I was driving home from the grocery store today when the truck in front of me spat up a rock the size of a walnut. It was one of those moments where I could see it coming and winced before I heard the sharp sound of it hitting glass.
I glanced over to confirm that it had indeed hit my windshield, right on the edge of the passenger side. It was a small ding, with a small amount of spider cracks around it. Probably about the size of an apple, all together. I grinned and fist pumped a little. YES!
Now, you've got to be thinking I've lost my mind. Who is happy about a broken windshield?!
Well, I bought my car a little over a year ago. It was used, and had originally been owned in New Hampshire. The car had a fresh coat of paint from the dealer who bought it at auction, and was in perfect mechanical condition, but the windshield was pitted from 50,000 miles of driving on the salted and rocky roads of New Hampshire. You can't tell except when the sun hits it, and creates this terrible glare. Normally people get glare from a certain angle, but because my windshield has so many different angles within so many different tiny pit marks, it's as sparkly as a diamond, glaring right into my face, pretty much anytime the car is pointed in the general direction of the sun.
We'd joked for awhile about throwing rocks at it ourselves so we'd have cause to replace it. Never seriously considered it, as I would be too afraid of said rocks hitting the body of the car and damaging it. Also, we aren't the kind of people to fake something like that. So we had been talking about paying out of pocket to replace the windshield in a few months, after we get a handle on (or hopefully past) the expenses of infertility treatment. But my husband wasn't thrilled with me driving as much as I do to get to my fertility appointments with the windshield causing visibility problems.
Now we HAVE to replace it.
So I called up my insurance carrier, who confirmed there is a zero deductible. I expected our $200 deductible would apply, which would be fine, but I guess they have special rules for windshields. YAY!
Then the representative asked me how big the crack was, and I told her. She informed me that it sounded like it would be acceptable to repair instead of replace. Some of the wind went out of my sails, as repairing a crack would not involve filling in all those microscopic pits that create such visibility issues.
She asked a few more questions, so I went outside to look at the windshield so I could answer. Sure enough, the crack had spread halfway across my windshield in the 30 minutes since it happened. HURRAY! THEY HAVE TO REPLACE IT! It's now too big to repair!
So they're coming to my house on Friday. I don't have to pay anything. I get a brand new windshield.
I'm calling it a good omen. I've been waiting over a year to replace that windshield, and now it's finally going to happen! FOR FREE! I've been trying to find a job here since we got here, with some rough bump along the way, and as of Friday, I have a great paying job that is entirely flexible to my schedule and I'm excited about! Everything's turning up roses, and hopefully that trend keeps coming!
Monday, March 31, 2014
Waiting
No news. Just waiting! It's always odd - I update my blog repeatedly while I'm medicated, but after ovulation, there isn't much to report.
A twinge! A cramp! Could it be, the elusive implantation cramping?
And then I look at my notes from all my previous cycles, and as I thought I remembered, I get cramping 6 dpo every cycle.
And then I look at my notes from all my previous cycles, and as I thought I remembered, I get cramping 6 dpo every cycle.
So now my brain swings the other way: endometriosis?
I simply try not to think too much, because there's no benefit. I just continue NOT drinking alcohol or caffeine, I continue taking my prenatal as I have for nearly two years now. I take walks and avoid exercise. I don't wear tight pants, always elastic waistbands, out of some notion I have that restricting blood flow to the region wouldn't be good.
I simply try not to think too much, because there's no benefit. I just continue NOT drinking alcohol or caffeine, I continue taking my prenatal as I have for nearly two years now. I take walks and avoid exercise. I don't wear tight pants, always elastic waistbands, out of some notion I have that restricting blood flow to the region wouldn't be good.
I wait... and wait...
Today is 7 dpiui (or in layman's terms, days past IUI). My trigger shot seems to be gone - yesterday was a whisper of a squinter of a line. Today back to my accustomed glaring negative. Now my goal is to hold off until Saturday, which would be 12 dpiui and would have a pretty definitive result. Though it's possible for a negative at that point to still turn positive, it's very unlikely.
Knowing my own lack of self control, I'll probably keep on peeing on things every day or every other day from here on out. Because I've got 50 of them in my cabinet, and because I'm horribly impatient.
Overall, I'm feeling pretty good. My anxiety and depression seems to be lessening, I got a job that I'm excited about (and is only part time, when I want to, which is perfect). I'm more relaxed than I've been in a long time. While I'm not feeling optimistic about this cycle, I'm not a sobbing mess at the idea of doing more cycles. Right now, at least today, I'm doing okay with all of this. I think I may have finally come to the "acceptance" part of the grieving process. I certainly was stuck on "anger" for a long time.
Today, at least, I'm not angry. I'm not anxious. I'm just sort of zen with the whole process, and in some ways at peace with the idea that IUIs may not work for us. I know I'm getting ahead of myself, and we do have a good chance this cycle and next, but mentally I'm not putting all my emotional eggs in the IUI basket so I won't be completely broken if it doesn't work for us. For now, at least, I feel okay with taking this one step at a time, and okay with each step that I'm on not working and having to try again. Today I feel strong enough to keep fighting the good fight.
Tomorrow? Next week? Who the heck knows... you pump a woman full of hormones and put her through an emotional equivalent of a torture chamber and you end up with a variety of emotions at any given point. I could be climbing the walls by my bitten down finger nails by the end of the day today. I've given up trying to predict and plan, and just letting go of the reigns on this crazy ride.
Thursday, March 27, 2014
Infertility Awareness
A year ago, I was just starting to get frustrated and worried. Sure, it had only been 7 months of trying to get pregnant, but it had been a year since I stopped taking birth control - surely this wasn't normal?
When I heard about National Infertility Awareness Week, which takes place in April, I thought to myself, "There's no way I'll still be trying in a year."
And yet... here I am. Well, will be (probably). If I get a BFP on this cycle, I'll be a very happy girl and narrowly beat the clock before it becomes NIAW. However, I still qualify as infertile, even if I become a pregnant infertile. In some ways, I will always be an infertile.
I will never again think, "That couldn't be me!" Because it can, and it is.
I'm infertile. Or rather, we're infertile. We don't know whether it's my system or my husband's system, or some combination, that is preventing us from getting pregnant. We may never know, and honestly it doesn't matter. His semen and my reproductive organs are all part of the same system to conceive our baby, so his problem is mine and my problem is his. Thus, we are infertile together.
And I can't promise myself that we won't be in these shoes in a year. Gosh, I hope not. I hope not with all my strength. But I can't promise myself that anymore.
For now, I wait to see if this cycle worked. As an infertile whose optimism has been tarnished. I don't believe this cycle will work, though I let bits of hope creep in around the edges. But I've gotten so used to simply starting another cycle that it's just what I expect. I expect to have to do this again. I expect to take a 2 month break, and then go back to a few more IUIs. I expect those to fail, also, and have to figure out how we plan to proceed with IVF. I can't think past that, though. I can't imagine IVF working, or not working. I just can't mentally leap that hurdle yet.
I guess you could call me a pessimist. I'm really not, though. I hope so hard, but I just find myself anticipating doing this all over again. And again. And again. My period has been clockwork since before my 13th birthday - I've never missed one (well, except when I knowingly skipped it with birth control pills), my cycle has never varied by more than a few days. As soon as I went off birth control, my body resumed its normal schedule without missing a beat. I have now waited anxiously to see if my period would not show for close to two years. Without fail, it has shown up.
Part of me just expects to get periods forever. Like my body has gotten so used to having a period that even if I were to conceive, it would just carry on with my period as it has every month for years and flush the embryo right out. Now I know that's silly, but I'd be lying if I said it hadn't crossed my mind.
I know I'm lucky among infertile women for having a regular cycle. I know some women struggle with finding the right balance of medication, often lots of it, to have ovulation occur at all.
But I still hate my period.
So now I wait... I'm a terribly impatient person. It's been 3 days since IUI, 4 days since trigger. I'll probably start peeing on sticks in 2 days to test out my trigger - it would still be way too early for a real positive to show up, so it's a good way to measure if the trigger is out of my body yet so I know that I can trust that if I have a positive test after that it isn't the trigger lingering in my system.
Waiting... and hoping... and doubting... and hoping...
When I heard about National Infertility Awareness Week, which takes place in April, I thought to myself, "There's no way I'll still be trying in a year."
And yet... here I am. Well, will be (probably). If I get a BFP on this cycle, I'll be a very happy girl and narrowly beat the clock before it becomes NIAW. However, I still qualify as infertile, even if I become a pregnant infertile. In some ways, I will always be an infertile.
I will never again think, "That couldn't be me!" Because it can, and it is.
I'm infertile. Or rather, we're infertile. We don't know whether it's my system or my husband's system, or some combination, that is preventing us from getting pregnant. We may never know, and honestly it doesn't matter. His semen and my reproductive organs are all part of the same system to conceive our baby, so his problem is mine and my problem is his. Thus, we are infertile together.
And I can't promise myself that we won't be in these shoes in a year. Gosh, I hope not. I hope not with all my strength. But I can't promise myself that anymore.
For now, I wait to see if this cycle worked. As an infertile whose optimism has been tarnished. I don't believe this cycle will work, though I let bits of hope creep in around the edges. But I've gotten so used to simply starting another cycle that it's just what I expect. I expect to have to do this again. I expect to take a 2 month break, and then go back to a few more IUIs. I expect those to fail, also, and have to figure out how we plan to proceed with IVF. I can't think past that, though. I can't imagine IVF working, or not working. I just can't mentally leap that hurdle yet.
I guess you could call me a pessimist. I'm really not, though. I hope so hard, but I just find myself anticipating doing this all over again. And again. And again. My period has been clockwork since before my 13th birthday - I've never missed one (well, except when I knowingly skipped it with birth control pills), my cycle has never varied by more than a few days. As soon as I went off birth control, my body resumed its normal schedule without missing a beat. I have now waited anxiously to see if my period would not show for close to two years. Without fail, it has shown up.
Part of me just expects to get periods forever. Like my body has gotten so used to having a period that even if I were to conceive, it would just carry on with my period as it has every month for years and flush the embryo right out. Now I know that's silly, but I'd be lying if I said it hadn't crossed my mind.
I know I'm lucky among infertile women for having a regular cycle. I know some women struggle with finding the right balance of medication, often lots of it, to have ovulation occur at all.
But I still hate my period.
So now I wait... I'm a terribly impatient person. It's been 3 days since IUI, 4 days since trigger. I'll probably start peeing on sticks in 2 days to test out my trigger - it would still be way too early for a real positive to show up, so it's a good way to measure if the trigger is out of my body yet so I know that I can trust that if I have a positive test after that it isn't the trigger lingering in my system.
Waiting... and hoping... and doubting... and hoping...
Monday, March 24, 2014
Impatiently Waiting
And the deed is done! And by deed, I mean insemination. Because sex hasn't worked in two years off birth control, so that "deed" is pretty much useless (well, except for fun, of course).
My husband drove up this morning for "his part". And "my part" was an hour later.
The drive was a lot easier with my book on tape. It also helped that it wasn't rush hour, so the stop-and-go wasn't nearly as stressful as when I need to be there by 9am for monitoring. Plus it was nice to sleep in and get ready leisurely as I didn't have to leave until 9:30am!
I passed my husband leaving as I went in. A quick kiss as he was headed out to his car on his way back to work.
It was hard not to get anxious as I waited in the waiting room. I tried to stay relaxed, watching funny videos on my phone and trying to make myself laugh to loosen up. But anxiety crept in anyway. Every time the door opened, I jumped a little bit, thinking it was a nurse summoning me.
I also tried to stay relaxed as we prepared for the IUI, joking with the doctor and nurses about how much pollen there's been around here recently (seriously, it's like I need to shovel it off my car in the morning just to see out the windows). But my hands and toes got very cold and my face got flushed as my anxiety set in despite my best efforts.
The doctor (not my normal doctor, the other one in the practice was on duty today) tried one angle and apparently couldn't make it work, so he tried a different one. Thankfully, it didn't hurt. Once it entered the uterus, it was a slight pinch, but I'd say it was less painful than last time. And I didn't feel anything once they inserted the semen. Which of course worried me, as last time I definitely felt it after it was inserted - a warm and full feeling. Did they miss? That's silly, of course, but I've already proven I worry too much.
Overthinking everything isn't going to help my stress, though. So I'll just try to go with the positive!
On the positive side, my husband had 19 million total motile sperm count, which is definitely good! Of course, being a perfectionist, I'd love it to be higher, but I'll take it gladly. Our unmedicated IUI had only 8 million, so this is a vast improvement.
The doctor pointed out that I've got a really good chance this cycle, so I'm trying to be hopeful, though the researcher in me knows that even with a great cycle, we still have a high chance of failure.
He said, "It looks like a really great cycle!"
I replied, "Hopefully!" (Thinking, of course, that a "really great cycle" had to end with pregnancy to earn that title)
He said, "No, really. Everything looks really good. You've got 2-3 mature follicles, your lining is nice and thick, and your husband's numbers were good. You've got a really good chance! I'll be a little surprised if it doesn't work."
I wanted to roll my eyes, though it (of course) does make me a little excited to hear that from the doctor. But I really won't be surprised if it doesn't work - I've seen plenty of women on my online support group who have every reason to be optimistic and it just doesn't work out. Sometimes because there's an underlying reason they don't know yet (like egg quality) or for no reason at all (and it works on a later cycle). So while I'm excited, I'm guarded in my optimism. But really, this IUI would result in a due date on or immediately around my birthday, and I can't think of a better birthday present right now!
And as far as my lining being thick, despite my initial scan, I'm sure my doctor thinks I'm a hypochondriac for worrying about it. Oh, well!
After the IUI, I met up with two lovely ladies who live near the doctor's office and unfortunately are also battling this monster (hi, ladies!) It was really awesome to speak with people in person who "get it" and could talk about all this nonsense face-to-face. The food was delicious (I had a fabulous chilled beet & ginger soup that I am going to try to replicate) and the company was delightful. I hope this is the start of a nice little local support group! Though I would obviously prefer for the three of us to have a pregnancy support group... where we can become those people who meet up to complain about pregnancy symptoms and compare birth plans... here's hoping!
So now the waiting starts. I'm terrible at waiting! I'm seriously impatient. These two weeks will seem REALLY REALLY long. Let's hope it has a happy ending!
My husband drove up this morning for "his part". And "my part" was an hour later.
The drive was a lot easier with my book on tape. It also helped that it wasn't rush hour, so the stop-and-go wasn't nearly as stressful as when I need to be there by 9am for monitoring. Plus it was nice to sleep in and get ready leisurely as I didn't have to leave until 9:30am!
I passed my husband leaving as I went in. A quick kiss as he was headed out to his car on his way back to work.
It was hard not to get anxious as I waited in the waiting room. I tried to stay relaxed, watching funny videos on my phone and trying to make myself laugh to loosen up. But anxiety crept in anyway. Every time the door opened, I jumped a little bit, thinking it was a nurse summoning me.
I also tried to stay relaxed as we prepared for the IUI, joking with the doctor and nurses about how much pollen there's been around here recently (seriously, it's like I need to shovel it off my car in the morning just to see out the windows). But my hands and toes got very cold and my face got flushed as my anxiety set in despite my best efforts.
The doctor (not my normal doctor, the other one in the practice was on duty today) tried one angle and apparently couldn't make it work, so he tried a different one. Thankfully, it didn't hurt. Once it entered the uterus, it was a slight pinch, but I'd say it was less painful than last time. And I didn't feel anything once they inserted the semen. Which of course worried me, as last time I definitely felt it after it was inserted - a warm and full feeling. Did they miss? That's silly, of course, but I've already proven I worry too much.
Overthinking everything isn't going to help my stress, though. So I'll just try to go with the positive!
On the positive side, my husband had 19 million total motile sperm count, which is definitely good! Of course, being a perfectionist, I'd love it to be higher, but I'll take it gladly. Our unmedicated IUI had only 8 million, so this is a vast improvement.
The doctor pointed out that I've got a really good chance this cycle, so I'm trying to be hopeful, though the researcher in me knows that even with a great cycle, we still have a high chance of failure.
He said, "It looks like a really great cycle!"
I replied, "Hopefully!" (Thinking, of course, that a "really great cycle" had to end with pregnancy to earn that title)
He said, "No, really. Everything looks really good. You've got 2-3 mature follicles, your lining is nice and thick, and your husband's numbers were good. You've got a really good chance! I'll be a little surprised if it doesn't work."
I wanted to roll my eyes, though it (of course) does make me a little excited to hear that from the doctor. But I really won't be surprised if it doesn't work - I've seen plenty of women on my online support group who have every reason to be optimistic and it just doesn't work out. Sometimes because there's an underlying reason they don't know yet (like egg quality) or for no reason at all (and it works on a later cycle). So while I'm excited, I'm guarded in my optimism. But really, this IUI would result in a due date on or immediately around my birthday, and I can't think of a better birthday present right now!
And as far as my lining being thick, despite my initial scan, I'm sure my doctor thinks I'm a hypochondriac for worrying about it. Oh, well!
After the IUI, I met up with two lovely ladies who live near the doctor's office and unfortunately are also battling this monster (hi, ladies!) It was really awesome to speak with people in person who "get it" and could talk about all this nonsense face-to-face. The food was delicious (I had a fabulous chilled beet & ginger soup that I am going to try to replicate) and the company was delightful. I hope this is the start of a nice little local support group! Though I would obviously prefer for the three of us to have a pregnancy support group... where we can become those people who meet up to complain about pregnancy symptoms and compare birth plans... here's hoping!
So now the waiting starts. I'm terrible at waiting! I'm seriously impatient. These two weeks will seem REALLY REALLY long. Let's hope it has a happy ending!
Sunday, March 23, 2014
Change of Plans
Best laid plans of mice and men.... and reproductive endocrinologists....
She agreed it's best to get a move on in case my body ovulates on its own. So we just triggered and will go in tomorrow for an IUI at 11:30am!!!
I took an OPK this morning. It's positive. Usually I get a few positives that are equally dark as the control and then some VERY positive ones (SUPER dark), but I figured equally dark is technically positive so I had better call in to the nurse on call. If I'm having an LH surge now, it's likely a Tuesday afternoon IUI would be too late.
So I doubt my little 12 mm follie had time to catch up to 15 mm or so to be in the running, but likely my 19.5 mm is a comfy 21-22 mm one now! Which is just fine by me, because I'd really rather not have twins. Though you never know, the 12 mm might catch up before ovulation! And we've definitely got a good chance at success with the 19.5 mm one from yesterday, and my surprisingly cushy lining of 8.4 mm (which has probably thickened a bit, too).
She agreed it's best to get a move on in case my body ovulates on its own. So we just triggered and will go in tomorrow for an IUI at 11:30am!!!
Saturday, March 22, 2014
I'm a Believer
I guess old wives' tales sometimes have some merit! Or I freaked out way too early. My doctor's totally going to be rolling his eyes at me and thinking I'm a hypochondriac, but whatever. It's all scary and overwhelming, so I'll own my emotional breakdown on Thursday!
Today I went in for my second monitoring appointment, CD 11. My follicle on my left ovary has grown from 18 mm to 19.5 mm, the one on my left doesn't seem to have grown from 12 mm (unless that's the 9 mm one and the 12 mm one is hiding somewhere?). Anyway, now it seems we have two follicles in play - the 19. mm on the left and the 12 mm on the right. Obviously the dominant follicle is the best bet.
Oh, and drumroll please...
My lining is an 8.4 mm!!!!! The ultrasound technician was like, "Whoa, what did the doctor give you? This is a huge improvement!"
Nope, doctor didn't give me anything. I'm sure he's very happy with his decision, too, and he should be - it was the right one. I was justifiably worried, but the doctor was right - my body would thicken my lining on its own, and thankfully it ended up working out just fine.
I try not to believe too strongly in old wives' tales, preferring Western medicine (and some Eastern medicine) with solid studies behind it. But in this case, I tried everything - I did my own femoral and uterine massage, I kept warm packs on my lower abdomen, I drank pomegranate juice and green juice full of wheat grass and spirulina, I did stretching and took walks. I even made sure to orgasm a few times to increase bloodflow to the area.
Something worked! I'll choose to believe my old wives' tales helped, but at least they didn't hurt!
So I got the call from the nurse about my bloodwork on my drive home (after a very lovely coffee with a fellow patient at my clinic, and hopefully new friend!) The doctor wants me to do one more shot of 50 iu of Follistim tonight (check!) and then trigger at 4am on Monday morning (ick... that will be a painful alarm, but thankfully I don't get worked up about shots and will likely just keep it on my bedside table, roll over to stab myself, and roll right back over and go right back to sleep). My husband has to be at the clinic for 2:30pm on Tuesday, and I'll be there at 3:30pm for the IUI.
And on this crazy emotional rollercoaster, I'm now all excited and optimistic again. We've got a real chance at this!
And if this month works, it looks like I'll be due December 16th, one day after my own birthday! That would be a truly fabulous birthday present. I'm trying to keep expectations in check, though. There's a good chance that even if this is the right treatment for us that it will take a few cycles to work.
I'm doing good today. I'll just take this a day at a time!
Today I went in for my second monitoring appointment, CD 11. My follicle on my left ovary has grown from 18 mm to 19.5 mm, the one on my left doesn't seem to have grown from 12 mm (unless that's the 9 mm one and the 12 mm one is hiding somewhere?). Anyway, now it seems we have two follicles in play - the 19. mm on the left and the 12 mm on the right. Obviously the dominant follicle is the best bet.
Oh, and drumroll please...
Nope, doctor didn't give me anything. I'm sure he's very happy with his decision, too, and he should be - it was the right one. I was justifiably worried, but the doctor was right - my body would thicken my lining on its own, and thankfully it ended up working out just fine.
I try not to believe too strongly in old wives' tales, preferring Western medicine (and some Eastern medicine) with solid studies behind it. But in this case, I tried everything - I did my own femoral and uterine massage, I kept warm packs on my lower abdomen, I drank pomegranate juice and green juice full of wheat grass and spirulina, I did stretching and took walks. I even made sure to orgasm a few times to increase bloodflow to the area.
Something worked! I'll choose to believe my old wives' tales helped, but at least they didn't hurt!
So I got the call from the nurse about my bloodwork on my drive home (after a very lovely coffee with a fellow patient at my clinic, and hopefully new friend!) The doctor wants me to do one more shot of 50 iu of Follistim tonight (check!) and then trigger at 4am on Monday morning (ick... that will be a painful alarm, but thankfully I don't get worked up about shots and will likely just keep it on my bedside table, roll over to stab myself, and roll right back over and go right back to sleep). My husband has to be at the clinic for 2:30pm on Tuesday, and I'll be there at 3:30pm for the IUI.
And on this crazy emotional rollercoaster, I'm now all excited and optimistic again. We've got a real chance at this!
And if this month works, it looks like I'll be due December 16th, one day after my own birthday! That would be a truly fabulous birthday present. I'm trying to keep expectations in check, though. There's a good chance that even if this is the right treatment for us that it will take a few cycles to work.
I'm doing good today. I'll just take this a day at a time!
Thursday, March 20, 2014
Through Thick or Thin
Today was my first monitoring appointment. It's CD 9, and I did 2.5 mg of Letrozole from CD 3-7, and then 50 iu of Follistim in the evenings of CD 7 & 8. I've got an 18 mm follicle on my left, and a 12 mm and 9 mm (and apparently a "bunch of smaller ones") on my right, which all sounds pretty good. I'd prefer to have two of similar size, both around 18 mm, like last cycle, but it's a fluke and I'll take a dominant follicle over 4+ similar sized ones since it's a lower chance of multiples.
So that sounds pretty smooth, right? I thought so, too, until the technician told me, with a tone that indicated she was disappointed, that I've got a lining of 4 mm.
Yup, 4 mm.
Not what I'd hoped. At all.
I mean, not a HUGE surprise, I suppose, as last cycle I had a 5.5 mm lining on CD 9. But 5.5 mm sounds a heck of a lot closer to the ideal range of 8-12 mm at ovulation than 4 mm!
After my ultrasound, I asked to speak to my nurse. She made the same face when I told her, and said, "That's not good." Then I asked about Estrace, as I've heard online of others taking it to beef up their uterine lining. She said her old clinic used it all the time, but they also used Clomid which can thin lining, and the medications I'm on shouldn't be thinning my lining (nope, I probably just have my own body to thank for that one). She said she's never heard of this doctor prescribing Estrace, but that it didn't hurt to ask.
I felt good about being my own advocate, doing my research and speaking up when I felt there was an issue.
I held it together okay at first, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that we're looking at doing an IUI with a thin lining, and that just doesn't help our chances at all. It's $650 for the IUI itself, and at least another $60 in gas for both my husband and me to drive there and back (he has to take his own car and can't wait around for the IUI procedure since he has to get back to work). And my husband has to take a half day off work. That's a lot to put into a cycle with a diminished chance of success.
Our money isn't buying great odds, anyway. At best, we've got a 20-25% chance each cycle if everything is perfect. That's about $1000 per month (and thankfully not more as our insurance covers some of our monitoring and medications) for a 75-80% chance of simply having to do it all over again the next month. Especially as the IUI itself gives us the best odds, but also costs the bulk of that money, it's a big factor.
I realized that if my lining doesn't thicken up, it's probably the best financial decision to cancel the IUI and just do TI again. That thought, of course, made me sob.
I went to Whole Foods as there's one right near my doctor's office, and none closer to me, and I wanted some almond butter and brazil nuts. Well, I underestimated the weight of the brazil nuts, but didn't have the emotional strength to tell the snooty cashier (who rolled her eyes at me that I hadn't written the code on the bag - sorry, I was too busy trying not to cry over my empty, emaciated womb) that I didn't want to pay $25 for nuts, at least not without risking ugly tears in the middle of the store. So I bought the dumb nuts, and went out to the car, threw myself on the steering wheel and had a good old ugly cry in the middle of the parking lot.
I managed to pull myself together for the 2 hour drive home. I got home around noon and did some graphic design work for a client just to keep busy, waiting for the phone call from the clinic.
At 1:30pm, the phone rang. I expected my nurse; it was the doctor himself (which feels like a privilege when you see the doctor very rarely, and you always wonder if it's bad news).
While I appreciate his concern in addressing my worries directly, he made me feel kind of like I was overstepping by asking for Estrace to thicken my lining.
"Unless you know something I don't, there's no proof that there's a connection between uterine lining thickness and the ability to conceive for IUI."
How do you respond to a question like that? Obviously I don't want to challenge the knowledge and experience of my doctor, but there's a plethora of studies that show there's likely a correlation between CHANCE of success and uterine lining. Am I wrong to be worried?
He goes on to tell me that he's seen pregnancies result from as little as 2 mm thickness at the time of trigger. Great, I believe miracles happen, but does it justify me spending over $700 when I could save it for another cycle where my lining is thicker? I'd like more hopeful advice than "it has happened once or twice in the past."
Essentially, he does not want to prescribe me Estrace. He doesn't believe it helps thicken lining, or doesn't believe thick lining is necessary, I can't remember exactly how he phrased it. But pretty much, no Estrace. Just keep taking Follistim for two more days, hope that the follicles grow which produces more estrogen to thicken my lining before trigger.
I told him that if my lining doesn't thicken considerably, I'd really strongly consider cancelling the IUI. He asked me to follow through with the cycle, told me that I'm drawing an arbitrary line in the sand by choosing an acceptable level of thickness. I get that, I really do. But it's a lot of money, and I can't justify throwing it away on a cycle where our chances simply don't look very good. I don't need perfect, but I'd like to be at least a little better than "a chance in hell" range.
So... we'll see. I'll do two more days of Follistim, and walk a lot and do yoga to try to encourage blood flow to my reproductive organs. I go back on Saturday for a scan, and hopefully my lining has grown to a 7mm or greater (or at least a 6.5 mm!) and we can go ahead with this IUI.
My nurse called shortly after, and she seemed disappointed that the doctor won't prescribe Estrace. "What would it hurt to give it a try?" she said.
I broke down crying on the phone with her, explaining why I felt we might cancel an IUI. She seemed to understand my reasoning and worries, and it's nice to know she'll be there to help when/if (because, come on, it's going to be "when" and we all know it) we have to try again next cycle.
Not feeling very hopeful at the moment, obviously. It doesn't help that we've got just this cycle and next cycle before we take a break for a cycle or two. I feel like I'm working against the clock, though I know logically we can resume treatment at any point after our one month break for a vacation (and hey, it's a vacation!) and that I'm young and time is on our side. That there's nothing stopping us from resuming treatment after the break.
I'm just so sick of being sad and hurt all the time, and trying to act like nothing's wrong and that I'm not breaking inside.
So that sounds pretty smooth, right? I thought so, too, until the technician told me, with a tone that indicated she was disappointed, that I've got a lining of 4 mm.
Yup, 4 mm.
What the.... oh, that's not good...
Not what I'd hoped. At all.
I mean, not a HUGE surprise, I suppose, as last cycle I had a 5.5 mm lining on CD 9. But 5.5 mm sounds a heck of a lot closer to the ideal range of 8-12 mm at ovulation than 4 mm!
After my ultrasound, I asked to speak to my nurse. She made the same face when I told her, and said, "That's not good." Then I asked about Estrace, as I've heard online of others taking it to beef up their uterine lining. She said her old clinic used it all the time, but they also used Clomid which can thin lining, and the medications I'm on shouldn't be thinning my lining (nope, I probably just have my own body to thank for that one). She said she's never heard of this doctor prescribing Estrace, but that it didn't hurt to ask.
I felt good about being my own advocate, doing my research and speaking up when I felt there was an issue.
I held it together okay at first, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that we're looking at doing an IUI with a thin lining, and that just doesn't help our chances at all. It's $650 for the IUI itself, and at least another $60 in gas for both my husband and me to drive there and back (he has to take his own car and can't wait around for the IUI procedure since he has to get back to work). And my husband has to take a half day off work. That's a lot to put into a cycle with a diminished chance of success.
Our money isn't buying great odds, anyway. At best, we've got a 20-25% chance each cycle if everything is perfect. That's about $1000 per month (and thankfully not more as our insurance covers some of our monitoring and medications) for a 75-80% chance of simply having to do it all over again the next month. Especially as the IUI itself gives us the best odds, but also costs the bulk of that money, it's a big factor.
I realized that if my lining doesn't thicken up, it's probably the best financial decision to cancel the IUI and just do TI again. That thought, of course, made me sob.
I went to Whole Foods as there's one right near my doctor's office, and none closer to me, and I wanted some almond butter and brazil nuts. Well, I underestimated the weight of the brazil nuts, but didn't have the emotional strength to tell the snooty cashier (who rolled her eyes at me that I hadn't written the code on the bag - sorry, I was too busy trying not to cry over my empty, emaciated womb) that I didn't want to pay $25 for nuts, at least not without risking ugly tears in the middle of the store. So I bought the dumb nuts, and went out to the car, threw myself on the steering wheel and had a good old ugly cry in the middle of the parking lot.
Pretty much exactly this.
At 1:30pm, the phone rang. I expected my nurse; it was the doctor himself (which feels like a privilege when you see the doctor very rarely, and you always wonder if it's bad news).
While I appreciate his concern in addressing my worries directly, he made me feel kind of like I was overstepping by asking for Estrace to thicken my lining.
"Unless you know something I don't, there's no proof that there's a connection between uterine lining thickness and the ability to conceive for IUI."
How do you respond to a question like that? Obviously I don't want to challenge the knowledge and experience of my doctor, but there's a plethora of studies that show there's likely a correlation between CHANCE of success and uterine lining. Am I wrong to be worried?
He goes on to tell me that he's seen pregnancies result from as little as 2 mm thickness at the time of trigger. Great, I believe miracles happen, but does it justify me spending over $700 when I could save it for another cycle where my lining is thicker? I'd like more hopeful advice than "it has happened once or twice in the past."
Essentially, he does not want to prescribe me Estrace. He doesn't believe it helps thicken lining, or doesn't believe thick lining is necessary, I can't remember exactly how he phrased it. But pretty much, no Estrace. Just keep taking Follistim for two more days, hope that the follicles grow which produces more estrogen to thicken my lining before trigger.
I told him that if my lining doesn't thicken considerably, I'd really strongly consider cancelling the IUI. He asked me to follow through with the cycle, told me that I'm drawing an arbitrary line in the sand by choosing an acceptable level of thickness. I get that, I really do. But it's a lot of money, and I can't justify throwing it away on a cycle where our chances simply don't look very good. I don't need perfect, but I'd like to be at least a little better than "a chance in hell" range.
So... we'll see. I'll do two more days of Follistim, and walk a lot and do yoga to try to encourage blood flow to my reproductive organs. I go back on Saturday for a scan, and hopefully my lining has grown to a 7mm or greater (or at least a 6.5 mm!) and we can go ahead with this IUI.
My nurse called shortly after, and she seemed disappointed that the doctor won't prescribe Estrace. "What would it hurt to give it a try?" she said.
I broke down crying on the phone with her, explaining why I felt we might cancel an IUI. She seemed to understand my reasoning and worries, and it's nice to know she'll be there to help when/if (because, come on, it's going to be "when" and we all know it) we have to try again next cycle.
Not feeling very hopeful at the moment, obviously. It doesn't help that we've got just this cycle and next cycle before we take a break for a cycle or two. I feel like I'm working against the clock, though I know logically we can resume treatment at any point after our one month break for a vacation (and hey, it's a vacation!) and that I'm young and time is on our side. That there's nothing stopping us from resuming treatment after the break.
I'm just so sick of being sad and hurt all the time, and trying to act like nothing's wrong and that I'm not breaking inside.
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
Bring it on!
Tonight I start injects again. I've already asked my husband if he's excited to have to jab me again with the needle, and he said, "Yay! STABBING TIME!" so I'll take that to mean he's on board.
So far we've done an unmedicated IUI, a medicated cycle, and now it's going to be our first medicated IUI.
I feel like an odd duck to be excited for injects, but it just feels like we're doing something productive. I am actually excited for 6pm so I can pull the Follistim pen out of my cheese drawer and let my husband take a stab at me (literally).
The Letrozole pills are so tiny with so few side effects (the only noticeable one being mild headaches several hours after taking my dose) that it's hard to believe it's doing something. It's also no big deal just for me to pop a pill in the mornings.
The injects are like the big dogs - they come in vials (which makes it seem important), it has to be put in a cool pen-needle thingy, they're super expensive, it requires jabbing a needle and injecting that stuff into my belly fat, and they make my ovaries feel swollen. It's also a shared experience for my husband to participate in this process by giving me the shots. It's something we can do together to try to make this happen (besides sex, of course, which hasn't worked yet). So it feels like we're doing something significant to help improve our chances. I think it has helped my husband feel more involved with this process, and that has helped me feel less alone.
So... bring on the needles! We're upping the dose this cycle since I responded well last cycle - we're hoping for slightly bigger follicles and maybe one more (but I'd be really nervous about moving forward with more than 3 follicles, and would really be happier with 2 again). It's still only 50 iu, whereas last month I did 33.3 iu daily, but I'm hopeful that my follicles will be nice and plump and my lining thickening nicely when I go in on Thursday for my first monitoring appointment.
After Thursday, I'll have a better idea when my IUI will probably be, but it's likely within a week. Oh my goodness, oh my goodness!
Let's get this party started! Bring on the shots, bring on the IUI! BRING IT ON!!!!
Sunday, March 16, 2014
Chugging Along
There are days where it seems no big deal, that this is just the path we've got to take, that it will all work out eventually.
There are other days when the chances that it won't work are overwhelming, days when the dark cloud just sits on my shoulders and the chance that we'll pay all this money and suffer all this indignity and still end up without a child just hurts. A lot.
Today at the grocery store, a woman wearing a newborn baby in a wrap seemed to be following me everywhere. I know logically she was just doing her own grocery shopping, and the logical version of me wants to give her kudos for venturing out on her own with a newborn to get her errands done, but it felt (to my infertility brain) like every time I picked up a bell pepper or a can of tomato sauce and turned to put it in my cart, she was waiting behind me to grab the same item right after me. And I couldn't even look at her, I couldn't make eye contact. I wanted to just run far away, find a corner and curl up in a ball and cry.
Then we ran into an acquaintance who has an adorable baby belly, which was another kick to my empty womb.
When my husband and I were discussing our treatment plan, and how we'll do two cycles of Femara and Follisim with an IUI before we take at least a two month break to recuperate financially, physically, and emotionally before making future decisions, the idea that we've got more than a 50% chance of having to take that break to reassess our plans with a still empty womb is heartbreaking.
Sure, on my more positive days, thinking that we've got probably at least a 40% chance of getting pregnant in the next two months is incredibly exciting, thrilling, uplifting.
On other days, the idea that we've got such a huge chance of having to decide whether to continue with IUIs or save up and make plans for IVF.
And knowing we'd still have at best a 60% chance of success with our first IVF, if we get to that, is similarly uplifting and heartbreaking. Because each IVF cycle would involve me living away from home for around a month, though I'm not sure exactly where we would do an IVF cycle yet - the cheapest programs for us are likely either DC or upstate NY, and both are places where we have family that I could stay with. And it would be a huge financial burden.
I also had to admit to my husband that I don't feel like I am emotionally ready to move on to IVF if these two cycles fail. I want a baby so badly, but I am not quite ready to take on the financial and emotional burden of that process.
So many people seem to think the only burden to IVF is the money. That it's an easy answer. I don't quite know why I also feel the need to explain why I don't want to inflate my ovaries like balloons with dozens of shots to my belly, be covered in bruises and bloat from the medicated shots, have my eggs surgically removed by a needle through my vaginal wall while I'm under anesthesia, have my eggs fertilized in a petri dish, and then grown in a lab as I bite my nails to hear how many have matured and fertilized, and have an embryo implanted back into my uterus. And pay between $5-10k for the privilege of all that and then waiting anxiously for a 40% chance of still failing to have a baby. And then having to decide if we do it again, or if we move on.
My aunt needed 3 fresh IVF cycles for her first baby. While I'm sure it was incredibly emotionally taxing, they had insurance coverage so they did not need to worry about the financial side. I can't imagine the financial burden that would be part of our decision whether to move on to even a 2nd IVF cycle.
It's the chance of failure that's so overwhelming. It's the financial cost, the emotional toll of having to live away from my husband and puppy and our home during the cycle. The idea that we have probably still a 20% chance after all this of having spent thousands of dollars and still be empty handed. And then what?
Sure, it would be nice to believe we'll end up in the positive percentile. It's likely, for sure (oh please, oh please, oh please). But it was likely that we would have gotten pregnant already, and we're already in the 5-10% of people our age who have not conceived by this point. What's to say I won't end up in the 20% of people in my diagnosis (or rather, lack of diagnosis) and age group who never conceive?
I try to live in the moment, trying to just think of this as the process that we need to take, just one step at a time. Not to delve into the "what ifs" and "what thens" of what may come next, or after that. Because even day by day can be overwhelming.
Oh, and back to the moment, I don't have any cysts. So it's full speed ahead for this cycle, which is exciting and awesome and scary! I took my 3rd pill of Letrozole this morning - there are two more pills and then I do two days of Follistim before I go in for an ultrasound. They're beefing up the Follistim this time to 50 iu (which is most people's starting dose, but it seems like a lot after last cycle's 33.3 iu per day). Here's hoping for perfect follicles and a nice thick lining!
We decided that if these two cycles fail, we'll take at least two cycles to regroup. We'll reassess. Right now, I think we'll probably do two more cycles of IUI after that before moving on to IVF and starting the process to become foster parents at the same time. But honestly, after rushing so hard for so long to just get to my baby that I know is somehow at the end of this journey, I don't want to push too hard before I'm ready for each step. It's a grieving process, and I have to be kind to myself through this process and understand that it isn't a race. Taking some time to be fully ready for the next step is smart, I believe. We don't need to rush, and stopping to breathe for a bit before we finally get pregnant (or adopt) is brave, not weak.
Two months ago, the idea of having to do this with medication and IUI was painful. I was so sad that it hadn't happened, and I didn't want to have to go through all this to get a baby. Now, it seems like no big deal to take the pills and the shots and do the IUI. It's almost like how it's supposed to happen, just what we have to do, no big deal. And the cost of it seems manageable at the moment, affordable even.
IVF is still overwhelming in so many ways. I'm just not ready to take that step.
So for now, two IUIs, two months of full on break (and I plan to drink like a fish if it comes to that), and we'll use that time to figure out what's next. No assumptions, no baggage - just figure out how to move forward with fresh eyes.
Let's hope it doesn't come to that. Today is a pessimistic day, I hope tomorrow is more optimistic.
There are other days when the chances that it won't work are overwhelming, days when the dark cloud just sits on my shoulders and the chance that we'll pay all this money and suffer all this indignity and still end up without a child just hurts. A lot.
Today at the grocery store, a woman wearing a newborn baby in a wrap seemed to be following me everywhere. I know logically she was just doing her own grocery shopping, and the logical version of me wants to give her kudos for venturing out on her own with a newborn to get her errands done, but it felt (to my infertility brain) like every time I picked up a bell pepper or a can of tomato sauce and turned to put it in my cart, she was waiting behind me to grab the same item right after me. And I couldn't even look at her, I couldn't make eye contact. I wanted to just run far away, find a corner and curl up in a ball and cry.
Then we ran into an acquaintance who has an adorable baby belly, which was another kick to my empty womb.
When my husband and I were discussing our treatment plan, and how we'll do two cycles of Femara and Follisim with an IUI before we take at least a two month break to recuperate financially, physically, and emotionally before making future decisions, the idea that we've got more than a 50% chance of having to take that break to reassess our plans with a still empty womb is heartbreaking.
Sure, on my more positive days, thinking that we've got probably at least a 40% chance of getting pregnant in the next two months is incredibly exciting, thrilling, uplifting.
On other days, the idea that we've got such a huge chance of having to decide whether to continue with IUIs or save up and make plans for IVF.
And knowing we'd still have at best a 60% chance of success with our first IVF, if we get to that, is similarly uplifting and heartbreaking. Because each IVF cycle would involve me living away from home for around a month, though I'm not sure exactly where we would do an IVF cycle yet - the cheapest programs for us are likely either DC or upstate NY, and both are places where we have family that I could stay with. And it would be a huge financial burden.
I also had to admit to my husband that I don't feel like I am emotionally ready to move on to IVF if these two cycles fail. I want a baby so badly, but I am not quite ready to take on the financial and emotional burden of that process.
So many people seem to think the only burden to IVF is the money. That it's an easy answer. I don't quite know why I also feel the need to explain why I don't want to inflate my ovaries like balloons with dozens of shots to my belly, be covered in bruises and bloat from the medicated shots, have my eggs surgically removed by a needle through my vaginal wall while I'm under anesthesia, have my eggs fertilized in a petri dish, and then grown in a lab as I bite my nails to hear how many have matured and fertilized, and have an embryo implanted back into my uterus. And pay between $5-10k for the privilege of all that and then waiting anxiously for a 40% chance of still failing to have a baby. And then having to decide if we do it again, or if we move on.
My aunt needed 3 fresh IVF cycles for her first baby. While I'm sure it was incredibly emotionally taxing, they had insurance coverage so they did not need to worry about the financial side. I can't imagine the financial burden that would be part of our decision whether to move on to even a 2nd IVF cycle.
It's the chance of failure that's so overwhelming. It's the financial cost, the emotional toll of having to live away from my husband and puppy and our home during the cycle. The idea that we have probably still a 20% chance after all this of having spent thousands of dollars and still be empty handed. And then what?
Sure, it would be nice to believe we'll end up in the positive percentile. It's likely, for sure (oh please, oh please, oh please). But it was likely that we would have gotten pregnant already, and we're already in the 5-10% of people our age who have not conceived by this point. What's to say I won't end up in the 20% of people in my diagnosis (or rather, lack of diagnosis) and age group who never conceive?
I try to live in the moment, trying to just think of this as the process that we need to take, just one step at a time. Not to delve into the "what ifs" and "what thens" of what may come next, or after that. Because even day by day can be overwhelming.
Oh, and back to the moment, I don't have any cysts. So it's full speed ahead for this cycle, which is exciting and awesome and scary! I took my 3rd pill of Letrozole this morning - there are two more pills and then I do two days of Follistim before I go in for an ultrasound. They're beefing up the Follistim this time to 50 iu (which is most people's starting dose, but it seems like a lot after last cycle's 33.3 iu per day). Here's hoping for perfect follicles and a nice thick lining!
We decided that if these two cycles fail, we'll take at least two cycles to regroup. We'll reassess. Right now, I think we'll probably do two more cycles of IUI after that before moving on to IVF and starting the process to become foster parents at the same time. But honestly, after rushing so hard for so long to just get to my baby that I know is somehow at the end of this journey, I don't want to push too hard before I'm ready for each step. It's a grieving process, and I have to be kind to myself through this process and understand that it isn't a race. Taking some time to be fully ready for the next step is smart, I believe. We don't need to rush, and stopping to breathe for a bit before we finally get pregnant (or adopt) is brave, not weak.
Two months ago, the idea of having to do this with medication and IUI was painful. I was so sad that it hadn't happened, and I didn't want to have to go through all this to get a baby. Now, it seems like no big deal to take the pills and the shots and do the IUI. It's almost like how it's supposed to happen, just what we have to do, no big deal. And the cost of it seems manageable at the moment, affordable even.
IVF is still overwhelming in so many ways. I'm just not ready to take that step.
So for now, two IUIs, two months of full on break (and I plan to drink like a fish if it comes to that), and we'll use that time to figure out what's next. No assumptions, no baggage - just figure out how to move forward with fresh eyes.
Let's hope it doesn't come to that. Today is a pessimistic day, I hope tomorrow is more optimistic.
Tuesday, March 11, 2014
A New Day
BFN.
I didn't have a lot of hope for last cycle, so I wasn't surprised or even particularly disappointed when it failed. It was kind of expected. It's just kind of how it goes - after 19 cycles of peeing on sticks and getting negatives, it is kind of what I'm used to at this point.
I'll go in on Thursday for my baseline and then starting a my first medicated IUI. Femara & Follistim, followed by an Ovidrel trigger, followed by an IUI, followed by Prometrium supplementation. I expect my IUI to be around March 25th if this cycle works like last cycle.
Then again, I wouldn't be surprised if I get benched due to a cyst. I've had some pinching pain on my right side that makes me suspect a cyst.
It wouldn't be that big of a disappointment as I was born in December and hate the timing of my birthday in the middle of the holidays, and getting pregnant this cycle would have a December due date.
Ah well, moving forward! One step at a time. Day by day. Just chugging through this slop until I get to the other side.
Oh, in other news, this month marks 2 years off birth control.
FML.
I didn't have a lot of hope for last cycle, so I wasn't surprised or even particularly disappointed when it failed. It was kind of expected. It's just kind of how it goes - after 19 cycles of peeing on sticks and getting negatives, it is kind of what I'm used to at this point.
I'll go in on Thursday for my baseline and then starting a my first medicated IUI. Femara & Follistim, followed by an Ovidrel trigger, followed by an IUI, followed by Prometrium supplementation. I expect my IUI to be around March 25th if this cycle works like last cycle.
Then again, I wouldn't be surprised if I get benched due to a cyst. I've had some pinching pain on my right side that makes me suspect a cyst.
It wouldn't be that big of a disappointment as I was born in December and hate the timing of my birthday in the middle of the holidays, and getting pregnant this cycle would have a December due date.
Ah well, moving forward! One step at a time. Day by day. Just chugging through this slop until I get to the other side.
Oh, in other news, this month marks 2 years off birth control.
FML.
Monday, March 10, 2014
Jailhouse Life
Someone on a support board I frequent mentioned that when a fellow sufferer of infertility finally gets pregnant, it's like your jailhouse buddy getting out on parole. This analogy seemed so fitting to me, but I'll take it a step further. Take this all as a bit of a joke, certainly written by someone who has never even visited a jail (but I DID watch "Orange is the New Black," so that counts, right???)
10 Reasons Infertility is Like Jail
1) The days all blend together
This week, I spent all day thinking Friday was Thursday. It was 7pm when my husband finally corrected me, and laughed at me. I could never tell you what date of the month it is, and now I can't tell you what day of the week it is. Want to know what I could tell you? That it's my 19th cycle since we first started trying to get pregnant, that I hit the 2 year mark of being off birth control this month, and that I was 9 days past ovulation, 11 days past trigger, and day 23 of my cycle. It's like a prisoner checking off days of their prison sentence rather than days of the week and days of the month like normal people.
2) The only people who get it are stuck there with you
I have some really truly dear friends and family who are super supportive of our infertility struggles and the many mixed emotions that go along with it, but they don't "get it". Even my family members who have done IVF before don't "get it" because they had insurance coverage for it all - they weren't simultaneously worried about going bankrupt before being able to get pregnant because they didn't have to pay for the procedures (though, admittedly, they probably "get" quite a few of the other emotions of this process). But they also have kids now, so they don't have that fear of being infertile forever like I still do. Even my husband doesn't always truly understand how I'm feeling. But my fellow female infertility sufferers do seem to "get it", though we all have slightly different experiences. Like prison buddies, we all have different sentences for different crimes, but we're all living in the same hell on earth, and the only way to get through it is to lean on those around you.
3) You have mixed emotions when someone gets out before you do
Nobody wants to be in jail, just like nobody wants to be infertile. But misery definitely loves company, and you create some strong bonds while under extreme stress and emotional upheaval. So when a fellow infertility buddy gets pregnant, you're thrilled for her while in the same moment, your heart lurches and your stomach sinks. Because while she's getting out, you're still stuck, and it was nice to have her around to lean on when you were both in it together. So now you're even more alone than you were before.
4) When buddies who get out come back, they don't "get it" anymore
I'm not talking about miscarriages - when someone gets pregnant and has a miscarriage, that's like breaking parole and getting sent back to jail - you're worse off than you were before, and you will have to go through the same nonsense all over again. But when someone is paroled, or rather gets pregnant, and comes back - in the case of the support group, continues to post on the board after they've gotten pregnant - it pisses you off. It's like someone paroled comes back for visiting hours to tell you how nice it is outside the jail walls, and that you should have hope you'll be there someday! Great, I believe you, but it doesn't make me any less miserable here in jail, so thanks for rubbing it in my face, however good your intentions are to "give me hope".
5) Your daily routine kind of sucks
Like prison food and making license plates, the daily grind of infertility sucks. Taking hormone pills, giving yourself shots in a big old hunk of your belly fat, pushing progesterone pills up your va-jay-jay, the swollen soreness of stimulated ovaries, the violation of the transvaginal ultrasound, peeing on countless sticks, it all kind of sucks. And then you have to wake up and do it all over again. And again. And again. Until you're paroled.
6) There's no privacy anymore
A prison shower has nothing on a transvaginal ultrasound. I actually had to consider whether I wanted to shave my nether parts or not because I have to have relative strangers look at my hoo-hah several times a month, often several times a week. I have sex when the doctor tells me to, and I have to tell nurses about when we've had sex. My sex life and vagina might as well be compared to a jailhouse strip search and public showers, because there's no sense of privacy left.
7) Sex is like scheduling conjugal visits
Spontaneous? Nope. Sexy? Nope. Do it anyway because you have only a limited window to get the job done? Yup. And the doctor and nurses, like the prison guards, know when and how often you've done it.
8) While dreaming of the outside world is all that gets you through, sometimes it's too hard to hope for parole.
We're all going through this for one purpose - to be THROUGH it and on the other side! None of us want to be here. This is not what we pictured our daily life to be like. It isn't fair, we were wrongfully accused, we don't deserve this! But still, we're stuck here. So while dreaming of the outside world is what gets us through our toughest days, some days it's too hard to think about sunshine and grassy pastures when you wake up every morning and go to sleep every night looking at your cement jail cell of infertility. Because it makes you all the more sad to remember where you are when you think about what could have been if you hadn't been put in this position. Sometimes to get through it, you have to just put in the motions and keep moving, trying not to think about where you are and how you got here, and how long it might be until you get parole.
9) Every month is a parole board.
Do I get out of this hell this month? Do I get to see sunshine and move past this nasty chunk of my life once and for all? You wait anxiously each month, hoping with every ounce of your body that this is finally the time you'll get pregnant. And then when you get denied with a negative pregnancy test, your hope drops rock bottom and the despair sets in again.
10) When you finally get pregnant, you won't be the same person who entered this journey.
Infertility, like jail, changes a person. Not always for the worse - my relationship is stronger than ever because of going through this together, and I love my husband in a way I never could have known because he's been such an amazing support and team player. I've learned to be a more compassionate person, and I will appreciate that day so much more when I finally get paroled from infertility. But after seeing how hard it has been to get pregnant, I will be petrified of losing the pregnancy in a way that I wouldn't have been if it hadn't taken this long. Like a new parolee being frightened of breaking parole and being sent back, I will follow every rule and guard my freedom from infertility cautiously. And I think I will always bear the scars on my soul from this journey. I can't uncry the tears or turn back time to when I naively assumed it would all be easy. I've been in this jail for awhile now, and it's part of my life story. That's hopefully going to be a badge of pride I wear in my later years, a mark of experience and personal growth, but for the moment all I can see are the walls that keep me locked in this hell. And dreaming of someday getting out.
10 Reasons Infertility is Like Jail
1) The days all blend together
This week, I spent all day thinking Friday was Thursday. It was 7pm when my husband finally corrected me, and laughed at me. I could never tell you what date of the month it is, and now I can't tell you what day of the week it is. Want to know what I could tell you? That it's my 19th cycle since we first started trying to get pregnant, that I hit the 2 year mark of being off birth control this month, and that I was 9 days past ovulation, 11 days past trigger, and day 23 of my cycle. It's like a prisoner checking off days of their prison sentence rather than days of the week and days of the month like normal people.
2) The only people who get it are stuck there with you
I have some really truly dear friends and family who are super supportive of our infertility struggles and the many mixed emotions that go along with it, but they don't "get it". Even my family members who have done IVF before don't "get it" because they had insurance coverage for it all - they weren't simultaneously worried about going bankrupt before being able to get pregnant because they didn't have to pay for the procedures (though, admittedly, they probably "get" quite a few of the other emotions of this process). But they also have kids now, so they don't have that fear of being infertile forever like I still do. Even my husband doesn't always truly understand how I'm feeling. But my fellow female infertility sufferers do seem to "get it", though we all have slightly different experiences. Like prison buddies, we all have different sentences for different crimes, but we're all living in the same hell on earth, and the only way to get through it is to lean on those around you.
3) You have mixed emotions when someone gets out before you do
Nobody wants to be in jail, just like nobody wants to be infertile. But misery definitely loves company, and you create some strong bonds while under extreme stress and emotional upheaval. So when a fellow infertility buddy gets pregnant, you're thrilled for her while in the same moment, your heart lurches and your stomach sinks. Because while she's getting out, you're still stuck, and it was nice to have her around to lean on when you were both in it together. So now you're even more alone than you were before.
4) When buddies who get out come back, they don't "get it" anymore
I'm not talking about miscarriages - when someone gets pregnant and has a miscarriage, that's like breaking parole and getting sent back to jail - you're worse off than you were before, and you will have to go through the same nonsense all over again. But when someone is paroled, or rather gets pregnant, and comes back - in the case of the support group, continues to post on the board after they've gotten pregnant - it pisses you off. It's like someone paroled comes back for visiting hours to tell you how nice it is outside the jail walls, and that you should have hope you'll be there someday! Great, I believe you, but it doesn't make me any less miserable here in jail, so thanks for rubbing it in my face, however good your intentions are to "give me hope".
5) Your daily routine kind of sucks
Like prison food and making license plates, the daily grind of infertility sucks. Taking hormone pills, giving yourself shots in a big old hunk of your belly fat, pushing progesterone pills up your va-jay-jay, the swollen soreness of stimulated ovaries, the violation of the transvaginal ultrasound, peeing on countless sticks, it all kind of sucks. And then you have to wake up and do it all over again. And again. And again. Until you're paroled.
6) There's no privacy anymore
A prison shower has nothing on a transvaginal ultrasound. I actually had to consider whether I wanted to shave my nether parts or not because I have to have relative strangers look at my hoo-hah several times a month, often several times a week. I have sex when the doctor tells me to, and I have to tell nurses about when we've had sex. My sex life and vagina might as well be compared to a jailhouse strip search and public showers, because there's no sense of privacy left.
7) Sex is like scheduling conjugal visits
Spontaneous? Nope. Sexy? Nope. Do it anyway because you have only a limited window to get the job done? Yup. And the doctor and nurses, like the prison guards, know when and how often you've done it.
8) While dreaming of the outside world is all that gets you through, sometimes it's too hard to hope for parole.
We're all going through this for one purpose - to be THROUGH it and on the other side! None of us want to be here. This is not what we pictured our daily life to be like. It isn't fair, we were wrongfully accused, we don't deserve this! But still, we're stuck here. So while dreaming of the outside world is what gets us through our toughest days, some days it's too hard to think about sunshine and grassy pastures when you wake up every morning and go to sleep every night looking at your cement jail cell of infertility. Because it makes you all the more sad to remember where you are when you think about what could have been if you hadn't been put in this position. Sometimes to get through it, you have to just put in the motions and keep moving, trying not to think about where you are and how you got here, and how long it might be until you get parole.
9) Every month is a parole board.
Do I get out of this hell this month? Do I get to see sunshine and move past this nasty chunk of my life once and for all? You wait anxiously each month, hoping with every ounce of your body that this is finally the time you'll get pregnant. And then when you get denied with a negative pregnancy test, your hope drops rock bottom and the despair sets in again.
10) When you finally get pregnant, you won't be the same person who entered this journey.
Infertility, like jail, changes a person. Not always for the worse - my relationship is stronger than ever because of going through this together, and I love my husband in a way I never could have known because he's been such an amazing support and team player. I've learned to be a more compassionate person, and I will appreciate that day so much more when I finally get paroled from infertility. But after seeing how hard it has been to get pregnant, I will be petrified of losing the pregnancy in a way that I wouldn't have been if it hadn't taken this long. Like a new parolee being frightened of breaking parole and being sent back, I will follow every rule and guard my freedom from infertility cautiously. And I think I will always bear the scars on my soul from this journey. I can't uncry the tears or turn back time to when I naively assumed it would all be easy. I've been in this jail for awhile now, and it's part of my life story. That's hopefully going to be a badge of pride I wear in my later years, a mark of experience and personal growth, but for the moment all I can see are the walls that keep me locked in this hell. And dreaming of someday getting out.
Wednesday, March 5, 2014
Unrealistic Expectations
I'm currently watching Glee's newest episode, "Trio" (though I'll probably finish watching it before I finish this post) and it's reminding me the completely inaccurate portrayal of trying to get pregnant in television and movies (or at least completely unlike my experience, as I have no idea what it's like to be fertile).
Emma and Will start the episode with Emma pulling Will out of a class, saying "It's time!" and they then got caught in a janitor's closet getting busy. Emma explained why they couldn't wait until they got home that evening to Principal Sylvester by saying there's a "narrow window of fertility".
TRUTH: Sure, there's a narrow window, but not THAT narrow. For a normal fertile couple, sex in the 5 days leading up to ovulation is ideal as sperm can live in the female fertility organs for up to 5 days. It's certainly not "NOW NOW NOW!" as that scene makes it seem. They could have waited until they got home, there's no excuse for behavior like that.
After an indeterminably amount of time that seems like a day or two, Emma takes a pregnancy test and gets a negative.
TRUTH: You have to wait a minimum of 8 days after ovulation and often between 10-12 days. You can take a pregnancy test at any point, but if you have any hope of a positive test, you have to wait at least that long. Let's say you get a positive OPK on CD 12 - likely 12-36 hours later, you will ovulate. You want sperm already waiting to meet the egg. Then it takes 6-10 days for that egg to implant in the uterine wall. From there, it will start producing hCG, which is the hormone a pregnancy test is testing. So if you test too early, you'll get what's called a "false negative" - your body isn't producing enough hCG to turn a pregnancy test positive, not that you aren't pregnant.
And then Will suggests they go to a fertility doctor to rule out any problems.
TRUTH: If a woman is not having a period for longer than 60 days, it suggests she may not be ovulating and seeing a "fertility doctor," or a reproductive endocrinologist, is definitely justified. Otherwise, a woman over 35 years old is suggested to wait 6 months of trying before seeing a fertility doctor, and women under 35 years old are supposed to wait 1 year. Each month, a fertile woman has approximately 20% chance of pregnancy (give or take depending on her level of fertility and her husband's sperm quality and quantity). Which means even the most fertile people can be unlucky and take a handful of months before they get pregnant. Because women over 35 can be battling egg quality and reserve issues, it is suggested they seek help sooner - there may still be no problems, and they might get pregnant on their own, but it's worth doing initial testing as time can be a serious obstacle at that point.
When the fertility doctor supposedly finds nothing wrong, Will then gets advice that they're "trying too hard" and should "try not trying," with Coach Beiste suggesting that worrying about it is what is causing them not to concieve, which Will then repeats to Emma. This results in them painting the nursery and reading "What to Expect When You're Expecting" and obviously (since it's Glee) singing songs about having a baby and how awesome that will be.
TRUTH: Suggesting that Emma's anxiety disorder is somehow causing her infertility will only cause her more stress - there's no medical evidence that stress causes infertility, but it's certain that infertility causes stress. And seriously, trying for ONE MONTH and not getting pregnant is TOTALLY NORMAL!
Oh, and also: TRUTH: While it's great to be optimistic, painting a room for a nursery for a baby that has not been conceived yet can be a painful reminder if the process does take longer than you expect. I optimistically painted the guest room that will someday be my nursery (come hell or high water) when we moved into this house, after we were already dealing with infertility, as sort of an affirmation that we WOULD bring home a baby someday, some way. It still hurts some days to see it. It's like a shrine to dreams that are crumbled and we're trying to glue back together.
Also, I'm taking the guess that Emma and Will will end up pregnant very soon (by "trying to not try" and "relaxing") which is seriously detrimental to people who struggle. As Glee is a show that prides itself on encouraging minority groups (including down syndrome, homosexuality, transgender, different ethnicities, disabled, etc.), it hurts me that they would be so dismissive of infertility. It's a subculture that is hidden and not talked about often because those who suffer often prefer to do so quietly and alone, but for a show like Glee to belittle the concerns of those of us who battle infertility, and to paint it so glibly as a simple obstacle, is really frustrating. It was a missed opportunity to educate, and rather they reinforced hurtful stereotypes.
(And yup, there it is - she's pregnant by the end of the episode.... now isn't that a punch to the gut).
TRUTH: There would have had to have been approximately 34-40 days minimum covered in the episode if all this happened. When the episode started and they were having sex in a closet, that would have been around CD 14, give or take a few days (let's say as early as CD 12). Then it would take a minimum of 10 days for her to take an accurate pregnancy test, and then another day or two to get her period (assuming she has a normal length luteal phase). Then it would take another 12-16 days for her to ovulate again, and then another 10 days to take a positive pregnancy test, and another day for the doctor's confirmation, as Emma stated. Somewhere in there, they would have had to have gone to a fertility doctor to get checked out. If they were to actually do testing, it would have had to have been CD 3 of her second cycle, with an HSG done around CD 7. So yeah, minimum 34 days or so covered in one episode, but it seems like it's all just a week or so maximum by all the other story lines that run in the episode. So really, what probably happened is she was tracking her periods on an app or something, and thought "it's time!" because of a standard assumed date of ovulation that is not at all based on reality, and so they had sex, and then she tested like two days later and got a negative test and so they went to the an OB/GYN, who did who knows what to "check" their fertility (clearly nothing comprehensive), and then Emma took another test a few days later that was positive. Boom, all that drama for a lucky pregnancy on a first cycle of trying.
"We're going to be a real family, just the three of us," says Will. As if my husband and I aren't a real family because we haven't conceived in the 19 months we've been trying or the 2 years we've been off birth control.
I'd say I was going to go have a drink, but I'm not allowed to drink because I am currently pouring thousands of dollars into infertility treatment, and if not drinking ups my chances even a little, that's what I'm going to do.
This sucks. A lot. I hate television! HEY GLEE, YOU SUCK!
Emma and Will start the episode with Emma pulling Will out of a class, saying "It's time!" and they then got caught in a janitor's closet getting busy. Emma explained why they couldn't wait until they got home that evening to Principal Sylvester by saying there's a "narrow window of fertility".
TRUTH: Sure, there's a narrow window, but not THAT narrow. For a normal fertile couple, sex in the 5 days leading up to ovulation is ideal as sperm can live in the female fertility organs for up to 5 days. It's certainly not "NOW NOW NOW!" as that scene makes it seem. They could have waited until they got home, there's no excuse for behavior like that.
After an indeterminably amount of time that seems like a day or two, Emma takes a pregnancy test and gets a negative.
TRUTH: You have to wait a minimum of 8 days after ovulation and often between 10-12 days. You can take a pregnancy test at any point, but if you have any hope of a positive test, you have to wait at least that long. Let's say you get a positive OPK on CD 12 - likely 12-36 hours later, you will ovulate. You want sperm already waiting to meet the egg. Then it takes 6-10 days for that egg to implant in the uterine wall. From there, it will start producing hCG, which is the hormone a pregnancy test is testing. So if you test too early, you'll get what's called a "false negative" - your body isn't producing enough hCG to turn a pregnancy test positive, not that you aren't pregnant.
And then Will suggests they go to a fertility doctor to rule out any problems.
TRUTH: If a woman is not having a period for longer than 60 days, it suggests she may not be ovulating and seeing a "fertility doctor," or a reproductive endocrinologist, is definitely justified. Otherwise, a woman over 35 years old is suggested to wait 6 months of trying before seeing a fertility doctor, and women under 35 years old are supposed to wait 1 year. Each month, a fertile woman has approximately 20% chance of pregnancy (give or take depending on her level of fertility and her husband's sperm quality and quantity). Which means even the most fertile people can be unlucky and take a handful of months before they get pregnant. Because women over 35 can be battling egg quality and reserve issues, it is suggested they seek help sooner - there may still be no problems, and they might get pregnant on their own, but it's worth doing initial testing as time can be a serious obstacle at that point.
When the fertility doctor supposedly finds nothing wrong, Will then gets advice that they're "trying too hard" and should "try not trying," with Coach Beiste suggesting that worrying about it is what is causing them not to concieve, which Will then repeats to Emma. This results in them painting the nursery and reading "What to Expect When You're Expecting" and obviously (since it's Glee) singing songs about having a baby and how awesome that will be.
TRUTH: Suggesting that Emma's anxiety disorder is somehow causing her infertility will only cause her more stress - there's no medical evidence that stress causes infertility, but it's certain that infertility causes stress. And seriously, trying for ONE MONTH and not getting pregnant is TOTALLY NORMAL!
Oh, and also: TRUTH: While it's great to be optimistic, painting a room for a nursery for a baby that has not been conceived yet can be a painful reminder if the process does take longer than you expect. I optimistically painted the guest room that will someday be my nursery (come hell or high water) when we moved into this house, after we were already dealing with infertility, as sort of an affirmation that we WOULD bring home a baby someday, some way. It still hurts some days to see it. It's like a shrine to dreams that are crumbled and we're trying to glue back together.
Also, I'm taking the guess that Emma and Will will end up pregnant very soon (by "trying to not try" and "relaxing") which is seriously detrimental to people who struggle. As Glee is a show that prides itself on encouraging minority groups (including down syndrome, homosexuality, transgender, different ethnicities, disabled, etc.), it hurts me that they would be so dismissive of infertility. It's a subculture that is hidden and not talked about often because those who suffer often prefer to do so quietly and alone, but for a show like Glee to belittle the concerns of those of us who battle infertility, and to paint it so glibly as a simple obstacle, is really frustrating. It was a missed opportunity to educate, and rather they reinforced hurtful stereotypes.
(And yup, there it is - she's pregnant by the end of the episode.... now isn't that a punch to the gut).
TRUTH: There would have had to have been approximately 34-40 days minimum covered in the episode if all this happened. When the episode started and they were having sex in a closet, that would have been around CD 14, give or take a few days (let's say as early as CD 12). Then it would take a minimum of 10 days for her to take an accurate pregnancy test, and then another day or two to get her period (assuming she has a normal length luteal phase). Then it would take another 12-16 days for her to ovulate again, and then another 10 days to take a positive pregnancy test, and another day for the doctor's confirmation, as Emma stated. Somewhere in there, they would have had to have gone to a fertility doctor to get checked out. If they were to actually do testing, it would have had to have been CD 3 of her second cycle, with an HSG done around CD 7. So yeah, minimum 34 days or so covered in one episode, but it seems like it's all just a week or so maximum by all the other story lines that run in the episode. So really, what probably happened is she was tracking her periods on an app or something, and thought "it's time!" because of a standard assumed date of ovulation that is not at all based on reality, and so they had sex, and then she tested like two days later and got a negative test and so they went to the an OB/GYN, who did who knows what to "check" their fertility (clearly nothing comprehensive), and then Emma took another test a few days later that was positive. Boom, all that drama for a lucky pregnancy on a first cycle of trying.
"We're going to be a real family, just the three of us," says Will. As if my husband and I aren't a real family because we haven't conceived in the 19 months we've been trying or the 2 years we've been off birth control.
I'd say I was going to go have a drink, but I'm not allowed to drink because I am currently pouring thousands of dollars into infertility treatment, and if not drinking ups my chances even a little, that's what I'm going to do.
This sucks. A lot. I hate television! HEY GLEE, YOU SUCK!
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