Listen Up! I am 1 in 8

National Infertility Awareness Week is in full swing! And I can’t let the occasion go by without stopping for a moment to pause and reflect. Greg and I have been open about our difficulties to conceive and it has been such a blessing to share our story — our ups and downs — with all of you. It is not always easy to be vulnerable about such a sensitive subject. But by choosing to open up about our infertility and IVF journey, we have received so much love and support from friends, family, and even a wider community that, while we may not know them personally, they know our struggle, because they have been there, or still are there, too.

I truly believe that no one should suffer with infertility in silence. There is no need for embarrassment or shame. It shouldn’t be taboo. Infertility is a disease, one that affects 1 in 8 couples, and as sad and as lonely as it can feel, infertile couples should know: They are not alone. When I decided to open up our story to a larger audience by starting this blog, and posting on Facebook and Instagram, I was overwhelmed by the comments and messages that came in from people I know who, it seemed, were so happy and relieved to say, “Yes! Me too!” You never know how sharing your story might impact or inspire someone else. Even for those who have not had to endure the heartbreak of infertility, sharing your experience might help them become a more compassionate and understanding friend. 

As with any disease, increased awareness is a good thing and I love that the #NIAW theme this year is #ListenUp! Women (and men) need to listen to their bodies and know how infertility can affect them and when it is time to see a fertility specialist. The infertile should feel empowered to share their stories and their friends and family should listen (not advise, or diminish their emotions) with open hearts and minds. (This Infertility Etiquette tip sheet is excellent!) 

There are many ways to resolve infertility; there are many ways to make a family. But they all begin with love. While I’d never choose infertility, I’ve learned and grown immensely along the journey. I am so thankful that assisted reproductive technology like IVF exists. I am indebted to the nurses and doctors who guided us and helped us reach our dream. And my heart overflows with gratitude for the physical and online community that poured strength and encouragement into my husband and I before, during and after our IVF cycle — all because I decided to share and they chose to #ListenUp.

Learn more at infertilityawareness.org.

16 Years, Still Missing You

Last week, while driving home from work, I was singing along to a song on the radio when my mind began to wander. The lyrics streaming out of the car speakers and the thoughts running through my mind were incompatible. Irrelevant. It didn't make any sense. And yet, I suddenly began to cry. (I've always been a crier, but pregnancy hormones have seemingly kicked in and my emotions can swing like a pendulum.) What brought on the tears? I was thinking of the anniversary coming up, the one that is today. The anniversary of my brother's death. Usually, I spend most of April hyper-aware of the date. Like a ticking clock, a countdown until the 26th. I didn't do it on purpose, but I could never escape the feeling. This year, however, with everything going on and so much on my mind, I haven't been counting the days as usual. I didn't forget, of course. But, as grief has a tendency to do, the reminder — the memories, the sadness — hit at the most unexpected of times.

Jeremy died in a car accident when I was 16. And 2017 marks 16 years since his death. He has been gone as long as I knew him. That's a hard pill to swallow: Knowing that as my life continues to go on I will get farther and farther away from him. That's what it feels like, anyway. And while time has softened the pain of losing my brother, milestone moments bring back its sharp sting. He wasn't there for my high school graduation, my college graduation, my wedding. He never met my husband. And he will never meet my baby. That's what brought on the tears on that car ride home, and that thought is what is causing my eyes to flood now. I wish Jeremy could be here with us to celebrate, to be the (fun!) uncle he should have gotten the chance to be. I know he would be so happy for us. And I know he would want me to keep on living my life and not wallow in sadness. But I give myself the permission, and grace, to do a little bit of that today. Because I miss him. No matter how many years pass, that fact never changes.

On Our First Sonogram...

In the weeks that followed our positive beta test, I had so many thoughts and emotions going through my heart and mind. I wasn't yet able to share those here, or on my other social feeds, but I wrote them down anyway. It was such an important release for me. Now that the secret is out, I'm ready to share. As always, thank you for reading and for your unending support!

_______

April 12, 2017

So much has happened since that first sonogram two weeks ago. I’ve meant to write about it every day since, and yet for some reason I couldn’t bring myself to sit down, open my laptop and type. Maybe because it’s all been so overwhelming, and simultaneously surreal.

On March 29, Greg and I drove to our fertility clinic, filled with nervous expectation. Usually we get right in and see the doctor or nurse right away, but this particular day we had to wait. The wait in the lobby and the wait in the exam room, though really not all that long, felt like eternity. While sitting on the exam room table — undressed from the waist down, a sheet over my lap, my legs dangling and feet tapping with anxiety — I joked to my husband, “Are they trying to kill me?”

Finally Dr. Rosenbluth, the same doctor who performed my egg retrieval, came in. As he slid the probe in for the ultrasound, I grasped Greg’s hand. I could already feel the tears coming and I held my breath to stop them from falling. Then, on the screen, I saw a dark space; I knew it was the gestational sac and I silently prayed the doctor would find something inside. He continued to move the probe and suddenly a small blob — that’s the best word I have for it! — appeared inside that dark space. Dr. Rosenbluth, explaining what he was seeing as we were seeing it, told us it was the yolk sac. At that point, I couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. I started to sob. Then I started to laugh. And the whole room did, too. My husband, the doctor, even the nurse standing by, all laughed with me as I dabbed the joyous tears from my eyes and Dr. Rosenbluth exclaimed, “I haven’t even shown you the best part yet!”

We got to see our baby. Our beautiful, tiny miracle. His or her little flickering heart. And then we got to hear it, the most wonderful sound in the world: our baby’s heartbeat. 

There was so much crying, so much laughing. So much joy and relief.

The sonogram happened the day before my 32nd birthday, and seeing our baby was the only present I ever wanted, the only present I wished for.

We left the clinic; I called my parents and Greg called his. Once home, I called my best friend, too. With the important calls made and the good news shared, we decided to go out for a celebratory dinner. 

This is where the story turns into something straight out of a soap opera or Lifetime movie.

Just outside our neighborhood, not even a mile from our house, we got in a car accident. (We were driving in the righthand lane, traveling straight through an intersection, when the car next to us in the left lane, just slightly ahead, decided to turn right — right into us.) In a moment, all our elation was wiped away and replaced with worry and stress. We had to exchange insurance information with the driver, who didn’t even acknowledge what she did wrong. We had to call a tow truck because while the other vehicle was able to leave the scene, my car was un-drivable. We got home, Greg went back out (in his car) to get fast food for dinner (In-N-Out) and then he called our insurance company to get the claims process going. Meanwhile, I sat on the couch worried about how the jolt from the accident, which caused the lap band of the seat belt to tighten suddenly around my abdomen, may have affected the baby.

The rational part of us knew everything was most likely OK. But having been through IVF, pregnancy feels so fragile, and so possibly fleeting. I had to work the next day but I called my clinic in the morning to let them know what happened. My nurse assured me that baby is well protected inside the water-balloon-like gestational sac, which is held securely inside the uterus, which at this point in pregnancy is still small and well shielded by the pelvis. Long story short, this was the best time (at 6 weeks pregnant) to have a car accident. It would be much more worrisome later in pregnancy.

Still, she recommended that I call my new OB to fill them in, too. I followed her advice the next day and the office very graciously offered to squeeze me in for an ultrasound that afternoon to put my mind at ease. (I hadn’t even been in for my first official appointment yet, so this offer was so very much appreciated!) Greg and I waited an hour, and it was technically after closing when the midwife finally came in, but it was worth it: Baby looked just fine. Praise God!

Yesterday, April 11, I was back at the OB’s office (for what was supposed to be my first appointment) and seeing the baby never gets old! I cry (and then laugh at myself) every time. And my sweet husband always has a tissue at the ready. He knows me so well. At 8 weeks and 5 days, Baby Thilgen already looked bigger than at the last sonogram. He or she is only the size of a raspberry this week, and when I’m not feeling incredible fatigue (my main symptom) or nausea, sometimes it is still hard to believe that I’m pregnant. When I’m busy at work or focused on a task, I’ll even forget for a moment. But every morning and night I try to quiet my mind and give thanks for this little life and pray for its continued growth.

_______

ICYMI: Read about the day we learned we're expecting and waiting for our first sonogram.

(Top image via French Press Mornings)

On Waiting for Our First Sonogram...

In the weeks that followed our positive beta test, I had so many thoughts and emotions going through my heart and mind. I wasn't yet able to share those here, or on my other social feeds, but I wrote them down anyway. It was such an important release for me. Now that the secret is out, I'm ready to share. As always, thank you for reading and for your unending support!

_______

March 29, 2017

Today is an important day. This afternoon, I will have my first sonogram.

It’s been almost three weeks since we found out that I’m pregnant. It’s been 14 days since my last beta test. Technically, I’m 6 weeks and 6 days pregnant. (Gestational age is based on your last period, so confusing I know!) There has been a lot of waiting along this journey. Counting days in not new to me. And yet these past two weeks of waiting — waiting for the sonogram, the one that will confirm if my pregnancy is healthy and viable — those two weeks have been the longest of my life.

At first I found it hard to believe that I even was pregnant. Part of me didn’t want to believe it. I was afraid to get too excited, too attached. Afraid that believing and rejoicing would make it harder if things didn’t go the way we hoped.

But this past week I’ve found optimism to come a bit easier than is typical for me. I’m not exactly sure what shifted my perspective. I haven’t had strong pregnancy symptoms, which of course has also been a source of worry. I’ve been bloated and gassy mostly. More exhausted in the evenings. Only occasional bouts of mild nausea that pass quickly. In recent days, I’ve been hungrier than usual between meals while at work. I try to take all these little things as positive signs. But I have at times wished that I’d need to run to the bathroom to throw up, or have some more dramatic signal that, yes, you are in fact pregnant.

I think finding an OB and booking my first prenatal appointment may have been a source of release and relief. (If all looks good at today’s sonogram, I’ll have to "graduate" from my fertility clinic.) When I called my primary care physician’s office to get a referral for the OB, and then again when I phoned the OB’s office to book an appointment, I had to actually say the words, to a complete stranger no less, “I’m pregnant.” And in response, the receptionists congratulated me on the happy news. I think those simple acts helped everything feel much more real. 

With my optimism growing in each passing day, I’m feeling excited for today’s appointment. We get to see our baby! But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t still nervous or fearful that the doctor will find something wrong. I’m only 6 weeks pregnant. My baby is the size of a lentil. My little sweet pea is so small, so fragile. But my husband keeps reminding me how strong our embryo was, even in the lab. The photo of our embaby is propped up on my nightstand, next to a picture of Greg and I, and I look at it every morning and night. I even give it a kiss sometimes. In bed I’ll often put my hand on my tummy and pray for the little life inside me to keep growing, and I thank God for such a beautiful miracle. No matter what, this baby is already so loved.

_______

Next: Seeing our baby for the first time! (And the dramatic evening that followed... It's a doozy.)
More: Read about the day we found out we were expecting!


(Post image via She Reads Truth)

On Learning We're Expecting...

In the weeks that followed our positive beta test, I had so many thoughts and emotions going through my heart and mind. I wasn't yet able to share those here, or on my other social feeds, but I wrote them down anyway. It was such an important release for me. Now that the secret is out, I'm ready to share. As always, thank you for reading and for your unending support!

_______

March 17, 2017

A week ago, we received the very best news. We were nine days past our five-day embryo transfer (9dp5dt), and I had gone into RSC that morning for my “beta test” — a blood draw that would reveal my hCG level. Basically, a pregnancy test.

I had been good. I heeded the advice of doctors and nurses and did not test on my own at home. No “POAS” for me. (That’s “pee on all the sticks” for you non-TTCers.) I had a friend ask the day before my beta if I would take a HPT (home pregnancy test) prior to going into the clinic, and I responded with a resounding, “nope!” I knew I wouldn’t trust the result either way. When testing so early, you can always get a false positive or a false negative. So if the stick said I was pregnant, I would stress that I wasn’t. If it said I wasn’t pregnant, I would be sad that I wasn’t. I decided to just wait for the professionals to give me accurate, trustworthy results.

Of course, waiting is never easy. But you do a lot of it when you are dealing with infertility.

The blood draw was scheduled for 9:15 Friday morning, and I was told that, as per usual with my clinic, I wouldn’t receive results until sometime between 2 and 6 that afternoon. I was off from work that day, and my husband returned home around noon. Greg and I were sitting on the couch and I was actually holding my phone, talking to him about something I had seen or read, when a notification popped up on my cell. A new voicemail. It was 1:50 p.m., my clinic had called, and the phone hadn’t even rung! 

I think we were both instantly filled with panic and fear. Hope and expectation too, but certainly anxiety. Greg didn’t want me to listen to the message. He said I should just call the clinic. But I knew of other couples who had received the news this way — via a voicemail message. And I figured that if it was good news, whoever had called to share would just say it, and if it was bad news, then they would probably say to call the clinic directly. 

There was no getting around it; we needed to listen to the message.

As I pushed play, I think we both held our breath. It wasn’t our RE calling, it was another doctor at the clinic, someone we haven’t met or spoke with before, and she had the results. In those seconds before she shared the news, I tried to discern the tone of this stranger’s voice. Was she happy? Or was she about to tell us something that would break our hearts? 

“Hi Carissa, it’s Dr. Reed calling from RSC. I’m calling with your test results from today…”

It was seven seconds of agony. 

And then complete joy.

“and congratulations! It’s positive. We’re very excited for you.”

We heard “congratulations” and Greg and I both burst into tears. We hugged, we kissed, we laughed, we cried. I sobbed, really. I just held my husband and wept the happiest tears. I soaked his shoulder with them. Even recalling the moment now, my eyes are filling up again. We hardly heard the rest of the 44-second message from Dr. Reed. Greg chuckled a bit as he informed me that I needed to hit replay because he stopped listening after “congratulations.”

The Very Best News

Greg and I are so thrilled to finally share our happy news with you: Our embryo transfer was a success. I’m pregnant! Sweet Baby Thilgen is due to arrive in November!

As open as we have been throughout this process, we so appreciate your patience and respecting our privacy in the weeks after the transfer. It’s been hard keeping this secret, and while I feel slightly nervous revealing my pregnancy to the world, we want to celebrate the little life growing inside me and rejoice with our friends and family.

I’m about 9 weeks along, so we still have a few weeks to go before we are out of the first trimester. We decided to share now because Greg and I are so incredibly grateful for all the love, prayers and positive vibes that were sent our way before, during and after our IVF cycle, and we humbly ask for that support again. My next ultrasound is a month away, and pregnancy after infertility can be an emotional ride.

We'd already received the good news from the clinic, but I'd always wanted to see 
one of these tests turn positive. (And I did not #POAS after our transfer!)

While this moment is over two years in the making for us, I know that pales in comparison to the waits other couples have faced, and we don’t take for granted how incredibly lucky we are that our first IVF cycle worked, especially given the low number of eggs the doctors were able to retrieve. It truly is a miracle, and I know God’s hand — as well as all your prayers — played a role in that success. We are so thankful for assisted reproductive technology and our knowledgeable (and compassionate!) medical team, but God is the ultimate Creator. He just needed one good egg to make our little embryo, our little warrior as Greg likes to call him or her.

“I knew you before I formed you in your mother’s womb. 

Before you were born I set you apart.” 

- Jeremiah 1:5

For those in the trenches of infertility, I know how painful pregnancy announcements can be. They’re a reminder of that thing you want so desperately and have been striving with such dedication toward. It wasn’t that long ago that I was there. Even now, reading about couples who conceive easily — the ones who don’t realize how lucky they are that they never had to taste the bitter longing of infertility, or face its steep financial costs — it still stings. Yet, I hope you’ll find encouragement and hope in our success, to know that the unlikely or impossible is possible, and know that I am praying for your miracle baby, too.

On this Easter weekend, I reflect on our journey and am reminded of His goodness and faithfulness, and the importance of never giving up hope. We don’t always understand, but His timing is perfect and His plans are always better than our own.

“For this child I prayed, and the Lord 

has granted the desires of my heart.”

 - 1 Samuel 1:27

Baby's first sonogram. Six weeks, the size of a pea. So worth the wait.