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Hope is something you pee on

~ …trying to survive infertility, IVF and egg donation.

Hope is something you pee on

Category Archives: Miscarriage

Empathy

06 Thursday Jul 2017

Posted by mybrokenoven in fear, Miscarriage, Musings

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

cancer, cards, compassion, empathy, Infertility, loss

When confronted with raw emotion, unimaginable loss or desperate circumstances people often say nothing because they don’t want to say the wrong thing. As women (and men) who have experienced infertility, miscarriage, infant loss and other difficult or tragic life events we have often been the recipients of well intended but thoughtless comments and we know the pain and hurt they can cause. But we also know that sincere and thoughtful messages can give us incredible hope and comfort.

I just stumbled (again) across this brilliant line of empathy cards. Take a second and read through them. Aren’t they wonderful? I wish someone had said these things to me. And I can think of 5 times off the top of my head where I wish I had these types of responses at the ready. So, let’s just all take a moment and read through these and commit some of these thoughts and sentiments to memory so that when we’re in the position to lend someone support or comfort during a difficult time we can do it with a touch more compassion and grace.

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You know you’re pregnant after infertility if…

03 Monday Jul 2017

Posted by mybrokenoven in IVF, Miscarriage, pregnant after infertility

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

humor, Infertility, pregnant after infertility

d3Hec22YNeUPfKe8bYFlIHXWcA18UzMp_lgA great article came out recently on fitpregnancy.com called “You know your pregnant after infertility if.…”. It’s a cute little piece of light hilarity that really rings true to me. Here are the highlights.

… the thought of conceiving via sex sounds as quaint as making your own soap or lighting the house with a kerosene lamp.

… you’ve been taking prenatal vitamins since 2011.

… “you feel guilty posting any photos of your bump on social media because you don’t want to make other women struggling to become pregnant jealous.” (I would have said sad/hurt rather than jealous but whatevs.)

… your baby announcement is a jumble of acronyms: “After 2 years unexplained IF, 3 failed IUIs (all BFN), 2 IVFs with ICSI, we finally have our BFP!”

… nothing baby-related is bought until you’ve passed the 24-week mark.

… the notion of twins doesn’t even freak you out because at least that way you’ll get more for your money

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And I would add –

…you always feel like a mommy “imposter”.

…you continue to pee on sticks well after the pregnancy is confined just to revel in the double lines.

…you’re hyperaware of how non-pregnant women look at you because you worry they might be having trouble conceiving and you know even seeing you makes them sad.

…you know the sex of the baby before the Dr. tells you because you have so much experience reading ultrasounds.

What would you add?

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You have to be everything

30 Sunday Apr 2017

Posted by mybrokenoven in fear, Miscarriage

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

anxiety, Courtney Martin, feminist, have to be perfect

My friend was recently quoted in a documentary and what they said really resonated with me. As it turns out they were quoting author/speaker/blogger Courtney Martin – this woman has articulated my life.

We are the girls with anxiety disorders, filled appointment books, five-year plans. We take ourselves very, very seriously. We are the peacemakers, the do-gooders, the givers, the savers. We are on time, overly prepared, well read, and witty, intellectually curious, always moving… We pride ourselves on getting as little sleep as possible and thrive on self-deprivation. We drink coffee, a lot of it. We are on birth control, Prozac, and multivitamins… We are relentless, judgmental with ourselves, and forgiving to others…. We are the daughters of the feminists who said, “You can be anything,” and we heard, “You have to be everything.”

Is it me?

17 Monday Oct 2016

Posted by mybrokenoven in Diminished Ovarian Reserve (DOR), Donor Eggs, IVF, Miscarriage, Musings, Uncategorized

≈ 9 Comments

Tags

Infertility, stigma of infertility, talking about infertility, unexplained infertility

I have a question for you, dear friends. Is infertility more common than it used to be, are we more open to discussing it, am I just at the age where this is something many of my “tribe” are dealing with, or all of the above?

When I had problems getting pregnant I was the first person I had ever met who had been to a reproductive endocrinologist. A friend put me in touch with someone she knew who had recently done IVF and so I used her doctor. And when I was going through procedure after procedure and failure after failure I was the only one. I was alone. (Except for the vast internet – thank you again, internet). I was scared and ashamed. I felt isolated and alone.

Now every time I turn around I find someone who is struggling to get pregnant. And they’re not always just talking to me about it because they know of my situation. And especially now that I have the twins, no one outside of my circle has reason to suspect I had issues with fertility. Seriously, I’m going to list out some of the people in my life that are dealing with infertility, because the number of people I know IRL that are dealing with these issues is shocking to me. And this isn’t an exhaustive list!

  • My best friend from grad school was diagnosed with PCOS 2 years ago. Successfully got pregnant after a regulated medicated cycle. (Age 33)
  • My sister was diagnosed with DOR but just had her second “miracle” baby. (Age 34)
  • My office mate from grad school’s wife had a recurrent hormone producing cyst on her ovary. Did 2 rounds of IVF and is currently pregnant with twins. (Age 36)
  • Another friend from grad school was diagnosed with PCOS. Had 2 losses, and now has a 1 year old son as the result of Clomid. (Age 38)
  • Found out yesterday that my college roommate has unexplained infertility. She successfully got pregnant after 2 rounds of Clomid. She wants another but her husband doesn’t want to go through the process again. (Age 39)
  • My cross fit trainers wife has DOR. They did 3 rounds of IVF and were unsuccessful. They are now the parents of 2 little girls that they adopted. (Age 26)
  • The lady that sat next to me on the plane last week had 5 rounds of IVF, 3 miscarriages,  1 living child.
  • My boss and his wife were never able to conceive despite fertility treatments (see my post about that)
  • Coworkers sister has been through multiple unspecified unsuccessful infertility treatments (more here)
  • Two different acquaintances are currently undergoing infertility screening as they have each been trying for more than a year to get pregnant without success. (Age 32 and 33)
  • My mom’s best friends middle daughter called me a few weeks ago because she’s starting her 3rd round of IVF and is (of course) terrified that it won’t work and they are considering donor eggs as a possible next step. (Age 28)
  • A friend from high school has 2 kids, both conceived using IVF. She has unexplained infertility. (Age 34 at time of first IVF treatment)

It seems like every time I turn around there is someone else who is dealing with infertility. Is it just me? Am I more in tuned with it now? Or is it my age? We all know fertility decreases when you get older but age 35 isn’t a cliff you fall off of into infertility. Or maybe, just maybe, is the stigma associated with infertility lifting a little?

What do you think?

How old would your child be now?

04 Tuesday Oct 2016

Posted by mybrokenoven in Miscarriage

≈ 11 Comments

Tags

miscarriage, pregnancy loss

587359How old would your child be?

A hierarchy to suffering?

02 Sunday Oct 2016

Posted by mybrokenoven in Diminished Ovarian Reserve (DOR), Donor Eggs, IUI, IVF, Miscarriage, Pregnancy, pregnant after infertility, Uncategorized

≈ 14 Comments

Tags

infertility guilt, IVF, pain of infertility, pregnancy loss, suffering, supporting women

My best friend got divorced this past Monday and I was her witness. I spent the night at her house so that I could distract and support her and so that we could arrive at court together. Another friend of hers joined us on Sunday night – a woman from her neighborhood who was set to undergo a double mastectomy on Tues. We were a jolly bunch!

During the course of the night this friend expressed something interesting. She told us that when she was with other woman who were breast cancer survivors or with women in the process of treating breast cancer she felt dismissed – her cancer wasn’t “bad” enough, she hasn’t had chemo or radiation, she hasn’t had a recurrence. She spoke of feeling terribly alone in her process because people without cancer didn’t understand, but people with cancer – presumably the folks who would know what she was feeling and experiencing and help her along the way – were not very supportive.

I can’t speak to the experience of having breast cancer or being a cancer survivor, but the description resonated with me because of its similarity to the infertility “hierarchy of suffering”. Here is a breakdown of many of the possible iterations of fertility issues –

  • You had trouble getting pregnant but got pregnant eventually.
  • You had a child (or children) but then experienced secondary infertility.
  • You had trouble getting pregnant but got pregnant with limited medical intervention (IUI, Clomid, etc.).
  • You got pregnant using IVF and it worked the first time.
  • You got pregnant using IVF after 2-3 tries.
  • You got pregnant and lost the baby but got pregnant again and had a successful pregnancy.
  • You got pregnant using IVF but it required many rounds of treatment.
  • You experienced recurrent pregnancy loss followed by a successful pregnancy.
  • You got pregnant using donor eggs.
  • You have never successfully gotten or stayed pregnant.

If you’ve been around the infertility world for any length of time you could put these into an order, a hierarchy of suffering. And that order would be based on many things, including your own experience. I can shamefacedly admit that I’m guilty of being (inwardly) dismissive of some of these experiences, as if they have less importance or value than my personal experience. I think it’s natural to feel that people who have endured “less” than you can’t possibly understand the pain and anguish you’ve felt. How can a women who has never experienced the loss of pregnancy understand recurrent pregnancy loss? If IVF worked for you the first time how can you possibly understand what it’s like to endure round after round of unsuccessful treatment? While I think that these are natural reactions I also believe that we need to fight against this instinct. All of these scenarios are difficult. Women in all of these situations need and deserve our support. There should be no hierarchy to suffering – everyone has their own process, and everyone handles these challenges differently. My friend with DOR did 3 rounds of  IVF without a successful pregnancy and happily moved on to adoption without regret and without giving it another thought. I did 3 rounds of IVF with 1 loss, successfully got pregnant using donor eggs and I am still suffering from grief, loss and shame.

As someone who has run the gamut of infertility and had to resort to something outside of the common experience even in this community (donor eggs) I fall high on the “suffering scale”. I am guilty of feeling that people who have had early success can’t possibly understand my process. I want to change that. I don’t want anyone facing infertility (or pregnancy loss) to feel like they don’t have allies in the community or to feel like they’re outsiders simply because they haven’t suffered enough. That’s ridiculous. So please, if you’re feeling isolated, if you’re feeling alone, if you’re scared and uncertain – get in touch with me. Leave a comment. I will stand by you and hold your hand. We should all be in this together.

I’ve got your back.

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The 13th worst day of the year

08 Sunday May 2016

Posted by mybrokenoven in Diminished Ovarian Reserve (DOR), fear, Infertility and step-kids, IVF, Miscarriage, Musings, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Infertility, miscarriage, Mother's Day, sadness

Mother’s Day. Gah.

The 13th worst day of the year. The other 12 days that were worse? The day my period started each month. The day that marked another failure. Another cycle gone. Another month of trying and wishing and hoping. In vain. Every single month.

Now that I have my boys Mother’s Day is bittersweet. My heart aches with joy at my blessings. My heart aches with pain at the knowledge that there are so many others out there that are still trying and wishing and hoping. So many others dreading this day. Dreading the 12 other worst days.

So for all of you out there still trying – I’m thinking of you. For all of you out there that have lost your babies – I’m thinking of you. For all of you out there that have lost your mamas – I’m thinking of you too. This can be a trying and painful day for so many reasons. Be strong. Be good to each other. I’m thinking of you.

Some days

21 Monday Oct 2013

Posted by mybrokenoven in Infertility and step-kids, Miscarriage

≈ 17 Comments

A year ago today my pregnancy ended.

20 minutes ago I told my my 8 year old step-daughter (who has been in my life for 4+ years) “I love you!”.  She said “Well, I don’t love you. You’re just my dad’s new wife”.

Some days it’s all just too much.  Some days I can’t suck it up, turn the other cheek, ignore it, focus on the positive, be the better person.  Some days it’s just too hard.

The road to donor eggs

23 Monday Sep 2013

Posted by mybrokenoven in Diminished Ovarian Reserve (DOR), Donor Eggs, IUI, IVF, Miscarriage, Musings

≈ 24 Comments

Tags

difficult decision, donor eggs, fertility, infertility emotional pain, IVF, judgment

No one expects that they’ll need to use someone else’s eggs to conceive a child. Well, maybe a few do, but for most of us this is not the way we planned it. It’s a last resort, rather than a first choice. And it is a long and painful road to get to the point where you make that decision.

First, there is the decision to go to the fertility clinic, usually after months or years of dedicated effort to procreate and continual, repeated disappointment. At the fertility clinic there are the tests, the waiting, the fear. Then the shock of “The Diagnosis” – that condition that suddenly defines your reproductive potential and, by proxy, redefines how you see yourself. Then “The Treatment”. Whether it’s corrective surgery, medicated cycles, IUI’s, IVF, etc, it is invasive, expensive, time-consuming, soul crushing, relationship damaging and anxiety ridden. Add in generous measures of shame, guilt, fear, failure and anxiety and you can come close to understanding how absolutely devastating infertility can be. But, we all think that treatment will work for us, we all think we’re the lucky one. Maybe you are, but maybe you aren’t. If you are, congrats! But if you aren’t (and statistically most of us aren’t) – you search your soul and you muster your courage, because either you will move forward and try another treatment, or you will reevaluate and choose a different path. Both roads take immense courage and sacrifice. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat until your strength, patience, or bank account run out.

At some point during this process you will have a crisis of confidence, a crisis of self, a breakdown, a total loss of joy. There will be moments where you can’t go on, where you can’t get out of bed, where you can’t face your husband/wife/mother/father/friends/doctor/expectations/life. Days of extreme anger and frustration and “why me?”. There will be bargaining and pleading and praying. And there will be pain, both physical and emotional. Lots and lots of pain.

At some point during this process someone may say some version of “This isn’t going to work. I’m sorry. Despite all of the advances of medical science we can’t help you. You will never have children.” And at that point you will begin to consider things that you never imagined you would consider. For me, that was egg donation.

Early on, my RE asked me if we would consider using an egg donor. I gave her an absolute, unequivocal NO. No way, never, not ever would I ever even consider that.  NO.  NEVER.  EVER. But, that was before 2 failed IUI’s, 3 failed IVF’s, 1 miscarriage, countless nights spent crying, untold numbers of heartfelt talks with my husband, and hundreds of hours of considering my dwindling options for motherhood. That was before I spoke to many, many people who decide to use egg donation to help create their families. And then, once I began to consider it, I was completely overwhelmed by my feelings about what that would mean for me, for my husband, any DE conceived children, our families…. Would I be the mother? Would I feel like an impostor? Would I love the child the same as if it was my own? Would my husband/family/society view me or my child differently? And how on earth do I choose a woman to replace me? Because that’s what it feels like initially – that you’re choosing a replacement.  I didn’t think I could live with the decision to use an egg donor, but I also didn’t think I live with not having a child. (The adoption conversation we will need to save for another time). One of the wonderful ladies who follows my blog wrote to me and told me that at some point you magically turn a corner – it may be finding the right donor, or coming to terms with the situation, or completing the grieving process – and it suddenly feels ok. Not perfect, not ideal – but doable. And she was right. One day I woke up and it didn’t hurt to look at the profiles. I start to feel excited. I stopped looking for myself on the donor sites and started looking for traits I would like to pass on to my children. Somehow, lord only knows how, I was not only ok with donor eggs, but embracing the idea and excited to begin.

I chose to share our decision to use an egg donor with some close friends (we don’t plan on keeping our conception journey a secret from our children so we may as well start getting used to talking about it now) and unfortunately we were met with mixed reactions. I don’t know why I was surprised given that I was conflicted initially as well. But, it still hurt to have my friends tell me that our choice is “unnatural”, “deviant”, “desperate and selfish” and “horrifying”. Of course, those same people had to get off the phone with me to go put their children to bed. So, easy for them to make pronouncements from on high. But, I can understand their knee-jerk reaction. Truly, I can. But the thing that I wasn’t able to communicate to them and the point that I’m trying to make here is that no one arrives at this decision quickly. No one takes it lightly. We have all, every last one of us, been through hell before we arrived at this particular cross roads. I would wager that everyone who has ever chosen to use donor eggs gave it an incredible amount of thought and did an unbelievable amount of soul-searching. And something that I have learned from this is that my choices are for me, my husband and my family. These are the right things for US. They may not be the choices you would make, they may not be the right thing for your family. But I believe they are the right choices for me and my family. I hope that we get support, but if we don’t – oh well. I can live with that.

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Talking about miscarriage

16 Sunday Dec 2012

Posted by mybrokenoven in Miscarriage, Musings

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

miscarriage support, talking about miscarriage

As I was looking at the search terms people have used to get to my blog I realized that many of them were related to people looking for ways to understand, comfort or talk to a friend after a miscarriage. I thought I would address that directly. I’m not a mental health professional and I can only draw from my own meandering experience, but I HAVE had a miscarriage and I know what I wanted and needed and (for the most part) didn’t received. So, here is my humble advice –

  1. Talk about it. It seems simple, but my friends didn’t seem to want to talk to me about my miscarriage. I don’t know if it made them uncomfortable or if they thought talking about it would remind me about it or what, but it was like it never happened. That was really difficult for me. Trust me, if someone you know has recently had a miscarriage they haven’t forgotten. They’re thinking about. All the time. And acknowledging their pain can do them a world of good. You don’t have to understand, you only have to acknowledge and accept. Give them an opening to talk about it if they want to, but don’t be offended or upset if they don’t want to talk. Just saying something along the lines of “I’m so sorry about your pregnancy loss. I can’t understand what that must be like, but I’m here for you if you want to talk.” can be incredibly comforting. **That being said, chose your time wisely. Don’t try to have a heart to heart at a football game or a cocktail party.
  2. Don’t tell them stories about your friend/aunt/cousin who had a miscarriage and went on to successfully conceive. Many many many women have had miscarriages, but I had never had a miscarriage before. It had never happened to me and it was unlike anything else I had gone through in my life. It was so intensely personal and close to the quick that it felt like no one else could know or understand. I knew that wasn’t true, I had read the statistics, I knew people who had miscarriages. But for a while I needed to be selfish and just feel the way I felt. Just let your friend talk. Resist the urge to reassure them with stories of other people’s pain and/or overcoming of it, which could seem like it’s minimizing their experience.
  3. Spend time with them. But don’t force it. Just make yourself available. Infertility (and miscarriage) can make people feel very isolated and alone and it’s a huge boost when you know there are people who you can get away and relax with (even if you don’t chose to). Don’t plan a huge weekend getaway. Just lunch, or a movie, or something small. And try not to go to place where there are a lot of kids. This may not hold true for everyone but it was (still is, but getting better) difficult for me to be around children.
  4. Try to manage your discomfort. Miscarriage is very personal. We as society aren’t used to talking about it openly. It’s normal that you’ll be uncomfortable. Oriah Mountain Dreamer said it better than I could “I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it, or fade it, or fix it.” It’s ok to be uncomfortable – your friend will be uncomfortable too. And the experience of sharing their pain might be intense, especially if you’re a very sensitive person. But it could make all the difference to them.
  5. Remember your “job”. You probably want to comfort your friend, make her/him feel better, happier. That’s very noble and they are lucky to have you. But remember, it’s not your job to fix it. This isn’t something that a few kind words will fix. It’s not your job to make them happy. They will likely feel happier for having talked with you, but probably not happy. It’s your job to listen. To be present. To be with them in their moment of pain. And trust me, that is enough. This is a wound that takes a long time to heal. Talking about it helps take the sting away, it helps suck some of the poison out. But like any wound healing takes time, and it leaves a scar.

A miscarriage is a death, and is often grieved like a death. The child may not have ever lived in the way that we usually think of it, but that child lived in their parents hearts and minds. That small spirit burns with an incredibly bright intensity, and the world seems dim when that light is gone.

If you are looking to comfort a friend after a miscarriage, thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. Just do the best you can, and that will be enough.

**If anyone has anything to add please do – I’m by no means an expert.

My miscarriage

05 Monday Nov 2012

Posted by mybrokenoven in Miscarriage, Musings

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

5.5 weeks, early miscarriage, loss, miscarriage, pregnancy loss

I haven’t talked about my miscarriage. I don’t know what to say about it. I was relieved when I knew the pregnancy wasn’t ectopic, and then I just wanted it to end so we could move forward. Then I was afraid – I never really thought about miscarrying – you know, the actual process of it. Like that it can take days, or even weeks. That there is actually tissue that you expel. What would it be like? Would I be able to recognized the tissue as the baby even though I was so early? How long would it last – the cramping, the bleeding, the clotting…and whatever else happens. Would it hurt? And of course then there was the sadness and the overwhelming sense of guilt and failure. Modern technology had managed to painstakingly create a life, and my body had quickly managed to kill it.

As it turns out it was awful, but not as awful as I had feared. If you’re squeamish stop reading now. If you are like me and just want to know what to expect, this was my experience.

I started cramping 2 days after stopping the progesterone support. A few hours after the cramping started I started bleeding. A lot. Or a lot more than usual (which for me isn’t very much). It was darker then usual and not very continuous – I would bleed for an hour and then stop for an hour. Bad cramping. About 3 hours after I started bleeding I wiped and (sorry, TMI) found a long and thick (~1.25 inches long and .25 inches thick) liver colored “clot”. I had read blogs where people said that was what the fetal tissue looked like but it wasn’t clear what it was. But, I have not ever seen anything like it despite menstruating for 25 years, so in hindsight I assume that was most of the “products of conception”. After that it was just bleeding and stringy dark clots (not too big or think, similar to the ones I used to get the first day of my cycle). The cramps stopped on the 2-3 day and I continued to bleed for about a week. My period these days is only 2 to 2.5 days so this was a lot for me.

I don’t think I’ve fully processed it yet, and I’m certainly still grieving. I’ll cry in the grocery store for no reason. I’ve shut down Facebook because it’s too painful to see all of the beautiful ultrasounds of healthy babies when all I’ve ever seen are follicles and an empty uterus. I’m avoiding my mother and mother-in-law because of my irrational, overwhelming sense of failure and isolation. They don’t understand – all their babies were healthy. I can’t see them and listen to their well-meaning reassurances and look them in the eyes and know that I’m reason they won’t have grandchildren. I’m trying to forgive myself. To not be angry. I’m trying to be gentle with myself. After all, in one weeks time I miscarried and was told that was likely the only pregnancy I’d ever have. It was a rough week.

If you’ve had a miscarriage (early or late) or are waiting for one to start (or finish), my heart goes out to you. I am so sorry for your pain, and for your loss. There are not words to express the sense of loss, regardless of how long you were pregnant. Be brave, stay strong.

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I think it’s happening

17 Wednesday Oct 2012

Posted by mybrokenoven in Miscarriage

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

19dpo, cramps, miscarriage

At around 2:30 today I started cramping. By 4:30 the cramps were super intense, and I had a backache so bad it was sending shooting pains down the backs of my legs. Now, I rarely have menstrual cramps so I don’t really have much to compare this to, but this makes the few cramps I have had seem feeble. And this cramping is different then the ET/ER cramps. Those were not as sharp, more of an ache. Please just let it be over soon.

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