As mentioned in past posts, Vance and I began our journey to start a family shortly after our one year anniversary, (October 22, 2011). Although it was scary to make that decision, it was mostly exciting. After 3 months of trying, I was getting discouraged and upset. It was taking so long! We had friends who were pregnant, a new baby niece, and young nephews. We were really hoping to get pregnant soon so that we could have kids around the same time as our family and friends.
Fast forward 1 year.
A year after trying, we started getting tested to see if we could figure out what was going on. We were both so sad, scared, and hopeful. Everything checked out okay on Vance's end, so my doctor started putting me on clomid and monitoring me with ultrasounds.
Fast forward 3 years.
3 years into trying, Vance had been tested several times, I had gone through multiple rounds of clomid and femara, we found our new doctor, I had X-rays and ultrasounds done on me to test everything out, and we had gone through 2 rounds of artificial insemination.
Fast forward 4 years.
At our 4 year mark of trying, we had 2 more rounds of artificial insemination under our belt for a total of 4 rounds (6 if you count the 2 other times we stopped the process right before the transfer date, due to my body's reaction to medications). We started applying for the Miracle Fund so that we could hopefully try IVF.
Fast forward to the present day.
At 4.5 years, life events finally led up to our desired IVF. Up until this point, we were still labeled as UNEXPLAINED. I bold that word and put it in all caps because it is an absolutely infuriating and haunting word for someone who has tried to find answers for as longs as we have. We went through the intense process of IVF as a couple diagnosed with unexplained infertility.
Almost 5 years of trying and one round of IVF later, we think we finally have an answer to the unexplained.
Vance and I have spent so many years being labeled as "unexplained"
infertility, that it seems unreal that we now know the answer. We now
know the reason behind the WHY. And even though I finally know the reason
why, it all still feels so unexplained. I'm so grateful for the new knowledge, but I am also surprised with how little assurance and peace it has given me to know the answer. Perhaps I am just so jaded? I'm sure I won't accurately explain it, as a lot of what my doctor explained to me went over my head, but here it is in a nutshell:
Due to certain genes I carry, I guess my eggs have a very difficult time maturing. It is unexplained how or why this happens to some women, but for whatever reason...they don't mature. Thus they don't become fertilized and grow into humans.
They were able to find this out about me because of IVF. After all of the medication I was on during IVF, I still had very few eggs to collect. Of the 7 eggs they did collect, only 2 were mature. Of the 2 that matured and fertilized, only 1 survived. He said that normally, if 7 eggs were collected, 5-6 of those eggs should have been mature and survived to the embryo stage, while 1-2 might have died off. I was just the opposite: 1-2 survived to that stage, and 5-6 died. If my body had that hard of a time producing mature eggs while taking all of those
medications that are catered to egg stimulation and quality, just imagine how slim my chances are on a normal month
with no medications? Next to none.
It is possible that the one surviving embryo (Nemo) that was transferred to my body had issues due to the my egg condition, which caused it to die off inside of me. But at any rate, after receiving and pondering our new information, I have so many new questions. The main one is this: Have my eggs been this way since birth, or did my condition develop over time? Is there something I could have done differently to prevent this from happening? He mentioned "genes" that cause my eggs not to mature, so does that mean it was a predisposition?
We can try another round of IVF that would be much more tailored to my body and what Dr. Moore discovered, and thus could have better success the next time around. Finally discovering WHY we haven't been able to conceive has helped our doctor know how to specifically treat us. It is just a matter of money at this point.
We may or may not do IVF again in the near future. We re-applied for the Cycle Plus Money Back Guarantee program, so that we could hopefully try again (1 fresh cycle and 2 frozen if I have any embryos left to freeze) and get a portion of our money back if we don't become pregnant. However, I just got an email back today saying that the committee had time to review our latest records, and now we don't qualify at all.
Finding out that we didn't have embryos left to freeze was a huge loss for us. Finding out that Nemo didn't make it was a huge loss for us. I can't imagine trying this again, and going through that loss again, along with a loss of $18,000+. We would be much more willing to go through IVF again if we knew we could get a portion of the money back if it doesn't work. Not qualifying for the Money Back Guarantee makes me very reluctant. It's a huge game changer for us, since we are less willing to "gamble" that much money away.
I want anyone reading this to know that I am doing fine, I just wanted to finally update this chapter of our journey. I am focusing my time and energy right now on possible fundraisers we can do to help raise money for a future round of IVF. But even more importantly, I am also focusing on ME right now. I turn the big 3-0 in a couple short months. I want to be happy with myself and where I am at in my life as I hit this new mile-mark. I've dreaded turning 30 for a long time now, but I am learning to embrace it, and in return I am trying to love myself as I continue to grow up. I am doing so by exercising and finally getting my body into shape (for the first time in my life), and by re-connecting with my art. It has always been a dream of mine to be great at my passion, so while I am far from being a great artist, I am trying to get back on track.
Good things can and will happen for us. It might not come in the form of baby dust, but good things will happen because I am so driven to become a successful and talented woman that others can look up to.
Wednesday, June 22, 2016
Monday, May 16, 2016
Technology is Annoying
I apologize to anyone who has tried to leave me any comments on here and couldn't do so. They don't make managing these blogs very user friendly or very easy to figure out.
It looks like my comments section was blocked (who even knew that was a thing? I sure didn't), but I think I figured it out. I love comments, so feel free to drop me a line!
Thanks
It looks like my comments section was blocked (who even knew that was a thing? I sure didn't), but I think I figured it out. I love comments, so feel free to drop me a line!
Thanks
Friday, May 13, 2016
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.
• 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.
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