Reflections

Over the last couple of days, I've been reading post after post reflecting on 2011. Some have been filled with anger, others have been hopeful for the future and some have been somewhere in between, talking about happy times as well as frustrations with this journey.  But there is a common theme of wondering what 2012 will hold.

The last three years have been miserable for Grey and me. 2009 was when we both were diagnosed with mono, I had a close call with death while rock climbing, all my experiments failed and I wondered if I would actually make it out of graduate school. It was also the year that the baby bug hit and though I got to meet my niece and nephew and spend some wonderful days with BIL and his wife, I was filled with jealousy as I knew Grey wasn't ready.  All that changed at the end of our trip to Washington DC to help the new family, so though 2009 was rough, it ended with a note of hope.

2010 started off terribly. As we were toasting in the new year, I watch a golden retriever, who's owner's were stupid enough to leave him outside during the firework display, escape from his yard and ran down a major arterial. He was almost hit multiple times by on-coming traffic and though we tried to help, he was off into the night before we could get to street level. It was an omen for things to come. Months passed with more and more friends, coworkers and my 19 yrs old, unemployed cousin becoming pregnant while we were trying. We ended the year with me having a mental breakdown and beginning to look for support. 2010 was the year that I joined a forum of women who were trying to go through TTC calmly and since some of those women have become some my biggest sources of support and strength. It was also the year a prominent committee member announced that I had completed all the requirements for my PhD, but need to focus now on my paper and the next step. After 5 1/2 years, the end of graduate school was in sight.

2011 has been bittersweet. Grey and I were diagnosed formally with "unexplained infertility" at the beginning of February and treatment was immediately put on hold so that I could focus on finishing my degree.  That's still a decision I regret. In addition, my grandfather, who I was very close to, passed away. A day before I was to fly back to the midwest for the funeral, my sister called to announce that she was pregnant. I did find a support group that focused on teaching meditation and relaxation techniques in order to improve fertility and cope with the process (if you haven't read Ali Domar's "Conquering Infertility," I highly recommend it), but I found that the group wasn't a source of support when we were released for our group leader's guidance. 2011 is also the year we began treatment, with three back-to-back IUIs that failed. That was a turning point for Grey, as he really did believe that simple intervention was all it would take. Despite this pain, 2011 was the year I began to find my voice regarding infertility. We began telling people our story and seeking support from family and friends. Some failed miserable (my family in particular) and had to be excised from our life so that would could survive. Others surprised us and have become our rocks. Probably most surprising was finding support from unexpected places: from people in the blogger sphere (Jay, I'm thinking of you), from those in online forums (Keisha, Shelley, Gina, Libby, Jacqueline, Nicole, Leslie and Marisa) to those in real life who I never expected. With this new reality has come death, but there's also been birth.  Through all of this and quite a bit of encouragement, I finally bit the bullet and started this blog. Just in time for IVF. It's by far the best decision I've ever made as I've been blessed to find all of you.

I have no idea what 2012 holds for me. I'm scared to think that far ahead. My second beta was yesterday = 124. Not exactly double the first beta = 66; but Dr. Practical is happy with the number. Tomorrow is beta #3. The thing is, I'm no longer naive; I know all too well that all of this could be over tomorrow. And outside of being a bit more tried and hungry, I have no symptoms. But I also know that stressing about it isn't going to change things for the better. And I've learned that I really do need to give up this thought that I can, otherwise I will drive myself to madness.

So, 2012, bring it. I know there will be moments of sorrow (there always are), but I also know that I'm stronger because of this path I've been on. There is nothing you can throw at me that I can't handle because I won't be alone. And I'm determined that there will be moments of joy; moments that I can look back on and treasure for the years to come.

Let's get this show on the road!

I have vacation brain. I should be preparing for the upcoming semester, clean the house and reflecting on 2011, but instead I've found dreaming while curled up under the covers to be a formidable temptation. So, again, I apologize for my laziness and not getting this out sooner.

Here's the list for the sock exchange I have to date:

1) Kelley @ Ready For My Miracle
2) Her Royal Fabulousness @ Waiting for Little Feet
3) JustHeather @ BattleFish
4) Our Life in Cycles @ Living Our Life in Cycles
5) Still Hoping @ Hope Delayed
6) Chanel @ Just Waiting for My Turn . . . 
7) Kayla @ Life is Simple, It's Just Not Easy
8) Toni @ Who is this "Fertile Myrtle"?
9) Belle @ Scrambled Eggs

The exchange will continue to be open to anyone who wants to participate (just shoot me an email), but it's time to get this show on the road.

For transparency, this is how I've assigned "sock exchange buddies." I used a random list generator found here to randomize the names and then paired people off based on names that were next to one another.  Once you know who your buddy is, contact them to exchange shoe size as well as contact information. Again, socks do NOT need to be handmade, but I know all of you have a creative streak, so pick out something special. Let me know if you don't hear from your buddy within the next few days.

So, without further ado, here's the exchange list:


Kayla and Her Royal Fabulousness


Still Hoping and JustHeather 


Our Life in Cycles  and Belle 


Chanel and Kelley 


Cristy and Toni 


Good luck!

Fertility socks, part deux

A few posts back, I proposed a fertility sock exchange. The whole point being that it would be a way to support one another while we're on this journey. I haven't forgotten about it, I've just been distracted.

Anyway, this is the current list:

-Kelley
-Rebecca @ Life of an Army Wife
-JustHeather @ BattleFish
-Our Life in Cycles @ Living Our Life in Cycles
-Hope Delayed
-Chanel @ Just Waiting for My Turn . . . 

If you're not on the list and want to be, please let me know in the comments section. Similarly, if you're on the list and don't want to be, let me know too.

I'm hoping to set all of this up in the next couple of days, with instructions for how to make all of this happen.

Game changer

Yesterday, I started a post talking about broken dreams and finding the need to move forward. In that post, I planned on talking about the biology behind IVF; how it's a great diagnostic tool as well as an effective treatment. How, before IVF, couples were subjected to living quietly with infertility, having no real treatment options, medically speaking. I think it will be a good post, particularly regarding the biology and the advances. But that will be for another time.

Yesterday, after posting about my anxiety disorder about HPTs, I went upstairs to shower and change out the Crinone. It was then that I found blood. Not a lot (none of it made it to the panty liner I was wearing), but enough that all I could think was "it's over." Grey found me in the shower, sobbing like a baby. Immediately, he took control of the situation, ordered me dress, out the door and into the car. His mission was to get me out of the house and to find sunshine, somewhere in the state of WA. So off we went, over the mountain pass.

We didn't find sunshine. But what we did find was snowfall. And during the drive, Grey calmed me down, reminding me that a little bit of blood is normal. And that he wasn't ready to throw in the towel. Because no matter what, we were going to expand our family. Our children exist, it's just a matter of time.

I hadn't seen snow in over a year. Standing outside as those big flakes landed on my face helped me remember happier times. And as I calmed down and began to listen to my body, I realized that even though I had zero pregnancy symptoms, I wasn't ready to quit.

This morning, Grey woke me up and told me it was time. Shaking and crying, I did my first HPT in over 6 months while my darling partner held my hand. And that's when, for the first time in over 2 years of this madness, we saw the second line.

The RE on duty called me 20 minutes ago about the results from the blood test: Beta #1 = 66.  Not as high as I thought it would be, but higher than I ever expected.  Second beta is on Friday.

Today, I find myself in unfamiliar territory. By no means are we out of the woods yet, but today we are further along in this process than I ever allowed myself to imagine we would be.  But I'm also sad too. I'm sad because I want all of you to have this too (outside of the hysterics . . . that I'll keep). I want to be able to wave my magic wand and to give all of us a baby, right now. Because all of you will be mothers, and awesome ones to boot.

Grey and I are off to go spin the prayer wheels.

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.

'Twas The Night Before Christmas (IVF style)

This isn't mine; I can't possibly take credit for this work of genius.  But I love it and thought all of you might too.

'Twas the day of the transfer and out the door we went,
My hormones were raging and I felt emotionally spent.
The stockings were hung by the stirrups with care,
In hopes that a baby soon would be there.

The nurse was prepping and readying the bed,
While visions of implantation danced in my head.
Me in my paper gown, and my husband in his cap,
I was getting ready to settle down for my Valium nap.

When out in the waiting room there arose such a clatter,
My husband sprang from the OR to see what was the matter.
Down the hall he flew like a flash,
Ran into the receptionist and gave her the cash.

The florescent light beamed down from the ceiling above,
Giving the lustre of paleness to my true love.
When, what to our wondering eyes should appear,
A man in a white coat and I felt nothing but fear.

With a look in his eye that said nothing was missed,
I knew in a moment it must be my reproductive endocrinologist.
More rapid than pregnancy news, his assistants they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

“Now Betty! now, Alice! now, Sally and Sue!”
“On, Donna! On, Margaret! on, on Kelly and Drew!”
“Get the embryologist in here. Get her right away.”
“We’re ready to do this! I hope this will be your lucky day!”

As we said a prayer and everyone got ready,
The doctor pulled the catheter trigger and held it real steady.
So, up to the uterine lining it flew,
With a shot full of embryos and culture solution, too.

And then, in a twinkling, I knew I desperately needed to pee,
I said, “My bladder is about to explode, don’t you see?”
As I wiggled and squirmed and looked for my man,
I turned just in time to see him coming with a bed pan.

He was dressed in paper footies and was as handsome as ever,
I sighed in relief and immediately felt better.
I laid still for 20 minutes while he watched the clock,
Then, in someone came.  “You can get up,” said the doc.

But his eyes, they were serious,
He said, “There’s something we need to discuss.”
“Lay still for three days, before you get up and go,”
“You must give those embryos time to burrow in and grow.”

So off we went as my husband wheeled me away,
Back to car and we were on our way.
I laid in the backseat and looked at the embryo picture,
And, hoped with all my might that God might hear my whisper.

I felt chubby and plump, from all the hormones,
And, then thought of tomorrow’s injections with a groan.
With a wink of my eye and a twist of my head,
I knew the two-week-wait would be something to dread.

When we arrived back home, my mom went straight to her work,
She made a great lunch, then turned with a jerk.
She said, “You just lay there to relax and rest.”
“Leave everything to me and don’t you stress.”

With two weeks to wait and Lovenox to endure,
We readied ourselves for heartache some more.
I stressed about my symptoms and missed drinking wine,
Then we prepared for the big test and we hoped for two lines.

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.