A Week and a Half Before Our Due Date Our First Child Arrives

Our first child was born one a half weeks before our due date. Our child was healthy other than elevated bilirubin which is common in early babies and light therapy quickly resolved this issue.

We would like to thank Dr. Hudson, Dr. Graham, Dr. Brody, Leigh, and all of the staff at the Victoria Fertility Centre where we underwent in vitro fertilisation to conceive our child.

From a beautiful blastocyst that was implanted into me . . .

To our first ultrasound at the Victoria Fertility Centre to a baby in our arms, the experience has been incredible.

We would also like to thank all of my specialists, other health practitioners, our family doctor, my maternity doctor, Dr. Hugh Down, and Dr. Cooper, the obstetrician, who delivered our child with Dr. Down, and all of the wonderful nurses and staff at the Victoria General Hospital.

Thank you to our families and friends for their support through this very difficult journey to have our first child.

Last but not least, thank you to all of the readers of my blog. Your comments on the blog and through social media have been a source of comfort and support for me through some of the very dark times I have had through this journey.

We want to have a second child, so I may return to this blog in the future to write about our journey to conceive a second child. If so, I will be posting the blog links to social media again.

What it's Like Having My Pregnancy Reach Full-Term After Having a Miscarriage and Having IVF

From a beautiful blastocyst to a fetus that's reached full term, this has been an incredible journey . . .

When I reached 38 weeks pregnant, four weeks ago, all I could think was I can’t believe it. I know I keep saying it, but I can’t believe I managed to make it this far. But I approached this from a different angle than many pregnant women who had not had trouble conceiving, who had not suffered a miscarriage (after only managing to conceive after six years of trying), and who had not then paid thousands and thousands and thousands of dollars for fertility treatments and drugs to become pregnant again (and I had it easy compared to other women who have more than one miscarriage and/or undergo more than one round of IVF treatments to get pregnant or are unable to get pregnant at all even after all of these costly, stressful, and uncomfortable interventions).

No one dreams that making a baby will be like this . . .

I’m not saying that “regular” pregnancies don’t come with fears and worries, I’m just saying that going through the above things changes you and puts you into a different category of fear I think. That twinge in the abdomen could be the start of a miscarriage, not feeling the fetus move for a while could mean that it’s dead. And with IVF treatments, after shelling out all of that money, even if you do everything perfectly, you still might not get pregnant, the fetus might not survive, etc.. It has been very stressful over the past year and a half having consultations with an IVF specialist, finding out we were pregnant without IVF, suffering a miscarriage, undergoing IVF, and then finding out that we were pregnant from the first round of IVF. It’s been hard to enjoy most of the pregnancy worrying that this might be the last week that I’m pregnant or that something really horrible will go wrong (again).  There has been no planning a nursery, buying baby clothes and supplies in the second trimester, or prattling on in excitement about baby names. My husband and I have been holding our breaths and just hoping and hoping that we will actually make it through this pregnancy. Whether or not we have a proper theme for the nursery or fabulous outfits for the baby have been the least of our concerns.

Strangely, I had actually had absolutely no pregnancy complications (until the minor ones pointed out at the end in my post at 38 weeks which led to a recommendation that I be induced before 40 weeks), which after the prelude to this pregnancy I found really amazing. I have not had gestational diabetes, I have not had preeclampsia, I have not had placental problems, the doctor has not had concerns about the fetus’ size or placement or heartbeat or anything. It’s been almost eerie after the last year of hell (June 15, 2016 is when I started miscarrying my first pregnancy).

The fetus in stargazer position at our last ultrasound.

There are times when I feel upset thinking about how I have not allowed myself to enjoy much of this pregnancy at all and have not reveled in the excitement of imminently becoming a mother, but there is nothing that I can do to change the past, my reality, and would I want to? Adversity make people more resilient, empathetic, and gives them a different perspective to others.

Our first ultrasound where we found out we were pregnant from IVF.

People have looked at my husband and me strangely when we’ve referred to the fetus as “the thing” or “it” even when we knew the sex, but it’s been our way of surviving the uncertainty of whether or not the fetus will actually survive. Being once removed has been a coping mechanism that we have employed to try to avoid as crushing of a heartbreak as we had with our first pregnancy that turned into a miscarriage. There is no way to avoid that crushing heartbreak, but this is just how we have coped.

Our "babymoon" was the first time we really let ourselves believe that things might work out and that was entering the third trimester.

Yes, it would be nice if I could join in in vacuous conversations about what theme to make a nursery, what the “in” colour is for a boy or a girl baby in 2017, and what is a hip name, but when I really think about it, maybe ruminating on how lucky I am to be pregnant at all is more valuable. I will never take for granted that I have a child. That child will never feel that he or she was an afterthought, not wanted, or was just an effortless sort of life stage. This child will feel that they were wanted more than anything and will know that my husband and I did everything that we could to bring them into this world and that we would do anything for them. If their nursery is not as themed or their clothes are not as matched as they could be that will be less important than them knowing that they are loved and cherished.

I know that others are not so lucky. On the IVF boards that I have read, I have seen people that go through one, two, five, ten, thirteen different IVF treatments and some of them can’t get pregnant or keep miscarrying. I don’t know how someone has the strength to go for another round after than many unsuccessful attempts. I only had to do one round of IVF and I know I’m truly lucky for that, but when I describe to other people who have never done IVF how many drugs I was on, how much it cost, how many injections a day that I had to give myself (after a lifelong fear of needles too) they look on in shock and horror. It just goes to show that it’s all relative. Until one has crossed one bridge or had one experience, one can’t know how one will feel about another experience. I never would have though that I would have the strength to get through a round of IVF, but I did. I couldn’t picture having to do a second round, but maybe when one crosses that first bridge, one finds the strength to try again and again and again. I’m not sure how people decide when to give up if they are not successful. I imagine a lot of this is influenced by finances. In Canada, IVF is more expensive than in some places in the U.S. for instance, and your private insurance may or may not cover a portion of it (ours was supposed to cover the drugs, but not the procedure itself, but then our insurer tried to slither out of this too until we fought them- then they did refund the cost of the drugs). But maybe after a while, one just can’t take the stress, physical strain, and heartbreak anymore.

My heart goes out to those who are struggling with fertility issues. I think this is one of the most painful things that people suffer from in our society, particularly because it is shrouded in a veil of silence and shame. I have been vocal with people I know and meet and in this blog because I think that people need to start talking about this important issue more to reduce the stigma and perhaps create lasting change.

I feel like I’ll never be the same again after the heartbreak and stress that I have suffered on this fertility journey, but at the same time, our experiences make us who we are, and having more empathy, compassion, and resilience is probably a good thing. The key is to not let it make me feel bitter or like a victim. And part of that process is by feeling empowered, taking charge, and for me this has been in the form of speaking out about fertility issues in public and on this blog to increase the visibility of this often hidden issue. I want to try to decrease the stigma of infertility and fertility issues. In my mind there shouldn’t be any shame associated with this.

In some places, the government funds or partially funds treatments like IVF, but not here in British Columbia. The government funded medical system will fund a visit to a fertility doctor and diagnostic tests to determine what might be causing infertility or fertility issues, but our system does not fund the treatments themselves. So that means if one is diagnosed with some type of infertility, male or female or both or the more mysterious unexplained infertility or one is single or in a same sex couple, etc. and one wants to have children and a procedure like in vitro fertilization is recommended to conceive, the entire cost of this procedure will be paid for by the person having the procedure unless they have some sort of health insurance that covers some amount of the procedure or the drugs required for the procedure or potentially both (and that’s assuming that the insurance company doesn’t deny your claim for no reason). Funding of Artificial Reproductive Technologies (ART) will never change unless people are more vocal, demand it, or if it is seen to be a significant and important societal issue. I’m not advocating that it should be funded, but many think that it should be and they may complain and grumble about this, but they don’t do so in a public forum where there is actually a hope for government people seeing their dissatisfaction with the status quo so that there is any hope that it might be changed.

I must own that I was nervous about speaking out about this journey in the beginning on a blog, using my name, pictures of myself, and sharing so many details about my journey, but I felt that in order to be authentic and true to myself I had to. Yes, I could hide in the shadows like so many people who have fertility issues, but if I spoke out, maybe I could help someone else who was suffering from fertility issues. Even if I only helped one person, I thought that that would be enough to make it worthwhile. The hits on my IVF blog climbed far faster than they did on my other three blogs and since its creation, 14 months ago, my IVF blog has had over 58,000 hits from countries all around the globe. Creating and maintaining this blog has been an overwhelmingly positive experience. So many people have reached out through comments on the blog and through various social media channels to give me support and share their own stories of fertility issues. Struggles with fertility are a lot more widespread than I had ever imagined and will likely become more so as our age of marriage and childbearing continues to climb or it will appear to be so as more and more people start to speak out publicly about their fertility issues.

I would like to thank my husband and family for not attempting to censor me at all in my blogging. They have allowed me to be myself, express how I’m truly feeling, and try to convey to others what this experience was truly like for me. No doubt we’ll be back here again in the future when we try for our second child, but in the mean time, thank you to everyone who has read my blog, shared it, commented, and reached out. It is only through having a meaningful relationship with other humans that we can evolve as a human being and as a society as a whole.

This thing is ready to come out of me . . .

Egg Retrieval (Oocyte Retrieval)

We arrived at the Victoria Fertility Centre a bit ahead of our scheduled 8:45 AM arrival time for my egg retrieval (oocycte retrieval) during my first IVF cycle. I was hungry and thirsty (fasting since last night).

Please feed me. Or can I at least have several glasses of water?

We checked in and were sent down the hall to the Victoria Fertility Centre lab. This is where the lab where embryos are created is located, the surgical unit for extracting eggs and transferring embryos, and a room for men providing specimens.  We checked in there and waited for a few minutes. Dr. Hudson and a nurse both checked to see if we were comfortable and how we were doing. We both felt nervous.

The lab is down the hall from the normal examination rooms of the VFC.

In the waiting room of the lab.

Eventually a nurse came out to review my past surgeries, my pseudocholinensterase deficiency, and to put hospital bands on me, one for ID and one for allergies. She then gave me a thimble of water (I want more!) to take a cup full of pills including extra strength acetaminophen (Tylenol), gabapentin, Celebrex, and Ativan. This mix was supposed to relax me and reduce pain and inflammation.

My breakfast consisted of only tablets and capsules.

An embryologist who would be extracting eggs from the fluid aspirated from my ovaries today then pulled us into her office. She explained that the fluid aspirated from the ovaries is passed through a window from the operating room to the lab and that the egg count we hear in the operating room is not final, because they double check it in the lab. They would confirm with us before we left if we want half fertilized by mixing the eggs with sperm and half by ICSI (one sperm is injected into one egg) still as we are currently down for. They want us to be comfortable with our decision and sometimes the number of eggs is odd, so choices must be made. Today is day 0 she explained, so tomorrow day 1 for embryo counting purposes. They will call us tomorrow morning to tell us how many were fertilized. Then they will call us daily to tell us how the embryos are faring and their "grades" from day 2 onward.

My husband was then pulled aside to a room to give his specimen.

The room where my husband was sent to give his specimen.

A cup of coffee beans? A strange item in the room where men are sent to give their specimens.

I waited in the waiting room for a while and then was shown to a room to change into a hospital gown which was more of a cotton nightie with lace trim. I was instructed to put a heating pad on my abdomen and lie down while I waited for my procedure and for my husband to return. The heating pad was really nice.

The room where I was to wait before being sent to the operating room.

Two new bracelets!

My husband returned bearing tales of a room with assorted magazines, a specimen cup, and strangely a cup of coffee beans (a fetish we haven't heard of before?). He changed into scrubs provided for him. I wished I had scrubs instead of a cotton nightie. I tried to relax on the bed with the awesome huge heating  over me, but it was getting near to the time appointed, 9:45 AM, and I was nervous. My husband pulled my warm rainbow coloured alpaca socks onto me (courtesy of my sweet parents-in-law). Psychedelic baby!

In my cotton nightie.

Resting with a heating pad over my abdomen as instructed.

My husband had actual scrubs to wear. I was envious.

Psychedelic socks to keep me warm in the operating room.

Waiting for the egg retrieval.

Our egg retrieval was scheduled for 9:45 AM. As the time drew nearer, we felt more nervous.

At almost 10:00, the emergency room nurse, who also works at Victoria Fertility Centre reviewed allergies with me. She said the IV sedation would be done with fentanyl (a synthetic opiate) and midaz or midazolam (a benzodiazepine). She was warm, funny, and encouraging. All the staff at the VFC seem to have a way of putting you at ease. The private clinic setting is a lot more relaxing than having a procedure done at a hospital, that's for sure.

I was taken to the operating room and an IV line was started. They couldn't get a vein in my hand, so they had to use my arm. The nurse was amazed by my low blood pressure too. I told her that was nothing. Once in emergency my blood pressure was 60/40.

Yes, they give you Crocs to wear to the operating room (my husband had to wear a pair too). What a stylish look.

In the operating room with a blood pressure monitor and oxygen on.

My blood pressure was on the low side.

Dr. Hudson joined us a few minutes later and the IV sedation was started by IV. I didn't feel that sedated, so more midazolam was added.

Looking over me to the screen where the ultrasound images will show the follicles.

The egg retrieval was then commenced. The 18 inch needle was inserted into me using ultrasound guidance. Through the vaginal walls, the needle aspirate fluid and eggs from the follicles in both ovaries. I wasn't paying attention to the screen, but my husband took lots of pictures of follicles on the ultrasound screen (dark black masses on the ultrasound screen) and the needle inserted into them, draining them of their fluid and egg (the needle looks like a silvery white point in the middle of a follicle). After the draining was complete, the follicle would largely disappear from view on the screen, no more big blackish spot.

Follicles are visible on the screen as the dark masses.

Follicles in my ovaries.

The follicle on the left has the tip of a needle in it, draining it of its fluid and egg.

The follicle on the left has been drained and is no longer visible as a large dark mass on the ultrasound. The needle tip is still visible as a silvery white mass.

The follicle on the left middle has the tip of a needle in it, draining it of its fluid and egg.

The follicle on the left has the tip of a needle in it, draining it of its fluid and egg.

The follicles are no longer very visible, having been drained.

I was uncomfortable several times during the procedure and Dr. Hudson  gave orders without hesitation for the emergency room nurse who was watching my every move, to add more fentanyl (more was added about three times) so that I would be as comfortable as possible. At the end of the procedure was the most uncomfortable and the fentanyl just didn't seem to be doing it and then suddenly it was over. Dr. Hudson was done the whole egg retrieval process in about 15 minutes.

After the egg retrieval was complete.

I was walked back to a recovery room and alternately drank gingerale, ate cookies, and slept off the midazolam and fentanyl.

I devoured the cookies and gingerale faster than they recommended (and kind of like a drunken wild animal) but I was hungry and thirsty!

I was ravenous.

The embryologist, along with Dr. Hudson, came to tell us that they had managed to aspirate 10 eggs from my ovaries during the egg retrieval, a number that they were pleased with. We confirmed half will be fertilized with ICSI (one sperm injected into one egg) and the other half by traditional mixing of an egg plus sperm in vitro. They will call us tomorrow to tell us how many eggs were actually fertilized.

In the recovery room waiting until I could leave the VFC and get some actual lunch.

I was allowed to dress. Yes, I'm really high on midazolam and fentanyl in this photo.

The nurse checked me over, before deeming me well enough to be discharged. I was groggy, but not feeling too bad (just really hungry and thirsty). The nurse walked with us all the way down to the car to make sure that I was fine. She said that she was impressed. Well, I'm a beast when it comes to drugs and alcohol (not that I drink anymore- ten years sober this coming New Year's Day). As I told them before, I can process a lot way faster than others can and I keep on ticking.

I was ravenous and it was lunch, so we picked up a burger and fries at a drive through on the way home and then ate at home. After, I passed out for a few hours with the cat beside me. No one provides nursing care like Lamont.

Yet another cotton dressing for my right arm, this time from the IV.

My bracelets are so beautiful.

After lunch I passed out with the cat beside me to keep me company.

The cat then migrated to my pillow and rested his cheek and chin on my forehead as he often does. It was a fuzzy way to wake up hours later.

I awoke ravenous again and had a snack. I couldn't sleep more, so I went to the living room to write. I felt a slight twinge of pain earlier after my nap, but had some Tylenol and so far I'm fine. All in all it's not as bad as I thought (but I did get four helpings of fentanyl and two helpings of midazolam so . . .). I'm bleeding only slightly, certainly less than with the hysterosalpingogram (HSG) or sonohysterogram that I had done leading up to this first IVF cycle during the diagnostic stage when they were confirming that we have Unexplained Infertility. In any event, another stage in this first IVF cycle, the egg retrieval, is complete.

Now we must wait on pins and needles to find out if any of the ten eggs fertilized successfully. The lab at the Victoria Fertility Centre will call tomorrow morning probably between 10-12. After that, we will be getting daily phone calls from the lab to tell us the grade of each embryo and if they have survived until it is time for an embryo transfer if there are any that survive  into the day 2-5 range when embryo transfers are done.

From Deep Resentment to Gratitude

I've been feeling a lot this year and mostly it's been a deep feeling of depression. It's hard not to ruminate on the negative when you can't get pregnant and have wanted to have children your whole life, at last you get pregnant on the eve of finally accepting that you have to have IVF and have booked an appointment, and then you lose the only baby you've ever been pregnant with, all while watching seemingly everyone else in the world and your life in particular get pregnant (effortlessly) and then give birth to healthy babies.

Booking IVF for a second time has made me feel more than a little bitter. Yeah, I'm blessed to be able to afford it and to live in a time when IVF is even an option (because otherwise I'd probably never be a mother, although I still might never be), but it just feels like, why me? Why do I have to go through IVF, sticking needles into myself for days on end, pumping myself full of hormones, risking a bunch of different complications, all for a flip of a coin chance of getting pregnant (50%) and then having the same risk of losing the baby again (25%)? I feel deep resentment that I have to go through IVF just for the shot at a child when there are so many people who don't even want children getting pregnant and having children. But life just isn't fair and that's something I'm still having trouble coming to terms with.

My father always used to say that the only thing in life that mattered and would make you feel good was helping other people. Every time I've ever volunteered and in the past with my job as a lawyer, I felt the meaning of his wise words repeatedly. Helping people does make you feel better than anything else really can. And I've been deeply isolated lately not just with working from home, but also with feeling unwell and deeply discouraged from this fertility nightmare. So, it's been hard to get out and help people much. All the same, I try to practice loving kindness as much as I can to twin with my meditation practise. I've tried to practice smiling at people I see on the street for years. It's amazing how almost all of them will smile back at me even though they might have so little in life to feel grateful for. To have a smile from a stranger makes me feel good and I hope that it makes them feel a little better too.

This morning I helped serve breakfast at Our Place in Victoria, BC. It's a place where the city's homeless and those struggling to make ends meet can gather to have a shower, a meal, use a computer, or just socialize. I was able to talk to many people who use Our Place and exchange countless smiles with them. I felt a glowing sense of happiness as I left Our Place after my shift of about two hours. I felt a sense of gratitude that I haven't felt in a really long time. My life has its challenges, but I have a lot to feel grateful for.

It was evident to me from the time I spent at the psychiatric hospital and taking classes at the psychiatric day hospital following my diagnosis with Bipolar Disorder and Anxiety that a significant group of the people at Our Place are on psychotropic drugs to treat a mental disorder or illness. I wondered where their families are. Did they not have anyone who could help them? How alone did they feel? Where would I be without my supportive husband and family? Living with a mental disorder is a daily challenge. I can't imagine having to deal with homelessness or unstable housing and lack of food on top of my mental disorder. So many people who suffer from mental disorders or illnesses cannot work at all and they end up on heavy psychotropic drugs to try to keep them stable and then they can't afford food or housing, etc. I just can't imagine the added struggle. I don't know how these people are dealing with that added challenge. I don't think that I could.

Funding for mental disorders and illnesses is insufficient and countless suicides happen every year because people are too afraid or ashamed (yes, people still joke and make fun of mental disorders and illnesses and some people even see mental disorders as a sign of moral weakness or a failure of willpower and not the extremely challenging and potentially tragic neurochemical/genetic disorders that they are) to seek help or there just isn't any available (one woman who I was in the hospital with had to wait six months to be admitted to the psychiatric mood disorders ward in Victoria, BC because she didn't go in through the emergency psychiatric triage unit). One visit to the emergency psychiatric triage in Victoria ("PES") would be enough to convince anyone to not seek help again (unless you get sent there and are held under an involuntary order, then you have no choice). I've been to PES twice and I never, ever, ever want to go back (I'm not alone, others have told me the same, and my psychiatrists have agreed that it is a horrible place). At least I can be grateful that I have not been hospitalized in over three years and now that my psychiatrists have found an effective psychotropic medication for me, I am more or less stable. But others just aren't so lucky.

It was also evident that addictions are a challenge for part of the group at Our Place. This is another issue that is close to my heart. Addictions run down on both sides of my family. I'll be sober ten years come this New Years Day, but it was a terrible struggle for me to stop drinking. I thank my lucky stars every day that I somehow managed to quit drinking for so long after many, many, many failed attempts at staying sober for an extended period. I have long thought that our health care system does not do enough to address this huge societal problem (everyone keeps talking about illegal drugs, but alcohol and cigarettes kill way, way, way more people every year than illegal drugs). My addiction almost killed me.

What gets me is the amazing level of ignorance and lack of compassion when it comes to addictions. Addiction is not a matter of a lack of will power or a moral failing, it is a serious medical problem that's genetic. Sadly, we still don't know much about how we can effectively treat addictions even after years of research and experimenting with countless treatments. Unfortunately, most treatments will fail and addicts will fail to get clean and sober over and over and over again. Many of them will die far younger than they would have in the absence of an addiction. Most people with addictions will be at the mercy of their addiction for most of their life. The lack of compassion so many hold towards addictions upsets me. We don't blame people with cancer for having cancer (except for smokers and that's an addiction too), but we freely blame addicts for their addiction. I have heard so many people callously say that addicts just have a weak will or that they're indulgent or lazy or selfish. Being an addict is horrible and guess what, there's no cure. Ever. Even if you're lucky enough to get sober or clean, you'll think about your addiction every day for the rest of your life. I do and I felt empathy for the people at Our Place who I could see were struggling with one or more addiction(s).

Rants about lack of support for mental disorders and addictions aside, I just want to reiterate that I feel grateful for everything that I have and for the support of my husband and family and a couple of my friends. Life could be a whole lot worse, even with the challenges that I have, I am blessed.

Now I'm going to try to enjoy the last week that I have before starting hormones up again for IVF. September 1st, I start Estrace again in the lead up to the IVF cycle that I have scheduled for around mid September. Hopefully my side effects will not be as extreme this time (although it's tough to tell what was a symptom of the miraculous pregnancy of which I was unaware of at the time versus what was actually a side effect of Estrace).

Ross Bay Cemetery in Victoria, BC is a beautiful place to walk and meditate.

Where Do We Go From Here?

At the beginning of my next cycle, after my trip, I was supposed to call the Victoria Fertility Centre to tell them, so that they could book me in for IVF in my next cycle (ie. about a month from now). I was seriously overdue for my period (6.5 days) this morning, so I finally took a pregnancy test . It said "not pregnant." I was confounded and went back to bed angrily and proceeded to sleep away the morning, filled with nausea and stomach pains.

My cat, Lamont, gladly kept me company.

Around noon, I awoke and found that I had the first signs of my period. Great, so I just threw away about $16 on something my body would have confirmed for free had I held out just a few hours longer. Why did I go through all of that emotional drama leading up to the pregnancy test? Why did my period have to be that late? Or is this an early miscarriage? The thought crossed my mind only because of all the research I did on miscarriages a couple of months ago when I was going through mine. Apparently late periods are sometimes early miscarriages and women just never realize they are because they never took a pregnancy test earlier, before the fetus aborted.

Either way, I was thoroughly pissed off, but naturally, also disappointed. This whole monthly cycle of hoping, waiting, and then writhing with heart crushing disappointment (almost inevitable, except for that one month, which actually turned out to be a more heartbreaking disappointment when I miscarried).

I had thought that I would be ready to proceed with IVF (for real this time, because I didn't anticipate getting pregnant on the eve of having IVF last time) when I returned from vacation. But now I feel even more conflicted, if that's possible. With each passing month and disappointment, I feel more and more doubtful that I could ever be a competent parent, let alone a good one. I grow more and more scared of if my body can actually carry a baby to term (didn't work out last time), if my brain can withstand the hormonal changes brought on IVF hormones and then pregnancy if it happens, if my brain can withstand the sleep deprivation and further hormonal changes with having a baby if I ever get there, and how I'll manage being a parent for the rest of my life. I'm overwhelmed with fears and doubts that have only multiplied with each year that I have not had a child. I've been on prenatal vitamins for six years. I've watched almost everyone in my life, who is plus or minus 10 years of my age have children (some willing, some reluctant, and some surprised into parenthood) and I have remained childless, feel increasingly socially shunned and isolated, and more and more doubtful that I can ever fit into this clique.

Maybe it's a sign and I'm not meant to be a parent. Maybe the curtain it falling on my childbearing years to allow me to explore something else in the next stage of my life. Maybe my genes are just bad. They say that it's darkest before the light, but I feel like it's been dark for so long that I would be permanently blinded if the light ever found me again. Perhaps this shadow world is my permanent home and my life is just not going to include children. But how could I live a life without children when they've factored so deeply into my plans for my future life and my future identity? I've defined myself always as a future parents and the future just isn't arriving, so who am I? Who am I becoming? What will I do with all of those years that might be left in my life? Am I going to have to become a kitten rescuer or something?

My husband has been devastated by this journey as well and tells me not to decide right away, but I know that he just desperately wants to proceed with IVF as soon as possible before it's too late and we're forever barred from becoming parents (except by adoption or divine intervention perhaps). He has always defined himself as a future parent and sees it as crucial to his life's plan. What would he ever do if he had no children?

We've already become weird hermits who have an unhealthy obsession with our one cat, Lamont. Our increasing desperation for a baby, has led to increased babying of the cat (not that he minds it most of the time). 

You can very clearly see Lamont thinking 'not again!'

Most of our friends have drifted away to other cities or into the parenthood club that we are not a part of and may never be. I think that people think that our life looks pretty charmed, but many are not aware of the unexplained infertility struggle/nightmare that we've been living the past many, many years. They see us doing things that they would like to do, but can't because they have children and say that they're jealous. We look at them, snuggled at home with their bundles of joy and feel hot tears sting our eyes and our throats tighten with emotion that we can't share with most of them, because it's just not socially acceptable or would be seen as oversharing.

Should we go through with IVF this next cycle or should we wait? We were already warned we shouldn't wait long, because of our advanced ages (the miscarriage rate keeps going up every year by a lot). But it's hard to get excited about spending thousands and thousands and thousands of dollars and injecting myself with countless hormones, undergoing further tests, having my eggs extracted out of my vagina with a needle, etc. all for the roll of the dice odds of getting pregnant (minus the 20-25% chance of miscarriage). I had talked myself into it and hyped myself up last time, only at the last minute to find out that I was pregnant naturally and "didn't need" IVF. Well, I do again, and I feel like I've lost my nerve again. Great.

I know there are success stories (it would increase our odds of conceiving per cycle from 3% or 50%), we've all heard them and read about them, but there are also countless couples who don't find success with IVF either after all of that time, money, and pain. I just never pictured having to do this (not that anyone does) and I'm having a really hard time (again) accepting that this is my path.

Perhaps a few good sleeps will make the future look less bleak and make our decision become more apparent.

Another Pregnancy Test

This morning was Day 36 of my cycle, so I was a full six and half days late. My husband had been encouraging me to take a pregnancy test, so that I would know one way or the other if I was pregnant (I need to inform my specialists immediately if I'm pregnant, so that my medications can be kept at a therapeutic level with the changes that pregnancy brings).

I was really reluctant to take a pregnancy test. They are expensive, annoying (I hate having to hold my urine for as long as I can in the night and limit my fluid intake in order to have "perfect pee" that is not too dilute to test accurately), and have done nothing but disappoint me, or falsely get my hopes up (ie. you find out you're pregnant and then less than a week later start miscarrying).

I knew I wasn't going to screw around with the non digital type of pregnancy test this time though after what happened last time . Of course, digital tests are much more expensive, but with something this life changing, I didn't want to mess around.

Was my period just obnoxiously late from the miscarriage I went through a couple of months ago or traveling or was I actually pregnant for the second time in my life (could lightning really strike me twice?)?

I passed an uncomfortable night last night knowing that if there was no sign of my period, I'd be doing a pregnancy test in the morning (I even bought two yesterday in case I couldn't believe the first one- by the way, two digital pregnancy tests are $30 plus tax in a two pack, yes being a woman is always expensive).

Yep, over 30 cool smackers for a two pack of these. Being a woman is expensive in so many ways.

At quarter to six this morning, I couldn't hold it anymore and went to take the test with my husband holding his breath beside me. Could this explain my moodiness and bloating lately or was that just a late period coming on and jet lag?

We waited the few minutes for the results and number of weeks if applicable to pop up on the very clear Clearblue digital screen.

I had told my husband over and over again in the past almost a week that I was not pregnant. It was too remote of a possibility that I would ever get pregnant without assistance again and especially so close to miraculously having done it a few months ago. But secretly, inside, I wondered and hoped if lightning could have indeed struck a second time in this roller coaster of a year. Was I pregnant? Could I carry the baby to term this time and finally become a mother? Or would this test just lead to further disappointment, anger, and disillusionment with my life and this world?

In truth, as much as I have wanted to be a mother my whole life, I was terrified that the test would say "pregnant" because I was so afraid of going through another miscarriage. I doubted that I had the psychological or emotional reserves left to survive another one of these horrors (and it's still too fresh in my memory, I'm still having flashbacks all the time).

Then I felt guilty for not wanting to see a positive result and thought about what my counselor had said about making a good environment for a baby to come into, including psychologically and emotionally. If I was fighting becoming pregnant, would I ever become pregnant and how would my husband who had always wanted children feel if I never became pregnant?

I was absolutely swirling with emotions, as we sat there together in the tiny cramped bathroom, waiting for a result that could either change our lives or further increase our feelings of hopelessness and despair.

And by the way, we didn't tell anyone that we were taking a pregnancy test this time, because we didn't want to disappoint our emotionally ravaged families anymore. Plus, I feel I have no one really left to talk to (except my husband) . How many people know what it's like to fear, loathe, and despise the inanimate object which is a pregnancy test (I've found some of these wonderful folks on the internet, but they're not sitting in my living room, with a cup of tea, able to stare into my eyes, and try to comfort me).

With regard to pregnancy tests, I think that most women fall into the following groups:
1. Oh, shit! I think I'm pregnant and I didn't mean to get pregnant. Guess I better take a test;
2. My partner and I just started trying to get pregnant and we think we are (we haven't been trying long enough to be worried or jaded). Let's take a test;
3. It's been taking a long time to get pregnant, but I think I'm pregnant. Oh my God, I am. (Nine months later or thereabouts) . . . look at my beautiful child;
4. I can't get pregnant and I've never seen a positive test and I never will; or
5. It took me forever, I can't actually be pregnant. Oh my God, I am. No, that can't be true. Oh my God, lab tests confirmed it, I can't believe my luck. I'm going to actually be a mother when I had given up all hope and had started to try to adjust my expectations of what my future life would be like. Oh, wait, I'm miscarrying. I actually might never be a parent, but I don't know and the uncertainty is pushing me further and further towards the edge of that cliff, ever though my life looks perfect from the outside, because it's not socially acceptable to discuss infertility or the pain that it brings, so I must try to look perfect and happy and okay with the fact that I have no children and respond coyly to the questions that everyone is asking me such as if I have children and if not when I will have them or why I don't have them.

Other than my mother, I don't know of anyone else in camp #5. My mother went on to have two children and regularly dismisses my feelings of hopelessness, despair, and disillusionment, telling me that I'm definitely going to have children and that I need to stop worrying and being ridiculous or fatalistic (it's not just her, I have other family members and friends who are in this Pollyanna/denial group). I don't want my feelings dismissed. It's far from certain that I'll ever be a mother. And if I do become a mother, it's most likely that it will be because I undergo expensive and protracted IVF (and remember it's only a 50/50 chance of even conceiving each cycle and I have a 20-25% chance of miscarrying each time due to my age) treatment(s). My mother was able to conceive naturally and gave birth at 32.5 and 36.5 years old; I've only ever become pregnant this once and then I lost the baby and now at almost 36 and half years old, my time is running out, so I doubt that that dream is going to happen for me.

This is the worst thing I've ever had to go through in my life (I would go through all of those over a dozen surgeries that I've had in my life again, just to avoid ever having to go through unexplained infertility and the terrifying and heartbreaking roller coaster ride that it entails. Emotional and psychological pain is way worse than physical pain, but I've had my share of that too on this infertility journey with all of these tests, the hormones, and the miscarriage).

I'm sick of being in this stressful limbo and not talking about it (except on this blog and with a very few friends and family members). I'm a perfectionist from a dysfunctional family, who puts up a perfect looking facade to fool outsiders into believing that my life is rosy and that the birds sing me out of bed every morning, because that's what I got used to doing as a child. Plus, as mentioned above, it's not okay to talk about infertility or how awful it is to be going through it in our society. The dialogue is starting to happen a bit more, but it's still the exception not the rule. Most people don't understand infertility and many don't want to hear about it or understand it. People are incredibly insensitive and ask the most personal questions without considering how the other person might feel. Consider the time that I was at my family reunion two years ago and my aunt wandered up to the table that I was sitting at with some of my cousins and one of my aunts in the huge hall packed with assorted relatives and practically shouted "why don't you have any children yet?" Well, I'm done giving polite, coy, and/or misleading answers that make it seem like I'm okay with what's going with my uterus, like "well, we're working on it" or "we'll see." Next time someone asks about whether or not I have children and then asks why I don't or when I'll have them, I'll be sure to give them an honest answer. I'll tell them about how it took me years to get pregnant for the first time and then how I lost the baby and I don't think I'll get pregnant naturally again, so I'll be paying $10,000s just for the roll of the dice odds of ever getting pregnant and then the waiting to see if I lose yet another baby, bleeding profusely for days and days and days, reminded constantly of what I don't have and may never have. I doubt they'll ever be that insensitive to another woman ever again. If they are, they're a complete sociopath.

I was drawn back into the present moment by my husband's voice. He read the test first, as I was staring off into space, contemplating what this life of mine is supposed to be about and where it is heading. "It says not pregnant," he said gingerly.

I stormed from the bathroom and threw myself back into the still warm bed. It was before six in the morning and the day was already ruined. I felt awful, not just emotionally, but physically. But I knew that the nausea and gastrointestinal upset that I was having were not pregnancy related. That much was certain (or about 99 point something percent certain).

All I could think, as I struggled to get back to sleep, was fuck all this shit. I'm sick of this roller coaster ride. I want to get off. But I can't. And there is nothing worse than the feeling of being trapped, hopeless, and helpless.