Desperately positive and hopelessly negative

When you’re infertile, there rarely seems to be a middle ground in anything. Emotionally, I am certain that my next fertility treatment will be successful one moment, and I’m a dumpster fire of despair the next. Nothing will ever work, I tell myself as often as I silently say this is it.

Starting this last round has probably amped up these disparate feelings. I’m two days into my estrogen (Estrace) regimen to build up my uterine lining pre-transfer, and my emotions are already on 11. Plus, my feeling nauseous. I asked my husband last night if he remembered me feeling sick during my last FET cycle when I started the estrogen, but neither of us recall it. It’s funny how every cycle is just a little bit different. Funny in an oh lord what’s next way, not in a haha way.

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As I’ve written about before, I see signs in everything. There’s already so many in this last round. Despite my best efforts to plan, my transfer of Olaf and Anakin will be after my husband has left for a three-month new job training. One day after. This, of course, makes me sad. If the transfer does work, he missed it, and he’ll also miss almost my entire first trimester. Which means I have to get my own damn ice cream at midnight. If it doesn’t work, I’m alone to process it. If it works and then I miscarry again, then just commit me to the psych ward because I’m likely to break.

Another sign in the positive column is that my husband got this new job at all. He’s been stuck in a crappy job that he hated for years and no leads had panned out in a very long time. In fact, the last time he got a new job, we were also apart. Two days after our wedding he left New York to interview in North Carolina for his (still) current job, and less than two weeks later he moved here. We spent the next five weeks of our newlywed lives hundreds of miles apart until I could move South as well. Major life change seems to equal time apart for us.

The final sign is that, if this transfer sticks, my due date would be sometime in April. And previous Aprils have sucked hard. The birth of a rainbow baby would certainly have a lot of meaning during that difficult month…

One last time: Olaf and Anakin

I’m in a weird place fertility-wise.

After several months of considering and discussing our next steps, we’ve decided to do one more FET before pursing non-treatment options in earnest. I didn’t come to this decision lightly, of course. I say I here, because it was primarily my call. My husband has graciously allowed me to steer the ship since we began fertility treatment two and a half years ago, and he weighs in when he has strong feelings one way or another about something. While this decision-making compromise can feel lonely for me at times, I’m ultimately grateful that he understands it is important for me to dictate what happens to my body. The feminist in me has trouble with that phrasing, but I’m going to leave it be. Infertility is complicated and does affect both partners.

Much of the continuing conversation about how to proceed happened between me and my therapist, actually. Last fall, after our second failed FET, my therapy sessions started to revolve around moving forward. I questioned whether I was ready to try again. What if that meant another failure? Or worse, another miscarriage.

One of the very important things I had to start working through was if I could forgive my body for failing me. Following my diagnosis of chronic endometritis earlier this year, I started to make peace with myself. This was the reason I wasn’t pregnant and once it had cleared, I felt almost renewed.

That feeling of renewal was short-lived.

I’ve worked hard in therapy to better understand myself and accept that, without unlimited resources at my disposal, perhaps my body cannot sustain a pregnancy. I’m still working on this acceptance. In many ways, it feels just as emotionally painful as my miscarriages. Accepting that I can’t do what I want is as much a loss.

So the decision to conclude our treatment following this last IVF cycle didn’t come easily. But we’re preparing to move on.

My period should arrive this week, we’ll shell out the cash, and I should begin the preparation to transfer two of our last embryos, Olaf and Anakin (Kristoff will remain frozen for the foreseeable future, provided O and A survive the thaw).

So I’ll be here, singing “One Last Time” from Hamilton under my breath. Apt and giving me all the feels.

One or two

If you had asked me 10 years ago about my future family, I more than likely would have said that I would be the mother to twins. Twins run in my family in every generation. My father is a twin (identical). My aunt (his older sister) has twins (fraternal). Twins go back several generations on my father’s side. I always assumed I’d be the next one to have them. I accepted it as my fate and moved on.

During the post-mortem on my first (failed) IVF cycle with our RE a few weeks ago — in which he said that my cycle was absolutely textbook perfect minus the lack of pregnancy (not as comforting as it might sound) — he asked whether we would like to move forward with a one or two embryo transfer for our second cycle. As soon as I opened my mouth to answer, my RE jumped in with the laundry list of complications that are more likely in a twin pregnancy. Increased risk of preeclampsia, gestational diabetes, low birth weight… yep, check.

For these reasons, as well as the perceived quality of the embryos we currently have frozen (Anna, Elsa, Olaf, Kristoff and Anakin, you may recall), he recommends another single transfer. And while this is his recommendation, he is open to transferring two because of the practical and logistical factors involved with IVF.

I left the office that day with my husband — me headed back to work and him home — and said in the parking lot, I don’t know what to do. This surprised him, mostly for the resigned to twins reason above. And honestly, it surprised me a little, too.

One of the very (very, very) few positives of medically assisted reproduction is that I have some small amount of control over having twins. In the future my 20+ year old self envisioned I did not. Our odds of having twins with a two embryo transfer is about 25 percent, per the RE. That seems somehow more significant – heftier – now when I have the option, technically, of choosing a singleton pregnancy and child.

I’m struggling with a few things as I try to make this decision (presently my husband has allowed me to make the choice). Perhaps most seriously with the practicality of caring for and raising two children at the exact same time. I’m not naive – that shizz is hard. That shizz is expensive. I ask myself if I could be a good mother (or perhaps more accurately, the kind of good mother I aim to be) to two as to one. The questions I ask myself are honestly exhausting.

Residing on the other side of the fence, of course, is the part where I’ve tried for three and a half years to have a baby and create my family… I can’t possible say, oh, I only want one at a time. Nope. Give me all the babies!

I don’t really see myself coming to a resolution on this any time soon. Overthink, much?

IVF: TWW

Right now, there’s a blastocyst swimming around in my uterus looking for a cozy spot to park and grow. I picture it a little like Dory in Finding Nemo, actually, but I biologically know it doesn’t really swim. The embryo we transferred on Wednesday was a grade 3AB, which I’m told by the many, many trained professionals that have seen my anatomy in the last week, is great.

The transfer went smoothly and was not at all painful like my egg retrieval. Some discomfort and pressure with a very full bladder, but a cake-walk, relatively speaking. It took about 10 minutes from start to finish and was fascinating to watch on the ultrasound screen. On the grainy screen, my husband and I watched the entire process as my doctor put little 3AB in where he/she belongs.

Now, we wait…

I’m relieved to have the injections over, and certainly grateful for the end of the pain of my Dark Willow ovary. Every other time I’ve been in this TWW limbo has been me white-knuckling through the anxiety of the wait. And while I’m certainly eager to see if 3AB is successful, I feel mostly relief that I have my first IVF cycle behind me, regardless of the outcome. 3AB is in there now and I just have to keep it as safe as I can.

While 3AB swims around looking for that warm and inviting spot, Anna, Elsa, Olaf, Kristoff and Anakin are now on ice. We were able to freeze five embryos. Two more of good quality (two more 3ABs), and three more of good/fair that appeared likely to survive the freezing and thawing process. When I texted my sister-in-law  about this process, she sent me a gif from Frozen, and the embryo “names” were born. Its become an amusing inside joke, and one I’m sure I’ll repeat pretty regularly over the next few decades. I’ve denoted Anna and Elsa as the two superior embryos, only because they were frozen together, but I’m personally pulling for Olaf to make it to my uterus next time. If only because it will be endlessly funny to call him Olaf in utero.

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