I started mentally writing this post three years ago. At
that point I imagined we’d be sharing happy news in the very near future. I
had no idea that it would take us so long to get here, or that the next three
years would bring us so much heartache. But I
think it’s important to talk about what we’ve been through. Stories about infertility
and loss too often go unspoken, yet 1 in 8 couples struggle with infertility. Infertility
can happen to anyone. It happened to us…
In early 2015 when we were both 27, Matt and I decided to
start a family. He would be graduating with his PhD that summer, and we felt
the time was right. After coming off the pill, I noticed that my body never seemed to get back on
track, so I started acupuncture. When that failed to kick start my body, I went to my doctor. Shortly after my 28th birthday, it was recommended that we seek treatment for infertility.
Matt and my mom reassured me that it wasn’t the end of the
world; we would probably just need a little bit of help. We got an appointment fairly
quickly with a local RE, or reproductive endocrinologist. Tests and bloodwork
showed that nothing was wrong with Matt, but that I had PCOS and was, as a
result, anovulatory. Our prognosis was very good – I just needed to pop a few
pills to force my body to ovulate and nature would take care of the rest. We
went through a roller coaster of emotions every month for 4 months on Clomid. Each month without success, our morale became a bit lower, as did our checking account; insurance covers no part of
infertility treatment in our state. I was ovulating, but not getting
pregnant. My doctor didn’t seem to know why it wasn’t working. We switched to a
different drug, Letrozole. Although made to treat breast cancer, it has an
off-market use for infertility. We tried that for a few more months. I started
to doubt that mother nature knew what she was doing, so we also moved forward
with three rounds of IUI (intrauterine insemination). No luck.
I was devastated by the fact that we had exhausted all of the
“noninvasive” (ha!) options. The next step was IVF,
and I wasn’t ready for it. We decided to take a few months off to think everything
through. I also wanted to know if we might be one of those couples who magically gets pregnant as soon as they stop trying. We weren't that lucky. But I
did get clarity about our next steps. I wanted to move forward with IVF, but I
needed a different RE. The clinic in Atlanta wasn’t the right fit, and other clinics in the Atlanta area seemed to have a similar feel: huge and impersonal.
After doing research, Matt and I had a consultation with an
RE in Greenville, SC. It seemed a little crazy to think that we would drive 5
hours roundtrip for every appointment, but we figured it couldn’t hurt to check
out their practice. Immediately after our first visit, I told Matt I wanted to
move forward right away with IVF in Greenville. The reality, though, was that
we needed to find a way to pay the exorbitant cost of the procedure and the
drugs upfront with no insurance coverage whatsoever. Already having depleted our
savings over the last year of treatment in Atlanta, we decided to open a new
credit card to finance the endeavor.
By my 29th birthday, we were well into the
stimulation phase of our first round of IVF. Huge boxes of mail-ordered vials,
syringes, injectable pens, sharps containers, gauze, and alcohol wipes had been
delivered and organized in our kitchen. Despite his phobia of needles, Matt administered
multiple injections a day without passing out. My stomach was covered with
dozens of tiny bruises, and my lower belly stuck out like a beer gut, but the
good news was that my eggs were growing! After about 2 weeks, I was ready for
the next step in the process: retrieval. I was put under for the procedure, the
description of which sounded pretty horrific. But I made it out of surgery just
fine. My ovaries felt achy and hollow, but we were just a few days away from
transferring an embryo! The transfer itself was fairly uneventful, but the two
weeks after stretched on for an eternity. Then we finally got the news: it had
worked. Our very first round of IVF had worked! We were ecstatic. We shared the
news with Matt’s parents over the phone as we drove to see my parents. I filmed
our “reveal” as we watched my mom open the wrapped box which contained a
message that they would be grandparents.
Just a few days later, we got the call that my HCG levels
were going down rather than going up. A third blood test confirmed that it was
over just as quickly as it had started. The most likely reason for the loss was
a chromosomal abnormality of the embryo. Devastated by the news, I insisted we
thaw all of our remaining embryos and pay the extra money to PGS test them,
which would allow us to find out which ones were normal and which were not.
Even with that information, there are no guarantees.
When those test results came back, we were ready to move
forward with another transfer using one of our genetically normal embryos. In September
of 2016, we transferred a single PGS tested female embryo. Two weeks later, we
were again told that we were pregnant. Matt’s parents were in town a few days
after that, and of course we planned another reveal. Everyone was thrilled. When my HCG numbers went up fairly normally, I was relieved to have
made it further than last time. I thought we were past the biggest hurdle. We
scheduled our first ultrasound where we would be able to hear our little girl’s
heartbeat from inside my uterus.
The problem, though, was that the baby was not in my uterus.
Our pregnancy was ectopic. I was told that I was too far along for a
methotrexate shot and I would have to go into emergency surgery that day in
Greenville. We were both in shock. I was terrified to go into surgery,
to have the baby taken away from me, to have my tube removed. I wasn’t mentally
prepared for any of it. When surgery time rolled around, it was almost a
relief. At least I got to be unconscious and could stop thinking about it all
temporarily.
The next few months would be the hardest of my life. After
the chemical pregnancy I was crushed, but I understood that I would eventually
be ok. This time I felt, for the very first time, that I would never be happy again.
It’s a scary thought to have. I had extreme physical pain for first few days as the meds wore off, which at least distracted me partially from the emotional damage. As I
started to heal physically, all that was left was the excruciating emptiness and
depression. I went on for a while, silently thinking that I would never really
experience happiness again. One day Matt showed me a ridiculous YouTube video of a pig. I surprised both of us when I laughed out loud. I watched it
again and laughed so hard that I cried. I must have watched that video a
thousand times. Bit by bit, I slowly started to regain the ability to feel
happy. I felt a little more like myself.
Matt and I decided to pursue another retrieval, rather than
just using the one embryo we had remaining. I figured we should store up a few
more embryos to ensure that we could be successful in the future, having
already seen firsthand that not every transfer leads to a baby. We decided that
the best time for another retrieval was now, while I was as young as possible.
In an attempt to get more eggs, we upped my dosage of the meds, which of course
increased the cost of medication. We went through the same grueling stimulation process again: twice a day
Matt would have to grab a fold of skin on my bruised, swollen belly and
administer my shots while I held a vibrating children's ice pack shaped like a bumble bee against my skin. We were hopeful that our results would be even better than
the first time, because of our increased dosage. Our gamble didn’t pay off.
We went back and forth constantly about what our next step
should be. Around this time, one of my best friends called. She was pregnant.
She broke the news in the gentlest way possible. She knew what we’d been
through and knew how I would feel. When we hung up, I sobbed so much and so
hard that I was gasping for air. It was the closest I’ve ever come to having a
panic attack. I was so terribly resentful of her happiness that on top of the
already awful things I was feeling, I was also completely disgusted with myself.
Coming off of our unsuccessful retrieval, we took a few months to regroup and started to prep for our third
retrieval that summer. We opened another new credit card to cover the cost. Over the past few years, I’d done extensive and
obsessive research and after consulting with my doctor, we decided to make some
changes to the protocol. I started taking DHEA to help my body produce hormones
more effectively. We splurged on a $1,000 vial of Human Growth Hormone to see
if it might help with my response to the other meds. In addition to our regular
meds, we also added in a new medication made from the urine of postmenopausal
women. Yup, you read right. It burned like crazy with every injection.
After the retrieval, our embryos were again biopsied and frozen. The biopsy samples
were mailed off to California. Meanwhile in Atlanta, I was starting to have
some bad reactions. My stomach became so swollen I looked about 6 months
pregnant. Someone actually asked me if I was pregnant. Standing up straight was
painful, so I had to hunch over. After a day or two, I agreed to let Matt drive
me to Greenville. I was diagnosed with OHSS, ovarian hyperstimulation syndrome,
a potential side effect of IVF. My case was apparently mild to moderate
and it was determined that there wasn’t quite enough free fluid floating around
in my abdominal cavity to drain it. I was in so much pain that I was actually disappointed
that my doctor wouldn’t stick a needle into my stomach to drain the fluid. I was
given some serious pain meds and an IV to rehydrate the rest of my body.
The OHSS was worth it when we got our PGS results back and finally
had some good news. The apparent next step was to move forward with our third transfer.
But I couldn’t take the risk of having another false start. Matt and I decided that
we would go through the expensive and timely process of an ERA (endometrial
receptivity array) test. I went through a mock cycle, taking all the
medications necessary to perform a transfer. On the typical day of transfer,
instead of having an embryo deposited, I was put under anesthesia so that a little
chunk of my uterine lining could be cut out. The sample was sent away for
testing that would tell us if my window of implantation was within the normal
range.
When the results came back, they showed that I was “early receptive.” I might
benefit from an extra 12 hours of progesterone supplementation prior to transfer.
With this information, we were ready for our 3rd transfer. But after having to
share so much bad news over the last number of years, I told Matt I wanted to
keep this next step to ourselves. So we lied to our closest friends and family, telling them that there wasn't enough time to start a new cycle with the Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays coming up and that we would start back up with treatment in the new year. In reality, I started prepping for the transfer right away. About a month in advance I cut out all sugar, carbs, and dairy to reduce internal inflammation.
I picked back up with acupuncture. I stopped working out entirely so that my
body wouldn’t be under stress. I started going to sleep as early as possible. We
also made some changes to our transfer protocol. I had a mock transfer so that
my doctor could better map out the path for the catheter, which would help prevent
unnecessary contractions. I requested to double my dose of Valium on transfer
day. I listened to guided fertility
meditations. Per my acupuncturist's recommendation, I ate only warming foods to increase my "yang." And of course I took the extra 12 hours of progesterone. We transferred 1
embryo on November 14, 2017. And then we waited. I followed the old wives' tale and ate 1/5 of a pineapple every day for 5 days after transfer. We found out until the
Monday after Thanksgiving that I was pregnant, and finally shared the news with our parents over Christmas. I’m now 16 weeks along.
Every step of this painful journey has made us that
much more thankful for where we are now. We know we wouldn’t be here without
the amazing doctors, nurses, and admins at Piedmont Reproductive Endocrinology
Group in Greenville, SC. We couldn’t have made it through the last 3 years
without our incredible support system of family and friends all over the
country. Thank you for listening when we needed to vent, helping us stay
positive when it seemed impossible, for loving us even when we were at our
lowest points, for knowing when to call and when to give us space, for
sending prayers, thoughts, and good vibes for every procedure, and for cheering us along every single step of the way. This process has
reminded us how loved we are and how loved this child will be. We could not be more excited to meet Baby Lindale in August!
Photo by Brooke Whitney Photography: http://www.brookewhitneyphotography.com
