Sunday, November 28, 2010
1. I will be a mother someday, in this life.
2. We should continue with infertility treatments, and put the idea of adoption on hold for now.
I don't know anything more than that, but that is enough to keep me going.
Immediately after this experience, I cleaned up my snotty, tear-streaked face and rushed off to the last church meeting of the day, arriving just before the opening song began.
And this is the song we sang:
Be thou humble in thy weakness,
and the Lord thy God shall lead thee,
Shall lead thee by the hand
and give thee answer to thy prayers.
Be thou humble in thy pleading,
and the Lord thy God shall bless thee,
Shall bless thee with a sweet
and calm assurance that he cares.
Sure enough, two hours later, it appears my period has begun, despite my friend Prometrium.
Ryan really wants to take some time off, so we will, but it's going to be hard going through the holidays not pregnant and not in treatment.
Then we'll try IUI with Follistim one last time.
To read all the posts from this treatment cycle, CLICK HERE.
Friday, November 26, 2010
I don't have high hopes for this cycle, and the thought of doing another one is exhausting. If Follistim / IUI #5 doesn't work, it's IVF time (after a long break to save up the money). The thought of that is agonizing.
God: I can't take it anymore. I know others have had more treatments, more disappointments, more heartache, and they make it through. But I can't. My journey has been too long and there have been too many roadblocks, traffic hazards, and unanticipated delays.
I can't do it. I can't.
Monday, November 22, 2010
As infertility reared its ugly head, I became nervous about my “done at 30” goal. It’s seemed possible I wouldn’t be done by 30 after all.
Then, as years went by, I started to become worried I wouldn’t have even started by the time I was 30. For someone with my background, culture, and life goals, this thought was devastating. How could I reach age 30 without even starting (what I hoped would be) my medium-sized family??? (Yes, 4 kids is medium for Mormons, even in today’s world.)
This fear became greater as the birthdays clicked by… 26… 27…28…29… I just knew I would not survive turning 30 without becoming a mother first. But I couldn’t stop the clock.
Finally, my 30th birthday came. I was not a mother. I was not pregnant. I had no adoption profile.
I got up, got ready, and went about my day.
In short, I survived.
The earth did not swallow me up in misery and total despair. I had a regular day. In fact, I had a nice day. And life went on.
Today I turn 31. I had hoped beyond hope that I would be a mother by today.
But I still got up, go ready, and went about my day.
I survived. :)
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
It was quite an adventure. Once we decided to proceed with the IUI, we became excited to make a day of it. Ryan was so great throughout the process and I feel so grateful that he was able to be with me yesterday.
Because my doctor’s office loves me so much, they scheduled me for the afternoon, so I could avoid the morning rush. We still had an 8:30am drop off, but the IUI would be at 1:45pm.
That morning, Ryan realized they did not give him all of the needed “equipment” for his part of the procedure. Thus, being the awesome guy that he is, he improvised!
This would be the tube from his IUI kit, a kitchen funnel (that I will never use again) and some packaging tape.
You have to have a sense of humor about these things.
We dropped off his men and headed home to get ready for the day. We then went to lunch at a Japanese restaurant and took a long walk around the local cemetery. It was peaceful and the day was gorgeous.
Back at the doctor’s office we got started with the IUI. Because of the number of mature eggs I had this time around, I had been noticing some symptoms I had not experienced before. Nurse H put my mind at ease.
My ovaries are so swollen they are pushing on my diaphragm, making it difficult to breathe, especially when lying down. The severe nausea I’ve been having is because there is so much fluid, it is seeping out into areas where it normally doesn’t go. I have to combat that with increased fluids, no matter how gaggy I get drinking all that water.
Nurse H also told me to expect a lot of cramping, pain, fullness, heaviness and bloating. And she was right! I got them all.
Even so, we decided the IUI was not the end of our day together and Ryan took me to the gun range. We had a great time and I enjoyed doing something he loves so much with him.
Upon returning home last night, I felt the full effect of the increased ovulation. This was the most painful IUI I've had to date. I was walking around like an old woman and had to be gentle when standing up or sitting down. Today, I still feel many of these same symptoms.
But I don’t begrudge them at all because I believe these aches and pains are just pushing me closer to holding my babies someday.
It’s no one’s fault. If it were anyone’s fault, it would be mine.
I work at a small office full of young people. There are 7 of us and, besides the boss, the oldest one is 32. When you get a group of people in their late 20s and early 30s, you inevitably get a bunch of people starting their families.
I started working here in 2004. At that time, I had been trying to conceive for about a year, and for the first four years, none of us “young kids” had any children.
Over the last 2 years, all that has changed… One employee has had 2 children, another one just gave birth to her first child, and we hired an employee who is a new father to twins. Even the boss delights in being a grandfather.
It is rough! Every day, I see others rejoice in the one blessing I desire that never comes. I hear clients down the hall gushing over baby pictures, asking for updates, and laughing at all the adventures that come with new parenthood. I hear complaints about lack of sleep and find baby pictures in my email box. On good days, it is hard. On bad days, it’s devastating.
I was used to church being a difficult place to be, with children running around everywhere, pregnant SAHMs, and the constant reminder that “motherhood is your ultimate calling”. After a while, I learned being with friends wasn’t always a safe place, as they add baby after baby to their families, while the list of common ground gets shorter and shorter. Now work is another place where I can’t get away from the constant baby parade.
I start to daydream about walking out the door and never coming back. I do mental calculations… could we afford to live on Ryan’s income alone? I become sad because all of the years of hard work to develop this career seem worthless if I hate being here.
But then I have a client meeting. Just me and a single person or a couple. We talk and laugh and at the end, I feel like I did something to help their situation. And that gives me the strength to come back the next day.
I am fortunate in so many ways. I like helping people and I am able to do that as a planner. I have a boss that has a good heart. I have one co-worker (and a former co-worker) who will selflessly listen to me ramble and complain. I have a flexible schedule that lets me work from home 4 days a month or so. Not to mention, the money I earn at this job allows me to do the fertility treatments that might bring me motherhood.
So I take a deep breath, put my head down and get through it.
And remind myself it can’t be this way forever…
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Nurse H did my ultrasound. I knew things were interesting when (as she was looking at the ultrasound screen) she said, "Now remind me, you are not open to selective reduction, right?"
I have 7 eggs total: one 16mm, two 15mm, two 13mm, and two 11mm. Five of those are considered mature enough to be fertilized. Nurse H said I wasn't to the point that they would cancel the cycle, but I am at risk of becoming pregnant with multiples.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Next Wednesday, we will have the first monthly meeting of the “Wannabe Moms Club”. It will be a time to eat, talk and vent with women who actually do know how I feel! We have three confirmed members so far and I am excited to get to know these ladies better.
If you are local gal who is struggling to start your family, and this sounds like something that interests you, feel free to message me for more information. :)
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Monday, November 8, 2010
Friday, November 5, 2010
I feel like I am a pretty sensitive person. I work hard not to say things that would be offensive or bring someone sadness. I monitor my words and actions the best I can. I’m not perfect by any means, and I often find myself with my foot in my mouth. But I really put a lot of effort into making sure I don’t bring anyone sadness because of the things I say.
Because of that, I automatically expect others to be the same way, and I find myself disappointed when they don’t live up to these expectations.
The community I expect the most from? The infertile community. And they are always the ones who disappoint me the most. Some of my most crushing moments have come from people who “were” infertile, the people I think should “know better”.
Of course, I ask the impossible sometimes, and I know it. How is someone supposed to know that this is the *wrong* day to show off their baby’s pictures? How is someone supposed to tone down their excitement about an impending child, simply because I’m in the room? And would I even want them to? What kind of person would that make me?
Even so, there is story I have to share, if for no other reason, to remember it for the future and ensure I never do something like this to my ‘infertile sisters’.
When Ryan and I arrived for our last IUI appointment, the doctor’s office was packed. We took the last 2 chairs available, and they weren’t even next to each other. I had never seen it this crowded!
During the wait, as I was inconspicuously looking around the room, I noticed an older mother, one or two grandmothers, and an older gentleman. I thought this was strange but I didn’t think much of it. Suddenly, a young couple burst out of the back room with huge smiles and ultrasound pictures in their hands. I knew they must be pregnant and I smiled to myself. Good for them.
But then, as they crossed out of the lobby and into the breezeway, I noticed all those other people get up and follow them out there. They were all relatives of the pregnant couple. They proceeded to stand in front of the office, jumping up and down and screaming.
The entire waiting room of 10-15 infertile people got to witness this moment through the full-length windows of the office. We got to see her hold up the pictures, tell everyone there was “just one”, laugh, cry and hold each other. This went on for about 5 minutes.
And there I was, sitting in my chair, my husband two seats down, watching it all happen. I looked around the waiting room and saw the mixture of pain and sadness on all the other couples faces. Not jealousy… pain.
This couple and their family were beyond excited. I don’t blame them. They had no idea I was thinking about my miscarriage and the ultrasound picture I would never hold. I wondered about the stories of the other waiting couples who were watching this with me. I’m sure some were there to ask why their IVF didn’t work, some might be getting their own ultrasound only to find no heartbeat, some were just starting their own painful journey.
I found myself in a world of emotions… Why would they bring all their relatives? I couldn’t even sit next to my husband because they had to bring all these people. It was a beautiful day. They could have waited outside. Did they not think for a second about celebrating like that in front of an audience of infertile people? Could they have walked 10 feet down the breezeway and then celebrated? They “used” to be one of us… Why would these thoughts not cross their mind?
Some people would tell me this situation should have brought me hope. It didn’t. And from the looks on the faces of those around me, I wasn’t alone.
Maybe I shouldn’t hold people who have had infertility to a higher standard. But I do. The one week I was pregnant, the biggest thing on my mind were those people who were still waiting, whether I knew them personally or not. I did everything I could think of to make life less painful for them. But maybe I didn’t do enough. Maybe I was one of “those” people. That thought makes me sick.
Maybe I expect way too much from people. All it does is hurt me in the end.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
What To Say To Someone That Has Experienced The Loss Of A Baby...
Authored by Christine Dallimore
Day One means a lot of things… disappointment… annoyance… cramps… but it also marks the beginning of the next cycle. I am happy to move on and try again, but also a bit sad.
This will be Follistim / IUI cycle #4. When Ryan and I talked about how many of these we’d try, we always said 5. Dr. Synn agreed with that decision. If we stick with the plan, that means we have only 2 more of these treatments before we hit a crossroad.
Do we stop there and start saving for IVF? At $10,000 - $12,000, we could be on hold for a long while. But when we did try again, our chances of success would be nearly twice as much as this treatment. Then again, I did get pregnant on this treatment. And we could try this route four or five more times for the cost of one IVF. It is a difficult dilemma. I guess the first step is to ask if the chances for success with Follistim decrease with continued use, as they do with Clomid.
And then there is the option of adoption, which we are open to. The problem is it will cost nearly as much as the IVF (as of now) and the information I’m getting from LDS family services (the agency we’d most likely use) is discouraging. Hundreds of adoptive couples, a small amount of babies available, and higher fees on the horizon (possibly double what they are now) is not good news for wanna-be parents like us.
My hope is that I won’t have to make these tough choices… that the next cycle is the winner.
My base ultrasound is tomorrow.
I was really angry last night after I tested. I was going into testing day clueless about the outcome. I was prepared to accept a negative result, UNTIL I got that spotting. Then I allowed myself to believe and was crushed when I saw that single pink line.
I do not understand why I was put in that position. "Everything happens for a reason." I can see that in most things with this struggle, but not this. I didn't see any purpose to getting my hopes sky high and crushing them down. It felt like a mean joke.
It was a rough night.
This morning the spotting started again and now I see it was my period breaking through. I'll need to ask about that, as the Prometrium is supposed to prevent this from happening.
The scariest thought I've had over the last 12 hours? What if last month was the only time I'll ever get pregnant? What if I am one of those girls who gets pregnant once, miscarries, and is never pregnant again? I know it happens; these women survive and eventually move on. But that is a future I'm not ready to imagine...
To read all the posts from this treatment cycle, CLICK HERE.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
I am spotting! It is pink to light red and looks pretty dang similar to last time. It could be my period trying to start, but during all my other treatments on Prometrium, the only time I saw any color was last month when I was pregnant…
I’m supposed to test tomorrow morning. We are sticking with our plan though and testing tonight. Although the test is most effective first thing in the morning, I feel like tonight is close enough and we got a positive result last time on the evening prior to testing day.
If it’s negative tonight, I’ll still take my medicine and test one last time tomorrow morning, just to be sure.
I am afraid to hope!
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
The implantation bleeding I experienced last time was MIA. While I know each pregnancy is different, it was really hard not to see that nugget of hope this time around.
Also, there’s the idea that I couldn’t possibly get pregnant again my *first* treatment after the miscarriage. I am just not that lucky, right???