Double the Joy, Double the Worry

6 weeks and 2 days: Baby A and Baby B and empty sack for Angel Baby C in the middle who likely split from either A or B.

We had our second ultrasound on Thursday. I had been feeling especially “well” that day, so I was sure something bad must have happened.

To my surprise, Dr. L. found both babies and their flickering heartbeats right away. He said he had heard from Dr. A. about the third sack, and wanted to check that out so we started our tour of my uterus there, confirming that sack A was empty (I never thought I’d be relieved to see an empty gestational sack). Measuring it, he found that it was only about a third of the size of the other two sacks.

Dr. L said that unless Mr. T and I had sex and fertilized an egg at the same time as our transfer (which I reminded him is entirely impossible unless I was having an affair- and even then still quite unlikely) he said that one of our embryos must have split. Which means that it’s possible- although unlikely, that Baby A and B are identical.

He zoomed in on Baby B next. To my concern, Baby B is measuring 6 days behind. Little B should be at 7 weeks 1 day, but is only measuring 6 weeks 2 days. Heartbeat was 119. Dr. L didn’t seem to concerned, but he’s always nice and generally optimistic. He said the fact that the heartbeat was strong and baby was continuing to grow was a good sign. That B would likely catch up.

Baby A on the other hand is only 2 days behind- at 6 weeks 5 days. Dr. L turned on the sound and the heartbeat was so loud and fast at 146 bpm that I couldn’t believe it was coming from such a tiny little speck.

Overall, I should have left feeling happy. But measuring behind always worries me, based on my unhappy experiences. And now that I’ve had a chance to see Baby A and Baby B, and hear their sweet little heartbeats, I feel that much more attached to them. I’m already picturing the two of them keeping each other company in the womb as they did in the freezer for four years, snuggling together as babies, holding hands as they grow up and being best friends forever.

Mr. T and I left, under my self-imposed somber dark cloud of worry. Poor Mr. T. All these years of carrying my worry. He said as much in a rare outburst on the car ride home.

And I decided that even if I’m right to worry- Mr. T is right that we deserve to be happy in the moment once in a while too.

So this weekend I threw all caution to the wind, and made the bold decision to tell my best friend on Saturday. She’s expecting her second baby in May, and was overjoyed for us. It felt good to let myself be happy.

Then I went to the bathroom and was spotting brown. It’s as if the universe felt me getting too happy, and wanted to keep me in check. I lay down for the rest of the afternoon, convinced it was the beginning of the end.

The spotting stopped by the time we headed out to a friend’s birthday party that evening where we would see all our closest friends. On the way over, Mr. T asked if it was ok if we told everyone there. They know what we’ve been through- and most of them knew we were starting the FET process, but I had been vague about the dates, not wanting the pressure of keeping everyone posted about each milestone along the way.

But now, I realized that this might be it. It might be the only time we could celebrate these two miraculous little heartbeats with our friends. These two embryos had waited so long- they deserve all the hope and joy and love from our friends. And so did Mr. T. After all, this is the last pregnancy announcement we’ll ever make- no matter what happens next.

So we told them. And their hugs and love and the outpouring of joy they had for us was amazing. Any misgivings  I had about sharing our news were gone when I saw Mr. T’s  happy face across the room. Thinking back to his diagnosis of Azoospermia five years ago, not sure if we’d ever be able to have children, let alone the big family he always dreamed of- he deserved this moment.

We still aren’t telling our families until we are out of the first trimester- from past experience we’ve learned they need more comforting and ask more questions than our friends when things don’t go well. 

But celebrating Baby A and Baby B with our friends felt good. No matter what happens next, I’m glad we had this moment. Maybe after five years of infertility, I’m finally learning to be braver. I can only hope. And continue to hope for Baby A and B with all my heart.

 

 

 

 

 

Beta #2

Of all the things I envy about those who get to make baby the old-fashioned way, avoiding betas is way up there on the list. I’ve been in beta hell a few too many times- so even though my first beta on Friday was a good number, I know there’s no guarantee at any point.

I enjoyed every minute of this weekend being pregnant. Hopeful, happy- Mr. T and I starting conversations with “if this baby is here in October..” 

And then went into the clinic this morning for my second beta and all that hope in a tremble again. Because I had some brown bleeding last week and I’m O Negative blood type, they also gave me the Rhogam shot “just in case,” which alarmed me a bit.

I went back to (try) to work.

The nurse just called with my beta. She sounded nervous- so of course I braced myself.

Beta is 1885. 

I can’t believe it. Ultrasound is on February 28th. Thanks to you all for holding my hand and being so wonderful.

I’ll keep you updated!

The Two Week Wait in Review- Test Tomorrow

The nice thing about a Day 6 transfer is that the wait is only 10 days instead of two weeks. Here’s the rundown about what went down these past nine days:

February 4, 2014: Transfer day: The happiest, most hopeful day of the whole grueling IVF process. If you get to the clinic and your feet are up in the stirrups, there should be an embryo or two waiting. If those embryos have endured six days in a petri dish and four years frozen and survived the thaw to tell the tale, that’s a reason to celebrate. Going home after transfer with the directive to rest and do nothing is also a reason to celebrate. (I never ever just spend a whole day doing nothing but lounging.) It’s a good day.

February 5: Day 1 post transfer: Too early for symptoms, so it’s still a hopeful happy day. I had the best acupuncture visit ever today- so relaxed and feeling so good.

February 6 Day 2: Starting to feel some “symptoms” even if imaginary. Peeing more often. Slightly queasy in just a vague seasick way. So hungry and so so tired. Feeling good about not feeling so good! This might actually work!

February 7: Day 3: “symptoms” subside. Despair.

February 8: Day 4: “symptoms” back! Hopeful again!

February 9: Day 5: “symptoms” gone. Despair.

February 10: Day 6: No symptoms. Despair makes way for resignation.

February 11: Day 7: symptoms back. Queasy again. Hopeful again.

February 12: Day 8: Feeling hopeful today. I spend the day reading everything I can about what baby might be doing at 4 weeks. And imagining being pregnant- at least for two more days until the test.

February 13: Day 9: Feels and looks like early AF with brown spotting and AF cramps. Tears. Despair. Call clinic and they don’t sound reassuring- they offer to do the test one day early if I want. I tell them I’ll think about it. Decide I’d rather live with a glimmer of hope for one more day than to know for sure it’s over. So now I need to pack 9 months of expectant pregnancy into this one day today. Because when this is over, the shop is closed. That’s it. Not even a 0000001% chance that I’ll ever get pregnant on my own, and our IVF journey is over.

February 14: Day 10: Test day. I’ll take the home pregnancy test in the morning and then will go to the clinic to get the official test. I’ll update you all tomorrow.

“Maybe Babies” Homecoming: Transfer Day

Sun through the clouds over the fertility clinic

On our way to the clinic for our transfer this morning, the sun suddenly broke through the clouds, directly over the building where my “maybe babies” have been hanging out for the past four years. I hoped it was a good sign.

Mr. T and I walked into the hospital hand in hand, as we had for so many years before. As we took the elevator up to the 10th floor, I remembered how embarrassed I was to get off at the “infertility” floor for the first time. I’d watch the others getting off at floors like “cardiology”, actually jealous of them.

Now, the 10th floor feels like home. Even after all these years. I look around the waiting room and wonder about everyone else’s stories. I want to hug them all. But in real life, we all sit quietly, avoiding eye contact.

In the embryo transfer room, I sit on the table with my paper skirt, trying to peer into the embryology room next door as we wait.

“What do you think their accommodations look like?” I ask Mr. T. He knows I’m talking about our “maybe babies” and the place they have called “home” for four years.

“I think you’d be disappointed,” my practical husband responded. “I doubt there are flowers and gardens. Probably just a freezer full of test tubes.”

The embryologist finally came in with her clip board. With the experience of an infertility veteran, I look at her face, trying to gauge her expression before she speaks. Good news or bad new? She looks neutral.

“You had two day six embryos frozen…” she began. My heart skipped a beat as I honed in on her use of the past tense.

“….it looks like they both survived the thaw,” she finished.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

She went on to say that they looked fine, but that “it’s always hard to tell,” and asked if I had any questions.

Do I have any questions?

YES! I want to know everything about them! Their favorite foods, their favorite books, what they want to be when they grow up. What color eyes and hair and who will they look like.

But of course she doesn’t know any of this. Instead I grasp around for questions I can ask, anything to help me get to know these tiny maybe babies from the only person who might ever see them.

I ask about the shell.  (still intact, not hatched yet.)

Do they both look about the same? (one looks a little better than the other.)

And finally: “If all the other embryos in batch result in miscarriages, by the laws of the transitive property, does that mean that these will end in miscarriage too?”

She doesn’t know. But she also says the laws of transitive property as I’m describing them don’t apply to embryo cohorts. So that’s good.

She leaves us, and the nurse comes in to offer apologies for the doctor running late. It’s going to be a bit longer. She asks if I’d like to “half” empty my bursting bladder. They still need it to be full for transfer, in order to see the uterus.

I knew that there would be no stopping if I “broke the seal” now, so I soldiered on. More concerning was the thought that after making them wait four years, my “maybe babies” were hanging out in a dish, just waiting. I just wanted them home.

Finally, 45 minutes late, Doctor L came in. We still send him Christmas cards with pictures of our daughter every year- with the words “so grateful to you” scrawled on the back. So knowing the care and time he gives his patients, I forgive the delay.

At this point though, my bladder feels like a baloon ready to pop. Mr. T holds my hand and coaches me to think “deflating thoughts, like a popped balloon.” Not helpful!

After everything is rigged up, my legs and but almost falling off the table, Dr. L says he has a great view of my uterus thanks to my ballooning bladder.

I confirm my name again to the embryologist through the window of the lab. And then finally, my “maybe babies” are home.

We wait for the required 30 minutes after the transfer, reclined on the table. I clutch the photo they gave me of the embroys being released into the womb. A dark universe with a commet streak. There they are.

Mr. T holds my hand and asks me if I’ll be ok. If it’s ok if E ends up an only child.

I’m surprised to hear this question coming from my eternal optimist husband. At such a hopeful moment. But I understand where he’s coming from. He’s seen me at my most heartbroken moments, and doesn’t want to repeat that again.

Neither do I. I can’t predict how I’ll feel when this chapter is over. For now it’s about hope.

Mr. T kissed my tummy with our two “maybe babies” somewhere in there.

Beta day (pregnancy test) is Valentines day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Insomnia: The Night Before the Big Day

It’s past midnight and no surprise- I can’t sleep. All day I worked frantically to finish projects up so I could take tomorrow off from work, while fitting in acupuncture and  massage appointments. I’ve been so focused on getting things done, one step after another- that now, lying in bed, I’m finally thinking about tomorrow.

Tomorrow I meet my two tiny four year old “maybe babies.”

Silly thoughts run through my mind like: Will they remember me? Are they mad I made them wait so long? (ok- maybe not silly- just crazy.)

And more serious ones like: What if they don’t make the thaw? The embryologist helpfully told me that they have improved the freezing process since the long-ago vintage when mine were frozen. So helpful to know that since there’s nothing I can do about it.

So much is out of my control. And still I wonder: have I done enough to prepare for them? Am I ready?

I finally got out of bed tonight when I realized I was a little hungry- maybe I didn’t eat enough for potentially three of us.

So now I’m drinking tea and eating a banana and peanut butter sandwich. And googling recipes for the crockpot tomorrow so Mr. T, Little E, Maybe Babies 1 and 2 and I will have a good healthy dinner. Our first dinner as a family of five.

I hope there will be other dinner times with them- with all the chaos and joy and food smashed into the floor, curtains and table that comes with that wish. I’m ready.

I hope these little ones are too.

After my transfer tomorrow, I’ll report back on how it goes. I’m looking forward to a long afternoon lounging on the couch. Other than the hope for a baby at the end of it, this one day of doing nothing is the best perk of the process.

Thanks for all your messages of support, prayers and good luck wishes. No matter what happens, I know I’ll get through it- with a little help from my friends. Thank you.

 

 

 

 

 

Return of the Four Letter Word: HOPE

Hope in bloom.

A week from today I’ll be “pregnant until proven otherwise” for the last time.

Yesterday we went to the clinic for lining check, and I was surprised to hear it was already at 14. I didn’t even know that was possible- especially since I haven’t had a cycle since 2011. (I haven’t missed it a bit.)

We saw the new doctor there for the first time. She asked about our history and our daughter, and she went on and on about how this was perfect spacing for our second child- as if it were a sure thing. She’s young and enthusiastic and just full of optimism.

Despite myself, I couldn’t help but get a little carried away by her enthusiasm. And by “carried away”- I  mean I cracked open the door to hope. For the first time, I imagined what it might be to experience pregnancy again- maybe this time with less fear and more joy. I imagined the sweet baby smell, the tiny socks and hats. And I imagined my daughter as a big sister, instead of as an only child.

On Tuesday, February 4th- we will be reunited with her little big brothers and/or sisters. They’ll just be a speck. We know they are six days old, and have top “grades” from our clinic. We won’t know if they will have blue eyes, hazel or brown eyes, if they will be tall or short. If they will be silly or serious. If they will have their father’s athleticism or my quiet nature. I hope we get to see them grow and find out.

That’s all I can do now- to hope. Letting my heart finally do that feels good. These little tiny embryos deserve all the hope and love in the world- no matter what happens next.

FET Prep for my 4 Year old Embabies

After a four year wait, I’m two weeks and two days away from welcoming my two frozen embabies home. Here’s the plan:

Of course, I’m very anxious to make sure their accommodations are as comfortable as possible. I’ve been trying to retrace my steps with my successful third IVF cycle, but it’s been so long, I can’t recall all the good-luck charms I used:

• I drank wheat-grass and took DHEA- but only up to a few weeks before I started the injections since I was afraid they might interfere with the stimulation drugs.
• I took baby aspirin and Folgard, but I can’t remember when I started those (and they weren’t part of the doctor’s orders- but I felt I had to do something different and figured it wouldn’t hurt.)
• I did acupuncture- but I did that with the other cycles that didn’t work out as well, so not sure it made any difference. I’ll probably throw in a few pins for good measure again.
• I cut out all alcohol and refined sugar- but that may have just been unnecessary torture.
• I exercised moderately- but not too much.
• I got lots of sleep (but that’s not easy to do now that I have a toddler who has never liked to sleep.)
• I drank lots of water- trying to do that again.
• I got a massage the day before my transfer. That was the best thing I did by far- I’ll do that again for sure.
• As recommended by acupuncturist, I massaged my tummy clockwise and counterclockwise 25 times twice a day
• Ate lots of beets, chicken soup, dates and another fertility food I can’t recall- as recommended by same acupuncturist

After making these tiny embabies wait for four years, I want to give them the best chance possible. Anyone have any other good tips?

The First Pill of the Last Cycle- Ever

The first of the last little green pills I’ll ever take. Does anyone else find it concerning that the medication to get pregnant comes with a disclaimer that  it should not be used if planning to get pregnant? 

Last night I took the first pill for my last ever fertility treatment. And I have a date. February 4th will be the last time anyone tries to knock me up.

That will be the end of my infertility journey.

I’d like to say “good riddance” to it all and run as fast as I can for the happy hills- for life since little E arrived in January 2012 has been more joyous than I ever imagined possible. The idea of venturing back out to the stormy hormonal seas of infertility makes me seasick in anticipation. But those two last embryos from IVF #1 are waiting and I’ve put them off long enough.

I know I should feel grateful- and I do- that I have this one last shot. But I’m scared.

On my optimistic days, I wonder how I will explain to these grown-up embryos that their sister should be younger than they are- that they should have been born back in April 2011. That all four of their siblings in that dish in 2010 ended up as miscarriages, that I couldn’t face them so I started “fresh” in 2011, and only their sister made it out of that dish- none to the freezer. And that’s just what I imagine on my optimistic days.

On my not-so-good days, I debate the merits of a D&C vs natural miscarriage, since I have the benefit of having experienced both.

On other happier days, I map out my “BFN” plan- all the things I’ll do like run a marathon, look for a new job, start a business, and embrace being a mother of an only child. (Something I always told my only-child husband that I wanted to avoid at all costs for fear of turning into his overly-dotting mother.)

My sweet husband, whose optimism carried us through the miscarriages and IVF cycles, is as usual upbeat. His main concern is that he may have forgotten how to swaddle a baby properly, suggesting that we take the classes again.

I love him so much.

And I know how lucky I am. But here’s a confession: When going through primary infertility, I always slightly resented those going through secondary infertility. They already had one baby. Wasn’t that enough?

Now I know how much secondary infertility stings. I’ve been through this all before, and know that the loss that comes with each BFN or miscarriage hurts, and that it’s like scratching all those past wounds to go into the fray again.

But here I go. One little green pill down the hatch. I’ll keep everyone updated- and will try and be more upbeat on my next post.

Thanks as always for reading and cheering me on.