problems of others. Some of this is legit, as it amazes me how much unnecessary drama people allow into their lives. But some of it makes me wonder if the scar tissue has turned into a thicken hide, making it very hard to connect with others.

I realize what I'm talking about isn't a new concept. There are many posts from so many amazing women in this community that cover this from many different angles. They do a better job of dissecting this than I can hope for. But what I will add is how foreign it feels to be so detached from the world. Almost like something has been broken inside of me.

As women, we learn from an early age that our role is to be "the caregiver." We spend much of our lives learning to put ourselves second for our families and loved ones, making sacrifices to help promote other's well-being. My childhood conditioning is very much to that extreme, as I was taught that my problems had to wait because "so and so" had more pressing issues that needed to be dealt with. The rational is that we are supposed to be "strong." With any hurt or disappointment, the first words of encouragement are how strong and beautiful we are. These words are meant to encourage perseverance and pushing through. Helping us find the will to reload our burdens and move forward.

Since this miscarriage, I don't feel "strong" anymore. Frankly, I feel like I've crumbled. My trust in my body has been greatly shaken and I worry at times about my sanity. Hence the hardened feeling. Because I am like that animal who, having survived being beaten time and again, is now surrounded by humans who don't understand how frighten I am. And yes, I've already snapped at many hands.

This post has no point other than the fact that I'm trying. I'm trying daily to move forward and on. Because the only other choice is to stay in this current state and it's not a place I want to be. But with the trying comes the realization that I am forever changed and what that means. How deep and ugly these scars truly are.

We have our follow up appointment with Dr. Optimism on Friday. And both Grey and I have ideas for a plan. The end of this 2 week wait is in sight. 

Therapy

About a year into the TTC journey, it became clear that I needed to find a therapist. The continual monthly reminders that things were not working was a source of stress that was greatly affecting daily life. Add in the fact that it seemed everyone around me (be it in real life or on internet support groups) was able to achieve pregnancy and I was one big ball of anxiety.

I'm no stranger to therapy. From the time I was a teenager, I would periodically see a therapist to manage my depression as well as for referrals for medication (my family's preferred form of dealing with these issues).  So when I started as a process of seeking help, I figured it was just a matter of finding someone who I could connect with. I mean, how hard could it be?

Finding a needle in a haystack would have been easier.

The issue with infertility is that it is a disease that few people understand. Because of this, finding a counselor becomes incredibly difficult as most don't know how to address the grief and anxiety that comes from treatments, waiting and recovering from loss. I had one well-meaning counselor who was dynamite at dealing with depression and anxiety as well as marital stress. But when Grey and I started talking with her about infertility, she could not connect. I remember one session where I had to spell out that I was grieving from the months of failed natural cycles and though she did have the "ah ha" moment, I knew that I could't invest my energy training her on how to help me.

So, I began looking for support. First joined a support group, which was helpful for a time, but quickly fell apart when our leader was no longer there to guide us (mind you, I have no problem with support groups, but one person CAN alter a group dynamic). Following my mother trying to push adoption of my second cousin, I decided it was time to get serious and solicited names of counselors from my clinic as well as from trusted sources.

What I ended up with was a list of 10 counselors in the Seattle area, all of them reputable but with limits as far was when they had appointments (all of them were booked solid), what insurance they took and when they could meet.

Long story short, it took about 6 months of talking, hunting and strong-arming my insurance to finally find Dee. And that process would have been a LOT longer if all those counselors hadn't helped me with suggestions of who else to talk with if things didn't line up.

The anatomy of an infertility counselor is different than most. First of all, everyone single one of them have been touched by infertility. One counselor I talked with made of point of saying she did not recommend counselors who hadn't lived with infertility as there was no way they could understand this disease otherwise (and she had plenty of examples from those failed attempts). Another thing that is important is that they have all resolved, be it through adoption, IVF, surrogacy, donor gamete or even choosing to live child-free. A final component is that they have additional training to deal specifically with infertility, be it Mind/Body (one I met actually trained with Ali Domer) or some sort of cognitive therapy.

Enter Dee. I met her in November 2011 just as I was start Lupron and finishing BCPs for IVF#1. During our couple of phone conversations it became very clear to both of us that I needed to be seen ASAP as I was processing why too much shit and not very well. Dee specializes in EMDR, a form of therapy that is specialized with trauma-related disorders. Dee's thought (and I agree with her) is that infertility is a form of trauma. Add in the fact that I'm a survivor of an emotionally abusive parent and it became clear I'm a textbook patient.

Dee helped me during IVF #1 with processing my fear. A lot of our sessions where spent with her letting me talk, allowing her to gain the necessary information to start tailoring therapy. Following my first miscarriage, I took a break from therapy, thinking that I needed to focus on healing and preparing for FET #1. With news of my second miscarriage, I knew I wasn't doing well and immediately contacted Dee for an appointment.

This past Wednesday, Grey and I met with Dee to talk about how we were processing this recent loss. It was a hard appointment, where it became clear that we both needed to talk. But what we came away with was a plan for moving forward. Starting in a couple of weeks, I will begin EMDR. Dee has all the information she needs and wants to begin working through all the trauma I've experienced, both recently as well as past. In addition, she wants to have sessions where Grey and I met with her together. Dee was quick to point out how common it is for infertility to drive couples apart, leading to separations and even affairs. Though Grey and I are not at that point, she feels that the check-ins will help prevent further destruction caused by this horrible disease if not help strength our relationship. In fact, Dee firmly believes that most couples will emerge from this experience with stronger marriages/partnerships that fair better than the average couple.

There's a lot of work to be done. I recognize now that infertility isn't the sole cause of a lot of my unhappiness and that resolving is no longer just about bringing home a baby. But as Grey and I have talked more, we've both realized that the one gift infertility has given us is the push to finally address all the dysfunction and rot that exists in our lives. Though initially it was easier to pretend it didn't exist, we now are so emotionally fragile that we have to address it. Who knew that some aspects of infertility could actually be a blessing.

Body Issues

My senior year in high school, I took an AP Literature/Composition class. For those of you not familiar with these courses, it's a way for high school students to receive college credit without every having to leave the comfort of their surroundings. One of the assignments was to dissect a poem, analyzing the writers intention and the pattern.

At the tender age of 17 yrs, I picked Andrew Marvell's "A Dialogue Between the Soul and Body."

A DIALOGUE BETWEEN THE SOUL

AND BODY

By A. Marvell

Soul.                                                               Body.

O, WHO shall from this dungeon raise          O, who shall me deliver whole,

A soul enslaved so many ways?                     From bonds of this tyrannic soul?

With bolts of bones, that fettered stands         Which, stretched upright, impales me so

In feet, and manacled in hands;                       That mine own precipice I go;

Here blinded with an eye, and there                And warms and moves this needless frame,

Deaf with the drumming of an ear;                 (A fever could but do the same),

A soul hung up, as 'twere, in chains                And, wanting where its spite to try,

Of nerves, and arteries, and veins;                   Has made me live to let me die

Tortured, besides each other part,                    A body that could never rest,

In a vain head, and double heart?                     Since this ill spirit it possessed.

Soul.                                                               Body.

What magic could me thus confine                But Physic yet could never reach
Within another's grief to pine?                       The maladies thou me dost teach;

Where, whatsoever it complain,                     Whom first the cramp of hope does tear,
I feel, that cannot feel, the pain;                     And then the palsy shakes of fear;

And all my care itself employs,                      The pestilence of love does heat,

That to preserve which me destroys;              Or hatred's hidden ulcer eat;

Constrained not only to endure                       Joy's cheerful madness does perplex,

Diseases, but, what's worse, the cure;             Or sorrow's other madness vex;

And, ready oft the port to gain,                       Which knowledge forces me to know,

Am shipwrecked into health again.                 And memory will not forego;

                                                                         What but a soul could have the wit

                                                                          To build me up for sin so fit?

                                                                          So architects do square and hew

                                                                          Green trees that in the forest grew.

At the time, though the poem fascinated me, I didn't understand it. I misinterpreted it, trying to make it about something it wasn't. And for years, though I remembered it, I was at a loss for it's meaning.

After 2.5 yrs of living with infertility and living through two miscarriages, I think I'm finally beginning to understand Mr Marvell's message.

Lossing this pregnancy has broken me. It's left me in doubt and frightened to move forward. But most of all, I've found that I'm angry. Angry with many things. But mainly, angry with my body. I'm angry that it has let me down, let Grey down and is not doing what it was designed for. I'm angry that it failed my children, not providing the home they needed to be able to grow and come into the world.

The thing is, I know if I'm going to move forward I have to confront this anger. I have to learn to trust my body again. So, this past week has been spent with me trying to resolve these issues by having a dialogue with my own body.

So far, I haven't been successful.

Unlike other situations where I would have nursed my body back to health, I instead spent this time nursing my soul. My worked longer hours to distract myself, ignoring my body's request for water and food. I started running again, despite the cramps. And when I plead with my body for some relief from the bleeding, promising it relaxation and warmth, it hit back with uterine pain and more spotting.

The reality is, my body and I are currently in dangerous territory. If we could be physically separated, we'd be sleeping in separate rooms and talking with divorce lawyers. And I'm at a loss for how to fix this.

Because I want to be able to experience pregnancy, to bear Grey's child. I want the ability to be a vessel for life. But I think my body has other plans.

Choices

In the spring of 2007, I took my general exam. For those of you not familiar with the PhD process, most programs have a comprehensive assessment for their students to determine whether they have the knowledge base in order to proceed with their thesis and ultimately obtain their doctorate. Each institution and program is different in format and how/when this is administered, but the feeling of anxiety from the students is the same. I spent 2 months preparing for this exam, meeting with committee members and spending multiple hours in the library. On the day of the exam, though, I froze. My mind went completely blank and I found I had difficulty answering some of the most basic questions.

Somehow I passed. But the trauma from that experience, coupled with a poor sense of self, resulted in 1 1/2 yr slump where I was convinced that I would be asked to leave. Add in the fact that my project wasn't working, and I was one depressed and anxious graduate student.

In the middle of my fourth year, something changed. I decided to stop wallowing in a place of self-doubt and start taking what I wanted. I figured they now knew the impostor in their midst, might as well make the most of it. With the help of my advisor,  I switched projects and began working on a question that would ultimately lead to a publication and lay the groundwork for post-doctoral interests. I made choices to no longer isolate myself and began attending journal clubs, signed up for Toastmasters to improve on my public speaking skills and made a conscious choice to spend Saturdays with friends. What I realized was that though graduate school was a trying time, my outlook was making it worse. That I was the one holding myself back and, though there were still moments that were painful, I had to chose to move forward and demand what I wanted if I was to triumph.

The events of the past week have been the stuff of nightmares. Surrounded by beauty and signs of spring, Grey and I received the news that my body had failed our embies on Sunday. Grey and I have done our share of crying over this loss, wondering aloud why this is happening; what we did to deserve this type of pain. Honestly, we're no closer to those answers.

But something changed yesterday. Unlike January, where we were both defeated, the news of this loss has only deepen our resolve to be parents. We've decided that we both want this so much that no matter what, it's going to happen. We made the decision that, like it or not, the universe will give us our children.

In other words, we're done wallowing in the despair caused by infertility. Now we're fighting back.

Yesterday, after sleeping for a few hours, we talked about a plan. Adoption is still something we both want to pursue. But Grey wants to try one more time. He's not ready to give up on the 4 snowbabies we have left. And I'm willing to try given that our REs agree to investigating the cause for both of these miscarriages. I'm no longer willing to fly blind on the basis of "bad luck" and I've begun pulling literature from PubMed to discuss with Grey and hopefully with our REs.  In addition, we started pulling out the literature we have on adoption and made note of the different meetings from the agencies in our area.

We meet with Dr. Optimism on Friday in hopes of formulating a plan. IVF is diagnostic, and we now know where we are failing. Because of this, I want to know what we can do to investigate these causes, as now we have a pattern. Some of you have asked if I'm considering getting a second opinion. Honestly, I don't know at the moment. Both Grey and I have grown to trust this clinic, this team of care providers, and we want to speak with them about all of this prior to making any decisions. In addition, we've heard less-than-stellar stories about other clinics in this area, so seeking a second opinion may involve looking nationally. We'll know more following the meeting.

What would be helpful, though, is suggestions on testing to ask about. I'm unfamiliar with RPL panels or types of immune testing. We will be talking about karyotyping for both Grey and me.

I'm not going to lie, all of this is hard. And the temptation to curl up into a small ball is very high. But I know that's not going to change things, to help us bring home our children. I will grieve for my lost children, forever associating them with the cherry blossoms. But I'm no longer willing to be a victim to infertility. Instead, I chose to face this tragedy and fight. Fight for my family, fight for those I love who are also living this nightmare. I'm determined that this journey will not have been in vain, that something good will come out of it.

Thank you all for your comments and love yesterday. They have been and continue to be a source of strength during this time. There are no words to express our gratitude.

I'll end today with a scene from the musical "Across the Universe" that is now our battle anthem.

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.

Did she really exist?

The bills have started to arrive from late December/early January. Marked "laboratory" and "surgery," we've begun fielding the costs for the betas and the D&C. For the most part, the only emotion that I've been feeling when I see these is frustration: frustration that we are being billed for things we've already paid for and frustration with insurance for giving me the run around (hopefully all of this will be solved soon). But one bit of information threw me yesterday, giving me pause. We received a letter from Dr. Optimism with the cytogenetics results.

During our appointment a couple of weeks ago, Dr. Optimism walked us through the meaning for the potential results of the cytogenetics from the D&C. Armed with the pathology report, which concluded I was pregnant, she noted that the amount of fetal tissue was very small. So there were 3 possibilities: one was that the karyotype would show aneuploidy, indicating why everything stopped growing, another was that the karyotype would be normal 46XY, indicating the embryo was male. The final was that the karyotype would be 46XX. This would be very hard to interrupt, as they wouldn't be able to tell whether it was the embryo's karyotype or mine. All they could definitely say is that there was no translocations.

Guess what the results were.

Reading the letter brought on a wave of emotions that I thought I had resolved. It's caused me to question whether this pregnancy even existed. In addition, there came sorrow over the possibility, though slight, that this embryo was indeed a girl. A little girl. And I failed her.

I hate yo-yoing between being okay and not. I hate that the reminders that time as so negative and sterile. I want to be able to move on, to move forward with love. And I want to stop questioning whether I actually was pregnant every single day. Because being in a state wondering if she did exist doesn't help.

Lapped

I remember the beginning of this TTC journey all too well. Grey and I were optimistic, so certain that it wouldn't be long before I was pregnant. As time went on and we didn't get pregnant, I watched as women who had been trying for about as long as us or less became pregnant, one after another. I did my best to be supportive and congratulatory, but as time went on, those announcements became harder and harder. The worst part was the loss of connections and support, as these women moved on to have successful pregnancy and give birth to healthy babies. It's like there are two camps that exist in the world: those who are mothers and those who are infertile. Rarely do the two camps talk: partly because hearing complaints about raising a new baby has been difficult for someone struggling just to become pregnant. But I suspect the other problem is that fertiles too often put their foots in their mouths around infertiles.  For instance Grey has co-workers who, until recently, have thought nothing about complaining bitterly about their lot as parents. What changed was him telling them of our journey and, most recently, our miscarriage. For now, they are quiet.

Over the years, I've become hardened to this situation, chalking it up to a part of this journey and learning many techniques for dealing with surprise pregnancy announcements. In addition, I've been fortunate to find this community and people in real life who have been supportive of us while we've been in treatment.

Recently though, a new wrinkle has been throw into the mix. It started with a card from someone I knew in high school. This individual is nice, but clueless at best and keen on announcing his life achievements to all the world. I also don't hear from him unless he wants to gloat. So when I got the card that was of the exact size of a birth announcement in the middle of my IVF cycle, I made the decision to mark "Return to Sender." My most mature moment, probably not. But I was dealing with a lot of emotions at that point and didn't need the added stress. Two days before my first beta, I get an email.

Hey Cristy,

          Sent you an announcement about the birth of my daughter, but it got sent back to me. Then I tried calling you and it said the number was no longer in service. Then I tried Facebook to tell you the news, but I couldn't find you. So I figured I would try this. . . . . Hope you're alive.

*Sigh*

Anyway, this message was the beginning of a surge of pregnancy announcements for those on their second and even third child. Where as previously I was able to swallow my pain and wish them a brief congratulations, I find I'm struggling to even do that, particularly in the "oops" cases. With each of these announces came the additional sting that not only am I infertile, but I'm being left in the dust by people who have no trouble conceiving. While they're complaining about balancing pregnancy with child-rearing, I'm left with a mourning this miscarriage. I'm happy for these people, I really am. I just wish they weren't so smug about it.

The problem comes with the fact that though I don't like being so distant, I no longer feel guilty about having these feelings. Granted, I recognize that no one is plotting to make me feel bad by procreating as quickly as possible. But I also no longer feel the need to congratulate who conceives without a thought every time they announce they are knocked up.

All of this is complicated by the fact that I don't have the same animosity toward pregnant infertiles or infertiles who have resolved their infertility. And I think a large part of that has to do with these women not only getting it, but also being willing to support those of us still in the trenches. Granted, this isn't universally true, as I know perfectly fertile women who have been awesome about being supportive and, likewise, infertile women who have become insensitive as soon as they achieve pregnancy. But it's like the rest of the fertile world has become separate from our existence. We may pass one another on the street, but neither of us has anything we can really say to one another. And, it's really too bad. Because with a little bit of compassion vs. silence and looks of pity, words of support instead of one-liners like "just relax," I think we'd all feel better about the situation.

My whole point with this rant: being lapped sucks. And it hurts all the more right now as I realize that today, if I was still pregnant, I would be 8 weeks along. Instead I sit here with an empty uterus and memories of 4 days when after 2 years on this journey I actually had what comes so easily to others. Pardon me if I don't jump up and down when I'm blind-sided by a round-two (or three) pregnancy announcement.

End rant

Healing

Silence. That's what my home has been filled with. The phone hasn't rang since Wednesday and things have been quiet around here. What's been strange is that I really haven't pushed for more interaction with the world. I've preferred the silence, as it brings no reminders, no triggers. I've been living in a cocoon.

The problem is, I hate the fact I'm currently in this state. Yes, a lot of bad things have happened in the past couple of weeks; things I hope I never have to go through again. But I can't stay in this state. Life is too short and I made a promise to Grey that infertility wasn't going to break us. To wallow means the bitch wins.

There have been some good signs suggesting that I'm beginning to emerge from my cocoon. The cramping from the D&C has begun to subside and my body feels stronger. I'm dreaming again too. A good sign that my soul is finally beginning to heal. My need for sleep is decreasing and my energy level, though still low, is beginning to rise. The thing is, to continue the healing process, I need to start taking steps to promote healing. And this is a problem because a very lazy part of myself doesn't want to leave the comfort of the cocoon. It's like trying to get out of bed early on a cold winter morning: the first step of getting out from under the covers is always the hardest. Yet, I know if I don't start, the wounds will never truly heal.

Over the years, Grey and I have found that following trauma, a retreat to a safe haven has been critical for allowing the healing process to advance. During summers while we were both in graduate school, hikes into the mountains or camping was an easy solution to reconnect and feel rejuvenated following failed experiments or bad work weeks. But for more serious traumas, we've retreated to the ocean. Wandering through the mists that engulf the shore and the constant lower roar of the waves helps me find my footing and forces a sense of calm on my heart. It's spiritual in a way. Almost like being reborn.

Tonight, we will journey to our special place. The skies are threatening snow, yet we will chance the weather in an effort to advance this process. I have a few things that need to be finalized before we leave, but with luck we should be able to begin our journey before the weather turns nasty.

Unexplained

Grief. It's such an ugly, though necessary, process. One can spend hours reading article after article on how best to deal with it. Yet everyone is different. Some will spend longer periods of time than others at the different steps. There's no correct way to journey through this process. But one thing I've found is that sometimes grief can trigger change; opening doors that previously were unknown.

The past couple of days, I've been searching for these doors. Searching for an explanation for why this happened. My REs were clearly as surprised by the outcome of the IVF cycle as Grey and I were and are advising us that we should try again with the embryos we have. The thing is, I'm not much of a gambler; I like hypothetical explanations for what might have gone wrong with options for how to test those possibilities.

My anxiety over trying again comes from the fact that we are "unexplained." Based on all the tests Grey and I have undergone, there is no reason why we haven't been able to achieve pregnancy. This IVF cycle didn't give us much insight either, as everything went exceptionally well. I responded well to the drugs; I ended up with 13 mature eggs. Grey's sperm was able to fertilize my eggs and we ended up with 8 beautiful embryos. I still remember the excitement in Dr. Optimism's voice when she called to tell me that we were able to freeze the remaining 6. It was all considered textbook.

So why? Why is this happening? What is it that went so terribly wrong? Because, after two long years on this road, I have a hard time believing it's just a bad roll of the dice. I'm worried we're missing something. Something important.

If you Google "Unexplained Infertility," a number of websites and articles appear. Many will scare the hell out of anyone, using terms even I haven't heard of. What I managed to put together with the help of the National Library of Medicine is that unexplained infertility falls usually into 3 categories: problems with getting sperm and egg to meet (usually due to mild endometriosis or scarred fallopian tubes), inability to fertilizer (poor egg quality, poor sperm quality, genetics) and finally implantation failure (genetics, maybe immunology). The beauty of IVF is that it over comes the first category, and one can get an immediate answer for the second. But the third one is tricky. One failed IVF attempt isn't enough to raise red flags.  Usually it takes 2 or 3.

In a way, unexplained infertility is a curse. Don't get me wrong, I'm not belittling anyone who lives with male factor infertility, endometriosis, PCOS, blocked tubes, etc, as these diagnoses are life-changingly awful too. But with these diagnoses usually comes a treatment plan and an idea on how to proceed. With unexplained, from the moment you walk through the door, the doctors are clueless on how to help. Some are even arrogant enough to assume that this is all in your head and will be readily resolved. But as time goes on, the conundrum grows and you begin to question whether what's limiting you is something no human will be able to resolve.

Bu there are many hypotheses: I've read about mutations in the folate pathway, specifically focusing on a mutation for an enzyme on the biosynthetic end, and how they COULD be a cause. The big problems with these papers is that they only show correlations with a small population and their statistics havent' been overly convincing. Though I do believe these mutations exist, I have a hard time believing that a single mutation is the case of all of this. Especially this one mutation as it's easy enough to treat by supplementing with folic acid, which we're very good at doing in this country. Another hypothesis which does make a bit more sense to me  is this idea that one's immune system may play a role. I need to send some more time here, but considering I don't have a family history of autoimmune disease, I don't know if this will help.

Finally, I've begun digging back into the research about  the mind-body connection. There's been a lot of work that's come out showing a direct link between mental state and basic body function (hormone regulation, mood, even IVF success).

I'm scared about proceeding with this FET because I don't want to go through another miscarriage; another failure. I had the D&C yesterday: it was painful, but it was over quickly. The hardest thing was waking up today and immediately feeling that my body was empty. It's like any residual hope was sucked out of me. I know it was the right decision, but it's not something I want to ever go again. Hence I search, hoping that I'll find something that will help guide my doctors so that I can prepare my body for the next round. So that I can reduce the risk of living through this heartache again.

The only thing that has kept me going has been the love and support I've received from so many of you. I've read every single one of your comments, and they all reminded me that I'm not on this path alone. A very special thanks to MissC for her amazing gift. You have brought so much peace to my heart. Because of all of you, I know that I will be okay and will be able to move forward. For now, I just need to build my strength.

Weird Goodbye

It's confirmed: Pregnancy is not viable. We had our ultrasound today and I should be 5w5days pregnant if everything is normal. Instead we saw a very small gestational sac that measured under 4 weeks. Dr. Sage and Dr. Optimism agree on the diagnosis: blighted ovum. Medication has been stopped. I have a D&C scheduled for Wednesday.

I'm numb from all of this. Part of me wants to be angry and bitter over all of this. To scream at everyone who told me coming up to this moment that everything would be fine and that I simply needed to relax. But the other part of me is simply at peace because the roller coaster from last week is now over. Grey and I will move forward with our plan; we will try again with our other 6 embryos. And though we don't know the outcome of this plan, we do know that we will expand our family. For now, we have some closure.

The other question I'm struggling with is whether this is actually a loss. I hurt so much right now because I wanted this baby, but in truth we didn't get very far with this pregnancy.  We never saw a heartbeat; an image of a fetal pole. It's more like the loss of an idea instead of the loss of something that was real. Because of this, I feel guilty for even grieving, for calling this a miscarriage. Because I know so many of you have lost your babies, experienced the pain of no longer seeing your baby's heartbeat.

So this is my weird goodbye to this baby. My tribute to my child who I will never hold in my arms. Your father and I loved you and will always love you. We both wish today would have been different, that a miracle would have happened. Instead, all I can say is I'm so sorry I couldn't protect you and help you grow. That I couldn't bring you into this world. You will always be in our hearts.