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.

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.

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.

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.

Smoke and mirrors

Most people in real life have no idea I'm living with infertility.

There is no brand, no scarlet letter.  I do things most fertiles do: grocery shop, exercise, go to work, etc. There is no obvious way to identify me out of a crowd.

But for those who are living with infertility, I'm easy to spot. I am the one who gets quiet when someone announces that are pregnant "after only a month of trying." I'm the person who avoids the play area at the mall. I look longingly into strollers as new mothers push their children pass. Not only am I easy to spot, but I have no problem spotting fellow IFers. I've become tuned in to the signs.

When people learn that Grey and I are living with infertility, they usually act surprised. I had one person tell me "but you look so healthy!" when she learned the news. Granted, there's always that moment where advice is offered (and gently rejected), but usually silence follows. Because the idea that a happy couple like Grey and I living with something so terrible is something most people don't want to try to comprehend. The idea that 1 in 8 couples is struggling with this disease makes it all too real that someone they know and love is quietly battling.

Because of this mindset, I've also learned techniques to deflect questions about plans for children from people who really don't know better. I don't have the emotional energy to defend myself from the onslaught of questions that comes with this news every waking hour. And, frankly, there are moments where it's just not worth the announcement.  In a way, I've become an illusionist: oohing and awing my audience with the image of a carefree and full life.

As all of you know, though, it's all smoke and mirrors.

So, how does this work? Well, there are a few universal truths.

First: the imagination always makes for a better story than the truth.  The last event Grey and I attended was for his work. I spent a good amount of time dressing, doing my hair and even applying some make-up. The goal was that even though I felt awful inside, I was determined to show a happy, healthy me. In addition to this, while we were at the event, I made certain to keep talk about myself to a minimum. I answered basic questions, smiled loving at my husband when people talked about his accomplishments, and then quickly made sure to change the subject. Basically, I keep things vague and present an image of prosperity. This is the smoke.

Which brings me to my next truth:  everyone loves to share their story. Whether it be about the vacation they just took, their woes with their teenage children or even telling you about a life-changing event, most can spend quite a bit of time filling in the details of their life. So I use this and have found that it's very easy to keep conversation going without having to touch on my life outside of some superficial details. And when the conversation starts to die, I stoke the flames with another question. This is the mirror.

The problem with being an illusionist is that one becomes paranoid about who knows your secrets. Though many at Grey's work know now about our infertility, I'm cautious about letting them know about the details from the last month. Those memories are painful and a source of weakness. So when asked how I'm doing, I smile and say I'm fine while actively looking for an exit in case I need to break down.

But now I wonder if keeping that facade is hurting everyone involved: me for feeling the need to hide and them from not learning the truth about infertility. I'm not suggesting that I sit each person down and explain the horrors of the D&C, but answering "you know, I'm really not doing well, but today is okay" may not necessarily be a bad thing. After all, the truth is suppose to set you free.

Update on FET: Saline sonogram and mock transfer has been moved to Feb 14th. Honestly, I can't think of a more comical way to spend Valentine's Day.  In the meantime, I'm "patiently" waiting for AF to show up. 

I get by with a little help from my friends

First off, for anyone who follows Jay's blog (The Two Week Wait), please stop by and send her some love.

As mentioned in my previous post, I've decided that to make the most of this down-time prior to FET and made a list of things to do. So far, the jogging hasn't happened due to a very busy week with my students, nor have I started meditating. What I have been good at though is relaxing. Last night was spent sitting on the couch with Grey and flipping through cookbooks for recipes to try over the weekend. Tonight was an impromptu stop at a local restaurant for good food and some wine. Tomorrow I have a date with the tub and I nice bottle of Claret.

What really started all of this was a phone call from a good friend, K. Though not living with infertility, K has been a constant source of support on this TTC journey. Following being diagnosed, while others pulled away, she made a point of contacting me, listening when I needed a shoulder to cry on and cheering us on through many rounds of treatment. So when I told her about my "change" list of FET, she immediately offered to help: this Saturday we are hitting the spa for some girl time. Her reasoning behind this decision is based on two things: 1) we've both earned it and 2) some things are best left to professionals.

I've been reflecting on friendships lost and made since our diagnosis with infertility. I'd be lying if I said that every relationship has remained intact while I've been on this path. But I'd also be lying if I didn't admit the role infertility has played in strengthening many of my relationships. As much of a curse being on this road has been (physically, emotionally and psychological), there has been the blessing that all fair-weather friends, toxic friends, friends with ulterior motives and "frenemies" have vanished from my life. I no longer have time or energy to be supportive of those who view me as someone to compete with, emotionally drain or simply hang around when everything is okay. What's been replaced in those voids have been women and men who have offered unlimited kindness, unfaltering support and love. Some of these people have been part of our lives for years and our bond has only strengthen because of this journey. Others have come from unexpected sources: work, online and even through random chance. This has been the most unexpected and wonderful part of this journey.

This past month tested some of these relationships to their very core. And though it was quiet for a few days following the D&C, I knew in my heart it was not because no one cared but because they were respecting my space and giving me time to grieve. As I've been coming out of that dark period, I've begun to get back into contact with people, letting them know that though wounded, I'm still not broken. The response has been amazing, with messages of support and love when it would be all too easy to say "hey, that's great, but you know you're kinda bringing me down." Sure, there have been moments that haven't been perfect, but the fact so many have reached out to me in my time of need leaves me in awe.

So, to each and every single one of you who have followed me these past couple of months, cheering me on during the good moments and offering words of support and love during the bad ones, I want to say thank you. This journey isn't over, but I know I have the strength to move on because of all of you.

******
Quick update on the FET cycle: blood draw tomorrow morning to determine whether or not I've ovulated. I've already been warned that due to the D&C, there's a good chance that this cycle is anovulatory, meaning that I wouldn't be able to start meds till have AF arrives. So tomorrow I'll either have the green light or we'll be back on hold.

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

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.

Limbo

Short post today. My mind is racing and putting together coherent thoughts has been very difficult.  

Here's why: apparently I'm still "pregnant."

On Sunday, Grey and I received the news that my HCG levels were down from 124 to 91.  Dr. Practical suggested that it was a chemical pregnancy and that I should stop the meds. I pushed for one more beta to verify this (I'm a biologist and I like to see trends). Tuesday morning ultrasound showed some blood in my uterus.  Dr. Sage was pretty convinced that I would start bleeding that day and that we would be reassessing in two weeks.

Then I got the phone call that evening. It's never a good sign when your RE starts the conversation with "there are days when this job really isn't easy." Take home message: HCG levels were back up to 119.  Another beta scheduled for Thursday. I'm ordered to stay on medications. Mourning has been put on hold.

I'm pretty sure that everyone believed that I would be bleeding by now and that the next beta would level off or drop. Imagine all the new confusion when, today, we learned that my HCG levels are at 300.

Let me be clear: no one is celebrating at this point. There's a lot of doom and gloom, with my medical professionals preparing me for the worst. There's the very real possibility that me being "pregnant" means the only thing that is growing is placenta (blight ovum). So I may have to have a D&C (tentatively scheduled for Monday). Then there's the all so fun possibility of an ectopic. 

But the other possibility is that I only lost one embryo. That the other one implanted late and is now growing. This is something that is talked about after the fact, because it's rare. Add to the fact that Grey and I have learned that HCG isn't really a great indicator for how the pregnancy is progressing (think PSA tests for prostate cancer), but it's the only early marker we currently have, and that adds a whole new level to the anxiety mix.

I want an answer. "No" hurts, but at least I get to grieve and have some closure. Limbo is it's own special hell and Grey and I are beginning to wonder what we did in out past lives to deserve this.

Beta #6 is on Saturday. 

POAS PTSD

I remember the first couple of months of TTC. Like most women, I was fairly confident that I would be pregnant within a couple of months of trying. After all, infertility was unheard of in the women in my family.  As time wore on, though, I started to become wary of HPTs. The anticipation of seeing that second line or only seeing the word "pregnant," began to be replaced with a sense of dread.

Today is 8dp5dt and I have yet to POAS.  Originally the plan was to take an HPT yesterday so that we would have some resolution before my birthday, but when it came time, I couldn't.  The anxiety of seeing only the one line and then having to wait until Wednesday to follow up with a blood draw was just too much. As much as I want to know, the rollercoaster ride that would ensue following the event isn't something that my heart can take.

I think I'm in the minority with this issue. Over the past couple of weeks, I've read many posts about follow IFers posting HPT result after HPT result. The anxiety I feel from reading these posts has made it difficult to follow a lot of these blogs and I've felt a lot of guilt for not being able to be more supportive.

Tomorrow morning, I go in for my beta. I will also bit the bullet and POAS. There will be tears for sure.  And shaking. And so much anxiety, praying, bargaining with the universe. But not today. Today I'm trying to hold on to this feeling that Grey and I have done everything we could.

A Case of the Mean Reds

The holiday season is in full swing. Last minute gift shopping is rampant, Santa hats are everywhere, traffic is crazy, you get the picture.  Grey and I are laying low this year, as we are in the middle of the two week wait.  And for the past few days, we've done a fairly good job of distracting ourselves while embracing the holiday cheer.

Until today.

The day started innocently enough.  I had finished all my grading and submitted it while Grey was off getting a hair cut.  We went  out to run a couple of errands and decided to stop by a local park to walk along the beach of Puget Sound.  As I gazed out onto the water, I spoke out-loud to the embryos, promising them that if they decided to implant and hang out for the next 9 months that we would bring them back there and spend a day in the sand.

And instantly, upon saying those words, I got hit with this overwhelming feeling of dread and despair. And a singular feeling that it was all over.

Somehow, we made it off the beach before I broke down sobbing.  I don't remember how we got home.  All I know is that I somehow made it to the couch and cried myself to sleep.

Part of all this is due to recent bad news from other bloggers, watching them as they go from utter elation to absolute despair.  The other part is this ongoing belief that there is no way this will happen based on the simple fact that I don't deserve this.  That, since birth, I was destine for this misery.  Logically, I know this isn't true.  Yet after 2 years without a single positive result, it's hard to refute that thought.

Tonight, while families around the world gather to celebrate, I find myself on the couch shaking.  My body is sore from the last month and my heart is bleeding from yet another holiday without my children.  Yet, somehow, we're expected to trudge on, suck it up and put on a smile for all the world to see.  And if I don't, I'm immediately reminded how "lucky" I am.  I don't have cancer or some life-threatening disease. I have a warm home. I have food to eat. I should remember how blessed I am, right?

Yet, what people don't take into account is that there are far worse things in this world than death. And that life requires more than simply physical sustenance. Soul-sickness can kill too.

I'm struggling. I want to desperately to believe that there's still a chance for this cycle. And I'm so very tired of hitting this point in the 2 week wait where all I can do is cry.  Just once, I'd like that happy ending; some sort of miracle.

The Weight Before the Door

First off, welcome all from ICLW. Brief background on me: after 2 years of TTC, we took the plunge and proceeded with IVF. From this cycle, we ended up with 8 embryos. 6 were frozen, 2 were transferred. I'm currently in the two week wait.

In an effort to distraction myself from analyzing every twinge and pang during this wait, I've been reflecting on my own journey so far and how it has changed Grey and me. Yesterday, as I was going through some old boxes, I came upon our wedding programs. The trip down memory lane was quite a bit of fun (we had a small wedding on a lovely summer day in June 2004. Overall, it was a wonderful day).  While flipping through the program, I came upon a story that we put at the end of it.  This story was collected in Morocoo in 1908 by Feridah Kirby Green, who was the daughter of a British Minister. I first heard the story while taking an African Storytelling course as an undergraduate and I fell in love with it's lesson immediately.

The Weight Before the Door

There lived once a man so rich that he measured his money by the bushel, as we poverty-stricken ones measure barley or bran. One day, he fell very ill, and, feeling that his last hour had come, he called his son and gave over to him all his wealth and property. He said to him, "My son, I leave your welfare in the hands of the Almighty, and to the care of such-and-such a one, who is my friend. Listen to his words, as if they were mine. I have instructed him to find a bride for you when you are ready to marry."


Having blessed his son, the man died.


After a time, the young man desired to marry, so, according to his father's last word, he went to the his father's friend, his guardian and informed him. The Guardian said, "It is well," and he set out and found a young woman. He made all necessary preparations, and caused a suitable feast to be prepared. The morning before the carrying of the bride to the groom, the Guardian called the young man and siad to him, "Son of my friend, I have found you a bride. But before we may know that she is the one destined for you by Allah, it is necessary that you should do this. Tonight, after the bride has been brought to your house and she is seated in your room awaiting you, and before you go to her, I shall cause a heavy weight to be placed before the door of the room. You are to attempt to remove the weight. If she is the fitting wife for you, you will succeed; if you do not succeed, you will know that she is not for you and you should divorce her tomorrow without so much as seeing her face." 


The young man wondered about this, but said, "It is well."


That night, the bride was brought with much pomp and rejoicing, and the bride was taken to the man's apartment and seated there in a rich robe to await him. Her eyes were closed and a veil covered her face.


The bridegroom, after tarrying a while in the mosque with young men of his acquaintance, came up to the door of the room. The door was agar, so that he could see the shrouded figure. Before the door lay the weight, of which the Guardian had spoken. The weight was round like a ball and not large.


The youth though, "I shall life it with ease and won't wait to go in to my wife." But when he tired to lift the weight, he could not move it---no, not the breadth of a finger nail. He tried with all his strength to move it by lifting and pushing and rolling it, but in vain.


He did not enter the room.


The next morning, he went to the Guardian and told him what had happened. The Guardian said, "You must divorce this woman, my son, and I shall seek another for you." This was done.


The Guardian, after he had found a second woman, caused a yet finer feast to be prepared. The bride was brought, as had happened the first time, and the bride was seated in the young man's room. When he came to enter, the weight again lay before the slightly open door. Though he saw the veiled woman, and though he tried with all his strength to remove the obstacle and go to her, he could not---no, though he struggled until dawn.


When the Guardian heard that the young man had failed once more, he signed and said, "Nor is this wife destined for you by the All-wise. Let us send her back to her father and I shall seek again."All was done as he said.


When the young man came for the third time to try to enter the bridal chamber, for the third time he saw that the way was blocked. He said, "This time, I shall remove the weight or, if I cannot do it, I shall try no more.  If I do not succeed this time, I shall know that it is decreed that I should die unmarried." He bent his back and seized the ball with his two hands, and he pulled at it until he groaned with weariness, but in vain.


The young woman within heard his groans and she said to herself, "Shall I let this man who is my husband kill himself without striving to help him?" She arose, put aside her veil and her outer robe of gold and pushed herself through the half-open door. She approached the young man who was wrestling with the heavy weight and said, "Let me help, my lord."


The two placed their hands together on the ball, and pushed with all their force. The weight rolled on one side of the door, so that the entrance was free.


The young man looked on the fair face of the woman who had come to his aid and saw that she was in truth the bride destined for him. He embraced her and the two entered the room together.


The past couple of nights, Grey and I have been reflecting on the journey we've been on. The road hasn't been easy: there's been a lot of loss, a lot of pain.  In truth, there were many times where it would have been a lot easier if we had simply given up.  Yet I couldn't. He couldn't. Because giving up would have meant giving up on our family.

7 1/2 years ago, I stood with this man before friends and family, promising to move any stone in our path.  I never dreamed that some of those stones would be the size of boulders and that there would be moments where we would be working together to climb over them as we were unable to move them. Yet I can't imagine any other person I would have wanted by my side during this.

The moral of this story is simple, though not easy: A fruitful and blessed marriage will be one in which the husband and wife (or husband and husband or wife and wife) struggle with life's problems, problems that are represent by the weight before the door.

In 7 days, we will receive results from this cycle. I pray that weight is nonexistent.

The waiting is the hardest part

In 1981, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers released their album "Hard Promises." If you haven't had a chance to listen to the album, I highly recommend it (the duet with Stevie Nicks is amazing!!). The most recognized song on the album is "The Waiting."

Oh baby don't it feel like heaven right now
Don't it feel like something from a dream
Yeah I've never known nothing quite like this
Don't it feel like tonight might never be again
We know better than to try and pretend
Baby no one coulda ever told me 'bout this
I said yeah yeah

Chorus
The waiting is the hardest part
Every day you see one more card
You take it on faith, you take it to the heart
The waiting is the hardest part

Well yeah I might have chased a couple women around
All it ever got me was down
Then there were those that made me feel good
But never as good as I'm feeling right now
Baby you're the only one that's ever known how
To make me wanna live like I wanna live now
I said yeah yeah

Chorus
The waiting is the hardest part
Every day you get one more yard
You take it on faith, you take it to the heart
The waiting is the hardest part

Oh don't let it kill you baby, don't let it get to you
Don't let it kill you baby, don't let it get to you
I'll be your bleedin' heart, I'll be your cryin' fool
Don't let this go too far
Don't let it get to you

Yesterday was a wonderful day. Grey and I finally received news that it is possible for our gametes to fuse and make embryos.  All that came crashing down, though, when reality seeped in that fertilization was only one step of the process. That just because our two genomes were able to fuse doesn't mean we're in the clear. Now these embryos need to divide. They need to become morulas and ultimately blastulas. And through those divisions, set up to the different layers that will eventually become their bones, their hearts, their lungs. I also know that human embryos are SLOW; they need time to do this.  But most importantly, I know where things can go wrong. I know first hand that all of this can halt and that within a day, the dream can be gone. And there is nothing I can do.

Monday is our scheduled transfer day.  We've been told that no news = good news; that we won't hear anything about how they're doing until it's time to proceed or unless something awful happens. Grey has banned me from Pubmed for the weekend, reminding me that I can't research my way out of this. But what I can do is meditate and focus on preparing my body. I can hold them in my mind, sending them love and asking them to grow and be strong. 

  

Quick update

Two things this morning, all.

1) I you follow Rebecca over at Pink Lipgloss and Prenatals, stop by this morning and give her a hug.  She had quite a scare yesterday all starting with a visit to Urgent Care.  Rebecca, I've already said it, but I will say it again.  Thinking of you today and sending you so much love and light.

2) RE called this morning with the fertility report:
           22 follicles
           18 eggs retrieved
           13 eggs mature
             9 fertilized
I'm so relieved because now we FINALLY know that it is possible for Grey and I to make embryos.  I now have one wish:  GROW!!!

Doubts

I hate being a pessimist. Nothing is attractive about all the self-loathing and the second-guessing. When I was younger, I longed to be one of those girls who's so confident that "everything will work out for the best" or "though the rain falls, the sun will peak it's head out from behind the clouds soon." Yeah, I hated those girls.

My problem: to date, this cycle has been going really well. I'm currently at CD11 and have 22 follicles. That's right, 22. Any doubt I have about their existence is continually squashed by the lower back pain, the feeling of two cue balls pressing up against my kidneys and stomach and the constant feeling of nausea.  E2 level is 4728 as of this morning. We're triggering tonight for a retrieval on Wednesday morning. For all practical purposes, I should be very hopeful and optimistic. After all, the medical staff is elated. Yet instead, I'm finding myself waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Being on this path long enough results in hearing a number of IVF stories: there's the ones where everything was perfect from the beginning leading to a very happy ending. Everyone on this path wants one of those. Then there's the ones where things didn't look that great going in, but resulted in a healthy happy baby. I've done my share of cheering for those. And then there's the stories that people talk about in the third person or are not told till years later. The stories of the optimal cycle that failed.

Tonight, I'm finding myself on the edge of a cliff, getting ready to dive head-first into this next step.  Though I know that there is nothing I can do to change the future, I'm absolutely terrified. I'm terrified that in the next few days everything that I knew will be changed. There's a chance that all of this will work out wonderfully and the thought of that brings tears to my eyes. And yet the eternal pessimist looms, pointing a gnarly finger at the other possibility. I really wish that I had a bat to beat her up, knocking her out of commission, if just for one night. So that for once, that sense of caution and preparation for the worst was gone. That I could for the first time in two years embrace the unknown, excepting whatever the outcome would be.

In need of inspiration

Thursday is my suppression check.  I'm both excited and nervous.  I'm nervous they're going to find a cyst again, nervous that everything is not sufficiently quiet, worried that they'll put us on hold.

Today I'm trying to keep my hopes up, listening to music that will provide me a sense of peace and purpose.  This song from Charlotte Martin summarizes everything a little too well.