We had a baby 30 weeks ago.

Thirty weeks ago, I gave birth to my son, baby W. For a pregnancy that was planned every step of the way, he was a bit of a surprise at thirty-seven weeks and five days; he came a week before my scheduled induction! My water broke all at once--a gross rupture, as the nurse put it--at about 4:00 PM, and we welcomed Wisebaby to the world at 10:15 PM. Despite the blood thinner, I was clotting enough to have an epidural, which was awesome. No other interventions were needed, which was pretty great considering it took 368 needle sticks to get the little guy gestated safely.

My college roommate recently shared her fertility struggles with me, and she's even started her own blog. She credited my blog as part of her inspiration to open up about her trials, and it inspired me to come back and give the site a little look. Of course, I realized that I hadn't shared anything since I was nineteen weeks pregnant, other than timeline updates, and that made me a little sad.

Of course, the last thirty weeks have not give me a lot of time to blog. Wisebaby is a ball of energy, a terrible napper, and a people person. That means we spend a lot of time playing, cuddling, and talking to him. When he finally does go to bed, it's pretty much bottles and laundry until we drop. Parenthood is fantastic. It is everything we had hoped for and more. It is our dream come true, even though he's been sick with RSV, developed an ear infection, and cut two teeth in the last week.

Thanksgiving

After ninety-three shots, I am starting to believe that this pregnancy thing might just stick. This cycle went so much more smoothly than the last one; not just because it actually worked, but for several other reasons. I am so thankful for the following changes in circumstances:

1. We didn't have any major home repairs crop up during this IVF cycle.
2. I wasn't taking graduate classes.
3. My new boss is very easy going, so taking personal days and getting a substitute didn't stress me out.
4. Someone--or many someones--in every aspect of my life (work, church, family, friends) knew about our cycle. Having people asking after you makes dealing with an exciting and stressful situation more pleasant. 
5. As much as I bitched about Lovenox, it is relieving to know that the male Dr. B crossed every t and dotted every i in order to make this cycle perfect. Factor V probably didn't cause my early miscarriage or failed IVF cycle, but it definitely won't be the complication in this pregnancy.
6. Wisehubby bravely put his balls on the line in order to get an improvement in his sperm quality that is barely quantifiable. There is no way of knowing how important this factor was, but we got much better quality embryos this cycle.
7. Dr. B reduced my stimulation drugs down. I felt much less uncomfortable throughout the process, and we got fewer and healthier eggs.
8. Wisehubby was even sweeter this time than last, which I didn't think was possible.
9. Dr. B helped us with the costs of the lab, which is especially good considering the cost of the Crinone and Lovenox prescriptions is outrageous! Crinone costs $263 and Lovenox costs $200. The pharmacist at Walmart keeps asking if I really want my prescriptions. Uh, yeah!
10. We got a frostie! Having a frozen blastocyst takes a lot of pressure off of the transferred ones. We probably couldn't afford another fresh cycle for a few years, so it is great to know we've got a back up hanging out in a lab down the road.
11. So many of my infertile friendships are also in a good place right now. IWF, Dear Friend, and MyLazyOvaries (Twitter friend) all have had BFPs, and that is such a wonderful thing. 

Injecting the crazy - Side effects

I started stimulating with injectable hormones last night, and have already given my dosage for tonight. Last year, I took Lupron in the mornings and Follistim in the evenings. This year, my protocol is Lupron in the mornings, Follistim and Menopur in the evenings, and Lovenox at bed time. I suppose that I could switch Lovenox to the evening time period, but man, it burns like hell and I don't think I could stomach it as shot number three.

Here are my feelings so far on side effects:

• Lupron (prevents ovulation) - Though everyone on message boards bitches about Lupron headaches, I don't know if I've ever gotten one. I get sinus headaches all the time, so there could have been many a Lupron headache lurking in disguise that I just attributed to other things. I can tell you that my left eye has been twitching, but I don't think that has to do with the hormones so much as the stress.
• Follistim (stimulates ovaries) - Last year I took this and my only effect was really heavy, sore ovaries, which is the intended effect. It's not comfortable, but it is what I signed up for.
• Menopur (stimulates ovaries) - Everyone on the internets complains about how it burns, but these people have clearly never taken Lovenox. I did have the most amazing nausea and stabbing stomach pains this morning, which I am chalking up to the Menopur, as I did not experience this last year. It was so bad that I went to our school nurse to get my temperature taken, worried that I'd contracted a virus. Nope, it was just all the crazy I've been injecting into my system. "Oh, well, it's the new medicine I am on, I suppose," I tell the nurse. 
• Lovenox (prevents blood clots) - HOLY MOTHER OF WHATEVER! Have I complained about this to you yet? No? Well, let me rectify the situation. Lovenox is the devil shot. It is putting me off of shots all together, which is not good. Not only does it stab like a @#$%@# when you inject it, but once you finish it burns and aches for a good thirty minutes while the medicine creeps slowly around your abdomen. Enjoy! I had to tell my friend, Dr. B the hematologist, that he should give it a try sometime before he decides to prescribe it again. It is pure evil. "I'm so glad that I found out that I have a genetic blood disorder," said no one ever.

Today, I felt pretty normal, but after my second injection, I immeadiately felt my ovaries. It is a very distinct feeling, this noticing an organ that you don't normally notice, so it could just be the medicine I'm injecting, or it could be that I'm injecting a dose of crazy. Only time will tell.

Would you like my leftover meds?

Today I got to visit with a friend of mine who has been battling infertility for over seven years; let's call her my Infertile Warrior Friend, or I.W.F. for short. She and her husband had just finished a long year of unsuccessful infertility treatments and moved halfway across the country. Just when they weren't looking, they conceived naturally. A lucky, but painful, cyst on her ovary helped keep her progesterone levels up to help support the early pregnancy and avoid yet another heart breaking miscarriage. Her HCG levels have risen well, and they've even been fortunate enough to see the little nugget on ultrasound. I.W.F. is not out of the woods on this one by any means, but she's creeping up on eight weeks of a healthy pregnancy. All of this is making me so very hopeful for our own story.

This week, I.W.F. is in town visiting family. As an act of faith, she brought her spare meds with her to give to me for my upcoming IVF cycle. Since prescriptions for infertility are a horribly expensive (not covered by insurance) part of the process, I gladly accepted this beautiful, generous gift. Right now, Wisehubby is cataloguing our stash of meds (I.W.F.'s and our own) so that we can take it to our appointment in September with the male Dr. B.

I tell you all of this because I am so grateful to have a growing network of support in my real life. It is hard to open up about infertility, but once you do, you might just be surprised by who in your life can help to hold you up and provide realistic hope when things are tough.

When I put all of our IF questions on the back burner this spring, I didn't stop my campaign of honesty. Through that, I learned that a friend from church had struggled to conceive her two beautiful baby boys. When it seems like everyone at church is trying to overpopulate the planet, she'll sometimes lean in with a snarky or sweet comment that hits the spot. These infertile friendships have meant more to me than most anyone could ever know, except for maybe the brave women who have opened up with me.

Pay it forward might seem cliche, yet I look forward to a day in the near future when, after conceiving and seeing my own little Wisebaby (babies?) on ultrasound, I can take my own leap of faith, call up Dear Friend and ask her, "Would you like my leftover meds?"

Stepping away for a bit

As Wisesister told me, sometimes you just can't think about your grief because you have to keep moving. I've been on a vacation from my grief for the last couple of weeks. Between Thanksgiving vacation and a trip to Austin, it has been tough to keep up with my Twitter feed and blog.

So you know, I'm down, but not out. I'll probably just take a break between now and our December urology appointment so that I can get through the next nine school days without murdering a middle school student. I'll get you all updated on our WTF appointment and plans for the future at that time. Until then, Merry Christmas and let's all start praying for a much happier new year.

A case for coming out

A lot of people struggling with infertility are reluctant to share their problems for one reason or another. Wisehubby himself is extremely private and initially had no interest in telling anyone. Luckily for me, he loves me a ton, and so he has grinned and bared it as I have told a whole network of people in real life and online about our trials.

Coming out about our infertility has been a blessing for me. I haven't told everyone, frankly, because it really isn't everyone's business. As need and occasion has arisen, I have shared my story. I refuse to lie when it isn't necessary.

At work, I consider it necessary to keep this part of my life mostly private. I have shared our struggles in general terms with my boss, simply so that she knew that I wasn't ditching work for fun. During my IVF cycle, I told people who asked at work that I had a gynecological procedure. That stopped most of the questioning dead in its tracks. Since I work in a middle school, I do not feel it is appropriate for me to discuss my reproductive life with my colleagues; since I work with my husband, I owe him this privacy.

In general, I have told my friends when it has come up. When I had to explain why I may miss my tap recital at the city rec center, I admitted to a friend that I was going through IVF and had no clue about when my body would be ready for what. When another friend asked why she hadn't seen me smiling lately, I let her know that it was because we have been struggling with infertility.

I haven't regretted coming out to a single person, not even the friend who once told me that she thought it was unethical to pay for fertility treatments when you could adopt a child (side note: UGH! that's not fair at all). She was sensitive and supportive. She may or may not change her feelings about fertility treatments, but she knows now to lay off of the topic in my presence.

Instead of regret, I've really appreciated the huge support system that I have surrounding me. My friend from tap class came and spent an hour visiting with me on the day after my transfer, while I was on bed rest. My pastor has sent encouraging emails every few days. My mother-in-law has made dinners and given the best hugs. My dad called me a few nights ago to let me know how much he loves me. My mom has been fighting tooth and nail to make things right, even though she knows that she can't really fix anything. My sister has been beside herself trying to be sure that I'm doing ok. She even tried to pack up her toddler and drive an hour to see me on a week night last week--I stopped her. My closest male friend has known to be more supportive of Wisehubby. The list goes on, and on.

If you're dealing with infertility, you're going to have a really rocky road ahead of you. This road is going to be made worse because people don't know how to deal with it. People won't try to figure out how to be sensitive about infertility if you don't give them a heads up about needing extra TLC. You might as well let your friends and family know what is going on.

If people cause you to regret your decision of honesty, then you know that they were never worthy of your friendship. Probably, though, your friends always were good friends, and you'll be happy that they are on your side, armed with information.

We're not alone. You're not alone.

I don't exactly have a booming audience yet; I have had 20 page views. I am pretty sure that 10 of them have been mine and most of the rest have been my sister's. I like to look at the color scheme because it's the color scheme of my fertility-challenged alter-ego. The Wise Lady everyone else knows would have gone with red, but that is neither here nor there.  There have been three page views from Russia, so that's exciting. If I knew a Russian greeting, I'd use it.

Anyway, I write this to say--if you are out there--please know that you're not alone.

Wisehubby and I have felt a bit like we're the only twenty-somethings out there struggling with fertility issues for a while now. Sometimes while waiting at the RE (reproductive endrocrinologist for all you fertility newbs), I feel the other--older--women burning holes in my uterus with their mind lasers. I get it; I probably look a little fresh faced for fertility treatments, but I'm there--so deal.

Anyway, I found out tonight that a dear friend of mine from college is dealing with almost the exact same issue as us at practically the exact same time. I'm not sure what made me call her, but I did. It was hard to come out and tell her about our infertility, but she lead with, "Oh, God, you're not calling to tell me you're pregnant; are you?" I had a feeling that my message was about to land on sympathetic ears.

Turns out, they've got some several male factor infertility that's not related to environment or injury, too! Don't get me wrong, I am NOT happy to hear this. I am a bit relieved, though. Dear-friend was, too. She suggested that our hubby's could support each other. I don't know if that is going to happen, as Wisehubby is very reluctant to open up about this stuff, but I am happy to know that he now has the option. Sometimes, the choice is what makes the difference.

It will be interesting to see how our paths diverge. We're headed towards IVF with ICSI like an express train, and I think they're looking at the urology side of things first. I'm just happy to know that I can pick up to phone and talk to someone who knows exactly what I am going through. She even liked my crack about asking for a print out of my next vaginal sonogram. Success!

Let me recap for you the moral to this really rambling story (no, I haven't been sleeping like I should): WE'RE NOT ALONE! Good news, you're not alone either.

Come join Dear-friend and I in the club of women who are sad about their empty uteruses and the fact that they can't seem to do anything to make their husbands feel better about it. It's a small club, but I'm trying to keep things exclusive.

TTC since 2010

I wish that I could say that my worries about infertility started with my miscarriage or at the time Wisehubby and I decided to try for Wisebaby, but I have deeply and thoroughly feared infertility for much longer. After my brother died when I was fifteen, I realized just what a profound thing family is. While the ground shifted underneath my feet, the one thing that I knew I could count on was my family. Although I continued to have many aspirations for my life, family shifted firmly into a first-place lead. All I have wanted since the day my brother died was a chance to expand our family and provide to my own children the love that my parents gave to me. It’s a kind of pay it forward approach to life that I believe in down to my bones.

When I was eighteen, I worked at a summer camp. This experience changed my life in so many ways by allowing me to work with children, meet exciting young adults, and experience life away from home while being financially autonomous. I met a beautiful young woman who was a twenty-year-old sophomore at Louisiana Tech University. She wore sorority letters and carried herself with grace. At my age, she seemed so worldly to me.

Halfway through the summer, I fell ill with a serious case of tonsillitis. She was sick at the same time with cysts on her ovaries. We spent a lot of time resting in the staff lounge together, and she explained to me all about her chronic reproductive problems. At twenty, she knew that she would never have her own children. It was then that I began to understand the profound sense of loss that accompanies infertility. I felt powerfully sad for this woman, and I knew that I would be devastated if I ever struggled with infertility myself.

Fast forward eight years, past a happy honeymoon period of marriage. Once Wisehubby and I were comfortable financially, we stopped using hormonal birth control. It killed my sex drive, and we could afford to stop playing it safe. A year after that, we decided to try to conceive in 2010. 

I come from a long line of women who do not struggle with getting pregnant, so we thought we could be one of those couples who times their pregnancy to land the perfect amount from the end of the school year. That way, I could enjoy a super maternity leave from my teaching job. 

Now, over a year into my saga, I have had to face infertility. One of my worst fears has become my reality. Of course, as with anything, it did not take the shape or form that I had dreaded, nor am I dealing with it in a way that I thought I would. More on that later...