Anniversaries

One of the aspects of repeat pregnancy loss that many women struggle with is anniversaries.  Today is an anniversary, but not one directly related to my pregnancy losses.

Today is the second anniversary of my mother's passing.  I had been awake for about two hours before I realized what day it was.  The emotions hit pretty hard and fast and since then, day-to-day life has taken over its course, as would be expected.

It is also a reminder of just how many years my husband and I have spent ttc. When mom passed away, I was a day or two away from ovulation after a year of trying and the phone call came in at a rather inopportune moment.  I just knew when I heard Dad's ringtone that it was about Mom, so I made the rush to grab my phone--something I would never normally do under the circumstances.

When ttc and BDing, *nothing* gets in the way.  Except this.

Sixteen days later it was my birthday, I was on my flight back home, and it was CD1.

That was the most miserable tww ever, hoping against hope that that month would be our lucky month so that I could always look at my child and know that he or she had begun their journey into the world the day Mom left it.

The following March, I was again traveling during AF, but this time it was to my father's wedding.  That weekend was the weekend my third daughter would have been born.  I would have been 38 weeks along and both of my other daughters delivered at 38 weeks.

Some of these anniversaries just suck.  I am very happy that dad has found someone to love and who loves him.  She's waited decades to have a good man in her life and above all, I know my father is a good man.  But even knowing that doesn't take away from the pain I feel.  Nobody can replace my mother in the role of mother and it has taken some getting used to.

This second anniversary comes with new emotions.  Besides the knowledge that I could have an 11 month old toddling around my ankles and mischievously crawling up the stairs and emptying out the pots and pans, there is the ache to tell my mom about the milestones I'm reaching with the pregnancy of our son and how different it is from each of my pregnancies with my daughters.

Not only am I trying to switch gears by referring to our baby as our son (which still feels so strange!) but also because I have an anterior placenta and it's causing all sorts of unnecessary worry.  I'm used to feeling my babies move from a very early point.  Even my husband felt our second daughter before I hit 16 weeks!  But with the placenta sitting in the front, it's like having a pillow block most of the movement and only the strongest of kicks or somersaults can be felt.

Loss of movement was my first indication that I'd lost my daughter, so *not* feeling my son at beyond 16 weeks has caused some stress to say the least.  I am so thankful for my doppler, which lets me hear his heartbeat and keeps me from having a full on panic attack when I go 2-3 days without much movement.

I believe in Heaven: a pre-existence and life beyond death. But I don't know if, for example, my mother is up in heaven chatting things up with my son and telling him just how much he's wanted, how hard we've worked to have him, and how many years we've dreamed about having him in our lives.

What I do know is that Mom has been busy and I believe she's aware of what is going on in my life.  She was in the delivery room with me when I delivered my daughters and I wouldn't put it past her to find a way to be there when my son comes into the world.

Changing a Mindset

We've now known the gender for a whopping 4 days now.  It is quite an adjustment to refer to the baby as "my son" or "your brother".  Neither my husband nor I have any experience with little brothers so this is a new journey for us.

Of my 6 previous pregnancies, we know 3 were girls.

We kept two bins of clothing from our daughters for items 0-36 months.  It's not much, but it was our favorite pieces and items the girls said they wanted for their daughters to wear someday.

We also kept the crib, but gave away the mattress, the car seat, the exersaucer, cloth diapers, etc.

I did keep the 4 newborn diapers that arrived the day I lost my last baby and have located 3 of them.

None of that matters for now.  I'm just shy of 16 weeks and have a lot of time to plan and some major reorganizing to do before we can start purchasing things (although I'm secretly hoping someone offers to throw me a baby shower).

The mindset I'm referring to isn't just about the gender of my baby; it's trying to turn years of anger and hurt into something more positive and forgiving.

I sat in church today, listening to a wonderful lesson about the Good Samaritan and serving others.  The teacher and class members were sharing stories about acts of service and how it affected their families. I have two children and am expecting a third, and yet, I kept thinking about my friends who have struggled to have any or who have one but have been unable to have more.

And I was angry at the injustice.  Why should such deserving families be "left behind"?  Will they ever have similar experiences with their children?

I sat with silent tears rolling down my cheeks, too afraid to speak up, as I recalled my pain and the prompting I felt over the summer to reach out to a long-time friend.  She gave me such strength and helped me get on to a track where I was starting to heal.  That last failed cycle didn't hurt quite as bad as the dozen before it had.

She is still fighting her battle and I cry for her.  Every day I think about her and want to give her a big hug but know that if I could, even the sight of my growing belly could bring her pain. I don't know how much distance to keep and what to share or to keep to myself.

So here I am and I keep looking in the mirror and I see my friends and family who are still struggling so hard to find their path to parenthood.  If only I could turn around, grab their hands, and guide them!  But I can't.  All I can do is glance in the mirror and holler my support and encouragement and let them know I love them.

Even my daughters have been affected.  As a quick example, my alarm went off for me to take my baby aspirin this afternoon.  My 3 year old asked, "Is that for your mouth or your girl parts?"

Now seriously, what child realizes that some medicines don't go in the mouth?? I didn't even know meds could go "in the girl parts" until last summer!!

It has become increasingly obvious that I was right: infertility has changed me and I don't think that time will ever do anything more than blur the edges of the pain a little.

The price on my family and my own emotions and mental attitude has been steep.  Oh so steep. Can I change my mindset? Can I accept that I can't heal my friends? Can I ever forgive myself for being "the lucky one"?

Do I even want to?

Missed The Money Shot

Today at my ultrasound the tech took 50 pictures.  One of them is this gem of a headstand:

Call me a prude or whatever, but I'm not a fan of having my babies' gender parts all over the internet, so we're keeping that photo to ourselves.

Our daughter really really wanted a baby sister.  And when I say REALLY, I mean it's all she's talked about for the last 3 months.

We told her the good news and missed her initial reaction.  Darn it!!  But we did get this rather fuzzy picture and it still shows her response.

Can you tell how upset she is?  It's true.  My husband, who is the only son of an only son of an only son, is having a son.  

This likely explains my overwhelming craving for bacon. BACON!!

It also might explain why I'm still not showing as much as I was at 15 weeks with our girls. Almost everything about this pregnancy has been different than my past pregnancies that went beyond 8 weeks.

We also got our trisomy testing back today.  Everything came back low risk.  Phew!

As My Man would say: So let it be written, so let it be done.

What Did Not Work for Us

Over the last week, since we made our happy announcement here, I have had multiple inquiries through facebook regarding what I did this particular cycle to led us to achieving pregnancy after so many months without success.

When I lost our baby girl in September of 2012, I knew our chances would be slim of getting pregnant again based on some discoveries about my health and that if we did, it would likely cost of quite a bit of money--money that we didn't have and could not have saved up for several years.

I began cycles of 50mg clomid in December 2012 and January 2012, prescribed by my OB/GYN but completely unmonitored.  When those didn't work, they increased my dose to 100mg. Those cycles were started in March and April of 2013.

It was then that I scheduled an appointment at Shady Grove. By then I had researched our insurance and knew that all of our diagnostic testing would be covered as well as any medications that were prescribed for a timed intercourse cycle.

It wasn't much, but it was better than I'd expected and I also knew that we'd have the option of changing our insurance to something with significantly more coverage during open enrollment at the new year.

We completed all the testing.  I had 21 vials of blood taken (David had 6 and had his sampling done), an HSG, and an ultrasound. The only thing that came up from our testing was that my anticardiolipin antibodies were elevated. The best part about this test is that we now had an explanation for my 4 confirmed losses and the reason for my other 2 possible losses (positive hpt but negative beta the following day).

There's a pregnancy protocol for women with the antibody problem: Lovenox.  But by golly I had to get pregnant first!

After 1 cycle with my RE on clomid with 50mc clomid, monitored via blood work and ultrasounds, and only one mature follicle, I was bumped up to 100mg.  The first cycle I had 1 mature follicle but 2 that were close behind when they had me inject my HCG trigger shot. I was then able to complete 2 more cycles on 100mg, but each of those cycles had 4 mature follicles.

It was a horrible irony that the doctor had to discuss the option of pregnancy reduction if all 4 eggs matured and implanted.

None of them did.  Either month.

So I set up an appointment with the RE in late October to review everything and get the ball rolling for IVF in March.  At that point, we knew we would be changing our insurance over to a Kaiser plan that would provide 50% coverage for the cost of IVF as well as most of the medications needed.  The out-of-pocket cost for IVF and meds would have been in the vicinity of $13,000, so 50% coverage is huge!!

With plans set to do a mock transfer in December, I left the office resolved to get my body as healthy as possible between then and now. We had a plan and I was going to put that plan in motion.

In all, I had completed 9 rounds of clomid in 16 months, with only the first round resulting in a pregnancy.  I felt hopeless and very let down by my body.  Everything was lining up perfectly each month.  Mature follicles, good uterine lining, and perfectly timed "TI".

Why wasn't any of that working???

Stuck

So, do you know what happens when your OB is really good at what he does?  He's on the back-up list to about half the OBs in my area and none of them will let me transfer to their practice as a result.

Lovely.

So now I have to try and come up with a new solution but I doubt a midwife would take me because I'm on special medications.

In all seriousness, I might wish infertility on my worst enemy but I wouldn't wish PTSD on them . . .even after most of the triggers have resolved it comes back to bite you in the butt.

Post-PTSD Pregnancy

    Back in October, before I had any inkling that I'd be pregnant in under 8 weeks, my husband and I had a tear-filled discussion.

    As is typical, I was the one doing all of the crying. Clomid-induced hormones combined with all the emotional turmoil that comes with infertility led to a particularly difficult night for me.
 
    That night my sweet husband asked me what I thought would make me feel better.

    "A viable pregnancy" was my only response.

    In all honesty, I thought that being pregnant would heal all the wounds and make the pain go away.  If pregnancy losses were the cause of my distress, then shouldn't a viable pregnancy also be the cure?
It turns out that for me the answer is No.  Even 4 weeks after finding out I was pregnant I was still struggling with many of the silent panic attacks and the preference to shoot daggers with my eyes at any pregnant woman I saw who I knew had conceived easily, rather than be genuinely happy for them.

    Since then, things have been a little bit better but I still find myself irked by women who announce their pregnancies with comments like, "28 more weeks until I can eat sushi!"  Really? You care more about eating sushi than meeting your baby?

    Come On, People!  Don't you get how blessed you are?? And can't you please be aware of your audience when you make statements like that?  Yeah, some people will think it's funny, but you must realize that any woman struggling with infertility isn't going to appreciate the joke.

    That's not the only problem though--this lingering sensitivity to pregnancy announcements . . .

    I've been to my OB's office 3 times since the day of my bfp.  The first was after a panic attack where I was sure the baby had died in the 2 weeks since I'd seen the heartbeat at the REs office.  A wonderful nurse practitioner who I'd never met before sat and talked with me then rolled in their old ultrasound machine and, warning me that it still might be too soon to view the heartbeat transabdominally, proceeded to try so that I didn't have to have a transvaginal u/s.  And there it was, the little baby with a heartbeat.  The picture wasn't clear because the machine is old, but it was definitely there.

    When I started to cry and explain why I was crying, that lovely lady came over and gave me, a stranger, a hug and cried with me. I felt like my fears were validated because someone understood.  She, too, had experience multiple losses during her childbearing years and seemed to really empathize with what I was going through.

    The following week I met with one of the new OBs in the office, a recent medical school graduate with no children of her own and a very clinical approach to her questioning.  It seemed a little cold, but not horrible.

    My third visit was my 13 week visit last week and I finally met with the OB I had seen during my last pregnancy and that had done my d&c after the baby died.  He's a very nice man, nearing retirement, whose only child died a couple days after birth. He was very caring and sensitive during my loss in 2012.

    Unfortunately, being in his presence as he put the doppler on my stomach to listen for the heartbeat, like he had on September 28th, 2012, was just too much.  Even as I could hear the whoosha-whoosha of this baby's heartbeat, my mind was replaying the silence of before and I had to do everything in my power not to jump up and run out of the office in tears.

   The memories of that appointment with that doctor are too strong.  So here I am, just a few hours away from being 14 weeks pregnant, and I have to find a new provider because I can't go through that again.  As caring as he is, the memories and emotional trauma that followed are still too present and too real for me to continue in his care.

And so the hunt for a new provider begins. . .

Harder than it Ought to Be

I have spent several weeks trying to put my feelings and thoughts into words, continually unsatisfied with the result.

You see, I should be one of the happiest women around, but I have found my own happiness being tempered by the pain I feel for my friends.  In the last year and a half, I have begun discussing my battle with infertility publicly.  From tweets, to memes, to facebook status updates . . . anything to let others know they are not alone.

Infertility is a painful journey and not new just to modern families.  Ancient mythology from the Aztecs to the Vodou contain tales of Gods and Goddesses of fertility and you can find stories about Sarah, Hannah, Rachel, and Elizabeth in the Bible . . .  but it has only been recently that couples have begun to really talk publicly about the pain that comes with the battle.

In the course of sharing, I have had over a dozen friends, people I know in real life, share their stories with me.  Much to my surprise, some of these friends were men.  These men are loving husbands who are fighting the battle with their wives and feeling the agony that comes with infertility.  Their pain touched me more than I could have ever expected and I admire their courage to talk about it as well as how dedicated to their spouses they are.

It is you, the brave and broken men and women who have continually been in my thoughts and so often in my prayers.  I say broken because anyone who has been through infertility feels broken.  And betrayed.  But we are brave because we continue on inspite of the pain.  We keep fighting until the battle can no longer be fought, whether it is due to age, finances, or choosing a path we hadn't intended.

My husband and I appear to be done fighting that battle.  It is not because we can no longer fight, it is not because of finances, and it isn't because our path or goal has changed; t is because we are expecting what we believe will be our last child.

With each breath I take, I hope and pray for the safety of my own baby.

I pray that he or she will grow strong.

I pray that the medications I am on will prevent the losses I've experienced in the past.

I pray that those friends who have shared their pain will find healing of their own, whether the healing comes from a viable pregnancy of their own or through finding another path that brings them peace.

I pray that the battle I have fought can give me the strength to help others when they have no strength left.

My battle with infertility has been my Eleven Years Battle.  My body is not healed, but I have limped across the battlefield and found that I've survived.