Still Standing.

Yesterday my nurse from Dr. B's office called me. He wanted to see me in his office and to be there today at 3pm. I agreed, but was a little surprised. This man is busier than the President and is booked through January. What happened to the phone conversation we were suppose to have?

So off I went...Don had to work so I went by myself, which I preferred.

I parked my car and gave myself a little pep talk. The "there's no crying in baseball" sort of talk. The plan was to walk in with my head held high and to keep it together. As soon as I opened the office door I was doomed. My eyes teared up. I'd like to blame it on the hormones left from the medicine, but I know it's my heart that is crying. It still hurts.

I waited nervously for Dr. B to walk in. What was I going to say? What should I ask? Am I capable of keeping it together? Will he have the answers? Will he promise me the world and be able to deliver on those promises? My stomach was in knots. I felt like I had butterflies and was waiting to be picked up for a first date. Instead I'm waiting to find out if Dr. B thinks another baby is still possible.

He opened the door, walked in and thanked me for coming to see him on such short notice. He thought I deserved more than a phone call. I thanked him. He's always thinking of me. He then looked at me and said, "out of all of my years of experience, I've cried the most for you." I put my head down. That was it. I was a slobbery mess. If anyone could possibly understand the pain Don and I have felt, it's this man. If anyone could make it go away, it's this man.

"You still standing Courtney? How are you emotionally?"

It took me a second to catch my breath. "It hurts. I'm broken. Just when I think I'm getting it together, I see something or hear something and it knocks me off my feet and I totally breakdown."

We talked about how hard of a journey it's been. He told me that him and his staff are sad for us and that they think about us often.

So what's next, Dr. B?

There's a test he wants to run. He'll check my white blood cells to make sure nothing "fishy" is going on. Apparently too many white blood cells can attack your body and cause you to miscarry. He tossed out terms I can't pronounce and refused to spell them for me because he knew I would go home and Google search everything. I asked what this meant if the blood work came back not in our favor.

"It will be over. No more IVF. There's a treatment called IVIG, but there's no insurance that will cover it. It's expensive, Courtney. Thousands and thousands of dollars." I asked for a figure. "Injections can cost up to $2,500 each. Cash. I don't know the cost of the entire treatment. I won't even let you do it here in the hospital, I would send you elsewhere."

Speechless. The wind was knocked out me. We sat there quiet. He knew I was trying to absorb what he just told me.

"Then it's over. We can't afford that."

Deep breath. Deep breath. Deep breath. 

One of the hardest parts of trying for baby #2 is how much my body has changed. With Olivia I faced some challenges, but ultimately she was my first IVF attempt. With this go around my body hasn't responded to certain medications and there are "issues" that have come up in blood tests and biopsy's that weren't a problem in 2011. I asked Dr. B why that is. Why was it one try with Olivia and 4 failed tries this time around? His answer made me sad, but something I suspected.

"My opinion is it's because of your pregnancy with Olivia. There couldn't be a more brutal pregnancy and it did a number on your body. There was something about that pregnancy that is affecting you chemically from carrying a child and we have to figure it out." I knew that was the answer. He said it perfectly, my pregnancy with Olivia was brutal- so much so that as soon as someone mentions it, I cry.

I asked him if any other of his patients has had as many issues as I have. They put everyone on the same cycle (timing wise) each month when you go through IVF. The hospital blocks 2 weeks per month to do egg retrievals and transfers. So every time you go to the office for bloodwork and ultrasounds you start recognizing women in the waiting room. It's always a sad awkward moment while waiting for your appointment. You give one another a pitiful smile as if you're saying, "You too? Well, good luck. Sorry you have to go through this." Once it's time for your egg retrieval/transfer they walk you to a room in Day Surgery. Outside of the room is your last name and the name of the doctor that's treating you. Don and I always count how many times we see "Dr. B" on the tag. There's a comfort knowing that another couple is going through the same emotions you're going through, but there's also curiosity two weeks later wondering who got the positive pregnancy test vs. who got the negative? I can't say for sure, but I do know that I've never seen the same face come again the following cycle. I'm always the only one returning.

Anyway, back to my question. I asked him if any of his other patients has had as many issues as I have. He kept his head down, "A few. The difference between them and you is I knew what I was facing with them. We still need to figure you out."I shook my head. A few. A few!!! This man is old enough to be my Grandfather (at least I think so)...and he's only had a few pain in the ass patients like myself!? Ahhh!!! This is so frustrating. I just want a normal pregnancy. I'm sick of being poked and prodded and treated like a science experience who defies all logic!

"What if the blood work is in our favor?"

"Then we try again. You have frozen embryos. We try until we get it right."

"When?" I asked.

"January?" He was testing me. He's done this before. He is trying to see if I'm strong enough to move forward.

"December."

"Where's your head at? How are you feeling emotionally? How's Don?"

"Dr. B if you tell me we can do it in December I'll get my head together. You just get me pregnant."

He stared at me and I stared back. We've done this before too. In 2011 I was standing in a gown in the middle of an O.R. demanding that he give me my results and not make me schedule another consultation with him. He never had a half naked patient yell at him and demand answers. He's also never had a patient like me. He may have called me stubborn and told me I have a short fuse, but I ultimately won that battle. Half naked and all he told me what I wanted to hear.

We stared a little longer. "I'm still standing, Dr. B." He smirked and agreed. If testing comes back in our favor, December it is.

That means I start my first pill tonight. If testing comes back with any issue, I stop immediately.

He went to get his nurse to go over next steps when he stopped and asked me, "Don't you want a nice Christmas with Olivia? What if it doesn't go your way again? You don't want a sad Christmas?"

I said, "Well, will I get the results before Christmas?" He looked at his calendar and said no. I said, "Well, I'll have a Merry Christmas- just maybe not a great New Year."

I felt a little overwhelmed after our conversation. How did I just agree to another round when these past couple of weeks I've done nothing but refuse? I can't even answer that. As much hope that I've lost, I guess I still have a little left in me. Though my husband supports me if and when I'm ready to fold, I know that more than anything, he wants another child.

So, here's to you round #5. I'm still standing. Be good to us.

Miscarriage & dinner...

A few days after I got the dreaded phone call my nurse called to see how I was holding up. As soon as I heard her voice my heart dropped and I started to cry. The past few days all I've wanted to do is pinch myself to wake up from this terrible nightmare. How am I holding up? Well, not sure how exactly I'm holding up, but I am, barely. I have to. For Olivia.

I mentioned that I was ready to talk to Dr. B about what had happened and that I needed to gather his thoughts in order for us to decide whether or not we move forward with another round. She gasped. "You're considering not trying again?" I heard the disappointment in her voice. You see, this office I go to isn't just any kind of doctor office. These people live and breathe babies. It's in their blood to do anything and everything in their power to make ones dreams come true by helping them conceive these miracles of life. With that said, I'm not just any other patient. My situation is unique. My body has a mind of it's own and has defied every ounce of logic and statistic out there. Doctors stopped saying, "don't worry, it won't happen to you" because chances are it will happen to me.

I told my nurse that this miscarriage just about did me in and at the moment, I don't see us trying again. It's getting harder and the vision of us having a second child is fading more and more. It's destroying me. For three days I had called their office to discuss what had happened with Dr. B and I hung up every time they would answer the phone because I would meltdown thinking "I can't believe I have to have this conversation, again."

To get in to see Dr. B is almost impossible. He's booked months in advance, which is more proof that he is the best of the best. The nurse told me that he's booked through January, but that he wants to speak to me next week once he studies my file. "Don't make a decision until you talk to him, Courtney. Hold on to hope- you're so close." Yet, so far.

So that's where I'm at. These days my goals are small, they need to be. Anything that seems too large tend to overwhelm me and in order to keep moving forward I need to keep everything within reach. Baby steps...I agreed to the meeting and I'm patiently waiting for the phone to ring.

Before hanging up the phone I told the nurse that the bleeding wasn't all that bad. I had about two days of light bleeding and cramping, but other than that I was physically feeling ok. I've had a miscarriage before and this one wasn't bad. She was a little taken back when I mentioned "light" bleeding and told me to come in in a few days if I didn't get anything more.

I spoke to soon.

Two days later I was sitting in a meeting when I felt it come on. The cramping was so bad I could feel sweat beads rolling down my face. All I could think was, "no, no, no, no, no...this isn't happening. Not here, not now." I made it through the meeting and quickly exited while running to the bathroom while holding myself. This is it. Whatever the hell I experienced last week wasn't it. This is it. In this depressing ass bathroom. I can't even have a miscarriage in the privacy of my own home. I mean, seriously, can I ever catch a break!?

TMI...

I sat in the bathroom for what seemed like an hour. I wanted to pull the fire alarm to get everyone to exit the building so I could sneak out without the stares and whispers. An ounce of dignity is all I was asking for.

Once the bleeding slowed down I had to wash up the stall which now looked like a crime scene. The tears were inevitable. Telling myself to keep it together was no longer an option. My heart was broken and I was embarrassed. I made it back to my desk only to quickly sit down as the cramping became unbearable. I kept looking over to the office my boss was sitting in to try to make eye contact. Nothing. So I sat longer hoping the cramps would subside and the bleeding would slow down. Once I was able to catch my breath I walked into his office and all I could say was "I have to go! I have to go! I have to go!" As I was practically shouting out at him round two was starting. I hunched over so quickly as the bleeding started to gush. At that point I looked up to a man staring at me with his jaw to the ground and a look of horror. Hysterical, I grabbed my things and ran out.

Driving home was a blur. Looking back I probably should have had someone pick me up. All I kept thinking was that I needed to get home to my Olivia and my husband. I needed to shower. I needed to cry. I needed privacy.

I got home in time to put Olivia down for her nap. Once she fell asleep I laid in the shower and cried my eyes out. Why? Why is this happening? What did we do that was so wrong? Not being able to get pregnant on our own is hard enough, but then to not be able to hold a pregnancy...why? It's brutal. I don't know how else to explain the feeling of having a miscarriage. You go to sleep crying and you wake up feeling as if you just went through the most gut wrenching breakup and the heartache is brutal.

This miscarriage is different than my other one. With this miscarriage I'm a mother. It's not just Don and I. I can't just lay in bed for three days feeling sorry for myself. I have to get up and I have to keep moving. I guess that's a good thing. What good is it to lay around feeling miserable? Once my Olivia woke up from her nap it was go time. No more crying- not in front of her. She needs you, all of you. Get it together. I walked up the stairs, cramping and bleeding, and went to get Olivia from her bed. She was a little cranky when she woke up. I picked her up and she laid her head on my shoulder. I stood there holding her while she lay on me. This is unusual for her. Though she's very loving, she doesn't lay on us often. She's a big girl now and she's independent. She'll give me my daily hugs and kisses, but laying with me rarely happens these days. Tonight was different though. It was just her and I and we sat in the middle of her room and she laid on me, and I took it in. How did this sweet baby know that I needed this moment?

A couple hours later Don came home. He was well aware of my day, but we didn't really talk about it. He hasn't been holding up as well as he has in the past, and I was so drained that I wasn't interested in talking about emotions that we've become too familiar with. We had to go about our evening and stick with our nightly routine, so we made dinner. Don did most of the cooking, but I helped. I thought, "I'm a mom. I can have a miscarriage and make dinner at the same time." It's funny how being a mom can pull out an ounce of strength that you didn't think could exist.

It's been a few days and I'm doing better...we're doing better. Don has his ups and downs, but he's doing ok. In moments of silence I meltdown, but the support of my family and friends has helped tremendously.

The unknown is what makes me a little flustered. Do we try again? Do we call it quits? We honestly don't have the answer. The morning after the miscarriage I overheard Olivia talking in the other room. I peaked in there to find her having a tea party, for one. It killed me. Will it always be for one? Will she ever have a little buddy to boss around? This is what I struggle with every day.

Oh Dr. B...bring me some answers.

One. Long. Year.

12 months. 52 weeks. 365 days. 1 year.

It's been one long, devastating, draining year. I'm exhausted, mentally drained, my body is sore and my heart aches. It's been an entire year of IVF treatments. Four to be exact. 1 fresh cycle. 3 frozen cycles. The only results we have received is one ectopic pregnancy, one miscarriage and two broken hearts. 

I guess you can say this is a pretty sad and depressing start to a new blog. It's my first entry, I'm one paragraph in and the tears are flowing. So, why start blogging now? Well, I'm a hot, emotional mess and my brother suggested that I start writing about my experience with hope that maybe I can help someone else facing the same pain I have been facing. Not only that, but my therapist charges a pretty penny so starting a blog is probably a cheaper way to talk about my feelings without draining the bank account. 

I won't always be an emotional mess on this blog, at least I hope not. That's not the goal. But my emotions are warranted. Last week I received the gut wrenching phone call that my HCG dropped and my body is starting to miscarry. Deep breath. Deep breath. Deep breath. Most people didn't even know we were pregnant. With all of the disappointment we have faced in the past, it didn't make sense to tell our secret until we knew it was "safe". And in my heart of hearts, I knew this wasn't it for us. I knew we were never going to reach the "safe" point. That instinct didn't help the blow I faced when my nurse called to deliver the news. That instinct didn't prepare me for the day I was told that once again, my body failed me. That instinct didn't prevent me from throwing myself on the ground kicking and screaming until I was too tired to function. My heart is broken, not just for me but for my husband and mostly, my daughter. 

If you don't know me, I am the proud mother to the most beautiful two year old little girl in the world- Olivia Hope. Her story is special and someday soon I'll share it on this blog. She is living proof that miracles do happen and it's because of her that I get out of bed and keep moving forward. More than anything I've wanted a second child not just for my own selfish reasons, but for the fact that I want my daughter to have a sibling. I want her to experience life with a partner in crime, a best friend, a confidant. 

I guess that's another reason why I started this blog. After every failed IVF attempt someone (with good intentions) is bound to say, "well at least you have Olivia!"

I hate when people say that to me. There is not a day that goes by that I don't know how big of a miracle my child is. There is not a day that goes by that I don't thank God for making us her parents. But, the fact that we are trying for a second child doesn't make things easier. It doesn't prevent heartache and it's not fair to say "at least you have Olivia". We shouldn't be limited to one child. My child shouldn't be limited to being an only child. I don't like when people say "it's not fair". I always feel like there is someone out there who has it more difficult than we do, but in this case it's absolutely not fair. It's not fair to the mother who longs to have another newborn fall asleep on her chest, it's not fair to the father who was born to have a room filled with children and it's not fair to the child who, without a doubt, would be a great big sister. 

Writing this blog is a big step for me. Although everyone thinks they know everything about my life, my fertility issues is one thing I've always kept private. I share with those I know won't hound me with questions. I share with those I know won't hurt my feelings by saying something stupid like, "at least you're young!". I share with those who care. 

Last week I sent a text to my siblings (I have two sisters and a brother). I said, "I was pregnant. Now I'm not." How else do you tell your best friends that your heart is broken and you need them to know because although I didn't want any phone calls, I needed them to know I was hurting. My brother left work and drove straight to my house that night. I didn't want company, but there was something about seeing him walk through the door where I thought, "for the next hour or so that he is here, I can fall apart and he'll be here to pick me up when I fall". We laid in my bed and he let me cry until there wasn't a tear left to give. He told me he admired my strength. I thought it was kind of funny- what strength? I'm sitting here clenching your arms, hoping you don't leave me and you think I'm strong? I didn't see what he saw- and I still don't. When I was trying to get pregnant with Olivia, I had enough courage, determination and strength to start an army. This time around...after every IVF attempt, I break a little more, I cry a little more and I lose hope- a little more. 

The night I laid in bed with my brother he told me to cry it out and then get it together. 1) I have a two year old who needs me and 2) the disappointment and heartbreak has taken a toll on me as a person that it's time I start living life again. 

I guess that's where this blog comes in. I'm not embarrassed that I have fertility issues, I just tend to not talk about it. It saves me from sharing disappointing news to so many people. That and I don't need anyone feeling sorry for me. With that said, I find that the more I talk about IVF and our story, someone comes forward telling me that I helped them get through their day. So maybe telling my story (which there's plenty to tell), will help a few more people while I try figuring out what the future will look like for my own family. 

Continue on with me on this journey...people who go through infertility need the support and the understanding. And, if you're one who suffers with the same heartache I've suffered with- please know that I'm here for you. I'll be your friend and I'll hold your hand because I get it and chances are, I've been there. 

Until next time...