The rest of the story

Oh, this hurts. It HURTS. I don’t even know who I’m writing this to … I haven’t posted in so long that I don’t imagine anyone reads anymore, and I imagine almost everyone who did knows at this point.

But maybe I have to tell the story, or it’s like it never happened. And it did happen.

I started to bleed on Saturday, September 7. I was, as you can read in the previous post, absolutely devastated. I spent the rest of the day sobbing in my bed after the boys’ soccer game (which I cried through and hoped people thought I had bad allergies.) I had terrible, scary thoughts. I was hysterical. So much worse than my negatives with IVF #1 – and IVF #1 was awful. 

DH and I agreed by Sunday afternoon – never again. Never, ever again. Dr. R. said there was no point in trying a third time when there was nothing to fix, and I never wanted to do something again that made me feel the way I did that day. Our family was complete.

On Monday the 9th, I went to my blood draw so I could get off all the meds. I stay on them like a good patient until I’m told to get off (mostly because I cannot abide spending all these thousands of dollars and then ignoring instructions.) I had a 7:40 appointment. I cried through my draw.

At around 1, during my school day, I noted a missed call from the clinic. I can read voice mails on my phone, so I peeked quick … “Patricia, we have your bloodwork. Please call when you can.” or something along those lines. And I was so mad. Insult to injury. I have to CALL you now? Just say, “It’s negative” on the voice mail so I can move on. JESUS.

I called. My favorite receptionist answered. “How are you?” she asked. “Terrible,” I answered. “I’m calling to get my negative. Please let’s get this over with.” My favorite nurse came on the phone. “Congratulations … it’s positive!” she said.

What?

“I’m bleeding,” I told her. “I’ve been bleeding since 10 days past transfer, just like last time.” “That can be normal,” she said. “Looks like you’re pregnant … come in Wednesday for a repeat draw.” 

My number was so low at 12dp5dt. 48.5. My progesterone was 9.65. But I took a pregnancy test the next morning. And that line was real. It got darker the next day.

On Wednesday, 14dp5dt, it JUST doubled … to 99.8. My progesterone had fallen to 8.62.

That day the bleeding went from spotting to BLEEDING. Red, bright red, needing-a-constant pad. And I knew, with every beat of my heart, that this wasn’t right. So stressed, so terrified … so desperately, desperately wanting and hopeful. My nurse told me to be “cautiously optimistic” but that things could go either way. I was scheduled for another draw on Monday the 16th.

On Friday, the second line on the test was darker still. Almost as dark as the control line, but not quite.

That weekend, I started passing clots the size of half my palm (sorry, that’s so disgusting, but I don’t know how else to explain it.) I cried every day, as I had since September 7. I got my blood draw and went to work, somehow able to pull it together for my students as I had done every day before.

When I called after school that day, it had gone up again … to 488. My progesterone had now fallen to 5.6.

Let me interject and assure you that I had been on progesterone suppositories (Endometrin) since my egg retrieval on 8/23. Vaginal suppositories don’t show up in the blood, as the progesterone goes right to the uterus rather than through your bloodstream. My nurse said, “Dr. R. is happy with your HCG. That said, this is likely not a healthy pregnancy” (gee, do you think?) “but I’m not giving up and neither are you. Get here by 4 – we’re putting you on twice daily progesterone in oil injections along with the suppositories. I’ve saved 4 babies this way!” 

I didn’t ask how many didn’t make it anyway, though I was thinking it.

PIO injections suck. They hurt. This is news to no one. DH was wonderful about giving them to me, and I did my best not to complain (much). 

Once I got to 488, they said they wouldn’t see me for another week, when I’d be 6w3d and ready for an ultrasound. 

That might have been the longest week in history. The bleeding only got worse, even with the injections. My outer hips/ass swelled up and were so sore and bruised from the injections. I was terrified and miserable … and my not-very-strong-in-the-first-place symptoms continued to fade as the week progressed. 

On Thursday, I saw something on my pad that seemed to resemble a little tiny sac. And the sobbing and hysteria reached new heights. I knew (again) that it was over. On Sunday night, I took another pregnancy test, knowing my HCG had dropped and the second line would have gotten lighter.

It did. In fact, the test was almost negative. Even though I knew better, I was heartbroken (again.)

I took another one the next morning, hoping I’d been wrong. Same almost-negative result.

It was with a heavy heart that I drove to my ultrasound. 

And once again, hope came back. Why? WHY? Dr. R. saw “a gestational sac with a fetus inside.” 

Hardly daring to hope, I said, “But I’m sure it’s not the right size.” 

He said, “Actually, it’s measuring exactly the right size.” 

I said, “I can’t believe this. You must be magic.” He laughed and said, “As far as I’m concerned, all of this is magic.” 

But he was concerned about my ongoing bleeding and my reported much-lighter tests. They drew my blood with a promise I’d have results the next morning. My nurse even told me she’d come into work early so she could call me before I started teaching. The plan? If the numbers were bad, go off all meds. If the number was okay, repeat draw on Wednesday morning. If they were bad after that, again, go off all meds. If they were okay on the repeat draw, schedule another ultrasound for a week later, 7w3d. 

I drove home with new hope.

But I got my bad news at 7:19 the next morning, as I drove the boys to school and myself to work … my HCG had plummeted to 11.6. Pregnancy over, get off all your meds, hopefully the sac will just be absorbed by your body, want to schedule your consult? 

I pulled it together, scheduled the consult, dropped the boys off, cried on my drive along I-88, and managed to teach all day without a hitch.

Every day has been so very hard, not just since last Tuesday, but since the last time I posted. I’m not okay yet, and I wanted so badly to be okay.  I continue to cry every day … less than I did at first, though. May 16 would have been an awesome day. 

Side note: I am STILL BLEEDING. It’s been 3 weeks and 4 days. I assume I’ll run out of iron at some point? Craptastic. All of this is craptastic. Just when I thought nothing could suck more than an IVF negative.

Dearest little baby K, 

I’m sorry I didn’t tell your story here before now. You were real, and you were so incredibly wanted, and I miss you so much. Daddy misses you. Nana and Papa and Grandma and Grandpa and all your aunts and uncles miss you too. If Matt and Ryan had known about you, they would have LOVED.YOU. I love you. I always will. 

xoxo Mama

Spotting started, right on schedule

10dp5dt … just like last time.

I want to tear throats out. I am so angry. I am so.fucking.angry. I hate everyone in the whole world. Everyone. I don’t want my husband’s comfort this time. I don’t want my friends’. I don’t even really want my boys’. 

I want to cease to exist. I want to run away. Leave me alone. Forget I exist. Maybe it will come true.

Nothing to freeze

I cried all afternoon. Into the evening. I got into that negative head space – “these embryos must be as messed up as the others.” In all fairness, I cried at lunchtime too. My new job is HARD. So hard. I’m so effing tired. Today everything sucks. I think I have a hot date with my crapass meditation CD.

I almost had to use my AK … I got to say it was NOT a good day.

If you’ve had the exciting experience of a dildocam u/s, you know that in general, they are pretty quick. Today? No.

It was another morning of me putting bad karma out into the world, today with my laziness and lies to try to cover up my laziness. The domino effect went like this:

1. My plan was to be dressed and ready to go when the boys were, so I could leave shortly after they got on the bus. (Bus supposed to arrive at 8:45; appt. at 9:40 about a half hour away). 

2. This didn’t happen, as I slept in a little too late, and the boys woke up a little too early. I knew I needed to hop in the shower as soon as they got on the bus … which didn’t come until 8:55.

3. This didn’t happen either, as I played on FB for way too long posting first-day-of-school pictures.

4. In fact, by the time I had everything together and I was backing out of the driveway, it was 9:38.

5. In a panic, I decided to call my clinic and act like I drove to the wrong one (there are several locations, and I get seen at both of them depending on the doc’s availability) so I have an excuse for being VERY late.

6. Fail! My fave receptionist said, “Don’t worry, we can scan you here, don’t turn around. You said you were in the parking lot?”

7. Yeah, I did, but I wasn’t, so I didn’t walk in until 9:55, and then I had to make up ANOTHER story about turning around before she told me not to and then getting stuck by 2 trains.

8. So I got the scan. Left ovary went fine, although my fave nurse is much slower than my doctor. 

9. She couldn’t find the right. At all. Despite digging and moving and OW OW OW OW OW OW OW please make it stop. This went on for more than 10 minutes, which is an ETERNITY when that is happening.

10. She drew my blood and tells me to drive to the other clinic (like a half hour away) so they can try to find it. This was no big deal, as it’s very close to work, and it’s … well, where I was supposed to be this morning anyway.

11. I arrived close to 11. Another nurse led me in. She also could not find the ovary to measure the follies on it. She was pushing on my stomach, having me push on my stomach, I was basically going through the ceiling trying not to scream as she rooted around in there for 23 minutes (I timed it w/the clock on the monitor), etc. 

12. She finally measured 6 on the right side but warned that she knew there were more that she couldn’t get to.

13. She told me she thought I probably will trigger tonight as she thought I have “at least 3 mature.” Well, I didn’t get pregnant with *9* mature last time, so I was kind of hoping for more.

14. But damn, she was right … trigger at midnight, retrieval at 11 a.m. Friday. %&%^%^. My e2 is 2800; it peaked at 1790 last time. I’d like to think there are more follies (there are definitely more follies – 10+ on the left and 6+ on the right), but I am almost positive not many are mature. ugh.

I really believed this would work.

Always. Despite my “no matter what, we just need to know!”s and “either way, I’m going to be fine”s … deep down, I always, always believed that with my proven uterus of steel, normalish hormones, etc., etc., I would be a mama again.

Yeah, so that’s not happening.

Negative test this AM. It’s not too early anymore. I called my clinic and asked through sobs for my beta (pregnancy blood test) to be moved up to Monday, which they refused because of the holiday weekend.

So yeah, let’s keep dragging this farce out. Please. So fun. More progesterone for NO REASON! SQUEEEEEE!

Other highlights of the day included explaining to my heartbroken crying little boys that there would be no baby (damn their perceptiveness and my inability to make sure they’re out of earshot before holding conversations related to all of this) and, of course, notifying all of my friends and family that I’m officially a failure. DH can tell my in-laws. I’m out.

For God’s sake.

I’m not handling this well.

First of all, only one of the 4 embryos they held on to for an additional day of culturing made it to freeze. I know that having any to freeze at all is wonderful and never a guarantee, but I’m really sad that 3 little potential lives petered out at the last minute. I know this is probably dumb, and it also heightens my anxiety that this might really, really be it, because with only one, you never know if it will even survive thaw. So this might really be our only chance. Psychologically, I always knew this. It is very, very different in practice.

2. I succumbed to some kind of insanity and found a cheapo pregnancy test that expired 18 months ago. (a. GOOD GOD WE HAVE BEEN TRYING SO LONG THAT I HAVE TESTS THAT HAVE BEEN EXPIRED LONG ENOUGH FOR TWO BABIES TO BE BORN OMG THAT IS RIDICULOUS, blah blah blah etc. and b. Obvs I am a hoarder.)

The test was negative. Stark white negative. And I cried. I cried so long and so very, very hard. This is so dumb, I know; I’m 4dp5dt, which is equivalent to 9 days past ovulation, which less than half of “regular” pregnant people can get a positive test on. I think my stormy tears are more because I.Feel.Nothing. At this point when I was pregnant with the boys, putting a bra on was agony. Agony! So I feel like it didn’t work. Already. I have to stop with the negative thoughts; they help nothing. I’m listening to the “Music to Inspire Positive Thinking” CD. Strangely, it kinda helps.