When you least expect it...

Here's a post that I wrote back on December 14, 2014:

As I grieved the loss of our miscarriage a few months ago, my sister told me that I could accept that this was it--that we were to be a family of three--but that she refused to accept it. She was convinced that we would end up pregnant when we least expected it. She imagined that our son would be headed off to college when we became pregnant. Her first prediction was right. Her second? Not as accurate.

The ACOG suggests you wait three months after a miscarriage to try to conceive again. Three separate doctors have reviewed our records and indicated that it is highly unlikely that we could ever conceive without intervention. Two doctors want me on Lovenox, a powerful blood thinner, when I am pregnant to prevent clots and loss. I had decided to take some time off of my prenatal vitamin and go back on caffeine and alcohol pretty hard for me. I was definitely not expecting a late period just one month after my cycle reset. Nor did I expect an elicit run to the drug store while on vacation with my in laws. Nor a positive pregnancy test while bathing our son.

Holy shit! We are pregnant, and we definitely didn't expect it.

On miscarriage

Miscarriage is a terrible thing. It doesn't respect your hopes and dreams. It doesn't respect your right to grieve.

Even if you're very open about your miscarriage, which I have been, there is no space for your grief in our society. My friends and family have been enormously supportive, and they have and will continue to hold me up, but it's still never going to be enough.

You see, our fetus, who never stood a chance at becoming a baby scientifically speaking, had two possible names. A due date. A nursery theme. A mother and a father and a big brother. A whole life to live.

Just because I know intellectually that with no heartbeat, this fetus would never amount to more than a tiny cluster of tissue and a few weeks of mild morning sickness and food cravings, that doesn't change the fact that, for one month, I was pregnant. I dreamed about my baby, made plans for him or her. Prayed for him or her to grow big and strong and become a beloved child of God. I bought maternity clothes and fantasized about getting round. I thought about purchasing a new breast pump through insurance, and whether or not we should spend money doing at 12 week NT scan, since it wasn't covered on our insurance. I started to plan my maternity leave and who would be my long-term substitute.

Now, I'm bleeding. I know it's the end. There is no more hope for those dreams.

What do I have to show for it? 10 pounds and a heart full of grief.

How do I get to say goodbye? By disposing of my dreams, one way or another. Take your pick: The baby and all of that hope will likely either be flushed down a toilet or thrown in the trash, waded up in a sanitary napkin. I likely won't even know when to say goodbye.

That is miscarriage.

No heartbeat

We found out today that the fetus has no heart beat and is several weeks behind developmentally, so we're praying for a quick, safe, and natural miscarriage.

Our Little Engine that Could

Praise and thanksgiving! Our Little Engine that Could is making slow progress safe and sound in my uterus. I have an at risk pregnancy, but a pregnancy, nonetheless. I'm 6w3d pregnant from my FET, but the gestational sack and yolk sack measured proportionally at 5w2d. The amazing ultrasound technician said that there is a margin of error of about a week, and that she has seen slow developers go on to be healthy pregnancies before. She didn't make promises, but she said to be hopeful for two weeks until we return.

Dr. B basically said everything that the sonographer said, but with less tact. He was fairly polite for himself, but he just drops bombs in a way that Wisesister thinks is unnecessary, and I am inclined to agree with her. For example, he could have avoided scaring me half to death that I was having an ectopic pregnancy and was facing internal bleeding and certain loss. All he had to do was say, "Your blood work is irregular. Let's bring you in for a sono to learn more!" He did suggest that in his experience about 50% of cases like mine result in healthy pregnancies, which is a big improvement over the 15% we had been hearing for the last week.

We're proceeding as if we have a healthy baby. In two weeks, we'll have a make or break sono where we will learn if there is a fetus developing slowly in the the yolk sack. If there is a fetus and a heart beat, we won't necessarily be out of the woods, but it will be 8w3d, and that's a pretty great place to be. If not, then we'll know that we've lost the pregnancy and we'll be able to grieve and start to decide where to go from there.

Half-grieving

I've been half-grieving since Thursday, when I got the worst kind of news when trying to referee what could only be described as an epic Greek and Latin Stem Word Pictionary Battle. I was so caught off guard and in the middle of everything that I had to call back later when my students were working individually to process the information. Unfortunately, the second time around, the nurse's news did not improve.

My HSG, the pregnancy hormone, levels did not rise at the rate that they want. They look for at least 66% rise in two days, and mine had gone up just about 33%. What could it be? Well, miscarriage, ectopic pregnancy, a healthy pregnancy that defies the trend (15% chance), or even more unlikely, our single embryo split into twins, one of whom was surviving and the other wasn't. What to do? Wait and repeat on Monday.

Today, I took the initiative and called when it was convenient, and on my school land line since the cell service in my classroom is terrible. I knew it wasn't good when the nurse hesitated to tell me anything at all since Dr. B hadn't reviewed my charts yet. Oh, shit, not the miracle I'd been praying for.

My hormones went up about 30% again, and they're at a good level for someone who is 6 weeks pregnant, but the slow rise makes Dr. B think it's an ectopic pregnancy. Yeah, that's when your baby is growing OUTSIDE of your womb.

Bad stuff. Risk your life to internal bleeding and destroy your lady parts if you don't end it bad stuff. Chose between poisoning your doomed baby with chemotherapy drugs or surgically removing your doomed baby bad stuff.

I go in for a sono to see if it's actually bad stuff, or just an oddity of modern medicine. Maybe we have a perfectly healthy pregnancy and weird hormones. Supposedly it happens (15% is the number that you see), even if it appears to be documented NO WHERE on the internet. NO WHERE.

So, I am trying to be hopeful, to not return my stack of new maternity clothes, to believe in this miracle, in this pregnancy, in the beautiful hatching embryo in the picture. It's hard though, since I am half-grieving. I can't be truly hopeful, but I can't give into the all encompassing grief. I am stuck in between, where no one has anything to say other than they'll be praying for me.

That's where I am. I suppose you can pray for me.

Weeks 1-2

Most people don't know that they're pregnant until they've hit week 5 or 6 or sometimes even much later. Really, only couples undergoing fertility treatments get to know and live weeks 1-2, since week one technically starts with the first day of your menses. Even crazier, IVFers can start the process at -2 (yes, NEGATIVE two) weeks or earlier depending on their protocols.

For me, this time, I started on day 2, week 1 with estradiol pills (estrogen to make a happy home) and lovenox (blood thinner to make sure the estrogen doesn't kill me or the embryo). Medically speaking, t's a lot less intense than rounds 1 and 2 of IVF that we've been through. Now that we've got a toddler? It's a whole different ball game.

Today was good, but yesterday? Oh goodness. There are no words for yesterday. Ok, there are some words for yesterday, but they're not really for polite company.

Hopped up on estrogen, I've been moody, confrontational, petulant, and extremely tired, which doesn't help with the first three. Two nights ago, Wisehubby and I had a wicked fight, but I realized that I was being pretty irrational, so I reined it in, called Wisesister, wrote down my promises for what I could do to improve the situation, and spoke calmly with him, eventually resolving the fight. Needless to say, I didn't get to bed exactly on time, and I had a hard time sleeping.

The next morning, instead of sleeping until about 7, which is typically for our son, the little guy (1 yo, mind you) woke up at 5. AM. Holy. Hell. You expect it when they're newborn, but mommies always say, "Don't worry! This won't last forever." Yes, 1 year of sleep depravation isn't literally forever, but it feels like it, for sure. On top of that, he's recently decided that being a toddler means that he is going to cry because things aren't going his way. A lot. That website, Reasons My Son is Crying, suddenly seems relatable instead of funny or cruel.

So, I had a meltdown--a throw the kid in the car and drive to the nearest mall to power walk your feelings into submission meltdown. I called Wisehubby at work to let him know I was spiraling out of control because I was tired and I was hormonal and I had forgotten to take my lovenox injection and I couldn't find the garage door opener and... and... and... Geez, there was a laundry list of other problems that I can't even remember now. 

It was bad enough that he suggested I drop the kid off to be watched by my dad, who is currently being a bachelor for the first time while my mom is out of town. That wasn't a bad idea, but my crazy hormonal brain wouldn't give in. I knew I could conquer this by myself, well, and with the help of a little bit of fear of public shaming. "Get it together!" I thought, "There's no crying in mall walking!"

After a 3 mile walk through the mall and a stop at Chick Fil A for some comfort food for me and the babe, I managed to get him home for what was surely the world's shortest afternoon nap for two such exhausted souls. The nap and the walk were enough though, and we took the rest of the afternoon to play just the two of us. He pulled all of his books off of his book shelf, we watched Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood, we filled the water table and kiddie pool, we took the dog on a walk, and we even went swimming with the dog our pool. Daddy brought home some take out, and I'd officially survived the worst day of all of my infertility treatments.

What's the moral to this tale? Even if the FET is supposed to be easier, being infertile and being a parent is something completely crazy. You're so grateful for what you have, yet that gratitude can make you less willing to admit when you are having a hard time. Once you do have a baby, the appointments and procedures and hormones are met with less ceremony and less support than the last time. I've done most of the procedures by myself, and Wisehubby hasn't helped me through a single injection. It's not that he doesn't care, because he does, but that he has someone else that he has to care for more--our son. Instead of taking in all of the crazy hormones and thinking promisingly about how they were going to change my life, I'm just so freaking tired. So tired. Please, please, baby sleep tired.

Would I change a thing? No. Stick me, prick me, hop me up on hormones. Give me a shot at a second baby and another year of my life lost to the beautiful delirium of sleepless nights and parenthood.

19 Weeks

Every morning I wake up, say a little prayer, put my hand on my belly, and remember that my dreams are coming true. The bump is definitely growing; there is no denying that our quest for Wisebaby is more than halfway done.

Ok, so gestationally speaking, at 19 weeks 1 day, I am a few days shy of halfway, but our journey has been too long to count in weeks, so I feel more than half through.

Everyone keeps asking if I feel ok; the sonographer asked if we were always so calm. The truth is that even though we're 19 weeks into our pregnancy, everyday feels like a very special miracle, and all of the little annoying things about pregnancy don't even register when I'm watching my belly grow because of a little baby boy--that's right, it's a boy! I am too awestruck to be weepy or antsy. Just like on the day that Wisehubby proposed to me, I am mostly at a loss for the right words to describe the peace and happiness that God has brought into our lives as we begin to transition our lives into their next incredible stage.

Speaking of the sonogram, we had our anatomy scan and everything about our little boy seems completely perfect. On our 19 week mark, he measured a little ahead of schedule, 19 weeks 4 days, weighing in at 11 ounces. His head is on my left side, and he is lying on his back. There are four chambers in his heart, he's got a brain growing strong, his kidneys are there, the stomach is clear, and his cord blood is flowing properly. He's got two arms and legs, ten fingers and ten toes. He used his little hand to wave at us and then he stuck out his tongue. We could even see his little face. We're completely in love with this little guy, and all we've see of him have been a few grainy pictures and a glamour shot of him way back when he was growing in the petri dish.

Now that I've written this post, maybe I'll not have to touch my belly tomorrow morning to check to see if this all is real or not. I doubt it though; it is nice to have a reminder that your dreams are coming true.

Post-script: We're also 189 shots in! Sweet Wisebaby is worth every prick.

Thirteen Weeks and Trucking

I keep hearing a few things from mommy friends of mine over and over again, so I'll address them topically.

(1) There is nothing like hearing the heartbeat for the first time. We got to hear Ace for the first time today! They didn't play audio of the heartbeat at seven weeks, so though we got to see the heart beating a mile a minute, there was something new to do today at the OB's. That was a good thing; Wisehubby is not very happy that we're no longer on the punctual schedule of the Fertility Clinic. I'm pretty sure he would have yelled had he not had the promise of hearing Ace's beating heart.

I'll be honest, I had a niggling fear that my belly was growing, but Ace's heart had quite beating. Luckily, that was put to rest promptly by the nurse finding Ace's heart beat loud, clear, and strong quickly and efficiently. Her little heart was beating 148, which is fantastic. I will say that we were much more emotional and happy when we got to see her little heart beating at 7 weeks, but I think that is an unusual experience that can be chalked up to being infertility survivors.

(2) Remember: You're not eating for two! I'll be honest that this admonishment seems a little insulting to my ability to comprehend fetal growth. I'll also be honest and say that this perceived insult may be heightened by my more intense emotional response thanks to sweet Ace and her accompanying hormones.

To that end, I am happy to report that I was 165 going into the IVF cycle in September, and from my experience, I tend to gain about 5 pounds of fertility weight during a cycle. The hormones and physical fatigue take a major toll on your body. So, I was not surprised when I weighed in at 170 at seven weeks. Today, I weighed in at 171 at thirteen weeks. So, depending on whether you're counting my IVF weight gain as a part of my first trimester weight gain or not, I either have gained 1-6 points. From what I've read, you're supposed to gain 1-5 pounds. All things considered, I'm feeling pretty smug about my ability to eat appropriately for my baby and avoid binging for fun on fatty and sugary foods.

(3) Try wearing a rubber band to make your pants fit. I'm sorry, but I teach fourteen year old horn dogs all day, so I don't feel walking around with my pants unzipped is a viable option. I have switched to wearing only pants with elastic waist bands. It means that I've only got two pairs of pants right now that are appropriate for work and the current weather, but I'm hoping my order of maternity leggings comes in soon so that I can wear some of my dresses. Unfortunately, most of my tights and leggings are no longer comfortable either. My uterus is huge and has popped out into a cute little bump, which makes me happy, but my pants no good.

Sick and tired

It's official: I am sick and tired. Not of being pregnant, although that is certainly contributing to the tired aspect. I'm actually sick, like porcupines have danced in my throat and the mucus is trying to drown me slowly sick. It came on fast, but I chose wisely to go see my doctor and get a note off from work for today--Merry Christmas!

Anyway, in all of this complaining about my upper respiratory infection, I actually do have some updates on the pregnancy front. We went to our first regular obstetric appointment on Wednesday, at exactly 9 weeks pregnant. Since we had an ultrasound at week 7 and everything looked great, this was just a vaginal exam and culture and a chance to talk with Dr. B about what to expect over the next seven months. Yes, we're only seven months away from the arrival of Wisebaby! Eek!

I was hoping that she would say that I could stop Crinone, but, to no avail, I have ten more days of the nasty stuff. I was also hoping that she would agree with the OBs of my fellow heterozygous Factor V'ers (Wisesister and my bestie from HS) and take me off of Lovenox. That was also to no avail. I appreciate the caution, as I don't want to lose Wisebaby or end up with some sort of life-endangering clot myself. I don't appreciate the fact that I will have been on Lovenox for almost a calendar year when this is all said and done. It's expensive; it's painful; it makes me want to cry a little.

On the Factor V front, the other thing that Dr. B wants to do is schedule an inducement for week 38-39 so that she can switch me to Heparin, which is a twice a day blood thinner, a few weeks before my delivery, and then off of it, timed perfectly, for delivery. As she said, she'd rather control the situation to preserve my cardio-pulmonary system and protect Wisebaby. Again, I appreciate that, but it will definitely be a different experience than the one that I had in my head. Of course, I don't know why I should have expected anything different since nothing about our Quest for Wisebaby has played out the way it should have.

So, Wisebaby is due on July 24, so his/her arrival should be scheduled sometime between July 10-17, just in time for my niece's third birthday. Until then, I'm going to hope to continue to be tired for then next few weeks, but praying that I won't get any more sick.

An Ace in the Hole

We've been calling our Wisembies Ace and Base over the last few weeks, and today we got to see for sure if one or both of them stuck.

Our sonographer was running behind, so it was maybe more hurried than we had anticipated because I needed to get back to my school by 1:05 for my sixth period class. She did give me a big hug and a congratulations, which felt so real and genuine  Wisehubby and I both agree that she is by far the best part of our fertility clinic.

Anyway, the big news is that we have an Ace in the hole! One of our Wisembies implanted and flourished. We were exactly 7 weeks today, but little Ace is measuring 7 weeks 1 day, and his heart rate (131.58) is very strong. We could see his heart beating with no problem, and it was crazy that we could see the yolk sack and umbilical cord distinct from Ace's little blobby body. He measured 10.81 millimeters long!

We feel like we've been playing the long game and have finally scored; it is amazing to see that something you have chased after for so long is truly coming to fruition. We know that the weeks and months ahead of us are long, and uncertain, but we're excited for this next phase in our quest for Wisebaby!

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. 

BFP! BFP! BFP! BFP! BFP!

So, I swore to Wisesister when she went with me to CVS to buy pregnancy tests that I wouldn't be that crazy lady who tortured herself by taking a million pregnancy tests. It turns out that I lied.

Sunday was six days past transfer, and by 5 PM I couldn't stop myself from peeing on a stick. Luckily, I was rewarded with a nice pink line. It's faint in the picture, but I swear it is there. It is about half as dark as the control line. I repeated my tests in the afternoon on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. The only day that was really crazy to do was Wednesday, since I had already gotten the call from my RE that we were BFP according to the blood test. My HCG was 112, so that's good according to the nurse--I have zero frame of reference on this one.

Tuesday did freak me out because the line faded visibly from Monday, but I'm ninety percent sure it was because I chugged some water in order to try to pee again in a short period of time. I was done in by my over-hydration.

Since the only experiences that I've ever had with conceiving have ended with a BFN or a chemical pregnancy, I'm feeling decidedly anxious. However, always a believer in positive thinking, I am just chanting to myself BFP! BFP! BFP! all day long as I anxiously await the results from my beta HCG tomorrow to see if things are indeed rising the way they should.

Join me now: BFP! BFP! BFP! BFP! BFP!