Good things

We are moving right along on the adoption front. First step after signing a 15 page contract and paying the first of 3 Phase 1 installments is to create a Dear Birth Mother letter. And no its not just a simple letter that says, “please give us your child especially if you don’t drink, smoke cigarettes and avoid drugs. And even better if you don’t have any crazies in your biological family. And we promise to love your baby forever and ever!” The dear birthmother letter is a full on sales brochure.

Its starts with a “I know how hard this is for you” and goes on to show how great we are. We tell that by sharing what a fantastic couple we are, how interesting we both are as individuals, what a wonderful community we live in (you know – schools, cul de sac, tons of families nearby), what we love about each other and interspersed in all that how we cant wait to share all of this with a child. It wouldn’t be complete with photos to back up our claims. Its kinda hokey but this is what the adoption agency sends out when a birth mother matches our criteria. Then its up to her to pick who she thinks is going to take the best care of her unborn child.

We could do this ourselves but wouldn’t you know, there are people who make a living creating dear birthmother letters.  For $850, Joanna at Ourchosenchild.com took our draft letter, my photos, and our answers to tons of silly questions (what five things make you happy, what are your favorite vacations, what are your special talents?) and will make us look like the best parents on the planet.

It helps that Joanna is both an adoptee and a mother of an adopted child. What’s more, she has a biological son who was also a 30 weeker! And he also has red hair. She truly gets us as the parents we already are and the ones to our future child we want to be. I can’t wait to see the final product!

Being happy

Two days before I got AF (which was 5 days late), I couldn’t stop crying. I’d seen the latest new baby being held by big sister pic on Facebook and felt like the pain would never go away. That of all the people facing secondary infertility at my age, it was me that wasn’t getting a happy ending. And it just isn’t fair. I am a good mom, a good wife, a good friend and damn it, a good person. I cook meals for friends in need, listen to them cry, offer advice to others in the same boat , suffer through baby showers and even play the stupid games, smile and coo at the endless parade of newborns at my son’s preschool and am happy, really happy with my son.

And then I just had to stop. I had to stop feeling so damn sorry for myself.  Bad things happen. Its not fair. Life goes on. I am simply over being in this place that every month when the AF hormones kick in, a whiny, unstable version of myself takes over.  Everyone suffers. DH goes silent. DS asks me if I am happy while tears flow down my face watching Caillou (you know when Caillou is playing with Rosie and all I can think is that Miles will never have a sibling). And the dog knows best to stay outside.

So I am saying it now and hopefully stick to it. I want to be happy and enjoy my life whatever that brings. I want to really be happy for my pregnant friends, even those that announce it at 6 weeks before an ultrasound, I want to move past the pit in my belly that turns my smile into a trembling line when I hear someone show sadness over the sex of their healthy fetus or worry about the size of car they need for a family of six and two double strollers. I want to truly feel lucky to just have my one perfect son. Lucky for the time I do have for myself, lucky for the time we have as a family, lucky that we will have more resources to travel the world, lucky that he can have all my attention and devotion without losing myself.

That is my mantra. But for the record, we arent done. We signed with AdoptHelp in Sherman Oaks and will continue to try naturally. And Dr. Rosen is putting my case by all nine REs at UCSF to come up with a miracle last-ditch protocol. But in the meantime, I am happy.

Bhutan anyone?

Easy first pregnancy then six years and a whole hell of lot of loss and ART for second at 41 and then voila surprise healthy third pregnancy at 43. Whats the trick? A visit to Chimi Lhakang, a fertility temple in Bhutan, and getting whacked on the head with a piece of wood. Charlotte Bacon tells her story in Sunday’s New York Times and to a 40 year old woman with a perfect son and then 4 failed IUIs and 3 failed IVFs with a chromosomal termination and miscarriage along the way, let me say I was inspired.

Bhutan has been on my wish list for years. I meant to go back in 2005 when I had a couple weeks in between jobs but I put it off then I met Dave and well, it never seemed to work out. So learning that there is a miracle fertility temple in one of my bucket list destinations gets me thinking. And before I could even ask, Dave told me I could go. He’d stay home with Miles.

Of course, I shared this with my girls and I got some other takers. After the thousands we have spent on futile fertility treatments that promised success, really what is so wrong about spending $10k to fly to Bhutan to get hit on the head with a stick? I’d guess my chances of success are about the same as doing another IVF treatment if not a little better. And it would be much more interesting and a hell of lot less painful than another Mayan massage from Esther. 

And bonus would be a chance to meet the five women in real life who have been my source of sanity this last year. If anything, we can be assured of a lot of belly laughs, amazing culture and scenery and a crazy experience. And the rest of my friends in real life can honestly say that I’ve lost it.

Great – now I am headed for ovarian cancer

A friend sent me an October 27^th article from the Los Angeles Times that reports women who undergo IVF have a much higher chance of getting ovarian cancer. While it is definitely concerning, the article points out that,  “But it is rare: women's risk for ovarian cancer increases with age, but even so, between the age of 50 and 70 years old, just .58% of women will get such a diagnosis. So increases in risk, even when they appear large, do not make ovarian cancer a high likelihood.”

Still, there is something unnatural about pumping oneself up with all these hormones again and again without consequence. I am no scientist but believe there are definite risks with the increased exposure. For the FET, I patched myself up with estrogen patches every other day and took vaginal estrace to get my estrogen levels to an unnatural level. In my daily life, I do my best to avoid additional exposure to estrogen-receptor plastics which have a myriad of health risks so question how the IVF exposure is harmless. Even the meds I used – Vivelle- is prescribed for post-menopausal women and at a much lower dose – two patches per week.  I was using 12.

I also remember when post-menopausal women were told to take estrogen or risk heart disease. My mom was one of them and four years later, got breast cancer. Just like the ovarian cancer tumors reported as a result of IVF, it was slow growing and easily treated with chemo. Again, I am no scientist but lets be honest, we are guinea pigs.  The doctors still have no fricking idea of the long-term impact of IVF drugs.

And crazy enough, it doesn’t mean I wont try again. I do want another baby and at 40 with a biological clock that could wake up a city, its hard to not try something that has a 40% chance of working.

Whats next....

We are 7dpBFN5dt. This past week has been great in some ways. Without a plan for the first time since this all began, I am taking comfort in letting a higher power take over for my obsessive, compulsive drive to force myself pregnant. We all know how well that worked out for me.

After the tears dried and I drank some wine, went for a couple runs, Dave and I decided to just see how things play out. Lots of women in their 40s get pregnant. I just never really gave it the time. I went to see Dr. Liang who back in July told me I didn’t need IVF. As she needled me up, she reminded me of all the 40somethings she has helped have healthy babies after miscarriages, failed IVFs, etc. “This time you listen to me,” she said. I also ordered the Clear Blue Digital Fertility Monitor and stocked up on preseed to help us along.

Dr. Surrey called on Monday for the post-BFN call. Really there was nothing to say. There is no way I am going back to CCRM for another cycle. I did the whole CCS process that seems to work for every other person on the CCRM Fertility Community board and even with 50% chance of success, I still got a BFN. He couldn’t offer some new protocol that was sure to change things up. The fact is that I respond well and besides a couple tweaks, there isn’t much he would do. I did ask him if they ever looked at women in their late 30s and early 40s that got pregnant easily and what their AMH, FSH, etc were. Surprisingly, its never been done so women with low AMH, sky FSH and 1 resting follicle may get pregnant all the time, the REs just don’t know it. Made me realize that for those of us without an easy fix – blocked tubes, anovulatory, high TSH, etc – the REs are pretty much flying blind. Some things may work better than others but still we are just guinea pigs.

Being who I am, I still reached out to Dr. Rosen to get his thoughts. He, of course, advises I do one last IVF. Even after three failures, he still believes I can and will get pregnant again. He has been successful with every other friend I have referred to him and all have been in much worse shape than me. The only change he would make is to try a HCG infusion before transfer. Its brand new and showing good results. I promised to enjoy not being pregnant – drink wine, coffee, sushi, get him my records from CCRM and call him in January.

Adoption is still an option. I want to say that I am okay with it but that is a topic I will get into on another day. For now, I am just going to enjoy what I have. Last night, Miles climbed in between Dave and I and proclaimed “We’re family!” before kissing each of us with a giant MWAH! We are so very lucky.

The end

It didn’t work. I am not pregnant and it sucks. Last Friday, I was so sure I was, I allowed myself to believe. And it felt so real, so right, in a way that I didn’t before with the other IVFs. My boobs hurt, were bigger and veiny, I was nauseous, tired and there was pressure in my lower abs. I could hear the nurse give the news, planning out next week with the second beta and scheduling when the first ultrasound would be (two days after Christmas). Baby Spencer, as Miles called him, would be born in early September if we were lucky so would be three school years behind Miles. I was giddy to the point that I just almost whispered my news to the manicurist and even a mom from Mile’s preschool. And in that vein, I POASed two days before the beta, right before Miles’ nap, confident that I would see the one word on the digital test I’d been waiting 2 years for –pregnant.

Instead, once one I paid $7.50 for the test to be told that I was not pregnant. That I had spent close to $30,000, made four trips to Denver, injected myself with untold number of hormones, gulped daily vitamins, fretted about follicle sizes, number of blasts, CCS tests, agonized over lining, progesterone and estrogen levels, rearranged travel plans a zillion times – all over a period of eight months for absolutely nothing. With odds of 50%, I once again fell on the wrong side. Poor Miles. Instead of the book before nap, I threw him in the crib and walked out, ignoring his pleas.

Dave coaxed me to hold on to some hope. That I tested too early. I scoured the boards to find example of those that had the same results on a digital test 7dp5dt and went on to a BFP. The odds weren’t good. Two days later, my beta would likely be a minimum of 80. If HCG doubles every 48 hours, mine should have been 40, enough to register on a digital HPT. That I didn’t use morning urine provided some comfort.

In the end, it was good that I had the early warning. I had the blood test Sunday morning on our way down to Santa Cruz for a Holiday day out with Thomas the train. Miles had been talking about it for weeks. The call came a short two hours after the test right smack at the beginning of the train ride. I’d just joked with a pregnant lady about to pop, alongside her two-year old twins. Santa Claus was making the rounds on the train. Elves were jingling bells and carols were blaring out of the speakers as the train powered through Santa Cruz. The tone of her voice was enough. I didn’t need to hear the words. I hung up before she could tell me to stop taking the meds. I’d already ripped the estrogen patches off my abdomen.

I wish I could say I was there and present for Miles but I couldn’t stop crying. We were done. Some higher power judged up not up to having another child. I’d wasted time, money and energy for naught. Somehow I have to figure out how to make sense of it, how to move on and let things play out as they will. I need to be happy for my son, be present in my life and find my way back to the things that bring me happiness.

Another IVF is out of the question. The hormones I’ve already exposed myself to sicken me. And in reality, the only ART that ever worked for me was Clomid. Maybe the cruel joke at the end of this nightmare will be a natural pregnancy and perhaps if I would have just had the patience a year ago, it would have worked out.

At least for the day, I managed to pull myself together. The sea air will do that for you. I drank my first coffee in months and then jumped into Miles’ first minature golf game before the merry-go-round. On the way home, Dave and I put a couple ski trips on the calendar and picked up a 2001 Brunello for dinner. And today, I went for my first run in months. It feels rebellious but comforting.

6dp5dt

In fertility speak, I am six days past a five day transfer. In reality it was a day 6 blast, not a 5 day, but I don’t know if they do day 6 transfers. And it was an FET. Anyway,  once I got over the delays, additional costs, snow storms and wind storms, it was an amazing experience.

I flew out to Denver last Thursday. While I waited, I became the person that doesn’t take off their IPhone. I made an FET playlist to keep my spirits up but really I could barely stop crying.  I’d made up the list from recommendations from partners in this IF nightmare so in addition to the great words, I felt the strength of the sisterhood. Particularly, Hold on Tight by ELO – thank you, Mal!

On the plane, I sat next to an older woman who also played on her IPad most of the time. Somehow we got to talking and she, too, had her first child at 37. And in the ways these conversations go, she shared that they truly wanted a second but she couldn’t conceive. A trip to the RE found that she had severe endometriosis, so bad that for a time, it was thought she had ovarian cancer. She was happy with a hysterectomy – she wasn’t going to die. She could raise her child. Gives perspective. And is happenstance, she worked as a fertility nurse for years at RSC in Orinda. I shared my story like she was an old friend, the strength of the sisterhood growing stronger. Her name was Molly, just like my great-grandmother. A great name for a little girl.

Luck stayed on my side when I arrived in Denver, covered in 8 inches of fresh snow. Even though Super Shuttle insisted on filling our van to capacity, I kept my FET playlist going and thankfully was the first to be dropped off. Like my retrieval, my transfer at CCRM was an entirely different and positive experience to UCSF. When I arrived, I was taken to my own room – at UCSF, it was a screened off room – and immediately wrapped up in warmed blankets. I had arranged acupuncture so had a 45 minute pre-transfer session. Then the transfer came to me – again compared to UCSF where I had to walk to and from the transfer room. The nurse brought me the Valium and about 30 minutes later, Dr. Surrey came in, followed by a the embryologist with a very large machine carrying my beautiful normal. The embryo had thawed perfectly intact and before my eyes was hatching. Beautiful! After the transfer, the nurse brought a bedpan – no chances taken, but kinda uncomfortable. Thankfully the Valium kept it all good. I had another acupuncture session to close it in and then told to rest for another 30 minutes on my back. At UCSF, I got up off the table post-transfer, went to the bathroom and walked out the door, completely alone. CCRM insisted on taking me downstairs in a wheelchair and nearly lifting me into the hotel shuttle.

I spent the rest of the day and Saturday, following CCRM’s bedrest guidelines. In a reclined position with legs no lower than your hips and upper body at no more than 45 degrees. I got up only to go to the bathroom and answer the door for room service. And I had perfect weather for it. I woke up to a snow storm on Saturday and spent the day watching Netflix, reading books and staying warm. Aside from a visit from my sister and law and brother with lunch, I was alone with my embryo and it was perfect.

On the way home, I continued the pampering. Rather than jump back into real life, I requested a wheel chair in the Denver airport. I gotta say it felt more than a little like cheating when my driver pushed me to the front of the security line, right behind the 90 year old blue hairs. I kept waiting for someone to point out that I looked perfectly capable of walking from moving escalator to the next. And when I got off the airport in Oakland, I kept my gaze lowered lest I see somebody I know especially when my driver actually went and found my luggage on the carousel while I caught up on email.

So now we wait. I am on thrice daily progesterone suppositories, daily estrogen suppositories, every other estrogen patches, and Lovenox shots. I want to say that I feel something but it could be the hormones. I cant compare this to past IVFs when I felt cramps and twinges because it was right after the retrieval and those weren’t BFPs anyway. My beta is Sunday and I am still not sure if I will POAS before. I am oh so hopeful and at times, almost giddy that our time as come.

And if doesn’t work, which there is a 50% shot that it wont, it will be okay. Or as Dave says, it wont be but we will make it through.