Let’s do this thing.
Visualizing the possible
First, a fun fact*: An enzyme in pineapple could help an embryo implant into the uterus. I’ve been eating pineapple like it’s my job.
*I’m using “fact” quite liberally here. I mostly find this bit of information fascinating, and I happen to like pineapple (at least for now).
My acupuncturist recommended that I come in for a treatment 24 hours prior to my embryo transfer. As I lay down on the table, she explains the points she’ll hit to get my blood flowing well to my uterus in advance of tomorrow’s “big day.”
Before she leaves me with a dozen needles sticking out of various points on my legs, hands and tummy, she tells me to visualize what will happen tomorrow. Picture a perfect embryo entering a warm home and finding a nice, cozy spot to implant. If I’d thought about it too much, it might seem silly to picture this in my mind, but it certainly can’t hurt.
Then before she closes the door to the room, she says to picture what is to come in the months ahead. A healthy, growing bump; a happy mama to be. Visualize what I could look like in four, five months as the leaves turn. A Thanksgiving with a big, full belly (and lots of pie just for me… mmm… pie). Then picture laboring my child and holding him or her in my arms for the first time. The moment my husband sees his son or daughter. The hair color. The tiny but strong grip on my finger.
Imagining my child was very difficult for me to do. After three and a half years of waiting and two miscarriages, I don’t allow myself to picture a future with a baby with blonde hair (my husband’s) and green eyes (mine). It’s simply too painful to fathom that being real anymore.
As I lay there, I imagined my brain knocking down walls. I allowed myself to inch closer to visualizing this little person – half me, half my husband.
I left the room after my treatment very definitively wanting to take a picture tomorrow of me, my husband and our IVF nurse. If this is successful, I’ll hang that photo in the nursery in some months of the people that made my dreams come true.
If tomorrow doesn’t take, I’ll be glad to have a photo of us filled with hope for that little blondie with the green eyes, even if we have to wait longer.
23 eggs and 12 embryos later
I am basically a human farm animal.
My IVF cocktail of Lupron, Follistim and Menopur worked so well that, even though the growing took the full 12 nights, my doctors were able to retrieve 23 eggs from my incredibly swollen ovaries. The last few injections had become uncomfortable, for sure, but I was anticipating that the discomfort would subside not long after the retrieval procedure.
Nope.
While getting 23 eggs was incredibly successful by any measure, the discomfort was really just beginning. Apparently it’s pretty uncommon, but the days following my retrieval were very painful. Aside from the normal bloating going into it, the bloating became worse and was accompanied by shooting pains in my lower abdomen basically any time I moved. My retrieval was on Friday, and by Saturday night — feeling worse than I had the previous day (shout out to my anesthesia for keeping me fairly out of it!) — I emailed my nurse to say “the good news is that the lab called and said we have THIRTEEN embryos that have fertilized and appear normal, but the bad news is I feel like someone tried to gut me like a fish, but failed.”
I’m not a religious person, but IVF nurses are angels and should be carried around by stunning shirtless men (or women, if they prefer) while being fed grapes. I’ve only known my IVF nurse for about six weeks but I trust her more than I do some of my own family members. She is, no lie, one of the best people I’ve ever met, and regardless of what happens next, I am so grateful for her help and encouragement in my life. Thank you.
#IVFnursesFTW
After spending the weekend almost exclusively in bed with varying degrees of pain, I was called back to the doctor today to ensure that nothing was wrong, since it’s abnormal to still be experiencing discomfort several days after retrieval. The very straight forward doc that I’ve seen only once before checked me out, while noting that I am not one of those annoying patients that complains about everything. With help of the ultrasound, he said that my left ovary was “enormous,” and would most certainly be the cause of most of the discomfort. I also had some fluid behind my uterus, but not enough to cause for concern. Non-medically speaking this means that my ovary is saying, “WTF did you do to me?!” and is seriously pissed. Not that I blame her.
My left ovary has gone all Dark Willow on me.
In much more positive news, I am the very lucky winner of TWELVE “good” embryos! #13 is lagging behind a bit, but still of the “fair” camp. Despite leading with what a crappy retrieval experience I’ve had physically, I am thrilled that, if I had any desire to, I could make a football team with these little guys (or girls). While I don’t have any intention of creating a family of Duggars, it makes me feel quite positive that the embryologist will have lots of squirmy cell clusters from which to choose the best one. YAY 12!!
My transfer is scheduled for Wednesday. To be continued…
A growing collection
It’s a good thing I’m fine with needles, right?
An unlucky sisterhood
I’ve found at times that it can be difficult to talk to other women about infertility who have never experienced it. They got pregnant quickly or easily. Perhaps accidentally. If you watch their faces as you tell your story of waiting, loss, pain and aching, you might see a small flash of relief that they didn’t have to experience what you do. I’d probably have it, too. It’s not hurtful to me because I completely get it.
Just as often their faces show compassion and genuine sadness for your story. They shake their heads in empathy. A lot of women I’ve spoken to choose their next words carefully, which I appreciate. If you haven’t been through this, please don’t tell me that everything happens for a reason or that we’re not given more than we can handle. You may believe those things, and that’s fine. But I don’t. Not now. Maybe I never did. It doesn’t mean I’ve lost faith; it just means that those words have little comfort for me, and many other women experiencing infertility.
Those of us in this unlucky sisterhood have been burned. I choose the word unlucky here merely to illustrate that there’s often no rhyme or reason for our infertility. I check out fine, as does my husband. I don’t necessarily think “luck” in the traditional sense of the word has anything to do with it; but here we are, together, maybe huddled in the corner of impending parenthood, trying to make sense of what we have to deal with.
In this sisterhood many of us are guarded and know the value of choosing our words carefully. We know that a positive pregnancy test can mean hold our breath during the entire first trimester. Our “I’m pregnant” is often followed by “I hope this sticks.” Unless you’ve said aloud or thought that phrase in context, you can’t really understand the gravity of it. Many couples will never know what it feels like to be both happy and completely unsure if that joy will change on a dime. What placing a bet of thousands of hard-earned dollars down of hormones and ultrasounds will get us. Going all-in to nurse an infant at 3am. To be a human pin cushion and relying on science to see our eyes or our spouses looking back at us from the safety of our cradling arms.
I recently had conversation with a fellow sister who told me of another who’d been rejected as a prenatal patient by an OB because she “wasn’t excited enough about her pregnancy.” In hearing this story, I was shocked that a doctor — an obstetrician, no less — could be so unfeeling toward a woman who’d had a tumultuous time even getting to the point of needing an OB. Clearly that would not have been a good patient-provider fit, but it hurts my heart that a fellow unlucky sister had to hear that from a professional.
The women that I know who are experiencing this with me are so strong, so fierce and so very deserving. I feel connected to this vast network of women that are every shape, size, color… I never wanted to join this unlucky sisterhood, but I’m here now, and sending support from the very bottom of my heart. We can do this.
Lupron: Day 8
Last night, I woke up four times to pee. I’m a light sleeper with a small bladder, but that’s a lot even for me. “Increased urination at night” is a pretty common side effect of Lupron, apparently. As is fatigue, which the struggle is very real right now. I’ve also started to bruise a bit at the injection sites on my tummy. Totally expected, of course. I joked with my mother, who is visiting us next week, that my stomach will look like a Rorschach test by then.
Image from Praying to be Mommy
Ready or not
When a giant, heavy box arrives at your front door at 9am on a Saturday morning, you want it to be a present. At least I do. Instead, it’s a box packed tight with syringes, injectable medications and alcohol wipes. I can hope that the sharp objects and hormones will bring me closer to the present I actually want. (Hint: a baby)
Youcandothis. Youcandothis. Youcandothis.
“We need some light”
I totally nerd out for musicals. I would stare in awe and stammer if I met Lin-Manuel Miranda more than I would George Clooney. Musicals have always made me happy, since I first fell in love with “Phantom of the Opera” when I was in seventh grade. While I’ve found all types of music resonates with me, I’ve always felt the closest connections to my own life and feelings through musical theatre.
When I saw “Next to Normal” last year it changed my life. The story follows a family coping with the mother’s bipolar diagnosis, through the highs of mania and the lows of depression. The music is so striking and so powerful. It hit me in the gut while reminding me that we’re not alone.
As the countdown is on to starting IVF (T minus four days), I’ve drawn strength from a few key lyrics in the show’s finale, “Light.” I’ve listened to the cast recording of this show ad nauseum, but have only listened to this song a handful of times because it makes me cry (this is not an unusual pattern for me — I regularly skip the last songs of “Rent,” “Hamilton” and “Les Miserables,” too, because the waterworks start). It feels applicable now, as I take this next step in trying to have a baby.
We need some light.
First of all, we need some light.
You can’t sit here in the dark.
And all alone, it’s a sorry sight.
It’s just you and me.
We’ll live, you’ll see.
Playbill.com
Embracing TCM
As I’ve mentioned, I’ve been reading The Infertility Cure. The book focuses on TCM and how it can be beneficial for those struggling with infertility. Within the first few pages, I felt a connection to the material and became excited to read more about how I could supplement the Western medicine (specifically my upcoming IVF) with Eastern.
The book includes a list of 100+ questions about your body, your habits, your menses, and the like. It’s broken down by the organs that govern its function (liver, spleen, lung, heart and kidney) and the vital substances of the body (Yin, Yang, Qi and Blood). Even if you know virtually nothing about TCM (I didn’t), you probably know that balance is important. After answering the yes/no questions, it became very obvious to see which areas of me likely had an imbalance. For example, I answered nearly all of the questions related to spleen function with yes (crave sweets, fatigue, sweat with little exertion, obsessive worry, easy bruising), indicating that I am deficient in spleen qi. All of these symptoms of this deficiency — things that I generally thought were just “me” and normal — quickly made so much sense. And after three and a half years of trying and failing to have a baby, something actually making sense is pretty rare.
Last week I met with my acupuncturist for the first time, and I immediately loved her. She’s warm and friendly, and perhaps most importantly, eager to help me get pregnant (and stay that way). I feel that way about my fertility doctor and nurses, but she brings a distinct energy to Team Baby. I like it, and I feel at ease with her.
I don’t have a phobia of needles (unlike my husband), so I wasn’t very nervous to try acupuncture. I already knew that it wouldn’t hurt and would (hopefully) relax me. I spend much of my time feeling like a ball of anxiety because of infertility, so spending 45 minutes lying down under the directive to let things go is comforting. Plus, acupuncture is a positive thing that I can do for my body that requires no significant effort on my part. I don’t hate that.
My homework following my first session was pretty simple — substantially cut back on my sugar intake, drink more water, and take an herbal supplement I was given. The latter two being easy-peasy. But cutting sugar would be my Everest. Sugar and I are BFFs. Because, ya know, it’s delicious. I’m one of those people whose mouths hang wide open when someone says they’re “not a dessert person.” I legitimately do not understand when I hear that.
I’m more than a week down. I’ve turned down cupcakes and chocolate lava cake with a snickerdoodle topping, just in the last two days. And I hate to admit it, but I feel a bit better. I’m adjusting to one stevia in my morning coffee. The sugar I have eaten has almost exclusively come from fruit (which my acupuncturist encouraged, particularly berries which will help me “build up my blood” – another areas where I was lacking, apparently). And while fruit is no ice cream with hot fudge, I’m enjoying it.
I’m eager to see more positive changes as a result of TCM and acupuncture in the coming weeks, especially as I start my IVF meds in a little more than a week.
#TeamBaby
Panic.
It’s about to get REAL.
I started my period this morning – my first following my miscarriage last month – which means all systems go to begin IVF. All things considered, this is impeccable timing. Yesterday was Mother’s Day (which can suck). Tomorrow I’m attending my first infertility support group (thanks to Resolve for offering fantastic resources). Wednesday I’m meeting with an acupuncturist (reading The Infertility Cure has been eye-opening) and then have my own bi-weekly therapy session.
I’m scared and excited about what’s to come in the next month. I know it will be a physical and emotional challenge. Part of the reason I’m further exploring the benefits of Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM) and acupuncture in conjunction with IVF is to ease the physical and mental stress as much as I am able. I need to enlist every form of support that I have available to me. I mean, we’ve been trying to have a baby for three and a half years, and my nerves are just fried. If both Eastern and Western medicine can help me get to my goal relatively unscathed, I’m all in.
Wanna Be Mama B. 