Officially Pregnant

Our infertility, miscarriage, IVF, and pregnancy journey x 2 (still waiting on pregnancy #2)

So Here We Are…

on January 19, 2014

November of 2013 we made the decision to start a family.  That Thanksgiving, I purchased a $300 pendant of my fingerprint and our dog, Brutus’ paw print.  On the back I had etched into the shiny silver, “and baby makes 3” waiting to give it to my hubs as an uber unique way to tell him we were pregnant.  Each month, after the series of negative HPTs the pendent began to tarnish and my hope faded.  It only took two months for me to begin despising the process.  I would feel the crush on each holiday that passed.   Christmas day – period. Valentine’s day – period. His birthday – period.  Mother’s Day – period.  Father’s Day – period.  Every monumental day that could result in a joyous exclamation of “We’re pregnant!” faded into a day of tears, despair, heartache not to mention the waste of hundreds of OPKs and HPTs.

In February I realized once my period passed that my breasts were still sore.  Something was off.  After a week, I took a home pregnancy test only to see the faintest of faint pink lines appear next to the control.  Ecstatic, I grabbed the pendent from my hiding place, headed to work, and confided in my friend and coworker.  I had to tell someone.  No sooner did I get home and the bleeding began.  I excused myself from the apartment to take B for a walk, but my true intention was an emergency call to the OB.  They had me go in immediately.  The blood work came back at 9.  25 is viable.  9….9 is almost nothing.  The doctor took a look at the test I had brought with me and said, “well, that’s pretty light”.  Well, a line is a line.  Anyone who trolls TTC boards knows this!  I wanted to tell her to fuck off….I knew what I saw meant I was pregnant even if it didn’t mean for much longer.  I shook it off quickly.  We were moving, the stress was mounting, and I wouldn’t let myself get sucked into feeling sorry for myself.

We moved to Ohio and into my parents’ house by March.  My mother would talk about baby showers she was supposed to attend for a coworker and all the excitement about gender reveals.  I had a moment.  That’s what I like to call it.  A moment of pure craziness – I let loose on my mother.  The, “I can’t take one more minute of listening about this girl and her baby – especially when you know what we’re going through” moment.  She got angry.  She was hurt.  But more importantly I think I hurt her, I think I surprised her and made her feel guilty about something she didn’t perceive to be as insensitive as I did.

Four months later in July, we moved into our first house.  I got my hired just a few miles from the house.  We felt so blessed.  The high of good things happening kept us afloat for a few months.  “Good things come in threes” people would say.  “Maybe there’s a baby on the way next” they would add.  Why thank you for dragging that to the forefront of my mind.

We took a family vacation in August.  A week to relax and indulge and I did just that.  Let everything go.  So what, I got a little drunk in the pool playing badminton?  I needed to let go a little because when we got back, I’d be headed off to the OB to tell her what the past ten months of my life was like.

vaca

The poor woman wasn’t even in the office and I was fighting back tears.  Maybe I never noticed it when I was on the pill, but OB offices are FILLED with pictures of happy families and their little angels.  TONS of pictures…EVERYWHERE.  Sitting and waiting for her didn’t take the edge off as I ran through what I’d say in my head a million times over.  When she entered the room and asked for my history I sadly let my ugly cry out.  Just blubbering followed by the snotty inhale, because the tissue box is just out of reach.  Her follow up questions include the oh so subtle, “are you safe in your home?” and “any history of depression?”.  After the exam, she simply states, “if you’re not pregnant by the end of the year give me a call”.  That’s it?  That’s all the comfort you’ve got stored up for someone who can’t seem to get one of those happy baby pictures you like to wallpaper your office with?  Gee.  Thanks.

In October, we made the leap to a RE.  I lied.  “We’ve been trying since August,” I said without giving it a second thought.  The doctor orders up yet another routine exam.  “So what’s going on?!” he repeated once back in his office.  Um…I don’t know – that’s kinda why I’m here I thought to myself.  He gives me a laundry list of tasks to complete before he will follow up with me; invasive, humiliating, worrisome tests and tasks.  Overwhelmed and heartbroken, I take the $300 pendent to a jeweler to have the inscription buffed out.  I bawl the entire time.  So what do I do?  I buy a puppy.  Talk about a distraction.  This thing pees everywhere.  I’d take multiple HSG tests any day over cleaning up poop for under the middle of a king size bed at ten p.m.

Chunk

 

By November, just two days after my birthday, the hubs and I meet up at the office for our follow up appointment.  Holy unexpected results, Batman.  Here I sit, twelve months of draining on my spirit, thinking the worst, knowing I’m pretty much a failure at carrying baby because obviously we are able to fall pregnant when the doctor rambles out a series of numbers from the hub’s tests.  Finally, we catch the words, “you have a one to two percent chance of conceiving naturally”.  BOOM.  Fuck off is all I can think.  There are so many people who don’t want children, have abortions, put their kids up for adoption, need government assistance to raise theirs, fall pregnant accidentally and here I am – living my life with nothing but good intentions and working hard for what I have and this is what I get bitch slapped with?  We can’t have children naturally.  Get fucked.  Looking at the hubs, I knew it hit him even harder.  No self deprecating joke in the ultrasound room could hide the fact that he was hurt.  I had no words other than “stop” when he said if I wanted to leave him he’d understand.  I’ve always been the eternal optimist and nothing was going to quit.  I don’t quit.  I win.  I always win.

Given our shitty numbers, we opted to bypass IUI and go straight to IVF.  Financially, we are blessed to be able to make it happen.  After another laundry lists of hoops to jump through, an appointment to review said hoops with a side of Cheryl’s cookies to win over the office, the nurse says, “Call me cycle day 1 and we’ll get started”.  So, for the entire month of November, I just let it go.  The stress of it all was gone.  Our list was checked off, hoops jumped through yet again, and we had a plan in place.  It felt good to breathe and just focus on the holidays coming up.  I can’t wait to get my period.  That had to be the first time I said that and it was the first time my period was late and I got pissed.

Fast forward to being five days late.  I was actually pissed.  I wanted my period so we could just start the meds, but then something happened.  I have never, ever experienced pain like I felt that morning.  Mortified that I was trapped at school and feeling as if my appendix was going to explode out of me like the alien guy in that Sigourney Weaver movie, the school nurse called an ambulance.  My first ambulance ride!  WAHOO!  Just kidding.  It was embarrassing as hell but at least they let me walk out on my own.   As we’re getting ready to leave, my principal who is privy to this information because I had to let her know why I was going to be missing so many mornings, flags down the driver, hops on and tells the paramedic, “you know, she says they can’t get pregnant, but you never know!” and leaves.  Fuck off.  The paramedic then asks and I find myself repeating the same, “there’s no way” story.  The same one I’d have to repeat at the ER. While doped up on diluaded (which is freaking fantastic by the way) I hear the nurse outside our curtain utter three words that rocked my world, “high risk pregnancy”.  Now at this point you’re wondering how did I know she was referring to me?  Well, neither the 70 year old next door nor the man with what I can infer is cirrhosis is probably not pregnant.  When Doogie Howser, as I like to call him, told us the blood work came back positive the drugs took the better of me and I’m pretty sure my words were and I quote, “get fucked”.  After being told not to embarrass him at his place of work, I let the hubs explain while I tried to absorb the news.  It was bittersweet.  We were told we couldn’t do it and here we were sticking it to the man.  On the other hand, something was incredibly wrong because the pain was unbearable.   The HCG was 187.  Even doped up, I knew it wasn’t the best of numbers, but it was sure as hell better than 9.  6 hours and 3 ultrasounds later they discharged me.  “She looks fine, feels better, and we don’t see anything on the ultrasounds so there is no reason to keep her” – just like that.  Go home….come back in 48 hours for another blood work up.

My dumbass chose to go back to work.  I’ll just lie and tell them they couldn’t find anything.  No one will ask anyways.  No one saw me leave.  To quote myself….get fucked.  Everyone knew.  Everyone asked.  The easily pleased with the lie left me alone.  Others pestered and remained until they finally got me to say it after the “well, are you pregnant?!”.   I would tell them yes, but there was not guarantee it would last.  I had been down this road before.  Once the admission was out there, they let it go.  Whether it was because I had made them uncomfortable or just settled their curiosity doesn’t matter.  I spent the day trying to be realistic, there was a good chance given the unexplained pain I was in that this wouldn’t last.  That next night, just 30 minutes after the hubs got home I fell to the floor in the same familiar pain.  I knew this wasn’t good.  Another trip to the ER would make it real.  After another 5 hours and more doctors who didn’t appear to know what they were doing or even looking for I finally found a doctor that would tell me the results of the blood work.  It was down to 151.  All my trolling on the TTC boards paid off when I recognized the decline in beta as a miscarriage.  Two in less than a year.  This can’t be happening. I went to my regular OB the very next day.  In a matter of minutes she was able to find the source of my pain; a large hemorrhagic corpus luteum cyst.  The cyst that was supposed to support the pregnancy began bleeding within itself.  Somehow I remained ridiculously cool throughout the exam and the news.  Even when she used the phrases, “abort the pregnancy” and “chemotherapeutic drug” when talking about Methotrexate.  An hour later and three shots in the ass and it was over.  Just like that.  My numbers gradually fell from 151 to 55 to a negative HPT.  “Officially unpregnant” is what I told the hubs.  Let’s get this IVF thing going.

I called our go to nurse but didn’t get a call back for two weeks.  No biggie, she had family issues and I had ya know…miscarriage issues.  By New Year’s Eve she called back and told me we would be good to go!  Drugs ordered, drug calendar sent, ultrasound appointments booked.  I started birth control and the anticipation of starting the process was killing me.  $906 later for the medications (down from $2,400) and all that stood between me and the first poke of Lupron was our consent signing.  I picked up the 4 pound box from FedEx and about vomited when I unpacked it the night before.  Realizing the amount of drugs I’d be pumping into my body was pretty overwhelming.  Oh well, because in the end, it won’t matter if I can help it.

Meds

You know you’ve made it when you get your own sharps bin!

So, there we sat, in the doc’s office waiting to get the final ok and get our tutorial on injections when he says we need to do a quick trial transfer.  Drop trou and get down to medical business.  Trial went well so just a quick peek at the ovaries to make sure everything looks good when I mention the cyst.  He stops dead in his tracks.  What cyst?  You were pregnant?  You miscarried?  Why didn’t you call the office?  Next time let me know.  Oh, and by the way, that cyst is still pretty swollen.  Fucking fabulous.  My shock that the nurse never told him left me speechless.  I dress and meet him and the hubs in the conference room where the hubs drops the next bombshell….the Methotrexate.  The doc is clearly flustered as am I and the nurse just looks pissed, like I told on her for not telling.  Again, fucking fabulous.  The doc then states we aren’t able to start the drugs for at least another month pending another ultrasound and the cyst has shrunk.  That, my friends, is how the rug was pulled out from under me in less than 5 minutes.  I couldn’t even talk on the way home.  Tears just flowed.  I hate crying.  Like I said earlier, I’m an ugly crier.  But I couldn’t help it.  Disappointment took over once again and I felt defeated.  However, I sucked it up rather quickly and with the love of the hubs try to get past it.  I tell him if we can’t start the drugs in February then we’re waiting til April because I don’t want a Christmas baby.  He thinks I’m crazy.  I don’t care.  I feel crazy these days.

So that leads me to know – the moment of my latest breakdown; my latest I-hate-everyone-who-is-pregnant pity party.  A friend of my husband who’s wife has been in a play by play race with us to get pregnant just posted her announcement on Facebook.  Annndddd cue meltdown!  I text my hubs who is out to dinner with his parents 120 miles away.  I tell him I need to find a new distraction – something to take my mind off all of this.  He just apologizes and I realize again how horrible he has to feel so then I feel horrible for telling him I feel horrible in the first place leaving me to harbor a lot of feelings instead of share them.  So instead of unloading on him – I’m unloading here.  And I’ll tell you what, I feel better already.

Ain't that the truth?

Ain’t that the truth?

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3 responses to “So Here We Are…

  1. Jasmine says:

    You are amazingly strong and you have no idea! i have been going through a similar story since January of 2011. I’m just so ready to have my very own baby. I have 10 god children, as if its my friends way of helping me have kids. I just dont talk about the infertility, I cant bring myself to go through giving people the details especially after all the failed attempts. I feel like you are an outlet for me! Thanks so much for sharing.

  2. […] case you missed it, my principal made a guest appearance in my first post, So Here We Are… She’s toward the end when she invites herself on the squad and explains to the EMT my […]

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