It’s a good thing I’m fine with needles, right?
A growing collection
Tag: fertility treatments
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.
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.
Money, money, money
In news that will surprise no one that has undergone fertility treatments, they are expensive. While planning for my upcoming IVF cycle, today I found out that the cost to genetically test our embryos was out of our range. I’d thought, perhaps naively so, that cost was already included in what I’d paid out of pocket.
Before I explain/complain about that, I will say that I am remarkably lucky in that my health insurance plan through my employer is very generous to cover a lot of my treatment. My company values family and that extends to health care for infertility, paid time off and other family-expansion options like adoption assistance. I know I am lucky. Having said that, I am still relatively new to the company, so these incredible benefits are new to me, too. My last health insurance provider (a policy that I shared through my husband’s employer) didn’t cover any fertility options, so our first year of treatment was paid entirely out of pocket. Four IUI cycles, meds, labs, ultrasounds, a D&C… the list goes on. It added up quickly, as any couple in a similar situation knows well. Much of my “disposable” income last year went somehow to my fertility doctor inserting something into my vagina.
Now, with new (superior) coverage and another failed pregnancy behind me, we decided to take things up a notch with IVF. The new plan with my doctor includes what could be referred to as the “base model.” Standards labs and medical screenings pre-IVF, a brief class on how to inject the required medications (note: not the medications themselves, they are separate), monitoring, egg retrieval, egg insemination (half traditional and half ICSI) and embryo transfer. But because the cause of my first miscarriage was a chromosomal abnormality, we were advised (and agreed) to perform genetic testing on the embryos prior to transfer. This bonus feature helped me to alleviate some of the anxiety I feel about trying IVF, primarily in that we would be essentially guaranteed a viable embryo would be transferred. After two miscarriages, a little security felt necessary.
Today, though, I was informed that my insurance, generous as it may be, does not cover this screening and is, therefore, off the table. You know how in old cartoons characters’ eyes will bug out? That was me about an hour ago.
Financially speaking, the added cost of this is totally reasonable to pay out of pocket for a lot of people (I’d imagine). But, for a couple that lives paycheck to paycheck (and whose savings had previously gone to non-covered attempts to get pregnant), it is out of reach to afford it after the out of pocket cost of the base model, plus required medications. And for as lucky as I feel to even be able to do IVF (it would have been financially impossible for us without the added assistance of my company’s insurance), I still want to scream that I’m not someone who can get pregnant without medical intervention — the “free” way, as I often refer to it. While fertility clinics will likely be the reason I one day have a baby, they are an absurd money drain sometimes.
The removal of that genetic testing safety net is quite a disappointment, but, as my optimistic husband reminds me, not insurmountable. Without the testing, the embryos can be transferred shortly after their insemination, and not having to wait until the following cycle. So, perk there. And I trust that the team of professionals handling my tiny future children will use their best judgement and experience in choosing the lucky one that will meet my uterus. All my dolla bills (not to mention my hopes and dreams…) are counting on them.
gif by popkey.co
I’m listening
Probably one of the most important lessons I’ve learned about fertility over the last two-plus years is to listen to my body. Only a few years ago I likely would have thought this concept to be too new-agey for me, and in a way, it is. But when your month, every month, consists of testing things, prodding and then waiting, it’s natural to become hyper-aware of your body.
My husband and I tried to conceive naturally for nearly two years before we sought assistance. I was pretty well convinced when we first starting fertility testing that the doctors would find something wrong with me. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I knew that to be true. Early on in that process, we got some mixed results which had be concerned. These red flags all but convinced me that I was right. I was so very thankful to be wrong. The red flags largely turned out to be caused by ultrasound shadows. By the time sat down with our fertility doc, our infertility was unexplained. My husband and I fell into that mysterious 10-15% of couples where there’s no discernible cause to have not conceived naturally in two years.
Less than a week after meeting with our doctor, we began the Clomid + IUI plan that we’re currently on. A friend of mine, when I mentioned that course of treatment mentioned that Clomid didn’t work for her, and she felt strongly about that very early on. She heeded, “listen to your body.” It’s great advice, and words I paid attention to.
In our most recent Clomid + IUI cycle, my OPKs never picked up an LH surge (this had also happened the previous month, and I missed the window for IUI because I never saw a positive OPK). But, I had all of my typical ovulation symptoms. Over the course of about 18 hours, I went back and forth with the incredible staff of nurses that I work with at our clinic, along with my husband, to decide if we should proceed with this month’s IUI. There are always a lot of factors to consider in fertility treatments, and, too often, cost is a major one. Our medical insurance does not cover fertility treatments, so we’ve paid for our visits and procedures over the last several months out of pocket. This cost is significant to any couple that doesn’t have a hefty savings to fall back on, as it has been for us.
So, a serious concern in deciding to move forward with this IUI was, obviously, cost. Without an LH surge detected, I had no firm indicator that I’d ovulated. It was more of a risk to decide to move forward with an IUI (and timing it, essentially, blind). I listened to the advice of the nurses that have gotten to know me, and that of my husband (who, ultimately said, “uh, I don’t know…”). And then I listened to my body. My body said, in her sassy way, “girl, you’re trippin’… you ovulating! Go make that baby!”
I’m happy that I listened, no matter the outcome. For now, though, to be continued….
Fatty McButterpants
I have a brother eight years younger than I… we’re the best of friends, and I really helped to raise him. He’s now an amazing, hard-working man that I am very proud to call my brother and my friend. When he was about eight years old, he started to put on some weight. This continued for a few years, and then he got into weight-lifting as a teenager. He got ripped. Still is. He’s won many weight-lifting competitions. When we look back at old photos of his awkward years, we call him “Fatty McButterpants.”
As a kid, I was the opposite. I was very active as a cheerleader (I can hardly even believe that now!) — jumping, tumbling, lifting and whatnot — and was always a thin, healthy size for my small stature (I’m 5’2″). Then college happened, I discovered gourmet cupcakes and binge-watching DVDs, and the rest is history. Gone were my days of size fours.
I’m a big believer (pun intended) in ending the era of fat-shaming (one of my favorite bloggers, Brittany Gibbons, is an incredible advocate and a daily inspiration in reminding me my weight isn’t going to stop me from doing awesome things). Trying on a bathing suit is likely to send me to cry on the floor of my closet with a half-gallon of cookies and cream ice cream. I’m absolutely an emotional eater. My scale fluctuates depending on my stress level and if I’ve discovered a new flavor of pop-tarts.
I’ve asked my fertility doctor if my weight is negatively affecting my ability to conceive. She says it’s not (other than a low thyroid issue that I’m also on meds for). But there’s a lot of information out there that says it could be. My focus, especially since we started trying to have a baby, has been getting healthier, making better choices. Only spending half of my Saturday binging on Netflix and the other half taking my dog for a walk or heading to the gym. Eating a banana or a protein bar when 3:00 hits instead of driving to Duck Donuts. I succeed in this about half of the time. I admit I have a lot of work to do.
What has caught me off-guard, though, has been my weight gain on Clomid. While it may be working great in helping my body produce healthy round follicles, I’ve noticed in the last few weeks that it’s causing some roundness in other places too. Probably seven or eight pounds of round. Which means my pants no fit.
Other than the unfair pregnancy-like symptoms I’ve written about before, I thought I’d been experiencing Clomid relatively unscathed. One hears so many horror stories, after all. But now that I’m smack in the middle of month four, it’s become clear there’s some scathing. Another eight pounds on an already Umpaloompa-ish body is not cute. Particularly as swimsuit season approaches here in the South.
It’s difficult to rectify the feelings I have about weight gain with knowing that it’s caused for a “good reason.” I worry about how much harder it will be to take the weight off postpartum, when there’s a lot less time to think about being active and not grabbing for the Oreos, because, ya know, I’m then responsible for an infant. That’s going to be rough…
I pretty much just fat-shamed myself, huh?
Another negative
There have been a handful of moments over the last few months when I ask myself why I am doing this. Of course, the answer is a baby. I want to build my little family, member by member. Sometimes that gets buried deep down and the negative thoughts get the better of me, though. Moments like this morning when I wake up to knowing I’m, again, not going to expand my family this month. I don’t know whether it’s better to scream and throw things, or cry and collapse.
This morning I was just super pissed off. I wasn’t all that surprised, really, that I wasn’t pregnant. I’d missed my window for IUI, and the old-fashioned method hadn’t previously brought any success. I still stomped around and considered how much longer I could really go on like this. Physically I realize I am lucky because, while I loathe being poked and prodded, the doctors and nurses I work with keep it to a minimum. That may not always be the case, though. Next month will be a little more poking, prodding, testing.
Emotionally is an entirely different story. When a friend or loved one I haven’t spoken to in a while casually asks what’s new? there’s really only one thing to say. It’s, in all honesty, the only thing on my mind most of the time. If I’m not consumed with the treatments and next steps, then I worry about the financial burden this is putting on our already stretched finances (and I can’t even fathom if we were trying to do this when we were still in New York). Or I’m thinking about how long I’ve already been waiting and wanting. Sometimes it is pinning crib mattresses and maternity clothes to revisit another day.
Days like today are more difficult to get up and out and going. Especially when it begins so sour. Yet so like every other day since we decided we were ready to start our family. It started with not not trying, and I never really imagined us here, now; still waiting.
When I wonder how much longer I can go on like this, in this state of mind, it makes me feel guilty. I would give anything to be pregnant. And I’m trying to give everything I can. I am trying. But I am so tired, too.
But, by the same token, I can’t imagine not going on. I mean, of course I will. I’ll let all of the selfish feelings go when I get that second pink little line. Just let that happen. Give me that moment, instead of another negative.
Image from NegativePregnancyTest.com, which is maybe what I should have named this blog.
What to expect when you’re not expecting
For a long time, probably years before I was actually ready to become a mother, I have had a vision of purchasing a copy of “What to Expect When You’re Expecting” the day that I find out I am pregnant. This book, to many women, is much like a bible for pregnancy. I’ve purchased copies for friends when they’ve announced their news, always secretly knowing that I would be standing in line at Barnes & Noble or Target with the latest edition in-hand when my time had come. I realize that the modern woman has likely moved past “What to Expect…” (there was that terrible movie after all). A close friend of mine who became a mama last year read, and adored, “The Girlfriends’ Guide to Pregnancy.” (I’m sure I’ll buy that one, too.)
IRL, I know one other woman who has been on a similar infertility path as I (a friend/former coworker). One thing that she warned me of, that I never in a million years would have otherwise believed, is that many women experience pregnancy-like symptoms while on Clomid. From an “outsider’s” perspective, this makes little sense. A round of Clomid lasts only about five days of the cycle (mine is days 3-8)… so why would I experience symptoms like nausea, headaches and fatigue a full 10+ days later (when I hadn’t experienced anything of the sort elsewhere in my cycle)? If you’ve done the math, the time inconveniently coincides with the TWW… exactly the time I want to be feeling the annoying symptoms of pregnancy. But this is exactly what happened to me following my first Clomid/IUI cycle. For any woman trying to conceive (TTC), this is maddening. I am already paying an absurd amount of attention to my body (comparatively to my level of attention when I wasn’t TTC), and then, Clomid, you want to lay pregnancy symptoms on me?! Not cool, bro. (I generally associate Clomid with feminine terms, but “Not cool, sister” doesn’t pack the same punch.)
Chalk it up to stupid, misleading and damn confusing. As I said, I never would have believed that phantom symptoms would be a thing. But it totally is. Ask the package of plain crackers I bought and devoured…
Wanna Be Mama B. 