Don't Count Your Eggs

The Pregnant Sister-in-Law

I’ve gotten several emails over the past few weeks from fellow IF Islanders who are dealing with the difficult emotions of having a pregnant sister-in-law. I’ve kind of avoided writing about this topic because I too have a pregnant sister-in-law, and I think she occasionally reads this blog. While I wanted to protect her privacy for a while, I also wanted to write when I could do so from a place of love.

There’s something specific about the pregnant SIL. If my own sister got pregnant, I’d be thrilled—even though she’s 3 ½ years younger and not yet married! When she donated eggs to me, the cycle raised some concerns about her own fertility, and I pray every day that she will never go through what Noah and I are going through. But the pregnant SIL is a different thing for some reason.

I have one friend who had been on IF Island for two years, had gone through several IVF’s and the day after she had an early miscarriage, her SIL, her husband’s younger brother’s wife, announced she was pregnant at a big family dinner. My friend ran from the room crying. She couldn’t help it. The feelings were so raw. Her brother and sister-in-law didn’t know what my friend and her husband had just gone through, so the announcement wasn’t at all spiteful, it was just their news.

The news that my SIL is pregnant came to us a few months ago. Noah’s younger brother sent us an email, and again, as all pregnancy announcements do, feelings of dysfunction and unfairness and frustration began to swell. On the one hand, I was genuinely happy for them and for our family. I will be this child’s only aunt (I think, or one of two, whatever, I will be this child’s favorite aunt). I am very close with my aunts and look forward to the relationship Noah and I will have with this little person. We have a small family and I am happy Noah’s brother and his wife didn’t struggle. But on the other hand, these feelings of…deserving come up. I feel like a jerk writing that down, but I don’t think it’s an uncommon feeling. Noah and I have been trying for longer than his brother and sister-in-law have known each other. His brother is 3+ years younger and will have a child who is genetically his and his families. It is likely Noah will not, and while we no longer feel that means all that much, it’s something. It’s still somehow unfair. Noah’s response to these feelings of mine is, “If I can’t have a biological kid, my brother should be the one to.” True. I guess it just brings up hard feelings of guilt and loss and sadness for me because I’m once again reminded that my body is the root cause of our infertility.

The length of time a couple has been together and how hard it was for them to conceive have somehow become markers for me of whether that couple is deserving or not. It’s totally absurd perhaps, but sometimes you can’t help the rules your brain creates. One of my co-workers has had two kids in the time we’ve been trying. I’m ok with that. She’s older than I am and had been trying for a while before her family came together. Another co-worker was divorcing his first wife when Noah and I started trying. His second child with another woman is due this week. That feels less ok. I don’t know why. It just does. What I have to remember is that my brain isn’t always right. Just because my brain decides someone is less deserving does not make it true. Just because I think or feel something, does not make it fact. Everyone is entitled to follow their bliss and create the best life they can for themselves. Everyone is equally deserving of having a family. Noah and I are just as deserving, not necessarily more, of having the family we desire. Unfortunately we just haven’t been as lucky.

What sometimes makes pregnancy announcements within a family extra hard is that it builds a deeper wedge of misunderstanding. If one person is filled with light and life and another is filled with heartbreak and repetitive bad news, who is the attention going to follow?

Someone wrote me the other day about being pregnant at the same time as her SIL. But this person miscarried while her SIL continues to have a healthy pregnancy. Her SIL is due a within a week of when her baby would be have been due. This person will have to watch her mother celebrate her SIL and the new baby, and will be constantly reminded of her loss and what could have been.

Sometimes friendships get parked when one person gets sequestered to IF Island and another person celebrates the expansion of their family. It’s a crappy but common situation for many. But this kind of separation often can’t happen within a family. So what’s a person to do?

I’ve always been a very big believer in trying to increase understanding through communication. Honestly expressing the conflicting feelings of being excited for and saddened by a pregnancy may help you feel heard. But I have to admit sometimes it doesn’t work. Sometimes fertile and hyper-fertile people just can’t fathom the experience of trying everything possible to achieve something they were able to achieve in one shot. Literally. Sometimes people feel pity, sometimes they compare your fertility struggles to other life struggles they have had. Bottom line is that sometimes others just may not get your pain.

I have learned to understand that that is ok. I remind myself that no one is getting pregnant to hurt me or to make me feel bad. It’s not about me at all. Everyone has the right to move forward in their lives and to experience the joys and excitement of pregnancy. I have choices in how I handle the situation. Sometimes I feel the need to protect myself and give myself space, sometimes I push myself to open my heart the best I can, and share in the joy for another person. It really depends on the day.

My SIL happens to live in the same state we are hopefully traveling to for our embryo adoption. So while I will be getting massive progesterone shots in the butt and praying that this donated little embie sticks, she will be going through her second trimester with that pregnant glow. And that’s just what it is. I have to try and think about the bigger picture. I know she wants the best for us and hopes that this works. I know that I care about her deeply, and she feels the same way about me. Her pregnancy will one day feel like a blessing, and I will have a niece or nephew who I can spoil and love. One day, my SIL and I will have things in common, and we will be able to share in the joys and pitfalls of parenting.

A Baby Shower I was Excited to Attend

Yesterday, Noah and I went to a "welcome baby" shower for one of the couples we interviewed for our film. You can see a clip of Candace and Tommaso here.

Anyway, Candace and Tommaso spent years on IF Island and yesterday they proudly introduced their 4 month old baby, Max, who they adopted at birth. Max is amazing. He's beautiful and healthy, and so are they. After all their struggles, 9 IVF's, surgeries, miscarriages--you name it, they went through it--the two of them are finally off the Island, and let me tell you, it looks good on them.  It gave me a lot of hope that eventually we will get our life back, and it will be sweeter and fuller and better.

Max is 100% their son. He belongs with them. He completes them. I know they wouldn't have it any other way. But did they need to go through all they did to end up with that particular child? I'm not sure. They really went through a lot. I try to think that what is meant to be is meant to be and that timing works in such a way that the child that is meant to be will be. But I'm not totally sure. If our little Momotaro works, will I say we had to go through everything we did for timing to be just right for him or her to be ours? I just don't know. But what I do know is that holding baby Max yesterday, I felt, with no doubt in my heart, that I can and will love and embrace any baby that comes into our lives. You just don't think about DNA when you're finger is being gripped in the palm of a tiny hand. 

The "coming out" party, as they were calling it, felt different from other baby showers I've been to. There was a common understanding of the struggle to create a family, and there was so much love and support in the room. Even though Noah and I didn't have a baby of our own, we didn't feel out of place. It was a nice afternoon.

Noah and I have sought out couples who have built their family in alternative ways, because it gives us hope that there are different ways to make a family. A family is a group of people who love each other and will go to the end of the earth for each other. In the end, that's what matters. 

*Just as an aside here, Noah and I are looking to interview someone/couple who has successfully used an egg donor and someone/couple who has conceived (or is pregnant) using a sperm donor. If you're in the Los Angeles or California area and are interested in being part of our documentary, please contact me. That's my casting call. 

 

Relationship Survival on IF Island

Today is our six year anniversary. Click here for my blog post from our fifth year anniversary. Ugh. If I’m still writing this on our eighth anniversary will someone please check me into the nearest mental institution. For all you Islanders who have been here for that long I have so much respect! Anyway, I found this video clip of us talking over a year ago, and it made me remember why I love Noah so much.

 

 

 

Infertility can be rough on a relationship. It’s stressful and expensive and just freaking terrible in every sense of the word. When we first got married, we made a promise that every year we would go out of the country. Travel and adventure are important to us, and for the first few years of our marriage we were able to fulfill that promise. But once we officially landed on IF Island, our days of adventure went out the window. All of our money and time went directly to my uterus, and we stood by as we watched our life as we knew it slowly circle the drain.  One thing led to another and somehow we have spent four out of the six years we have been married battling infertility.

 

What I can honestly say, though, is that we are actually stronger as a couple. We have had some hard times, no doubt, but being in this ongoing crisis has taught us how to communicate, how to make decisions, and how to have each others back. No matter what. This wasn’t always the case. Early on, I did feel some resentment because I felt like I was putting in a lot more time and effort into figuring things out. I was upset about all my body had to endure, and sometimes I felt like he just wasn’t paying attention. I don’t feel that way anymore. Now I know he understands how I feel, even if he doesn’t agree. He accepts my obsessive nature and I accept that he can fall asleep in two minutes without worrying about something fertility related.  We appreciate each others strengths and try to support each other when needed.

 

Almost everything that happens during an ART cycle happens to my body.  I think Noah took two antibiotics before the day of my egg retrieval and had to jerk off into a cup a few times. That’s about the extent of what he has had to do physically. I’ve felt so crappy for so long, and one of the things I most appreciate is his ability to give my body some credit, and cut it some slack. The body that plops down next to him in bed every night is not the body he married six years ago, and is most certainly not the body he fell in love with 14 years ago. But it is the body that is desperately trying to carry a child that will be ours. It’s a body that has been bruised and poked and prodded and knocked down countless times, but is able to get back up to keep moving forward for our family. My body has taken one for the team, and he knows it. That understanding and appreciation helps me keep going.

 

If our relationship can survive IF Island with just a few scratches, then we can survive just about anything. We know how to be a team, and that will serve us well when we finally become parents.

A Pain in the A$$

I'm not going to lie. Today was rough. Today sucked. It was just one of those days where by noon I wanted to scream, "I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS IS MY LIFE!" I can't believe I've spent four years running in circles. I can't believe how desperate and alone I feel at times. I can't believe friends and co-workers are having second babies. The pregnancy announcements keep coming in, and while I do genuinely feel happy for friends who've been blessed with an easy time, it serves as yet another reminder of our struggle. I feel broken all over again. I feel guilty Noah can't have a genetic child because of me...all those feelings flood back in with every pregnancy announcement. I wish it didn't. As much as I've worked through a lot of those feelings, they still exist. And it is because of these feelings, perhaps, that Noah and I have become so isolated from friends. Friends who we know are celebrating their baby's first birthday-- we just aren't invited anymore. The choice to participate isn't ours. And that just adds to the feeling that I can't believe this is my life.

As I was waiting for the nurse to call me back this afternoon, I had a moment where I was totally and utterly ready to throw in the towel. It was nothing specific, just an overwhelming sense that I don't want to live like this anymore. I know it's a choice. Kind of. I know I'm back on hormones and that is impacting my thought process. I know I just have to be patient. But there are definitely those moments where you just feel fed up--enough is enough.

Noah came home from work and gave me my first shot of delestrogen in the butt. He got half of the liquid in, but pulled the shot out too soon and had to re-shoot me. It was glorious. And we put a heating pad on my butt and watched the Giants play some terrible baseball. We crossed out another day on our cycle calendar and folded laundry, and I continued to worry about how I would handle it if Momotaro, our donated embryo, doesn't work. I ate a half a bag of chocolate chips and broke out into an estrogen induced sweat. 

"Is it really hot in here, or is it me?" I asked. He's heard this line before. He smiled and we slow danced to a Lumineers song and I reminded myself how I would handle it if Momotaro doesn't work. I just would. We just would. And I never thought I could love a person as much as I love and appreciate Noah. And I never thought this is where I would be in my life, at 34, in a ratty T-shirt, blogging about my baby making foibles. Yet here I am. 

As part of the documentary we've been making, (which we just got some amazing editors to work on!) Noah and I have interviewed many people who have survived IF Island. At these low moments, I sometimes watch back footage from these interviews. That's part of why we are making this film, to be able to share these hopeful stories. Noah has to edit some video for me to put up, because the people we talked to are so great. People shared stories of doing all kinds of procedures, IUI and IVF, donor eggs, surrogacy, adoption-- and each one of them ended up with the baby that was meant to be theirs.  They struggled, they spent years of their lives and tens of thousands of dollars, but they created their family, and couldn't see it happening any other way. Some didn't carry their baby, some are not genetically related to their children, some miraculously conceived naturally after they were told they would never be able to conceive. Watching these clips helps me remember that one day this stage will be over. One day we will have a child and we will look back on these dark infertility years as the time in our lives when we learned who we really are and what we are really made of. And we will be able to say we were brave and patient and determined. That gives me hope, which is what I desperately need to cultivate right now. 

Sending everyone on IF Island a little love and a little hope. 

 

Sitting with fear

I wok e up this morning feeling fear. Fear in its purest most distilled form. I've gotten to know my fear by the way my chest feels first thing in the morning. The way I can't really listen when I'm spoken to. The way my brain starts making up all kinds of terrible scenarios that involve me getting terminally ill, Noah getting into an accident, or something horrible happening to someone in my family. Those are my warning signs that I am afraid. I tend to generalize my fear so that it's massive and involves all kinds of crazy freak things. But I've also learned how to recognize when I'm doing this, so that I can get a little distance. "Ok, Maya, you're afraid. Noah isn't going to get decapitated by a dump truck falling on the car on his way to work this morning, what's this really about?"

Coming back from a weekend away (which was great BTW), is sometimes hard. After a few days of relief, it feels overwhelming to come back to the grind of doctors appointments and hemorrhaging money on crap I hate spending money on, like blood tests and meds. But this morning I knew I wasn't just overwhelmed. I was scared. I'm scared the embryo donation might not work. That's what the fear was really about.

And it might not work. That's a reality.  There is a decently high chance that it won't. The logical part of my brain can't believe that after all the crap we've already tried, we'd even consider going down this route. The physical part of my self questions if I can even carry a baby. I've never been pregnant, so I'm not sure if carrying is even an option for me. But my heart believes that this is the right choice for us, right now. That no matter what happens, this step, removing both of our genetic material from the equation, will give us the best chance to see if I can in fact carry. This is our best choice right now.

But what I'm scared about is the what-ifs that I have no control over. I'm scared to have my heart broken again. I'm scared to find out that I can't carry. I'm scared to lose more time and money. I'm scared that battling infertility will continue to be what I do--all day evey day. I'm scared to think about this not working. So I'll try not to. It doesn't help me. The fear is there, and it's normal, and I can accept that.

So this morning when I realized that I am actually terrified, I just sat with it. I said hello to all my fears, and then articulated what I knew I was really afraid of. And I told myself it's okay to be afraid. I reminded myself that I have gotten through some pretty gnarly things, and that I have a loving family, an incredible husband, and a community of people who know and understand this fear all too well. Whatever happens isn't going to kill me. I'm going to be ok. What's that quote? Feel the fear and do it anyway? All I can do is the best I can to let that fear go.  I keep imagining that worried thought perched on a cloud--I watch as it floats far away until I can no longer see it.

I saw my RE in LA today and my baseline ultrasound looks fine. The nurse in Seattle is supposed to create a schedule for me, and hopefully we will be able to head north some time mid July. My only job now is to follow directions and make peace with my fear so that I am instead overwhelmed by hope and possibility. It isn't an easy task, but it's an important one.

Sending so much strength to anyone else feeling afraid about their next step. We are going to be ok. We are going to resolve this crisis. We are going to find our babies, or come to terms with alternative choices. It won't be like this forever. 

Taking the Weekend Off

Though my friend's father, the OBGYN, agreed to...help as needed, I don't think it will be necessary. The nurse said it will be fine to be monitored within the first few days (which is not what the doc said last week, but whatever). Sigh of relief. I always feel like I'm being so annoying when I deal with the Seattle clinic, because I'll write and email and leave a message and won't get any response for hours, so I'll call again and then the nurse acts like my questions are no big deal. I'm trying not to be totally neurotic. Trying.

So I've thrown a few things in a bag, including the one dress that still fits me, and we're heading north for the wedding. I'm going to pack all my thoughts and feelings and worries and questions into a box, and mentally store it somewhere deep in my brain, somewhere next to the box filled with everything I learned in algebra class in high school. Every time I start to think about what if this donated embryo doesn't work...I'm going to shove something sweet down my face. Wait, that's probably not a good idea. I'll just let the thought come and then let it go. What if it doesn't work? That's a possibility. I guess I'll find out what is on the floor below rock bottom, and then I'll crawl my way back to civilization, the way I've done many a time before. I think the real challenge is for me to think about what if this does work? It's hard to imagine. 

I think what is both super challenging and extremely important is the ability to have an upsetting, sometimes traumatic, experience and then dive right back into the same process with optimism. That's what every one of us has to do over and over again. It's hard to have pure hope and excitement about the next cycle when the cycle before ended with heartbreak. The ability to leave the story of the past experience behind so that you can move forward with a clean slate, a blank page, is truly a learned skill. We all know things can go wrong and that you can lose at the IF game each month, but that information doesn't help us as we gear up for another process. Well, it may help some to have low expectations, but for me, I have to find a way to check the old baggage at the gate and get on the plane with an open heart. My story can be different this time. It really seems like it's time for a new chapter. Though I can never erase all that I've gone through trying to make our baby, I can try to put it all aside and start fresh.

So that's the goal of this weekend. A road trip, where I'll eat sunflower seeds in the car until my mouth is so salty and raw that my lips look slightly botoxed. A wedding with friends, where I'll drink and dance and remember what it's like to be a normal person. And a drive home, where I'll begin to come back to IF Island, ready to take on the next step. Ready to get my body and mind back in shape for Momotaro, our little embryo. Mommy and Daddy are coming for you, kid!

Hope everyone has a beautiful weekend and perhaps a little space from the grind of IF Island.

Bad News Beta

Ugh. I'm so over this. It's boring. Terribly, awfully, dreadfully boring. Here's a post from last year with the same friggin' topic! I'm really ready for some new news. I do have to say, though, that I don't feel like a jerk for feeling hopeful, they way I have in the past. For some reason, I used to feel...I don't know, embarrassed maybe, for feeling hopeful. Now I don't. I feel proud that Noah and I can give it our all every time, and that we can cry it out and get back up. I didn't know resilience was something I'd learn when trying to make a baby, but I have. It's coming in handy right about now.

So we do have a plan, which involves getting monitored on day 1 of my next cycle (per the Seattle doc) and starting estrogen if all looks good. The one problem with this plan, is that Noah and I are most likely going to be up in Northern, CA for a good friend's wedding on day 1 of my cycle. My LA doc thinks it's fine to come in for monitoring within the first three days, but Seattle didn't seem to think that way. That illustrates frustration #1 when dealing with two different doctors at two different clinics.  Frustration #2 is being reminded of how annoying the timing of all this often is. I literally feel handcuffed to my ovaries! Frustration #3 is the idea that I'm about to ask my friend's  father (who is an OBGYN),  if he can maybe monitor me up north, if necessary. So I'm about to ask my friend's dad if he can go up my bloody vag with a dildo cam ultrasound wand the morning of his son's wedding!! I would be laughing at the continued ridiculousness of the situation if it wasn't my actual life. 

But it is. I guess I can laugh and cry and throw my hands up in the air and surrender to this incredibly long and arduous process.  Perhaps Momotaro, our little frozen Seahawks fan, is meant to be our baby. That's all I can think. My fingers are seriously crossed. We are kind of at the end of our options here, and though I know there are really no guarantees, I have to find a way to be optimistic. 

Thanks for the love and well wishes everyone!

Hubs post: Beta results

This wasn't supposed to happen - the chance to conceive naturally this month. This strange detour from our donated embryo up in Seattle wasn't supposed to turn into anything. And it didn't. Maya got her beta blood test results back and they matched the home test she took at 6:00am this morning. No go. Not pregnant. We're disappointed, obviously. It sucks. I'm sad. Maya's frustrated. But, again, this wasn't supposed to happen. We weren't supposed to even think about conceiving naturally. Now, we lick our wounds and get ready to go to Seattle and get that embryo that's waiting for us.

My wife is awesome and tough and - like you - doesn't deserve a day of this journey. But here we are and here we go. Shots, ultrasounds, and then a flight to the great Northwest to put in place a very giant piece of our family's puzzle.

Maya's slammed at work today but she'll update the situation later. Thank you for reading and for tweeting and for commenting and showing so much support to my wife. It gives her strength in a way you cannot fully know. 

n

Fearing a False Positive

I've been debating over whether to test my pee. It's a debate Noah and I have had in the past. My blood test is tomorrow, but I want to test my pee today. The problem is, my trusty sidekick, The Internet, says it's possible that the HCG from the trigger shot I got 12 days ago could still be lingering in my system, and could give me a false positive. The only thing worse than yet another negative beta, is a negative beta just after a positive HPT. Um, no thanks! 

Last night I came home with some pregnancy tests that my friend (who still can't believe she is 9 weeks preggn...) gave me. I refuse to spend another dime on these things, so she generously gave me her left overs. I tossed them to Noah.

Me: Should we test my pee in the morning?

Noah: Are we really going to go through this again?

Me: Going through what?

I have selective memory when it comes to the years of obsessively making my sacred morning pee into a tiny cup and all over my hand. I have never once seen two lines. 

Noah: Knowing you could get a false positive will make you insane all day.

Me: True. But if it's negative then we know.

He shrugged. He rarely wins in these situations. But I agreed not to test. And so we patiently wait another day. 

It will be whatever it is. I know I've done everything I can. Our adopted embryo awaits us in Seattle, so we know where to go from here. And that's it. 

Sending love and patience to anyone in the 2ww! 

Three LONG Days until Beta #...I don't even know anymore

I've been here before. This weird space where time slows and my brain becomes absolutely completely singularly focused on what my beta HCG blood test will reveal. (There are really only two choices, I don't know why I get so obsessive). While I know my thoughts and feelings, hopes and desires, have no impact on the outcome, I can't help but feel a little superstitious.

Last night I dreamt that I was on the phone with the RE we are dealing with in Seattle, who was somehow looking at my uterus while I was on the phone, and she found two baby sacs! She said they  could also just be gas, but there was something there. When I woke up, I had this feeling that now there would never be two babies or any babies in there, just because I dreamt about it. It's ridiculous, but apparently thinking like this is something I do. I get worried about jinxing the situation. You would think my thought process would evolve over time, but it hasn't really. You can check out my insanity from August 2013 as we waited for a beta back then, or Noah's patient perspective from November 2013. Sometimes there really is nothing left to do or think, as you can see in this video clip of us on our way to get my blood drawn in Nov 2013. 

I think this time around I'm actually a little calmer because we have a solid back up plan. We spoke to the doctor in Seattle on Friday and decided that we would do a natural FET cycle for the donated embryo. So if/when my Aunt Flow comes to town, I'll start estrogen, be monitored more closely, and we will make our way to Seattle around the second week of July, if my body cooperates. The doctor was actually really nice about all of it, and I feel good with this plan. I don't need to waste an extra month on birth control and I don't have to do Lupron. 

It was really weird, and rare, that my body produced good looking follicles while on birth control and Lupron. It has given us this one last solid attempt at getting pregnant in a somewhat natural way, using both of our genetics. But I have to be honest, while I obviously really hope a miracle has happened and something is brewing inside me as I type this, I don't care about the genetics anymore.  For over six months, I've been preparing emotionally, mentally, and physically, to receive this donated embryo, that taking a step back and getting a chance to use my own eggs for the first time in over a year made me realize that it no longer matters that much to me. I just want to be a mom. I just want to stop doing fertility treatments. I want to stop spending time and money and emotional resources on these cycles. I just want something to work. I realized I have gotten very attached to our little donated embryo, and it made me happy to think that I am really fine with whatever happens. As long as something happens soon!

It's funny how things change. The idea of an egg donor, let alone a donated embryo, was scary and upsetting some time ago. Now I see it all as a beautiful gift and a better chance at reaching our goal of parenthood. But seriously? Something, ANYTHING needs to work soon! This is getting ridiculous.  Friends that were pregnant when we first started trying are having second babies! 

So I will get through today, and tomorrow with my newly learned patience and as many distractions as I can. By Weds afternoon we will know where we are headed next. 

Happy F-Day to all the Daddies in waiting

I can honestly say my dad is dying to be a grandpa. And for the last four years, I've been dying to give him the news that he is soon-to-be. But I haven't been able to. 

Early on in this journey, I felt the added stress of disappointing the men in my life, specifically Noah and my dad. I felt like I was somehow supposed to bring home a win for the team with every IUI or embryo transfer, and when I didn't, knowing they were disappointed and sad somehow made me feel worse. I felt like I had let them down. They never spun the situation in this way, it was all in my head. They both have seen everything my body and heart have gone through, and they have just wanted me to be happy and healthy, and a mother. I soon realized that this cycle of responsibility and disappointment and guilt doesn't help anyone, so I joined Noah and dad in feeling disappointed by the situation and the outcomes of our attempts, rather than feeling disappointed in myself. They always reminded me that I  had not done anything disappointing, the thought never even crossed their minds. Noah and my dad remind me every day how strong I am, how determined I am, and how proud they are of me for fighting for our family.

This morning I woke up and asked Noah how he felt about today being Father's Day. He just kind of shrugged and said, "Hopefully next year it will actually mean something to me," then he drank a protein shake and went to the gym. For us, it's another Sunday. 

For many couples out there, these Hallmark holidays are a reminder of what's missing. Some people have lived through countless ART cycles with negative results or have had miscarriages and still births or babies that only survived for a short amount of time. It breaks my heart that a day that is supposed to be celebratory for so many can actually be a reminder of loss. So, I'm dedicating this Sunday to all the men out there who have not only had to grieve for themselves, but who have held their crying wives in times of sadness. To all the struggling daddies and grandpas in waiting-- Sending lots of love today.

Why Don't We Just Adopt?

I received a comment on my last post that presented this question. It isn't a bad question, it's actually one that people on IF Island have to field all the time. My mother-in-law asks me this question frequently. She's concerned about all the meds in my body and how emotionally challenging the medical route to parenthood has been. Adoption is a wonderful choice for many people, but my answer to this commenter and others who pose this question, is that we don't adopt because we are just not there yet.

The comment was followed by a second comment by the same person, accusing me of being "selfish" for not adopting because there are underprivileged children in the world. I immediately wondered if this commenter goes up to pregnant women who conceived easily and accuses them of the same thing? Are they being selfish for getting pregnant when they could have adopted, because there are in fact children who already exist who need homes? Or am I just selfish because I'm infertile? All people can potentially adopt. One thing that needs clarification is that there is no such thing as "just adopting" as people often ask. If there was a baby store where I could go and pick one out and dance home, I would have done that a long time ago. Adoption is a process and it can be long, heartbreaking, and expensive. Just like medical treatments. The difference is, one hopes that with adoption there is a baby guaranteed at the end of the process.

What feels more selfish to me is going through a process that you aren't ready for. If we are not ready to adopt, that means our minds and hearts are not in it yet. We haven't closed the chapter on my body and it doesn't seem fair to myself, my husband, or any adopted child we have, if we enter the adoption process with hesitation or resentment or unresolved feelings of wanting to carry a baby. Are people who decide to live without children selfish because they could be giving an underprivileged child a home? No. I don't think so. They are doing what is best for them, and that is what most of us have to do every day of our lives. Each person/couple has to go through the steps that make sense to them before coming to the next best plan. That's being responsible and honest with yourself. There is no right or wrong, there is only what's right for an individual/couple at a given point in time. What is right changes, and it is very likely Noah and I end up traditionally adopting at some point. We have no issues raising an adopted child. It's the process and paperwork that feels daunting and the sadness for me of not being able to carry. And if/when we do get to that point we know it will be when we are completely ready to embrace the process and the child. It is a decision that only the two of us can make for ourselves, and a decision we hope others can respect.

Noah and I have actually met with three different adoption agencies, in search of one that is a good fit for us. We found a non-profit in LA (called IAC) that we liked, and I have their stack of paperwork sitting on my desk. We also looked into adopting through the foster care system, and felt it wasn't the right fit for us. As a social worker myself, I have somewhat of a sense of what it would take to adopt an older child through this system, and I don't think that is something we are ready for. Yet.

We have had to give up on having a baby in a time line that makes sense for us, in a way that we want. We have had to accept the exorbitant expense of creating our family and we try not to let it upset us that so many people can do this easily, for free! We have had to let go of my genetic contribution, and now Noah's contribution. Embryo adoption makes the most sense for us right now because it is affordable and gives me the chance at something I desperately want to experience, pregnancy. I know that may also be something I have to eventually let go of, but a donated embryo will give me the best possible chance of at least trying. Does that make me selfish? For wanting to have that experience? For wanting to grow our baby with my blood and love and the foods I eat? Perhaps.

Many people want to have a family and each person on IF Island has the added stress of having to choose the best way to do that for themselves. Every choice is a compromise on IF Island. And perhaps we all need to be a little selfish when making these tough choices. What feels best for us will be best for the child we have, I strongly believe that. None of us want to have to make decisions about how to make a baby--we want to have a glass of wine and a magical night in bed and not even have to think about any of this stuff. But for many of us, that's not in our cards. So we need to do what is best for ourselves and our relationships and our life styles, and if that's selfish, so be it. To me, it's being thoughtful and self-aware and intuitive and strong. 

When Life Takes a Sharp Turn to the Left

Many of us on IF Island did NOT expect to be here. It's like if you live in New York and one day you wake up, look out the window and realize you're actually in Wyoming. All your stuff is with you but you don't know anyone and you don't know where you are. I think the feeling that best describes that initial realization is lost. Maybe confused. And that's scary. 

Noah and I were following the path that many do. First comes love, then come marriage...but instead of the baby in the baby carriage, we were kidnapped, thrown into a truck , blindfolded, and shipped out to IF Island, where nothing was familiar and there was no sense of logic or order. At least that's how it felt for a long time. It's not what we imagined. It's not what we planned. It's not what we hoped for. But it was the situation we were in, and it has been up to us to plan our escape. Though none of our plans have worked yet, and we can't always physically escape, we have been able to, mentally and emotionally. Sometimes.

I never could have imagined that a person could type "failed IVF" into a Google search and I would pop up. That's definitely not how I envisioned things. But sometimes life just doesn't go the way we planned. It isn't fair. I fought against it for a long time, thinking if I just complained and yelled about how unfair it is, that something would change. We weren't prepared for this detour. It's almost impossible to be. But here we are.

Noah and I really have had to start where we are at. We've been planning our escape from the Island for years. We've tried almost everything we could, and we're still here. But we aren't scared any more. We've accepted the turn our lives have taken, and we try to enjoy the moments between the storms. We have found a community, and know our way around IF Island, and hopefully we can help any newcomers feel less lost. 

In our hearts, we know we won't be here forever. We do have some choices. Even if the end choice we make is different from what we set out for. Wishing everyone else who is stranded here so much luck with your escape plans, and some peace and love for the time you're here. 

How Optimistic is too Optimistic? Is there such thing?

I have two friends on the opposite ends of the optimistic v...not so optimistic spectrum.

Fighting for the "Don't hold your breath, the shoe can drop at any second" side is my friend who is almost 9 weeks preggo (I can't write the word out completely because it's still a little taboo for her). She has been on IF Island for a few years and to her surprise got..pregg0 after an FET of an embryo she had zero expectations of. She was already planning her next IVF, in fact, it was already paid for, and when she got news she had a beta HCG number, and it was rising, she kind of didn't believe it. She has been doubtful ever since and is just starting to be able to wrap her head around the idea that this could be it for her--her final ticket off the Island. And I totally understand that. It's a way to protect your heart after it has been smashed into a zillion pieces so many times. It's a way to not have any real expectations, knowing there is really no way to know if everything is going to go the way it should. Feeling in denial may help break the fall, if there's a fall. 

My other friend has also been on IF Island for a few years. She is batting for the, "This is IT! It's going to work this time!" team.  She is on her second egg donor, and has a handful of beautiful embryos in the freezer. Last month she put in two--top quality. Her lining was good, everything seemed to be in the right place, but they didn't take. She was bummed but bounced back quickly. She has just started preparing for the next transfer, and she wrote me this morning that she keeps catching herself thinking that 100% FOR SURE the next batch will work, and then she has to stop herself, smack herself across the face (twice) to remind herself that this has failed before. It's like she wants to be super positive, and she naturally seems to be fairly positive, but she is trying to dim that optimism. She is trying to crush that hopeful feeling.  

I stand somewhere in the middle, perhaps. I have felt the other shoe drop, hard, and try to protect my heart and shield myself from getting too excited. I try my hardest to squash other people's excitement for me as well, because I kind of need everyone to know NOT to get excited until I can count fingers and toes. But I've also started to feel that no matter what my attitude is, certain things are going to work or they're not. It's not because I deserve it. It's not because it feels right, it's not because the situation is so crazy, (like being on suppression medication and having to cancel an FET), that this just HAS to be it. It just is or it isn't. So in some ways I might as well be hopeful and optimistic, but...it's not always easy. How each person handles their emotional self is very personal, and has to feel right for them. It has to be their truth.

That, I do believe. We have to be honest with ourselves about how we are feelings. If it's doubtful, then that's what it is.  But if we are actually really feeling good about a situation, why water it down? It's going to hurt no matter what. Can we let our feelings just be what they are? Can we sit with them and accept them, and stay totally present with the facts of what our situation is in a given moment?

I feel...I actually don't know how I feel. Noah and I followed doctor's orders this weekend (it was like riding a bike ;) and now we wait to see if a miracle happened. In this moment an embryo may be burrowing its way into my uterus, or it may not be. I will continue to plan ahead, talk to the  Seattle clinic on Friday to work out a game plan, because having a plan always helps me. And if I feel hopeful and optimistic at times, I'll ride that wave and be present in that space. And if I feel doubtful and scared, then I'll sit with that too. We are all going to waver while living on the Island. That is for sure. And that's ok. That's genuine. That's real. That's the emotional rollercoaster. 

Sending love to my fellow Islanders. 

 

"Let's try and salvage this cycle."

Said my RE this morning. I wanted to throw my arms around him. He's been so good to us, and I realized how important it is to find an RE that's a good fit. But that's a topic for another day. Yes! Let's SALVAGE!

After my very disappointing ultrasound and the Seattle clinic cancelling my cycle, I had a thought. Could I possibly get pregnant this month? Could the gal who's been trying to get pregnant for FOUR YEARS, been through several IUI's and IVF and IVF with donor eggs--who was preparing for an embryo adoption, get pregnant naturally after being on birth control and Lupron? Poetic justice!

At the appointment with my RE on Monday, I asked him if I could get pregnant with the three follicles that looked like they were about to burst out of my ovary, and he shrugged, "maybe." I think he knows better than to use the words never, always, or impossible with me. I seem to prove him and modern science wrong more often than not. But my lining was thin at 4mm, so he suggested I just try naturally and hope for the best. 

That night, I started to think about how to get my lining up, and at the suggestion of Gilli, my trusted acupuncturist, I emailed my RE and asked if I could start taking estrogen. He wrote back some directions and I started scavenging for left over meds. I found a bottle of Estrace (estrogen), six expired progesterone pills, five Endometrin progesterone suppositories, and 17 Crinone progesterone inserts, and wha la! A little makeshift natural-ish cycle! I started taking estrogen on Tuesday and went in to see my RE this morning. Low and behold my lining was up to 7mm and the three follicles were still sitting there. The nurse gave me a shot of HCG to trigger ovulation and the RE instructed me to "make love" at a specific time the next day.

"I think I still know how to do that," I said. The concept of having sex to make a baby is completely foreign to me now. I can't even fathom it, but the whole thing feels just crazy enough for me to feel hopeful. A chance is a chance, however slim. I will continue to plan for the next step and remain completely open and curious about who our baby may be and where it may come from. 

So Noah and I have some doctor's orders to follow this weekend. We won't hold our breaths, but will ride this wave and see where we land. 

Up in the Air

I'm noticing from all the super supportive comments from my last post that so many Islanders REALLY understand this feeling of being up in the air. I think it should be formally built into the protocol of a cycle: Day 1, begin medication, Day 2 begin feeling Up In The Air (UITA) until, Day 9 ultrasound check, if all looks good, proceed to next step (retrieval or transfer...or whatever depending on the cycle). Then comes the morning of the procedure, where you'll  get another large dose of UITA because you don't know if you'll have any eggs retrieved or if the embryo will thaw...if all looks good again, proceed to the next step, and hopefully then the TWW, which is obviously followed by feeling UITA!!!

UGH. It was so much more fun when I felt grounded. OMG. I just called getting shot in the stomach daily in preparation for putting someone else's left over embryo into my uterus fun! How far I've come. But when I had a schedule with specific dates and highlighter markings for when I was suppose to start a different medication, I felt like we were at least moving forward. I'll take a med schedule any day over this feeling of...floating. It's not even floating, it's stalling. It's taking a step into quicksand and not being able to step out. Is quicksand a real thing, or just in that scene in The Princess Bride? Whatever. Not knowing what comes next or when or how we are going to move forward makes me uneasy.

But I have to note, I'm not as uneasy and freaked out as I've been in the past when our slow moving baby train has had to take an abrupt sharp turn in a different direction. I don't know if nothing phases me all that much anymore or if I feel okay this time because I know the embryo is still there, and it's just a matter of getting my body to be ready for it. It's just time. And what is time anymore, right? It's been YEARS, so what's a few more months? Wow, who is this easy going flexible person? Normally, I would be up in arms about the doc at the Seattle clinic not being able to talk to me for two weeks, but I'm not. I'm annoyed and planning to email the nurse tomorrow to express my frustration rationally, but I wanted to wait a day or so to cool out and  figure out what I want to do. Sometimes we have to really advocate for ourselves and a protocol that we are comfortable with. I can't do that from an emotional place.   

So much of the time spent on IF Island is time spent Up In The Air, in this space of unknown and wonder and worry.  It's a space of unanswered questions and desperate hopes. It's trying to get one toe on the ground, one foot to stabilize, but knowing that feeling grounded and secure is a long way away. Comfortable with uncertainty may be the ultimate goal, but being able to take a breath with a large looming question mark over my head may be the best I can do. 

Going to take one breath at a time today. Thanks for all the love. The IF community is really the best. When a fellow solider is down, you all come to rescue. Sending so much gratitude. 

Did the clinic really just cancel my cycle?

Yup. Indeed they did. So I rarely post twice in one day but...THEY CANCELLED MY FRIGGIN' CYCLE! Lupron, you failed me, sister! I'm so frustrated. The nurse called, because, apparently the doctor can't talk to me until June 13! No joke. J.U.N.E  13th! And the nurse told me to stop taking Lupron. OK. And start doing what? We've been mentally, emotionally and physically preparing for this embryo donation for MONTHS and...well...cancelled. I got off the phone with the nurse and called a friend, a fellow Islander, and cried until I was laughing. How could I not think this was a possibility? How could I, a seasoned veteran on the Island, one of the Island elders, be caught off guard? How could I have been thrown a curve ball? We should have bought flight insurance.

It's so disappointing. I just can't catch a break. I don't like to feel sorry for myself, but right now I do. I feel like I walked outside to admire a beautiful sunset and bird just crapped in my forehead. I won't dwell in the pity party, because what's the point. Of course I have already started writing my own protocol (because I'm not doing this madness again) and I've been trying to figure out how far back this will set us. What does it matter anyway, I suppose. Time lines and calendars and trying to have a life were thrown out the window a while ago. So I have to let it go. I can't think about the wasted time or the amount of useless medication I've injected into my body that may cause who knows what. I can't read into this in a superstitious way--is this embryo not meant to be? NO! That's not it. It just...is what it is. 

These kinds of things happen on IF Island. You get all geared up for something, a procedure, a pregnancy...and then the rug gets pulled out from under you. And then, well, you stand there on the cold floor, bare footed and crying, until you decide how to take your next step. 

So I will pitch my protocol for a more natural cycle to whatever doctor will listen to me, and we will cancel our flight and wait to talk to the doc on the 13th. One day, I don't know when, but one day, this will all be a distant memory. Noah and I will be reminiscing about trying to prepare for this frozen embryo and I'll say, "Remember, we were cancelled? I did the meds and it didn't even work? That doctor wouldn't even talk to me for two weeks?" and he'll say, "No, did that happen? I thought we just did the transfer." And then we'll argue a bit and he'll tuck our toddler in to bed and I'll go feed the baby, and it will all be behind us. If only. 

If only my body would cooperate!

I've always been a stubborn person. Well, I shouldn't say stubborn, but...who am I kidding, I'm stubborn. Apparently, so is my body. I've known this for a while. When we did our first IVF and I was on tons of stimulating medication, only two of my nine follicles grew. I was what is known as a "low responder" which means I take all these insane meds and my body goes, "meh, what else you got?" Basically, my body doesn't do what it is supposed to do.

Today, my body asserted itself in this way, yet again. I was on birth control for a month and have been on Lupron for just over a week, and today I went to my RE here in LA who is monitoring me for the FET in Seattle. The RE took a gander at my ovaries and said, "what's going on here? It looks like you're on stimulation medication rather than Lupron?" I have four large follicles growing when there is supposed to be nothing but dust in my ovaries!!! I started to laugh. Obviously. OK. So what does this mean? He didn't really know what to say. He feels like he's not the primary doctor for this cycle so he wanted to leave it up to the Seattle doc, who I haven't been able to get a hold of. Like, ever. She's basically the Wizard of Oz. I spoke to the nurse who I guess is going to get back to me later today.

So now I wait. I should be used to waiting. I should be used to things not going according to plan. I should know that I have no control over all of this. But it SUCKS! I just want something to go the way it should, is that too much to ask? Apparently. I'm not sure what any of this means. I have three more weeks of Lupron, so maybe my ovaries will chill out by then. I know that cancelling altogether is also an option. Cancellation is very common for many people, but it's also very disappointing. You do all the meds and have hope that you'll be able to move forward and it turns out to be all for nothing, in a sense. Perhaps I should chancel and ovulate the eggs that are sitting in my ovaries wearing their Lupron shields and hope that the next bunch isn't wearing shields. I don't know if that's an option, but it seems like having follicles sitting in my ovaries for the next three weeks isn't the best plan. What do I know?  I asked my RE today if I could actually get pregnant on this cycle if I stopped the meds. He looked at me and shrugged, "maybe?" Can you imagine? 

The drama and confusion on IF Island is constant. Even when you think you're on a schedule, even when you follow directions exactly, even when you're on medication that works a certain way for 95% of the population, things can go askew. So I just have to go with the flow. I have to ride this wave and see where I land. I will not move forward with this embryo adoption if our chance of success is compromised in any way, so I have to be prepared for having to make a decision that could cost us more time. Never a dull moment on IF Island.