Saturday, May 5, 2012

What Fresh Hell is This?


Oh hi, I'm back.

I stopped writing because for a long time I had no news to report.  Then, when I did have news to report, quite good news in fact, the very best news that an infertile bird can hope to get....well, I was afraid to write about it because I didn't want to jinx it and I didn't want to tell the internet that I was pregnant until I was sure it was going to stick, because I didn't want to liveblog my miscarriage, if that's what was going to happen.

It seems my instincts were sound.

I got pregnant in March. After a picture-perfect cycle: a young, fertile and conscientious donor, healthy eggs and awesome embryos, two pink lines on the peestick and higher-than-average beta results, after we had seen the heartbeat on two ultrasounds, saw our baby develop from a 6-week tadpole into a 7-week shrimp, and had been told by our doctor that we had a 95% chance of carrying it to term and he had "a really good feeling about this one," after weeks of queasiness and dizziness and omgIreallyFEELpregnant, after telling my parents the news because we truly deep-down believed it was going to happen this time because everything was happening exactly like it was supposed to and we did everything right and goddammit we deserve it, our baby quietly and inexplicably died one night when I was 8 weeks along.

I felt it happen. People will say it's impossible and I imagined it, but I knew the minute that tiny heart stopped beating. I felt the life that had been growing inside me, stop. I startled awake in the middle of the night, heart pounding and full of dread. I felt all the energy in my body that had been directed to creating and sustaining the little butterbean suddenly surge through me.  Life support had been turned off but the circuit was still live and the wire crackled and sparked.  I knew it was over.  Everyone tried to reassure me that it's totally normal to have these feelings and that loads of women had fears, anxiety and worries when they were pregnant and everything turned out just FINE.  But 3 days later the ultrasound showed that my baby had died and it had happened about 3 days earlier.  Don't tell me I don't know my fucking body.

So, anyway, here I am.  Again.

You might not be surprised to hear I'm having a tough time.  I think I seem OK on the outside.  There's a lot going on at work so I have to keep my shit together at least during the day.  But I'm a whole bundle of grief and rage and despair wrapped in a layer of tissue paper, tied with a thin piece of string.  Don't look too close, don't ask too much of me, I just might fall apart.

See, here's The Thing:  they have no idea WHY it happened.  Once again, nothing wrong with the baby.  Something horribly wrong with me, something they can't even identify, let alone conquer. I've battled Advanced Maternal Age and Premature Ovarian Failure, but now I'm being attacked by the Voldemort of infertility, That-Which-Must-Not-Be-Named:  Undiagnosed Recurrent Miscarriage.  They can get me pregnant but can't keep me there and they've run out of things to try.

At this point a rational person might throw up their hands and say, enough.  We have tried literally EVERYTHING to have a baby and we can't make it happen.  Maybe it's time to admit that it's Just Not Meant To Be.  Maybe it's time to move on with our lives.

But we can't.

Our young and fertile egg donor gave us so many robust eggs that we ended up with six frozen embryos.  The shared-risk program means we get to keep trying until all six have been used. If we don't succeed, we will get our money back.  ALL OF IT.  It's a not insignificant amount. I'd give it all and then some to have a child, but if I. Just. Can't. then I will take our money back, thankyouverymuch.

And I can't very well tell myself that we tried everything if we give up before ALL our chances have been used up.

So I have to keep trying. My doctor won't transfer more than two at once, so I may have to put myself through all of this THREE more times, because let's be honest:  my odds of success?  Not so good.  If they don't know what's wrong with me, how can they fix it?  Right now I feel that the best I can hope for is that none of the frozen embryos even "take," so that I don't have to go through three more miscarriages, three more rounds of hope and despair, three more cycles of grief and healing.

I have to keep trying, even though I'll probably fail.  And no amount of will or want or science or prayer will change the outcome.

Even Sisyphus would think it's pretty fucked up.

I don't know if anyone is reading or caring anymore.  But I think I'm going to have to start using writing as therapy again, so maybe I'll see you around.




35 comments:

  1. Hi there. I've never commented, and (I hate to admit) actually can't remember how I even stumbled across your blog. But I did, and I love your writing style, and best (or worst) of all, I can relate. I also have the same can't-figure-out-why-but-you-can't-carry-a-baby-to-term diagnosis, or un-diagnosis as I like to call it. We are no longer trying (or at least not right now) but we were extremely fortunate to be blessed with twins via gestational carrier three and half years ago (my egg, my hubbies sperm, they're just fine together, it's just my uterus that hasn't learned yet how to share). If you'd ever like to chat, or vent, or just have someone to berate who won't hold it against you, you're more than welcome to hit me up. My name is Julie, btw.

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    1. Hi Julie, thanks for commenting and for the offer to chat. I may take you up on it one of these days. Congratulations on your twins. I clicked over to your blog, and saw their pictures -- beautiful!!

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  2. I am reading and am just devastated to hear your news. I am sorry you are going through this.

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    1. Hi Nikki, thanks for reading and caring. I wish I had happier news to share.

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  3. Of course we are still reading. We love you and we care. You've been in my mind lots lately...thought you might need some space. Too bad the doctor won't transfer more than two in a case like yours. It's unfortunate. Sending lots of hugs your way!

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    1. Aw, thanks Flygirl. It warms my cold and bitter heart to know that people like you are out there, listening and caring. I'm going to be emailing you soon with questions about the whole heparin/lovenox thing. Thanks for the hugs - back atcha, with extras for the twinks!

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  4. i am so sorry to hear this, words can't express how sad i am for you.
    take care

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    1. Thank you. It's nice to hear from you - I hope you're well.

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  5. Hi Jenny,
    I had been stalking you for a couple of months prior to your last post, but never commented. I'm so sorry for your loss. Just know that as long as you're writing, you have readers to offer you support. Sending you hugs.

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    1. Thanks Daryl, for following my story and sending support. I'm not sure why, exactly, it helps to know that I'm not alone in this and have readers who care, but it does. Thanks for commenting today.

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  6. I'll never stop reading and I care more than you know. Much love to you and Mr. W.

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    1. Thank you. Your friendship and support mean the world to us. xoxo

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  7. I was hoping your lack of posts meant what the first part of your post said. I am so sorry. There really aren't words. Just know I will be praying for you and your husband. It is hard to make sense of a situation that does not make any sense at all.

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    1. Thanks, KD. I appreciate your thoughts and prayers. Your comment was spot on: I'm finding it so much harder to write about it this time around, because I just can't find the words to make sense out of this mess.

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    2. I am praying for you and one big hug to you!

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    3. Thanks, DeeZ. Hugs and prayers are always appreciated!

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  8. We haven't given up on you! You are on my blogroll, so I think about you often and was wondering what was going on. I am so so sorry to hear about the loss of your baby. It's just too much to bear. There seems to be alot of success with lovenox and other meds that keep the immune system in check. Praying that you find peace and strength to keep going.

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    1. TurtleMama! Great to hear from you - aren't you due, like any minute now?! Congratulations! Thanks for taking the time to read and comment, especially now. Yes, at times it does feel like too much to bear but I guess I'm as strong as I need to be. I've heard good stuff about lovenox too, I think it's one of the only things left to try.

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  9. Friends-of-your-friends are wishing you peace and healing. And we will never stop reading--and hoping.

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    1. Thanks, Sasha. I'm so touched that you are reading and hoping for us.

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  10. Jenny Wren, I'm so so very sorry to hear this. Thinking of you tonight and praying.

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    1. Thanks, Birdie. Congratulations on the birth of your little girl

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  11. I am sorry about your loss. I just had a conversation today with my doc on trying lovenox for my next pregnancy. I've had three unexplained in a row at 14, 13, 11 weeks. Did your doc bring that up as an option for you?

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    1. Hi, K - I'm sorry for your losses, too. How heartbreaking to miscarry in the second trimester. Yes, I've talked about lovenox/heparin with my doc...long story about that and I'll go into in a future post. But I have heard good things about it and it's the only thing that gives me a little bit of hope at this point.

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    2. That's how I feel. I am going Tues to meet with RE again and talk about the side effects more b/c it scares me a little since I have no clotting diagnosis. I am nervous to go through another pregnancy doing nothing different though so I feel like its the only hope as well.

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    3. I don't have a clotting diagnosis either, but my doc recently told me there's been some encouraging results using lovenox on women with unexplained RPL, and I've seen loads of women on the IF forums get pg while using it after nothing else worked. I also can't put myself through this again without trying something new. Good luck at your appt Tues, I hope you get answers and reassurance!

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  12. I'm so sorry to hear about all you've been through. Like you, on my own (no donor eggs), I could (sometimes) get pregnant, but couldn't stay pregnant and they didn't know why. With premature ovarian failure, we moved on to donor eggs. The LAST person I want to be is the person who has all of the answers for you, so this is merely a suggestion that you can take/not take: have they done a recurrent loss panel on you yet? They did one on me and found that I am heterozygous (one copy of the abnormal gene) for the MTHFR C677T and MTHFR A1298C genes and that I have two copies of the 4G/4G allele, known as the 4G/4G genotype of the plasminogen activator inhibitor type 1 (PAI-1) gene -- associated with the highest PAI-1 activity and antigen levels, as well as complications with pregnancy including recurrent loss. Don't ask me to explain what any of that means...all I know is that it means I have to take daily baby aspirin and have been on Lovenox for some time under the belief that blood clotting issues can be the cause of recurrent loss. If they haven't looked into blood clotting issues and/or haven't done a recurrent loss panel, I would recommend it -- we learned a lot from ours.

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    1. Thanks for reading and commenting. I'm sorry for your losses and struggles, too. Yes, I have had a very comprehensive RPL panel done. Some of the levels have even been done twice. I come up normal every time on every test. It's what makes it all so frustrating.

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  13. As I've already written you, I'm so so sorry. With you, I dread the FET as I just can't see how things would be any better. Welcome to the Lovenox club...I "joined" it starting with cycle 2! Again, thinking of you...especially as we approach Sunday...once again with nothing to show for it. Hugs...

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    1. Thanks, Cinda, for thinking of me today. I'm going to reply to your PM, I have some lovenox questions for you and want to ask about your FET.

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  14. I've stumbled across your blog in a search for people using donated embryos. I just wanted to tell you that I am sorry for your loss. I lost a pregnancy at 11 weeks, well over a year ago now. That was my first, followed by several more. And it never gets easier. The wounds are less fresh, but it's not stopped hurting. Anyway - my heart goes out to you as you are dealing with this.

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    1. Thank you. My heart goes out to you, too. I'm sorry for your losses and hope your next attempt is the one that makes your dreams come true.

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  15. I know this is a lot late, but the story of feeling your baby lose it's life? I totally have been there! Most people would say I was crazy, but when I lost my little ones, I was blessed enough to travel to the other side, and say goodbye right before they were found to be ectopic. It wasn't long, but it was a definite vision, and kind of like just KNOWING it was real, no matter how crazy it sounds. Thank you for sharing this, I feel less insane now.

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