I have been thinking for quite a while that I was finished with this blog. So it was surprising to me tonight when I felt an urge to document some things here. But, I have come back here on several occasions when I was reflecting on our infertility history and couldn't remember the exact sequence of events that led up to a particular milestone, or when I couldn't remember the date or time frame of an event. So, I thought that I'd probably regret it if I didn't get some of the details of our latest attempt chronicled here, if only so that I can read back through it at some much later date, and get whatever I need from it....

So - we started treatment again in July, and we decided to start from the beginning again. Since I have lost a considerable amount of weight, our doctor agreed that my body might react differently and with less medication than during our previous attempts, and that it made sense to perhaps start with the lesser expensive IUI treatments before advancing on to IVF again. So, I took 150 mg of Clomid along with a few low doses of injectable FSH medications (which were graciously donated to us by dear friends who are now 7 months pregnant with the fruits of their latest cycle) and we did an IUI procedure (our 2nd ever) on July 10. On July 24 we found out that it was unsuccessful. We started another cycle immediately, and had IUI procedure #3 on Aug 10. Here's what happened after that:

Saturday, Aug 22 - Unlike all previous attempts, this time I was nonchalant, completely sure that the IUI hadn't worked, and I did not pee-on-a-stick each and every morning for the last week of the 2 week window. I had been planning to only pee on ONE stick the morning of the beta, just because I couldn't deal with the suspense of having blood drawn and waiting for 6 hours for someone to call me to tell me my fate. But, on Sat afternoon, I went into the bathroom to pee and my last remaining pregnancy test was sticking out of a basket in my bathroom and it caught my eye, and I thought - well, what the hell, I'll just take this ONE test and then I won't have anymore in the house to tempt me, and I'll buy just one more on Monday night to take on Tuesday morning before the beta. So I peed on it, and immediately two lines came up, and reflexively, I almost threw it in the trash as I have countless other times before, thinking that it was negative, as usual. But at the last second, with the stick poised over the trash can, my heart leaped into my throat, and I thought - WAIT a minute. Two lines? Doesn't that mean something good? But, you know, on some of them you need a plus sign, and I couldn't really remember what brand of test I had taken, so I snatched up the instruction sheet, which I had thankfully saved, and tried to make sense of what I was seeing. My heart was pounding, pounding, pounding and the more I looked at the two lines the more I couldn't believe it. I raced down stairs and threw the test onto R's desk and asked him to read and tell me what it meant. He looked at it, and then he looked at me, and we stared at each other and I cried and we held each other for a few minutes, which was sheer joy, sheer elation, thank you GOD for this moment......And then I grabbed my keys and raced to the grocery store where I bought not one but 8 more tests. Because I couldn't believe it was true. I needed more reassurance. What if the one test I used was faulty? What if it was defective, had been in the humid bathroom too long, or I dropped it and broke it before I used it or what if it just LIED to me? I had to be sure, so I came home and drank 2 bottles of water and paced around until I could pee again. Then I peed on 4 sticks, all different brands, and every one of them came up immediately and strongly positive. No pussy-footing around, right away, clear as a bell. No squinting and holding the test up to the light, If you hold it this way it KIND of looks like a second line, right there? No, none of that. Straightaway positive as they could be.

The rest of Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday morning passed in a joy filled haze. On Tuesday morning I went in for my first beta. I wasn't the slightest bit nervous, because I reasoned that 5 pee sticks couldn't possibly be wrong. I knew there was enough hcg in my system to ensure happy news when I got the phone call that afternoon. And sure enough, my nurse called and congratulated me, and told me my hcg level was 637. Holy shit! It might be twins! We fought the urge to tell everyone we knew. I felt like I wanted to take out an ad on the nearest billboard, After FIVE years, we FINALLY did it! WE ARE GOING TO HAVE A BABY! A BABY! Us! We are pregnant! We told WAY too many people. Family and all the people we really love, but still, I know now, way too many people. We were just so overcome with this news, it was incredible, unbelievable, we felt like we had won the lottery. We talked about things that we have NEVER allowed ourselves to talk about since waaaay back when, 5 years ago, when we first got married and naively thought that all we had to do was stop trying NOT to get pregnant and we'd get pregnant. We talked about what we'd do with all the furniture that is in the spare room in order to turn it into a nursery. We talked about possible names, we talked about child care options, we talked about what the baby might look like, whether each of us wanted a boy or a girl.....I started reading "What to Expect When You're Expecting" again, which I also hadn't allowed myself to read since right after we were married. I can't remember a time when I felt so thankful, so happy, so hopeful and joyful....it was a magical week.

Thursday, Aug 27 - I was ridiculously sure of myself going into my second beta on Thursday morning. I knew that my levels of hcg were supposed to have risen at least by 60% in two days. I had calculated that meant my number needed to come back around 1050 or more, and I was honestly absolutely positive that I would surpass that number with ease. I wasn't even nervous. How are you this morning, the nurse asked me as I rolled up my sleeve. I'm FANTASTIC, I said, grinning like a cheshire cat. Supremely overconfident, and supremely naive and stupid, as it turns out. When my phone rang that afternoon to receive the results of the blood test, I was so excited to hear how my number had come back, and was anticipating going online to see if all the hcg charts still thought I was going to have twins. When Dr. G himself began speaking, instead of one of the nurses, I instantly knew it was bad news. He told me my level had only risen to 679. Not a good sign, he said. I could hardly breathe I was so shocked. I hadn't prepared myself AT ALL to hear bad news, hadn't even thought it could be a possibility. He went on to say that the level on Tuesday had been so high, and he thought it was possible that initially two embryos had implanted, but perhaps one of them had stopped growing, and that the other one was still fine. He said that they had definitely seen cases where that happened, and the remaining embryo went on to become a beautiful full term baby. That I shouldn't worry myself to death over the weekend, and that I should come back in on Monday for another blood test and an ultrasound to see what was going on in there, and hopefully my number would jump up and everything would be fine. I got off the phone, called R, and totally lost it. Was sure for about 3 hours that it was all over. Left work early, raced home to be with R who was also off that day, and laid in bed with him crying for over an hour. R is a steadfast rock of support in situations like these, and as he always does, he pulled me up out of it and helped me to see that there was every reason in the world to believe that it was just as Dr. G had said, our remaining embryo was strong and everything would be fine on Monday.

Monday, Aug 31 - after an eternity of time over the weekend, we went trembling into the fertility clinic for the 3rd beta. I was almost shaking I was so nervous. As I sat down in the chair to offer up my vein for the blood draw, one nurse asked the other, confirmed or suspected? My nurse answered, suspected, and then handed me a sheet of paper detailing the benefits of taking Methotrexate to dissolve ectopic pregnancies. What? Ectopic? huh? I hadn't even thought of that possibility until that very second, but gee thanks so very much for suggesting it. On the way down to the ultrasound room, I tried to explain to R why I was crying again, and why they seemingly suddenly thought our pregnancy could be ectopic, and then we both tried to figure out why they thought it prudent to provide us with the information and a consent form for methotrexate before we even had the effing ultrasound for christ sake. During the ultrasound, R stood there holding my hand while the doctor explained (not my beloved Dr G that morning, unfortunately) that although it was VERY early and they couldn't tell anything absolutely for sure, that she definitely saw what could very well possibly be, and most likely could maybe be, a pregnancy sac. But no, they couldn't rule out an ectopic pregnancy based on the ultrasound, bc it was really much too early, I was only 5 weeks that very day, and it's just so early to really tell anything definitively on ultrasound you see. Aaaaaarrrrrrggggghhhhh. R was steadfastly positive, as he always is, and focused on the fact that the doctor had ended on a positive note, "as far as I can tell, this is a pregnancy sac, and I would say that you definitely should NOT take the methotrexate at this point. We need to see what your hcg numbers look like this afternoon, and then we'll have a better idea of how we should proceed.." So, R and I both went off to work and I waited in horrible suspense for the next 4 hours for the fertility clinic's call. This time it was the nurse who called, but her news wasn't any more positive than Dr G's had been 4 days before: in 4 days, my hcg level had only risen to 713. She didn't offer any color commentary on the predictive nature of this number on our unborn child, but rather stated in a very serious tone that Dr G wanted to see me and perform an ultrasound HIMSELF in three days, and that he had arranged to meet me at the clinic on Thursday at 8:15, as long as that worked for my schedule. As if there were ANYTHING more important to me than this pregnancy! Sorry, getting my nails done at 8am, could Dr. G do 10, 10:30? yeah right.

Thursday, Sep 3 - I went by myself to the clinic this morning, feeling defeated and depleted. Dr G performed the ultrasound, and he was incredibly thorough. It took twice as long as it usually does. He said that he saw several cystic areas that might or might not be pregnancy sacs. He said that normally, at 5 and a half weeks, that he would expect to see white lines differentiating a pregnancy sac, which he didn't see on mine, and that he would also have expected the sac to be larger. The several areas that he saw in my uterus which MIGHT be pregnancy sacs were all quite small. Still, he said, knowing that this pregnancy is very much wanted, I want to give this every possible chance...let's see how the numbers come back this afternoon, and I want to see you on Monday, when you'll be 6 weeks, for another ultrasound. He said that at 6 weeks, on ultrasound he would expect to see a large pregnancy sac with a yolk sac clearly visible in it. If we didn't see that, and my numbers continued to creep upward, he would recommend starting the methotrexate. If there were any chance for this to be a viable pregnancy, he said we would have to see the numbers rise quite dramatically this afternoon, and we'd have to see that pregnancy sac with encompassed yolk sac on Monday. So, I left really feeling like there was very, very little hope. And more than that, feeling so terribly frustrated that this horrific suspense continued to drag on. The typical rollercoaster of infertility, only in a condensed way that I hadn't experienced before now. When the numbers came back this afternoon, 774, Dr G again called me himself, and said that given the lack of conclusive information from this morning's ultrasound, and the modest at best increase in my hcg level today, that he strongly recommended that I go ahead and take the metho injection. He told me that he felt there was almost no possibility that this pregnancy was viable, and that if we let it go on, there was a risk of my tube rupturing, if indeed it turned out that it was an ectopic pregnancy. He didn't feel there was any reason to wait and do another ultrasound on Monday. I cried, and called R, and drove myself bleary eyed back to the clinic. The metho injection is not only intramuscular, it has to be injected in two different injection sites in order to increase the absorption potential. Apparently the protocol for this is for the patient to assume the position, standing with trousers lowered and with palms braced on the examination table, while not one but two nurses armed with extra long needles face off behind you and stab you at exactly the same moment on opposite sides of your posterior. I had gotten intramuscular shots before when we did IVF, but R always gave them to me, and I always iced the injection site beforehand so that I never had to feel anything. Unfortunately ice wasn't part of the protocol this afternoon, and those two shots hurt like hell. I am proud to say that I didn't cry until well after the shots were over, when one of the nurses reached out and patted my arm and told me she was so sorry that she had to do it, and that she knew my heart was hurting worse than my rear end. That small act of kindness was too much for me, and I had to sit in the exam room with a box of tissues for several minutes before I could collect myself enough to walk out to the front desk, where I was told I needed to make a date for another two needles full of metho on Monday. That should make for a delightful Labor Day holiday - a trip around the beltway at 8 am to get two more intramuscular injections. Could this get any better?

So, there's the whole sad story. I feel completely wrung out now, and my eyes are are puffed up to the size of extra large marshmallows. Right now I wish more than anything that I could will my body to go ahead and get the mechanics of the miscarriage out of the way RIGHT AWAY. I'm told it could be two weeks or more before my body will decide it's finally time to expel the embryo, or materials of conception, or whatever I'm supposed to call it. I wish I could make it happen tomorrow, I would gladly stay here locked in my bed or bathroom suffering with cramps or pain or whatever may come, for hours on end, if I could only just get it over with right away. I can't stand the idea of walking around in this strange state. Still technically pregnant, but decidedly not. But like everything else about infertility, I have absolutely no control. My body will do whatever it will do, and I'll just be along for the ride.

Perhaps I will post more when this is all over. We're going to the beach in a week, I can only pray that I won't spend my one week's vacation this year dealing with the mechanics of an inevitable miscarriage.

Resurrection

Strange to be back here again, yet, here I am. Thought I might as well start logging my thoughts on infertility again, as I've finally taken some action today, after a very long hiatus. I went back my beloved RE this morning, for the first time in almost 2 years.

It was a surreal experience, sitting in front of him and listening to him recite my 5 history from notes on his computer screen, "Clomid in 2004 and 2005 with no response....protracted IUI cycle in 2006 resulting in an egg reduction procedure and mild ovarian hyperstimulation....IVF cycle in 2007, 14 eggs retrieved, all mature, all 14 fertilized, half of them abnormally. unsuccessful. recommended another round of IVF with addition of ICSI and assisted hatching..."


I sat across from the good doctor feeling somewhat accomplished. I'm 80 pounds lighter than last I saw him. I told him that for the first time in my life I had been having "regular" (40-ish day long) periods. I told him I had been waiting for a miracle. He smiled and said that response was common, human nature, understandable.

I told him I had said the same thing to my ob-gyn 2 months ago, who promptly responded, "You are 38. You don't have time to wait for miracles. Go back to your RE as soon as possible. Make an appointment today."


It took me two months to work up the nerve to jump back into this. In large part, I'm absolutely dreading it. A smaller part of me is starting to feel hopeful again, after only one consultation. I think that is very, very dangerous. Dangerous, but inevitable.


In the almost 2 years that have elapsed since we were officially "in treatment", my personality has changed. For the better, in my opinion. Granted, I may have been in denial during that time. But, it was a far more pleasant existence, being off of the roller coaster. I was able to set all of the constant plaguing daily heartache aside for a while. As I've said before, infertility is a problem that never goes away and has no good solution, no matter how often you analyze it, no matter how many different ways you look at it and turn it around in your mind. It's exhausting to have it top of mind every day. I don't miss walking around with my emotions and vulnerability so very close to the surface. I don't miss bursting into tears for no reason whatsoever. I don't miss feeling pitiful and pathetic and like a failure every day. I am so very fearful of going back to that place, and being that person again.


For practical reasons, I'm also dreading the logistics of getting back into a treatment cycle. I'm working longer hours and have a much more demanding schedule than I have since we began "trying" all those years ago, and I can't quite imagine how this is going to work this time around. The idea of telling my colleagues that I can't schedule any meetings before 10am is laughable.


But, we had some heart to heart talks, my wonderful hubs and me, and decided that there will never be a good or favorable time for getting back into this - not financially, nor physically, nor mentally. We must make it a priority whether we like it or not, because the statistics are stacked against us. No spring chickens, we two.


So. Here I am again. Preparing for another ride on the roller coaster...

Has it really been 4 months?

Wow, it's been quite a while since I felt I had anything to say on this blog that would be worth anyone's time to read about.

I guess the bad news is that nothing much has changed. IVF is still our only hope, and we still can't seem to commit to a plan for how to fund another try. I still feel like our time is running out. R turned 39 this month, which means I'm not very far from 38 now. Not the end of the world of course, doesn't mean pregnancy is impossible, but certainly doesn't do anything to improve our odds, either.

I suppose the good news is that I'm not as despondent about infertility on a daily basis as I have been in the past. I think that is because the longer we are stalled, the longer I allow myself to be apathetic about it, the easier it gets to....not do anything. I'd be lying if I said I was looking forward to being embroiled in a treatment cycle again, taking the injections, conforming our daily lives around the cycle, opening my heart up to hope again, bracing for the inevitable crash....I'm really dreading having to go through that all over again, actually. But still, if a big pile of money fell out of the sky tomorrow, I'd haul it straight to the RE's office and plunk it down, sign up for another chance.

We entertained R's family this afternoon and evening....had our usual Sunday afternoon cookout, as we do most Sundays in the summer. Today there were 15 adults, 7 children, and 2 dogs running around in our little house. It was a madhouse, of course, but we loved it. At the end of the evening, R's cousin asked if her 3 kids could take a quick bath before they left. They had to drive at least 45 minutes to get home, and she knew all 3 would be conked out in the car and difficult to harangue into the bathtub once they got home.

The sight of those 3 precious and precocious little ones in my bathtub pulled at me in a way that seeing them run around all day had not. As I helped to dry them off and muscle them into their 3 sets of clean and color coordinated PJ's, my main thought, of course, is that I should have been bathing my own children in our bathtub, not someone else's. I should have been putting PJ's on kids in a room decorated with zoo animals and ABC's, not in the room that serves as our "extra den" instead.

But remarkably, bitterness and self pity did not overtake me tonight, as they so often have in similar situations in the past. I feel a sense of hope about it all....although I can't say I know exactly why. Maybe because after all this time I still believe in miracles. Because I think R and I are good people, and because I still believe that good things do happen to good people. For tonight, that's enough reason to keep hoping.

Still here.....

I confess that I have been avoiding this blog. And I have also been avoiding all of your blogs. I know, selfish, right? I can't help it. The IF blogosphere has really depressed me since the New Year.

We don't really have any concrete plans set in place in terms of 'trying' in the near future. My body has refused to cooperate with our desire to start a family for almost 3 and a half years now. Because of the PCOS, I don't ovulate, so there's no chance for us to turn up miraculously pregnant while trying on our own. For what it's worth however, I refuse to remain on birth control pills while in limbo. Instead, every 2 or so months I call my RE's office to get a prescription for progesterone to induce a period. For the privelege of this endometrial-cancer staver-offer I must submit to a pointless pregnancy test administered in the RE's office.

I went for one at the end of January. It was very, very strange. I felt like I didn't belong there, like everyone could see that I wasn't really trying and why was I wasting the time of the staff there. Just months before I had felt like that waiting area was my second home. I knew all the nurses by name. I felt productive and dedicated and hopeful when I was climbing in and out of the stirrups 4 and 5 times a week. When I went in January I felt like a fraud and an outsider. It was weird to feel so far removed from that whole 'sisterhood of cycling' thing.

I guess I was also feeling that way about this blogging community. I can't read the blogs of those who are pregnant. I know I don't have to justify that to anyone, even though it does feel really shitty to admit it right out loud. And for every happy preggy blogger, there seem to be as many heartwrenching losses in our community of late as well. Reading about the horrific pain that so many are in, particularly Mary Ellen and Steve after losing their triplets - it just makes me nauseous and sick. And in this limbo-land, reading all the other blogs of those who are back up in the saddle (and stirrups) and are earnestly, hopefully, dutifully trying again - those just make me feel like a lazy loser.

The fact is that our only, only, onliest hope is IVF. And we simply cannot afford it right now. Who knows when we will be able to do so? There's a potential recession coming. We've had unforeseen expenses over the last 6 months, smaller bonuses and tax returns than we were expecting, and the housing market continues to decline. So, I honestly don't know when the next opportunity might be for R's sperm to meet one of my eggs. Possibly not until next year, by which time R will be 39 and I will be 38. Lately I've allowed myself to think about the fact that it might just be too late for us. I have prayed and railed and asked God - are we not meant to be parents? I still have no answers of course.

I'm just trying to take things day by day. As of tonight, I'm caught up on all of your blogs, and although I probably won't be commenting as much as I have in the past, please know that I'm back and keeping up with all of you again.

For my own sanity, I'm going to try to post my thoughts more often here, and not just when I'm feeling particularly sad. I promise to blog some joyful things every once in a while, as I have SO many things to be thankful for. As melancholy as this post has come out - there is still much joy in my life. I'm trying very hard to concentrate on it!

Angel in Alabama

Sometime last week, just a few short days after pouring out my heartache on this blog, I arrived home to find a package on my doorstep. It turned out to be an unexpected gift from Kellie, my angel in Alabama.

She sent me a beautiful little figurine, as well as the most inspiring and tear-jerking card you've ever read. Kellie's main message was this: I understand your pain, I'm sorry you're hurting, and there is reason to hope.

This unbelievably kind gesture from a woman 1,000 miles away who I've never even met - it lifted me up indescribably. It also brought on yet another freshet of tears - but not the same desperate kind of the past few weeks. These were tears to acknowledge that Kellie's words might? will? definitely will? come true: "K, you WILL be a mom."

This beautiful little figurine, with its little arms and hands outstretched, and its small face turned up to God - it's the last thing I look at before I go to bed each night. It is a heartwarming and much appreciated reminder to keep Hope alive.

Thank you Kellie, your gift means more to me than you will ever know!

Melodrama

I wish I could say I've thrown off the pall of sadness that was cloaking me the last time I posted (just before Thanksgiving.) Unfortunately, if anything, it's gotten worse. I feel so.......vulnerable, I guess. Kind of fragile - like any little thing could send me into a crying, pity-partying meltdown.

I feel anxious all the time, and more than that, I've become aware that I seem to be constantly bracing myself for hurtful news of some kind.

I look at our little dog Murphy lately and all I can think is how wrenchingly sad it will be when he eventually dies. He's only 9 years old, and I'm not expecting him to go any time soon. But for some reason I cry every night when I cuddle up with him, and wonder how I will be able to get out of bed and go on with my life when he dies.

Every time we see friends I find I'm bracing to hear that they are pregnant (again.) Or when the phone rings my brain kind of winces, wondering if there will be horrible or sad news, or some other hurtful knowledge on the other end of it.

I feel needy and dependent. The slightest mood change in R has me spiraling into thoughts that he's going to leave me...if not now, someday. I've lost my faith in happy endings. I feel cynical. Empty, except for the tears that seem to be always right behind my eyes.

I hate myself for being this pathetic person. I'm so weak. I have SO much to be thankful for, and I have to really FORCE myself to recognize that on a constant basis. I would much rather sit around feeling ridiculously sorry for myself. All the time.

I'm also an ingrate. R took me out to a fabulous, expensive, special and romantic dinner for my birthday a week and half ago. All his idea. Instead of enjoying spending a special evening with him, and savoring time spent together (which is really the most important thing), and appreciating the substantive price tag of the bottle of wine and filet mignon, I cried in the night like a 5 year old because he didn't give me an actual gift to open. AAACCKK! I'm so not this person.

My God, I just read over this and it's so freaking melodramatic. Blech!!!! But, it's what I'm really feeling. Ugh. I don't know how to snap out of this.

I'm simultaneously looking forward to this Saturday, and dreading it with my entire being. I'm forcing myself to attend an adoption 'convention' in DC, where I'll attend seminars to get educated on the facets of international vs. domestic adoption, open vs. closed, costs, timeframes, etc.

I want to go, and learn, and understand our options. I'm also weighed down by the idea of it - overcome with sadness. I keep picturing myself wandering all over this huge convention surrounded by pictures of babies and children who need someone to love them. It should feel empowering to educate myself about our options. Instead it makes me feel like sobbing until I can't stand up straight.

********************

I just had to dash off the bathroom. R just sent me an email that yet another couple, who got married right around the same time that we did, are now expecting their first child. They think it's a boy.

By this point I think we infertiles understand each other. You know that of course I'm happy for them - thrilled they don't have the same problems that we do. They must be so happy! How perfect to announce their pregnancy right around the holidays. That's what I've always dreamed of! These two are such a wonderful couple and will make fantastic, smart, compassionate, responsible parents. I bet their child will be gorgeous! And, OF COURSE I'm glad they are pregnant. I wouldn't wish infertility on my worst enemy.

But the truth is, when I first read the email I instantly starting crying. My first thoughts were: Poor me! Why not us? That should BE us! Oh God, please help us, our hearts are breaking! I don't know what to do anymore.

Happy Thanksgiving

Well, I don't feel at all worthy of this, but my dear Jenna has suggested that I belong on her list of Distinguished Blogger Flame of Fortitude honorees. Although I humbly appreciate her tag - I've been feeling so un-thankful and un-thanksgiving-ish this week that it feels counterfeit to even post about this. Ugh.

I've been feeling so sad this week - I can't seem to get into any kind of holiday spirit. Usually by this time I'm feeling warm and fuzzy and spiritual and reflective and all of that. But this year I feel like I'm digging waaaaay down and the warm fuzzies just aren't coming. I'm going to try VERY hard tomorrow to dredge up some thankful-ness and put on a happy face and appreciate time with my family. But it won't be as natural as it normally is. I keep breaking into tears for inappropriate reasons and at inconvenient times. I had to race off to the bathroom several times at work this week before any one saw me having a "moment". I really, really hate feeling this pitiful.

I hope to post something much more cheerful, or at least productive, after we get back from Thanksgiving. Hope all of y'all in the US have a wonderful Thanksgiving holiday tomorrow with your families and friends!