Infertility is a bitch.
This is her story:
Hi, Gen here, again. In my last post, I gave you all the details about the cycles I’ve been through, the HUGE number of procedures I’ve had done to my body and my quest to have both my first and my next child. I wrote that post as I was looking down the barrel of another Frozen Embryo Transfer (FET).
We had miscarried with my last try. It had been a fresh cycle which meant tons of shots taken both in my belly, (self-administered) and then in my backside (given to me by Sam, my husband.).
What my last post didn’t describe to you was the emotional roller coaster the past 3 1/2 years have been.
The hormones are a bitch. I didn’t react well to the estrogen but I had no choice but to continue to self-administer this excruciating medication. It killed me. Every swallow, every suppository, every injection ate away at me. And broke me down.
With my first child, I had to take a break after several unsuccessful cycles.
I sought out massage and acupuncture. I increased my cardio work-outs. I did more yoga. And I found my sanity.
The next cycle we got pregnant and stayed pregnant. It was a dream come true.
When Chloe was 10 months old, we started again.
We blew through our frozen embryos. My doctor recommended that I be sterilized in order to protect future embryos from the caustic fluid in my fallopian tubes.
We then did another fresh cycle. And we were pregnant! But I wasn’t in a good place. Sam and I had been arguing. The money we had been shelling out to build our family was taking a toll on us. My emotional instability was wearing us both down.
When we went for our first ultrasound the doctor didn’t see a heart beat. He assured us it wasn’t unusual at this point, only 5weeks, 4days.
We went for another ultrasound. Heartbeat! But the baby wasn’t as large as it should be. And the damn nurse practitioner had NO bedside manner and did NOTHING to assure us of anything, did not tell us be prepared for this pregnancy to be rough. Nothing. She didn’t offer to answer questions, her face stern and uninviting.
I hated her.
A third ultrasound showed that the baby was growing well, so that was a positive. At 8 weeks, my doctor released me to my OBGYN.
Sigh of relief.
Surprisingly, I was able to get into to see my OB the next week. We joked, it was good to see each other again. I made my usual inappropriate jokes about a dildo cam.
We were both still laughing when the image of our baby came on the screen.
And there was no heartbeat.
I was in shock.
The D&C was scheduled four days later.
I didn’t cry for three weeks.
Three months later it was time to try again. I had started working out again. Sam and I had been working on the house together and had found a new sitter who relieved a TON of stress we’d been suffering.
Life was good.
As I started meds, a friend recommended that I write a post for Band Back Together.
It scared me. I was afraid to feel this all over again. I was afraid it would wreck the fragile self I was holding on to so tightly.
But I did it. I was careful, I didn’t fall apart and I didn’t write from my heart.
We did the implant, we tested ten days later and had good numbers, we were pregnant.
And the real waiting game began. The mental challenge was laid before me, “hold it together for another two weeks.” Two days ago I asked Aunt Becky if I could write this post because I was a neurotic mess.
I took a home pregnancy test and was such a nervous wreck I did it wrong and invalidated it. I took another. It was positive but took SO long and how could I trust it?
I was wigging out!
Sam kept telling me to calm down. He asked, “What is it going to take for you to relax? One good ultrasound? Two? Another trimester?”
I said I didn’t know. The last pregnancy ruined me.
Today we had our first ultrasound.
And there was a heartbeat.
And I am relieved.