It occurred to me a few days ago that it was around this time last year that I was ending the last phase of fertility treatments EVER. I remember it was around Valentine's Day in 2007 that we had our retrieval and transfer which would make the crushing news of our failure happen around this day a year ago. Happy freaking anniversary to me!
Our first IVF was one filled with optimism. This had to be it. We had been given a 65% potential success rate because I already had one pregnancy, conceived with just the help of 50 mg of Clomid. We were optimistic about the cycle. When we went for the transfer, we found out that the embryos were fragmented. I had never heard of this. Truthfully, I still really don't understand what the heck it means, but at the time of the transfer, with no knowledge of fragmentation, we still maintained a sense of optimism. We learned, of course, 12 days later, that those little embryos were not the little embryos that could. The devastation was intense. We had been given a higher success rate than most people get with IVF. The doctor seemed confident, too, that we would help his success rates. We did all the shots, paid all the money, and invested more emotionally than we ever could financially.
We knew we wanted to do it again...but we needed time. Frankly, although I realize that the doctor could not have predicted this outcome (I was, after all, only 34 and had achieved one pregnancy already, so my eggs appeared to be good enough), I was pissed at him. So pissed at him and the IVF nurse that I couldn't face them. I knew I would cry, more out of rage than sadness, and I just didn't want to deal with that in front of them. So we waited about a month before we went in to "follow-up." Embryo fragmentation is not something that doctors believe you can "fix." The doctor suggested only a slightly different protocol, but hinted that the next cycle would be more of a "diagnostic cycle." (This concept was confirmed after our subsequent failure and spending of $15,000 more.) Essentially, the odds didn't look good unless the first cycle was a fluke. In our desperation, we agreed to do it all again.
Our second cycle was four months later and with the new doctor to the practice. This time, we had more eggs to retrieve and this gave us a bit of hope. The day before the transfer, the doctor called us. We weren't home so she merely left a message saying that she was confirming our transfer for the next day. We thought it strange, but because she was a new doctor to the practice, we blew it off as such. When we arrived at the hospital the next day for the transfer, she sat down with us to discuss the embryos which were just as fragmented as the last time. I remember distinctly listening to the song "Chasing Cars" on my new iPod as she came in. Hearing that the fragmentation was there again, at that moment, all hope was lost. It took everything in me to not cry while she was in the room. I cried silently to myself all through the transfer even as she and the staff tried hard to be positive and supportive. Remodel Man and I knew that we were merely going through the motions, that these little embryos were not meant to be. I spent the next two weeks in a depressed shock and the phone call with the negative news was left on the answering machine because I coudln't bear to pick up the phone and have to face the messenger. It was over.
As we infertiles do, I started researching and creating action plans on how I could get pregnant. For the first few months after the cycle, I still maintained a healthy diet and had sex when I was ovulating. With each passing month, more caffeine entered my diet. If we were too tired or angry at one another or sick, we just didn't have sex. The doctor had given us a 1% chance that we would ever conceive on our own. What did it matter?
But still, with each period, each shocking reminder of our inability to provide Builder Boy with a sibling, there is still anger and depression and fury. Each month the reaction changes. Each month it is more internal. Each month we are that much farther away from the hope and optimism we once had. Yes, were are still trying, and friends, it has been a trying year.
I'm tearing up reading this. I've been through this with you and I know how hard it's been. You write so beautifully and honestly about it. You also know that I still believe it can happen for you.
Posted by: Black Belt Mama | March 01, 2008 at 12:24 AM
(((((((((((((((HUGS)))))))))))))))))))
Posted by: Topsy-Techie | March 04, 2008 at 01:33 PM