It’s Been a While

About 3.5 months to be exact. 

Here’s what’s happened…

  • IVF cycle 1 BOMBED šŸ’£
  • My grandmother passed away 1.5 weeks after we got the above results. ** I remember being at my doctors office discussing next steps and thinking “we need to leave. I have to go home, shower, and get dressed for the wake.” My doctor kept saying how surprised she was that things went so badly, that maybe the medications were too aggressive, and that we should take off the time during the holidays because they’re already stressful enough. I had already made up my mind (and was truly prepared,) that we were starting again in December, so when she said this, I froze. I said “no. I’d like to start next month.” Just like out of a tv show, she said “that would be against my medical opinion. You have enough going on.” I bit my tongue SO hard, but I could still spew thousands of angry sentences. Like…”I paid you $13,000.00 and you couldn’t get your job done, so I’ll tell you when you get another shot.” **sidenote- someone had the audacity to say that “now that your grandmother has passed she’ll take care of things up there and you’ll get pregnant right away.” WHY DO PEOPLE SPEAK? 
  • Had follow up ultrasound at the hospital to get the cyst checked out, and there was nothing. Minuscule happiness. I had the pleasure of having a doctor (not mine,) review the ultrasound with me. She was kind enough to point out that my doctor certainly didn’t know what she was doing, we should have had better results, that a cyst in an IVF cycle does not go undetected, and she’d be happy to take me as a patient. Her nurse also shared that I should definitely consider changing doctors, as the doctor who just spoke with me “is really great at getting women of your age pregnant.” I’m 32…Shoot me. 
  • I hate this blog. So many of you have announced your pregnancies over the past few months & I’ve broken each time. Crazy because although I know your experiences, I don’t know you or see you on a daily basis…I’m happy for all of you, but if you’re reading this, you know what I’m feeling. 
  • Coworker had her baby end of December. Thought the excitement at work regarding babies was done…
  • Picked up supplemental insurance that was effective 2/1/2017. Period started 3 days early in January, and the next round of IVF because of that would have started 1/31/2017. We missed it by ONE DAY. 
  • Two coworkers announced their pregnancies, and they’re roughly 2 weeks apart. Announcements were made about two weeks apart as well. One word to summarize those weeks: Delightfullllll! 
  • Had previously emailed all of the new insurance information to the financial coordinator/insurance guru at my doctors office so that she could get everything all set to start in March. She never responded to anything I sent her, which I didn’t really think twice about. I called the office to let them know it was “day 1 ” in February, “ok, great we will be in touch.” I followed up a week later via email, anddddd got great news. (If you think that’s the case, you haven’t picked up on the black cloud that has me pinned to the ground.) I have to go back for day 3 labs and DH has to give a semen analysis, as our tests from 2016 have “expired” as of February and the new insurance won’t cover anything until they have those updated. Now if the woman at the office had done HER job, this all could have been done in February, but God forbid. 

Basically what it comes down to, is that I’m in the extremely angry stage of this infertility nightmare. And, that is exactly what it is…a fricken hellacious nightmare that I can’t wake up from. 

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Let’s Break (It) Down

  • I did my trigger shot Tuesday evening on 11/1.
  • Thursday, on 11/3 was my egg retrieval.
  • Roughly 36 hours after the retrieval, Friday, 11/4, I got the call at work from my doctor. 

Now I’m going to break it all down. 

Thursday morning we arrived for my egg retrieval. Despite being completely nervous about the anesthesia I was feeling alright. We were taken back into the surgical area where they had me change, and informed me about the anesthesia. Top picture is of my IV of saline. Interestingly enough or, if you’ve been following my blog, this won’t surprise you: they had an extremely difficult time finding a vein they could work with. 

 

Below was my view,  prior to the retrieval. It was ominous. I watched the woman before me who was also having a retrieval walk in. I also saw her on the recovery side. 

The one thing I don’t understand? No makeup, no nailpolish, no hair scrungies (as they called them) are allowed. But yet I walked in that day IN these socks…had the procedure with them on…and left with the socks never being removed. Logic? None as far as I’m concerned. And that, is my lovely hair net thing. Yuck. 

 

The doctor then came over to introduce himself. (I knew it wouldn’t be my doctor performing the procedure, which I was perfectly fine with. We were informed of all of these factors at our initial consultation.) Until he spoke to us, time truly felt as though it was standing still. He was calm. Soft spoken. Shook our hands. Started talking about what he was hoping would happen,”I should be able to get 4-6 eggs today. So well hope for the 6. I’ll see you back there.” 
…I broke…
Sunday I was told there were 8 follicles. HOW WAS HE ONLY PLANNING ON 4-6?! I looked at DH and in a completely unflustered voice said, “this isn’t going to work. This is a loss. I can tell this isn’t going to work.” Tears slowly started welling in my eyes. Immediately I chastised myself about crying, took a deep breath, and was overcome with coldness. 
Rigidly sitting there in my chair, my fingers kept frantically edging their way around the hair cap or whatever it is called. Less than 20minutes later, the nurse came over. I was up. I’ll spare the details of walking in, the conversations once in the OR, and my other memories. Fast forward, well I don’t know how long exactly…and I’m in recovery. 
I felt good. Surprisingly good to be quite truthful. The nurse checked to see if there was any bleeding, none; and then asked if I wanted something to eat and drink. My choice was that of a five year old, animal crackers and apple juice. Listen, we were stopping at Starbucks afterwards, so I wasn’t going to fill up on crappy coffee or a bad pastry. As I was sitting there, I could overhear the nurse telling prior egg retrieval patient how well her procedure went, and the medication outline for the next few days. She then popped into my curtained area and asked if I wanted her to get DH. Yes, obviously. Minutes later he was sitting beside me asking how I felt. 

She seemed to reappear shortly thereafter, and indicated that the doctor was going to come over to speak to us. I looked at DH and said, “this is bad. This is very bad. Something is wrong.” From the split second she uttered those words, it was like I was having an out of body experience. The soft spoken and calm doctor was back. “How are you feeling?” he asked. “Ok.” I responded. “I’m afraid things didn’t go as we were planning.” Cue my usual direct and questioning attitude floating away. With that my fiery temper also seemed to instantly disappear. “Unfortunately, we were only able to get one egg. I was planning on 4-6 but it just didn’t happen. I’m so sorry. Also, one of the follicles that was measuring on the left, was not a follicle, it’s a cyst. I don’t know who was doing your ultrasounds or what your doctor was looking at, but this definitely shouldn’t have gone undetected. You need to follow up with your doctor about that. Again, I’m so sorry that things didn’t go the way you or I was planning.”
I really want to say the world stopped spinning, but it didn’t; it fell out from underneath me. I was white hot with unparalleled rage. HOW was there only one? WHAT were they counting? WHO told me there were 8? HOW was this cyst missed? HIS coworker is my doctor, and he was surprised she missed this? WHAT the actual fuck? WHO do I trust, him or my doctor? And my last thought, “I knew from the beginning this wouldn’t work.” This time no tears formed. I was borderline psychotic and completely paralyzed with shock, and immediately launched myself into the statistics. After a few minutes of mental calculations, I knew this round was over. I wouldn’t need the follow up call the next day, there was truly no need for it to take place as there wouldn’t be any good news. We finally we able to leave. I got in the truck, tried to fall asleep, and immediately started sobbing. Here’s a visual for you, I looked like a St. Bernard covered in slobber. I called my mom. I called my MIL, and texted those that knew what was going on. Everyone said the same thing “it only takes one.” After a few explanations that we were already at a negative starting point, all I wanted to do was sleep and forget this entire experience. Upon arriving home I did sleep after watching two hours of TV. Physically I felt alright, just a heaviness like pre-period cramps, but was exhausted. 
Well…that one didn’t take per the phone call Friday afternoon with my doctor. So for the sake of my sanity, please never say that to me again. Was I surprised absolutely not. Did I cry? Nope. Did I want to punch a wall? Certainly. The call sucked, the rest of my day sucked, and that entire weekend sucked. I don’t think I cried anymore after Friday evening and talking with DH. 
Until Saturday, 11/12 when I sat down to write this blog. I completely crumbled into a billion little pieces. I’ll get into that another time. 

Here’s really what I’d like to say…

A massive fuck you to my first doctor. The doctor that told me in the beginning of 2016 that we had a 95% chance of being pregnant by the end of the year. Thank you for etching that into my brain. Thank you for constantly making me feel like a failure and a huge disappointment to myself, my husband, and my family. You have demolished every ounce of faint hope that I ever possessed in this year. I was convinced after leaving your office that day I’d be pregnant for my birthday, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. Those were milestones I anticipated despite knowing there was a chance it wouldn’t happen. Well, now those times start a week from today, and I blame you for my misery, sadness, and the facade of happiness I have to display. FUCK YOU for making bold and brash statements that I allowed my sanity to cling to, and now I sit here with barely a shred left. 

24 Hour Rewind

Monday morning: UltraBlood combo. Ultrasound tech asks, “so your doctor thinks you’ve ovulated already?” Me: “no.” …defeating silence throughout the rest of the ultrasound…
Monday afternoon: the nurse calls. “You’ve ovulated, so we missed this cycle. You’ll need to come in on 9/12 for a blood test to see if you’re pregnant. We will also schedule a follow up with the doctor to determine next course and next treatment cycle.” *Trust me when I say with 1,000% certainty the test will be a BFN.
Monday night: I am done. This was previously determined on Sunday night, but had been communicated Saturday and Sunday. By done, I mean I am permanently exiting the infertility roller coaster and running out of the park. 
A lot has happened Friday-Sunday, which I do not even have the heart to blog about. Unfortunately, because of those events, they’ve factored in heavily to this decision. 

8.26 Pt. 2

I got my phone call from my doctors office yesterday (Friday, 8.26) at 2:10. Here’s how the conversation played out in my head: “you have a handful of mature follicles measuring between 18-20…do your HCG shot tonight…we will see you Sunday morning for your IUI. Things are looking very good.”
Here’s how the phone call really went: “you still have no mature follicles…you are going to do another Gonal F injection of 112.5 tonight and Saturday night…you have an appointment Sunday morning at 7:30am for another ultrasound and bloodwork…have relations both Friday and Saturday night in case we miss your ovulation.”

Here’s what I asked: “can you tell me what size the follicles measuring? As of Sunday I will only have 112.5 left of the Gonal F, will I need more?” 

Here are the responses: “they aren’t measuring at 12mm yet, we don’t record measurements when they’re smaller than 12…you should have enough, we ordered you 1,350units total (she must have done the math,) and then said, ‘oh, yes…you’ll need more. We have a sample pen at the office you can come pick up.'”

And…of course, here are my thoughts: “I hate this. Will anything go right? I don’t want to do anymore injections. Why aren’t my follicles growing? More damn bloodwork. Why isn’t my Gonal F dosage increasing? Another damn ultrasound. How can someone else think they might MISS my ovulation? This time I’ll get to drive over an hour one way for an appointment that will take less than 10 minutes. Nothing like scheduled sex. Why can’t I get pregnant?”

DeflatedĀ 


Sums up how I feel about today. This post won’t be inspiring, positive, or uplifting. Please feel free to closer your browser at anytime. 

Had another UltraBlood combination this morning. Good takeaway, I was able to get blood done prior to my ultrasound as there was no wait and my doctors office hadn’t opened yet. Bad takeaway, it was a different ultrasound tech. Not that it was bad, but I feel like I should start charging a viewing fee for the office staff. At least I could recoup some money. 

Clockwise from upper left hand picture: Bandage from bloodwork this morning; updated injection tracker, which I also have in an Excel format but keep a hand written copy too; my daily update sheet; and my needle marks from my bloodwork. 
The call this afternoon from the doctors office went like this: “you have no mature follicles but your hormone levels are starting to rise which is a good thing. Same injection dose tonight and Thursday evening, and then 6am ultrasound and bloodwork on Friday.” My immediate reaction: “fuckkkkkkk.” 
Today, I’m over it. I’m annoyed. I’m aggravated. I’m deflated. Injections were fun and exciting (not really, but I made myself believe it,) and now I hate them. I want mature follicles. I’m sick of having blood drawn. Having an appointment at 6am on a Friday is NOT my ideal way to start the day. I’m tired. I want a baby.
…because of those four little words…I do not have a damn choice in the matter. I’ll keep stabbing myself with injections and having blood sucked out every other day. I’ll keep smiling when others announce they’re expecting and go home and cry because it’s just too much for me to handle. The whole state will probably examine me or get to do a transvaginal ultrasound on me before I ever end up pregnant. I’ll go on some prolific tirade when I read about some woman who has abused or abandoned her child, of course it’ll be her 4th or 5th. My weight will continue to be like a seesaw as medications are altered and the different side effects take their toll. The proverbial chess match of “us vs. infertility”will wage on, and we will constantly be chased around in fear. And…what if we never have a child? What does this “journey” get called if it fails, a tortuous experiment? Life shattering misery? Sheer hell? I can predict that there are no positive outcomes from going through this, and not having a child at the end. 

For those of you that have been going through years of treatments, I bow down to you. Truly, I’m impressed with your strength and determination. I can’t do this for years. Better yet, I won’t. When I say I would go off the deep end, that is a statement made with 175% positivity. I’m not even a year into treatments and I want to be done. Horrible, but this is where I am today. 
Life with infertility has knocked me flat on my ass today. 

Good News. Bad news. Good news. Bad news.Ā 

Let’s play a game today! Kind of like “he loves me…he loves me not…he loves me” but we will call this “good news…bad news…good news.” Easy enough to follow along. 

Good news: today is Monday, trust me there’s enough bad news coming where this sounds like it is over qualified for good news.

Bad news: I had an ultrasound this morning. This my dearest readers is where I spend most of my time these days, on my back, feet up: 



Good news: I have a FDMF (fertility drug migraine friends,) buddy! Basically, we are only 1 CD (cycle day) apart, we both get bad headaches/migraines with our meds, and we get “news” that is eerily similar. Even in this shittastic world of infertility, it’s nice to have a buddy! 

Bad news: I have ONE follicle. 

Good news: There were NO MORE baby mugs shots on the wall. The picture has been rescued in sized, color edited, and stickers placed over the two baby mugs. I know it sounds harsh, but I despise having to walk past this everytime I go into an exam room.


Bad news: The one follicle is barely measuring at 11. 

Bad news: The other follicles are “too small for any chance of significant growth” he informed me. 

Bad news: “The follicle should be bigger then it is currently measuring. Strange.” said my doctor. 

Bad news: I’ll be going back for another ultrasound Thursday or Friday. 

Bad news: The day before the ultrasound I will have bloodwork done, based on those results, I might not even have to have the ultrasound! 

Bad news: My doctor kindly shared his opinion: he thinks this round has failed as well. Interestingly enough, the first round when I actually had the IUI one follicle was at 11, and then grew pretty quickly. Since then though, we’ve had nothing but shrinking follicles. 

Did you notice I ran out of good news? Me too. If you’re ever looking for that, reading this blog won’t help you! I mean the track record isn’t exactly favorable. Today from 7am on was long. Aggravating. Annoying. Exasperating. This couldn’t be more accurate as to how I felt around 12:30pm today:

Now…we wait. 

Just sit and wait…and wait…and wait. 

Maybe I should hose myself down with some Miracle Grow as my follicles barely grow 1mm/day, and ideally it (that one lonely follicle,) needs to be at least at 16mm. 

Raise A Glass

Or in my case, the bottle of wine I’m drinking this evening. Tonight’s lucky winner? Not my uterus! But a bottle of Oyster Bay Sauvignon Blanc. With a Bendy straw. 


After the week I’ve had, with the optimism that was provided on both Tuesday and Wednesday, to only come crashing down around me on Thursday morning I figure, there’s no time like the present to indulge in some Vino. As well as french fries and a barbecue chicken pizza. Yes, there’s the slightest chance in hell that I might be pregnant from intercourse; however let’s review our record for pregnancies. Then again, if we were reviewing our pregnancies you wouldn’t be sitting here reading this blog. 

However on a night like tonight where I’m basically ready to crumble… Scratch that. OK. …truth be told, I already did. At my brothers place…it was uncomfortable, not the breaking down proponent, but putting it on him. God bless him: he’s patient, empathetic, and can truly understand how emotionally taxing this is on me.

So getting back to my point…tonight, this is what I’m thankful for…

  1. My husband. 
  2. My amazing group of coworkers that are coming over tomorrow night for girls night. *We’re kind of an exclusively assembled club…and we don’t necessarily play well with others! 
  3. My family, that allows me to go ballistic and then let’s me cry, and still wants to have Sunday dinner at our place. 
  4. And tonight…The wine!!!