The Day a Miracle was Made

A year ago today, we had our egg retrieval. It was a day that was highly anticipated and then quickly became one of the worst days in our infertility journey. They only got four eggs, and we were heartbroken. The outlook seemed bleak. The odds weren't in our favor.  After 11 days of injections, I felt my hopefulness slipping away. The sadness was suffocating. But then, just as it always does, the dark, hard night awoke to the light of a new day that brought incredible news: All four eggs fertilized! Hallelujah! Now, today, looking back at Feb. 24, 2017, I don't just remember a day that threatened to crush my spirit. To steal my strength. I celebrate a day that tested and grew my faith. I celebrate a day that a miracle happened, during (and in spite of) those hours that my belief wavered. Because today isn't the anniversary of "egg retrieval day." It's conception day. Few people know exactly when their babies were conceived but, thanks to IVF, we do. It was a little after noon on Feb. 24, in a high tech embryology lab in San Ramon. And I believe without question that God's hand was in the mix, creating our little miracle, knitting her together from each part of us and preparing her for my womb. The crazy thing is, if our two "snowflakes" — our frozen embryos, our precious embabies — one day also become tiny humans, they will share the same conception date. Isn't science amazing? So yes, Feb. 24 was more than just the day they retrieved my eggs. It was so much more than I even realized at the time. On a most fundamental level, it was the day that Greg and I's family began. Moreover, it was the day that God reminded me that He is bigger than my fears, He is steadfast in the face of my doubts and He is certainly not intimidated by "the odds." With him, anything is possible. Infertility can be overcome, families can be made. With an egg — and faith the size of a mustard seed.

Thankfulness & Infertility

This day, this season, compels us to stop and think about gratitude. What are you thankful for? What blessings abound in your life? I've long believed that, even in challenging times, there is always so much to be grateful for, if you just take a moment to pause and reflect. And, believe it or not, it is actually possible to be thankful for the hard things, like infertility, because oftentimes those hard things teach you more than easy times ever could… You learn and you grow and you’re led somewhere new. 

This time last year, Greg and I had recently started seeing a new reproductive endocrinologist at our second fertility clinic. We were beginning to tackle the list of to-do’s that we needed to complete before embarking on our first IVF cycle. We’d already experienced many ups and downs on our journey to baby, and even with our decision to try in vitro fertilization, the road ahead was uncertain. There were no guarantees.

Fast forward one year and I am holding my precious daughter in my arms. It’s amazing what can happen in a year. It’s no surprise what I am thankful for this Thanksgiving. I am so grateful for my sweet miracle baby, Delilah, conceived with the help of science and a whole lot of love. I am thankful that, although born more than three weeks early, she is healthy and thriving — celebrating one month of life today! I am appreciative of the doctors and nurses at John Muir Medical Center in Walnut Creek who took care of Delilah following her rocky entrance into the world, and I am likewise indebted to the medical team at Reproductive Science Center that helped Greg and I fulfill our dream of parenthood. How immensely glad I am that technology like IVF exists! Without it — and the power of God, no doubt — our girl wouldn’t be here. And I would be remiss if I didn’t give thanks for the community of friends and family who encouraged and supported us throughout the IVF process, during my pregnancy and in the weeks since Delilah arrived. But I am most grateful for my husband, my rock. The eternal optimist, he never gave up on our shared desire to create a family. Even when my faith faltered, he always believed that we would be right where we are now. Greg has been and continues to be an incredible partner, and he is the very best dad to Delilah.

So, am I thankful for infertility? In some ways, yes. As taxing as it has been mentally, emotionally, and physically, and as much as it has cost us financially, this journey has brought Greg and I even closer and made us stronger. Nothing like injecting your wife with hormones to forge increased trust and intimacy! (The "quirks" of pregnancy have a way of further bonding couples, too.) But seriously, infertility was also an effective teacher of patience and powerful cultivator of faith. Faced with the potential of my dream of motherhood never being realized, I was suddenly and surprisingly forced to find the positives wherever I could — to keep my sanity as well as my will to keep moving forward. As a result, I was able to more clearly see all the small, everyday blessings in my life, and to more fully appreciate the people who are a blessing to me.

This time last year, the road was uncertain, but it did lead somewhere new and wonderful. Despite the challenges, I cherish our story, because it had the happiest of endings.

From our little family to yours, Happy Thanksgiving!

My first Turkey Day! Thank you, great grandma, for the cute holiday outfit!

Give me turkey!!! Actually, this is what happens when you take Delilah's pacifier away. 

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.

IVF Update | Transfer Day is Here!

(image via)

A piece of my heart is sitting in a lab in San Ramon…

The days since the retrieval have been long and filled with anxiety. I told my doctor I feel like I’ve been on pins and needles every day, waiting for news about my embryos. I expected to get updates about our four embryos each morning, but I only got a call on Day 1 (with the fertilization report), Day 3 and, today, Day 5. Suffice to say, days 2 and 4 were completely nerve-wracking, wondering what might be going on in that laboratory 30 miles away. Saying a prayer for my babies every free minute that I wasn’t working or sleeping. Hoping with all my heart that they were doing well, that they were growing and dividing and doing all the things that embryos should do.

To say I’ve been a total mess would be an understatement. Maybe it’s the Estrace, maybe it’s the Endometrin, but I’ve been emotionally unstable at best. And truly, I doubt it’s the medication. It’s deep desire mixed with incredible fear. I already shared about the emotions surrounding our egg retrieval and Day 1 update. Many tears.

On Monday morning (Day 3), I had just finished making a bowl of oatmeal when my phone rang. It was the clinic. I took a deep breath, tried my best to steady myself, and answered the call. It was Dr. Willman with an update. She informed me that three of our embryos were doing well, they were dividing nicely, and one was what they would consider fair — it was dividing more slowly than the others, but it could catch up. 

As much as I wanted to hold it together, I broke down. Literally. At first I tried to scribble notes on a scrap piece of paper so I could relay the information to my husband. But as the tears flooded my eyes I had to stop and I fell to the floor beside the desk.

I broke down mostly out of relief for the positive news, but there was also a bit of sadness for the runt of the litter. And of course I was still somewhat paralyzed by the fears that never want to leave my mind, of what could happen in the days ahead. Sitting on my knees, sniffling, choking back tears, I told Dr. Willman I was trying not to cry… quite unsuccessfully. She understood, but told me to focus on the positive. Three embryos were doing very well and we were on track for a transfer on Wednesday.

Today is that day. Transfer day. We’ve made it. It was a long five days but here we are, by the grace of God. I fully believe He has been with us, and our embryos, through it all.

The doctor’s update this morning was positive as well. She said we have a nice embryo for transfer today, and two others that she thinks will be at the blastocyst stage by tomorrow, and can then be frozen.

The last few days, I’ve had lots of questions. I’ve been wondering if I should have been asking more questions. But every time I get a call, I’m so overcome with emotion that all I can usually manage to say is “OK” and “thank you.” Yesterday, looking at the social accounts of other infertile women on journeys that are aligning with my own, I began to feel doubt. Should I know more about my embryos? Should I have had another appointment at the clinic since the retrieval for an ultrasound or blood draw? But I decided I have no need or room for more doubt. What I need is trust. To trust that my doctor knows what she is doing. It’s not necessary for me to know all the technicalities at this point. Because at the end of the day there is nothing I can do but pray, wait and trust.

I’m excited and nervous for our transfer, happening just after noon, today. I have so much love and hope for this little embryo. My mother-in-law texted me that she is praying today will be the beginning of my nine-month journey to becoming a mommy. That’s my prayer, too.

A wish and a prayer

(Image by Natalia Drepina)

This morning, all I could think was how desperately I wished that I could hold my four little embryos. As silly as that may sound and as impossible as it is, that was what my heart hoped for. To be able to hold them in my hands and to tell them how much I love them and how very much they mean to me. To tell them all that I, and their daddy, have been through just to create them, just to get to this stage. The stage where life can begin. As painful as it has been — physically, sometimes, and emotionally all the time — I would do it all over again. Cut me open, test my blood, poke needles in my belly. Tell me the challenges that lie ahead… and then tell me some new ones. I would endure it a thousand times. I don’t want to, but I will. Because I love them, more than I thought a person could ever love a microscopic cluster of cells growing in a lab. Nothing is certain, nothing is guaranteed. Four today, gone tomorrow? I don’t know. But right now I love them, and they are everything to me. I can’t hold them, as much as I wish I could, but they are in God’s hands, and the good, comforting news is this: He cares for them, too.

IVF Update | On Fertilization... and Faith

(Image via PocketFuel)

Since I slept most of the afternoon away yesterday, I didn’t go back to bed until about 2 a.m. this morning. I tossed and turned and although I wasn’t that comfortable, I wasn’t ready to drag myself out of bed when the dogs tried to rouse me around 8 o'clock. Just as I dozed off again, suddenly I heard my phone ring. It was 8:30, and it was the clinic.

My heart stopped. I cleared my throat and I answered the phone, running downstairs as I said hello to the doctor on call. When I reached the living room, I saw my husband sitting on the couch, and I turned on the speaker so he could hear.

At first she just asked how I was feeling, if I was recovering well after the retrieval. I told her I felt OK physically. Any nausea or vomiting? No, I replied. How did the spot look where my IV was placed, how was it healing? Just fine, I said. Was I in any pain, and if so, how much? None, I told her. Other than still feeling bloated, I explained that I felt like my normal self, like nothing had happened. A bit surprised, the doctor said I was recovering better than most and — finally getting to the good stuff — that my eggs were doing better than is typical, too.

Of the four retrieved, all four fertilized.

I could hardly believe my ears. My husband leapt from the couch, up into the air, fist bumping, smiling as wide as could be. As he came back down he grabbed me, as if to shake me into the reality of what the doctor was telling us. I immediately started to cry tears of joy as the doctor continued speaking, letting us know all four embryos looked good so far.

After a moment, I finally managed to squeak out a few words. I can’t quite remember them now, but something along the lines of how grateful I was for the good news.

Hearing the emotion in my voice, the doctor sympathized about how hard it must have been getting just four eggs yesterday and how worried I must have felt. Nevertheless, all four were mature and fertilized. They had beat the odds. She cautioned that we still have a ways to go and as relieved as I feel, I don’t want to get ahead of myself either.

And yet, I want to celebrate today. I don’t know what tomorrow will bring but today we received the most wonderful news. The best news we could have gotten after yesterday.

The doctor and I said goodbye and as I hung up the phone, Greg and I embraced. I weeped happy tears in his shirt, big gulping sobs. I felt myself begin to release every worst fear, every bad thought, that clung to my heart and mind before the call. I laughed and cried simultaneously.

My sweet husband, whose optimism always helps to light my way, offered more reassurance.

“We have babies,” he said. “And they’re strong. They’re fighters, like mommy and daddy.”

Yesterday, I felt like my body was betraying me. I had so much doubt. But God is bigger than my doubt. And maybe He gave us just four eggs because they were the best eggs.

“You’ve done so good through all of this, babe,” Greg continued, rubbing my arm. 

Those few words were the validation I desperately needed to hear. As a woman struggling with infertility, I put so much pressure and even more blame on myself. I have been trying to do everything right and yesterday I kept thinking: Maybe I hadn’t done enough.

But my husband says I’m enough. God says I’m enough. And four eggs can be enough.

My prayer now is that our precious embabies will continue to grow and develop in the lab. That the embryologists will take good and careful care of them. And that God would be the guiding hand in all of it, providing His protection as they continue to form into what we so sincerely hope will be our miracle baby, or babies.

(Image via PocketFuel)

IVF Update | Egg Retrieval

Hopeful and smiling, prior to the egg retrieval.

I've been avoiding writing an update all day, but the day is almost done and I can't hide anymore. I spent most of the hours after my egg retrieval crying, or sleeping in order to forget and not cry. I feel just fine physically, but emotionally I'm shattered. 

I went into the procedure with more optimism than my pragmatic (sometimes cynical) self usually can muster. But I really felt hopeful. Even knowing that I wasn't expected to get a ton of eggs like other women might, I was OK with the 7-8 my doctor estimated. For some reason that number felt safe. And I was so bloated from all the injections, I took that as a positive sign. I had so much hope, and I was trying so hard to trust and have faith. 

But when the doctor who did my retrieval came into recovery with the news, my hopeful heart broke. Only 4 eggs. That's all they got. Apparently the large follicles were still there, but nothing inside. He said sometimes when they get so big the egg dies. Unfortunately, I had a wide spread of follicle sizes, and he told Greg and I prior to going in that he expected to get "a handful," but I still wasn't prepared for the outcome. My husband, like me, said his heart dropped upon hearing the number, that it felt like "a punch to the gut." I wish I'd had the presence of mind to ask the doctor more questions, but it took everything in me not to burst out crying. One tear slid down my cheek before he left the recovery bay. 

From there I quickly sank into a deep depression; to say I was devastated doesn't even fully describe it. I cried as I left the clinic, cried on the drive home, cried when I called my mom to tell her the news. I felt all my hope slipping away. But I know it's not over yet. I know "four is better than nothing" (even though it doesn't feel that way when you know the statistics). Maybe we will beat the odds. Maybe. Hopefully. So that's where I'm at: Trying to fight my way back to hope tonight.

(Image via PocketFuel)

IVF Update | Cycle Progress, 9 Days of Stims

My three-shot cocktail.

Work and a general feeling of fatigue have kept me from posting an update here the last few days. But I'm off work today and there is quite a bit to report!

We started our IVF cycle on Feb. 13 and I have now had nine days of injections and four monitoring appointments. 

My medication dosages have remained consistent; 300 units of Gonal-F (FSH, a follicle stimulating hormone) and 150 units of Menopur every evening. As I mentioned in my last post, we added a third injection, Cetrotide, which I began taking on Feb. 18, the day after my first monitoring appointment. I didn't expect to begin taking the antagonist (to prevent premature ovulation) that soon, but one of my follicles in my left ovary was growing much larger and faster than the rest, and we wanted to give the other follicles a chance to catch up.

So for the last four nights the hubby has mixed and administered three injections and to say we are both a bit over it would be an understatement. My belly is so, so bloated from all the hormones — Greg, thankfully, gave up the sweet husband act of trying to say it looked fine and normal — and I feel like I'm running out of new places to be poked. But we persist because we know it is all worth it. Every single prick, every scan. Every cramp, every headache. It will all be worth it in the end.

IVF may take the mystery out of baby making, but it doesn't steal the love.

Things are progressing well, it seems. Each monitoring appointment has shown my follicles are growing. (And my estrogen levels have increased, as they should, along with my follicle size.) A sixth follie popped up in my left ovary at my second monitoring appointment, giving us 10 total follicles. And we still have one large, overachiever on the left.

These are my numbers from this morning's scan:

On the left: 

26mm, 24mm, 15mm, 12mm, 11mm, almost 11mm

On the right:

two 16mm, 13mm, 11mm

Endometrium (uterine lining):

About 10mm, which is good. The doc likes to see it above 8mm for transfer.

When I was able to check my phone at lunch yesterday, I had several missed calls and messages from my clinic. Even my doctor had called! (Normally I just get instructions from my nurse or, if it is the weekend, the nurse case manager on duty.) Because of my large, overachieving follicle on the left, they are planning to move up my retrieval. As much as you want your follicles to grow, you don't want them to become too big. It's a balancing act. Initially the egg retrieval was tentatively scheduled for this Saturday, but now we are looking at Friday, Feb. 24. 

A chart at my clinic that illustrates just how big my follicles have grown, and why my tummy looks so huge.

The final word will come when I get my instructions this afternoon, but it seems most likely that I will be triggering tonight! (During IVF, you take a final "trigger" shot of hCG, human chorionic gonadotropin, which completes the final maturation of your eggs prior to retrieval. The trigger shot is usually administered 36 hours before the retrieval.)

The past 10 days have been a little surreal and I could hardly believe it when I heard we were already at trigger day. I told my nurse I was excited and nervous and, unsurprisingly, she said that is a common response. When I got home from work yesterday, Greg greeted me at the top of the steps all wide-eyed. He's excited, too.

I'm trying to hold onto the bit of excitement I have as well as stay calm. This message from Dr. Willman provided reassurance that my cycle is progressing positively, and that gives me some comfort as well as the strength to keep going:

"I'm thinking we'll get about 7 or 8 eggs, which is a nice normal number. It's not high but it's not low either, so I think you're in good shape. You're young, we should have good egg quality, so I think you're doing just fine." 

-Dr. Willman

(IVF card by Levi & Roen In Print, via Anchor of Hopes)

When you have diminished ovarian reserve, you are expected to be what they call a "low responder," so Greg and I knew going in that we wouldn't get a ton of eggs. (I wouldn't be getting the 15-20+ that other women without DOR might get.) But we are pretty happy with our team of follies and we hope that once retrieved that a high percentage of the eggs will be mature and fertilize normally.

My prayer for now, though, is that God will continue to protect these little (and kinda big!) follicles that are growing in my ovaries for a few more days... That the stragglers and intermediates will continue to grow and that they'll be in prime, embryo-creating condition once retrieved.

Prayers for His protection and my health (this cold is lingering...) in these last few days before retrieval are so very much appreciated!

My prayer.

P.S. If you don't already, follow along on Instagram @dreamingoflullabies. I tend to post updates more frequently there!

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Making Baby Thilgen: IVF #1

Greg diligently mixing my medications the first night of IVF.

We started our first round of IVF this week. After having to postpone our cycle in January, the weeks of waiting felt like forever. And yet, of course, when Aunt Flo finally returned, I suddenly felt unprepared. Suffice to say, things have not gone quite as expected.

Per usual, following a couple days of spotting, my full flow arrived right on time, in the afternoon on Saturday, Feb. 11. That is the date my period tracker gave me and that is the date I gave my nurses to build my IVF calendar around. Based on that date, my calendar said I would need to come in Monday, the 13th, for my baseline sonogram.

I had to work on Saturday, so I didn't get a chance to call and report CD1 until my lunch hour around 3 o'clock. Unfortunately, my clinic was closed and I had to leave a message with an answering service. They said someone would call me back the next day with instructions. Since I also was scheduled to work Sunday, I decided to be proactive and call back before my shift that morning. And it's a good thing I did because after putting me on a brief hold, the nurse informed me that I needed to come in ASAP. 

I was still in the bathroom, finishing my makeup, about 10 minutes from leaving my house to drive to work. And they wanted me to come in now? What happened to coming in Monday? I was instantly frazzled, tears were shed. I called work and quickly got dressed while waiting to talk to my manager. I apologized profusely as I told her I would be an hour or two late. She completely understood, of course, and told me to stop stressing, but I was upset. This was the exact thing I wanted to avoid. I work retail, I work shifts, I have bridal appointments to attend to. It's not as easy for me to come in late, take a long lunch, or call out sick. I didn't want IVF to affect my work.

So much for that.

The good news is, the baseline appointment went well. I didn't even need to have blood work done because my lining and ovaries looked good. I arrived to work just an hour late and all was well. I later received an email that I could start my FSH (follicle stimulating hormone) injections the next evening.

While I felt nervous about the injections, the busyness of work fortunately kept me from dwelling too much on what awaited me at home. And then, toward the end of my shift, I felt it — DUN DUN DUN — a cold coming on.

Seriously? Yes, seriously. I came down with a cold hours before my inaugural injection. At first it was just a sore throat. I tried to kick it with lots of fluids and Vitamin C. But I woke up Tuesday feeling dead on my feet; foggy-headed, low energy and completely exhausted. I couldn't tell if it was from the cold, the injections, or both.

I worked Tuesday, pushing through the fatigue and trying to stay as upbeat as possible for my brides. Luckily I was already scheduled to be off Wednesday and I did my best to rest up and get well. I emailed my nurse case manager to tell her about my cold, hoping for reassurance that it wouldn't negatively affect my cycle. But she did seem concerned. She said as long as it stays mild (no fever) and I get over it quickly, then it shouldn't be an issue. She just doesn't want me to be sick too close to the egg retrieval. This terrifying thought then popped into my head: Oh crap, don't get your husband sick!

Because he's a player in this game, too. We need his swimmers strong and healthy.

So the poor guy got booted out of our bed last night, just to be safe. And on the advice of my coworker and mother, I did the thing I never do and hate to do: I called out sick from work today. There comes a time when you just need to put yourself and your health first, and what better time than when you are paying boatloads of money to try to get pregnant?

I'm feeling a bit better today. I'm going to keep resting and guzzling fluids, per my nurse's orders. I'm off Friday too and my goal is to be all better by then. Especially since I have my first monitoring appointment in the morning! I'm hoping that this cold will have had no negative effect and we'll see some growing follicles on the ultrasound monitor.

All in all, this week has been a bit surreal. I might not believe we were actually doing IVF if not for all the dots on my belly from the needle pricks. My best friend asked if I felt any different and I haven't noticed anything out of the ordinary. No mood swings yet. Only a little bloated. Tired, yes, but that could just be the cold.

Loved ones have lots of questions about the process — how long do you do the injections? when is the retrieval? when is the transfer? how many are you going to transfer? — which I totally understand. It is a confusing and complicated thing, IVF. But right now I'm just trying to stay calm and take it one day at a time. And I'm getting a strong sense that God is trying to use this cold to break me down. He's telling me to take it easy, to care for myself, but also to realize that I'm not in control and I can't do this alone. Sure, I have my friends, my family, my husband and my doctor. But I need Him.

I cried in my pillow last night as I prayed to God. I asked him to heal me of this cold, to not let it thwart our efforts. I told him that I know He cares for me and knows our desires to grow our family, and I asked him to help me trust Him and His plan for us. It is so hard for me to trust sometimes. I prayed that his hand would be in this IVF process, that his hand would guide my husband's as Greg gives my injections, and our nurse's and doctor's as they perform the retrieval and hopefully a transfer. I asked that Greg would be protected from this cold and I prayed for peace in my mind and heart. We don't know how long our journey to baby will be, we don't know where the path will lead, but God knows and I just need to have faith and patience along the way.

My first injections: Gonal-F and Menopur.

Stay tuned: I'll be back tomorrow with an update after our first monitoring appointment!

Ignorance would be Bliss

(image via)

When Greg and I met with our first RE in January 2016, the consultation ended with both of us having our blood drawn. Standard procedure, I believe. But in addition to running the usual endocrine panel, we were asked — actually, encouraged — to also give samples for testing by an outside laboratory, called Recombine, which would perform a full genetic screening. This added test came with a steep added cost, $99 per person, but we agreed to it because, even though we were TTC newbies, it seemed like an important and worthwhile thing to do.

Of course, we didn’t anticipate negative results. But two weeks later, Recombine called with the news, and we were dumbfounded, to say the least. The lab screens for more than 300 genetic diseases that you may potentially pass down to your future children, and it found that Greg and I both carry copies of a gene that give us a 25% chance of having a child with mild to severe hearing loss. 

While we have been relatively open with our struggles to conceive, particularly since starting this blog last month, we’ve only shared this information with family. Partly because it is quite personal and mostly because it isn’t a certainty that we will have a deaf child. (Flipping the statistic feels much better, we have a 75% chance of having a hearing child.) But also, if I’m being honest, we didn’t share because we really didn’t want to remember this bit of knowledge that we had learned through the testing of our blood.

During that phone call, we were too shocked to cry. We were just trying to take it all in and understand. The crying came later, for me anyway. Greg and I talked through the different scenarios and possible options, as well as how we felt about the potential of having a child with a disability. At the time we weren’t financially ready for IVF, so it was easier to make the decision: We wouldn’t pursue genetic testing of our embryos to determine if they were affected. We would take the risk of not knowing.

Weeks ago, we signed the required consent forms to start IVF, with one of those forms addressing pre-implantation genetic diagnosis (PGD). We initialed that we had already been screened ourselves and would not be testing our embryos. But, to our current RE’s credit, she reached out to us yesterday to confirm that we understood our options and our risk. We are days away from starting IVF and she wanted to be sure — sure that we knew our odds and that, while the condition isn’t life threatening, deafness would “have an impact on quality of life.”

Reading those words is so hard. It’s a punch in the gut to even think about your baby having medical problems from birth. And I started to wonder, are we being selfish? Is PGD the right thing to do? Yes, it will add about $5,000 to the cost of IVF and yes, it will delay the transfer (going from a fresh cycle to a frozen embryo transfer), but is it worth it? As good parents, should we spare our child from pain and suffering if we have the ability to do so? Do we have a responsibility to stop this genetic disease in its tracks? Because even if our child isn’t affected, they could end up being a carrier, too.

And yet, at what point do you stop relying on science and instead lean on faith?

I don’t have that many eggs. We are not expected to make that many embryos. What if we only have one good blastocyst, we test it, and it has nonsyndromic hearing loss? Greg and I both agreed we wouldn’t feel right about “tossing out” an affected embryo. 

I sobbed when I said this to Greg and my eyes are welling up now: That embryo is our baby. It deserves a chance to live.

If we weren’t struggling with infertility, if we didn’t need to use IVF, we would never have known about our 1 in 4 chance. We would have been like every other blissfully ignorant couple that gets pregnant in the bedroom and imagines a perfectly healthy baby for themselves. And in this idyllic circumstance, if I never gave birth to a deaf child, then we would continue on living our lives never knowing the risk we faced, and overcame.

They say that sometimes you just have to let go and let God. So after another lengthy talk that ended with tear-stained cheeks, we have again decided to ignore our fears and walk into the unknown. As I wrote in my reply to our doctor, we are going to move forward with hope and faith... and accept whatever path God has planned for us as parents.

Whether our embryos are affected or not, it doesn’t matter. As Greg said to me, with words that will forever be emblazoned upon my heart: “I’d love them all. They’re our kids.”

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