I was having a tough start to my day this morning. I was fine at home, getting ready, but on the way I started thinking maybe I shouldn't be going in today. I couldn't put my finger on the reason, but something felt amiss. Perhaps it's that this morning I noticed that the main diamond in my engagement ring is the same size each of my babies' perfect little ears were. Or, perhaps it's my awareness that one week from yesterday will be our 4-month anniversary of losing Aliya and Bennett. Four months. That is so hard to fathom. Four months ago, I was four months pregnant. Fast forward, and now we're four months' grieving. The pain is getting easier to deal with but it's still very much there for both Paul and me, daily. I think Paul's starting to be more affected than he has, although I'm not sure what may have changed. He just requested last night that we not attend an event we were scheduled to attend on Monday. There will be children there, it's in celebration of Christmas, and, duh, it's the 4 month anniversary of our loss...going would be masochism. This particular anniversary will be especially poignant because it falls on Addison's first birthday, a day that should be a fun celebration but is laced through and through with sadness. Every month, the 5th day holds special pain for Paul and me and for Keleen and Brian, but this one, moreso.
All this aside, I was making it through mostly ok. I was working on a website project that I wanted to complete before lunch, consulting occasionally over the phone with a colleague in another division outside of our building. Our floor has been pretty quiet lately, but I'd heard lots of excited chatter and a voice I didn't recognize. I overheard that someone's mother had come to visit. Hmm. Cool. Anyway, working away...making awesome progress...my changes were almost ready to publish...
I somehow missed the see the e-mail , or I would have fled immediately.
Minutes later, I heard a several people scream, "It's a GIRL!!!" Twenty feet away from my desk, someone else had an impromptu (although obviously planned with her mother) gender reveal party, where the color of the icing inside the cake told the gender of the baby.
I finished my work as quickly as I could, packed up my stuff, and left (at the urging of my supervisor). I sobbed all the way home, trying to control the flow of tears so I wouldn't wreck on the 35-minute drive. The heaviness of my crushing grief was nearly too much to handle.
I understand that life continues on even after babies die. All of us in the "babyloss" community have been confronted with this fact one way or another - or sometimes repeatedly, cruelly.
Perhaps I'm just more considerate than the average person, but if the tables had been turned, I would never, ever do something so inconsiderate in the presence of a woman who has lost her babies (recently or not!), without personally giving the grieving mother a head's up so she could vacate the premises.
Others in my life, when I've been faced with the thoughtless comments/actions of others recently, have noted that pregnancy makes women self-centered and they forget the feelings of others because they are so caught up in themselves.
I do not believe this generalization holds true for any pregnant woman who also carries the burden of having lost a baby/ies in the second or third trimester. I would be willing to bet that none of the babyloss mamas in my circle who are currently pregnant again would ever dream of celebrating her pregnancy milestones or whining about her pregnancy symptoms in the presence of another babyloss mama unless there was a tacit agreement that it was ok.
And I know, I know, no one meant any harm to me. They (almost) never do. (Actually, I don't think there has been anyone who has tried to hurt me with words or actions since my loss. I consider myself lucky, because there are many grieving mothers - and dads - who have a very different experience.) Still, that really doesn't make it any easier.
I guess what I would say, to those of you who read who yourselves have not experienced the loss of a baby, is please, please keep those grieving mommies and daddies in the front of your mind always. Our grief will diminish over time, but it will never, ever disappear. There won't come a day when we're suddenly "over it." Be mindful when talking about or celebrating a pregnancy near you that the news will sting grieving parents for years...even if they've gone on to have other children. Please, just be considerate. And if you want to do more, to brighten the day of a grieving mom or dad, then ask about their baby, use the baby's name in conversation, remember the important dates, do something in honor of that child. Or just pass the message to be considerate to others you know.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Mission accomplished
I'm now cyst-free. Yesterday's cyst aspiration was completely uneventful, quick, and relatively painless. Sierra wanted to give me the lowest dose of IV sedatives she could, but Dr. M. said I was talking too clearly still so requested her to up the dose. I ended up using 2/3 the amount of Versed, Demerol and Fentanyl as I did in February when I underwent egg retrieval for IVF. The result is that I "came out of it" much more quickly, and while I was queasy and shaky all day, I never got sick. What a blessing...being ill with a fridge full of Thanksgiving leftovers would have been a special kind of Hell. :)
It turns out that I didn't ovulate last Sunday after all. Dr. M. never called with my serum progesterone level from the blood test, but I found out yesterday it was only 1.67 - definitely not ovulatory. So, that little follicle o' fluid was actually a second cyst in the making. I'm not sure why I was in so much pain last Sunday, whether because the new cyst was forming (the first one didn't hurt at all), or perhaps because the larger one was starting to shrink. Regardless, Dr. M. sucked the life out of both of them. Yay.
I did provide an evening full of amusement for Paul as, just like February, I started repeating my questions. This time, though, I vaguely remembered asking a question, so I'd ask again, and then say, "You already answered this once, didn't you?" He'd giggle...usually it was more than once. I had this weird memory of being catheterized and it hurting, but I chalked that up to a dream from the night before, until I tried to pee later in the day and it really hurt! I wandered out and asked about it, and sure enough, I did actually recall being catheterized because I was...and I recall that it hurt a little bit at the time. I could also feel the giant needle puncturing something (the end of my vagina or my ovary, not sure), but it wasn't bad, and the drugs helped. Last time I yammered on and on about having to put our steers on my spreadsheet, funny because I was actually in the middle of gathering stuff for our first business tax cycle, and there really was a cattle inventory spreadsheet.
My lack of fear this time I chalk up to trusting Dr. M. so much more than we did in February. Up until then, we'd had several visits but the most "techy" thing we'd done was three unmedicated IUIs, which don't really require that much vulnerability (save for having him all up in my lady parts, which doesn't really count in this business, to me anyway).
February was supposed to be our first IUI cycle with injectible hormones. Our odds of conceiving were jumping from 1-3% per cycle to 20-25%. It felt like a miracle. However, I went at it kicking and screaming. I was PISSED that I had to subject myself to four daily injections of hormones to make my body do what we wanted. Our second follicle scan revealed I had too many maturing follicles to do IUI safely - IUIs done in combination with injectible hormones have an increased risk for multiples pregnancies, so our doctor won't do one with more than 4 follicles. I had 6. I was so worried he'd cancel my cycle, throwing all that heartache and over $1000 worth of drugs down the drain. Instead, he offered us the ability to convert to IVF for another $3000, a fraction of the cost of a regular IVF cycle. We thought about it for all of two hours and jumped. Paul gave me an injection of Cetrotide to halt ovulation, and the next evening at about 10:00 p.m. I gave myself an injection of Pregnyl, a trigger shot. The following morning, with a very empty stomach and a mind full of fear, I was put under for egg retrieval.
We ended up with only two eggs. That's one thing I was apparently asking as soon as they finished, and my response was, "Two?! Only TWO?!" Of course, the drugs make you forget the whole experience, so I proceeded to ask that question another 40,000 times over the rest of the day. Paul left a semen sample and we went on our way, me barely upright, very loopy, and then sick sick sick as the drugs left my system. The following days were a nightmare of stress...waiting each day for a call from Dr. C., the embryologist, reporting on fertilization (none the first day, I had to get a message to my logger hubby - which ultimately went up with a log truck driver thanks to my brother-in-law - to come back to Olympia and give another sample by 1:00 p.m.), news that one of two eggs fertilized the second day, and then, finally, short notice on day 5 that we had a healthy 5-day blastocyst to transfer to my uterus. Unfortunately, that little blast (I called it the Little Embryo that Could) failed to implant. We took a couple of months off, and then, in May, we did a proper superovulation IUI and got Aliya and Bennett.
That February cycle changed things at our clinic. No longer did we feel like a number. They knew our names, Sierra asked about the farm all the time (she thought it was so funny that I decided to talk cattle while under sedation), and we have a whole new level of trust. When I started bleeding in June, Dr. M. and Sierra both were so awesome.
So, cyst aspiration under the hands of Dr. M., Dr. C. and Sierra? No sweat. Sign me up! They did a fabulous job as always, I made it through yesterday, and today feel like myself. Now we need to wait for my next period to start sometime late next week so we can start again. I'm actually anxious to start the shots again. I'm feeling hopeful about our next cycle. I will be working on checking my expectations so that if it doesn't work I'm not crushed. (That's a tall order!) I'm just happy to finally be on the road to making some progress again.
It turns out that I didn't ovulate last Sunday after all. Dr. M. never called with my serum progesterone level from the blood test, but I found out yesterday it was only 1.67 - definitely not ovulatory. So, that little follicle o' fluid was actually a second cyst in the making. I'm not sure why I was in so much pain last Sunday, whether because the new cyst was forming (the first one didn't hurt at all), or perhaps because the larger one was starting to shrink. Regardless, Dr. M. sucked the life out of both of them. Yay.
I did provide an evening full of amusement for Paul as, just like February, I started repeating my questions. This time, though, I vaguely remembered asking a question, so I'd ask again, and then say, "You already answered this once, didn't you?" He'd giggle...usually it was more than once. I had this weird memory of being catheterized and it hurting, but I chalked that up to a dream from the night before, until I tried to pee later in the day and it really hurt! I wandered out and asked about it, and sure enough, I did actually recall being catheterized because I was...and I recall that it hurt a little bit at the time. I could also feel the giant needle puncturing something (the end of my vagina or my ovary, not sure), but it wasn't bad, and the drugs helped. Last time I yammered on and on about having to put our steers on my spreadsheet, funny because I was actually in the middle of gathering stuff for our first business tax cycle, and there really was a cattle inventory spreadsheet.
My lack of fear this time I chalk up to trusting Dr. M. so much more than we did in February. Up until then, we'd had several visits but the most "techy" thing we'd done was three unmedicated IUIs, which don't really require that much vulnerability (save for having him all up in my lady parts, which doesn't really count in this business, to me anyway).
February was supposed to be our first IUI cycle with injectible hormones. Our odds of conceiving were jumping from 1-3% per cycle to 20-25%. It felt like a miracle. However, I went at it kicking and screaming. I was PISSED that I had to subject myself to four daily injections of hormones to make my body do what we wanted. Our second follicle scan revealed I had too many maturing follicles to do IUI safely - IUIs done in combination with injectible hormones have an increased risk for multiples pregnancies, so our doctor won't do one with more than 4 follicles. I had 6. I was so worried he'd cancel my cycle, throwing all that heartache and over $1000 worth of drugs down the drain. Instead, he offered us the ability to convert to IVF for another $3000, a fraction of the cost of a regular IVF cycle. We thought about it for all of two hours and jumped. Paul gave me an injection of Cetrotide to halt ovulation, and the next evening at about 10:00 p.m. I gave myself an injection of Pregnyl, a trigger shot. The following morning, with a very empty stomach and a mind full of fear, I was put under for egg retrieval.
We ended up with only two eggs. That's one thing I was apparently asking as soon as they finished, and my response was, "Two?! Only TWO?!" Of course, the drugs make you forget the whole experience, so I proceeded to ask that question another 40,000 times over the rest of the day. Paul left a semen sample and we went on our way, me barely upright, very loopy, and then sick sick sick as the drugs left my system. The following days were a nightmare of stress...waiting each day for a call from Dr. C., the embryologist, reporting on fertilization (none the first day, I had to get a message to my logger hubby - which ultimately went up with a log truck driver thanks to my brother-in-law - to come back to Olympia and give another sample by 1:00 p.m.), news that one of two eggs fertilized the second day, and then, finally, short notice on day 5 that we had a healthy 5-day blastocyst to transfer to my uterus. Unfortunately, that little blast (I called it the Little Embryo that Could) failed to implant. We took a couple of months off, and then, in May, we did a proper superovulation IUI and got Aliya and Bennett.
That February cycle changed things at our clinic. No longer did we feel like a number. They knew our names, Sierra asked about the farm all the time (she thought it was so funny that I decided to talk cattle while under sedation), and we have a whole new level of trust. When I started bleeding in June, Dr. M. and Sierra both were so awesome.
So, cyst aspiration under the hands of Dr. M., Dr. C. and Sierra? No sweat. Sign me up! They did a fabulous job as always, I made it through yesterday, and today feel like myself. Now we need to wait for my next period to start sometime late next week so we can start again. I'm actually anxious to start the shots again. I'm feeling hopeful about our next cycle. I will be working on checking my expectations so that if it doesn't work I'm not crushed. (That's a tall order!) I'm just happy to finally be on the road to making some progress again.
Monday, November 21, 2011
The great suck
Today was my big day: the follow-up ultrasound to see what has become of the cyst on my right ovary. I've felt some "activity" in both ovaries over the last several days, which was curious and a little disheartening, given the birth control pills and Lupron shots I've been dutifully taking, and yesterday evening I had pain in my right ovary, ranging from a 5 to an 8 on a scale of 1-10. Very curious indeed. I had a little hope that perhaps the thing burst and that's why I was in pain, but I wasn't holding my breath.
Good thing, too, because the cyst is still there! Not only that, but I ovulated from that same side. That pain? It did feel familiar, and that's because it was the same pain I get every time I ovulate (always more severe when I ovulate from the right). It was just regular old Mittleschmerz (the medical name for ovulation pain, from the Germans).
So, Dr. M. ordered a serum progesterone to confirm his suspicion that I did in fact ovulate, and scheduled a cyst aspiration for Friday morning at 9:30. I'm allowed no food or water after midnight the night before, but that shouldn't be a problem because I'm sure I'll be stuffed from Thanksgiving dinner beyond any level of comfort long before then. I asked if our next IUI cycle would be delayed because of this, and he said no. He also said the full strength Lupron should essentially force my pituitary gland into a menopausal state (hot flashes are possible), so that when we start the next IUI cycle all my follicles should be starting at about the same starting gate, instead of having a couple further ahead or behind the others. That's a relief (about the follicles, not put into menopause for 14 days).
See, this low expectations thing really worked for me. I'm not devastated, I didn't cry, actually laughed instead (and my, "Aren't I just so special?" comment made Dr. M. smile, too). This will all be ok...I think.
Good thing, too, because the cyst is still there! Not only that, but I ovulated from that same side. That pain? It did feel familiar, and that's because it was the same pain I get every time I ovulate (always more severe when I ovulate from the right). It was just regular old Mittleschmerz (the medical name for ovulation pain, from the Germans).
So, Dr. M. ordered a serum progesterone to confirm his suspicion that I did in fact ovulate, and scheduled a cyst aspiration for Friday morning at 9:30. I'm allowed no food or water after midnight the night before, but that shouldn't be a problem because I'm sure I'll be stuffed from Thanksgiving dinner beyond any level of comfort long before then. I asked if our next IUI cycle would be delayed because of this, and he said no. He also said the full strength Lupron should essentially force my pituitary gland into a menopausal state (hot flashes are possible), so that when we start the next IUI cycle all my follicles should be starting at about the same starting gate, instead of having a couple further ahead or behind the others. That's a relief (about the follicles, not put into menopause for 14 days).
See, this low expectations thing really worked for me. I'm not devastated, I didn't cry, actually laughed instead (and my, "Aren't I just so special?" comment made Dr. M. smile, too). This will all be ok...I think.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
When Lupron attacks
Today is Day 2 of the Lupron shots, and I think I'm feeling the effects. Perhaps I just had a cry out of nowhere because I needed a cry and it had been a few days, but the strength of the episode was unexpected.
This isn't my first Lupron rodeo. I've done two microflare Lupron protocols as part of our two previous superovulation IUI events - February (converted to IVF - BFN) and May (resulted in Aliya and Bennett). I don't know the dilution of mini-Lupron, which Dr. M. mixes in his office. I normally take 0.1 ml twice a day for seven days, along with the Menopur.
As of yesterday, I'm on 0.1 ml once per day of full strength Lupron. Just like with my mini-Lupron shots, I inject myself in the belly with a tiny insulin syringe. It stings a little bit, but the needle is really thin, barely bigger than an acupuncture needle.
I expect to bloat (more than I already have due to two months of birth control pills, scary thought), I expect to have some sort of side effects, and knew those could include high-running emotions. We'll see how the rest of the day goes.
I did wake up this morning from a very unsettling dream in which I was at my "what-the-Hell-is-going-on-with-this-cyst" ultrasound (which is actually scheduled for tomorrow morning at 10 a.m. PST). In the dream, Dr. M. rather aggressively used the wand (it's a transvaginal ultrasound, folks) to look at the cyst, and said, "I'm afraid it's grown to a dangerous size. We're going to have to get it out." I had a bunch of follicles on the left, too, but he said my ovarian function was permanently reduced. (I know, what the Hell? And, as if!) He also dug around and said the "missing blood vessel" somewhere in there (my cervix? the top of my vagina?) was very concerning. The room was full of two or three of his medical assistants (women who don't actually work there and I've never seen before in real life, by the way), and all I wanted was my husband and Sierra, one of his "real" medical assistants. It was bizarre and very disconcerting, and makes me wonder how much the Lupron is playing into this weirdness.
Now, I do feel a little anxious about tomorrow's ultrasound. I've been assuming the cyst has either grown or failed to improve to prepare myself for an aspiration. If I get good news, well, that's a bonus, but at least I won't (hopefully) be disappointed if the news is bad. I do feel anxious about how all of this - the cyst, the birth control, and especially the Lupron - will impact our next IUI in December, provided we're able to move forward (finally). We had planned to use exactly the same protocol that got us pregnant with Aliya and Bennett, and with full dose Lupron in the mix, that idea is obviously out the window. I know IVF usually has patients on birth control for one month, followed by "down-regulation" or "suppression" with full dose Lupron (I think in tandem with the "stims," or the follicle-growing hormone injections), but I think I'll be finishing the Lupron before my next period even starts. I have a lot of questions for Dr. M. Really, though, I just want it to all work out.
This isn't my first Lupron rodeo. I've done two microflare Lupron protocols as part of our two previous superovulation IUI events - February (converted to IVF - BFN) and May (resulted in Aliya and Bennett). I don't know the dilution of mini-Lupron, which Dr. M. mixes in his office. I normally take 0.1 ml twice a day for seven days, along with the Menopur.
As of yesterday, I'm on 0.1 ml once per day of full strength Lupron. Just like with my mini-Lupron shots, I inject myself in the belly with a tiny insulin syringe. It stings a little bit, but the needle is really thin, barely bigger than an acupuncture needle.
I expect to bloat (more than I already have due to two months of birth control pills, scary thought), I expect to have some sort of side effects, and knew those could include high-running emotions. We'll see how the rest of the day goes.
I did wake up this morning from a very unsettling dream in which I was at my "what-the-Hell-is-going-on-with-this-cyst" ultrasound (which is actually scheduled for tomorrow morning at 10 a.m. PST). In the dream, Dr. M. rather aggressively used the wand (it's a transvaginal ultrasound, folks) to look at the cyst, and said, "I'm afraid it's grown to a dangerous size. We're going to have to get it out." I had a bunch of follicles on the left, too, but he said my ovarian function was permanently reduced. (I know, what the Hell? And, as if!) He also dug around and said the "missing blood vessel" somewhere in there (my cervix? the top of my vagina?) was very concerning. The room was full of two or three of his medical assistants (women who don't actually work there and I've never seen before in real life, by the way), and all I wanted was my husband and Sierra, one of his "real" medical assistants. It was bizarre and very disconcerting, and makes me wonder how much the Lupron is playing into this weirdness.
Now, I do feel a little anxious about tomorrow's ultrasound. I've been assuming the cyst has either grown or failed to improve to prepare myself for an aspiration. If I get good news, well, that's a bonus, but at least I won't (hopefully) be disappointed if the news is bad. I do feel anxious about how all of this - the cyst, the birth control, and especially the Lupron - will impact our next IUI in December, provided we're able to move forward (finally). We had planned to use exactly the same protocol that got us pregnant with Aliya and Bennett, and with full dose Lupron in the mix, that idea is obviously out the window. I know IVF usually has patients on birth control for one month, followed by "down-regulation" or "suppression" with full dose Lupron (I think in tandem with the "stims," or the follicle-growing hormone injections), but I think I'll be finishing the Lupron before my next period even starts. I have a lot of questions for Dr. M. Really, though, I just want it to all work out.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Fertility math illiteracy
There's an article circulating around the Internet today about a new book, written by an infertile woman in her early 40s, which hypothesizes that American women are misinformed and misled about the link between age and infertility. A study sponsored by EMD Serono, Inc., the biomedical company behind such fertility drugs as Gonal-F (an injectible hormone used to stimulate the growth of multiple follicles for IUI or IVF) and Cetrotide (an injection used to trigger the release of those follicles prior to IVF egg retrieval), along with researchers from RESOLVE, the National Fertility Awareness group, surveyed 1000 women in their mid-20s to mid-30s about the chances of conceiving at different ages. The results were, of course, sad, but not unsurprising: most of these women couldn't correctly identify the average amount of time it takes to get pregnant at different ages, nor could they correctly identify the chance of conceiving per cycle at those different ages.
And why should they? I'm always stunned when I come across a woman (usually younger than me) who is unaware that her fertility will decline after age 35, and that our optimal fertility occurs in our 20s. Did talking intelligently about biological clocks ticking stop with my age group, or is it just that those of us infertiles nearing or in the over-35 range know first-hand? Our society is so hung up on celebrity news that we hear all the time about this female celebrity or that getting pregnant or giving birth well after age 35. They make it sound so easy, and, of course, rarely mention the fertility treatments, donor sperm, eggs or embryos that made it possible for them to conceive in the first place. When we do hear about artificial reproductive technology, we seem to hear only about the successes, not the many, many failures.(That talking about infertility is taboo is another topic entirely.) Why shouldn't America's women mistakingly believe it'll be easy to get pregnant?
This discussion directly links to two of the ridiculous platitudes most of us who've lost our babies hear the most: "You're young, you have lots of time" and "You'll have other children." Those of us who have battled infertility only to tragically lose our hard-won pregnancies or newborn infants know all too well how ignorant those comments are. We certainly could've answered those survey questions correctly. What's percentage of normal, healthy women under age 35 who conceive a baby any given cycle? 20-25%. What percentage did Paul and I have of conceiving on our own during the 2.5 years we tried without medical assistance? 3-5%. What percentage chance did we have of conceiving with super-ovulation IUI using expensive injectible hormones, multiple transvaginal ultrasounds and back-to-back IUIs at age 37 (for me)? 20%, back up to "normal" range. (Note: that's one out of every five tries. We got pregnant the second try with that protocol, the first when it was done correctly. So, does that mean we now will try four more times without success?)
In their rush to say something to address our loss, without having any idea what they might be saying, people have said stupid, stupid things. (This happens to ALL babyloss mamas and daddies, not just us.) Other women seem to think age 37 (now considered 38, since it's based on age at delivery, not age at conception) is really young, because they inevitably can name someone they know (or read about) who had their first/second/third baby at age 41/42/43/44 without medical intervention. Well, that's not medically "normal"!
Do I regret that Paul and I didn't seek help earlier? Of course, but Paul needed to accept that we needed help on his own time. I couldn't rush him. Besides, our lives were crazy-busy (job change for me, remodeling house, listing house, selling house, moving, being laid off, getting new job) so the timing wouldn't have been ideal. Still, even though I was aware of my ticking biological clock and sought the help of my family practioner before I was even 35 (bracing myself for the lecture that we needed to try longer/harder because I wasn't yet 35 and considered infertile), I had no idea the Hell we'd go through in our efforts to have a family of our own. I'm sure at some point we'll be on the other side, look back and say, "Wow, aren't we blessed now?" But I'll tell you what: if I am blessed with a living daughter (or daughters), you can bet I'll be lecturing her on women's fertility as she grows older. Tick tock.
And why should they? I'm always stunned when I come across a woman (usually younger than me) who is unaware that her fertility will decline after age 35, and that our optimal fertility occurs in our 20s. Did talking intelligently about biological clocks ticking stop with my age group, or is it just that those of us infertiles nearing or in the over-35 range know first-hand? Our society is so hung up on celebrity news that we hear all the time about this female celebrity or that getting pregnant or giving birth well after age 35. They make it sound so easy, and, of course, rarely mention the fertility treatments, donor sperm, eggs or embryos that made it possible for them to conceive in the first place. When we do hear about artificial reproductive technology, we seem to hear only about the successes, not the many, many failures.(That talking about infertility is taboo is another topic entirely.) Why shouldn't America's women mistakingly believe it'll be easy to get pregnant?
This discussion directly links to two of the ridiculous platitudes most of us who've lost our babies hear the most: "You're young, you have lots of time" and "You'll have other children." Those of us who have battled infertility only to tragically lose our hard-won pregnancies or newborn infants know all too well how ignorant those comments are. We certainly could've answered those survey questions correctly. What's percentage of normal, healthy women under age 35 who conceive a baby any given cycle? 20-25%. What percentage did Paul and I have of conceiving on our own during the 2.5 years we tried without medical assistance? 3-5%. What percentage chance did we have of conceiving with super-ovulation IUI using expensive injectible hormones, multiple transvaginal ultrasounds and back-to-back IUIs at age 37 (for me)? 20%, back up to "normal" range. (Note: that's one out of every five tries. We got pregnant the second try with that protocol, the first when it was done correctly. So, does that mean we now will try four more times without success?)
In their rush to say something to address our loss, without having any idea what they might be saying, people have said stupid, stupid things. (This happens to ALL babyloss mamas and daddies, not just us.) Other women seem to think age 37 (now considered 38, since it's based on age at delivery, not age at conception) is really young, because they inevitably can name someone they know (or read about) who had their first/second/third baby at age 41/42/43/44 without medical intervention. Well, that's not medically "normal"!
Do I regret that Paul and I didn't seek help earlier? Of course, but Paul needed to accept that we needed help on his own time. I couldn't rush him. Besides, our lives were crazy-busy (job change for me, remodeling house, listing house, selling house, moving, being laid off, getting new job) so the timing wouldn't have been ideal. Still, even though I was aware of my ticking biological clock and sought the help of my family practioner before I was even 35 (bracing myself for the lecture that we needed to try longer/harder because I wasn't yet 35 and considered infertile), I had no idea the Hell we'd go through in our efforts to have a family of our own. I'm sure at some point we'll be on the other side, look back and say, "Wow, aren't we blessed now?" But I'll tell you what: if I am blessed with a living daughter (or daughters), you can bet I'll be lecturing her on women's fertility as she grows older. Tick tock.
Monday, November 7, 2011
Another setback
We really just can't catch a break.
My period *finally* decided to grace me with its presence after 16 days of spotting brought on (and during) the birth control pills of the last three weeks. Dutifully, I called Dr. M's office to schedule a baseline follicular ultrasound and they got me in this afternoon, cycle day 2.
And - surprise!!! - my ovarian cyst is BIGGER! Yep, apparently I'm a freak who, despite 21 days of birth control pills meant to suppress my hormone function so as to make the cyst disappear, instead, my super-woman hormones broke through the BCPs and caused not only all the much hated symptoms I've been dealing with, but also follicle growth...of the follicle we wanted to shrink.
Dr. M. isn't at a loss for words often, and this is the first time I've sat in silence in his office and watched as he tapped his pen on his head, furrowed his brow, looked off in the distance as if for an answer, all while I suppressed tears.
So. Lucky Ducky me...I'm on ANOTHER 21 day round of birth control pills, starting tomorrow (on a different brand, though, that hopefully won't bring the same side effects), and I have to give myself full-dose Lupron shots (SQ, in the belly, with tiny insulin needles) once a day starting on November 19th and continuing for 14 days. He wants to see me back in two weeks for another ultrasound, and if that cyst hasn't shrunken considerably, then he will schedule me for an aspiration...which is identical to the very scary egg retrieval we went through in February where they put me under and suck the contents of the follicle (normally, for IVF, it's egg cells, in this case it will be just fluid) out under vacuum pressure using a huge needle inserted through the wall of my vagina, while Paul sits next to me and then drives me home after. (During egg retrieval in February, where our IUI converted to IVF and resulted in one healthy embryo that didn't implant into my uterus to make a baby, he said it was the biggest, scariest needle he'd ever seen. Joy.)
Dr. M. says that yes, this is a setback, another month of TTC lost to this stupid cyst, but he thinks I'll be perfectly primed for the superovulation IUI in December. We'll see. I realized, as I wept my way home tonight from Lacey to Tenino, that not only do I feel like I'm being punished (and that this is all - including our loss - my body's fault, which my darling friend (hi Chermie!) pointed out this weekend is very judgemental thinking on my part on something that HAS no fault lying anywhere), but part of me feels ultimately like not only are we never going to get pregnant again, but that I don't deserve to be a mother and this is why all of this shit is happening to us. As people we know (even those I only know online, other babyloss mamas) get pregnant with their rainbows, I'm feeling like we're being left behind with no hope in sight. The train has left the station, man, and we aren't on it.
Yes, I understand this is very unhealthy thinking. I'll be working on it.
My period *finally* decided to grace me with its presence after 16 days of spotting brought on (and during) the birth control pills of the last three weeks. Dutifully, I called Dr. M's office to schedule a baseline follicular ultrasound and they got me in this afternoon, cycle day 2.
And - surprise!!! - my ovarian cyst is BIGGER! Yep, apparently I'm a freak who, despite 21 days of birth control pills meant to suppress my hormone function so as to make the cyst disappear, instead, my super-woman hormones broke through the BCPs and caused not only all the much hated symptoms I've been dealing with, but also follicle growth...of the follicle we wanted to shrink.
Dr. M. isn't at a loss for words often, and this is the first time I've sat in silence in his office and watched as he tapped his pen on his head, furrowed his brow, looked off in the distance as if for an answer, all while I suppressed tears.
So. Lucky Ducky me...I'm on ANOTHER 21 day round of birth control pills, starting tomorrow (on a different brand, though, that hopefully won't bring the same side effects), and I have to give myself full-dose Lupron shots (SQ, in the belly, with tiny insulin needles) once a day starting on November 19th and continuing for 14 days. He wants to see me back in two weeks for another ultrasound, and if that cyst hasn't shrunken considerably, then he will schedule me for an aspiration...which is identical to the very scary egg retrieval we went through in February where they put me under and suck the contents of the follicle (normally, for IVF, it's egg cells, in this case it will be just fluid) out under vacuum pressure using a huge needle inserted through the wall of my vagina, while Paul sits next to me and then drives me home after. (During egg retrieval in February, where our IUI converted to IVF and resulted in one healthy embryo that didn't implant into my uterus to make a baby, he said it was the biggest, scariest needle he'd ever seen. Joy.)
Dr. M. says that yes, this is a setback, another month of TTC lost to this stupid cyst, but he thinks I'll be perfectly primed for the superovulation IUI in December. We'll see. I realized, as I wept my way home tonight from Lacey to Tenino, that not only do I feel like I'm being punished (and that this is all - including our loss - my body's fault, which my darling friend (hi Chermie!) pointed out this weekend is very judgemental thinking on my part on something that HAS no fault lying anywhere), but part of me feels ultimately like not only are we never going to get pregnant again, but that I don't deserve to be a mother and this is why all of this shit is happening to us. As people we know (even those I only know online, other babyloss mamas) get pregnant with their rainbows, I'm feeling like we're being left behind with no hope in sight. The train has left the station, man, and we aren't on it.
Yes, I understand this is very unhealthy thinking. I'll be working on it.
Friday, November 4, 2011
3 months
I knew this day was coming, was even aware it would be at the end of this particular week, but somehow it still snuck up on me and bit me on the ass. Hard.
Three months ago today was the worst day of Paul's and my lives: the day my water broke.
I was driving to work this morning, wiping my eyes after my second little cry (in 30 minutes; I should have called it a day right then, instead of crying multiple times at my desk and realizing then it was time to call it a day), thinking about the feeling of my water breaking. I've said this before, but my uterus was already so big in my belly - the fundus, or top, was above my belly button at 14 weeks - and that rapid growth caused a lot of weirdness to occur, not the least of which was me already having bladder control problems, BUT I still had control.
When my water broke at 4:50 p.m. on Thursday, August 4th, I had no control. I could feel the liquid coming out and I was absolutely powerless to do anything about it. It's so agonizing to remember that feeling, and that knowing deep down that it could be the beginning of the end. I remember getting the call back from the on-call OB, via the HMO's consulting nurse line, to head to the ER, and immediately calling Paul, who should have been close to home by then. He was at his brother's. His brother actually answered the phone, and I don't remember what I said but it was probably something like, "I need to talk to Paul NOW." I told him to come home, that we had to go to the hospital, that I thought my water had broken.
I remember lying on a poorly padded bed for hours, in pain after spending 1.5 hours the previous day lying on my back on a poorly padded ultrasound table, so uncomfortable, and in total denial of what was actually going on. I still hate to this day that I had to lie on that table in a puddle of amniotic fluid for over 5 hours before they finally got us in for an ultrasound to see what was going on. That my poor husband had to see the screen, both babies moving and their hearts beating way too fast, our daughter with only the tiniest pocket of fluid around her head, knowing it was the end, just kills me.
That day was the very worst day of my life. I can't imagine much being worse than that. I'm sure there's something that would be, but I think we've had enough pain and suffering for a lifetime at this point.
My babies have officially been outside my body and gone longer than they were thriving inside my body. A quarter of a year has passed now, time that both sped by and crawled. I think at this point I can say the waves of grief don't jerk so sharply up and down as they did in the early days, but they're still rolling and I still hurt so badly.
Three months ago today was the worst day of Paul's and my lives: the day my water broke.
I was driving to work this morning, wiping my eyes after my second little cry (in 30 minutes; I should have called it a day right then, instead of crying multiple times at my desk and realizing then it was time to call it a day), thinking about the feeling of my water breaking. I've said this before, but my uterus was already so big in my belly - the fundus, or top, was above my belly button at 14 weeks - and that rapid growth caused a lot of weirdness to occur, not the least of which was me already having bladder control problems, BUT I still had control.
When my water broke at 4:50 p.m. on Thursday, August 4th, I had no control. I could feel the liquid coming out and I was absolutely powerless to do anything about it. It's so agonizing to remember that feeling, and that knowing deep down that it could be the beginning of the end. I remember getting the call back from the on-call OB, via the HMO's consulting nurse line, to head to the ER, and immediately calling Paul, who should have been close to home by then. He was at his brother's. His brother actually answered the phone, and I don't remember what I said but it was probably something like, "I need to talk to Paul NOW." I told him to come home, that we had to go to the hospital, that I thought my water had broken.
I remember lying on a poorly padded bed for hours, in pain after spending 1.5 hours the previous day lying on my back on a poorly padded ultrasound table, so uncomfortable, and in total denial of what was actually going on. I still hate to this day that I had to lie on that table in a puddle of amniotic fluid for over 5 hours before they finally got us in for an ultrasound to see what was going on. That my poor husband had to see the screen, both babies moving and their hearts beating way too fast, our daughter with only the tiniest pocket of fluid around her head, knowing it was the end, just kills me.
That day was the very worst day of my life. I can't imagine much being worse than that. I'm sure there's something that would be, but I think we've had enough pain and suffering for a lifetime at this point.
My babies have officially been outside my body and gone longer than they were thriving inside my body. A quarter of a year has passed now, time that both sped by and crawled. I think at this point I can say the waves of grief don't jerk so sharply up and down as they did in the early days, but they're still rolling and I still hurt so badly.
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