My first post in nearly nine months…

I guess some things have happened since I last posted.

I had my embryo transfer on January 20. The same day that my husband had organised his mate’s stag party as best man. “Don’t worry sweetie, I can do this on my own and I don’t want you to feel guilty for not coming along,” is what I told him. And it was completely honest. I had been through it before and I knew what to expect. I knew he would much rather be with me, but it was ok that he wasn’t.

I dropped my son off at a friend’s house and drove to the clinic. I was early, so I sat in the car and tried to distract myself. I played upbeat rock songs to sort of hype myself up, and ended up trying to fight back anxious tears. I remember reading an article which suggested that women who went into an embryo transfer feeling more upbeat and positive tended to have more success. So I watched some videos of people doing stupid stuff. And then I went in.

Everything was familiar and went fine. My bladder felt like bursting, as usual. They showed me an image of the little embryo and told me everything looked great, as usual. They told me the transfer was a success, as usual. I didn’t hold any unrealistic expectations, but it felt positive.

Soon after, we went on holiday for nearly a week. It was hot, super hot. At a friend’s wedding we sat in the open in 35C heat and baked for half an hour as we waited for her to come down the aisle. Sweat trickled down the back of my legs. I hoped that this wouldn’t end our hopes of the embryo sticking. I grabbed water after water after water.

As the holiday wore on, I wondered more and more about any “symptoms” I was feeling. It didn’t seem like much was happening. I felt a bit dizzy and nauseous a few times, but it was so hot why wouldn’t I? My boobs felt a bit sore… but I had been squeezing them to check that I’d probably made them sore myself! I was feeling fairly flat about the situation. I didn’t feel pregnant.

We arrived back home on a Monday night. On the Tuesday morning I was scheduled in for a blood test and a phone call from the clinic to tell me “the news” – was I pregnant? I had a pregnancy test sitting in my drawer beside my bed. I knew that if I was pregnant, it would tell me. So I decided that it was better to find out now, good or bad, rather than receiving the news at my open plan desk.

The result came up immediately. Holy shit. I was pregnant. If everything worked out the due date would be 9 October. Here we go again.

Preparing for an embryo transfer… again

Here we go again… today’s Day 13 of my cycle and we’re going to try and defrost one of our five guys and pop him in the (metaphorical) oven next week. I’m excited. We’re doing a natural cycle, which means I don’t need to take any drugs, but they still need to figure out exactly when I ovulate so they know the best time to put an embryo back in.

So far I’ve had two blood tests to see how my hormones are tracking. They’ve both come back low, which means it’ll be a few days yet of the human pin cushion. It’s likely I will need to have one every day from tomorrow until after I’ve ovulated. In a text book situation they put the embryo back on Day 19, but that presumes you ovulate on Day 14. Mine’s likely going to be a bit later than that.

It’s summer here where we live, and we’re supposed to be going camping in the weekend. There’s only one place that does urgent blood tests on a Sunday morning, and while its only 20 minutes away from our place, its an hour and a half away from our campsite. Damn! But! Perspective. Having to leave our camping trip half way through versus possibly having a child that we’ve been hoping for over three years now…

My colleague that used to sit next to me had her baby last week. I saw a lot of very pregnant photos of her on Facebook, in a bikini, at parties, that sort of thing. I felt twinges of sadness and “I wish that was me”, but what was hard was hearing that’d she had called her baby girl exactly the same name as we had pinned for a baby girl. And it is an unusual name too – the only one we agreed on.

It’s a bit of a pickle, really. Maybe it means that name was not meant to be. And who knows if we would still be as keen on it if we did eventually have a girl. Or maybe it means talking with her and explaining why we’d like to use that name too. Maybe we’ll have a boy one day and it will never matter!

Just another one of the less obvious things that people with secondary infertility face, I guess.

Anyway, back to the next couple of weeks. Let’s keep our fingers crossed.

The two week wait (or, in our case, ten day wait)

So we had another embryo defrosted and popped into my uterus. “Embryo number six”.  We’ve got a little photo of him (I say him, but we don’t know the sex) pinned on our fridge. He looks so similar to “embryo number four”, the one that didn’t work two months ago. My husband and I joked that the clinic just gives everyone the same photo and spiel that, “look, it’s hatching! Everything’s looking great!”

The procedure went well. Apart from the indignity of hoisting yourself, full bladder and all, onto a table with stirrups to have a middle aged man look directly into your lady parts and pop a tube up there, it was quick and painless. I was feeling the least stressed I have for a long time, perhaps years. We were given a piece of paper that said we need to do a pregnancy test in ten days’ time, that I can exercise if I want to, that sort of thing. We were also given the government pamphlet for food safety in pregnancy. I left that behind.

Now, it’s the day before we test to see whether the little guy has stuck. I feel nervous but almost resigned that what will be will be. After all that we’ve been through, I try not to get my hopes up, but equally try to remember that it could happen for us. I’ve had days since the transfer where I’ve been a complete mess. A few days after the transfer I began to feel anxious and fearful, and by the mid-way point I had completely lost the plot. I could feel hormones raging and could do nothing but try and ride out the horrible effects. I cried a LOT. I felt guilty that I was not able to be more positive and relaxed on these days, and worried that my emotions could affect the result. Now I feel I’ve come full circle and am more zen, albeit nervous like I’m about to sit an important exam.

It’s hard to say if I’ve had any real symptoms of pregnancy. My boobs are always sore after ovulation, and that sensitivity usually drops off promptly before a period. My boobs are still sore now, and it’s a day after I would normally have got my period. That gives me hope. Similarly, I usually get a bit of a funny bloated tummy in the lead up to my period. And I’ve had nothing. I had a coconut milk yesterday and got the absolute worse nausea and heartburn for about an hour. It was a bit out of character. I’ve felt more tired in the last few days than in previous weeks. Who knows.

If this doesn’t work I can genuinely say that I gave it my best shot.

On the eve of IVF, round two

We’ve signed up for more blood tests, more scans, and the hope that “embryo no. 6” will be the baby that we’ve been dreaming of for over two and a half years now. If our little guy “defrosts”, he will be popped in on Tuesday, in two days’ time. And then we wait.

The build up has been great. It started with two weeks’ holiday in Australia walking on the sand, eating ice creams, soaking in sunsets and scouring the horizon for whales. Since then, I’ve been focussing on me. Feeble attempts at running, long walks, yoga in front of the telly, gorging on salmon and avocado… I feel like it’s been worth it. I’m relaxed and happier than I have been in a long, long time.

On the first days of my cycle I talked to my gynaecologist. He told me of a new study called the H2oil study. If you have ongoing fertility issues because of endometriosis or unexplained infertility I’d encourage you to read it. In essence, woman who have unexplained infertility appear to be more likely to get pregnant if they “flush” their uterus and fallopian tubes with an oil based solution.

I mulled over the results of the study for hours. We had unexplained infertility, but we had been pregnant many times. It seemed what the oil flush seemed to do was assist in the implantation process, more than anything else. It would delay our transfer cycle by at least a month if we went ahead with it. I asked my gynaecologist what he recommended and together we decided that, if this transfer didn’t work, we might try it in the future.

From day 10 of my cycle I underwent a blood test every morning for six days. It was a mere inconvenience compared to some things I’ve been through. On day 14 (the day I ovulated) I had a scan. “You’re lining is at 10.1mm”, the gynaecologist on duty told me. 10.1! Wahoo! It felt like I’d just achieved a PB in fertility treatment.

7mm is the minimum thickness required for an embryo transfer. The reason I was so stoked this month was that last month my lining was only 6.5-7mm on day 13 of my cycle. I felt like I was failing. By day 15 (the day before I ovulated) it had increased to 8.1mm, but to reach 10mm this cycle feels all the enforced relaxation is worth it.

 

 

IVF part 4: the transfer and the wait

The day before we found out the result of our frozen egg transfer was one of the most anxious days I can remember. It was as if my heart rate had dialled up to 140bpm. Like I’d had ten coffees, no food and watched a horror movie, only I hadn’t. I couldn’t concentrate. I was so worried.

That was around eight days after our transfer. On the day of our transfer I’d have seven blood tests in the build up. I was convinced I had a UTI, but a test suggested otherwise. I was so nervous. The procedure itself went well enough, apart from my bladder nearly exploding. We’d had to wait an extra fifteen minutes or so than expected. By the time we got into the transfer room I had to wriggle my feet to stop myself from bursting. It wasn’t ideal. The staff double checked our details on the test tube. That made sense. It was rather important. And the transfer itself went well, it seemed. We went home with a little photo of our guy, a blastocyst, “hatching” out of his shell and ready to stick. We hoped.

I felt a certain relief after the transfer was successful. I had hugged the gynaecologist in tears, and he didn’t know how to react. But soon the stress flooded back. I was sure I had a UTI. I went to my GP who diagnosed it immediately. I couldn’t remember the last time I had a UTI diagnosed. It could affect the embryo. I flipped out. Then our three year old started vomiting in the early hours of the morning, for the first time probably in a year. If I caught a tummy bug it could affect the embryo. WTF. Why was this happening?! The more I tried to calm myself down, the more stressed I seemed to become.

It was the day we found out the result that I reached a tipping point. I had barely slept. I woke early and stared at the ceiling. I was sure I should be able to get a result on a pregnancy test. Maybe I should just do one. But I only had another two days to wait. My boobs didn’t feel sore any more. That always happens right before I get a period. That was the final straw. I bawled. I couldn’t go to work. I bawled some more.

My gut feeling was right. The next morning, the day before our official test, I got my period. The anxiety fell away almost instantly and in its place a blanket of numbness and sadness shrouded me. I was transported back to some of my darkest days in this process. I didn’t want to see anyone. I was no longer hungry. I didn’t want to talk. I had my first beer in ages and it was good and bad – all the pain came gushing out and I sobbed on the couch by myself. While I felt like an utter failure as a woman I was at least thankful that the anxiety had left me.

It’s now a couple of days later. I don’t really know where to from here. We have one more chance. I am terrified of what it means if we don’t succeed. I’ve adjusted my expectations so many times that I feel we may be reaching the end of all of this.

IVF part 2: egg collection

I opted to work from home the morning of my egg collection. It proved a good distraction from egg collection, but a bad distraction from my ban on any food or drink before the procedure. I became pretty nervous in the half hour or so before I had to get in the car. I checked I had everything I needed, which was basically nothing, about five times.

My husband was there when I walked in the doors of the clinic. We sat on the couch and waited. I was too distracted to read any of the trashy magazines, or to even really talk.

We were called into our own small room. Two nurses came in. They asked all the usual questions, “are you allergic to anything?” “have you eaten anything today” “when did you last drink anything?” They explained the procedure in brief. An embryologist joined the conversation. My gynaecologist joined the conversation. It felt like there were thirty people in a room meant for one. My poor husband slunk back from providing his “sample” to a room of chaos.

I was walked into theatre. Almost immediately I noticed a tiny little window with the embryologist sitting on the other side of it. It looked like a little coffee bar, or a service kitchen. I almost expected to see a little moustached barista with an apron pop out with a smile and an espresso. I think what really was going to happen was that my gynaecologist would pass fluid containing eggs through the window so that they could examine the eggs immediately.

I sat down on the theatre bed and was promptly hooked up to various machines. An IV drip. A blood pressure monitor. Something in my nose with some gas passing through it, probably to zap any fears away. Then the nurses passed my gynaecologist drugs and even before I had my legs in the delightful stirrups I felt myself going fairly floppy.

The procedure itself was pretty painful. With 26 follicles my gynaecologist had to make a number of incisions directly into the ovaries. I cringed and let out a little squeak with each one. I tried to focus on my breathing. Soon enough they were finished, and I was out of theatre just like that, back in my little room.

I was given some toast, and I suspect about then the effect of the drugs really kicked in. I can’t remember what was on the toast, but I do remember that I offered some to my husband. The next thing that I remember was my gynaecologist advising me that they had managed to retrieve 24 eggs. “Wow!” I exclaimed. I was so stoked. My husband laughed and said, “you do realise that is about the sixth time they’ve told you that?” I had no recollection whatsoever.

I was discharged fairly quickly. We had a prescription for some codeine and we drove around the building to the pharmacy on the other side. I waited in the car while my husband went inside. Pretty quickly things went really downhill. I realised that I was going to either throw up or pass out, or both. I shifted uncomfortably around in the car, put the seat back, but to no avail. My mind told me that I had to escape the car and lie down on the cold concrete of the car park. So out I flopped. I began sweating and my head was spinning. I frantically told myself not to spew, to breathe, to focus on lying still.

I don’t know how much time had passed. I heard my husband say my name in shock. He later said he felt like he had an out of body experience seeing me lying with my head on the curb amongst some dead leaves and cigarette butts. I heard a lady say, “is she alright?” and my husband replied, “yeah, she’s ok, she’s just nauseous.” Poor guy.  I refused to move for a while, until I was able to get myself into the car and stay as still as possible on the reclined seat. Off we drove.

At home I rushed myself to bed and basically conked out for the rest of the afternoon. Occasionally I would get enough will and hunger to have some food and drink, but mostly I just slept. Neither of us had expected it would be such an ordeal, or that I would basically spend the next five days in and out of bed with nausea and a feeling like my insides were pumped full of concrete and squeezed. But we had done it. Now the wait to see if any of our guys would make it began.