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!

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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.

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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.

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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.

IVF Update | Embryo on Board

Yesterday’s fresh embryo transfer went as well as we could have ever hoped.

The day started on a positive note with a call from our primary doctor informing us that we had a nice embryo for transfer. Since we hadn’t received an update the day before, that news helped put me more at ease. Once we got to the clinic, I settled into the transfer room and showed off my lucky Hatch & Attach socks from TTC Greeting Cards. The transfer nurse was talkative, so that was a welcome distraction, too.

After awhile, Dr. Weckstein, the IVF and medical director for the clinic, came into the room. He had a huge smile and a sunny personality. I could tell he was trying to bring as much light and encouragement as possible into the transfer, which we so appreciated.

The doctor remarked that we had a great looking embryo, adding that our little embaby had actually grown substantially in the few hours since our conversation with Dr. Willman that morning. He showed us a photo of our embryo, which I had been so eager to see, and I — as is common these days — burst into happy tears at the sight. It was truly the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. My baby. Our baby.

I asked Greg today what he thought when he saw the photo of our embryo and he said that, while it didn't look anything like a baby, he still had the feeling of “this is our child.”

“Words can’t describe,” he said. “I was in awe… Just taking it all in. I was thinking we have come so far, and this is our child.”

The doctor looked at my uterus on the ultrasound and said it looked great, too, noting that my uterine lining was nice and thick. While he got me prepared for the transfer, Dr. Weckstein explained that an embryologist, Fleur, would be coming in to verify my identity and then she would go back into the lab to retrieve our embryo at the last possible moment. We were able to watch on a screen in the transfer room as she did just that, showing us the Petri dish etched with our last name and then zooming in on our embaby. Before we knew it, Fleur was drawing up the embryo into a catheter and a few seconds later she came into the room with the special delivery.

From there, the doctor slipped the catheter right in, through my cervix, and placed the embryo right where it needs to be inside my uterus. Greg and I watched it all happen on the ultrasound screen. We could see the catheter. A quick flash of light when the doctor released the embryo into my womb. I was holding my breath, swallowing back tears and trying to remain still; I was so afraid that the emotions I felt bubbling up inside me would spill out and disrupt the delicate procedure.

The transfer was mere seconds, but the whole experience was so wonderful and incredibly emotional. And surreal. Part of me couldn’t believe it was happening. Today, I’m still not sure it has sunk in.

For now, we wait. And pray that this precious embryo sticks, and gets all snugly and cozy. The doctor was optimistic about our chances but of course nothing is guaranteed. Our beta test is scheduled for March 10, and undoubtedly the next eight days are going to be long ones… My focus is going to be to try to rest, relax and not give too much of my mental or emotional energy to worry. And while I’m not totally sold on some of the crazy TWW (two-week wait) tips and tricks (old wive’s tales?) that are out there, I did drink Pom juice, eat pineapple core and snack on Brazil nuts today. I also had avocado toast for breakfast, huzzah! But that’s pretty normal for me. I figure anything that makes me feel better and makes me feel like I am doing everything I can to help this baby hatch, attach and grow is A-OK. Because I am only 1dp5dt (one day past five-day transfer) and I can already feel the anxiety creeping in.

Philippians 4:6-7 will be my prayer in 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.