I got home a little after 10:45 p.m. on the night of the 29th. The night J and I would learn if we had achieved what we wanted more than anything in life.
As soon as I stepped in the door, I dropped my bags and hugged him. It had been so hard to concentrate through class, to keep my stomach settled, to know that this most-anticipated message was in my pocket.
We looked at each other and decided to listen -- even though I think we almost preferred not to.
I hit play on the message, and my nurse didn't sound joyful. I knew she wasn't delivering good news. She said, "I wish so badly I had better news to deliver."
And it was over. It was all over.
I started nodding my head quietly, tears starting to form. I had prepared myself for this because I "didn't feel pregnant," whatever that means. But I didn't feel it.
J put his arms around me, and the tears started to fall.
The message ended, and I just kept nodding. And it was over.
It was over, and I had to go to bed because I had to leave the house at 6:30 the next morning to observe a high school teacher in another city. Life was going on as usual, even though I wasn't ready.
It was over, and that was all.
Thursday, February 13, 2014
Wednesday, February 12, 2014
transfer day.
We went to Oklahoma City Sunday night, even though our transfer time was 1 p.m. We could have made it Monday morning, but we just wanted to relax. To get settled and comfy and not worry about anything (yeah right!).
Monday morning came quickly, and we got some breakfast, showered, got into our comfy clothes. We arrived a little earlier than we were asked to, but what else were we going to do? And I kind of thought maybe the earlier we got there, the earlier we'd get some information about our embryos.
We didn't wait long before they took us back, but once we were back is when the real waiting began. They gave me a blanket to wrap my bare lower half in, and J and I sat on the same bed I was in during my retrieval process. I had done a pretty good job of keeping my shit together until this point. But that's when it all started to hit me. We would really get the biggest information of our lives, up to this point, in a few minutes. I just needed to know.
I had to take deep breaths, and there was no way I could think about anything else. J and I would make eye contact periodically, and I could tell he was experiencing a similar torment.
Finally the embryologist came back. It was all very, very matter-of-fact, which really kind of felt offensive in some way. She explained that all three were behind. They were moving slowly, more slowly than they would have expected. She asked for permission to perform assisted hatching on them to maybe improve their chances. We gave her permission to do what they needed to do to help them out. I asked, as she was leaving, why our embryos might be so slow, and is it a bad thing. She said it could be because they fertilized late, it could be because they were of poorer quality, it could be for all kinds of unknown reasons. I decided to cling to her first explanation.
My heart was pounding this whole time, and it didn't stop.
A different doctor, who I had never met, was set to do my transfer. He came back to introduce himself and was really quite personable -- more so than my own doctor. But he quickly said, "Well, these embryos aren't that great."
My heart sank.
He asked me how old I was and then told me that he would give a healthy 27-year-old with three embryos of this quality a 30-40% chance of achieving pregnancy.
My heart sank again.
I just wanted him to leave. I just wanted to cry. I just wanted to wake up and start over.
The doctor assured me the procedure would be fine and that they'd get started in a few minutes.
An assistant to the embryologist brought back a photo of our three embryos. I wanted to cry. They were real, and I could see them, and they "weren't that great" according to everyone around me.
The photo also had their new grades next to each. Two IVs and a III. And none of them were blastocysts yet. At day 5. It's bad news.
When we were alone, I turned to J -- totally fighting back tears -- and said, I just wish I didn't know.
They took me back to the OR and had J change into his "scrubs." He sat behind my head, but I couldn't even really tell he was there. The procedure was fast and efficient, and everything went "perfectly" according to the doctor. Everything except that I had these not so great embryos that I had willed so hard to become my babies.
They transferred me from the tables to a bed quickly, but I of course didn't want to move a muscle. I stayed there for one hour, and then they had me use the restroom -- which I really badly did NOT want to do. Then they sent us on our way, nurses telling me to keep us updated, and good luck, and hopefully even more than one would take!
I just wanted to cry.
So, yeah, I should've turned to the positives in this situation, and eventually I did. But it once again felt like another instance of bad news, less-than-ideal news. I just wanted something at some point to go perfectly.
J got me set up in our big king size bed at the hotel, and I was comfy. But then I cried. I was stuck in my situation, and it wasn't what I had dreamed it would be, and no one had ever given me really good news.
My husband and I eventually talked about the fact that we've never, ever had a 30-40% chance of getting pregnant. I agreed that the prospect was exciting, and at least we had that.
I stayed on my back in the hotel for 24 hours, and then we drove home. The drive home was miserable. I couldn't see anything, it was bumpy, I was cramped and uncomfortable. At about an hour into our drive, I started feeling cramps. It truly felt like I was getting my period. I didn't know if I should be excited that I was feeling something, anything -- or if I should be afraid that it wasn't normal.
I didn't say anything to J; I just hoped it was a good thing. And so the calculating began. They hadn't even been blastocysts, so could they really be implanting already? What else did I feel? Should I tell someone?
The cramping didn't stop that evening. And even at times, it almost felt intense. Then the cramps would calm down, and I'd almost not notice them. I texted my nurse about it, because I didn't know if it was worrisome or not. She didn't really tell me one way or the other, but she instructed me to take two Advil.
I did. And then J googled Advil, and we read that Advil impedes implantation. I wanted to vomit, I wanted to cry, all of the blood drained out of my body. Why would she tell me to do that? Why had I done what she said without reading about it first? I was panicking.
I finally fell asleep that night, but when I woke up in the morning and was still having some cramps, I decided to call my fertility institute and talk to a different nurse (my nurse and doctor work in partnership with this specific institute, but I only went to the institute for my two procedures -- retrieval and transfer). I got a nurse immediately, and she eased my mind. She said they don't want my uterus to expel the embryos, but that the cramps could also mean good things. She said to stay away from the Advil but that it wouldn't prevent implantation -- it's just not recommended during pregnancy.
I knew there was nothing I could do, so I chose to kind of let go of it -- at least as best I could.
I remained in bed for another 24 hours, and on Thursday I got up, took a shower, and went to my RE for a blood draw to check how I've been absorbing my progesterone.
Did I mention that when I got home Tuesday night from OKC, I felt like I had a scratchy, irritated throat. This is absolutely always my first symptom of a cold. I tried to will it away, but I knew it was coming, and at just the most perfect time.
By Thursday, I definitely had a sore throat and was coughing, but I knew it'd get worse. Because I could have been pregnant, I couldn't take anything, and in the next 4-5 days, I became so miserably sick that I couldn't believe my luck.
I went back to school and work feeling like absolute shit since I had missed so much for all of my appointments and procedures lately, but I was miserable. And the days moved along, and I wanted so badly for January 29th -- the day of my pregnancy blood test -- to arrive, and I wanted so badly for it to stay away forever.
That morning, I drove the hour and a half to my RE's office. I waited a few minutes, and then my nurse took me back. She drew the blood and told me about what was next -- either way. If I was pregnant, I would come back on Monday for my second beta. If I wasn't, I'd stop the progesterone, my period would start within five days, and I would call to schedule a consultation to discuss the cycle and my future options.
I didn't want to find out the outcome without my husband, and I had to be on campus an hour and a half away that night for a class. I wouldn't be home until 10:30 p.m. I asked my nurse to call and leave the outcome in a voicemail that J and I could listen to together later that night, once I got home. And she agreed.
I was sitting in my office when my phone rang around 4:30 that afternoon. The caller ID said it was her, and my heart stopped. I had to let it ring and ring and then go to voicemail. And then my phone alerted me to her message, and I just stared at the notification. The answer was there, right there where I could reach it. But I didn't. I didn't want to know without J, and so it remained there for another almost seven hours.
Monday morning came quickly, and we got some breakfast, showered, got into our comfy clothes. We arrived a little earlier than we were asked to, but what else were we going to do? And I kind of thought maybe the earlier we got there, the earlier we'd get some information about our embryos.
We didn't wait long before they took us back, but once we were back is when the real waiting began. They gave me a blanket to wrap my bare lower half in, and J and I sat on the same bed I was in during my retrieval process. I had done a pretty good job of keeping my shit together until this point. But that's when it all started to hit me. We would really get the biggest information of our lives, up to this point, in a few minutes. I just needed to know.
I had to take deep breaths, and there was no way I could think about anything else. J and I would make eye contact periodically, and I could tell he was experiencing a similar torment.
Finally the embryologist came back. It was all very, very matter-of-fact, which really kind of felt offensive in some way. She explained that all three were behind. They were moving slowly, more slowly than they would have expected. She asked for permission to perform assisted hatching on them to maybe improve their chances. We gave her permission to do what they needed to do to help them out. I asked, as she was leaving, why our embryos might be so slow, and is it a bad thing. She said it could be because they fertilized late, it could be because they were of poorer quality, it could be for all kinds of unknown reasons. I decided to cling to her first explanation.
My heart was pounding this whole time, and it didn't stop.
A different doctor, who I had never met, was set to do my transfer. He came back to introduce himself and was really quite personable -- more so than my own doctor. But he quickly said, "Well, these embryos aren't that great."
My heart sank.
He asked me how old I was and then told me that he would give a healthy 27-year-old with three embryos of this quality a 30-40% chance of achieving pregnancy.
My heart sank again.
I just wanted him to leave. I just wanted to cry. I just wanted to wake up and start over.
The doctor assured me the procedure would be fine and that they'd get started in a few minutes.
An assistant to the embryologist brought back a photo of our three embryos. I wanted to cry. They were real, and I could see them, and they "weren't that great" according to everyone around me.
The photo also had their new grades next to each. Two IVs and a III. And none of them were blastocysts yet. At day 5. It's bad news.
When we were alone, I turned to J -- totally fighting back tears -- and said, I just wish I didn't know.
They took me back to the OR and had J change into his "scrubs." He sat behind my head, but I couldn't even really tell he was there. The procedure was fast and efficient, and everything went "perfectly" according to the doctor. Everything except that I had these not so great embryos that I had willed so hard to become my babies.
They transferred me from the tables to a bed quickly, but I of course didn't want to move a muscle. I stayed there for one hour, and then they had me use the restroom -- which I really badly did NOT want to do. Then they sent us on our way, nurses telling me to keep us updated, and good luck, and hopefully even more than one would take!
I just wanted to cry.
So, yeah, I should've turned to the positives in this situation, and eventually I did. But it once again felt like another instance of bad news, less-than-ideal news. I just wanted something at some point to go perfectly.
J got me set up in our big king size bed at the hotel, and I was comfy. But then I cried. I was stuck in my situation, and it wasn't what I had dreamed it would be, and no one had ever given me really good news.
My husband and I eventually talked about the fact that we've never, ever had a 30-40% chance of getting pregnant. I agreed that the prospect was exciting, and at least we had that.
I stayed on my back in the hotel for 24 hours, and then we drove home. The drive home was miserable. I couldn't see anything, it was bumpy, I was cramped and uncomfortable. At about an hour into our drive, I started feeling cramps. It truly felt like I was getting my period. I didn't know if I should be excited that I was feeling something, anything -- or if I should be afraid that it wasn't normal.
I didn't say anything to J; I just hoped it was a good thing. And so the calculating began. They hadn't even been blastocysts, so could they really be implanting already? What else did I feel? Should I tell someone?
The cramping didn't stop that evening. And even at times, it almost felt intense. Then the cramps would calm down, and I'd almost not notice them. I texted my nurse about it, because I didn't know if it was worrisome or not. She didn't really tell me one way or the other, but she instructed me to take two Advil.
I did. And then J googled Advil, and we read that Advil impedes implantation. I wanted to vomit, I wanted to cry, all of the blood drained out of my body. Why would she tell me to do that? Why had I done what she said without reading about it first? I was panicking.
I finally fell asleep that night, but when I woke up in the morning and was still having some cramps, I decided to call my fertility institute and talk to a different nurse (my nurse and doctor work in partnership with this specific institute, but I only went to the institute for my two procedures -- retrieval and transfer). I got a nurse immediately, and she eased my mind. She said they don't want my uterus to expel the embryos, but that the cramps could also mean good things. She said to stay away from the Advil but that it wouldn't prevent implantation -- it's just not recommended during pregnancy.
I knew there was nothing I could do, so I chose to kind of let go of it -- at least as best I could.
I remained in bed for another 24 hours, and on Thursday I got up, took a shower, and went to my RE for a blood draw to check how I've been absorbing my progesterone.
Did I mention that when I got home Tuesday night from OKC, I felt like I had a scratchy, irritated throat. This is absolutely always my first symptom of a cold. I tried to will it away, but I knew it was coming, and at just the most perfect time.
By Thursday, I definitely had a sore throat and was coughing, but I knew it'd get worse. Because I could have been pregnant, I couldn't take anything, and in the next 4-5 days, I became so miserably sick that I couldn't believe my luck.
I went back to school and work feeling like absolute shit since I had missed so much for all of my appointments and procedures lately, but I was miserable. And the days moved along, and I wanted so badly for January 29th -- the day of my pregnancy blood test -- to arrive, and I wanted so badly for it to stay away forever.
That morning, I drove the hour and a half to my RE's office. I waited a few minutes, and then my nurse took me back. She drew the blood and told me about what was next -- either way. If I was pregnant, I would come back on Monday for my second beta. If I wasn't, I'd stop the progesterone, my period would start within five days, and I would call to schedule a consultation to discuss the cycle and my future options.
I didn't want to find out the outcome without my husband, and I had to be on campus an hour and a half away that night for a class. I wouldn't be home until 10:30 p.m. I asked my nurse to call and leave the outcome in a voicemail that J and I could listen to together later that night, once I got home. And she agreed.
I was sitting in my office when my phone rang around 4:30 that afternoon. The caller ID said it was her, and my heart stopped. I had to let it ring and ring and then go to voicemail. And then my phone alerted me to her message, and I just stared at the notification. The answer was there, right there where I could reach it. But I didn't. I didn't want to know without J, and so it remained there for another almost seven hours.
Tuesday, February 11, 2014
all the embryo updates.
We got three embryo updates post-retrieval. The retrieval was on a Wednesday, so we knew nothing until Thursday around 12:45.
My nurse called to ask how I was doing and then proceeded to give me the rundown. She said that three of my six eggs had immediately been mature enough for fertilization. Only half. We were doing ICSI because of J's specific fertility issues, and I was nervous about that whole process anyway. But half? Okay, what else? All three of the mature eggs -- from what they could tell at this point -- had fertilized normally. This was a relief to me. The remaining three eggs were put in culture over night to mature, and all three had and were ready for a second-day ICSI fertilization. At this point, I felt super hopeful that we could get a number of fertilized eggs overall.
What I didn't know is that second-day fertilization rates are really low. I hadn't ever read about it; in fact, I probably didn't even know it was a thing at that point.
Recap:
Day 1 = 3 initially mature eggs, 3 fertilized eggs, 3 second-day mature eggs
On Friday, my call came at the same time -- around 12:45. At this point, I decided I knew my nurse's pattern/schedule and would wait by my phone everyday beginning at 12:15. She told me that two of the three that had fertilized were dividing, but the third had ultimately not fertilized normally -- it was polynucleated. This automatically felt painful because we lost a possibility in those moments, but I chose to focus on the two that remained. One of the embryos was a two-cell, and the other was a four-cell, if I'm remembering correctly. She also told me that one of the three previously immature eggs had fertilized normally during the second-day ICSI fertilization. That's when I decided to look up the process and the success rates only to find that rates are low! So I was glad to accept my one new fertilized egg. We had a total of three embryos, and all I could hope was that all three would make it to the end -- to transfer day.
My nurse reminded me that because we were looking at so few embryos, it was possible that they would determine a three-day transfer was best. I asked her whether this was a good thing or bad thing, and she just explained that the embryos need to be back in the body; it's where they belong, where they're safest. The five-day transfer is helpful in kind of weeding out the embryos, determining which are strongest by asking them to continue growing for a longer period of time. I didn't have the luxury of several embryos, so the five-day transfer was up in the air. They'd tell me tomorrow for sure -- which was the day of three-day transfer. So it would be a last minute thing, if it was necessary. It all, honestly, stressed me the fuck out.
Recap:
Day 2 = 2 dividing embryos (2-cell and 4-cell), 1 new fertilized egg
Saturday was my final embryo report and also the day of a three-day transfer if they decided that was my best option. This time my nurse called while I was in the shower -- because I was expecting her call at 12:45. My husband brought the phone in, I turned off the water, and we both huddled around my cell phone to listen to the report -- me dripping with shower water but not even noticing.
All three embryos were still dividing. The second-day fertilization was actually making better progress than one of the two original embryos. It was a healthy-looking four-cell. The strongest embryo was one from the first day at eight cells, and the third was a semi-weak, or slow, four-cell. She mentioned that our embryologist thought our strongest embryo was starting to "make some big changes," I guess transforming into a morula, which was good news. I felt hopeful.
She explained we would definitely be waiting for day 5 to do the transfer. I asked why -- I mean, if I only had three and if the embryos are best off in my body, what were we waiting for? (Not that I specifically wanted to do a three-day transfer, but I just didn't understand the logic behind the decision.) She explained that I was 27 and blah blah blah... I really felt like I didn't get an answer. All I can make of it is that because of my age, they expected my embryos to do well/be of good quality and that perhaps my risk of triplets would be high if they transferred all three? I don't know.
She explained that we had two level II embryos, and one level III. I felt confident in the two level IIs.
We hung up hopeful that all three would continue doing well and the strongest of the three would really take off. My nurse reminded us that we wouldn't receive an update the next day, Sunday, and that we wouldn't know anything more until we arrived for the transfer -- PURE TORTURE. We got our transfer time and the remaining instructions for Monday, and our call was done.
Recap:
Day 3 = 3 dividing embryos (2 four-cells, 1 eight-cell making "changes")
The next 48 hours were really kind of excruciating. To not know until you arrive at the hospital if you have any embryos left is awful. I kept telling myself that they would not make us come in for the procedure if there wasn't anything to transfer. I repeated this over and over, and that's what got me through.
My nurse called to ask how I was doing and then proceeded to give me the rundown. She said that three of my six eggs had immediately been mature enough for fertilization. Only half. We were doing ICSI because of J's specific fertility issues, and I was nervous about that whole process anyway. But half? Okay, what else? All three of the mature eggs -- from what they could tell at this point -- had fertilized normally. This was a relief to me. The remaining three eggs were put in culture over night to mature, and all three had and were ready for a second-day ICSI fertilization. At this point, I felt super hopeful that we could get a number of fertilized eggs overall.
What I didn't know is that second-day fertilization rates are really low. I hadn't ever read about it; in fact, I probably didn't even know it was a thing at that point.
Recap:
Day 1 = 3 initially mature eggs, 3 fertilized eggs, 3 second-day mature eggs
On Friday, my call came at the same time -- around 12:45. At this point, I decided I knew my nurse's pattern/schedule and would wait by my phone everyday beginning at 12:15. She told me that two of the three that had fertilized were dividing, but the third had ultimately not fertilized normally -- it was polynucleated. This automatically felt painful because we lost a possibility in those moments, but I chose to focus on the two that remained. One of the embryos was a two-cell, and the other was a four-cell, if I'm remembering correctly. She also told me that one of the three previously immature eggs had fertilized normally during the second-day ICSI fertilization. That's when I decided to look up the process and the success rates only to find that rates are low! So I was glad to accept my one new fertilized egg. We had a total of three embryos, and all I could hope was that all three would make it to the end -- to transfer day.
My nurse reminded me that because we were looking at so few embryos, it was possible that they would determine a three-day transfer was best. I asked her whether this was a good thing or bad thing, and she just explained that the embryos need to be back in the body; it's where they belong, where they're safest. The five-day transfer is helpful in kind of weeding out the embryos, determining which are strongest by asking them to continue growing for a longer period of time. I didn't have the luxury of several embryos, so the five-day transfer was up in the air. They'd tell me tomorrow for sure -- which was the day of three-day transfer. So it would be a last minute thing, if it was necessary. It all, honestly, stressed me the fuck out.
Recap:
Day 2 = 2 dividing embryos (2-cell and 4-cell), 1 new fertilized egg
Saturday was my final embryo report and also the day of a three-day transfer if they decided that was my best option. This time my nurse called while I was in the shower -- because I was expecting her call at 12:45. My husband brought the phone in, I turned off the water, and we both huddled around my cell phone to listen to the report -- me dripping with shower water but not even noticing.
All three embryos were still dividing. The second-day fertilization was actually making better progress than one of the two original embryos. It was a healthy-looking four-cell. The strongest embryo was one from the first day at eight cells, and the third was a semi-weak, or slow, four-cell. She mentioned that our embryologist thought our strongest embryo was starting to "make some big changes," I guess transforming into a morula, which was good news. I felt hopeful.
She explained we would definitely be waiting for day 5 to do the transfer. I asked why -- I mean, if I only had three and if the embryos are best off in my body, what were we waiting for? (Not that I specifically wanted to do a three-day transfer, but I just didn't understand the logic behind the decision.) She explained that I was 27 and blah blah blah... I really felt like I didn't get an answer. All I can make of it is that because of my age, they expected my embryos to do well/be of good quality and that perhaps my risk of triplets would be high if they transferred all three? I don't know.
She explained that we had two level II embryos, and one level III. I felt confident in the two level IIs.
We hung up hopeful that all three would continue doing well and the strongest of the three would really take off. My nurse reminded us that we wouldn't receive an update the next day, Sunday, and that we wouldn't know anything more until we arrived for the transfer -- PURE TORTURE. We got our transfer time and the remaining instructions for Monday, and our call was done.
Recap:
Day 3 = 3 dividing embryos (2 four-cells, 1 eight-cell making "changes")
The next 48 hours were really kind of excruciating. To not know until you arrive at the hospital if you have any embryos left is awful. I kept telling myself that they would not make us come in for the procedure if there wasn't anything to transfer. I repeated this over and over, and that's what got me through.
Thursday, February 6, 2014
egg retrieval and progesterone.
Tuesday, January 14th was first day off from receiving injections since Christmas Day. It was a bizarre feeling -- mostly panic -- that I had forgotten my shots or missed something important.
That evening we made our way to Oklahoma City, about a three-hour drive, so that we could settle in to our hotel room and enjoy a relaxing night prior to waking up early for the egg retrieval procedure. I had been instructed about not eating anything after midnight and making sure to arrive sans makeup and deodorant and nail polish. So that's what I spent my evening doing -- showering (which I did again in the morning), removing nail polish, eating dinner, and then just hanging out with my husband watching the good HBO shows that we don't get at home. (I miss GIRLS so much!)
In the morning, I showered again (paranoid much?), put on sweats and comfy shoes, and we were off. The hospital was less than a half mile from our hotel, so it wasn't much of a journey. They checked us in right away and took all the money we had to our names.
They led me back to a large recovery room where five beds were separated by curtains. I was given a gown and told to undress. They got me situated in one of the beds with a warm blanket -- always my favorite part -- and then it was time for my IV. They couldn't get it the first time in my right hand, but the first attempt in the left hand was fine. The saline started flowing, and I felt the cold run up my arm.
The anesthesiologist came in to introduce himself and ask me some questions about my medical history. He was so kind and friendly; I liked him immediately. Next up was my RE and his two shadowing medical students. He checked on me and explained things a little more.
My nurse, Jamie, was amazing, and I don't think I'll ever forget her. She took me through the whole scenario -- what kind of anesthesia they'd use and what it would feel like as I went under, how long the procedure would take, where my eggs would go, when I would wake up, that I might be weepy coming out of the drugs, the information they'd have for me upon waking, memory issues, etc. Nothing I experienced that day was a mystery to me because she had prepared me so well and taken such good care of me.
When it was time, they had me empty my bladder and walk back to the operating room. I got situated in a specific spot on the table, and they strapped my legs into the most intense "stirrups" I've ever seen in my life. Before I knew it, I was feeling good as the anesthesia made its way into my blood stream. I felt warm and drunk and sleepy, and that's the last thing I remember.
What seemed like immediately, I was groggily waking up in the same bed I had started in, J sitting in the corner chair. Tears were sliding down my cheeks, but I didn't know why. They told me they retrieved "six good eggs" and they were already with the embryologist. I felt so happy because it really was the best outcome I could have asked for since I only had six or seven responsive follicles. I had hoped and prayed for at least five.
I got my emotions in check and started to feel more and more like myself when another woman was wheeled out of the procedure. She had gone through the same process as us on the exact same schedule with the same physician, so we had come to know one another. We were always there for appointments at the same time, waiting in the waiting room together and with our husbands.
I could tell she was weepy as she woke up also. The doctor came back and told her he had only been able to get three eggs -- that's all there was. And she cried and cried and apologized to her husband. And so I cried again too.
They asked J to go get the car so that I could be wheeled out front and we could be on our way home. They had me use the restroom one last night. I was bleeding a little bit, and they assured me that it was normal and that I could expect to be a little sore.
I felt so good on the way home. They had gotten six eggs. Now, if you had told me two weeks before that they would only get six eggs, I would have been devastated. But having adjusted to only six follicles, it was all I could have hoped for. Funny how perspective changes.
Once we got home, I just wanted to take it easy and watching TV -- do mindless stuff. I hardly had my mind on the call we would get the next day about how many had fertilized.
That evening, my husband gave me my first progesterone shot. I was wary of these shots in particular because of what you hear about them, even because of what my nurse had said about them. I started off with a system, though, and it worked perfectly for the duration of the shots. I heated up a hot pad and put it on the site for about 20 minutes leading up to the shot. I also put the vial of progesterone in my bra to warm it. When the injection was administered, it hardly hurt at all. When it was over, I would spend a couple of minutes massaging the site, and then I'd apply the heat again for maybe 10 minutes. Each night we alternated sides of my butt to inject, and other than one instance where my husband drew blood, they never hurt or caused problems.
I woke up the next morning knowing the call would be coming, and I couldn't have hoped any harder that we would get good news.
That evening we made our way to Oklahoma City, about a three-hour drive, so that we could settle in to our hotel room and enjoy a relaxing night prior to waking up early for the egg retrieval procedure. I had been instructed about not eating anything after midnight and making sure to arrive sans makeup and deodorant and nail polish. So that's what I spent my evening doing -- showering (which I did again in the morning), removing nail polish, eating dinner, and then just hanging out with my husband watching the good HBO shows that we don't get at home. (I miss GIRLS so much!)
In the morning, I showered again (paranoid much?), put on sweats and comfy shoes, and we were off. The hospital was less than a half mile from our hotel, so it wasn't much of a journey. They checked us in right away and took all the money we had to our names.
They led me back to a large recovery room where five beds were separated by curtains. I was given a gown and told to undress. They got me situated in one of the beds with a warm blanket -- always my favorite part -- and then it was time for my IV. They couldn't get it the first time in my right hand, but the first attempt in the left hand was fine. The saline started flowing, and I felt the cold run up my arm.
The anesthesiologist came in to introduce himself and ask me some questions about my medical history. He was so kind and friendly; I liked him immediately. Next up was my RE and his two shadowing medical students. He checked on me and explained things a little more.
My nurse, Jamie, was amazing, and I don't think I'll ever forget her. She took me through the whole scenario -- what kind of anesthesia they'd use and what it would feel like as I went under, how long the procedure would take, where my eggs would go, when I would wake up, that I might be weepy coming out of the drugs, the information they'd have for me upon waking, memory issues, etc. Nothing I experienced that day was a mystery to me because she had prepared me so well and taken such good care of me.
When it was time, they had me empty my bladder and walk back to the operating room. I got situated in a specific spot on the table, and they strapped my legs into the most intense "stirrups" I've ever seen in my life. Before I knew it, I was feeling good as the anesthesia made its way into my blood stream. I felt warm and drunk and sleepy, and that's the last thing I remember.
What seemed like immediately, I was groggily waking up in the same bed I had started in, J sitting in the corner chair. Tears were sliding down my cheeks, but I didn't know why. They told me they retrieved "six good eggs" and they were already with the embryologist. I felt so happy because it really was the best outcome I could have asked for since I only had six or seven responsive follicles. I had hoped and prayed for at least five.
I got my emotions in check and started to feel more and more like myself when another woman was wheeled out of the procedure. She had gone through the same process as us on the exact same schedule with the same physician, so we had come to know one another. We were always there for appointments at the same time, waiting in the waiting room together and with our husbands.
I could tell she was weepy as she woke up also. The doctor came back and told her he had only been able to get three eggs -- that's all there was. And she cried and cried and apologized to her husband. And so I cried again too.
They asked J to go get the car so that I could be wheeled out front and we could be on our way home. They had me use the restroom one last night. I was bleeding a little bit, and they assured me that it was normal and that I could expect to be a little sore.
I felt so good on the way home. They had gotten six eggs. Now, if you had told me two weeks before that they would only get six eggs, I would have been devastated. But having adjusted to only six follicles, it was all I could have hoped for. Funny how perspective changes.
Once we got home, I just wanted to take it easy and watching TV -- do mindless stuff. I hardly had my mind on the call we would get the next day about how many had fertilized.
That evening, my husband gave me my first progesterone shot. I was wary of these shots in particular because of what you hear about them, even because of what my nurse had said about them. I started off with a system, though, and it worked perfectly for the duration of the shots. I heated up a hot pad and put it on the site for about 20 minutes leading up to the shot. I also put the vial of progesterone in my bra to warm it. When the injection was administered, it hardly hurt at all. When it was over, I would spend a couple of minutes massaging the site, and then I'd apply the heat again for maybe 10 minutes. Each night we alternated sides of my butt to inject, and other than one instance where my husband drew blood, they never hurt or caused problems.
I woke up the next morning knowing the call would be coming, and I couldn't have hoped any harder that we would get good news.
Wednesday, February 5, 2014
prior to egg retrieval.
After my initial ultrasound post-meds, I had two more ultrasounds prior to my scheduled egg retrieval. The first one was on January 9th, the second would be January 11th, and the third was January 13th.
On the 11th, I went in completely apprehensive and prepared for more less-than-ideal news. I hoped all six follicles were still there, and I wanted an explanation as to why my body wasn't responding as expected.
I went through the blood draw and then headed back to the imaging room. My husband was able to be there with me, thankfully, since it was a Saturday. I wasn't sure if I could make it through my anxiety without him. I got undressed and all situated on the table, waiting for my doctor and nurse to come in. When they did, they asked me how I was doing. I explained how nervous I was, that I was surprised I had so few follicles, that I only wanted good news.
My doctor and nurse both did what they could to calm my nerves. They told me how normal my feelings were, that it only takes one good egg for all of this to work. They reminded me that my age will really work in my favor. And then it was time to see what was going on.
As they were situating everything and moving the screen so I could see, I asked why I only had six follicles when I originally had 17. The only answer I could get was that these were the ones that were good, the ones that could respond. They would be my cohort to work with this cycle. It didn't and still doesn't make a lot of sense to me.
I still had the six follicles, and they were growing at a good pace. My lining was right where they wanted it. Then on my right ovary, they found an additional follicle. They weren't sure if it was new or if it had been hiding before, but I gained a follicle. I can't even tell you what a blessing this felt like. To just have another follicle, a total of seven, felt like the biggest gift I could have hoped for.
After I got dressed, my nurse taught J how to give the intramuscular progesterone shots in my ass. He practiced with saline and did great. It didn't hurt, and he seemed very comfortable. The progesterone was set to start the night of the egg retrieval.
I was able to leave that appointment feeling good, like things might just work out after all.
My next and final ultrasound was Monday, and unfortunately my husband couldn't be there with me. I was incredibly nervous for this one too, because they were determining whether I was ready for the trigger shot and whether we could move forward with the retrieval on Wednesday. It was a sort of post-op appointment, in addition to my regular follicle check.
This time I had the same seven follicles, plus two tiny ones. My doctor wasn't too hopeful that the new ones would produce anything since they looked to be so immature, but it was nice to know that, while slow, my body was responding.
I left there with instructions for my final Lupron injection, my trigger shot, my progesterone injections, and everything I needed to know for my egg retrieval. I left feeling okay about things and was just anxious to get the show on the road.
That night, I had class out of town. The trigger had to be administered at exactly 10 p.m., and I knew I would get home at 9:30 as long as everything went right. On my drive home, which takes about an hour and a half, I got pulled over for having a headlight out. I noticed it when I got back to my car after class, but what can you do at 8 p.m. in a different town about an expired headlight? The officer had to go through standard protocol -- license, insurance, registration, etc. It didn't take long, but long enough to have me panicking that I wouldn't be home and ready for my shot in time.
I did make it, and J gave me the trigger at 10 on the dot. It wasn't bad at all, and it just felt exciting to know that it was exactly what my follicles needed to get my eggs ready.
To be honest, I never once paid attention to the pain of the injections, or the inconvenience. I never once complained. I never once dreaded them, even. I looked forward to them, because for the first time in such a long time, I had reason to hope -- even if that hope came from daily needles in my thighs.
Now that it's over, I look back at all of it fondly. Those days when I didn't know the outcome yet. When it was all ahead of me. There was possibility, and I was taking action. We were moving forward.
Now we're stuck again. Stuck in sadness.
On the 11th, I went in completely apprehensive and prepared for more less-than-ideal news. I hoped all six follicles were still there, and I wanted an explanation as to why my body wasn't responding as expected.
I went through the blood draw and then headed back to the imaging room. My husband was able to be there with me, thankfully, since it was a Saturday. I wasn't sure if I could make it through my anxiety without him. I got undressed and all situated on the table, waiting for my doctor and nurse to come in. When they did, they asked me how I was doing. I explained how nervous I was, that I was surprised I had so few follicles, that I only wanted good news.
My doctor and nurse both did what they could to calm my nerves. They told me how normal my feelings were, that it only takes one good egg for all of this to work. They reminded me that my age will really work in my favor. And then it was time to see what was going on.
As they were situating everything and moving the screen so I could see, I asked why I only had six follicles when I originally had 17. The only answer I could get was that these were the ones that were good, the ones that could respond. They would be my cohort to work with this cycle. It didn't and still doesn't make a lot of sense to me.
I still had the six follicles, and they were growing at a good pace. My lining was right where they wanted it. Then on my right ovary, they found an additional follicle. They weren't sure if it was new or if it had been hiding before, but I gained a follicle. I can't even tell you what a blessing this felt like. To just have another follicle, a total of seven, felt like the biggest gift I could have hoped for.
After I got dressed, my nurse taught J how to give the intramuscular progesterone shots in my ass. He practiced with saline and did great. It didn't hurt, and he seemed very comfortable. The progesterone was set to start the night of the egg retrieval.
I was able to leave that appointment feeling good, like things might just work out after all.
My next and final ultrasound was Monday, and unfortunately my husband couldn't be there with me. I was incredibly nervous for this one too, because they were determining whether I was ready for the trigger shot and whether we could move forward with the retrieval on Wednesday. It was a sort of post-op appointment, in addition to my regular follicle check.
This time I had the same seven follicles, plus two tiny ones. My doctor wasn't too hopeful that the new ones would produce anything since they looked to be so immature, but it was nice to know that, while slow, my body was responding.
I left there with instructions for my final Lupron injection, my trigger shot, my progesterone injections, and everything I needed to know for my egg retrieval. I left feeling okay about things and was just anxious to get the show on the road.
That night, I had class out of town. The trigger had to be administered at exactly 10 p.m., and I knew I would get home at 9:30 as long as everything went right. On my drive home, which takes about an hour and a half, I got pulled over for having a headlight out. I noticed it when I got back to my car after class, but what can you do at 8 p.m. in a different town about an expired headlight? The officer had to go through standard protocol -- license, insurance, registration, etc. It didn't take long, but long enough to have me panicking that I wouldn't be home and ready for my shot in time.
I did make it, and J gave me the trigger at 10 on the dot. It wasn't bad at all, and it just felt exciting to know that it was exactly what my follicles needed to get my eggs ready.
To be honest, I never once paid attention to the pain of the injections, or the inconvenience. I never once complained. I never once dreaded them, even. I looked forward to them, because for the first time in such a long time, I had reason to hope -- even if that hope came from daily needles in my thighs.
Now that it's over, I look back at all of it fondly. Those days when I didn't know the outcome yet. When it was all ahead of me. There was possibility, and I was taking action. We were moving forward.
Now we're stuck again. Stuck in sadness.
Saturday, February 1, 2014
how it all began.
My first step entering into the actual IVF process was to begin daily Lupron injections in order to suppress my system. This past summer I had been on monthly depo Lupron injections to do the same thing long-term in order to eliminate remaining endometriosis after laparscopic surgery. I felt fine about beginning the daily shots and actually was just excited to be doing something and moving forward.
We began with .2 ml daily. My doctor had us use the sides of my thighs as injection sites rather than my abdomen, which I was thankful for. Something about the idea of needles going into my stomach -- even if they were only subcutaneous -- was a little unsettling. I didn't find the Lupron injections to be difficult at all. In fact, I had no problem administering them myself, and they quickly became just a part of daily routine for us.
These shots began on Christmas evening. I wasn't so sure about the timing, but it ended up being nice. I was happy to be taking steps forward, and the injections were easy to tote around when we went out or got together with friends or family. On Dec. 27th, I took my last birth control pill.
On Jan. 2nd, we went in for our first official IVF-related appointment for an ultrasound suppression check. They took bloodwork, weighed me, and did a trans-vaginal ultrasound to check to make sure I didn't have any growing follicles and that my system was sufficiently suppressed. It was, and we got the pleasant news that I had 17 sleeping follicles. Twelve on the right ovary, and five on the left. My nurse assured us that she fully expected they'd get 12-15 eggs from me. This was absolutely ideal, in my mind, and we left excited, hopeful, and anticipating more good news as the weeks went on.
On Jan. 5th, we were scheduled to begin Follistim injections in the morning, continue Lupron injections at night -- but drop to .1 ml rather than .2 ml -- and begin Menopur injections at the same time as Lupron. So we did all of those things. The Follistim was no big deal -- in fact, even less of a big deal than Lupron. I could barely feel the needles, and there was no burning or stinging from the medication entering my body. Now, Menopur... that was a different story! The first day J gave me the injection, I hadn't iced my thighs or anything. I was doing so well with everything else that it didn't even cross my mind. But let me tell you, that injection burned like Hell. I wasn't expecting it at all, and I immediately started crying. This startled my husband who let up on the injection, which in turn made it take longer. It felt like a 20-second long wasp sting.
When it was over, I just kept crying and crying. Not because the pain persisted, but because it was a reminder that this process wasn't going to be easy. That it wasn't really fair that we had to do any of this. That I couldn't believe we were here.
From then on, I thoroughly iced my thighs in preparation for the Menopur shots for about 15-20 minutes before the injection. This helped tremendously. I still dreaded them, and they still hurt, but they were much more tolerable.
My next appointment was on Jan. 9th. It was a scheduled blood draw and ultrasound to check my progress after having been on all of the drugs for a few days. I had texted my nurse two days earlier to ask her if what I was experiencing was normal. I woke up on the third day of injections feeling bloated and heavy. I could feel things happening in my abdomen, and it was like nothing I had experienced before. I was nervous it wasn't normal because I hadn't expected to feel anything so soon. She said that everything I described sounded normal, but she was surprised that I noticed it so quickly. This made me think I probably had a lot of follicles going, which I was hoping for.
When I got to the office that morning, she took me back for my blood draw, weighed me as usual, and said that they might back off on some of my drugs if I'm already feeling the effects. Again, I'm thinking I must have at least a dozen follicles going.
I get changed into a gown for the ultrasound and am feeling good. I can't wait to see what's happening inside me, and I know my husband was eager to find out as well. They turned the screen to me, and my doctor counted and measured three follicles on one side. I assumed this was the left side, where there were only five to begin with. Then he went to the other side where he counted and measured three more follicles. Only six total were responding to the medication. I couldn't believe it, and I felt such disappointment.
I am 27 years old, I have PCOS, and I am otherwise healthy. That's actually a recipe for OHSS, not very few follicles. I kept it together while the doctor and nurse were still in the room, but once they left I completely broke down.
Having been in this game for a while and knowing what I know, I know the fewer follicles you have, the fewer eggs they'll retrieve. The fewer eggs you have, the fewer will fertilize, and then the fewer embryos you'll get. And over the course of wait for transfer, you'll lose embryos, too. I couldn't help but be realistic about the information I had.
I cried most of the way home -- an hour and a half drive -- and most of the rest of the afternoon. That might seem a little extreme, but I knew what it meant. Once I got my emotions out, I decided to turn it around and get some perspective. It only takes one good egg and one good sperm to make it all happen. And that's all we needed, and I knew it was possible that it could happen to us. It has happened before for others. Why not us?
The most difficult part of the process to this point was that I now had reason to be less excited and more apprehensive, less blindly optimistic and more anxious. From this point on, I went to every appointment a little guarded and terrified to receive less than ideal news.
We began with .2 ml daily. My doctor had us use the sides of my thighs as injection sites rather than my abdomen, which I was thankful for. Something about the idea of needles going into my stomach -- even if they were only subcutaneous -- was a little unsettling. I didn't find the Lupron injections to be difficult at all. In fact, I had no problem administering them myself, and they quickly became just a part of daily routine for us.
These shots began on Christmas evening. I wasn't so sure about the timing, but it ended up being nice. I was happy to be taking steps forward, and the injections were easy to tote around when we went out or got together with friends or family. On Dec. 27th, I took my last birth control pill.
On Jan. 2nd, we went in for our first official IVF-related appointment for an ultrasound suppression check. They took bloodwork, weighed me, and did a trans-vaginal ultrasound to check to make sure I didn't have any growing follicles and that my system was sufficiently suppressed. It was, and we got the pleasant news that I had 17 sleeping follicles. Twelve on the right ovary, and five on the left. My nurse assured us that she fully expected they'd get 12-15 eggs from me. This was absolutely ideal, in my mind, and we left excited, hopeful, and anticipating more good news as the weeks went on.
On Jan. 5th, we were scheduled to begin Follistim injections in the morning, continue Lupron injections at night -- but drop to .1 ml rather than .2 ml -- and begin Menopur injections at the same time as Lupron. So we did all of those things. The Follistim was no big deal -- in fact, even less of a big deal than Lupron. I could barely feel the needles, and there was no burning or stinging from the medication entering my body. Now, Menopur... that was a different story! The first day J gave me the injection, I hadn't iced my thighs or anything. I was doing so well with everything else that it didn't even cross my mind. But let me tell you, that injection burned like Hell. I wasn't expecting it at all, and I immediately started crying. This startled my husband who let up on the injection, which in turn made it take longer. It felt like a 20-second long wasp sting.
When it was over, I just kept crying and crying. Not because the pain persisted, but because it was a reminder that this process wasn't going to be easy. That it wasn't really fair that we had to do any of this. That I couldn't believe we were here.
From then on, I thoroughly iced my thighs in preparation for the Menopur shots for about 15-20 minutes before the injection. This helped tremendously. I still dreaded them, and they still hurt, but they were much more tolerable.
My next appointment was on Jan. 9th. It was a scheduled blood draw and ultrasound to check my progress after having been on all of the drugs for a few days. I had texted my nurse two days earlier to ask her if what I was experiencing was normal. I woke up on the third day of injections feeling bloated and heavy. I could feel things happening in my abdomen, and it was like nothing I had experienced before. I was nervous it wasn't normal because I hadn't expected to feel anything so soon. She said that everything I described sounded normal, but she was surprised that I noticed it so quickly. This made me think I probably had a lot of follicles going, which I was hoping for.
When I got to the office that morning, she took me back for my blood draw, weighed me as usual, and said that they might back off on some of my drugs if I'm already feeling the effects. Again, I'm thinking I must have at least a dozen follicles going.
I get changed into a gown for the ultrasound and am feeling good. I can't wait to see what's happening inside me, and I know my husband was eager to find out as well. They turned the screen to me, and my doctor counted and measured three follicles on one side. I assumed this was the left side, where there were only five to begin with. Then he went to the other side where he counted and measured three more follicles. Only six total were responding to the medication. I couldn't believe it, and I felt such disappointment.
I am 27 years old, I have PCOS, and I am otherwise healthy. That's actually a recipe for OHSS, not very few follicles. I kept it together while the doctor and nurse were still in the room, but once they left I completely broke down.
Having been in this game for a while and knowing what I know, I know the fewer follicles you have, the fewer eggs they'll retrieve. The fewer eggs you have, the fewer will fertilize, and then the fewer embryos you'll get. And over the course of wait for transfer, you'll lose embryos, too. I couldn't help but be realistic about the information I had.
I cried most of the way home -- an hour and a half drive -- and most of the rest of the afternoon. That might seem a little extreme, but I knew what it meant. Once I got my emotions out, I decided to turn it around and get some perspective. It only takes one good egg and one good sperm to make it all happen. And that's all we needed, and I knew it was possible that it could happen to us. It has happened before for others. Why not us?
The most difficult part of the process to this point was that I now had reason to be less excited and more apprehensive, less blindly optimistic and more anxious. From this point on, I went to every appointment a little guarded and terrified to receive less than ideal news.
Friday, January 31, 2014
and here we are.
Once again, I neglected the blog. I'm not sure that anyone reads it anyway, but I do wish I had done a better job of documenting my IVF journey.
I'm really kind of silly and ridiculous sometimes. In my mind, I just wanted to be in the moment and really almost believed that if I wrote about every little thing, I would jinx myself. I know this isn't true, but when you're in the middle of it, you want to do everything right. Just everything.
My plan from here is to go back in time and document what I remember. The drugs I was taking each day. My side effects and reactions. How I felt throughout the process. The way everything worked. I want this record for my own purposes, something to reflect on. And you never know when or why that information might come in handy.
My egg retrieval was on Jan. 15th. My transfer of three embryos was on Jan. 20th. The days that followed were tough.
And last night we learned that it failed. I'm not pregnant.
I'm really kind of silly and ridiculous sometimes. In my mind, I just wanted to be in the moment and really almost believed that if I wrote about every little thing, I would jinx myself. I know this isn't true, but when you're in the middle of it, you want to do everything right. Just everything.
My plan from here is to go back in time and document what I remember. The drugs I was taking each day. My side effects and reactions. How I felt throughout the process. The way everything worked. I want this record for my own purposes, something to reflect on. And you never know when or why that information might come in handy.
My egg retrieval was on Jan. 15th. My transfer of three embryos was on Jan. 20th. The days that followed were tough.
And last night we learned that it failed. I'm not pregnant.
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