Until Next Time…

I’ve been crafting this blog post for a couple weeks, going back and forth between “I just don’t want to write this post” to “Ok, I’ve got to write this post.” A part of me wanted to put off dredging up my emotions.  But considering I haven’t cried yet, there’s also a part of me that wanted to get this post published so I could find some closure…and maybe finally cry. I’ve somehow developed the ability to hold back tears until I have enough time for a long bath and a bottle of wine.  I have one of those things handy tonight (the wine), so with this post and my lowered inhibitions, maybe I’ll let it all out later.  So here goes….

While my body was being forced into an induced state of menopause to give my endometrium a break, Brennen and I took a trip to see New York City at Christmas.  Since we got married, this trip had been on our to-do list, but with infertility taking over 3 years of our marriage, we found it difficult to schedule.  This December was the perfect time! No doctor’s appointments. No medicine to transport.  Just Brennen, me, and my hot flashes. Plus, we needed the trip to help us find the Christmas spirit that was so much harder to come by this year.

And to top it off, just two days after we got home, Mississippi had a huge snow storm that our puppy Nelson absolutely adored!

Cavapoo in the snow

Fast forward to 2018 and my baseline appointment on January 3rd that showed my ovaries and endometrium in a Lupron coma.  Shots for Transfer #4 began January 5th! Before we knew it, 2 weeks had passed, and there I was in stirrups staring at my lining on a 44-inch TV screen. The first measurement came in at 7.8! WHAT?! Sure, it wasn’t quite the 8 we needed for transfer, but it was 2.8mm thicker than the last time we had a go at this. Even if we didn’t transfer, just knowing my lining was getting back to its old self was a win.

To our surprise, Nurse Memphis called that afternoon with a tentative transfer date.  My lining had the three layers it needed and would continue to thicken until transfer, so the following Friday I took my 170th shot – Progesterone in the rear.

Transfer #4 went so smoothly. My lining had thickened to 8.2, and we transferred a 5BA embryo. After the thaw that morning, the embryo had continued to developed, started hatching, and improved from a grade 4 to a grade 5.  This little embryo was on the move! When I told my friend the news she said, “So basically a Breanne embryo.” Ha!  I then proceeded to tell her about the other embryo that had been frozen with it and how it was pretty sluggish after the thaw.  It wasn’t dead, but didn’t really show signs of activity either.  So basically a Brennen embryo.

Luckily, that embryo survived and was refrozen.

We were optimistic. Dr. Memphis was too.  “Finally!” I thought, “This is our year.”

FET #4

Despite my positivity, as I was lying with my knees in the air for 30 minutes post transfer, I turned to Brennen and said, “I dread next Thursday.” It was our test date.

I couldn’t wait until Thursday though. Five days after the transfer, I peed on a stick.  I know, I know. It was too early.  I did it in secret and hid the test on a shelf in my closet.  There was a faint positive!  How I went to sleep that night without telling Brennen, I’ll never know. The next morning, I tried to sneak to the bathroom for another test with that concentrated morning urine you hear about, but I was busted.  Brennen rolled his eyes when he saw me emerge from the bathroom and said, “You’re testing aren’t you?”  I ended up taking about 3 tests that morning, all faint positives.  Brennen did a cute little fist pump. We were so excited to be seeing these results this early.

But just to be safe and to make sure we weren’t seeing things, Brennen came up with the bright idea to pee on a stick as a control.  Our own little bathroom science experiment. I never thought I would see my husband holding his own pregnancy test that he had just whizzed on.  Brennen’s test was negative (whew!), and when compared to the tests I had taken that morning, mine all had pink lines!

Sunday afternoon, faint positive.

Monday, faint positive.

Tuesday, faint positive.

Wednesday, faint positive.

Sound familiar?

It should have been getting darker, but if anything, it was lighter by Wednesday night.  “Not again,” we both thought.  Here we were at that space between – am I pregnant or am I not?

Thursday was my hCG test….5.  Transfer #4 didn’t work.

Then came the call from the clinic.  I stopped all medications that evening and waited on my WTF call with Dr. Memphis.

The next day, the clinic’s number popped up on my phone.  I took a deep breath and answered. Dr. Memphis began by going over our statistics with me – 10 eggs retrieved in Jackson, 10 fertilized, unsuccessful day 5 fresh embryo transfer, 9 embryos arrested, 41 eggs retrieved in Memphis, 26 fertilized, 1 miscarriage, 1 unsuccessful transfer, 1 biochiemical pregnancy. To quote Dr. Memphis, “This is not good.” No kidding, right?

We still haven’t found the problem as to why I can’t get pregnant (or stay pregnant, rather), so it’s hard to find a solution when you don’t know what you’re setting out to solve.  Can we make viable embryos? Can I carry a child? We still don’t know which one it is or if it’s both.

God, I hope it’s not both.

But while we still don’t know what the problem is, the next few steps that we’ve decided to take will bring us closer to answers.  By “answers” I don’t mean finding out what’s wrong and then fixing it.  I mean finding out if my body is even capable of this. Sure, I like having a plan and am ready to move forward, but at the same time I know that moving forward means I may be getting closer to hearing something I don’t want to hear, something that could change the trajectory of this infertility journey of ours. That’s a big pill to swallow.  And maybe that’s why I haven’t cried yet…I’ve been too overwhelmed to.

The closest I came to crying was the Sunday after we found out the transfer was unsuccessful.  As Brennen kissed me goodnight, I gave him permission to walk away from us if I couldn’t give him the family he wanted.  As a woman, I feel like my body is broken.  As a wife, I feel like I’ve failed my husband. He lovingly scolded me for even having those thoughts and assured me I was more than enough for him.  And as I rolled over to go to sleep (not that I slept well that night), I told him he may need to tell me that every single day.

So here we are now, trying to get back on an upswing after the most upsetting news of our lives thus far.  Without going into too much detail about what’s ahead, let’s just say we’re about to go even deeper into the world of assisted reproductive technology. So, with things getting as real as they are, we’ve decided to shut down the blog for the time being.  We have enjoyed this blog so much over the past year and a half.  It was our therapy as we coped with the trials of infertility. I loved being able to share our journey to raise awareness and to connect with so many wonderful women who share in this struggle. It was exactly what we needed when we needed it.  But now, three failed transfers later, we’re in a much different place. A place where we’re tired of writing about our failures and road blocks over and over again. A place where we have more to process than we ever have before.  A place where we still need people’s prayers but, if I could be so frank, not their opinions. A place where we’re realizing that we may soon have a lot of important, difficult decisions to make. For those reasons, we’re deciding to step out of the spotlight so to speak, and process what’s happening in a more private manner.

I’m still open to sharing parts of our story with anyone who needs to hear it, so if you’ve stumbled across this blog or have been following it for months and now find yourself in our shoes, please don’t hesitate to reach out to me.  And to our amazing, supportive friends and family, you can still ask us how we’re doing and check up on us.  We don’t want to shut down the conversation; we just don’t want to publish it.

And since writing has been the best coping mechanism for me, I’m still going to journal the old-fashioned way with pen and paper.  That way I can still document all that is yet to come. It’s cheaper than my current coping mechanism which has been retail therapy.  And who knows – maybe one day my son or daughter will get to read about the journey that led us to him or her.

Thank you for reading our story.  Thank you for the prayers. Thank you for the encouragement.  And now, thank you for letting us have this moment of closure.

Until next time,

Breanne

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When the Going Gets Tough

Today I took my first Lupron Depot injection.  A few months ago when we were trying to prevent me from ovulating, I took small doses of Lupron every day subcutaneously.  Today’s shot was the big sister – a 30-day supply of Lupron in one hip shot.  The idea behind this new protocol is to cut off my body’s estrogen supply since estrogen feeds the endometrium.  We’re hoping that by giving the endometrium both inside and outside (that’s the endometriosis) of my uterus a break, then it will respond much better when we gear up for another transfer in 2018.  Lupron’s job is to tell my pituitary gland to stop releasing luetinizing hormone (LH), which triggers ovulation and the release of estrogen.  So what does no estrogen mean? You guessed it! An induced menopausal state for the next 2 months. Thank God a cold front is moving through.

IMG-3516

I have to admit that at first I was hesitant to start the Lupron protocol right away.  After our last failed transfer then the biopsy, I wanted a break from everything.  Our doctor gave me the option of taking as much time off as I needed, but we decided to move forward with this new protocol beginning in November since it only meant 2 shots for the rest of the year.  Still, a part of me was worried that I had let my impatience get in my way and had committed to this plan prematurely.  Sure it didn’t mean I had to take daily injections or pills, but I was still doing something infertility related.  “Does this really constitute a break?” I thought.

Then this weekend I realized…there is no such thing as a break.  Infertility, it’s just what we do! Seriously though, why did I even think that after 3 years of trying to get pregnant, I could just put that desire to be a mom on the back burner for 2 months?   Physically, yeah, we’re taking a break, but emotionally…I’m not sure we’ll ever get one.  In fact, despite the odds being stacked against us for so long, I still had a little bit of hope this past month that maybe we would be one of those stories people told about their friends who tried for years to get pregnant and did “IVF and everything” and then it just happened unexpectedly.   But Aunt Flo’s arrival this weekend shot that to hell. So no, there is no break, because every month is a reminder of what we are…childless.  And honestly, the closest I can get to a “break” right now is to shut down my ovaries for two months.  So with all that weighing heavily on my mind, I had a meltdown Monday night.

I was tired from traveling 5 hours for work that day.  Other than that, the evening was off to a good start.  Brennen harvested his first broccoli plant, so we were having fun documenting his suburban gardening milestone.  Then, we came inside to watch DWTS (Brennen, don’t kill me).  I was reaching across the coffee table to get my computer when the weight of my right arm knocked one of the loose boards out of place and I fell through the middle of it.  It’s ok to laugh! I did too, at first.  Then I realized my arm hurt pretty bad and that Brennen was still laughing.  I was embarrassed. I can’t remember the last time I felt like that in front of him.  With tears in my eyes like a 5 year old I said, “Stop laughing at me.”  And like always, once I started crying, it was hard to stop.  Forget the embarrassing fall. I wasn’t crying about that anymore. My tears turned into those of anger. I’m tired of constantly failing.  What gives? Why us? How much longer? And with every question, I cried harder.

Afterwards, I sat on the couch and stared at the TV with that all-too-familiar heaviness.  Today, I’m better. Still down, but better. Sadness hits me suddenly like that. And like I’ve said so many times before, when it does, I recognize it but then say goodbye to it.  Unfortunately, lately it’s getting harder to say goodbye. But I’m trying…little by little.  Things are tough right now on the infertile front, especially with the holidays approaching, but we’ll make it through. If being upset at Aunt Flo’s arrival means anything, it’s that we still have hope. And today marks the first day of a new plan and a new hope.

Hey, you know what they say! When the going gets tough, the tough get menopausal!

Hanging on a “However”

Last week I had an endometrial biopsy and, y’all, that hurt. I didn’t read up on them beforehand.  I knew I wasn’t being put under or given any pain medicine for the procedure so I didn’t expect it to be much of anything.  Then, surprise!

Based on my recent experience, an endometrial biopsy involves inserting a skinny stick-like instrument through the cervix into the uterus and jabbing around a few times to collect pieces of the endometrium (aka lining). Man, when the uterus realizes some foreign object is just hacking away in there, she retaliates. I had sharp pains that made me almost jump off the table.  I kept looking at Brennen and asking with my eyes, “Is it over yet?”  He shook his head no, and the doctor asked me if I was up for it one more time.  Then again.  Finally, it was over…or so I thought.

IMG-3428I sat up, and we began talking about what this test would tell us and then how we would proceed from there.  I didn’t catch much of Doc’s plan because, after a couple minutes, the only thing I could hear was a voice in my head saying, “Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up.” I got light headed, hot, sweaty, and finally interrupted the conversation with, “I need a trash can.”  The next thirty minutes were a bit blurry, but I know they consisted of vomiting, extreme cramping that radiated through my legs and back, and trips back and forth from my room to the bathroom, barefoot with my pants unzipped.  I hurt so bad that I didn’t even care.

Brennen went to the car to get some leggings for me to change into.  The skinny jeans I wore to the clinic that morning were not going to work for the trip home!  After he helped me change, I laid there on the bed squeezing his hand. Every 5 seconds he would ask, “Are you ok?” and then follow up with, “I’m going to ask you every 5 seconds.” He wasn’t kidding.  (Note from Brennen: I thought she was going to pass out.)

Finally, my uterus calmed down, and we could leave.  Doc gave me something for nausea since we had a 3-hour drive home, and I spent the rest of the evening lounging in bed and binge watching Gossip Girl (again).

One week and one season of Gossip Girl later, the results were in! My doctor called me at 8:30 am Wednesday morning, and of course, I missed it. In fact, I didn’t even notice the missed call until an hour or so later. I was so mad! Then, I saw where he had left a 3-minute voicemail.  My hands were shaking as I hit play. I listened and jotted down notes.  I was excited and relieved to hear that the Beta 3 integrin was present in my endometrium which means my lining is receptive to an embryo. This is a big win for us! He then went on to say my lining was “out of phase” and tested positive for BCL6.  I figured that wasn’t good. The 3-minute mark quickly approached, and the last thing I heard was, “You’re lining is receptive to an embryo, however…” And it cut off.  That was it. I was left hanging on a “however.”

I immediately called the clinic back and left a voicemail.  That “however” stayed with me all day long.  What does this mean for us? Is there a treatment? What’s next? Is this the end? Should I make sure my sister is still on board to be a surrogate? Has it come to that?  My production at work was spotty to say the least.  I couldn’t get “out of phase” and “BCL6” off my mind.  I did a little Googling but stopped myself.  With what little information I had, Googling was only going to make things worse.  Finally, Nurse Memphis called me back that afternoon with a protocol.  Sweet relief! And today, I talked to my doctor.  It’s difficult for me to put into words what the results mean, what we know now, and what we’ll do next because my brain is still processing all the information…and it’s a lot.

So in a very large nutshell…

The good news – My lining seems to be receptive to an embryo.

The not so good news – My lining was “out of phase” meaning it wasn’t where it should be in my cycle.  My biopsy was on day 21, but my lining was already beginning to break down for a period. Day 21 is right around the time an embryo is implanting, while my lining is breaking down, that’s not a good at all.

More not so good news that we sort of already knew – I tested positive for BCL6, which is a marker for endometriosis. Duh, I have endometriosis. But this test showed us that my endometrium is inflamed, and the likely culprit is, of course, the endo.

The plan to tame my uncooperative endometrium is to suppress my system with Lupron instead of birth control.  Birth control is estrogen, and estrogen feeds the endometriosis. Lupron, on the other hand, cuts off the body’s estrogen supply and puts me in an induced menopausal state. Now I’ve been on Lupron before, but it was a small dose in a subcutaneous injection. This Lupron shot will be a 30-day dose administered intramuscularly.  The first shot will be in November. The second in December. And as planned, we’ll start preparing for a frozen embryo transfer in January. This works out because it gives us the rest of the year to chill. Well, I hope I can chill considering the hot flashes that are coming my way!

So…there’s that. We have some answers thanks to this biopsy and can find some ironic comfort in knowing what we know now, even if it’s not all good news.  At least we have a plan though. Silver linings, right?  Still, I can’t help but think that we have an answer to a question that wasn’t really a question until recently.  That question – why won’t my lining thicken? Then again, maybe endometriosis has been our problem all along, and it’s starting to show its teeth even more so now with these lining problems.  Who knows! I try to stay positive and feel like we’re moving forward (more on that later), but overall, my mind just feels like…I don’t know…a bunch of scribbly lines.  I’m still processing and trying to straighten things out.  I just hope that this new protocol works because, even though I now know what the rest of that voicemail was going to say, I still feel like I’m hanging on that “however.”  That’s what this process has been for us all along.

Your cycles are normal.
You are young.
You are healthy.
Your husband doesn’t have male infertility factors.
Your hormone levels look good.
Your tubes aren’t blocked.
Your prolactin is under control now.
You respond well to ovarian stimulation.
You had an excellent retrieval.
You have multiple embryos frozen.
You did have implantation of an embryo.
You are capable of a thick lining.

However….you still aren’t a mom.

Hopefully, we can let go of that “however” in 2018.

endometriosis

Blank Space

It was 8 days after the transfer, and I still hadn’t tested. I was pretty proud of myself. I hadn’t even been tempted by the three pregnancy tests my mom left sitting on the dresser before she left my house. During the waiting period, I had been busy with sorority recruitment (I’m an advisor for a local chapter) and catching up at work. Surprisingly, I had been able to keep my mind pretty well occupied with things other than the test. Plus, I didn’t mind putting it off. As much excitement and hope as I had about seeing a positive, the fear of seeing a negative was far greater. So honestly, I didn’t feel the need to rush it. I was focused. I was determined. I was not going to test early.

Then came the rainy drive home Wednesday evening. Suddenly, the unknown bothered me more than that fear of a negative. It was Day 9, and I couldn’t hold out anymore. I needed to test. I called Brennen who said, “And you promise you haven’t already tested?” He was hoping I had secretly tested and already knew like last time. He hates waiting on pink lines. I walked through the front door and headed straight to the bathroom. I did my thing then put the test on the counter, walked out, and closed the door behind me. Brennen started the timer…5 minutes to go.

Over the past few days leading up to the test, people often asked me how I felt. Boy was that a loaded question! Physically, I was cramping off and on and tiring easily. My hips were starting to get pretty sore from the daily IM injections. Mentally, I could feel myself becoming drained as I purposefully kept my mind busy with life outside of IVF. Emotionally, I was positive about this transfer. I told myself from the beginning, “Positive Vibes Only,” and I had stuck with it. And if I had to guess whether or not I was pregnant…let’s just say I was more optimistic than I had ever been. But on that ride home Wednesday something changed….and I knew I wasn’t.

Brennen’s timer went off, and we both took deep breaths as we opened the bathroom door. There it was on the bathroom counter – a pregnancy test with one dark pink line. Beside that line…nothing, a blank space. It’s funny how in that moment, something so small can fill an entire room. It was all I could see – that blank space. Negative.

Brennen braced himself on the bathroom counter and hung his head. I didn’t know what to say to him, but I thought to myself, “Is this ever going to work?” The next few seconds were a blur until Brennen raised up and hugged me. I could feel his heart pounding against my chest. His face was warm, and I could tell he was on the verge of tears. After that, there’s just more blurriness as we processed another negative.

I called my mom. She said a bad word. Brennen texted his parents. Then, we sat in the living room and got mad. I mean, it’s really not fair. It’s just not. And it sucks so bad. There are too many pieces of shit in the world with children. People who don’t want children have them. Why can’t we? Why is this so hard for us? What did we do wrong? It’s not fair. Period. And I know bad things happen to good people all the time. I know we still have so much to be thankful for. I know our situation could be so much worse than what it is. I know children aren’t rewards. But knowing all that doesn’t matter in those first moments after staring at what seems like the 100th negative pregnancy test in 3 years. Because in those moments, all you can think about is how this may never happen. You may never be parents. You may never have a child. That becomes your reality. And that’s what makes you so mad you could scream.

Deep breaths…

We have since chilled out a little. Still, we’re more mad than we are sad. In fact, I’ve yet to cry. In this journey, if I cried about every bad thing that happened, well, I’d be crying a lot. Instead, I’ve given myself somewhat of an emotional threshold. Things build up, and at some point, I break. Until I do, I push forward. And that’s what we’re doing now – pushing forward. Our perseverance has surprised us!

So now we’re waiting on what I like to call our WTF appointment with Memphis to see if we can find an answer for why this transfer didn’t work or, if like I suspect, it’s unexplainable and simply just didn’t work. From there, we’ll put together a plan for moving forward to transfer #4. As I type that, I can’t believe we’re at #4. I mean, at some point the odds have to be in our favor, right?

Finally, for those of you who have been following this journey from the beginning or since we started blogging a year ago, you may be running out of things to say to us in difficult times. That’s ok! We don’t expect you to find the right sentiments and words of encouragement, and it’s ok to admit you don’t know what to say. But I will ask that you please refrain from any phrase that has the word “time” in it. I can’t really explain why, but something like “Give it time” or “It’s in God’s timing” sounds like nails on a chalkboard to me right now.  A simple “This sucks” will do. Even a “Hang in there” or a “We’ll keep praying” is good. You can even throw an angry face emoji our way and we’ll totally get it! Or you don’t have to say anything. Just keep praying. Pray that in this struggle, we find strength, peace, and understanding.

And because I can’t find a way to close out this post, I’ll leave it here with a “This sucks!”

Welcome Home Embryo #3

After several attempts at Transfer #3, we finally welcomed this little embryo into its new home!

Embryo Number 3.JPG

But first, let’s rewind to last week. In my last post – the one where I called my uterus a choice word – I vented about the disappointing 7mm lining I had after three weeks of Estrace. So, the folks in Memphis decided that I should come to the clinic for an ultrasound so they could get a good look at the lining. Even if it wasn’t thick enough (ideally, you want an 8 or higher), it may still have a those “pretty” triple layers they’re looking for.

I anxiously arrived at the clinic at 7:30 and settled myself into the now-all-too-familiar ultrasound exam table. And there it was! A beautiful, healthy triple layer lining! But then wouldn’t you know it – the dang thing didn’t thicken a bit. Not one bit! Still a 7.

I got dressed and headed back to the waiting room.  My mom had made the trip with me since Brennen was in Boston for work.  When I walked through the door, she immediately perked up and stared at me, waiting for any clue as to how the ultrasound went.  It may sound mean, but I found a bit of playful satisfaction in making her wait until we were in the hallway before I gave any indication of how it went.  “Didn’t grow at all,” I said. Then she added a much needed four letter word to the situation!

We hung around Memphis for a bit just in case we needed to go back to the clinic.  I had accepted that the transfer would be A) postponed once again or B) canceled altogether.  In fact, I had resolved that I wouldn’t stand for another postponement.  I was tired of being strung along, and I wanted a break.  I settled into the mindset of receiving bad news later that afternoon and tried to take my mind off the disappointment with some retail therapy. Memphis is good for that.

Then, at 1:30, as we’re finally heading home, my phone rings. It’s Nurse Memphis.  I braced myself for bad news, especially when she started talking about my trim lining.  Then the words,”But since it has that beautiful triple layer and looks healthy, we’d like to proceed with your transfer on August 22nd.” My mouth dropped and all I could say was “Awesome.” I passed the phone to my mom in the passenger seat and she scribbled down all the directions for medications – progesterone, Lupron, estrace, prednisone, doxycycline, and pre-natals. Shocked! That’s the best way to describe my mood at that point. Oh, and freaking relieved!

I called Brennen just before his plane took off.  Shocked and relieved pretty much sums up his reaction too.  I had never been so excited about starting IM hip injections in my whole life! Bring on the progesterone, baby!

Fast forward to yesterday, the day we left for Memphis.  We, along with several neighbors, woke up to find that our cars had been broken into.  What the heck, right? Luckily, I’m the idiot who left my car unlocked, so there were no broken windows. They passed over a camera flash in my console, tennis rackets in the trunk, and some Ray Ban sunglasses; the only thing missing was a checkbook.  We opened the bank up at 9am to close our account and all that jazz.

Then, after work, we met at home to load the car and hit the road.  We walk into an 82-degree house. Yep, the AC went out!  Stress level max! Luckily, we were able to get a tech to come out after hours to repair it, and my father-in-law was gracious enough to sit in our sauna of a house waiting on the technician so we could get on the road.

FINALLY we make it to Memphis, and the hotel upgrades us to a suite – a much needed stroke of good luck!  We binged on a little more Friday Night Lights and tried to get some sleep, anxiously awaiting the transfer the next morning.

We arrived at the clinic at 9am for my progesterone test – the results came back just where they needed to be. A win! As we were waiting to be called back for the transfer, I checked my phone. It was blowing up with well-wishes and words of encouragement, and I had to keep myself from breaking down right there in the surgery center.  I can never ever thank you all enough for those thoughts and prayers.  They are always felt, but they were especially felt today.

Then, it was “T” time!  I had been chugging water all morning because they want you to have a full bladder for the transfer.  Apparently, when the bladder is full, it’s easier to guide the catheter through the uterus, and sonongrams read through fluid.  We learn something new about this every day!  So there I am with a bursting bladder just moments before they retrieve us from the pre-op room, and what does Brennen do? He pees…with the door open…in the bathroom right behind my chair. (His mother will be horrified!)

IVF Husband

Just as I was wrapping up my “You asshole” eyeroll, Doctor Memphis came in with the picture we had been dying to see – our little embryo.  Much to our surprise, it had improved after the thaw from a 4AB to a 4AA.  We were over the moon!  He/she is a beauty!  The doctor left, and before the nurse could come back to retrieve us, I looked at Brennen and said, “I want this so bad, but I’m scared to want it this much.” “I know babe.”

The transfer went as smoothly as it could have gone, despite the full bladder.  I did cramp a little more than in the past when the catheter went in, but luckily I had Brennen’s hand to squeeze until it was numb! He says his injury is keeping him from doing this post-transfer blog.

After thirty minutes, I peed! Yippee! And we were on our way.  The rest of the afternoon was spent sleeping off my valium. Now, here I am, restless and waiting on Brennen to come back to the hotel with take-out! This prednisone keeps me hungry!

Over the next few days, I’ll be on modified bedrest.  We’ll head back home tomorrow, where my mother-in-law will have me some buttermilk chicken waiting.  Then, my mom is coming up to stay with me Thursday while Brennen goes back to work, and I can’t wait for some gluten-free chicken spaghetti from her!  With this embryo in tow, I am no doubt being spoiled!

After bedrest, I’ll return to work and my usual routine but continuing to take it easy.  My doctor told me no exercise or running.  He obviously doesn’t know me that well because I don’t do either of those things.  The 10-day wait will no doubt seem like a lifetime.  I keep telling myself I’m not going to test early. I told myself that last time too. And the time before.  I tested both times.

Please continue to keep us in your prayers over those 10 days.  Pray for peace, patience, and that this little embryo sticks like glue!

Embryo #3

Third Time’s a Charm

Third time’s a charm, right? Well if there is any truth to that, we’re going into this transfer with a double dose of luck – our 3rd try at a 3rd transfer.

On July 6th, exactly one year from the day we found out our first transfer from Round 1 was unsuccessful, we got the call from Memphis with a tentative transfer date – August 14th, the day after our 6th wedding anniversary.  We celebrated our new schedule with a wine tasting at the local farmers’ market that night.  After sulking for the past few weeks, we felt the beginnings of an upswing.  No matter how many times we get knocked down and how far we fall, the hope that a transfer brings somehow erases that pain. At first, I thought it was the Pinot. But no, it was hope.

The protocol for this transfer is a little different thanks to my superpower ovaries.  Our second attempt at Transfer #3 was canceled last month when my ovaries defied the odds, and I ovulated despite my estrogen overload. To make sure that doesn’t happen again, my doctor put me on Lupron, a subcutaneous injection that shuts down my body’s release of FSH (follicle stimulating hormone) and LH (luteinizing hormone). Basically, like my late-night Google search revealed, Lupron puts you in an “induced state of menopause.” Lights out, ovaries!

I’m currently on day 13 of Lupron injections. At first, I couldn’t tell if I was getting menopausal hot flashes or was just plain hot from living in Mississippi in July. Well, that mystery was put to rest a couple nights ago when I woke up with heat radiating from the inside out.  My body felt like an oven! I reached over and poked Brennen, “It’s hot. I’m hot. Are you hot?” “Ugh, no,” he grumpily responded as he pulled the covers tightly under his chin. Hot flash confirmed!

Lupron has also given me a nagging headache for the past week. Other than that, I’m good! The irritability side effect hasn’t been that bad.  Brennen may say otherwise, even thought he’s only had to hide from me once.  I will say, he had it comin’ though.  After two martinis, he gave me my Lupron shot, and with his inhibitions lowered proclaimed, “You know, Breezer, you’ve taken like 115 shots, but I’ve GIVEN 115 shots. That’s crazy!” I’m just going to leave that right there and move on…

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My baseline appointment was this past Wednesday, and since everything looked good, I was able to decrease my Lupron dosage and start taking Estrace.  Hopefully that will take the edge off! And I’m sure it will help if Brennen doesn’t make any more stupid comments.  After two weeks of Estrace, I’ll go for another ultrasound on August 9th.  That’s the big one where they’ll check my lining! So far, we’re still on track for an August 14th transfer, and here’s to hoping it stays that way!

Sad and a Little Pissy

In my last post, I described the June 14th lining check as “something we had to get through.” I had no idea what a loaded statement that was…

During the ultrasound, the tech said my lining was measuring a little over 6 mm. I immediately turned to Brennen, my human Wikipedia on female reproduction. He gave me a “That’s ok” nod as the tech proceeded to measure my follicles. They needed to be small, and they were. A win! As I got dressed, Brennen was busy on his phone, looking up what my lining should be. I had never had a lining quite that thin. I usually measured around 9, so a thin lining wasn’t a potential problem on our radar that warranted any pre-requisite research. Before we walked out of the room, he said, “I think we’re OK. It’s still growing, and you haven’t even started progesterone.” So with that reassurance and my trend of problem-free uterine linings, I assumed we would get good news that afternoon. I sent a few thumbs-up selfie Snapchats to my friends and family and headed back to work.

Then around 4:00, I answered the phone, with pen and paper in hand for my transfer directions, and heard Nurse Memphis say, “So that lining isn’t really where we need it to be.” ARGH! “I had a feeling,” I admitted, although I had tried my best to ignore it all day. Doctor’s orders were to stay on the Estrace for one more week to see if the lining thickened and to come to Memphis for a lining check. The nurse told me, “Even if it’s still a little thin, it may be pretty enough to proceed.” So that was the plan – keep popping the estradiol pills in hope that I develop a fluffy, pretty lining. Transfer postponed.

For a week, I did just as Dr. Memphis directed. I also took some advice from my acupuncturist and started drinking Raspberry Leaf tea and eating iron-rich foods that would either thicken my lining or clog my arteries. Then Tuesday night, we made the trip to Memphis.

We were only at the clinic for about 20 minutes – just long enough for me to get my blood drawn for estradiol and progesterone checks and for a date with “Wanda.” I don’t think I have ever been so nervous about an ultrasound. We’re getting pretty good at knowing what the uterus looks like on the screen, so when it popped up, we both perked up and said, “There it is!” It was beautiful, according to the ultrasound tech. Three pretty layers and measuring at 8.75 mm – right where it needed to be. We drove back home on a high note.

Later that afternoon, my phone lit up with a call from Memphis. “You’re lining looked really good,” the nurse said. “Duh!” I proudly thought. Then came the but. My progesterone was high which indicated that I had ovulated. Transfer cancelled.

We all know someone who got pregnant while on birth control, right? Birth control loads your body up with estrogen early in your cycle, which is supposed to shut your ovaries down and keep you from ovulating. But even with all that estrogen in your system, in rare cases, an egg will spring forward from a follicle and send you into ovulation. Thus the story of a “birth control baby.” Estrace has the same task before a transfer. It’s estrogen, and it shuts my ovaries down. But there are those rare cases, and this month, I was one of them. I mean, seriously?! My ovaries have super powers that defy the odds and release an egg amidst an ass-ton of estrogen. But unfortunately the buck stops there. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be in this infertile situation in the first place.

So anyway, it’s back to the starting line for us. I’ll start my cycle in a week or two then proceed with birth control…again. Then comes the Estrace…again. This time around, Doc is putting me on Lupron injections that will (hopefully) keep me from ovulating.  But first, we wait.

Before I get into what this means for us emotionally, let me say that this is not an invitation to a pity party.  I promised myself that I would never write a blog post about what not to say to an infertile couple because 1) there are a gazillion articles about this subject out there already and 2) we’re never going to open up the conversation about infertility if we keep shutting it down with rules. But I will say this – sometimes the best thing someone can say is, “This sucks.” Just a recognition of how shitty the situation is goes a long way! My best friend is my best friend because when I share bad news, she sends me memes of cats saying curse words! And encourage us with reminders of how strong we are. Yes, that may sound a little self-absorbed, but if people are going to feel sorry for us, let encouragement grow from that pity, not sad puppy dog eyes and an empty sentiment about how everything happens for a reason.

Sorry if I sound pissy. But heck, I am pissy. I’m tired. I’m frustrated. I’m beaten down. We both are. Yesterday was the closest I’ve felt to giving up. I know we won’t give up, but that hope we had after a successful retrieval and a positive test (even though it resulted in a miscarriage) fades a little more with each cancelled transfer. We’ll get better, though. We’ll cope and push through. We just have to let this sadness run its course. One of the most inspirational quotes I’ve found during my IVF Pinterest-ing didn’t tell me about trusting God’s timing, having hope, finding strength, or believing in miracles. It simply told me it’s ok to be sad.Own the Sadness

So that’s what I’m going to do right now…be sad and own the hell out of it.

(And yeah, I’ll probably be a little pissy too.)

So We Decided to Start a Blog

Welcome! Let me begin by saying that my ovaries are not “fried” in any sense of the word. As we explain on our “Welcome” page, we’re just trying to find the lighter side of the infertility struggle.

We began addressing our infertility in the Fall of 2015 after a year of unsuccessfully trying to conceive. For that year, we didn’t let anyone know we were trying to get pregnant. We played it cool. We first started seeing a Reproductive Endocrinologist (aka Ferility Doctor) in November and began to open up to our close friends and family little by little. What we found is that when we started sharing, we stopped getting those annoying questions like, “So it’s about time for a baby, huh?” and “Do y’all have baby fever yet?” or the much less subtle “When are you going to have a baby?”

After three failed IUI’s and over a year of trying to conceive, we scheduled our first round of IVF in April during National Infertility Awareness Week. If the timing wouldn’t have worked out like it did, I’m not sure I would have had the courage to make my first IVF-related Facebook post. But after watching a video that I ended up also sharing on Facebook about what it’s like to struggle with infertility, I felt empowered.

We weren’t quite sure what the response would be. If anything, we thought, “Hey, this will at least get the word out to more people to stop asking us when we’re going to have a baby!” But we were overjoyed with the amount of support that rolled in through phone calls, texts, and Facebook messages. To our surprise, we also heard from other couples who were also struggling or had struggled with infertility. Some had been through multiple rounds of IVF. Some had successfully conceived with IUI. Some were just starting the journey and had as many questions as we did. Every story was different. With that first Facebook post, we began building a network of support that would mean more than we could have ever imagined in the coming months.

During our first round of IVF, we bought a selfie stick and shared some of our favorite and most significant moments on Facebook and Instagram. It became our way of coping, and we like to think we helped others cope with their own struggle along the way. After finding out our first round was unsuccessful and knowing we still had a long road ahead of us, we started throwing around the idea of starting a blog. Brennen started throwing out names, and before we knew it “Southern Fried Ovaries” stuck!

Now, here we are. Our decision to blog was not an easy one. We know it means hashing out details about our personal life and our medical history, but we also know it means opening up the conversation about infertility, raising awareness, and helping other couples going through the same thing. We hope you enjoy our story!