12/28/2016 0 Comments Emotional SurvivalLast week I finally started my period (ironically enough, the day after my last blog post.) I’m so thankful it didn’t take as long as I predicted. So today we had our first appointment to start our IVF. I had a SIS (I really can’t keep up with what all of the acronyms are at this point). Basically they flushed water into my uterus with a catheter to see if I had any polyps or weird stuff going on in my uterus. Everything was clear. That was good news. They also did a mock embryo transfer. For this, I had to have another speculum/catheter stuck into my uterus. Nothing says good morning like two rounds of speculum first thing in the morning. Also, nothing wakes you up quite like being pinched on the insides by the speculum. Pretty sure how I discovered how to make a human levitate today… For the mock embryo transfer they require that your bladder be full. This allows the bladder to push your uterus down so that the catheter can go in straight – otherwise it would have to go in at a 90 degree angle. They do a mock transfer to map out any weird curves or anything that may make it difficult for the real deal. Apparently, someone was supposed to tell me to drink 40 ounces of water. They did not. So, I drank an 8 ounce up of decaf, a pint and a half of water, and an entire water bottle on the way to the appointment. By the time I got there I still didn’t feel like my bladder was full so I had two cups of water waiting to be called back. Turns out my bladder was 2/3rds too full! Oops. I didn’t realize how long it takes your brain to catch up to your bladder. Better too full than not full enough I guess. After these tests, we both had to have blood taken to check for infectious diseases. It’s actually a law that this has to be completed. Of course, my veins were useless as normal. My only good vein kept rolling so she kept having to dig around for it. Then when she finally got it, my vein was barely leaking blood. Then I heard her say, “Well your vein is going to blow, but it should be healed by your next blood draw.” Well…that’s comforting I guess.
I started ovulation predictor kits (OPKs) yesterday. When I get a positive, I’ll call and they will order my medications. When I start my period next month, I’ll go in for baseline scans and blood work on cycle day one and then I’ll start stims on cycle day 2. We qualified for compassionate care so that is going to save us a TON of money. Our medications will cost about $1,800. However, they’ll likely have to order more as they monitor me. That medication (Gonal-F) is $477 a day before our discount. Our discount will save us about $115 a day. I still have a trigger shot ($115) that we haven’t used yet. I was seriously expecting the medication to cost about $5,000 a month so $1,800 actually didn’t sound so bad. The protocol they are using is called the Lupron Flare protocol. I’ll be on the highest dose of Lupron, which I hear is pretty much the worst. This is one of the most aggressive IVF protocols. They aren’t expecting me to get many eggs. It also is possible we will get no eggs. Since we are buying a package of two fresh and unlimited frozen cycles, if we don’t make it to egg retrieval it doesn’t count as one of our fresh cycles. But, we can only afford to buy so many months of medications. If all goes well, we will have our egg retrieval at the end of January – a week after my birthday. I’m nervous about this because my birthday has pretty much been a curse for my entire life. I literally can’t remember the last birthday I genuinely looked forward to. I woke up on my 15th birthday with Bell’s palsy so it’s pretty much been downhill since then. I can’t help but be a little superstitious. We are freezing all the embryos (assuming we have some) because our clinic has higher rates of success with frozen transfers. So, the transfer won’t actually happen until February sometime. I feel like I should be more excited and optimistic. But I just can’t seem to get my hopes up. For every success story with IVF I know of 10 failures. Although I have my age on my side…that seems to be about it. I can’t even begin to imagine my disappointment if this doesn’t work. Obviously some part of me has to be hopeful. Otherwise I wouldn’t be about to spend $25,000 for this. I know if it works it will be well worth it. But, if it doesn’t work…I can’t imagine how not worth it all this will be. I’ve never been more afraid in my life. But we are out of options. Spending time with our families this Christmas I couldn’t help but analyze everyone’s features. I never noticed how many of Matt’s family members have blue eyes. I couldn’t help but imagine what our baby could look like. It hurts so much to think I may never get to know. Would our child have a quick wit? Would our child have a cleft chin? Would our baby have my nose or Matt’s nose? I might never know. It is the most frustrating, unfair feeling to know your body doesn’t do what it is literally designed to do. I’m trying so hard not to be bitter, judgmental, and hateful. But it is SO hard. Sometimes it just sneaks up on you when don’t even notice. Infertility is so consuming. Sometimes I literally wake up in the middle of the night thinking about it. I dream about it when I am able to sleep. Sometimes I don’t even know how to not think about it –even when I’m actively trying. But, I saw a quote from Carrie Fisher that inspired me to try to be a better person. While I know she was talking about her mental illness, I think it applies to anyone with a challenging disease. “We have been given a challenging illness, and there is no other option than to meet those challenges. Think of it as an opportunity to be heroic – not ‘I survived living in Mosul during an attack’ heroic, but an emotional survival. An opportunity to be a good example to others who might share our disorder.” I love the term “emotional survival.” It definitely could not be more fitting for what infertility is. May the force (and sticky baby dust) be with us all.
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Heather Joyce
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