Killingmesoftly-One woman's quest to survive infertility: Epilogue

Wednesday, January 13, 2021

Epilogue

At the end of many great stories comes an epilogue. We want to know what happens next, even when the book or movie is finished. We become invested, we want assurances that everything works out in the end, and that the universe is kind. After disappearing for a year, I owe you an explanation, and an epilogue. This story has a happy ending, and I hope that it gives anyone reading this courage to believe in their own happy ending.

About a month after my last post, after years of disappointments, miscarriages, failed IVF rounds, and two donors who failed to produce any embryos, I got the message that our third donor had cycled and four, perfect, PGS normal embryos were waiting for us at our clinic in Argentina. A transfer was scheduled for November- a ray of hope after so much struggle. The hope though was a heavy one though- weighed down by the strength of my desire for a child, and by the fears that I would never be successful. It was too heavy to take out of the little box I had for it in my heart- it felt risky to share with the world, and so I didn't blog. It turns out that I would be unsuccessful that round as well. I found out shortly after Thanksgiving that the transfer had not worked, and the heartache seemed almost too much to bear. I turned inward to my journal instead of outward to my blog as I faced the holidays with an empty womb.

Thankfully though, three embryos remained- my last three chances for a baby before my husband and I would call it quits. So on January 13th, 2020, exactly one year ago today, I sat in a clinic in Argentina, awaiting another transfer. Six days later a home pregnancy tests read positive, just like the next test, and all the ones after that. I tested several times a day- the more tests I saw, the more I allowed myself to really believe that I was pregnant. Instead of feeling excited though, I was terrified. I am a survivor of miscarriage, and a positive pregnancy test doesn't guarantee a happily ever after in my experience. I was terrified- terrified to hope and then crash, terrified to love and then lose. This little embryo felt fragile, the prospect of a baby felt like a dream. I sensed that at any moment the bubble could burst and the dream would disintegrate in my hands, so I kept it close. I held steady, I moved quietly, I protected this secret little life so as not to scare her away. And I didn't blog.

Maybe I'm alone in this experience, but I think there are other mothers out there, other survivors of infertility and miscarriage who have felt incredulous when a pregnancy happens, doubtful that the pregnancy will be successful, and petrified to fully open their hearts to the possibility of deep joy over the child who is to come. I wanted to keep this pregnancy to myself for as long as possible, to guard it closely until I could sink into love and excitement without fear. And then, just as my first trimester was coming to a close and most people announce pregnancies, a global pandemic hit. Secrecy was easy. Our lives were lived inside our houses, on phone calls and Zoom calls from the waist up. And I held onto my precious, delicate secret- don't burst the bubble, don't break the spell. This feeling never went away for me- scared that she might be taken from me late in pregnancy or during delivery, unable to lean into the joy of loving her until she was in my arms. When I posted my first baby pictures on Facebook after delivery, many of my friends hadn't even known I was pregnant.

So here it is...my epilogue.

On September 10th, after years of struggle, pain, and uncertainty, three weeks before her due date my beautiful daughter Skylar, conceived via egg donation was born. Her picture is above- cradled in my hands, the incarnation of my dreams. And then, just like that, I was on the other side of infertility, unfrozen and alive!! There is a lightness in my life now as I hold her and a freedom from the aching longing that gripped me daily. The journey was hard, and I know that it will take time and likely, counseling, to fully process and heal from what happened along this difficult path and that's ok. It was all worth it. I won't post again in this blog and will focus instead on moving forward to see what life has in store for me next. But my heart is with all of you still seeking your babies. You are strong and brave, you deserve a beautiful ending, and you are not alone. You are NOT alone. Sending love to each and every one of you.

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My story

Killing me softly. When I think about my secondary infertility journey, I think of the thousand tiny deaths my heart has endured on this path. The silent wounds I bled from just under the surface of my public face. Never enough to knock me over in one day, but rather a quiet, stealthy wave, building loss by loss, until some days, I am swept away by feelings of grief, fear, unworthiness, and hopelessness. Killing me softly.

My heart feels drawn to writing this blog as part of my journey, and I hope that some entries of this blog will uplift and inspire you. But I am in the thick of this, and many days this blog will just be an invitation for you to cry alongside of me. I can’t promise anything from this blog, other than that it will be real, raw, unfiltered. Come and be real with me, and let’s give our pain a voice and find hope together.

PART 1:

My journey began three years ago just after my wedding at age 39. I was so excited to start my family, but I knew my age might be a factor, so I went to a fertility specialist right away, just to get checked out and maybe get a few tips for faster conception.. Instead of the green light I thought I would get though, they told me that I had very few follicles left, and had diminished ovarian reserve. The likelihood that I would have my own baby was poor they explained in their sterile room in their clinical tone, and they sent me out the door with adoption information and instructions to set up an appointment for an IUI if I was determined to try with my own eggs. I cried all the way home and for the next two months until we started treatment. I was absolutely devastated, but IUI was free there, so we went ahead with it one week shy of my 40th birthday. My son is 2 ½ now, and proof that miracles happen.

PART 2:

I love kids. Seriously adore them. I started as a camp counselor in junior high, and was babysitting regularly from the time i was twelve. Children always followed me like the Pied Piper, and were drawn to me in most every setting. I was the cool aunt, the fun friend when my friends started having children. I pursued a career in education, in order to surround myself with the joy and wonder of children and have loved every minute of it. On a personal level, I always knew that I wanted a house full of the energy, chaos, and joy that several children bring. My heart yearned for it on a soul level.

So in November, five months after my baby was born I went back to the fertility clinic to prepare for another IUI. The first one had gone off without a hitch, so I figured we were just a couple who needed a tiny push to get the ball rolling. We were supposed to begin treatment on the first day of my period, but that day never came, and I discovered in January that I had become pregnant naturally. A dream! I was so excited. I started planning the nursery (woodland animals- adorable!). I picked out the cute baby onesie for my son where we would announce on Facebook that his tenure as only child was ending. When we heard the heartbeat at our first ultrasound, I finally told my coworkers and friends and I started planning a joint maternity leave with a friend who was due a few weeks after me. But at the next ultrasound those plans came to a grinding halt and the doctor tried without success to find the heartbeat. Just like that, my little one was gone. I had a D&C. I didn’t order the onesie. I avoided the questions from my coworkers about how the pregnancy was going. I grieved deeply and privately. But I knew that miscarriages happen, and I was resolved to try again when my period returned. In May when my body was finally ready I called the doctor, and they said we could try an IUI again in June when my period came. But it never came, and in early July a beta confirmed I was pregnant naturally a second time. But my beta didn’t double on schedule, and at 5 weeks I miscarried that baby. I cried more tears than I knew I had, alone in my room. My husband is a loving man, but without having heard a heartbeat, the baby wasn’t real to him the way it was to me.

The only way I could think to escape my pain was to jump down the rabbit hole of infertility treatments, so we upped our game and headed to an IVF clinic. We would make embryos and pick the healthy ones to transfer! We would beat biology! We would have our baby! But one year and three retrievals later we were unable to produce even one viable embryo. Our final hope, our treatment of last resort, had failed. My heart had risen and fallen with each new cycle, each new batch of eggs, each new possibility of life, and hope and baby fingers and toes. The rigor of medication protocols, restrictive diets, yoga, acupuncture, and endless appointments had left me broken, distanced from friends, consumed by a singular focus and shrouded by a lingering aura of sadness. IVF was expensive, but my health insurance offered two more free rounds of IUI, so we decided to exhaust that before considering our next options. We decided to start the next cycle when my period came, but… it never came. I was naturally pregnant for a third time, this time at 42. Because less than 1% of women have three or more miscarriages I was overjoyed. I had already had two miscarriages, so this pregnancy would be the one that would stick! Our unexpected miracle. Our rainbow after the storm. I would take a newborn picture of her surrounded by IVF needles. I would show her how wanted she was. I would be an inspiration for older moms wanting to conceive! My original beta was strong, and even though my numbers weren’t doubling, they were on track. The doctor’s office congratulated me! It was happening! Until… it wasn’t. My beta plateaued, and the doctor told me to wait for the miscarriage. I was nine weeks pregnant when I lost my third baby and absolutely broken.

PART 3:

Balanced Translocation. Otherwise known as BT. A previously unfamiliar term for me, that would now define my reproductive future. It meant that some of my chromosomes had swapped places and that I didn’t have complete chromosomes like everyone else. I had all the right genetic stuff, just in the wrong places. This was the diagnosis given to me as part of my recurrent miscarriage workup. It meant that giving the right amount of chromosomes to a fetus would be difficult and unlikely. Multiple miscarriages were the norm, and even though many women with BT eventually go on to have a healthy baby at some point, the BT combined with the age of my eggs meant that my chances were incredibly slim. The words of the genetic counselor rang in my ears. I tried to be funny and cool about it. Inside I was falling apart. My marriage was strained, my friendships had become distant, my hobbies, dreams, and goals had been set aside- all collateral damage of the dream I had been chasing, which now seemed improbable.

So I jumped into support groups. I joined a sisterhood of amazing women, but a sisterhood that I never wanted to be a part of. I grieved the loss of a pregnancy with my own eggs, but I was determined to be enlightened and open to all possibilities. I dove into the world of donor eggs and donor embryos and started to lose myself in the online world of third party reproduction- Frozen, fresh, local, international- website after website, email after email. I scrolled through profiles of beautiful, fertile twenty somethings. I read countless posts from donors, donor recipients, and donor egg children . I researched books to read to my little one to explain how he/she came to be. I fell deeper and deeper into the world of infertility and I rarely came up for breath. It gave me some sense of control as my world was spinning out of control. It kept me company, so I didn’t have to be alone with grief.

So that's where I am now. Unsure of what comes next. I’m committed to having another child, and to giving my son a sibling, but it turns out I’m not ready to let go of the hope of using my own eggs yet. IVF isn't a viable option for a woman my age with diminished ovarian reserve and BT, so I have a few more IUIs planned, and the websites for donor egg banks bookmarked in my browser. My journey has been long and hard, and it isn’t over yet, but know the path I am walking is filled with women just like me and I hope that we can build an invisible but strong web of support. I’m honored to be walking next to all of you, and hope to get to know you and connect with your stories and experiences along the way.