Losing Nemo

I was going to wait a few weeks to post this, but I figured I might as well just do it now. I thought about just keeping it private for only Vance and me to read, but feel I owe an explanation and a closing chapter to those who have been following us through our journey. This post is very personal to me, and I honestly can't believe I've been so open in sharing our battle with infertility these past few years. I think I have been so open for a few reasons:

•  I want to remember this story accurately and be able to reflect on it someday
•  I don't want to have to answer as many questions in person
•  I want to give those who care and are interested the opportunity to know what's going on
•  I want to shed some light and help make aware the taboo topic of infertility, as told from my perspective
•  I would like to be able to help someone out if they ever have any questions as they go through a similar experience. I want whoever she may be to know that she is not alone in the way she is feeling or the things she is going through.

So here we go....

We named our embryo Nemo because just like in the movie Finding Nemo, our little Nemo was the last and only surviving egg. When we went in for our transfer, our doctor broke the bad new to us that the other embryo didn't make it to a day 5 blastocyst, so we only had one little guy (our Nemo) to transfer. If you remember the beginning of the movie, a barracuda comes through and attacks Nemo's mom and his 400 brothers and sisters who haven't yet hatched from their eggs. After the attack, Nemo is the only egg left.

It is with a very heavy heart that I say that our Nemo didn't make it.

Vance went out of town on Thursday night for a race he was pacing in the Grand Canyon. I had women from the ward helping me out with my shots, but I felt uneasy all weekend. By Saturday evening I was so nervous, and had very light pink spotting. My cramps were getting worse, but I kept trying to brush it off, telling myself this was probably normal for an IVF patient in the early stages pregnancy (even though I knew it wasn't).

I went to hop in the shower when I noticed several drops of blood, and completely lost it. Aunt Flo had arrived. I collapsed to the ground and felt my heart rip out of my chest. To say I was sobbing would be an understatement. I wailed uncontrollably like I've never wailed before. I kept screaming "No!" over and over again as I rocked myself in the fetal position. I felt indescribable grief and loss. I eventually got up and sobbed through my entire shower and then cried myself to sleep. I wished more than anything that Vance was there to be with me.

Vance made it home from his trip at like 1am and just cuddled me, knowing the bad news. We headed to the doctors office at 7am on Mother's Day. When the nurses called me back to get my blood drawn, I reluctantly got up, knowing this was my final step to an unsuccessful and heartbreaking round of IVF. Vance kept his hopes up, saying that it could just be my body being confused and that a baby really was actually forming in there. But I know my body, and I definitely know what a period feels like. I knew I had to get my final closure though, and in the meantime tried to humor myself that maybe I really was reading the signs all wrong. It's not over until the fat lady sings, right? But I knew that this (metaphorical) fat lady was getting ready to sing one hell of a song.

As the nurse was prepping my arm and my veins for the blood draw, I asked "So, if I'm spotting and cramping today that probably isn't a good sign, huh?" She looked at me with pity on her face and shook her head. That is when the tears just poured out like a waterfall. Fat, hot tears burned down my face, filling my chest with a pool full of salt water. Vance squeezed my other hand as she drew my blood, and I just sat in the chair silently weeping. I was so grateful that Vance made it home in time to be with me when I needed him. I can't imagine if I would have had to go through that alone.

"Have a nice day," the 2nd nurse in the room that watched me cry said as we left the office. Ha! Gee, thanks lady.

We made it back to the car and I wailed hysterically all over again. I was shaking and uncontrollable. This was the heaviest grief and by far the worst day of infertility I had been through yet. After all that we had been through, after all of the good signs, and after the long process of finally getting accepted into the Miracle Fund and the amazing donors who made it possible, how could this really be the answer? And the cruel irony of it all going down on Mother's Day was too much for my heart to handle. Getting up early to drive to SLC to take THE pregnancy test that I knew was negative was one very hard pill to swallow.

We received a phone call a few hours later, and sure enough I was right. Negative. And with no surviving embryos, IVF in the near future is not looking likely for us. The wet and stormy weather that day matched my emotions so perfectly.

Immediately after the phone call ended, I wept yet again, this time Vance crying with me. He hugged me, kissed me, and told me that he loves me so much. He told me that I will always be enough for him, and that he couldn't imagine finding anyone else more perfect for him than me. He told me that I was brave, and that he was so proud of me. Lastly, he told me that going through IVF made him feel even closer to me, and that he was grateful for the even tighter bond that going through IVF together gave us. We hugged and cried, and never had I felt so loved and so heartbroken in the same moment as I did right then.

I received lots of sweet messages and texts that morning and throughout the day from my sisters and brother, parents, family and friends wishing me a happy Mother's Day and telling me how much they loved me and were rooting for Nemo. None of them knew the bad news, but it meant so much to me that so many people were thinking of me on what had I hoped would be the happiest Mother's Day ever. I had a couple more meltdowns on Sunday, and by the end of the day I was completely exhausted and emotionally drained.

I saw this video floating around social media, and bawled through the whole thing. I have put up a tough fight for the title of mother, and will continue to do so again once these very fresh wounds start to heal. 7–8 rounds of clomid and femara, 1 hysterosalpingography, 1 sonosalpingogram, 4 IUIs, 1 (adoption) home study, countless blood tests, shots, and transvaginal ultrasounds, 1 taxing round of IVF, and almost 5 years later, we are still left empty handed and praying for the chance to one day become parents.

Infertility is HARD. If you have a been blessed with children, give them a squeeze and give thanks to your Heavenly Father that He placed them into your loving arms. Children, and the ability to create life truly are miracles. I don't doubt that raising a family is difficult, and that sometimes...if not most of the time...your children drive you crazy. Nonetheless, they are still miracles.

Every morning since Mother's Day has been difficult. I wake up feeling sad, broken, and not wanting to get out of bed. I hate my body and I hate that it keeps letting me down. I feel like I've failed myself and that I've let my husband down. I usually shake off the sadness and am fine throughout the day, but mornings and nights are when the grief really hits. Getting rid of my dreadful shots and removing our medical station from our counter was actually really hard for me to do. Even though I hated those shots, I loved thinking about what they were doing to help me reach my family, and I was really praying I would have to take them for another 6 weeks. It pained me to let it all go. It meant saying goodbye to Nemo, and goodbye to the hope that going through IVF brought me.

We don't know yet what our next step will be, and we aren't planning anything drastic in the near future. We need another break from all of the madness. We do plan to meet with our doctor in the next few weeks to learn more about what he found out about our unexplained infertility, but in the meantime we just want to re-coop and enjoy our summer.

Thanks everyone for your support and prayers. We feel so lucky to have been able to experience IVF. I really thought that with as many prayers and positive vibes we had sent our way, we would be blessed in the way we wanted to be blessed this time around. We wanted more than anything to know what tiny little Nemo would look like and who he or she would become, but were not granted that wish. So it looks like this little Anni is going to have to continue to wait.