The Eternal Guest Room

We got to see the babies today (babies!). Both are measuring right on track at 9 weeks and both have good heartbeats. We got to hear the heartbeats this time too – it was incredible. I had tears in my eyes.

After the sonogram, we went into an exam room to wait for the doctor. I couldn’t stop smiling, looking at those pictures. When she came in, she was all excited, and said “she saw the dividing membrane!”

Hooray!

I honestly wasn’t spending too much time worrying after asking around, but it’s such a huge relief to know it’s there!

I had to ask what our chances were at this point – the risk of miscarriage is less than 5% now, and the additional twin risks don’t kick in this early. So for now I can breathe and enjoy it and know that there’s a really good chance we’re going to have babies. Identical twins. Whoa.

My next appointment will be in 3 weeks with a high-risk OB. Tonight I have my first “pregnant after infertility” support group meeting.

It’s all so crazy.

I should have posted yesterday after my appointment but I was so tired I just sat on the couch all evening.

Walking into the waiting room was hard. I figured I’d be thrilled to be arriving in this condition instead of my usual one. With my husband instead of my own infertile self. I’ve only been there alone, facing couples and big bellies and usually at least one woman with at least one child already. And so often a teenage girl pushing a stroller as her mother takes care of the bill and a confused-looking kid that looks more like he should be on a playground than in an OB’s office.

When I looked around to see where to sit, a very pregnant lady caught my eye and smiled; I gave her a very wary smile back. As I sat in the waiting room, it all came rushing back. The isolation. The pain. The grief. That feeling of loss. Even though I’m technically “one of them” now, I still felt a million miles away. Alone. Defective. Broken. I had to fight back tears and tell myself to get a grip.

We didn’t get a sonogram. Which was a real bummer; I guess I just assumed we’d get one, but I’m learning that pregnancy for a normal person isn’t the same as one for an infertile. I’ve ventured from the ” TTC over 2 years” and “infertility and medical assistance” online forum boards over to the “other” side, and learning that people don’t get early sonograms and even necessarily blood tests. You just assume everything’s ok. We are scheduled for a sonogram on Tuesday, which she seemed to think was really soon, but feels like an eternity to me.

I had hoped that yesterday’s appointment would relieve some fears and make me feel better, but it really had the opposite effect for some reason. The doctor seemed really concerned about the lack of a dividing membrane and said you can usually see it by now if it’s going to be there. I didn’t want to argue with her, but the people I’ve been asking who have identical twins all said they didn’t see it this early. I’m still holding on to the hope that that’s the case, but really, the doctor made me worry more.

I should add that I really do love this doctor and have been seeing her for 8 or 9 years and absolutely know that she’s the doctor I want to continue to see. Everything else about the appointment went fine; she has a new nurse that I really liked (I hated the one she had last time I was there, so this is a great improvement), we went over history stuff, they took most of my blood, I got a flu shot (*$#%&* OW!), all my questions were answered, I got an exam, we talked about things. After an hour and a half she sent us on our way with a huge folder of information, a book, and an overwhelming amount of information.

People texted me all afternoon asking how it went and if everything’s ok. I hate that I don’t have an answer. Basically the worry continues. I have no idea what’s been going on in there for the past 9 days. So I guess now we just wait until Tuesday.

We had a bit of a mini-crisis this morning. Right at shot time, D came into the room and asked if we had more needles because we already went through the ones in the 2-week kit.

When I first got all the meds, I threw everything in the fridge because of the notice on the box that they needed to stay cold. A day or two later, I realized some of them are supposed to stay warm, so I took those out, along with the needles. We have a million needles, but they all seem to be for progresterone. I assumed that we had extra ones in the box. D assumed that some of the needles on the counter could be used for this shot. Cue panic.

I couldn’t believe they hadn’t given us extras for this one when every other one came with a billion extras. How was I supposed to take 3 weeks of shots with a 2 week kit? What was wrong with all these people?

I waited 15 minutes until the clinic opened, but they don’t always turn the answering service off right away and I was getting panicky. So D went to the internets and read that you can buy syringes over the counter. Our clinic is at least 20 minutes away, more at traffic time, and CVS is 5, so we went off to CVS. The girl at the pharmacy did not want to be there and looked at us suspiciously, and said that she could only give us syringes if we’d gotten a prescription filled there. So we headed over to Walgreens, another 8 minutes down the road (all of this was happening at rush hour).

Lupron is supposed to be taken at the same time every day, and we were given a 30-minute window on both sides. Our 30-minute window was up at this time and I was getting worried. We got to Walgreens, explained the situation to the friendly pharmacist, and she got the syringes.

As soon as she held up the bag to show us, it hit me: “Oh my god, that’s what’s in the refrigerator” I said. For some reason, those needles didn’t come out with the rest. Whenever I saw them I wondered why there were baby carrots in our fridge (they have orange caps and at a glance, in the context of being in the fridge, my brain made them baby carrots). Then I would realize they were syringes and completely forget about them. I have no idea why I never took them out. Just wasn’t thinking.

I was so embarrassed. I felt like such an idiot. Luckily the pharmacist was nice about the whole thing and D wasn’t annoyed with me at all (or if he was, he didn’t show it). For some reason, the panic took over and I just didn’t think the whole thing through.

So after a stressful, panicky 45 minutes, we got home, took the syringes out of the fridge, and did the shot. I feel really dumb about the whole ordeal.

At least now I know we have 10 more needles and I’ll be really careful about running out in the future.

I start stims tomorrow, stim for 4 days, and then go in on Tuesday morning to see how my follicles are growing. I’m anxious to get to the monitoring part. This part is boring. Now that we’re here let’s get this show on the road.

About 2 years ago, when I was seeing a therapist, she urged me to attend a support group. I was very hesitant and put it off for a few months. I’m not good with strangers. I don’t like meeting new people. I’m painfully shy. I don’t like groups. The idea of walking into a restaurant, meeting a bunch of new people, and having to talk to them was my idea of pure torture. But she kept urging me, and I finally decided I would go.

I remember the first meeting vividly. I was terrified of walking into that restaurant. And then when I met everyone and the meeting got started and I learned that we had to go around the table and tell our “stories,” I wanted to run out and never come back.

But getting up and leaving in front of everyone would have been even more terrifying. Plus, I had already ordered dinner.

So I stayed. And it was ok. I was extremely nervous talking in front of everyone, but I got through it. And I came back.

I’ve been going to the group for over a year and a half. After the first few months, the leader decided to step down. Another girl started to lead, and after a few months, she got pregnant and adopted a baby, and she left. Then someone else took over, and eventually got pregnant, and had to leave (the rule for the group is that you can stay through your first trimester because it’s such an uncertain time, and then you have to leave and graduate to the “success” group).

The group has grown from 5 active members to about 30. But this time, no one wanted to lead. Honestly, I thought about not going any more. It was so hard to continually watch people to come to the group, start to get to know them, and then have them get pregnant and move on without me. Especially when we weren’t pursuing any sort of treatment for such a long time. Toward the end, the only reason I went was to see the people who I had become friends with.

But I didn’t want the group to die. It’s been too much a part of my life and has made such a huge difference. And I’ve made friends, and I would miss them.

So I volunteered.

Anyone who knows me in “real life” knows that I am not a leader of any kind. Like I said above: I am painfully shy. Groups terrify me. Talking in front of a group is the thing in the world I hate and dread most.

Plus, I can barely get through a regular day as it is – my life is stressful and very, very busy. I can barely keep up with myself, and so I struggle – how can I keep up with 30 people?

So I was hesitant to lead the group, to say the least.

But here I am. I’ve been the official leader since the beginning of the month, and I’m starting to get the hang of keeping up with everyone and commenting on our group’s secret Facebook page on a regular basis. But tonight is the first time I host the actual support group – you know, get up in front of a bunch of people (some, strangers) and talk. Loudly enough for everyone to hear and long enough to say what needs to be said.

I figure this will either be a disaster, or maybe I’ll gain some sort of confidence in the end.

Either way, this is what I signed up for. Me – leading a group. Can you imagine? I still can’t.

Life is so unpredicatble.

I’m impatient.

It’s so hard to sit and watch so many people leave me behind. I want so badly to be moving forward, but instead I’m sitting in the same place, treading water, just waiting. The decision to postpone IVF was not an easy one, no matter the reasons, but it didn’t really drive me crazy until everyone else started theirs. And one by one, I watch them become pregnant. Not all, but enough to make me feel very alone. The closer it gets, the harder it becomes to wait patiently.

I’m thrilled for them. I truly am. But I wish I wasn’t still just waiting.

I’ve been attending my support group for nearly a year and a half. Next month, I’ll be on the fourth leader in that time. I’m wondering if I should have taken the group over myself, since that seeemed to work for everyone else. I’ve thought about not going anymore; people keep coming in and leaving with success, or at least undergoing treatments. It’s hard to be a bystander. I feel like I have nothing to offer.

I’m antsy. When we made our plan, we said “what’s a few more months after 4 years?” Now I feel like just one more month is going to put me over the edge.

People keep saying: “It’s so close! Just look how fast x y and z got here! October will be here before you know it!” And even though I know it, it’s hard to plod along every day. The days get longer the closer it gets. The rational voice in my head says “it’s so close – just keep your pants on, silly.”

But there’s the rational, and the other, and we all know who usually wins.

It’s all so unfair.

Most people have it so easy. They decide they want to have a baby, and BAM – they try a month or two, pee on a stick, get the ok from the doctor, announce it on facebook, and have a perfectly healthy 9 months with a perfectly healthy baby at the end of it. Then they usually complain about how uncomfortable it is to be pregnant and how hard it is to have a baby and what a tough thing it is to be a parent.

But it all happens so easily for them.

And then there are the rest of us. Nothing is easy. We try for years. Some of us never have success. I know women who have been trying for 5-10 years with nothing. I know women who have had 5 or 6 rounds of IVF fail.

And then there is – in my opinion - the worst thing; trying for a long time, finally having success, and then losing the baby.

Obviously, any miscarriage is terrible and painful and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, but I think there is a special kind of hell that those women feel who have tried for so long and wanted it so much, and then get it, and then lose it.

A girl in my support group had success from a frozen embryo transfer (FET) after a failed IVF. Then she developed preemclampsia, and the only way to cure it is to deliver the baby. So they induced her with no hope for the baby’s survival. She was 20 weeks along – far enough past the scary first trimester but not far enough to have a viable baby.

It isn’t fair. My heart breaks for her and her husband. I barely knew her, but I’ve been thinking about her constantly. She tried so long that she was out of hope, and then she got a miracle, and now it’s gone.

It’s hard to believe in anything at times like this.

Why is it all so unfair?

After my last post I realized I hadn’t been totally clear about what our plans are. So here is The Plan.

At the beginning of September, I’ll call my doctor to find out what is the best time frame for IVF. I’ll have to have another diagnostic hysteroscopy (not the surgical one) to make sure I don’t have any more polyps. If I do – god forbid – I’ll have to have surgery. Or jump off a building. Let’s hope that doesn’t happen.

Assuming everything looks good, we’ll start IVF in October or November. The whole process takes about 2 months, so the actual transfer (putting embryos back in) would be either in November or December.

Then.

If – god forbid – IVF does not work, we plan to move, presumably in the Spring (April-ish). I say “plan to” because I know how plans fall through and life happens. But right now it’s nice to have a back-up plan. Life has been on hold for far too long and we’re ready for a change – one way or another. Moving would be kind of a “consolation prize” and gives us something to look forward to just in case we need that. Kind of like when we went to Mexico for my 30th birthday since I wasn’t pregnant by then (wow, that was 2.5 years ago…depressing).

If – yay! – IVF does work for us, we still plan to move, but the “when” would depend on life. We would really have to sit down and weigh the pros and cons of moving with a kid on the way; thinking about costs, insurance, jobs, life, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.

We want both – moving and a baby – but right now we want a baby more than we want to move. So we may put moving on hold. Or we may not! But that’s a bridge to cross when we (hopefully) get to it.

So that’s the plan. And hopefully that answers everyone’s questions. Because I know you’re all just dying to know exactly what my life plans are.