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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: Musings

It’s official – it’s over.

23 Saturday Mar 2013

Posted by mybrokenoven in Diminished Ovarian Reserve (DOR), IVF, Musings, Results

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

AMH, barren, FSH, infertile

url-1So much for my big talk about accepting the reality of the situation and letting go.

I just talked to my clinic and got my blood results from a few weeks back – my AMH is 0.15, FSH is 7.71 and Estrodial is 108, which means I officially fall into the category of “unsuitable for IVF”. I always thought IVF was the last resort and here I am once again contemplating what you do when you’re too far gone even for the last resort to be an option.

I thought I was prepared for this. I knew it would be hard, but I thought I was ready for the finality of it. Turns out I’m not. There was one last shred of secret hope growing in my heart like a tough and hardy weed, and tearing it out has reopened the wound and I am drowning.

It’s so unfair. It’s just so fucking unfair.

I have learned the course of this grief by now – this pain has a road map. I know I’ll spend the rest of the day huddled into myself, quietly crying and trying to hold it all together. The night will pass sleeplessly as I’m washed with waves of guilt and anger and loss. (Thank god my husband is out of town. He’s seen this scene a few too many times now, and it makes him feel helpless and alone). Tomorrow will pass in a  gray haze of sadness and the next day, if I’m lucky, I’ll be able to start trying to rebuild myself and incorporate this new knowledge into my new self concept. The knowledge that I am barren. At 36. That I carried one child that was my own flesh and blood, I lost it, and that I’ll never have that chance again.

I know I’m extremely lucky, that I have my sister and that she is willing to donate her eggs to us. But right now I think I’m just going to let myself mourn for all that I’ve lost – today, and through this whole process. Maybe tomorrow I’ll be able to be brave again.

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Next Steps

05 Tuesday Mar 2013

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

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

antral follicle count, choice, donor eggs, Infertility, IVF

I’ve been MIA for quite a while – sorry. I just needed a break from all of the IVF/infertility stuff. However, a lot has happened!

S and I went back to our local RE and had a hilarious conversation about what we wanted to do next. We told her about CCRM (she was appalled that they made us redo all of the tests she’d already done – bills are still coming in and we’re over $6000 now just from the ODWU) and that I wasn’t comfortable there and didn’t want to cycle with them. I launched into the back story of when my sister offered to donate her eggs and the conversation went something like this –

Me: “So, I was in the car with my sister and was telling her about CCRM.”

Dr: “Yesssss…”

Me: “And I told her my AMH has dropped.”

Dr.: “Yessssss…..”

Me: “And she said-“

Dr: “What did she say?!?”

Me”-that she would like to donate her eggs to us.”

Dr.: “YES!!!!! I’ve been waiting for you to say that since you walked in!!!”

So, she was thrilled, to say the least. Then we told her we wanted to try one more cycle with my eggs, if it looked like it could be viable (ie, if my AMH is >0.1 and my baseline ultrasound shows 4+ follicles).  She readily agreed. We met with the donor egg nurse (who might just be the nicest person alive) and left feeling pretty good about things. What a change, walking out of that office feeling hopeful, or at least not in tears.

My sister has been in touch with DE nurse (she also loved her) and we are moving forward on that front. She is going to see an RE in her area to make sure she fits the criteria and that her reproductive bits are all in working order (Please universe, let her be ok – Not for my sake but for hers. I wouldn’t wish infertility on my worst enemy and it would break my heart for my sister to have suffer it). We’ve booked flights for her and her fiancé to fly out here on their spring break (they live across the country) so that we can all go to the psychologist and so that my sister can get the final parts of her testing done.

I started my period yesterday (for the first time in years I was happy to see it arrive) and I go in day after tomorrow to get the verdict (in the form of an ultrasound with the blood work verdict being a day or 2 behind). Will we be able to move forward with one final IVF cycle using my eggs?

To be honest, either way is going to be tough. If it looks hopeless that’ll be the last nail in the coffin of me ever having my own biological children, and despite feeling prepared for that finality I know I’m not. It would be a huge, bitter pill to swallow. But, the thought of another failed IVF cycle, or worse – another miscarriage – is beyond daunting. And…. I feel like there might be some relief in just letting go – letting go of the expectations, the possibilities, the “what ifs”, the constant researching, the painful, unrealistic hope. I imagine it could be very freeing to just accept that I will never have biological children, mourn that, and move on to other possibilities. I feel that I have reached a point where the waiting and the not knowing and the limbo is so hard that I’d rather just have a verdict. And honestly, 4 months ago I could not have imagined feeling that.

You know what I think the difference is (besides time)? Choice. I feel I have a choice again, that I am in control of my life again. That is an offshoot of the incredible gift my sister offered me – she gave me an option I was comfortable with, and put the ball back in my court. I am no longer at the end of my rope, out of options, out of control. Not saying either of these options will work (OE or DE), but if they don’t I can imagine that there are more options. And I know that I could be open to them. One way or another, it will happen for me. I will make it work.

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Brutal honesty

24 Thursday Jan 2013

Posted by mybrokenoven in Diminished Ovarian Reserve (DOR), IUI, Musings, Uncategorized

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

donor eggs, DOR, Infertility

One of the brave ladies whose blogs I follow had some bad news today. Only 1/3 of the eggs they retrieved during this cycle were mature. She is understandably crushed and feels that she has reached the end of the road. Despite thousands of dollars of drugs and treatments, months of healthy living, and the highest level of medical intervention available she feels like pregnancy isn’t going to happen for her. I feel her pain. My feet are also on that road, and it is a sad, lonely, painful path to walk.

We spend so much time scouring blogs, boards and articles looking for hope – trying to find that one success story, trying to convince ourselves (and often succeeding) that we are the lucky ones, that it will happen for us. People answer your questions and are very supportive – “Keep trying!”, “Don’t give up!”, they say. That support is invaluable, but it’s also misleading.

A few months ago I posted a question on an infertility board and got lots of warm, friendly, supportive, positive replies. I felt good, better, even hopeful.  And then a woman sent me a personal message. She told me that she had the same diagnoses as me and was a bit younger. She had basically the same response to meds. And she was going to use donor eggs. She urged me to open myself up to other options, because, as she said “it was very, very unlikely that I’d ever carry a pregnancy to term with my own eggs.” I was angry, hurt and confused. She’d burst my bubble. Where was the support? All those words that I wanted to hear? I didn’t want to hear that it wouldn’t work, I didn’t want to acknowledge that as a possibility.

Months have gone by since she wrote to me. Since then my AMH has dropped. I had a miscarriage and another unsuccessful Clomid cycle to add to my list of failures. My odds, which were never good, are in the toilet. So I wrote her back. I asked her questions. And I now trust her as someone who will tell me the truth. Not in a mean, hurtful or dismissive way (like my RE) but like someone who has been there. Like someone who walked this horrible road before me and understands the pain, frustration, and utter powerlessness that you feel. She found a way out of this terrible place. She recently gave birth to twins –  a boy and girl – as a result of her DE cycle. She beat infertility. Not in the straightforward way we all wish for, but in a subterfuge – an undercover coup. She found the courage to accept a work-around, and she has 2 beautiful children and couldn’t care less where they came from. 2 souls now exist that didn’t before. Her arms and heart are full. She won.

Let me be very clear here – donor eggs, surrogacy, adoption – these options are not for everyone. It is an extremely personal choice. The point is that there is a choice. One of the most awful things about infertility is that your choice, the control of your own destiny, the control over your own body is taken away and no amount faith, karma, begging, wishing or believing can change that. But there are options. There are choices.

So, when my blog friend wrote how defeated she was feeling my first instinct was to comfort, reassure and sooth her. But I erased that response and tried to be honest, hoping that eventually she would find some comfort in that honesty and that it would help to make the road she’s on a little less frightening. I wanted her to know that even if her very worst fears come true (which is very possible) life won’t come crashing down. There is hope, but it may look entirely different than you thought it would.

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Step-children and infertility II

05 Saturday Jan 2013

Posted by mybrokenoven in Infertility and step-kids, Musings

≈ 31 Comments

Tags

Infertility, step kids, step mother, step-children

I’m going to try to be as honest about this as I can, which is going to be hard because it doesn’t cast me in a very good light. I know the things I’m going to say will make me seem selfish and petty. And the truth is there are great parts to being a step-mother, lots and lots of wonderful parts. But so far there are no easy parts to being an infertile step-mother.

First, a little background. I met the girl who would become my step-daughter after her dad and I had been dating for 6 months. She was 4 1/2 then, and she’ll turn 8 this May. I truly do love her. She’s a good kid – bright, sweet, energetic and funny. Her mother has issues with drugs and alcohol and has recently been diagnosed with a (treatable) mental illness. She is very disruptive in our lives on a daily basis, even when we don’t have the child.

We discovered that I have DOR in April, and as of Dec my AMH has fallen to the point where it’s unlikely I’ll ever have children of my own.

Anyway, we have my stepdaughter every weekend as well as every holiday and all summer. Here are the problems –

  1. I know that she isn’t mine. Implicit in that is the fact that she could be removed from my life at any time, and I would have no recourse. To make matters worse her mother tells her things like “You don’t have to listen to her, she’s not your real family.” 
  2. She hasn’t been raised the way  I would raise a child. She is sweet by nature and that’s her saving grace, because she has been spoiled and babied by everyone in her life. When she is with us over the summer we have structure, routine and rules.  However, rules are very difficult to keep when we only have her part-time, when her father is overwhelmed with guilt because of the divorce and thus caves to every demand, and when her mother tells her she “is a precious angel who never should have to lift a finger for her evil step-mother”. (Literally, she said that word for word) *eye roll*
  3. She is a constant reminder of all I want and can’t have, as well as a reminder that another woman (and a very difficult woman) was able to give my husband something that I never will be able to give him.

The first two points I can deal with. We’re working on her behavior (which is not her fault, she’s a child. It’s the fault of the adults in her life) and I’m working hard to build a relationship with her that will endure regardless. But I can’t get past point 3.

Some days are fine. And there are some days when I’m really low and feeling beaten down by the whole infertility process and I just can’t be around her. I see her and I’m angry and jealous and envious and sad. I’m angry because my husband doesn’t fully understand how hard it is for me because, as he says when he’s trying to comfort me, “He already has A”. I’m jealous that this hateful, mean, spiteful woman was able to have a child and I can’t. And she doesn’t nurture her, or protect her, or set a good example for her. She exposes her to dangerous people and situations. She uses her as a bargaining chip – self proclaimed “leverage” both with us and with all other involved parties (grandparents, aunts, etc). And I’m angry at myself, because here is a child in my life (and all I want is a child) and I can’t just be grateful. I want her to be enough, and she’s not. And that makes me feel like a terrible person. A hateful, mean, bitter person.

I do my best to never, by word or deed, let her know how I feel. I try to be understanding about my husbands guilt, her mother’s mental illness, the difficult situation we are all in. I try to be a good example, a good influence, a positive force in her life. I try to be gentle with myself – to allow myself the bad feelings for a time and then put them aside. And it wears me out. The honest to god truth, and perhaps the moral of this story, is that it is very difficult to care for someone else’s child when you’re mourning the loss of your own.

 

Donor soul?

31 Monday Dec 2012

Posted by mybrokenoven in CCRM, IVF, Musings

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

AMH, CCRM, donor eggs, sister

So much has happened that I don’t know where to start. This isn’t the beginning but it’ll have to do for now.

As I’m driving with my sister over the holidays she casually asks what our next steps are going to be with the fertility stuff. I briefly fill her in on not being able to afford CCRM, my new AMH (CCRM called on Dec 21 and told me my AMH had fallen to <0.1 – Merry Christmas, you’ll never have children!), that I’m feeling lost and hopeless, that I’m starting to consider adoption. She’s quiet for a minute and then she says “I don’t know how you’d feel about this, but assuming everything is fine with my reproductive system, I’d like to donate my eggs to you. I’ve looked into it, I know what’s involved. The shots, the 60-70 hours of doctor visits, the procedures. After all, we have the same DNA. We could do it this July, if you want.” I promptly start bawling. It was such a kind, selfless, incredible gesture. I couldn’t (and can’t) wrap my head around it. Here’s my baby sister – the one I tormented, teased, played with, fought with – offering to give me the greatest gift in the world. offering to go through a good deal of trouble and pain and suffering to help me fulfill my dream. Offering to allow me to carry and to raise a child – her child, OUR child. I can’t put my thoughts (much less my feelings) into words. If her kidneys were failing I would donate her one of mine without a second thought. This felt like her offering to give me a part of her soul, because she could see that my soul was failing.

S was equally shocked and awed by the offer and ultimately has left the decision up to me. I don’t know if we’ll take her up on it, we very well might. What I do know is that the gaping black hole of despair and hopelessness that I’ve been carrying around inside of me has shrunk. The edge of the abyss has retreated. I am forcefully reminded that my life is good – I have people who love me, family who will do anything to help me. I am reminded that infertility doesn’t define me – I am greater than the sum of my ovaries. I also realize that I need 2 children, because wow, everybody needs a sister.

my-sister-quote-jamart-photography

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.

An infertile girl walks into a bar…

02 Sunday Dec 2012

Posted by mybrokenoven in Musings

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

drinking and infertility, infertility and alcohol

I leave tomorrow for the biggest conference of the year in my field. Between 20,000-25,000 of my colleagues will gather in San Fran to talk about science, make connections…and drink. Now, I’ve been going to this shin-dig for about 10 years and I’ve seen the good, bad and ugly of both the conference and “after conference” scene. You meet up with old friends…for beers. You have discussions with potential future colleagues about collaborations…over beers. You meet up to chat with senior scientists…at the wine bar. I’m a HUGE fan of the informal, relaxed way that business is conducted in my field (even the conference serves free microbrews for 2 hours every day), but I’m starting to fully appreciate how hard it must be for recovering alcoholics to function in a world where EVERY social event revolves around alcohol. Add to that the fact that this event is 5 days long, starts at 8 AM every day and I can’t have caffeine either – FML. I keep telling myself that the lack of hangover and a good nights sleep will make the need for caffeine irrelevant. Who am I kidding? 8 AM is 8 AM and the cold bright light of morning is way stabbier on the eyeballs when you’re uncaffeinated.

My husband got very indignant the other day when I told him that I envied that he could walk away from “it”. Of course he took “it” to mean me and when I explained that I meant infertility he was still annoyed because he thought I was implying that he didn’t think about it or worry about it. What he doesn’t realize is that I’m with “it” all day long. “It” influences every aspect of my life from where I go (riding my bike waaaaaaaay out of my to avoid fumes from the major roads), to what I do (giving up time with my husband or friends for yoga or accupuncture or doctors appointments) to what I eat (all the supplements, wheat grass, smoothies, blueberries, kale, no sugar, no soda, no caffeine, no alcohol and on and on). Those are a few measly examples, but truly, trying to improve my fertility influences my choices all day long, every day.

So, me and “it” are off to SF in the morning. I’ll sit with “it” at the wine bar. Me and “it” will hang out with old friends (and of course they’ll ask why I’m not drinking, which means I either have to lie or be uncomfortably vague since no one wants to have the “I can’t have babies” talk at a bar). And “it” and I will go home early together while everyone else is out having fun, making connections and…drinking. **Side note – I promise I’m not an alcoholic despite the way this post sounds. S and I have a glass of wine with dinner 2 or 3 nights a week, and I have a few margaritas on girls night. But SF during AGU is the time and place to get hammered, assuming there is ever a time and place** I just know that I’m gonna end up like this  (and no one likes sober cat)———->128826476970038742

A little reflection and thanks

22 Thursday Nov 2012

Posted by mybrokenoven in IVF, Musings

≈ Leave a comment

You know something I’m thankful for? Being able to even try to have a baby. I’m grateful to modern medicine, to all of the doctors who spent their lives trying to learn more about infertility and how to treat it, to all the techs who spend their time huddled over a microscope, to all of the nurses who walk us through the process and to all of the other folks who sincerely do their very best to make this dream happen for people.

I complain a lot about the process (because it sucks) but I’m very grateful to even get to try. I’m thankful we have insurance and funds to cover the costs. I’m grateful that I have a supportive partner in my husband and that my family and friends (despite some snafu’s) have got my back. I’m grateful to my body because, despite its many flaws and sputtering ovaries, it is healthy and able to deal with this difficult process. I’m thankful for the many communities of people who provide me with some much advice and inspiration as we travel this hard road together.

I’m thankful to live in a time when all of this is possible. Anne Boleyn was beheaded for not giving Henry VIII a male heir (among other things) and I’m grateful that beheading people for infertility is no longer an issue. So, while I spend much of my time bemoaning the state of my uterus I’m very thankful. For all of the aforementioned things and for so so so much more.

Have a safe and happy thanksgiving.

If you can’t say something nice then shut the hell up.

20 Tuesday Nov 2012

Posted by mybrokenoven in IVF, Musings

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Infertility, IVF, stupid things people say

(This will be a rant. Many apologies. You’ve been warned.)

I have to go to my in-laws for Thanksgiving tomorrow, and I’m dreading it like the dentist. I like my in-laws and I usually enjoy visiting them – they live in a beautiful part of the country in a lovely home, they have fabulous wine and I can sleep as late as I want. This time, I would rather have the flu (the really bad kind where you don’t know which end to point at the toilet).

I don’t want to talk about my miscarriage. I don’t want to talk about trying, or what we’re going to do next. And I swear to god that if my mother-in-law tells me one more time “just relax and it’ll happen, my friends daughter blahblahblah” I will either kill her or myself. Relaxing will not help. It’s a medical condition. That’s why I see a damn doctor every day. That’s why I jam needles in my belly and pay thousands of dollars for the privilege. That’s what this whole process is about. Trust me lady, if a massage, a movie and a cheap bottle of wine worked we’d be pregnant 10 times over by now. I’m really frickin happy that your friends daughter and her husband went on a damn cruise and got pregnant, but we can’t get pregnant that way and we’ve spent all our cruise money trying to do it the hard way.

And while I’m on my soap box rant I’d just like to add that no infertile person ever for any reason anywhere even once EVER needs to hear “Maybe you’re just not meant to have children.” Oh really? Maybe your dad should go off his high blood pressure medicine. Maybe he’s just not meant to live for very long. Am I destined to be such a bad parent that some divine force decided I can’t have children? Is that what happened? Well, thank you for clearing that up.

I know they mean well, and I try to respond politely (or I just walk away before I cry). But for just 5 minutes, here in the privacy of my own blog, I’m gonna be fucking pissed off about it. Because it sucks. Every day. It hurts. Every day. Have you suffered infertility (and not the “it took us sooooooooo long to get pregnant! 3 months!!” kind)? Then I welcome your opinion. Do you have a medical degree? Please, tell me what you have to say. If not, stick to some variation of “I’m sorry”, “What can I do to help you right now?”, “Are you doing ok?” or shut the hell up.

Rant over. (Except for the snarky lols below.)

Welcome AF

17 Saturday Nov 2012

Posted by mybrokenoven in Clomid, Musings

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

af, clomid, miscarriage, super ovulation

I started my period today, which means that decision time is finally here. When we left my RE (the one who said she could no longer help us) she said she could do super-ovulation cycles with us until we could get in with the new IVF RE so that we don’t “lose any time”. I’m not sure how I feel about that. On the one hand it can’t hurt to try and produce my follicles (and eggs) but on the other hand I’ve heard that the meds can actually decrease fertility by adversely affecting egg quality. Would that decrease my chances when we do start at the new clinic? S wants to do whatever we can, take any possible step, so he’s an advocate but has left the final decision up to me.

I have an appointment tomorrow morning to take my final beta to make sure everything “evacuated”. I’ll talk to the nurses then. Hmmmmm

Breathe in, breathe out.

14 Wednesday Nov 2012

Posted by mybrokenoven in Musings

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

accepting infertility, breathe in, health, Infertility, mental-health, yoga

I’ve done yoga for a long time but have stopped going over the last year or so – after all of the doctors appointments and meds there wasn’t much extra time or money. On the advice from my RE and for my own personal health and sanity I decided to make it a priority again and have gone several times in the last 2 weeks.  However, I haven’t gone to my normal yoga studio but have been trying out my friends favorite places.  I wanted to get out of my comfort zone, try something new and spend some quality time with people I’ve been neglecting as a result of all the…well…all of…this.  I did hot Bikram yoga (which was THE WORST THING EVER) and a yin flow class and then a beginners mediation/yin class. And I learned some things that I’d like to share.

First, tennis balls are excellent for massage. Also, yin flow is awesome for the body and the spirit. I highly recommend it. But anyway, while I was in one of the yin classes we were laying on our backs clearing our minds and focusing on our breathing. (It had been a hard day -2 of my acquaintances had babies the day before and my email was flooded with pictures. It made me feel like a bad person and a a bad friend that I was so upset and jealous as a result of their happiness, but I was.) So, I was laying on the floor thinking about my breathing and doing my best to clear my mind when it occurred to me – just breathe in……and breathe out.  In and Out.

So many times in the past few months I’ve felt so shattered, and I’ve wondered how I will bear it. How will I handle telling my family? How will I bear their disappointment? How will I bear my husbands loss? How will I bear the idea (much less the reality) of not having children? I felt completely overwhelmed and unprepared (and possibly unable) to accept it. Maybe ever. I truly thought “I don’t know how to BE with this knowledge   I don’t know how to begin to accept it.”  But as I was laying there on the floor in yoga it hit me – all I have to do is keep breathing.  Breathe in, breathe out. Not an epiphany for most, I know. But just the idea that I don’t have to DO anything – I don’t have to hide my sadness, or fix my “problem”, that I don’t have to have all of the answers right now or consider all of the alternatives, try all the medicines, go to all the doctors, read all the articles, make all of the life changing decisions – that as long as I just keep breathing in and out I will be ok, was profound to me. It was such a relief.  It made me feel like maybe there was enough – enough time, enough energy, enough love, enough strength.  And I felt that tight knot in the center of myself loosen a little bit.

I don’t believe that time heals all wounds, lord knows I have some old wounds that feel mighty fresh. But I do believe that we adjust – we change our reality, our expectations and our outlook. What we can’t overcome, we accept. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not yet ready to accept infertility and give up on having my own children, but I feel like … I don’t know. That I’ve found a little peace. That I’ve started to forgive myself some. That I’m coming to accept the idea that this could be my reality now, and that will be ok.

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.

Image

Infertility and step-kids

03 Saturday Nov 2012

Posted by mybrokenoven in Infertility and step-kids, Musings

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

step parent, stepchild, stepchildren and infertility

So, my step-daughter (who I truly love) is with us for the weekend. Not unusual (we have her 50% of the time) but it’s the first time I’ve been around her since we were told I wouldn’t be able to have children. I’m finding it surprisingly painful and difficult. Am I a terrible person? Anybody else out there with step-kids that has any advice? 

*More later – gotta go do bath time.

Where has this website been?

02 Friday Nov 2012

Posted by mybrokenoven in Musings

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

DHEA, fertility, fertility diet, fertility supplements, vitamins

I’ve found it!!

The most comprehensive list I’ve ever seen on increasing fertility – including all the studies (good and bad)!  Hormones, diet, exercise, supplements, medical conditions…check it out.

https://sites.google.com/site/miscarriageresearch/how-to-boost-fertility

 

50 shades of red

28 Sunday Oct 2012

Posted by mybrokenoven in Musings, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

family, Infertility, red hair, redhead

I have red hair. Very very red. New penny copper red. And for as long as I can remember people have been talking about it. When I was a little girl strangers would stop my mother in the grocery store to ask about it – “Did it run in our family? Did all of her children have red hair?”.  As a teenager women would stop me in the mall (much to my mortification) and ask to cut a piece off for color matching at the salon. In college boys would always make snide remarks – “Does the carpet match the drapes?” or “Are redheads as feisty as people say?”. As an adult the comments continue, albeit in a less offensive way. My hair is my defining characteristic.

My sisters hair is dark auburn, if you want to make her mad say it’s brown. My mother has red hair.  She’s the only one of her 4 siblings that has it – they all have dark brown hair. Her mother (my grandmother) had red hair and both of her sisters had brown hair. My great-grandmother was 1 of many, and she was the only one with red hair. You get the point. Since I can remember that’s the other thing people have always said to me – “You B.’s! Always a redheaded! Aren’t you excited to carry your family tradition forward?”. I was. Was being the operative word.

Very red

Give up? Not today!

26 Friday Oct 2012

Posted by mybrokenoven in Musings, Results

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

DHEA, diminished ovarian reserve, Infertility, IVF

I am at a loss. I don’t know where to go from here. I’m at the point where if I continue I’ll feel (and seem to most people) desperate beyond reason, unable to recognize and accept the truth.  But I’m not ready to give up.  Not yet.  We got pregnant, and on our first real try!  Yes, that pregnancy failed, and yes that may have been due to poor egg quality, but it may not have been.  Early miscarriages happen to many many many fertile women. All I need is that one healthy egg and a Dr. who will help us.  Like Yomicfit said in her comment – I need someone who will fight for me and my future children (Thank you, Yomicfit, for your kind words and for sharing your story).

So I’m going to try all the stuff that my first RE said I shouldn’t do. “Dr, can we do anything to improve our chances?”, “Don’t smoke or drink caffeine.”, “Um, right, I know, but what about DHEA? I’ve read that it’s used in many fertility clinics on women with DOR to improve egg quality”, “No, definitely don’t do that.  It’s unproven and it’s a hormone. You don’t want to mess around with your body chemistry.” (Side note-it was difficult not to laugh during that conversion. Don’t mess around with your body chemistry says the woman who prescribed me massive amounts of body chemistry altering hormones.) “Well Dr., what about that combination of melatonin, folic acid and myo inositol? I’ve read some studies that show that can help oocyte quality.”, “No, that’s extreme. If you want to feel like you’re doing something why don’t you get acupuncture. I don’t think it works but it certainly doesn’t hurt.”  (You know what’s extreme? Jabbing yourself w needles 5 times a day – thats extreme.  We’ve already crossed that line)

Now, I’m not a doctor (or at least, not that kind of doctor) so I’m not implying that I know better then her. Certainly reading a few journal articles and doing online research doesn’t qualify me to have much of an opinion.  She’s been doing this a long time and has a lot of experience and knowledge. But it seems to me that if we’re willing to pay the price (financially, physically and mentally) shouldn’t she be open to alternative options, especially when they’re often used by other clinics? Perhaps she can’t support them in her official role but couldn’t she offer some kind of guidance rather then just “I’m sorry, we can no longer help you?”.

So, ok.  I’m going to do acupuncture, and yoga.  I’m also going to find a clinic that is more progressive and willing to try alternative actions that may help improve our chances. After all what’s it going to do, decrease my fertility?  HA! 

As we were leaving our appointment she told us to go see Dr. Schoolcraft, that she didn’t know what he did but he had success with difficult patients.  Well I’ve read all about Dr. Schoolcraft now, exchanged messages with many of his previous and current patients.  You know what he does (besides having the best lab in the world)? He tries new things. He has his patients who have run out of other options try alternative medicines. He prescribes DHEA, melatonin, folic acid and myo inositol. I am happy to be an experiment. If it will help me have a baby and/or help doctors learn more to help other people have babies then I’m in.

I don’t know if this stuff will work. But I don’t know how to stop trying either.  I can’t let go of my vision of my life so easily. I won’t walk away just because one person told me it’s hopeless.  It’s hopeless when I say it is, goddamnit!

Broken

26 Friday Oct 2012

Posted by mybrokenoven in Diminished Ovarian Reserve (DOR), IVF, Musings

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

diminished ovarian reserve, Infertility, IVF, poor responder

We had the follow-up appointment with our RE yesterday. We were expecting some discussion about the miscarriage, a reassessment of protocol and a general good feeling – after all, we managed to get pregnant on our first complete IVF.  That’s good right?

Apparently not.

She told us she was sorry things didn’t work, I just wasn’t a good candidate for IVF and that unless I was ready to try donor eggs there wasn’t much else she could do for me. I was floored. Stunned. Crushed. I couldn’t even speak.  S told her that wasn’t what we were expecting, we weren’t ready to give up yet, after all it was our first real IVF cycle.  She said that, no, it was our 3rd cycle, I was a very poor responder and they couldn’t justify the risks of an egg retrieval and all the meds for so few follicles. She was very sorry and did we mind if she took this call from her daughter? She was clearly too busy to argue with us about my reproductive future. No time to discuss how all of my plans for children and a family, grandchildren for my mother, siblings for my step-daughter, were now in shambles. No time for that. As we were leaving she did mention that if we insisted on continuing we could see Dr. Schoolcraft at  CCRM in Denver. That she didn’t know how he did it but he had some success with “difficult” patients. Apparently I am now a “difficult” patient, a “very poor responder”.

I’ve been crying for almost 20 straight hours. At noon today I had to pick myself up off the floor, wash my face and put on my big girl pants to go have a meeting with my Ph.D advisor. Walking around at work I felt like I had to hold myself very, very still. Like if I moved too fast I’d lose the tenuous hold I had on my self-control. It’s like I’m made of delicate Venetian glass and if I move too fast I’ll shatter into a thousand pieces.

I don’t know how to accept it. I don’t know how to bear this.

I never wanted a huge house. I never daydreamed about my wedding. I never worried about who I would marry. But I have been naming my children since I was 8 years old. I have imagined being pregnant a 1000 times. I have imagined what my babies would look like, how their fingers would be shaped, if they would have my smile. Since I met my husband I have spent at least some part of everyday daydreaming about our children – his nose with my hair? His height and my eyes? I have thought about what Christmas would be like, things I would do for birthdays.  And now that’s just gone?  Forever?

Would it be different if I hadn’t waited until I was 34 to start trying? Are my degrees, my career, worth not having kids?  I didn’t realize that was the deal I was making.  I thought I was being responsible, waiting til I was ready. What is the purpose of my life now?  Work?

And my husband. Oh god my husband. Because he choose to be with me he will never have more children, which he desperately wants. Because he picked me his life is less.

I can’t give my parents grandchildren. I can’t give my husband a child. I will never have a real family of my own.

I feel like such a failure.

I would die for that

20 Saturday Oct 2012

Posted by mybrokenoven in Musings

≈ Leave a comment

Lyrics to “I would die for that”

“Jenny was my best friend.
Went away one summer.
Came back with a secret
She just couldn’t keep.
A child inside her,
Was just too much for her
So she cried herself to sleep.

And she made a decision
Some find hard to accept.
To young to know that one day
She might live to regret.

But I would die for that.
Just to have one chance
To hold in my hands
All that she had.
I would die for that.

I’ve been given so much,
A husband that I love.
So why do I feel incomplete?
With every test and checkup
We’re told not to give up.
He wonders if it’s him.
And I wonder if it’s me.

All I want is a family,
Like everyone else I see.
And I won’t understand it
If it’s not meant to be.

Cause I would die for that.
Just to have one chance
To hold in my hands
All that they have.
I would die for that.

And I want to know what it’s like
To bring a dream to life.
For that kind of love,
What I’d give up!
I would die for that.

Sometimes it’s hard to conceive,
With all that I’ve got,
And all I’ve achieved,
What I want most
Before my time is gone,
Is to hear the words
“I love you, Mom.”

I would die for that.
Just to have once chance
To hold in my hands
What so many have
I would die for that.

And I want to know what it’s like
To bring a dream to life.
How I would love
What some give up.
I would die …
I would die for that.”

 

Telling people about IVF

16 Tuesday Oct 2012

Posted by mybrokenoven in IVF, Musings

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

IVF, trust

So, the day before I got my BFP I had an acquaintance from work come up to me and congratulate me on my impending pregnancy and then tell me all about the people she knows that have done IVF. That was sweet of her, except that I didn’t ever share with her that we were going through this process.  I asked her how she knew and she told me that a mutual friend, D, had told her. That surprised me as this friend is usually very closed-mouthed, and I had asked the few people I told not to share it with anyone else.  I struggled with it for about 24 hours and then decided to write D an email and ask her to not talk about it anymore.

Of course, it wasn’t as simple as all that.  We had been at a birthday party that weekend and everyone was drinking except me.  The acquaintance asked a different friend, K, why I wasn’t drinking, were S and I trying to get pregnant? K is another friend who is in on my little secret. And K, a little tipsy, said, “Yes!  We’ll find out soon!” So the acquaintance cornered D and asked her out of the blue if S and I were having trouble conceiving and if we were doing IVF. D said she was stunned and answered that she thought so.

So.  I can’t explain how angry and betrayed this all made me feel. I know that none of it was done with malice. That the acquaintance was just being nosy and my friends were just cornered, or a little drunk and indiscrete. But nonetheless I am beside myself with anger and hurt.

Because IVF is AWFUL. First, you get the diagnoses of infertility, which is crushing in a way I can’t explain. You can’t do what even Snooki can do, and she can barely find her way out bed every day.  You feel broken, like less of a woman.  You can’t give your life partner, this person you adore, something that they expect and deserve – their life is less because they choose to be with you. You can’t give your parents the grandchildren they want. You feel like an utter failure, a disappointment as a wife, a woman, a daughter. Never mind your own dreams and plans of a baby, a family. So you come to grips with that as best you can and start looking at options. You decide on IVF, and then submit daily to strangers inserting (with various levels of gentleness and care) a cold plastic dildo inside you and telling you how badly you’re doing at IVF “you’re a poor responder”, “if you don’t start growing some more follicles we’re going to have cancel this”.  You stab yourself in the stomach 4 or 5 times a day with needles and inject strong medicines into your body so as to create a hostile take-over of your reproductive system. You turn your life upside down to accommodate all the doctors appointments, the rigid injection schedule. You feel sick from the meds, from the process. Your ovaries swell to the size of baseballs and start secreting fluids into your abdomen. Your veins collapse from the number of blood draws. Then the shots stop and they do the ER – you have an operation where someone pierces your vagina multiple times with a needles to extract your eggs, which they tell you are probably of poor quality anyway (you really should try donor eggs). Then its a day in bed with cramps and bloating and pain and fear. Next is a long line of pills, patches, suppositories and foul tasting lozenges. No sex. Constant leak of medicine from between your legs. Then the eggs fertilize (or not). If not, you start over. If so, it’s back into the OR where they put the fertilized eggs back inside you with a catheter threaded into your uterus. You can’t imagine a more sterile, hard, loveless way to create life. Then you wait on pins and needles to see if this little ball of cells will stick (and of course continue the pills, patches, suppositories and foul tasting lozenges.) And, unlike most fertile people, you have reason to be afraid.  You know all the things that can go wrong, all the ways this can fail. And you have invested SO MUCH. Your time, money, health, and in some cases sanity are hanging in the balance. All to do what other people do on accident after too much cheap wine.

They tell you at the beginning that the process is hard, that you need a support system. So, I tried to create one – a few close friends, my family, my husbands family. Not very many people. It’s embarrassing, and breathtakingly intimate – like having to tell people your deepest darkest failure and intimate details of your sex life all at once. So then to feel that after all of that, AFTER ALL OF THAT you have become the subject of idle, thoughtless gossip…it’s devastating. Humiliating.

Maybe it’s the hormones. Maybe it’s not that big a deal. I can see both sides. But if I could take it back and never have told anyone that’s what I would do. But I can’t.  So when I found out I was pregnant a few days after that incident I didn’t tell any of them. So now that I’m “a little bit pregnant” and basically waiting to miscarry no one knows that either. I think I prefer it this way.  It’s lonely and I feel terribly shattered but at least I feel safe alone with my grief.

Thoughts from the universe?

09 Tuesday Oct 2012

Posted by mybrokenoven in Musings

≈ Leave a comment

I’ve been trying to stay away from Facebook. No joke, I know 5 people who had babies LAST WEEK.  Not to mention the 2 the week before and the 1 the week before that.  And the 2 that are pregnant. But I digress…  I went to do a quick Facebook check and this was at the very top of my feed –

“We cannot trade the courage needed to live every moment for immunity from life’s sorrows. We may say we know this but ours is the culture of the deal-making mind. From infancy we have breathed in the belief that there is a deal to be made, a bargain to be struck. . . . if we do the right thing, if we are good enough, clever enough, sincere enough, work hard enough, we will be rewarded.. . . . The challenge is to journey into a deeper intimacy with the world & our lives without any promise of safety or guarantee of reward beyond the intrinsic value of full participation.. . . .Life lived intimately may not be easier. But it is fuller, richer & more open to everything: the confusion & the insight, the excitement & the boredom, the shadow & the light. And somehow, expanding our ability to simply be with it all does make what is hard easier to bear, allows us to give and receive more in each moment.” ~ Oriah Mountain Dreamer, The Invitation

Seems appropriate, no?

IVF – so many forms of discomfort

09 Tuesday Oct 2012

Posted by mybrokenoven in 2WW, Musings

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

family, fertile, friends, infertile, IVF

I’ve been in a bad mood lately. Call it hormones, call it stress. I think I’m going to call it isolation, which is unfair and overdramatic, but it doesn’t make it any less true to me.

My husband (obviously) and immediate family know what we’re going through, as well as a handful of close friends.  Everyone is very loving and supportive but lets face it – this makes everybody uncomfortable. At a first cut, it makes you think about the sex life of your friend (or daughter or sister or whatever) which is uncomfortable.  But really that’s not the problem.  To think about this the way I am you have to break it down into 2 categories of people – fertile and unknown.

As an example – My 2 best friends are both fertile. Together they have 5 gorgeous, well-adjusted children that they timed perfectly and conceived (more-or-less) on purpose. They were both pregnant when I told them about my infertility issues and the steps we were taking, which was awkward. Of course they were supportive and wonderful (because they’re supportive wonderful people) but I felt the need to explicitly spell out that I don’t begrudge them their children or their pregnancies, and that I want to still share in those experiences.  Is it sometimes difficult?  Yes. Do I sometimes get jealous?  Yes. But I don’t want to be left out and excluded. I know I could theoretically talk to them about it anytime, but I feel like they would be uncomfortable, and that it would be a burden at best and a strain on our friendship at worst.

And the other group-the unknowns.  These are the ladies (many of my friends) who haven’t had kids yet but hope to soon.  They were in the same boat as me – waiting to finish school, waiting to be settled, waiting for Mr. Right. And I am the manifestation of their secret fears.  Did they wait too long? Why have they never had a pregnancy scare? Are they infertile too? Just being around me is a reminder that this could happen to them.

Any way you cut it, everyone is uncomfortable.

So it ends up being just me, sitting on the couch.

8dp2dt

07 Sunday Oct 2012

Posted by mybrokenoven in 2WW, IVF, Musings

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

2WW, IVF, loss, pregnancy symptoms, sadness, sore boobs

Let’s symptom spot!  My favorite!

I’ve been cramping (AF like cramps) since the retrieval. Yep, 10 straight days of cramps. So, that’s the progesterone. We can also put bloating and constipation and irritability and excessive thirst (which leads to excessive urination) in that category. Also, breast soreness.  This started around the time I started round 2 of progesterone suppositories so it is probably also associated with the meds, although it’s getting a bit more intense.  But no more intense than it usually is right before my period. I’m tired, but then again I’m always tired.

Which leaves me with……nothing. No symptoms. And by now (according to Dr. Google) most people have some symptoms.

I don’t hold out much hope for this cycle. The internet says our chances for a BFP are a little less than 1 in 4, my RE says it’s more like 1 in 9. Despite the low odds I’m constantly told to stay positive, think only good thoughts. I have to take my meds 3x a day, do yoga that increases blood flow to the uterus, not drink alcohol or coffee, not eat sushi, not get stressed or upset.  And it all feels like an exercise in futility. A farce.

But every once in a while I slip.  I find myself daydreaming about what it would be like to tell S that it worked, that we’re finally pregnant.  What it would be like to have a 4 month old at my sister’s wedding (of course I already know the due date if this actually works). What it would be like to tell my step-daughter that she’ll finally have a sibling. And that’s the worst part. The more I think happy, positive thoughts the more devastated I’ll be when I get that BFN. I never really thought that the IUI would work.  When we got the BFN it was ok.  But this time we have a real chance. Our genetic material combined, it grew, and they put it back inside me. It’s REAL. I know that even with all of my logical assessment of the odds of a BFP and trying to be REALISTIC (which is rather the opposite of positive) I will be gutted if this doesn’t work. I can see that BFN abyss of loss and sadness and failure and self-blame right in front of me and I am frantically trying to build a shell around myself so that when I get the BFN and topple in to that hole I’ll have something to break my fall.

**Update – I broke down and tested today at 4:00.  BFN. Just saying…

Let’s talk about numbers

09 Saturday Jun 2012

Posted by mybrokenoven in Musings

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

diminished ovarian reserve, dominant follicle, IUI, IVF, statistics

This whole game – IVF, IUI, mini-IVF etc. – is about numbers.  Going in to the IVF process we were told we had about a 35% chance of conceiving if everything goes swimmingly.  That sounded pretty good.  If I had a 35% chance of winning the lottery I’d play.  But slowly I begin to realize that everything was NOT going swimmingly.  Despite being on the maximum amount of follicle stimulating drugs I only produced 10 follicles, which reduced to 6, which reduced to 4 plus one gigantic monster follicle called a dominant follicle.  That makes me a “poor responder” to the meds which reduces my chances of having lots of eggs and/or of having healthy eggs.  Having a dominant follicle is also bad, since it kills off other follicles, further reducing my chances of conception.

Suddenly, I found myself looking at the numbers in a different way.  A 35% chance (if everything is perfect, which it’s not) is actually 65% chance of not conceiving.  Given my circumstances my odds are reduced to let’s say 15%.  That’s an 85% chance of NO BABY.

No one talks about this.  I’ve stalked around TTC boards for a long long time and they’re populated with success story after success story – and that’s wonderful.  I’m honestly happy for those folks and think that those boards are a fantastic resource.  BUT.  You begin to notice that many (if not most) of the people that posted often with updates, stories and experiences just….faded away.  BFN after BFN.  Cancelled cycle after cancelled cycle.  Heartbreak after heartbreak.

We all think we’re special.  That we’re gonna be the one to beat the odds.  Maybe that’s true, but as I sit here the night before my first IUI staring down the barrel of a 92% chance of failure I am all too aware that the odds are not in my favor.

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