Holiday News

Baby or no baby?

As I mentioned in my last post, there have been some strange timing parallels between this and our first round of IVF. And, if you don't follow me on Facebook (www.facebook.com/imgonnabeawhat) you might be wondering if there have been any new parallels - like some good news. Unfortunately, the timing of the test(s) was the extent of the similarities. We found out on Tuesday that our blastocyst didn't "stick" and I was told to stop taking my medication. It was tough news for sure, but there was a ray of hope. I was on a strict diet that would have left me eating just turkey and green beans for Thanksgiving, but thanks to this news I was able to be fully glutinous with everyone else!

In all seriousness, it was a blow. We had kind of taken for granted that this process can be difficult since we had such success with the first attempt. We both assumed my test would be positive and that we would be on schedule for a baby in August. It's not like we had gone out and bought a crib or anything, but we were starting to let ourselves be hopeful and a little excited about the process. For anyone who has experienced a pregnancy loss, you know that's not easy to do, but we were trying. Then, to have that door closed on us again was that much more difficult. And having the holidays upon us again has been tough. There are just so many reminders of what we went through before and where we thought we would be this year. But we just have to trust that it will happen when it is meant to, and clearly that wasn't November 2012 for us.

Our specialists don't do a cycle in December (which is why we went with November in the first place) so we have to wait until mid-January to do another transfer. But now that we know things may not work out - my "magic" uterus apparently used up too much fairy dust on our first attempt - we have to seriously think about whether to try one blastocyst again or go back to two. There is always that fear of ending up with two or three babies. But the odds are so slim it's almost worth not having to pay for the whole cycle more times than needed. (It costs us about $1,200-$1,500 each time now for the frozen embryo process.) It costs the same whether we transfer one or two, so I want to ask if there is any benefit to transferring our last four separately other than the risk of multiples. At least we have some time before we have to make that decision.

Hopefully, my entire body will benefit from waiting until January. My back is still unstable and I have two more physical therapy appointments. Maybe waiting will allow me to continue to get in better shape and get my back that much stronger so I am happier and healthier for a pregnancy. This last year really took a toll on my entire body. Not only is my back still recovering from the surgery, but I have my normal degenerative disc stuff, new knee pain and inflexibility, and my hip has gotten worse. (I had osteomyelitis as a child, which left me arthritic in one hip.) Basically, I'm an old woman in a young woman's body and that makes me worry about how well my body will take any pregnancy, especially one where I need to carry twins. So perhaps extra time is for the best.

Although January feels so far away, it really isn't. I have another appointment on December 6 to talk about the next cycle and to get new medication instructions. That's only two weeks away. And the office is in the hospital for one week right in the middle of January. That's only about seven weeks from now. Not long at all, really. So in the meantime, I'm going to eat every high potassium food I can find and enjoy some good wine and maybe even a Long Island iced tea (I've always wanted to try one) through the holidays. By January, I'll be sick of gluttony, my back will be a rock, and my knees will be flexible again. And hopefully my uterus will have its magic back... but not too much magic. Just enough for one little baby who we can meet this time next year.

Twas the Night Before Transfer

'Twas the night before transfer and all through my mind swam thoughts of good doctors and nurses so kind... Forget that! I have a much better story to tell... and in a form far less challenging to fill.

When I began this blog, the intended audience was really just me, so I don't think I really wrote down my original transfer story. I thought that now, on the eve of my second one, might be the perfect opportunity. I'll warn you, the story will be humorous, but also filled with details of things that might make you squeemish. Read at your own risk.

As I've mentioned before, most baby-making processes are done in an enjoyable way and mainly as a matter between a man and a woman. Not ours. In order for us to make a baby, we needed a team of experts in white coats with clipboards and stethoscopes. On this particular day, what was to be the day of conception, we arrived early at the hospital. I didn't know what to expect, so I was essentially in my PJs, sans contacts and makeup. Lovely, right? Upon arrival, the woman handed me a bottle of water and informed me to drink it. Now, I have a weak bladder in general. If I have a lot to drink at dinner and then go to a movie, you could bet money that I'll be up at least once during the flick to use the bathroom. Now, right before I get the most technical PAP smear of my life, this woman is making me down water? Great. But I am good at following directions, so down it goes.

They eventually call me back. I don my lovely blue gown and grey booties and crawl into their poor excuse for a bed and under their even poorer excuses for blankets. (Seriously, I might have well have brought a role of paper towels with me!) Then, the nurse came to ask all of the typical questions, but there were two significant differences with this process. One, the hospital had just gone to a new paperless system and the nurses were NOT happy about it. Two, I had just gone through the first stage of my first IVF cycles, so I was literally on a gazillion different medications, none of which did I have the correct dosages for. So you can imagine how well that went. The nurse was friendly enough, but she stumbled through every screen while trying to make the most of the names and directions I could relay.

Once that was done, it was finally time. Two nurses grabbed my gurney and began to wheel me off to places unknown. Brian leaned in and gave me a kiss and off we went! The hallways got colder and colder until I knew we had to be close. (Those damn operating rooms have to be so cold! Normally, you're sedated; but not this time.) We entered a cold, sterile room and the two nurses, joined by another, helped shift me off my gurney and onto another table. It was FREEZING and I was essentially naked, so they kept piling warm "blankets" on me while simultaneously spreading my legs and guiding my feet into stir-ups. (Not the best way to keep warm, mind you.) At this point, I am in full OBGYN position here: butt scootched down to the edge of this table, feet in hard metal stir-ups. But this time, there was a swarm of medical professionals around me. At the doctor, I normally end up with the doc and one assistant; not here! There were my two regular nurses, one or two others who flit in and out, and then others who streamed through just to get supplies. Seriously? You might have well have put the water cooler in this OR!

I was then notified that I needed to scoot my butt down even farther on the table. I wasn't sure why until the whole table began to shift. It was like I was lying on a Transformer! The lower half slowly dropped straight to the floor and they put a little doctor's stool right there in the sweet spot. Awkward! But I tried to chat with the swarm of nurses until my doctor finally arrived.

When the doctor finally came in, he greeted me warmly and did a quick check of the situation. Still surrounded by my nursing swarm, I looked past the doctor over to my left (note: this is crotch-side real estate) and a window opens in the wall! It's the lab! I've now got four plus nurses, a doctor, and a window into the lab directly facing my girly bits! (My mom always said you lose all modesty when you have a baby... and she didn't have to go through this!) The doc asked for my blastocycts, the lab confirmed, and a few guys (really, do you need more than one?) passed my little petri dish through the window. Now it was time.

For any woman who has every had an annual, you pretty much know what came next. The hand moving down your leg so the doctor doesn't "surprise" you with his tools. (No, I'm not being dirty. Shame on you.) Insert speculum. The shoving of mysterious elements up into your vagina. But this time, he had to swab my cervix several times (which, by the way, isn't the most pleasant of sensations) and then he shoved a catheter-like tube up inside that contained some fluid and my two little fertilized eggs. Not that this wasn't pleasant enough, but at this point I also had to pee like you wouldn't believe. That bottle of water had definitely caught up to me and I was ready to burst. And the worst part? I didn't even need to drink it! It was just a precaution in case the doctor needed to do an ultrasound to guide him during the procedure. I expressed my need to the nurses and was informed I wouldn't be able to get up for another hour, so they decided to insert a catheter. Now, I've had a catheter before, but I was unconscious both when it was inserted and removed, and I've got to say that is the way to go. That was far worse than the whole freaking procedure had been! But, relief I wanted and relief I received. The doctor was in and out and gone. But I wasn't going anywhere.

When they do this procedure, they take a lot of precautions. Most people get to have sex and then cuddle or simply go about their day, but considering how much money IVF patients pay, they want to give us the best chances possible. This means I literally had to stay flat on my back for the next 24 hours. But first, I spent 20 minutes on my Transformer table where the drop-down part had come back up, but the entire thing had tilted so that I was in a reverse angle with the blood rushing to my head "to keep things in." So, that meant 20 more minutes of awkwardness as nurses flowed in and out around my shivering gauze-thin blanket covered nakedness while I tried to relax on an upside-down table. Sex has never looked so good.

After my time had passed, I was transferred back to the gurney and into an outpatient waiting facility while they slowly raised my bed's angle until I could sit up, get dressed, get wheeled down to the car, and sped home so I could get back on my, well, back again. And that's how I stayed for the next 24 hours. Ah, memories.

I am now ten hours away from repeating this entire process again. Yippee? I know that in our case it's a necessary evil, and luckily I don't have white coat syndrome or anything near the like, but it certainly isn't my idea of a good time. And, like my first visit back to the fertility clinic, I'm not sure how I'll feel once I arrive at the hospital. I supposed time will tell. So, wish me luck and perhaps I'll have a different transfer story to tell you in a few days... and hopefully a much better story to tell in nine months.

Weeping Angels

Lurking Weeping Angel
from Dr. Who

You know that feeling when you step into a place and you feel like you've been there before? Or you have a conversation you swear happened months or years prior? That's deja vu. It's usually pretty subtle - a hunch or fleeting feeling of familiarity - but mine has been much more concrete. Sometimes I feel like this entire year has really been an episode of The Twilight Zone, complete with flashbacks and an ending that feels more like the beginning of an entirely different creepy story. And more present than my lurking monsters is the feeling that we've done this before.

Now I know what you're thinking: of course you've done this before! You really have lost your mind! But that's not what I mean. It's more the emotion of the thing. Last year, we stepped into this process quickly and hesitantly. As you know, I went for an informational meeting (by myself) and committed us to an IVF cycle the following month. This year, I've had nothing else on my mind but trying again; however, when the time came, it felt equally rushed and I was even more hesitant. The last time, I had a really hard time feeling excited about the pregnancy. (Perhaps this had something to do with the needles, bizarre and terribly restricting diet, and the surgeries.) I bought books and we poured through baby things, from names to supplies. This time, it's hard to let myself look through those baby things and it's hard to get excited. As I told my friend today, it's hard to find the balance between skepticism and excitement. And it doesn't help that looking at baby stuff sends echoes of the past washing over me. How to you get excited to restart the thing you failed so epically at the first time?

But aside from the emotional deja vu, there are some very concrete reminders. Of course, there are the physical things like the sharps container, pill routines, and wonderfully pleasant vaginal ultrasounds. But as if repeating the process might allow me to forget, fate seems to be playing a cruel trick. Last year, we started this process in August, transferred in October, and mainly had appointments on Tuesdays and Thursdays. This year, we started in October, will transfer in November, and have had most of our appointments on Mondays. But despite those differences, and against all rational prediction, major dates are echoing each other. Our second ultrasound this cycle was on Halloween. Last year, we found out we were having twins at an ultrasound on Halloween. And I just found out that I will do lab work to determine if I am pregnant after the transfer (which, by the way, is now Sunday Nov. 11) two days before Thanksgiving. Last year, two days before Thanksgiving, I learned I was having triplets. Seriously?! What are the odds? And why do I seem to have all of the bad luck?

Sometimes I'm okay. I can see the connections and look at the past, but then look forward and into the future. Other times, the parallels stick with me and I just can't shake them. Today was one of those days. It wasn't that I was focused in on this new Thanksgiving-related coincidence. I wasn't even picturing my experience that time last year. It was just an emotion - an overwhelming sadness. I can't say I was specifically mourning the loss of my children, but I was definitely mourning something. Sometimes it's sparked by a deja vu moment - a shared date, one of my children's names in a TV show, or a smell that sends me back to my week in the hospital. Other times it seems to creep in unannounced. It's as if they are the Weeping Angels of Dr. Who. They wait for me to turn away, be distracted, try to move on... and then they strike. But I can't look back forever - even when life is throwing reminders in my face - so I guess I have to turn away and take my chances with the angels.