So here I am again...three months later. I still miss Hope. I think I always will. I think I wish I had never known about the possibility of twins. When I looked at the picture of her from 2009 before she was frozen and compared it to the picture after she was thawed a couple of months ago, I could see only one cellular mass. Hope's id twin died in a test tube, of this I feel certain.
Pierce is going to call the RE tomorrow about a donor egg consult. Our wish is that I be pregnant by Christmas. I don't know if this is a reasonable wish in the world of donor matching, but it is time for us to move forward. Last week I celebrated my 43rd birthday. That morning I felt sadness that my birthdays don't seem special to me anymore. I thought about the day that Miller was born and allowed myself to feel the intensity of that joy again. Then I pictured my parents on the day I was born, and then my birthday felt amazing again. It didn't matter what I got for presents or what I did with my day, I knew that 43 years ago I made two great peoples' dreams come true. I pray with all my heart that I feel that amazing joy again. I pray that I don't feel differently that the baby isn't biologically mine. I pray that Miller knows a joy I have never known, what it is like to have a sibling. I know that our odds of this turning out well are better than anything we have done previously. I am still completely terrified.
Sunday, July 22, 2012
Monday, April 23, 2012
Broken
At the clinic we waited for the embryologist to come out and speak with us. She had the report that showed all of the embryos that had been retrieved during our cycle. She smiled, pointed to the paperwork, and said, "I did these." Her smile was comforting, and she seemed genuinely thrilled to be reunited with an "old friend". I remember thinking that she wasn't a typical science geek. She had such a heart and spoke of my embryo as well...I'll get back to that thought. Anyway, she asked to see the picture of our embryo. I told her that I knew Dr. B had one in my file but that the hospital had not given us one when we picked her up. She explained to us that in her notes from May 2009, she had graded our embryo with two letters, separated by a comma. Yes, I had seen that on the report. This means, she said, that this embryo is two babies. She wanted to show us on the picture, but since we didn't have it I had to take her word for it. She said that it was very rare for this situation to actually turn into the live birth of identical twins, but she felt obligated to let us know as they had recently transferred an embryo like ours, and the couple did in fact become pregnant with identical twins. I dared to let my mind go there. Pierce and I picked out names for two girls and then two boys. I considered nursery logistics, maternity leave, potential bedrest issues and the ugly drama that would no doubt arise in the workplace. I pictured Christmas morning with my gorgeous, nearly-three year-old and two little bundles in matching My First Christmas onesies, all with little blond heads and pale, curious eyes. I dared to dream. I believed that God had this miracle saved up just for our little family, that he would not allow my father's bloodline to end with Miller, that my shred of 39 year-old fertility had been carefully preserved to carry out this blessed mission. And just like that, Hope and Grace were gone.
This is how it all went down. March 16 was Cycle Day 1. March 17 I started taking Estrace. March 28 I had a lining check, and all was wonderful. Lining measured 13, which is textbook I am told. Apparently it is noted somewhere in my file, "Patient always makes good lining". U/S tech did note that I had a few cysts, so I had to give blood to ensure that I had not ovulated through the Estrace. If I had we would have scrapped the cycle and started over. Dr. B discussed dates with us, and we all decided on April 3. We ended the appointment with my first IM shot of progesterone. All was going well. The next day my bloodwork results showed that I had not ovulated, and all systems were go. We continued the progesterone shots every night. Pierce was actually quite good at them, despite the fact that I had started to develop bruises and hard knots on my hips. The day before transfer I stressed all day that I would receive a call that she had not survived the thaw. I couldn't focus on anything. I found myself in silent prayer nearly all day. Transfer day came, and after signing a bunch of releases and handing over our tax refund, I undressed and waited. I had a full bladder, but I wasn't uncomfortable. Even before the valium I had an odd sense of calm. It was out of our hands. Only God could determine the fate of our snowbaby now. I watched the flickering light on the screen above my head as Dr. B guided her to the top of my uterus. The embryologist checked the catheter to make sure that she had not gotten stuck and confirmed that yes, Hope, was back in her momma. I felt such a sense of victory! We had come so far. 39 year-olds never have embryos make it to freeze, and many embryos do not survive the thaw process. Identical twins are extremely rare, and yet we made one of those rare embryos. We, who can't make babies the old fashioned way, made a miraculous embryo at advanced maternal age, froze it, thawed it, and brought it back home.
Eight days later I peed on a stick, no two sticks, BFN times 2. Two days after that I went for my blood draw with a heavy heart. The idiot that drew my blood asked me if I was nervous or if I thought I already knew. I told her that I was pretty sure it would be negative. She then proceeded to ask me if I was bleeding and I said no. She then said, "Well that's a good sign." I wanted to respond, "OK, you fucking moron. I am on hormones that are preventing me from bleeding. It doesn't matter how not knocked up I am, I will not bleed until my husband is instructed to stop stabbing me in the ass with large needles every night. Now, shut up, and take my blood because clearly you know nothing else about what goes on around here", instead I said, "Sure, I guess so". Pierce got the call around 3:00 that afternoon. No surprises, no miracles, no numbers to analyze. It's been over a week. I miss Hope. I feel some comfort in knowing that she made it home to me alive, but what was it about my body that couldn't sustain her? What bigger purpose did God have for her to fulfill? I knew going into this that this might not turn out well. Somehow that knowledge doesn't make it easier. Where does one turn when hope is gone?
Monday, February 27, 2012
FET consult..Take 2
Today I found myself, once again, at the intersection of Hope and Fear. After dropping off Miller for more school adventures, I flew home to pick up Pierce for our RE appointment, all the while jamming out to Adele on the highway. Pierce doesn't get it, or maybe he does but he doesn't show it. I'm just not sure. Anyway, just going to the RE puts me in a tizzy. I don't remember feeling that way the first time around, which makes sense since I didn't know fear then. Everything has changed.
When we went to see the RE a month ago, I knew exactly why I was going. Plain and simple, we were there to discuss our FET. An FET consult turned into a four-option discussion with a whole lot of not-saying-but-knowing that our RE didn't want to do the FET. I analyzed that visit for three weeks, trying to figure out his angle. Was he afraid of getting a reputation for making babies with Downs? I was pissed. Pierce and I set up a phone consult with an RE at a clinic two states away who was willing to test Hope for chromosome anomalies. And by willing to I mean, he was willing to charge us nearly as much as our fresh IVF cycle, make us travel to Colorado twice and repeat lots of testing, all the while making no promises that Hope would be viable. Even our RE said that that option was ridiculous.
After major soul searching I called to schedule the appointment I had thought we were going to have a month earlier. Not willing to get side-tracked, I firmly said, "Let's do this!" Dr. B talked us through the process which, by the way, is easy-peasy compared to IVF. There are still lots of unknowns, but at least we have taken a step forward. No regrets. I have a mock transfer next week, and then we wait for AF.
One other project on my plate that nearly blindsided me is that Pierce and I have to go to the lab where Hope is cryopreserved with a liquid nitrogen tank and two notarized consent forms. We will pick her up and transport her to the new lab at the RE's office where he does all of his transfers now. This freaks me out. I am afraid that something I do will jeopardize her. What if we get in an accident? Somehow I feel like she should be transported more sophisticatedly, like by armored car or ambulance, by people who are trained to handle precious cargo. And then I remember that we are her parents, and therefore, we are precisely the ones who should take care of her. No one else will acknowledge the importance of that package, the dreams that are tucked inside. On my next day off, we will get the tank and drive to the lab. We will pick up Embryo C and drive her to the RE's office, and she will be one step closer to coming home.
When we went to see the RE a month ago, I knew exactly why I was going. Plain and simple, we were there to discuss our FET. An FET consult turned into a four-option discussion with a whole lot of not-saying-but-knowing that our RE didn't want to do the FET. I analyzed that visit for three weeks, trying to figure out his angle. Was he afraid of getting a reputation for making babies with Downs? I was pissed. Pierce and I set up a phone consult with an RE at a clinic two states away who was willing to test Hope for chromosome anomalies. And by willing to I mean, he was willing to charge us nearly as much as our fresh IVF cycle, make us travel to Colorado twice and repeat lots of testing, all the while making no promises that Hope would be viable. Even our RE said that that option was ridiculous.
After major soul searching I called to schedule the appointment I had thought we were going to have a month earlier. Not willing to get side-tracked, I firmly said, "Let's do this!" Dr. B talked us through the process which, by the way, is easy-peasy compared to IVF. There are still lots of unknowns, but at least we have taken a step forward. No regrets. I have a mock transfer next week, and then we wait for AF.
One other project on my plate that nearly blindsided me is that Pierce and I have to go to the lab where Hope is cryopreserved with a liquid nitrogen tank and two notarized consent forms. We will pick her up and transport her to the new lab at the RE's office where he does all of his transfers now. This freaks me out. I am afraid that something I do will jeopardize her. What if we get in an accident? Somehow I feel like she should be transported more sophisticatedly, like by armored car or ambulance, by people who are trained to handle precious cargo. And then I remember that we are her parents, and therefore, we are precisely the ones who should take care of her. No one else will acknowledge the importance of that package, the dreams that are tucked inside. On my next day off, we will get the tank and drive to the lab. We will pick up Embryo C and drive her to the RE's office, and she will be one step closer to coming home.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Blissfully Unaware
I never intended to abandon this project. I think of it often, and I feel guilty. Guilty that I am not documenting my son's life and that I have somehow lost my creative outlet. This isn't the first time. All of my life I have turned to journaling or writing short stories to get me through the tough stuff, and it works for me. However, it seems that when the fog has lifted all of my ability to express myself through writing goes right out the window. This is why my dream of being a writer was never a practical one. I only write when the spirit moves me, and usually the spirit is provoked by misery. One of my dear blogger friends was faced with the same sporadic to no-posting phenomenon when she came to the conclusion that infertility had been her muse. Her statement was a full-on Oprah AH- HA! Moment for me. Miller was living proof that I had slain the infertility dragon, and through time, patience and self-reflection I have learned that having a child with Down syndrome has brought me so much more joy than the sorrow I once feared.
So here I am. I have a beautiful two year-old. He has speech delays. Quite frankly, he jabbers on all of the time but doesn't actually say much of anything. He does say "Dada" to Pierce, but he also says it to me, the cat, and his vast collection of stuffed animals. He will say "Mama" if I force him to, but he still doesn't indicate that he knows that means me. What does amaze me is his ability to learn and understand sign language. My kid can't talk to me yet, but he understands what I say to him. I know this because he responds appropriately in sign. He knows at least 25 signs, and there are probably more that I don't realize he is doing. Needless to say, preschool has become an education for everyone in this house.
I am still trying to piece my life back together after losing my job. I am still bitter and wonder if that will ever go away. A dear friend of mine, who I met through my old job, has been wonderful in helping find other work. I am extremely grateful to him, despite that fact that a year and half after losing my good income I am making exactly half. In fact I am making what I made in 1999. I know that this will turn around. I know that things will not always look so bleak, but it is so hard when, once again, we are looking in to the evil eyes of the infertility dragon.
I have put this off. That is what I do when I fear failure: I refuse to proceed in order to not fail. It's not productive behavior by any means, but I am acutely aware of my own demons. We have not used any birth control since Miller was born, and....surprise, surprise, no baby. We are right back where we were in 2008, knowing that the creation of any future child of ours will involve a lot more people than just the two of us, but there is a difference. When we were going through this before, we were blissfully unaware. After two failed IUIs, we turned to IVF. I responded well to stims. We retrieved 11, 9 were mature, 7 fertilized normally, 3 were awesome on day 5. Two beautiful embies came home on May 6, 2009 and 1 became a snowbaby. I was told 39 year-olds never have embies make it to freeze. We had exceeded everyone's expectations. Then, it worked! Ultrasound revealed twins, and we celebrated. Within weeks we lost Baby B and shortly thereafter we were given 1:5 chances that Miller would have Downs. We were blissfully unaware that just because IVF had worked that didn't mean that we would be bringing home healthy babies.
I don't mean to sound stupid. I knew there were risks, but like so many others out there, I didn't believe it could happen to us. It can and did happen. And once I got through the hell that it was, I am now able to understand that it wasn't a bad thing at all. He is an amazing and magical gift. The scary thing is that if our RE had ever mentioned that maybe we should consider doing PGD on our embryos, we probably would have done the testing. If we had done the testing the results would have revealed Miller's Ds, and the transfer would have never happened. Our son's life would have been snuffed out in a hospital lab. I try to not think about that, but now were are faced with the future of our snowbaby.
We want a second child. Our frozen embryo seems like the best option, I mean, if 39 year-olds don't ever have frosties then tell me why this embryo made it to day 6. Why didn't he/she fizzle out in the lab like the other 4 embies? This baby is calling out to me, so much so that I no longer see her as a blastocyst, but rather as an entity named for infertility's more dangerous and sought after emotion: Hope. I have intense emotions when I think of her, but sadly, the strongest one has been fear. Fear was never something I felt when I was blissfully unaware. Fear is the product of my previous experience. Fear that the embryo will not survive the thaw. Fear that I will not get pregnant. Fear that I will get pregnant and miscarry. Fear that I will get pregnant, will not miscarry, and will find out via CVS that Hope has abnormalities. Fear what those decisions will do to me and my family. Fear that I will have wasted a whole lot of time worrying about this, putting it off 'cause that's what I do, and my embryo will take, I will be pregnant and deliver a completely healthy baby. A fucking crystal ball would be helpful now. Nothing about this is easy or straightforward. I know that this is where I am supposed to rely on faith. There is some comfort in that, but I would much prefer answers. We have our next consult in one week. The RE can offer no answers: His crystal ball is missing as well.
My son is sleeping. I can hear his muffled snore, the product of his sixth sinus infection this season. He is blissfully unaware of what Mommy and Daddy are planning. We have asked him if he wants a brother or sister, and he answers with a big smile. Somehow that smile gives me the strength to get through this. My son doesn't know what fear is. I wish I could return to the place where I didn't either.
So here I am. I have a beautiful two year-old. He has speech delays. Quite frankly, he jabbers on all of the time but doesn't actually say much of anything. He does say "Dada" to Pierce, but he also says it to me, the cat, and his vast collection of stuffed animals. He will say "Mama" if I force him to, but he still doesn't indicate that he knows that means me. What does amaze me is his ability to learn and understand sign language. My kid can't talk to me yet, but he understands what I say to him. I know this because he responds appropriately in sign. He knows at least 25 signs, and there are probably more that I don't realize he is doing. Needless to say, preschool has become an education for everyone in this house.
I am still trying to piece my life back together after losing my job. I am still bitter and wonder if that will ever go away. A dear friend of mine, who I met through my old job, has been wonderful in helping find other work. I am extremely grateful to him, despite that fact that a year and half after losing my good income I am making exactly half. In fact I am making what I made in 1999. I know that this will turn around. I know that things will not always look so bleak, but it is so hard when, once again, we are looking in to the evil eyes of the infertility dragon.
I have put this off. That is what I do when I fear failure: I refuse to proceed in order to not fail. It's not productive behavior by any means, but I am acutely aware of my own demons. We have not used any birth control since Miller was born, and....surprise, surprise, no baby. We are right back where we were in 2008, knowing that the creation of any future child of ours will involve a lot more people than just the two of us, but there is a difference. When we were going through this before, we were blissfully unaware. After two failed IUIs, we turned to IVF. I responded well to stims. We retrieved 11, 9 were mature, 7 fertilized normally, 3 were awesome on day 5. Two beautiful embies came home on May 6, 2009 and 1 became a snowbaby. I was told 39 year-olds never have embies make it to freeze. We had exceeded everyone's expectations. Then, it worked! Ultrasound revealed twins, and we celebrated. Within weeks we lost Baby B and shortly thereafter we were given 1:5 chances that Miller would have Downs. We were blissfully unaware that just because IVF had worked that didn't mean that we would be bringing home healthy babies.
I don't mean to sound stupid. I knew there were risks, but like so many others out there, I didn't believe it could happen to us. It can and did happen. And once I got through the hell that it was, I am now able to understand that it wasn't a bad thing at all. He is an amazing and magical gift. The scary thing is that if our RE had ever mentioned that maybe we should consider doing PGD on our embryos, we probably would have done the testing. If we had done the testing the results would have revealed Miller's Ds, and the transfer would have never happened. Our son's life would have been snuffed out in a hospital lab. I try to not think about that, but now were are faced with the future of our snowbaby.
We want a second child. Our frozen embryo seems like the best option, I mean, if 39 year-olds don't ever have frosties then tell me why this embryo made it to day 6. Why didn't he/she fizzle out in the lab like the other 4 embies? This baby is calling out to me, so much so that I no longer see her as a blastocyst, but rather as an entity named for infertility's more dangerous and sought after emotion: Hope. I have intense emotions when I think of her, but sadly, the strongest one has been fear. Fear was never something I felt when I was blissfully unaware. Fear is the product of my previous experience. Fear that the embryo will not survive the thaw. Fear that I will not get pregnant. Fear that I will get pregnant and miscarry. Fear that I will get pregnant, will not miscarry, and will find out via CVS that Hope has abnormalities. Fear what those decisions will do to me and my family. Fear that I will have wasted a whole lot of time worrying about this, putting it off 'cause that's what I do, and my embryo will take, I will be pregnant and deliver a completely healthy baby. A fucking crystal ball would be helpful now. Nothing about this is easy or straightforward. I know that this is where I am supposed to rely on faith. There is some comfort in that, but I would much prefer answers. We have our next consult in one week. The RE can offer no answers: His crystal ball is missing as well.
My son is sleeping. I can hear his muffled snore, the product of his sixth sinus infection this season. He is blissfully unaware of what Mommy and Daddy are planning. We have asked him if he wants a brother or sister, and he answers with a big smile. Somehow that smile gives me the strength to get through this. My son doesn't know what fear is. I wish I could return to the place where I didn't either.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Poor abandoned blog
I miss you, My Friend. I do hope I can find the time to visit you and recount the many adventures of Sweet Miller's first year. The task seems so daunting, but I know I will be so grateful for doing so if I just get on it. I miss the comfort I have felt here in the past, the ability to express anything and everything without judgement. I need to get back on track. Miller, please tell Mommy to get it together before any more time gets away. I love you so much, Sweet Baby Bug, and the I need to keep your memories close. I want this for both of us, and I am so sorry that I have been such a slacker.
Poor abandoned blog
I miss you, My Friend. I do hope I can find the time to visit you and recount the many adventures of Sweet Miller's first year. The task seems so daunting, but I know I will be so grateful for doing so if I just get on it. I miss the comfort I have felt here in the past, the ability to express anything and everything without judgement. I need to get back on track. Miller, please tell Mommy to get it together before any more time gets away. I love you so much, Sweet Baby Bug, and the I need to keep your memories close. I want this for both of us, and I am so sorry that I have been such a slacker.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
180 days
But if I just focus on the past 180 days, I must confess that I have learned so much. Not that I EVER claimed to know much about all of this baby business beforehand, but I never could have anticipated the lessons I would learn as a new mother to this sweet baby boy.
#1. Being induced sucks! I pray that if I am ever blessed again with a child that they will come out before we have to go in after them. In all fairness, I know it wasn't his choice, and the induction was due to my high blood pressure so it was unavoidable. However, pitocin is evil, but it definitely does the trick.
#2. Peeing on your L/D nurse when she tries to get you out of your bed is really no big deal. She's seen worse, and as she said to me, "this is a very messy process."
#3. I really didn't believe I was having a baby until I heard him cry. It sounds stupid, but the whole thing still wasn't real until they pulled him out. It really is the most beautiful sound I have ever heard, and I do wish it had been recorded.
#4. No one shows you how to breastfeed. I guess I should have taken a class, but I didn't even take a childbirth class. That one would have come in handy when they handed him to me, and everyone watched to see if he knew how to latch. Fortunately, he figured it out without much assistance from me.
#5. The first two months are brutal. I value my sleep and always have. Keeping up an every three hour change-breastfeed-bottlefeed-pump-routine was a beating. I love him, and I swear I never wanted to hurt him, but I was an uber-crabby new mommy.
#6. Jaundice is damn scary! I don't care how common it is. When it happened to our baby, and we had to spend two days in the pediatric ward with him in an incubator under the blue lights, I was terrified. Glad to be in the hospital where all of the professionals could help us care for him, but scared none the less.
#7. Bringing home a baby is the most humbling experience ever. We spent 4 days with medical professionals checking his vitals and giving us tons of advice. None it was very helpful when we got home, and he kept losing his body temperature and turning more yellow by the moment. In those moments I realized that we really didn't know anything, and instinct took over.
#8. Comparing my baby to anyone else's will only stress me out. Miller is a peanut. He is healthy, has a tremendous appetite, and is still small for his age. I know it's the Downs, but it's still a little rattling when strangers at the grocery store are smiling at him and saying, "He's adorable. How old is he?" And I say, "__ months" and they look at me like I must be starving him.
#9. When he smiles and coos at me I absolutely melt. I am completely in awe of this little person, and no matter how terrible other parts of my life have been, it all goes away with one little smile. It's like magic, and in those moments I truly can't believe he is mine. I will most certainly dissolve into a pile of mush the first time he says, "Mama".
#10. I know there are a million opinions about this out there, but I have not been in any hurry to make him sleep in his crib. He sleeps in his buggy next to our bed. When I lay in bed before I fall asleep, I can hear Pierce snoring on one side of me and Miller on the other. It is like heaven. Yes, I know he's going to outgrow the buggy soon, and he probably wouldn't mind his crib at all. But I am not ready!!!
I know I will think of more, and there will be more lists as he continues to grow. Six months really is the perfect age so far. He has his own personality. He's trying to crawl. He can almost sit up on his own. He is discovering the cat, and thankfully, the cat is becoming more tolerant. Being his mom is the greatest blessing I have ever been given, and I am so grateful to God for this perfect little life.
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