burnt toast life

third time’s a charm

The embryo transfer went just as expected yesterday. I basically feel like an old pro at this. Big shock of the day? Only one transferred this time, not two. But more on that later.

I hate to associate this experience with “signs” or jinxes” or anything silly like that, because I’m still more than a little heartbroken over the psychic prediction that was so, so wrong. You can’t count on coincidence or happenstance. But it is… interesting, let’s say, that this our third time. Because of the well-known adage, “third time’s a charm,” and how that relates to us specifically.

You may recall that Eric and I did not get married the first time we got engaged. Nor did we get married the second time we got engaged. I could go on for days with all the reasons, but for the purposes of this post I’ll just say this: people were pretty skeptical when we got engaged for a third time. Hell, I think even we were skeptical. There may have been some sort of betting/pool over whether we’d actually go through with it among family and friends, but that’s never been confirmed.

When he proposed time #3, he had a new ring. I can’t say I was particularly shocked on the night it happened because we had been talking about it, we were on our annual family vacation at the beach (also the site of proposal #2, heh), and he asked me to go on a random night walk on the beach. So getting the ring… not a surprise. But he did get me something sweet that I didn’t expect – a charm with a heart and a little engagement ring that was engraved with “third time’s a charm! love, Eric.” I love that. And when things started going downhill last time, Eric’s mom even said, “Oh, it’s always the third time that works out for the two of you.”

Anyway, back to yesterday. My mom came with me this time. They don’t allow anyone past the waiting room and Eric despises NYC, and probably despises waiting around doing nothing even more than that (severe ADHD). Again, he asked if I needed him to come, and again I said no, I would be fine. It’s not a huge deal. Also, lunch and a little shopping with my mom afterwards sounded highly appealing.

We got to New Hope with plenty of time to spare. They called me back into the procedure area and showed me the printout picture of my embryo – singular. At first my heart sank, assuming one didn’t survive the thaw. But then when I questioned her, the check-in person said no, I still had three left. They automatically did one since my results aren’t being included in the study anymore; apparently you have two tries max for that. So… one, then.

I was thrown. First thought: why the hell are they doing a free transfer if I’m not even included in the study anymore? Second thought: shit, I kinda thought I might want to have twins. Third: Last time only one stuck. Should I do two?

The third thought I voiced out loud, and the check-in girl brightened, “Oh, you want two? Ok, you just wait one hour, we can defrost another one.” I mean… how weird is that? An hour to defrost your child? Like a pound of chicken breast. This whole thing is just so bizarre.

In the end I opted to just do one. Both the check-in person and the embryologist commented on how “beautiful, perfect” it was. I now have two successes under my belt, and I just have a good feeling about this time all around.

The procedure went smoothly. I left with a script for Lovenox that I have not filled yet. I hear it’s quite pricey, so I don’t know. I should get my clotting result tests back this week, which is also conveniently when I can test. AHH! Beta on Saturday.

You know the drill… I need your thoughts/prayers/vibes for now. I know I already have them. It amazes me sometimes when I find out all the random people keeping up with my blog and thinking of me… so humbling. Thank you all for being there for me.

Sorry this isn’t the most eloquent post. I did a lot this weekend and I’m sorta exhausted. Hope everyone had a great weekend. And because I did it for the other two, I need to share baby’s first picture below. A so-called “beautiful” 5-day embryo.

Third time’s a charm.

thirdcharm

the last red folder

Hello my friends. This is gonna be a quick one because I am so, so sleepy. Plus there’s not much to report.

I went for monitoring this morning and all looked good. And once again I was the only red folder in a huge sea of green, further proving what I already feared… the trial is over. This is probably it for me.

Our group orientation for the clinical trial was on December 14th of last year. So it’s conceivable (ha, see what I did there?) that the other two couples in our initial session could be pregnant right now. Heavily pregnant. Giving birth, even. That’s crazy to think about. I often wonder what happened to them, and if their stories played out very differently from ours. I hope for their sake that it did.

Transfer date is tentatively set for Saturday, which is fabulous because that means I won’t have to take an unpaid day off of work. I just have to go for blood monitoring Thursday to confirm my levels, then they’ll give me the date for sure.

PIO shots start tomorrow. Here’s the funny part – on the phone they told me to do Prometrium suppositories, which they’ve never mentioned or prescribed before. But then I was like, uhhhh no, I have three freaking bottles of Progesterone bought and paid for from last cycle, plus I’ve heard creepy stories about Smurf vag. I’ll stick with the ass injections, thanks.

And with that, I’ve realized how skewed from normal my life has become. Ass shots and Smurf vag. Eesh.

Guys…I’m getting really excited. I have a good feeling about this one for some reason. (And fair warning: obligatory “third time’s the charm” post is already in the works. Sorry, I have to).

wake me up when it’s all over

Anyone else feel like the blogosphere becomes a total ghost town on the weekends? Am I the only one having a lazy Saturday morning with copious amounts of time to blog?

I’m pretty sure I’ve expressed my love of anesthesia before. I was driving home from work yesterday and a super popular song came on the radio. The more I listened to the lyrics, the more I started to realize why I’m so obsessed with anesthesia.

The song was “Wake Me Up” by Avicii, and it said:

So wake me up when it’s all over // When I’m wiser and I’m older

…and I started thinking, YEAH. Wake me up when it’s over. When this shit is all resolved; when I have a definite answer. Wake me up when we make it past that impossible first trimester. Wake me up when I’m holding my newborn baby in my arms. Or, wake me up when I’ve resolved myself to being childless and I’ve come to terms with that decision. But either way… just wait to wake me until it’s over.

With anesthesia, you know something awful is right around the corner. The first time I had it, they said, “OK, now we’re going to rip four teeth out of your head.” The second, it was, “OK, now we’re going to enter your vagina and pluck out all your eggs.” Third and final time – “OK, we’re going to remove your dead babies from you.” None of these things are pleasant, right? So I was nervous. But then that magical fluid dripped into my veins and the next thing I remember, someone was telling me, “It’s over. You’re done now. You did great.”

There’s such relief in that! It feels so good to sleep right through the bad stuff. That’s why I’ve decided I need “life anesthesia” for the next couple of months. I don’t want to miss out on pregnancy completely, so I’d be OK with being woken up at the start of the second trimester. That would be acceptable (plus, that’s right around the holidays. I wouldn’t want to miss out on a visit from Santa).

I’m so tired. I’m a huge napper/sleeper to begin with, but the drama of all this has pushed it over the edge. Now I’m fairly certain that I’ve been using sleep as a coping mechanism. Now I really don’t want to wake up…like, ever. But I do want the end result. So if someone could come over and put me under into that gorgeous state of slumber for the next three months…. that would be great. Thanks.

a few answers and a billion more questions

As promised, here is the post all about Reproductive Immunology. Not sure if it makes much sense, but it’s something. Also, apologies if it’s repetitive. I actually wrote it a couple weeks ago.

On a good note, I think I am finally, after four days and hours of phone calls between me, my insurance, my OB/GYN, and the lab, getting my blood tests done tomorrow. Woo hoo! I also had a (free) consult with my mom’s chiropractor last night and found out that the right side of my spine is totally out of whack and my hips are “stuck” in one position. So hopefully I can get adjusted soon.

Apologies in advance if this post gets a bit too boring or technical. I am going to try to organize my thoughts logically here, but there is just so much going on in my brain. Also, sorry if none of this information is relevant. But if you suffer from recurrent miscarriages, unexplained infertility or IVF failure, there may be something of interest in the following mess of information. Here is my best attempt at working out the crazy wheels a’spinning in my head.

My mom bought me the book “Is Your Body Baby Friendly?” by Dr. Alan Beer. I knew that I would like it better than the “prevent miscarriage by ceasing your daily coke habit” book with just one glance – this book was THICK and HEAVY. It demanded respect. It sparked a little current of hope in me before I even opened the cover.

I’m not here to plug this book, per se, because I can’t speak to its effectiveness just yet. I will say that for $20, it’s definitely a worthy read if you suffer from any of the aforementioned problems. The first thing the book does is point out the absurdity of chalking up miscarriage and IVF failure to bad luck. The goal of Reproductive Immunology (RI) is to determine the source of these problems, and then to treat them. The authors are indignant that RE’s accept failure after failure or that anyone would say it was just “meant to happen that way.” They argue that a woman’s body was designed to accept and nurture pregnancy. When it fails, there is a reason for it. And – you guessed it – most of these problems can be solved with the help of RI.

The book spends a lot of time defending the field itself, citing examples of people calling Reproductive Immunologists “crazy whack jobs who are just out to get your money.” They follow up with proof of their success, describing women who had suffered seven or ten or (God forbid) thirteen miscarriages who carried babies to term by using their prescribed treatments. The book was full of hope, a lot of very in-depth technical explanations and a few logical reasons for recurrent miscarriage. Even if they’re wrong (which I doubt), the fact that SOMEONE was finally trying to explain and treat the mysterious tragedy of miscarriage made me want to weep with relief.

One thing I really enjoyed was that they laid out all the potential immune system problems AND the treatments. So basically I just saved myself $900 on a consult, because I already know what to do, right? Kind of. Here’s the thing: as I already said, Dr. L was so on point by prescribing Prednisone and baby aspirin. I’m so happy she did, because if she hadn’t, I’d be sitting here wondering if something as simple as that could have saved Baby Toast. Since many women they treat aren’t infertile, they also recommend estrogen supplements and Progesterone shots. And I’m like, I did IVF, I already have all that down on lock. It looks like I’ll be needing something even more advanced.

The most effective (if I’m reading correctly) treatment of immune system craziness seems to be IVIg injections. You have to pay a qualified nurse to administer them, they take several hours and you get injected with other people’s blood for $5,000 a session. Insurance doesn’t cover it because proof of effectiveness has not been established (and you can bet your ass that I’ve already searched for clinical trials). I’m going to say this again – $5,000 per session, and you need several throughout your pregnancy. So it doesn’t even matter if I want it, because ain’t no way in hell I’m getting it. Remind me again why I wasn’t born a millionaire?

So. Moving on. The only other thing that I haven’t been prescribed and that I can afford (possibly) is Lovenox injections to stimulate blood flow and Heparin injections (usually used to treat rhematoid arthritis) to balance out ANA antibodies. That’s a lot of injections. Not like I care. But throwing things at the wall and seeing what sticks – is that a healthful approach? Does any of this make sense for me?

So you know how when you’re going through infertility blogs, you look for someone who has a similar background and struggle to yourself? And you follow that person, hoping that your paths will be similar, especially if that path ends with a healthy baby? And it makes you feel so much less alone? I’m beginning to think I’ll never have that. I feel so different from everyone else. First of all, I had a pretty cut-and-dried case of infertility. The sperm analysis told the story of why we weren’t conceiving. We did IVF. It worked. Problem solved, right? Well no, then I had this whole other incredibly complicated problem. Not to be all “woe is me,” but I think I got dealt a pretty shitty hand here. We spent years solving one problem only to find another giant, mysterious, awful, basically unsolvable complication behind it. Sorry to sound like a broken record, but it’s just so damn frustrating. When will we catch a break?

As I’ve mentioned (perhaps ad nauseum), I have never, in all my research, found someone whose food intolerance seemed linked to their miscarriages. I feel like I’m trying to solve some unsolvable mystery here. There’s a short little section in the book that discusses elevated levels of eosinophils and asthma and the possible link to miscarriage, but it’s a tiny little snippet and it doesn’t discuss food at all. I cannot be the only person on earth who has had this happen. But am I supposed to waste $5,000 on other people’s plasma in case I have these killer cells, when really it seems like food intolerance is the issue? If I could just find someone with similar issues, I could follow her protocol. But I am alone here. There is no one like me at all. (As Amy pointed out, gluten allergies have been linked to miscarriage, ’tis true. I think that’s a fairly new school of thought and it’s not mentioned in the book at all. But you can bet your ass gluten is akin to rat poison when it comes to my new diet).

Here is what I know: my body attacked healthy, normal growing babies. That is not normal. Something inside of me is not right, and that thing needs to be corrected. I had my heart set on Bland Diet so I could absolutely ensure that my food intolerance didn’t cause my immune system to overreact. But this book… it’s making me question if the problem runs deeper than that. Maybe the food reactions are just a symptom, not a cause. And lets be honest, the term “NK Killer Cells” is really scary. It’s been haunting me daily since I saw it.

Yup, I’m talking in circles. I’m sorry. I’m happy that I read this book and that people don’t just throw up their hands and say, “It’s God’s will!” I absolutely believe in God, but I also believe that God gave us scientists to solve these problems so we don’t have to just suffer through them. Interestingly, the book includes an entire chapter on Eastern medicine (though Dr. Beer cautions that these remedies should be used in addition to, and not in place of, his protocols). The author of the holistic approach section starts out by saying she’s skeptical of using too many drugs and foreign substances. She, of course, recommends acupuncture and a peaceful diet. I like the idea of that. But is it enough?

So many questions, not a lot of answers. I don’t want to leave things to chance, but I don’t really think I have a choice.

I have, like, a week to figure this out. I feel like the answer is there, I just need to find it. Maybe that’s naive… maybe that’s crazy… yeah, it’s both. Definitely both.

do it differently

Hi, friends.

I want to say thank you. For your kind words of support, obviously, but also for your concern (I’m looking at you, Vanessa). It may be just me and Eric trying to make this baby over here, but I genuinely feel like we’re all in this together. So thanks for being so freaking supportive. It means the world.

I suppose you’re wondering what I plan to do differently this time. So far, I know that my allergic reactions, which logically seem to be causing miscarriages, are food related. Therefore, I’m putting myself on a super bland diet consisting of only the safest foods. What does that mean? It means I’ll be eating meat, eggs, white rice, and most vegetables – and not much else – for the foreseeable future. No fruit. No bread. No gluten. No dairy. Nothing processed. Nothing questionable in any way. In short, the most boring diet known to man. I kicked it off this week with a 36 hour juice cleanse (that’s as long as I lasted before I broke down and had a hard-boiled egg). Juicing is fun, but only when you’re allowed to use fruit. Otherwise the juice is bitter and makes the whole kitchen “smell like hay,” according to Eric.

Do I feel resentful of pregnant girls scarfing down McDonald’s and triple fudge cake without even thinking about it? Of course. But if this is what I have to do, so be it. I would gladly sacrifice delicious food for longer than nine months if it means I get to have a healthy baby.

What else? Well, I finally went on Monday to get my Blood Clotting Disorder Panel testing done. I’ve been putting it off and putting it off, but now we’re down to the wire and the results take two weeks, so I dragged my feet to the lab. Bad news off the bat – my new insurance doesn’t cover the lab I usually go to, and the test is suuuuuper expensive. Great. So I drove to the lab they do cover, waited 20 minutes, then was told that they weren’t sure which test my doctor wanted (there were three choices and they didn’t want to pick the wrong one). They called my doctor to confirm and had to leave a message. So after an hour of running around and frantically making phone calls, I never did get my blood drawn.

As if that’s not enough, the lab lady sounded skeptical that my insurance would cover this test at all, so once I figure out which test it is, I have to call them and confirm it’s covered. Did I mention I HATE our new insurance? Plus the lab they want me to use doesn’t do same-day results, so when we do get to the beta stage, we’re going to have big problems. (The lady at my old lab said that for stat blood work I’ll just need a referral, but still, it’s the rigmarole I have to go through that really ticks me off).

Lab lady has yet to call me back, so today is off the table. It seems like the universe is against me getting this stupid blood work. All the test will really do is determine if I need the Lovenox or not… but part of me is tempted to just take it no matter what. I don’t know. Besides Super Bland Diet, I don’t really have any ideas. Last pregnancy I cut out fructose, but I was still eating gluten and a lot of other crap. I’m pretty sure I reacted to coffee creamer right before it all went to hell. Of course I’m scared that it’s more than that, but there’s no precedent. I touch on this in the Reproductive Immunology Post (this week! I promise!) – there is literally no one else like me. No other person has reported that their food intolerances are linked to recurrent miscarriage. If there was, I could follow their protocol… or something… but as it stands, I’ve never heard of symptoms quite like mine. Frankly, it makes me feel crazy, like I’m spouting conspiracy theories or something. But these things are connected. I just know they are. I can tell when something is wrong, and I know for a fact that the food I ate caused serious reactions. I know my immune system went totally wonky.

So again, thanks for the real talk. Thanks for caring enough to voice concerns. I’m scared… but there’s not much else I can do besides just hope for the best, and this time totally eliminate trigger foods. And pray. Pray a whole lot.

Someone posted this story on Facebook the other day and of course I cried. But it also gave me hope. You never know when your rainbow baby is right around the corner (also, posts like this remind me that recurrent miscarriage or not, it can always be worse. ALWAYS. I cannot imagine how this woman survived with sanity intact).

it’s on

After much debate, both internally and externally, I called New Hope to report CD1 yesterday. And while I’m sure you don’t need me to, I do feel some sense of obligation to defend my decision to do this. Here are my reasons:

1) I was very disappointed when we didn’t get pregnant the low-tech way, despite all evidence that we would not (a.k.a. 2 years of evidence). Maybe it was the itchy nip, maybe it was just the fact that I’ve jumped that hurdle now twice. A BFP didn’t seem impossible anymore. HA!
2) Clinical trial, people, clinical trial. It’s over. My participation in it is questionable, since technically I was supposed to be kicked out in June. Any moment someone is going to realize this.
3) I’m not going to be able to afford going to a Reproductive Immunologist this century. Even if I could, I wouldn’t be able to afford the treatments. So… waiting changes nothing. I know the protocol. Dr. L can prescribe the things I can afford, like Lovenox. So why wait? (I have a whole other long post about my findings on Reproductive Immunology in general, and I will get around to posting it one of these days).

Anyway. I called New Hope yesterday, CD1. Person answering the phone checked my chart, sounded confused as to why I would call, put me on hold for a long time and then transferred me to the clinical trial mailbox (a veritable wasteland of messages that are never returned, as far as I can tell). I left a message, hung up, and started crying. I figured I was out of the trial. I even began researching clinics around here so I could start inquiring about prices for an embryo transfer, though it obviously wasn’t going to work out this month. Then I figured, hey, why not try to shoot them an email (pretty much the only way you can get a response). The nurse replied with, “Can you come in tomorrow?” Can I come in… so you can break up with me in person? So you can do monitoring? I didn’t understand. But still, I simply said, “Yes, I’ll be there.”

While I did feel better that they wanted to see me, I wasn’t entirely convinced that I was still acutally in the trial. Trial patients have red folders, regular patients have green ones (because they pay money?). I was literally the only red folder in a huge stack of appointment folders for the day. But they drew my blood. They did the sono. According to the ultrasound tech, my ovaries “looked perfect.” And then they sent me home.

I’m scheduled to go back Monday, the 23rd. So it sounds like the transfer is happening. I feel… nervous. Like it’s happening really fast, even though it’s really not. I hope that doesn’t mean I’m not ready. I think more than not ready, I’m terrified, so much more than last time. If you have one miscarriage, you won’t necessarily have two. But it seems like once you have two you’re likely to have more and more. And this is probably most likely our last try, despite having two more embryos left after this. But more on that some other time (or hopefully not, because hopefully I won’t have to worry about it).

I have a question that I’ve been curious about for some time now, and if it’s too personal or weird, I apologize. I notice that some of you get many embryos, do a transfer, then when you do another round of IVF you do the whole process over again rather than using the additional embryos from the first go-round. Is this just a fresh vs. frozen thing? A quality thing? I’m curious. As for me, I’m on my round 3 draft picks (I feel terrible saying that, haha, but it’s the truth). First time both stuck. Second time one did. Now… well, like I said, I’m nervous. I didn’t ask what the grading was because I don’t want to stress about it, but I’m assuming it’s good enough to potentially work or they wouldn’t bother. Does that make sense? Again, we have to use what we have either way, I was just wondering why some of you opt not to. Feedback appreciated.

September transfer. June due date. No psychic predictions, no premonitions, no weird coincidences. Just a random month and possibly a Gemini. I can deal with that.

and now it’s really over

I can’t lie to you guys. This is a safe place, so I’m going to do what I always do and speak freely. Here’s the truth: I did hang onto a shred of hope for my ultrasound today. It’s stupid, I know it’s stupid. But I just couldn’t help it. For one thing, they made me keep taking the medication, which indicated that they could know something that I didn’t. For another, Eric kept his hope alive, too (mostly for the same reason). I’ll never forget on Tuesday morning hearing him say from the hallway, “…and then they’ll say, it’s a MEEEERACLE!” I laughed. But I also hoped. It’s so hard to not hope.

But alas, my child did not become the next Lazarus. The New Hope ultrasound machine was not broken on Monday. All of my PIO shots this week have been a total waste of time, pain and money. It’s so damn depressing to really let go. Oh, and I finally stopped bleeding after 9 days. I guess now I can look forward to bleeding again sometime soon. (Like, Monday-ish).

We decided (me, my mom, my OB/GYN) not to do another D&C. I’m not as far along, and it’s not twins. I just want my body to heal, and for this task at least, I trust my body to do the right thing. Last time one of the reasons I opted for the D&C was that it sped up the process, but since we’re taking a break anyway, I figured this would be a natural way to pace myself. I got a script for some drug to induce the miscarriage, which is pretty cool. I didn’t know they had those. I thought I just had to wait and wait. But really I can time it and it should only take a few hours. Something else that made me feel a little better was that the embryo is gone already. No more sac; no more visible fetal pole. So I don’t have that super creepy feeling of knowing it’s still… you know… in there. All that’s left is tissue and stuff.

As if this evening wasn’t traumatic enough, I went directly from that soul-crushing ultrasound to the viewing for Eric’s friend. He was 31 years old. It’s just so damn unfair sometimes. I truly wish there was some way to make sense of all this tragedy or to see some kind of reason for it, but I just can’t. You know what? There is no reason. Life just sucks today. Oh, and I happened to overhear a conversation between two young-ish moms as we were walking in. I heard one of them say, “It’s just so different now that we have kids, you know? It makes it so much more real.” Oh, thanks, honey. Thanks for insinuating that my childlessness makes me less capable of feeling sorrow over death. That was EXACTLY what I needed today.

To add another layer of depression to this whole shitty situation, I looked into Reproductive Immunology and Dr. Braverman. I gave them a call, only to find that the consult is $900, not covered by insurance. That’s just the consult. The whole point of doing this clinical trial was that we could not afford to do infertility treatments out of pocket, remember? It would be one thing if it was just $900; I could probably come up with that. But that does not include any of the blood work and testing, it’s just a basic appointment to go over history and have an ultrasound. I would gain nothing from just doing that. I know many of you suggested Kwak-Kim (and I thank you as always for your advice), but I’d be willing to bet she’s not covered either. All of these doctors bill as infertility and Pennsylvania does not mandate infertility coverage, so it’s extremely rare to have it. I’m fucked.

Dr. L insisted that Braverman would be covered. I didn’t believe her, but it was still a nice slap in the face when my theory was confirmed. I’ve been finding blogs of people who have gone to Kwak-Kim and they have been gracious enough to write out the protocol she suggests. It sounds like a lot of PIO, Prednisone, baby aspirin, Lovenox and supplements. So… I’m already halfway there. Is it ridiculous to think I can just guess what she would say without actually seeing her? The only other option I can think of is to see a regular old immunologist around here (which would probably be covered) and see if he/she could order the tests or prescribe the same things. Maybe I would get lucky and find someone who has a modicum of interest or experience in immunology as it relates to miscarriage. I’m clutching at straws, I know. I just need to figure out a way to get some answers on my insurance’s dime rather than on my own.

My mom and I had our post-ultrasound pow-wow and talked about what’s next. She insisted that it’s more than just diet… it’s stress. I need to let go of stress and relax for once in my life. I think part of what makes it so hard is that the process itself is so stressful, which is why taking a break can only help me. I need to get right with my emotions and control-freak tendencies. I need to calm the hell down. I’ve committed myself to starting yoga and at the very least trying acupuncture. I stopped at Barnes & Noble on my way to the appointment to pick up a book called “Preventing Miscarriage.” Let me tell you how fun it was when I couldn’t find it and had to ask at the information desk, loud enough for a gum-snapping college student to overhear. Whatever. I picked it up and started flipping through. There was an entire chapter explaining the trauma of miscarriage, a particularly long section on having an incompetent cervix (so not my problem at all) and a brief section on Environmental Factors. They cautioned against using cocaine and methamphetamines, mentioned the dangers of air pollution and advocated a healthy diet. Seriously? If I was snorting lines of coke every night, I would NOT be questioning my miscarriage. Needless to say, I didn’t buy the book.

My mom has been going through old calendars trying to figure out the name of the doctor who she saw back in ’99. At our pow-wow, I mentioned that I was interested in the book “Is Your Body Baby Friendly?” by Dr. Alan Beer. Her eyes lit up at the name. “That’s it! That’s who I went to see!” she said. I remember how much she said she liked him and how nice he was, plus it turns out he was a mentor to Dr. Kwak-Kim (my mom even talked to her briefly, way back then). It seems like some kind of sign. Dr. Beer has since passed away, but at least I can read his book and hopefully it will have better advice in in than “don’t snort coke.” It’s definitely more in the budget than a $900 meeting just to gaze into Braverman’s baby blues.

Well, after a day chock-full of depressing ultrasounds and viewings for friends who were taken from this Earth way too soon, I’m off to bed. We’re heading into the woods this weekend for a family camping trip. And you know what? I can drink alcohol. And you know what else? I plan to.

the day after yesterday

I had a weird dream last night. I went to an appointment to meet Dr. Brave.rman (the supposed repeat pregnancy loss deity) and for whatever reason I was wearing yoga pants and a plain ribbed tank top with no bra. The nurse checking me in chastised my choice of wardrobe, saying, “Didn’t you read the explicit instructions that said to ‘dress in casual layers’ for your appointment? The doctor will never accept you as a patient when you’re dressed like that.” So while waiting for him to come into the room, I found some random rack of sample sweaters and frantically tried to cut off the tags and rip off the size stickers (also, bizarrely, to cut it down from long sleeved to 3/4 sleeved) before he came in the room. I did it just in the nick of time. He walked in, accepted my casually layered outfit and proceeded to schedule an appointment. I had brought three black leather-bound books with me thinking that they were my appointment book, but each time I opened one to write down the appointment time, it turned out to really be a Bible. Weird, right?

One more dream and then I promise I’m done. On Friday night I dreamed that I met my baby. I was in the hospital and had just given birth, and I distinctly saw her little face. I remember in my dream crying and being so happy and so, so grateful. In short, it was the perfect moment. At the time I took it as a good omen for the ultrasound on Monday. Now… I hope it’s just a good omen for the future in general, and for me giving birth myself.

Enough about dreams, though. How am I doing? I’m… resigned. It’s just so different this time. In a way it’s a little easier because I was more prepared, whereas last time I was completely blindsided. In a way, it’s also harder. I’ve now become part of a very, very small percentage of the population who suffers from repeat pregnancy loss (RPL). I am the 5%! I’ve never been less excited to be so “special.” After my first miscarriage, many women opened up about their losses and I realized how common it really is. It made me feel sort of all right about it. But two? That’s a whole other ball game. I know it happens, but it’s so much less common. Even though I’m not, I can’t help but feel very alone and terribly flawed.

In a short space of time, I’ve also had to adjust my view of myself. Ever since two years ago when we were first diagnosed, we’ve known that our problem was severe MFI. We were looking at low volume, low count, low morphology, low motility… it seemed so obvious. Everything with me checked out perfectly. I became absolutely convinced that if I could somehow just get my eggs fertilized that the rest would be a cakewalk. That’s why IVF felt like such a dream come true. That’s why my first BFP was so exciting and I wasn’t really scared. That’s why I was knocked on my ass when I lost the twins. I was supposed to be the perfect one (reproductively speaking, of course). We overcame our problem only to find a bigger problem lurking in the shadows. It just makes me feel so broken.

Besides all of that sad stuff, I’m also feeling very grateful today. I’m grateful for my husband. He and I rarely see eye to eye on things (our conflicts are part of what keeps life interesting), but for each and every part of this he’s somehow managed to say what I’m thinking before I can say it. The first time he said, “Let’s try again!” This time he said, “We need to take a break.” Even though I felt the same, it was so comforting that he was the one to say it. It was such a relief to not have to argue about how to proceed.

I’m grateful for the girls at work. My sort-of boss (my actual boss is in the UK…it’s a long story) insisted that I take off yesterday and today, no penalties. My friends at work sent me comforting texts, and my counterpart picked up my slack without comment or complaint. It’s such a relief to not have to worry about work right now. I took the day today to regroup and get my bearings. I really needed that, and I’m so glad I can be honest with work rather than have to make up silly excuses.

I’m grateful for my dear friend Jana who sent me a beautiful bouquet. If you ever want to take a break from reading about infertility and catch up with an uber-cool yet down-to-earth girl living the dream in the big city, check out Brooklyn According to Jana. And in case you needed proof that she’s an excellent writer, here’s the card she sent:

As long as we persist in our our pursuit of our deepest destiny, we will continue to grow. We cannot choose the day or time when we will fully bloom. It happens on its own. Thinking of you.

flowers

Finally, I’m grateful for all of you. I didn’t respond to my comments yesterday as I normally try to, but I will say that each and every one of you made me feel a little bit better. Thank you for caring about me so much. If there’s one thing I can count on, it’s this blog and the willingness of my followers (gee, I sound like a cult leader) to say the right things right when I need them. You may regret requesting that I keep writing though, because I feel like the floodgates are opening, content-wise. I guess it takes a tragedy to really get my writer juices flowing (I think happy people are boring anyway).

hello, my name’s Amanda, and I’m addicted to ultrasounds

***Sorry for the long intros lately, but you can always rest assured that any post without the word “fucking” in the title has a semi-happy ending. Don’t worry.

I’ve figured out how I’m going to make my millions. Ready for this? Four little words: At. Home. Ultrasound. Machine. My market would be primarily infertiles wanting the constant reassurance that their little bean was still growing, and also any unlucky ladies who suffer from prolonged first trimester bleeding. It would have a giant, idiot-proof heart rate monitor that would immediately light up and say, “CALM DOWN YOU CRAZY BITCH, YOUR BABY’S HEART IS STILL BEATING.” I mean, really. In this day and age, shouldn’t there be an app for that?

I called my OB/GYN this morning and as usual, they were not as concerned as I was. They didn’t have any appointments but offered to schedule me an ultrasound at the hospital’s outside lab. I thought that was very nice of them. The nurse warned that they would not be able to give me results at the appointment, but would rather call them in to my doctor, who would in turn call me. In my mind I was thinking, “I’ll just cry and scream until they tell me what’s going on. I’ll refuse to leave.” She said sometimes they will point out the heartbeat, but it just depends on who I got. So I spent the entire day hoping I had a compassionate, caring person who wasn’t into the particular torture of not telling me whether or not my baby had a heartbeat.

The doctor’s office called a few minutes later and also requested that I go for blood work, just to make sure that was all OK. I thought that was a little odd (doesn’t the ultrasound show you more than blood can?) Apparently the doctor who I usually see requested it, and I winced at hearing her name. She specifically told me to wait a few months before getting pregnant again (she’s the one who did my D&C). I haven’t seen her yet, but I’m fully expecting a scolding when I do see her again. Especially now with all my issues. I can’t even pull the, “Oops, didn’t mean to!” I suppose I could say, “Oops, I accidentally got this embryo injected into my ute! I thought I was just getting a pap smear, dammit!”

Truth be told, I couldn’t have imagined surviving the weekend without seeing the heartbeat again. I have negative things associated with ultrasounds at New Hope, not to mention it’s particularly awful to hear your babies are dead when you’re two hours away from home.

Furthermore, I am starting to despise the term “spotting.” Spotting sounds so innocent, so light, so carefree. It sounds like a dab here and a pinch there and tra-la-la-la-la. When people ask me if I’m still “spotting,” I want to say, “No actually, I’m flowing. I’m running like the damn Mississippi River. You could go kayaking.”

I’m being dramatic (what else is new?). While Tuesday evening and Wednesday were pretty flow-like, by Thursday morning the blood could be classified as spotting, I suppose. It came and went every couple of hours. That’s equally frustrating, however, because every time I felt I was in the clear and dried up, it would suddenly start again. But from now on I insist we call it bleeding when that’s what it is. So I’m here to say that first trimester spotting, first trimester flowing and maybe even first trimester gushing (there were moments) still does not necessarily mean it’s the end of the world.

My ultrasound tech at the hospital was approximately 14 years old. I had to refrain from asking Doogie Howser if she herself was menstruating yet. Whatever. She was very nice and chatty and did offer to point out the heartbeat if and when she saw it. She scanned for what felt months and then pointed out the faint, faint flicker on the screen. I was watching her like a hawk and she typed in the letters HB on the screen… then she erased it. I said, “Why did you do that?” in my best stern voice. She replied, “Oh, because I was done.” I couldn’t help but feel like she was lying. She made me hold my breath several times so she could “verify the heartbeat.” I’m thinking, if you have to look that hard to find it, is it really there? She was so smiley and happily chatting that I couldn’t imagine the news was bad. Wouldn’t somber news require a more somber tone? Or was she just a crazy bubbly person with no empathy? She specifically said, “I can tell you if I see a heartbeat, but I can’t comment on whether it’s too fast or too slow. You’ll have to wait for the doctor for that.”

Next, Doogie promised I would get to speak with my doctor on the phone before leaving the building. Again, very nice of her. She said as she was leaving me in the waiting room, “The heartbeat is there, it just might be too slow. Your doctor can tell you more.” Despite her promise of letting me talk to someone before leaving, the front desk people shooed me out before I got the phone call, so it was all just messing with my emotions. As usual.

I was sitting in the waiting room to get the blood work when Eric called to say that one of his good friends, someone who had been at our wedding, someone who Eric had just seen the day before, was found dead this morning. No one knew how or why. I was in shock and just wanted to get home to him, but was stuck waiting even longer to get a beta after a non-reassuring ultrasound. Did I mention I’m not supposed to be stressing out?

The nurse from my OB/GYN called about 30 minutes later. I felt a bit of relief at hearing her voice, knowing that for positively dire news the doctor would call me personally. She confirmed what Doogie had been hinting at all along – Baby Toast’s heartbeat is slower than they’d like to see. Oh, they also confirmed that I do have a subchorionic bleed (or subchorionic hematoma), so that’s the likely source of the bleeding. Basically with one phone call she got me to stop worrying about the bleeding and start worrying about something completely new and frightening – a slow fetal heart rate.

If you ever get this particular diagnosis, DO NOT GOOGLE IT. My first hits included such gems as “fetal mortality rate of 60%” and the like. There were also plenty of success stories of heart rates that magically went from 87 to 150 (or whatever perfect is) in as short as a week. Sigh. I don’t know. The ultrasound was supposed to be reassurance for the weekend and now I’m more freaked out than ever. Lots of women of the interwebs are quick to point out that 6 weeks is so early to make a call on it, but I’m also remembering how nothing was said at my appointment on Tuesday. So are things getting worse?

I have another ultrasound Monday at New Hope (my third in a week’s time) and then my OB/GYN scheduled a “viability ultrasound” for Thursday. It even has to be in a special room. I think that will officially puts me at ultrasound addict status. On one hand my heart is swelling with pride at how much of a drama queen this little girl is (just like her mama). On the other, I’m effing terrified. As usual.

even more drama in toast-land

I’d love to tell you that the bleeding stopped, but so far it hasn’t. It’s been on and off since the ultrasound on Tuesday eafternoon, and at this point I’m about ready to lose my damn mind.

I woke up last night at 3 a.m. and totally lost it. Sobbing, begging God to please let me keep this baby – the whole nine yards. I had just been woken up to the worst sore throat, so much nasal congestion I could barely breathe, no voice (from the sore throat) and you guessed it – more blood. I’m laughing at the thought of being freaked out over a teaspoon. I’ve basically had 6 periods in 2 days and I’m seriously wondering how there could be anything left in there.

On top of that – sore throat. Yeah. This is exactly what happened last time and what I’m assuming was the reason for my last miscarriage. My immune system is freaking out and I have no idea what I ate or drank that made it so mad. Yesterday I had no appetite at all so I literally just had strawberries, bread with butter and some leftover chicken and veggies. Water and seltzer to drink. So… it’s the berries? I don’t know. Part of my 3 a.m. pleas with God included promises to eat only the plainest, non-sugary foods in existence and drink water from here on out. I know I had joked about doing that before, but I was being so careful and not reacting to anything, so I thought all was well. Then I hit 6 weeks and it was like a light switch went on in my body. I have no idea what I’m reacting to. The good news is that I’m so stuffed up and miserable that I don’t even feel like eating. (And lest you think I have a sudden coincidental summer head cold, I will tell you that I woke up this morning to a clear throat and nasal passages, just with a bit of a croaky voice. I know with 100% certainty that the throat, the congestion and the head fogginess are bizarre reactions to mystery food allergies).

I spent a long time Googling subchorionic bleed and the possibility of them causing miscarriage is 1 – 3%. I read a lot of testimonials from women who bled and bled for weeks and went on to deliver healthy babies. Despite the fact that the ultrasound tech would not commit to this diagnosis, it’s the one that makes the most sense. The fact that I actually saw Weird Gray Mass with my own eyes is comforting, because I know that is the likely cause of this bleeding. To be bleeding this much without that ultrasound would be torturous. But still. No matter how much I’m reassured it could be normal, to see that much blood coming out is a major mindfuck.

This is going to sound awful but I need to say it anyway. I’ve been realizing today how much more attached I am to this baby than I was to the twins. See? I told you it was awful. I was wracking my brain to figure out why and came up with the following:

1) I was very naive while pregnant before. I truly did not believe anything could or would go wrong, so I didn’t feel like I had to bond with them so early. I thought I had all the time in the world.
2) This girl is a survivor. Out of two embryos, she’s the one who stuck. She’s tucked way up in the corner of my ute and I just picture her holding on for dear life (literally). Her little heart kept beating even as I bled. She’s super tough.
3) I feel some modicum of control over the outcome of this pregnancy since I have a good guess as to what went wrong last time. You know, despite the fact that so far I’m failing.
5) The psychic. If I don’t have that… I don’t have much at all. I know it sounds so ridiculous but that prediction has kept me more sane than anything else over these past couple of days. I keep telling myself that I’m going to have this beautiful girl in February. I have to believe that.

This post is all doom and gloom, so here’s a funny story. You’ll recall that there were no maxi pads in the house but since my body has decided to bleed ALL THE BLOOD, I needed something. Despite the fact that the doctor did not request it, I put myself on bed rest and was confined to the couch. That’s why my dear husband, who has never been given this errand before, got sent out to procure maxi pads. He was freaked out but all in all was a good sport about the whole thing. He insisted that he had to buy a Gatorade, too because he couldn’t just buy maxi pads. I asked if the cashier was male or female and he said, “Male, thank God.” I find that funny – if I were a cashier and saw a man buying feminine hygiene products, I would feel a swell of pride and compassion for him. I would think, Wow, what a good guy she has. But to each his own, I guess.

He also picked up dinner from our favorite little grill down the street and I ordered my favorite thing on the menu. But when I ate it, it tasted gross. I’m happy. That means my pregnancy hormones are still kicking in high gear. This morning I was eating my food allergy approved breakfast of fried eggs, a plain baked potato and water when I suddenly felt that pang and thought, I’m going to throw up now. I ran to the bathroom, retched a few times, then came back and finished my breakfast like it was nothing. I have to say, I didn’t throw up at all last time and this little episode made me feel really good.

I called the doctor today, but of course their office is closed for the 4th of July holiday. I didn’t want to call the emergency hotline; I don’t really think it’s an emergency. There is no surgical way to correct this problem. The recommended remedies are bed rest (doing it), blood thinners (taking them) and trying to stay calm and relax (attempting it). As the dishes and laundry and dog hair piles up around me, I’m just doing my best not to move around or think too much.

I’m going to call my OB/GYN tomorrow morning and see if they want me to come in again. Maybe someone else can look at Weird Gray Mass and tell me more definitively what it is. I know you’re all probably reading this whole thing thinking, Damn, this doesn’t sound good at all, she’s probably losing the baby. But I just keep thinking how big that mass was and how much blood it may have contained. I keep thinking about that heartbeat that I saw. I keep thinking about all those stories I read about pregnant women bleeding for weeks and going on to have healthy babies. I keep thinking I’m supposed to have a baby girl in February.

Despite my attempted optimism, I would appreciate all the prayers and good thoughts you have. I’m very nervous. Thank you all for your comments on my last post. I’m very sorry that I don’t have better news to report today. Here is what Baby Toast looked like on Tuesday:

hanging in there

hanging in there