And we are off!

I used to be a marathoner.  My mind could never get around that I had to run 26 miles.  Even 15 sounded like a lot! So to get through it, I would break the race up in pieces – 10 miles, 15 miles, 20. If I get myself to each leg, the next chunk didn’t seem so bad. Of course, six more miles after running twenty is never easy but that is a different story.

So with this third round of IVF, I decided to take to go back to my marathon approach. Unlike my past two rounds, we wont be doing a transfer right away. In fact, there are so many hurdles to even getting to that point that I have to focus on the here and now. So far, I made it past the first three legs. 21 days of BCPs check. A period, check. And thankfully a successful baseline – cysts ,low E2 and progesterone levels. Last try, I didn’t even make it past this point. And today, I start my stim meds. Two units of Menopur in the morning and twelve hours later, 225 units of Gonal F plus 5 units of Lupron. The next goal post is my first monitoring appointment on Tuesday at a local clinic. Assuming that goes well, Miles and I will fly out to Denver on Wednesday. From there, we hope for continued growth and retrieval. After that, its about fertilization reports, how many (if any) make it to blast and then two weeks later, if any of those are normal. If we are lucky to get a normal, the next step is a FET but I am getting ahead of myself. One step at a time.

Surprisingly, I am pretty relaxed about the whole thing. I am more nervous about flying solo with Miles than my response to the meds. What will be, will be. We had our second and final homestudy meeting with the social worker today so nice that we are also moving forward on the adoption front. I’ve been reading several books to gain a better understanding of what we can expect. Sadly, I have yet to find a blog story or book about adoption after a biological child. My best example is my own brother and his wife who foster adopted a 10 month old boy after having twins who were 6 at the time. All I can say is that I don’t know who is luckier my brother and his wife or their son. There is so much love, its pretty much impossible to see a difference between him and his big sisters.  Just one big happy family which is all that Dave and I want to have, regardless of who births the baby.

But one step at a time. We will get there by staying strong, breathing and not trying to go to fast.

Remember who your nurse is

Here we go again. Start #2 at CCRM. This time I am on a full 21 days of BCPs. And per CCRM rules (at least the nurse I had last time around), once you start the pills, no more caffeine or alcohol. That includes chocolate. So aside from a square or sip here and there I am being good. And when I called my nurse to complain about the headaches (side effect of pills), I expected a “I’m sorry, just deal with it.” Instead, she first recommended Tylenol but if that didn’t work, some (not too much) caffeine might be helpful. I ignored that my acupuncture had already taken care of the headache, skipped the Tylenol and enjoyed a few squares of Scharfenberger. When I questioned that my old nurse told me absolutely no chocolate or wine (which she also condoned in moderation), she laughed and said “Remember who your nurse is!” So I think we are starting off on a much better note this time around.

In addition to the usual prep, I have also started a daily yoga for infertility practice. After an unsuccessful search in San Francisco, I accidently stumbled on Kat Atkinson in Berkeley who actually leads workshops on yoga for infertility. She came over for a private session and gave me a great 25 minute restorative practice that supports fertility. As for supplements, I added DHEA and COQ10 to the daily herbs, Vitamin D, Folic Acid, prenatals, and calcium I was already taking. It would be easy to follow if it weren’t that my herbs have to be taken on an empty tummy and at least 2 hours before/after any vitamins.  Keeps my day very regimented but that I am doing something.

If this weren’t enough, DH and I also decided that we were going to start the adoption process. Today was our first meeting with a social worker for our homestudy. We thought it was going to be easy until she asked what races we were open to and how open we were to alcohol, drug or nicotine use. Basically, if we want a Caucasian baby from a birth mother that has not imbibed, we might be waiting a few years. It was something we hadnt talked about and while we consider ourselves pretty open-minded (we live in the Bay Area after all), really thinking about the implications of raising a mixed-race child. When asked if we would be okay if we got pregnant and an adoption went through – ie we get 2 babies – how we’d feel, our answer was an unequivocal “we’d be thrilled!”

Our plates are full and we are moving full steam ahead to our happy ending. Whether that little squirt grows inside me or some knocked-up marijuana smoking teenager, I’ll take her/him. And thankfully the chocolate is approved along the way.

The outside world

This whole nightmare would be a whole lot easier without the outside world to contend with. I could focus on the positive, believe in the power of my body, trust in my doctors and let the memories of the TFMR fade. And alone by myself I do all of that and it works until I am reminded of the fragility of it all.

In the last week, two of my friends celebrated their second child’s first birthday. A wonderful occasion and so thankful to be included in their joy if it weren’t another ugly reminder of what should have been. I too got pregnant at the same time as them, in the fall of 2009, and like them suffered awful morning sickness and dread of having two under two. And had my dear son not had Trisomy 18, we too would be joining in the party. I would have spent the last year struggling with an active and spirited toddler and a needy and wonderful newborn rather than having spent tens of thousands of dollars on treatments and endless hours researching, shuttling and questioning. Most of the time it doesn’t hurt. I am happy with my life but the one-year marker is just another stab of what might have been.

If that weren’t enough, seeing one pregnant after another is just pure torture. You would think if all of these women could do it so effortlessly and had much greater maternal ages than I, then what is wrong with me? To top it off, my dear friend, who’s second daughter is celebrating her first this week, just announced to me that she now is pregnant with her third at nearly 42- an accident. From a fertility standpoint, she did everything wrong. She drank wine and coffee heavily, ran and was under enormous stress. So once again, she will give me the advice, “just drink and don’t think about it!” Ugh, if it were only so easy!

So I just put on my brave face, smile through the birthday parties, pat my friends pregnant bellies and offer up my nice supply of maternity and baby boys clothes. It sucks but someday, somehow, there will be an end to this.

The end goal

Whats important? A baby or being pregnant. The end goal is the same. A beautiful addition to the family, a little soul to kiss, cuddle and nurture. A little person to feed, burp, change diapers and keep me up at night. A sibling, partner in crime, and source of wonder for Miles. 

I haven’t throw in the towel on getting pregnant but its time to consider my options. Both Dr. Rosen at UCSF and Dr. Surrey at CCRM gave me the same advice. Don’t wait. Do IVF now and thankfully are both positive that it will indeed work. From Dr. Surrey’s viewpoint, its not that I cant get pregnant, its that with CCRM’s CCS testing, I can get to my normal embryo faster. Or find out that there are no normals and not waste anymore time on IVF. The plan is to start after my second AF following the miscarriage. I’d hoped to start sooner but hey, its another month to try naturally.

As much as I’d like the idea of getting pregnant without all the drugs, at this point, I just want the damn baby. I want to be nauseous, I want my pants to be too tight and not to be able to stay up past 7 pm. I want to watch my belly grow, feel those first flutters than full on kicks and endure the unrelenting heartburn. And I want to be sleep-deprived, to be awoken time and time again by a hungry, gassy baby who’s only comfort is mommy. And none of that matters if I get pregnant naturally or by IVF.  Just like it doesn’t matter if you have a natural, vaginal birth or C-section. Sure, I’d prefer natural but it’s the healthy baby that matters.

And to take it a step further, if it’s the baby that matters, why not adopt? Take the pregnancy out of the equation and if I can still reach the same end goal, would that be okay too? That I am not quite sure about yet but part of it rings true so Dave and I decided to take the first step in the adoption process, a homestudy.

Restart

Here we go again. Because of my age and how early my miscarriage was, the one good thing my OB said was that we didn’t have to wait.  So if my miscarriage was my CD1, I am now approaching the LH surge and ovulation. And sure enough, my body knows what to do, producing beautiful, clear, stretchy cervical mucous. The OPKs which I have welcomed back in my life confirmed with a light blue line that indeed I was surging but I wasn’t quite there. No smiley face yet but Dave and I are still putting the sperm in place and using preseed to help them get where they need to go.

Amazingly, I am calm, happy and positive.  Hard to believe just two weeks ago, I couldn’t pull myself out of bed and now I am raring to go. All it took was a little cervical mucous to remind me it aint over. My body knows what to do. I just need to have faith and nurture it along.

BFP....Psych!

I waited 8 days after my period was late to take a test. I calculated my ovulation was a week late so why torture myself with a negative test. Finally at 2:30 am, I broke down. My boobs hurt, I couldn’t sleep and I could no longer make excuses why AF hadnt come. There was a good reason. I was pregnant.

Suddenly, a weight had been lifted. There would be no trips to Denver. I was no longer cursed. My body indeed worked without the help of fertility drugs. The Mayan masseuse worked miracles. By 7 am, my online crew was sending my congrats, I had texted photos of the positive test to friends in Philadelphia, Atlanta, Ohio and New York. And I was busy giving advice on how to reach Esther for a massage and what to expect. It was my happy ending. How it was supposed to be after everything we had been through these past 15 months.  The due date was February 1, three days before Miles should have been born so I had conceived the same cycle. And if the Hong Kong psychic was right, the baby would be born in 2011, a little early but maneagable. To say I was over the moon would be an understatement. I was walking on air with a perma-grin.

A week later, I noticed that my boobs weren’t so big, I wasn’t exhausted and the nausea hadnt set in. I chalked it up to that I wasn’t far enough along and every pregnancy was different.  Besides I was busy, very busy, packing boxes night and day for our big move and taking care of one very active toddler. I didn’t have the luxury to go to sleep at 7 pm.

Then the spotting came, two days after we moved into our new house. I tried to say it was implantation but deep down I knew, it was very different that what I had seen in my past two pregnancies. My doctor brought me in three days earlier than my scheduled visit to alleviate my stress. Then she couldn’t find my uterus and sent me to pee. The second look wasn’t any better so she brought in another doctor who indeed saw my uterus but nothing there. She consoled me that it was too early and left me with a photo of my empty uterus and a lab slip to check my HCG and progesterone levels. She called later that day. My HCG was at a mere 385. Normal low would be a 1000. Things weren’t looking good. And I was still spotting.

Two days later, it was officially over. My happy ending was literally bleeding out of me complete with debilitating cramps. It didn’t help that Miles was sick and I was 20 miles and a heavily trafficked bridge away from my friends, babysitters and comfort zone. Suddenly the weight was back. I dreaded seeing pregnant women with toddlers younger than DS in tow, I curse even my dear friends who have easy 1-2 pregnancies with nary a worry and easy births and wonder where my positive-no fertility-drugs attitude has gone.

The wait

The two week wait is never easy.  Even when I am scrambling day in and day out to keep the house clean for showings, taking a happy-one-minute-screaming-the-next toddler from activity to activity, hosting twenty plus family members from around the country and slowly organizing our house for the big move, still, I know the days, minutes and seconds until my period should arrive.

I took a new approach this month. I threw out the OPK (ovulation predictor kits), ignored the no-caffeine, no alcohol policy and exercised how I wanted. We had sex around the time I should have ovulated but skipped the twice a day. I did keep up the twice a week acupuncture and daily herbs. DH even went to the acupuncturist per her instructions. I maintained my positive, healthy attitude gained from the Julie Indichova books. If it will be, it will be. I don’t want to do IVF. I can do this naturally.  I believe in my body and know its capable of nurturing a healthy child.

Then as usual, my body starts f**king with me. My cervical mucous seemed more fertile around day 19, very late for me who usually ovulates on day 14. Two days later on day 21, I woke up with a pain in my pelvis, sign of ovulation. Then a few days later, my breasts started to feel tender. Before termination but now it happens before AF comes. 

So for a week, my mind jumps from hope to despair. I am tired, I think I am pregnant. My boobs hurt. Could go either way. I don’t even dare look at my boobs close up. If they are veiny and bigger, I am pregnant. If they are not, well maybe every pregnancy is different. I am not spotting. I usually spot a few days before AF. Good sign but I ovulated late. I don’t want to think about this but each twinge, yawn or visit to the bathroom invites speculation. I allow myself to hope then remind myself of the despair that will come with one drop of blood.

Its day 28. DH and I anxiously awaiting offers on our house and AF. So far, there are three offers to review and no AF.  Two more days and I will POAS.